Post by misa on Oct 18, 2008 23:07:56 GMT
The report wasn’t due for at least a week, but Reuben had it done by the Wednesday night. He just couldn't leave it. He needed the whole horrible thing to be done and dusted and put away before he could move on from it, and it was of the utmost importance he move on as fast as possible - the troops depended on him for morale; he couldn't exactly go around looking like thunder, could he?
Writing the report itself had been easy enough. Photos of the scene and a post-mortem had been taken; the cause of death was clear - her neck had snapped upon impact and she hadn't even felt the branch (or so Reuben liked to think). He couldn't help but see the similarity between this and her father's death: The Darling Tradition. They weren't connected, of course, but all the same. A very short inquiry was carried out in search of a cause of death. There were only four suspects as only five guns had been in commission when she'd fallen - one being her own. The others had been in the hands of the Knights, Leech, and Ultra. Delilah was the only Private to make it through, although her triumph was shadowed by the tragedy. As all shots had been recorded the data stored informed them that the shot causing her fall (as reported by Reuben) was from Leech's gun. He confirmed that he had fired a shot, but was unaware of the ravine and Reuben had backed up his story; you needed to be close to the edge to be aware of the gully's existence. Case closed; Anya Darling had died in an honest accident.
No one blamed Leech, of course. How could they? He wasn't to know. Besides they all understood the oppressive guilt of ending another's life and knew coping with what he'd done would be punishment enough.
It was an open shut case and Reuben had the slim file filled in no time. It seemed wrong somehow, that the life of someone so brilliant, somebody who shone where others wavered and succumbed could be condensed into a number of pages countable on one hand. So wrong.
But that was how it was, that was how it would be.
Usually that would have been the end of the matter with Reuben, but not this time.
He had the file filled.
But he couldn't file it.
He needed to have the whole disaster of an exercise done and dusted.
But he couldn't just put her whole life away and forget about it.
He just couldn't bring himself to do it.
He had to, but he couldn't.
It was late and he couldn't sleep.
So he did what he always did when things got too much. He went to the gym.
It was the only place where everything always meant the same thing for him.
For some it was maths - one plus one always made two.
For Reuben it was exercise.
When the adrenaline was pumping and his blood thumping in his ears, there was no room for Reuben to think about anything else. And afterwards he would be too exhausted to work things through anymore.
It always made sense.
And just right now he needed something that did. Anything.
Taking up the familiar, beaten path around the edge of the room Reuben fell into a slow rhythmic jog. He couldn't understand why people listened to music when they went running or jogging, or even walking. They'd get bored otherwise, was the excuse used by many, but Reuben couldn't understand why.
How could anyone possibly get bored of running? How could anyone tire of the amazing surge of adrenaline it released into the blood?
And as for the music...it was already there; all you had to do was listen. It was in the pounding of feet, the exceleration of a heart's beat, the exhale of a controlled breath.
Reuben was so lost to the world (just as he'd intended), he only realised he wasn't alone when he felt and elbow brush against his own.
Brick was running beside him.
He didn't seem to intend to say anything, and Reuben respected his silence - he didn't particularly want conversation himself.
They ran in a silence broken only by their breathing and footfall for hours, round and round the hall, content in their own individual universes that existed millimetres from one another, yet never crossed.
At three am, Reuben decided that perhaps he could sleep now. By this stage he could barely run in a straight line, but that was what he needed; what he wanted. As he slowed his run, Brick also came to a gradual halt breathing far deeper than Reuben.
Reuben buried his face in the towel he'd brought with him, savouring it's gentle feel against his skin.
"Commander," Brick's gravelly tone broke the silence.
"Please, it's three in the morning. Reuben is fine," Reuben explained, lifting his head from the soft cloth.
"Reuben," Brick amended. "Can I- Can I ask you a question?"
Well, that wasn't expected. Reuben raised an eyebrow, as he took in the serious expression on Brick's face. It was only then that he realised just how...exhausted Brick looked. There were heavy, purpling bags beneath his eyes and a strangely gaunt look to his cheeks.
But of course, the Darling tragedy wasn't only affecting him. It was hard to remember sometimes, but Brick and the others had worked with her just as closely as he had - they were almost like a second family to one another. Of course, losing her would hit him, too.
"Shoot," Reuben said shortly, but not unkindly.
"Well," Brick rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his ears flushing red. "You know, when Commander Ryder died-" Reuben caught himself from flinching; just- "it, er, must've hurt, right?"
Reuben nodded curtly, turning his back as he stuffed his towel into the basket in the corner of the room. His comings and goings with Orla were common knowledge with the Elites, although they all had the sense to let it go no farther than themselves. "Well, did it, er, ever stop?"
Reuben closed his eyes for a moment. He knew the answer, of course he did. But, where was this coming from?
"No," he said softly, opening his eyes. "Never." And with that he left.
Why the hell had Brick of all people brought that up? He was supposed to be the sort of guy who didn't do feelings. He didn't talk about things like that.
Then it struck him, like a round-house to the chest.
A series of tiny memories flashed across his mind's eye.
