Author: Chauni
Email: ChauniMaxwell@mechpilot.com
Website: www.oocities.org/asukalangley2nd/
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I don’t own the GW boy nor did I make any money off this.
Pity me.
Notes: Okay, this is a tad odd. This is my take on Solo, and as if he had returned to the wonderful land of the living.
The soft
tap of his boots against the cold stone floor struck his ears over and over
again, a small repetitive heartbeat as he made his way down the aisle. Felt
uncomfortable? Oh, that was an understatement, but he wouldn’t turn back now.
Something about this place beckoned him, called to him in a siren’s voice, and
he wasn’t going to avoid this song. He had found the best way to live through
life was to follow those small little voices in the back of your head; they
usually knew more than the rest of you.
His
emerald eyes flickered across the vibrant stained glass windows, shocks of
color in an otherwise cloudy, rather dull room. Their beauty wasn’t in their
outside appearance though, just as the same with everything else in the immense
room; the mesmerizing nature of it was in the heart, that inspiration that
drove men’s hands to work fervently over an ideal and to produce some of the
most extravagant art in the most humblest fashion.
There
were few people here; he expected even less, but hey, he wasn’t going to argue.
The people, their faith, gave him a small comfort, especially when he knew this
wasn’t where he belonged. He didn’t have their passion, their devotion, even
after the things he had seen. He hadn’t come here to beg for forgiveness, to
commune with some higher being. He had come because the voices in his head had
told him too.
That
sounds real good, ya know.
Shut up!
Small
candles along the sides of the rooms danced fire in the depths of his leather
pants and bathed his soft, slightly pale flesh in an unearthly glow. His hair,
wet from the mist of rain outside, dangled into his eyes, lapped against his
cheeks, kissing the skin softly. The people raised their eyes to him; one woman
with a rosary clasped between her hands seemed as though she would pass out and
visibly bit against her lip to avoid saying anything.
Ya
think they’d never seen a guy in all black before! Knew the leather trench coat
was a bit much.
With
an almost melodramatic swirl, the lengthy coat swirling around him, he stopped
at a pew and knelt down before it. His lips moved, but his words were hollow,
full of disbelief, full of hate. He hurried and sloppily made the sign of the
cross over him, something he had learned from the movies he had snuck into as
his days as a street rat.
Ya
make it sound like ya aren’t one now. Heh. Ya know ya can’t leave that part
of ya behind, no matter how many times ya di-
Shut
up, damnit!
He
slipped into the pew, finally taking a seat, and absolutely uncomfortable as
the suffocating atmosphere began to seep in. His questions were the same as
everyone else’s here, but with a different meaning, an almost haunting echo to
them that ran through his mind.
Why
am I here? Why was I made to suffer? I’m s’pposed to be…s’pposed to be, damnit!
I’m s’pposed to be de-
He
knew God wouldn’t hear him, or if he did, wouldn’t respond. Of course, he knew
there was a God, had met him actually, but that was something he really did not
want to think about. Now the angels…they were a different story all together…
Can’t
believe I had a crush on Gabriel. Boy, was I askin’ for it, or what?
But
now, now he was in this damn church, waiting for something that he didn’t
understand and it scared him, although he would never admit it. He liked to be
ahead of everything, know what was going to happen and why; this unexpected, go
with the flow shit, he could really do without.
Why
am I even here, damnit! I should be out lookin’ for my charge.
A
snort, something bitter and harsh. A charge? Is that all ya think of him as?
No,
but I ain’t ‘bout to say what I really think, ‘specially not to some stupid,
condescending voice in my head!
Ya
love him! Just admit it!
I
do not! He was a kid back then and I wasn’t some damn pedophile! He was…someone
I watched over, and that’s it! Now, leave me the ‘ell alone! I don’t need to be
arguin’ with myself!
Heh.
Suit yourself, but ya know the truth. Ya came back for a reason. Guess you’re
just goin’ ta have to discover that reason on your own then.
Shut
the ‘ell up already!
Arguing
with himself. Hn. That was new. Of course, this entire day had been odd, just a
tad off kilter, he supposed.
Tad
off kilter?! Ya came back from the dea-
Shut
up!
The
stares of the other people refused to leave his back; they burned through his
coat like lasers and examined his soul. He despised the scrutinizing, the
judging especially in a place that you weren’t supposed to be condemned because
of what you looked like.
Hypocrites.
He
briefly wondered if they could feel him, feel the unnatural color of an aura
only he could see, but shook his head, looking back up to the front and the
immense wooden cross that hung there. No, they couldn’t, they just didn’t like
him. Oh well, their loss.
Won’t
they feel stupid knowin’ that they gave up a chance to talk with a guy who
shook hands with God.
A small
sigh burst, unnoticed, through his lips. He was bored, and it had only been five
minutes since he had set foot inside these confining stone walls. Nothing was
happening. There was no ray of light, no big choir singing, no magical thing
that landed before him. The feeling had been wrong. He had been wrong.
I’m
wasting my time. I mine as well leave and get somethin’ to eat.
And
as he turned around to slip out of the pew, all time stopped, all life ceased
to exist as he caught a pair of familiar eyes, violet pools that had been cast upon
every television screen on Earth and in the colonies, eyes that glittered with
a false happiness and reflected a soul’s inner agony and torment.
But
he knew those eyes not from the television or the rumors. He had seen those
eyes long before anyone else had, and those amethyst orbs haunted his death,
only because he was the one he could not protect.
Take
it, Solo! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me, too, like everyone else!
And
his mouth formed words that he didn’t realize he was making, as he stared at
the boy from across the church, the boy who had not seen him yet, the boy who
was his charge. This was the boy, the only one who had loved him, who had seen
him for what he really was and not some uneducated street rat who had been
abandoned by everyone he had ever known. But this boy, God, this boy, had made
his name solely for him, had remembered him, and through him had given him the
gift of life even after death.
And
as a small smile wove it’s way onto his thin lips, his emerald gaze dancing in
the candlelight fires, he did the one thing he had never done in a church
before:
Thank
ya, God. I owe ya one.