(no subject)
Title: Questions without answers
Fandom: Red Prowling Devil.
Genre: Friendship
Rating/Warnings: Suitable for most - adult series, but this fic is suitable for all.
Summary: Naomi just can't settle, but she doesn't know why. She's not alone though.
Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing the characters for this little story
Harmil didn't get it, Naomi knew so she didn't even contemplate talking to him. The American was a good guy but he was pretty much the least complex person she knew - he didn't quite fit into her harsh and ofttimes painful world. So when he asked if she was okay Naomi just smiled, 'Not at the moment, but I will be.'
It was enough to placate him and she pulled on a coat and headed out towards the hangars and beyond to where the airfield lay. Perhaps a good long walk would clear her head.
The wind whipped through her short hair and brought tears to her eyes that she swiftly blinked away. The transfer from the Middle East to Siberia had been a strange one and privately she had to admit that the cold was dreadful. 'Cold isn't it?' Cyrus commented, trotting out of the hangar as she approached. His tiny frame was bundled up heavily against the freezing wind, but his eyes were as sly and sharp as ever. When he spoke his tone was gentle though - everyone knew the second lieutenant had a soft spot for their ace pilot. 'What's wrong, Naomi?'
Naomi stopped walking and stared down at her oldest surviving friend. After a long moment of trying to put her unease into words she gave up and shook her head. 'If I knew how t'say it Cyrus, I'd have asked you already.'
'Ah, it's that sort of a problem is it then?' Cyrus reached up and patted her hand in a comforting, avuncular way. Naomi could only smile sadly down at the man. 'You're welcome to drop by for tea and a chat when you do work out what's bothering you though. See you later!'
With that Cyrus was gone. He knew when to leave things alone, unlike Matsurika, whose attempt at cheering Naomi up had been sincere but a bit tactless - rather like the talented young pilot herself. Once more Naomi found herself among frindly faces - the other two pilots had become good (if very different) friends to her, Cyrus and his crew were a source of tacit comfort to her. It almost felt like old times, only now she killed other pilots and
soldiers rather than defenceless civilians. Her soul was already stained with blood, but these friendships kept her tethered to life and a semblance of sanity.
She didn't deserve it, the Northern Irish (with Japanese heritage) woman knew she was damned. Katiucha and White Mace's conflict was becoming more overt and Naomi dreaded receiving the order from Franz to do a bombing run on one of the civilian suppliers of White Mace whose only crime was picking the wrong customers. Scum like that frog in the Rafale were fair game - like her they knew what they were getting into, but Naomi had fought hard for redemption - was still working off her deserved thousand year sentence for the murder of hundreds - and she didn't want to go back to the old cycle of hatred and vengeance that had dominated her youth.
'You're thinking very hard.' A quiet voice commented. Naomi turned to greet Franz, whose concession to the Russian autumn was wearing a v-neck jumper under his suit jacket and waistcoat. His longish hair was blown sideways across his face, concealing his expression.
Franz and Ivanov both had a strange knack for turning up at the exact moment she was in need of a helping hand. She couldn't help the wan smile that spread across her face. 'I suddenly remembered back when I was in training and that fraud Fabian Bran was trying to get into my knickers. Just as he seemed to be succeeding you turned up with dat big searchlight - I'm surprised you didn't douse us with cold water too!' She laughed, her accent thickening into the Belfast tones of her childhood as she remembered that incident.
Franz turned away to stare at the aeroplanes on the line, not commenting on her obvious attempt to redirect the conversation. Her laughter stopped and large, sad eyes tilted as she tipped her head sideways to consider him seriously. She looked almost childlike like that, all bundled up against the chilly autumn breeze and with dark, tired eyes. She'd seen a lot of the darker side of life already, not so very far behind him in the dance of war.
'Did Ivanorff survive?' She suddenly asked.
They were getting closer to whatever it was Naomi was trying to work out, even if she wasn't sure what the problem was exactly. Franz seemed to be taking her question seriously (when didn't he, though?) and he sighed, perhaps at her poor pronunciation of the Russian's name. The Belfast accent wasn't exactly ideal for saying Russian names in and she did her best. 'He will recover.' He said in a guarded voice.
Something snapped. 'What's the whole story now, Colonel?' Her directionless melancholy surged into frustration and it seemed to surprise Reubenstein, even if it was just a little bit.
He stared intently at the F-5s sat out in a row and Naomi heard him inhale deeply as he considered her question - probably wondering how much to tell me. 'Men like Ivanov are souvenirs of a time that has long passed. His choice to aid us was based on morals long since vanished from much of the rest of the organisation and he was punished for that choice.'
Franz turned away from the fast jets and smiled at her thinly. 'The old-school men do not let such small things defeat them though.' The look in his eyes was dangerous and she remembered the man who had thrown her into a dogfight in Japan with training missiles and no warning, using her like just another weapon. Then his smile turned into a less dangerous affair, making her remember the man who'd risked his life for Chilean and saved her own life more than once. 'You can ask him soon enough. A betrayal such as his leaves him only worthy of working with such low-lives as we. He's too valuable an asset to execute and his talents would be a boon to our team.'