The odd smile he'd never seen anyone but Darling receive from Brick.
The way he'd help her up carefully, by the elbow, when she fell.
The way he always lost when they sparred.
Brick and Darling had been...
Oh, God. What had he just done?
Writing the report itself had been easy enough. Photos of the scene and a post-mortem had been taken; the cause of death was clear - her neck had snapped upon impact and she hadn't even felt the branch (or so Reuben liked to think). He couldn't help but see the similarity between this and her father's death: The Darling Tradition. They weren't connected, of course, but all the same. A very short inquiry was carried out in search of a cause of death. There were only four suspects as only five guns had been in commission when she'd fallen - one being her own. The others had been in the hands of the Knights, Leech, and Ultra. Delilah was the only Private to make it through, although her triumph was shadowed by the tragedy. As all shots had been recorded the data stored informed them that the shot causing her fall (as reported by Reuben) was from Leech's gun. He confirmed that he had fired a shot, but was unaware of the ravine and Reuben had backed up his story; you needed to be close to the edge to be aware of the gully's existence. Case closed; Anya Darling had died in an honest accident.
No one blamed Leech, of course. How could they? He wasn't to know. Besides they all understood the oppressive guilt of ending another's life and knew coping with what he'd done would be punishment enough.
It was an open shut case and Reuben had the slim file filled in no time. It seemed wrong somehow, that the life of someone so brilliant, somebody who shone where others wavered and succumbed could be condensed into a number of pages countable on one hand. So wrong.
But that was how it was, that was how it would be.
Usually that would have been the end of the matter with Reuben, but not this time.
He had the file filled.
But he couldn't file it.
He needed to have the whole disaster of an exercise done and dusted.
But he couldn't just put her whole life away and forget about it.
He just couldn't bring himself to do it.
He had to, but he couldn't.
It was late and he couldn't sleep.
So he did what he always did when things got too much. He went to the gym.
It was the only place where everything always meant the same thing for him.
For some it was maths - one plus one always made two.
For Reuben it was exercise.
When the adrenaline was pumping and his blood thumping in his ears, there was no room for Reuben to think about anything else. And afterwards he would be too exhausted to work things through anymore.
It always made sense.
And just right now he needed something that did. Anything.
Taking up the familiar, beaten path around the edge of the room Reuben fell into a slow rhythmic jog. He couldn't understand why people listened to music when they went running or jogging, or even walking. They'd get bored otherwise, was the excuse used by many, but Reuben couldn't understand why.
How could anyone possibly get bored of running? How could anyone tire of the amazing surge of adrenaline it released into the blood?
And as for the music...it was already there; all you had to do was listen. It was in the pounding of feet, the exceleration of a heart's beat, the exhale of a controlled breath.
Reuben was so lost to the world (just as he'd intended), he only realised he wasn't alone when he felt and elbow brush against his own.
Brick was running beside him.
He didn't seem to intend to say anything, and Reuben respected his silence - he didn't particularly want conversation himself.
They ran in a silence broken only by their breathing and footfall for hours, round and round the hall, content in their own individual universes that existed millimetres from one another, yet never crossed.
At three am, Reuben decided that perhaps he could sleep now. By this stage he could barely run in a straight line, but that was what he needed; what he wanted. As he slowed his run, Brick also came to a gradual halt breathing far deeper than Reuben.
Reuben buried his face in the towel he'd brought with him, savouring it's gentle feel against his skin.
"Commander," Brick's gravelly tone broke the silence.
"Please, it's three in the morning. Reuben is fine," Reuben explained, lifting his head from the soft cloth.
"Reuben," Brick amended. "Can I- Can I ask you a question?"
Well, that wasn't expected. Reuben raised an eyebrow, as he took in the serious expression on Brick's face. It was only then that he realised just how...exhausted Brick looked. There were heavy, purpling bags beneath his eyes and a strangely gaunt look to his cheeks.
But of course, the Darling tragedy wasn't only affecting him. It was hard to remember sometimes, but Brick and the others had worked with her just as closely as he had - they were almost like a second family to one another. Of course, losing her would hit him, too.
"Shoot," Reuben said shortly, but not unkindly.
"Well," Brick rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his ears flushing red. "You know, when Commander Ryder died-" Reuben caught himself from flinching; just- "it, er, must've hurt, right?"
Reuben nodded curtly, turning his back as he stuffed his towel into the basket in the corner of the room. His comings and goings with Orla were common knowledge with the Elites, although they all had the sense to let it go no farther than themselves. "Well, did it, er, ever stop?"
Reuben closed his eyes for a moment. He knew the answer, of course he did. But, where was this coming from?
"No," he said softly, opening his eyes. "Never." And with that he left.
Why the hell had Brick of all people brought that up? He was supposed to be the sort of guy who didn't do feelings. He didn't talk about things like that.
Then it struck him, like a round-house to the chest.
A series of tiny memories flashed across his mind's eye.
The odd smile he'd never seen anyone but Darling receive from Brick.
The way he'd help her up carefully, by the elbow, when she fell.
The way he always lost when they sparred.
Brick and Darling had been...
Oh, God. What had he just done?