Naomi slumped in relief and tiredness hit her like a bus. Her thoughts were all over the place, she simultaneously felt jittery and exhausted. Her mind was racing, but all she really wanted to do was close her eyes and go to sleep. Her eyes burnt with tiredness and she shut them for just a second, letting the bleak wind lull her into a reverie. She could feel herself drifting in the cold air and sleep beckoned. As she drifted her shoulder hit something warm and solid and her head was too heavy to hold up so she rested it on the warm support. Naomi forced her eyes open and she looked up to see Franz' distinctive profile as he steadfastly ignored the fact she'd practically fallen asleep on him.
'You should go to bed, pilot O'Brian.'He informed her curtly without looking at her.
Franz was solid and warm, the woollen weave of his suit jacket pressing into her cheek. Things were starting make a queer sort of sense, but in a way she wouldn't have been able to verbalise if asked. 'You called me y'r precious diamond in the rough once. D'you remember that day?' Naomi asked the fabric her face was smushed against. 'That was when it all went t'blazes again.'
Franz didn't respond, but then she didn't expect him to. She could feel herself leaning more heavily into her commanding officer, loopy with tiredness and looking back that would be her excuse for slipping her arms around the waist of the one person who'd ever had complete, unswerving belief in her.
'I've always admired you, Colonel Reubenstein.' She admitted to him earnestly, not paying attention as he shifted slightly to support her as she leaned on him more heavily. A thought occurred to her, like the sudden realisation of the solution to a tricky homework problem. 'You're the closest thing I've got to a father and you took that role on for me all the way back in training.' She was distracted for a moment by the feel of the layers he wore and the human body underneath. He wasn't as large and broad as she'd always assumed and her forearm pressed against a sharp hipbone. Something seemed to click in the back of her mind, but she was too tired to examine it.
'O'Brian, you need to go to bed and get some rest.' His stern voice softened into something certainly pushing into the realms of avuncular, if not paternal. 'We wouldn't our top pilot to fail her manoeuvres because she stayed up all night, would we?' Now that was definitely fatherly teasing.
'Y'r only human too Franz.' Naomi stubbornly told him. 'You n'd t'eat 'n sleep too....'
Naomi woke up the next morning cosily tucked into her bed, fully clothed but for her coat, which was draped across the foot of her bed. She smiled, feeling that things would work out, and fell back to sleep.
Fandom: Red Prowling Devil.
Genre: Friendship
Rating/Warnings: Suitable for most - adult series, but this fic is suitable for all.
Summary: Naomi just can't settle, but she doesn't know why. She's not alone though.
Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing the characters for this little story
Harmil didn't get it, Naomi knew so she didn't even contemplate talking to him. The American was a good guy but he was pretty much the least complex person she knew - he didn't quite fit into her harsh and ofttimes painful world. So when he asked if she was okay Naomi just smiled, 'Not at the moment, but I will be.'
It was enough to placate him and she pulled on a coat and headed out towards the hangars and beyond to where the airfield lay. Perhaps a good long walk would clear her head.
The wind whipped through her short hair and brought tears to her eyes that she swiftly blinked away. The transfer from the Middle East to Siberia had been a strange one and privately she had to admit that the cold was dreadful. 'Cold isn't it?' Cyrus commented, trotting out of the hangar as she approached. His tiny frame was bundled up heavily against the freezing wind, but his eyes were as sly and sharp as ever. When he spoke his tone was gentle though - everyone knew the second lieutenant had a soft spot for their ace pilot. 'What's wrong, Naomi?'
Naomi stopped walking and stared down at her oldest surviving friend. After a long moment of trying to put her unease into words she gave up and shook her head. 'If I knew how t'say it Cyrus, I'd have asked you already.'
'Ah, it's that sort of a problem is it then?' Cyrus reached up and patted her hand in a comforting, avuncular way. Naomi could only smile sadly down at the man. 'You're welcome to drop by for tea and a chat when you do work out what's bothering you though. See you later!'
With that Cyrus was gone. He knew when to leave things alone, unlike Matsurika, whose attempt at cheering Naomi up had been sincere but a bit tactless - rather like the talented young pilot herself. Once more Naomi found herself among frindly faces - the other two pilots had become good (if very different) friends to her, Cyrus and his crew were a source of tacit comfort to her. It almost felt like old times, only now she killed other pilots and
soldiers rather than defenceless civilians. Her soul was already stained with blood, but these friendships kept her tethered to life and a semblance of sanity.
She didn't deserve it, the Northern Irish (with Japanese heritage) woman knew she was damned. Katiucha and White Mace's conflict was becoming more overt and Naomi dreaded receiving the order from Franz to do a bombing run on one of the civilian suppliers of White Mace whose only crime was picking the wrong customers. Scum like that frog in the Rafale were fair game - like her they knew what they were getting into, but Naomi had fought hard for redemption - was still working off her deserved thousand year sentence for the murder of hundreds - and she didn't want to go back to the old cycle of hatred and vengeance that had dominated her youth.
'You're thinking very hard.' A quiet voice commented. Naomi turned to greet Franz, whose concession to the Russian autumn was wearing a v-neck jumper under his suit jacket and waistcoat. His longish hair was blown sideways across his face, concealing his expression.
Franz and Ivanov both had a strange knack for turning up at the exact moment she was in need of a helping hand. She couldn't help the wan smile that spread across her face. 'I suddenly remembered back when I was in training and that fraud Fabian Bran was trying to get into my knickers. Just as he seemed to be succeeding you turned up with dat big searchlight - I'm surprised you didn't douse us with cold water too!' She laughed, her accent thickening into the Belfast tones of her childhood as she remembered that incident.
Franz turned away to stare at the aeroplanes on the line, not commenting on her obvious attempt to redirect the conversation. Her laughter stopped and large, sad eyes tilted as she tipped her head sideways to consider him seriously. She looked almost childlike like that, all bundled up against the chilly autumn breeze and with dark, tired eyes. She'd seen a lot of the darker side of life already, not so very far behind him in the dance of war.
'Did Ivanorff survive?' She suddenly asked.
They were getting closer to whatever it was Naomi was trying to work out, even if she wasn't sure what the problem was exactly. Franz seemed to be taking her question seriously (when didn't he, though?) and he sighed, perhaps at her poor pronunciation of the Russian's name. The Belfast accent wasn't exactly ideal for saying Russian names in and she did her best. 'He will recover.' He said in a guarded voice.
Something snapped. 'What's the whole story now, Colonel?' Her directionless melancholy surged into frustration and it seemed to surprise Reubenstein, even if it was just a little bit.
He stared intently at the F-5s sat out in a row and Naomi heard him inhale deeply as he considered her question - probably wondering how much to tell me. 'Men like Ivanov are souvenirs of a time that has long passed. His choice to aid us was based on morals long since vanished from much of the rest of the organisation and he was punished for that choice.'
Franz turned away from the fast jets and smiled at her thinly. 'The old-school men do not let such small things defeat them though.' The look in his eyes was dangerous and she remembered the man who had thrown her into a dogfight in Japan with training missiles and no warning, using her like just another weapon. Then his smile turned into a less dangerous affair, making her remember the man who'd risked his life for Chilean and saved her own life more than once. 'You can ask him soon enough. A betrayal such as his leaves him only worthy of working with such low-lives as we. He's too valuable an asset to execute and his talents would be a boon to our team.'
Naomi slumped in relief and tiredness hit her like a bus. Her thoughts were all over the place, she simultaneously felt jittery and exhausted. Her mind was racing, but all she really wanted to do was close her eyes and go to sleep. Her eyes burnt with tiredness and she shut them for just a second, letting the bleak wind lull her into a reverie. She could feel herself drifting in the cold air and sleep beckoned. As she drifted her shoulder hit something warm and solid and her head was too heavy to hold up so she rested it on the warm support. Naomi forced her eyes open and she looked up to see Franz' distinctive profile as he steadfastly ignored the fact she'd practically fallen asleep on him.
'You should go to bed, pilot O'Brian.'He informed her curtly without looking at her.
Franz was solid and warm, the woollen weave of his suit jacket pressing into her cheek. Things were starting make a queer sort of sense, but in a way she wouldn't have been able to verbalise if asked. 'You called me y'r precious diamond in the rough once. D'you remember that day?' Naomi asked the fabric her face was smushed against. 'That was when it all went t'blazes again.'
Franz didn't respond, but then she didn't expect him to. She could feel herself leaning more heavily into her commanding officer, loopy with tiredness and looking back that would be her excuse for slipping her arms around the waist of the one person who'd ever had complete, unswerving belief in her.
'I've always admired you, Colonel Reubenstein.' She admitted to him earnestly, not paying attention as he shifted slightly to support her as she leaned on him more heavily. A thought occurred to her, like the sudden realisation of the solution to a tricky homework problem. 'You're the closest thing I've got to a father and you took that role on for me all the way back in training.' She was distracted for a moment by the feel of the layers he wore and the human body underneath. He wasn't as large and broad as she'd always assumed and her forearm pressed against a sharp hipbone. Something seemed to click in the back of her mind, but she was too tired to examine it.
'O'Brian, you need to go to bed and get some rest.' His stern voice softened into something certainly pushing into the realms of avuncular, if not paternal. 'We wouldn't our top pilot to fail her manoeuvres because she stayed up all night, would we?' Now that was definitely fatherly teasing.
'Y'r only human too Franz.' Naomi stubbornly told him. 'You n'd t'eat 'n sleep too....'
Naomi woke up the next morning cosily tucked into her bed, fully clothed but for her coat, which was draped across the foot of her bed. She smiled, feeling that things would work out, and fell back to sleep.