Fanfiction: Rough Hands and Cold Space
...More 00 fic, and why yes, I still have another in the works. I just can't leave these poor characters alone. *squishes them* Lyle!Centric, so, obviously, spoilers for season one/start of season two. 1,333 words. General ramble, observations and ideas taken from Lyle's POV, kinda angsty, way too much fun to write. Next one should be fluffy-angst...or something like that.


Rough Hands and Cold Space

His hands were rough, different from his brothers.

Sure they had both followed a similar career path, more similar than Lyle could have known before reading the details of Celestial Being that the boy – Setsuna – had handed to him on the streets of a nameless little Ireland-town. But Neil had always taken more care, always wore those sensible, tough leather gloves that were now frayed and worn out, the initials scratched onto the label almost illegible - L.D. Lyle had found them stuffed into the glove compartment of the beaten up old car which had been dumped in his driveway, keys still in the ignition and an envelope full of money under the driver’s seat. He’d spent the best part of that morning cursing his brother’s stupidity as he tucked the gloves away in a box full of photo albums and trinkets and tried to decide how best to deal with the money. The car keys were already hanging from the chain by the door.

Lyle hadn’t always bothered with gloves, so his hands were rough, callused by years of disregard and carelessness.

Right now his hands were cold, gloves in his pocket, an unlit cigarette hanging from his fingers as he stared out at the stars. Smoking was not permitted onboard the Ptolemaios, a rule that made obvious sense, but still Lyle kept a packet in his room. Specifically, he kept it in the pocket of his trench coat where no one else might find it and confiscate it. The familiar, offending item of clothing was draped over his shoulders, the heavy fabric warm, still smelling of home and not of the recycled air which reminded him of a hospital ward, all clean and crisp and completely uninviting. Space in general was just cold and uninviting as far as he could tell and Lyle had to wonder what the hell Neil had thought of it all, how the same older brother who’d always tried to make sure he was provided for had lived out here.

No, he knew: the same damn reason Lyle was here now, and the same damn reason his idiot of a brother had died. Ideals and hopes and history and lies, and damn it did he ever want a light as he turned his back on the window and stared at the door instead. Cold, smooth metal that melted flawlessly into the wall and round into dark windows, no edges or corners anywhere. It was unsettling, just like too many others things on this ship.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t been here four years ago and been through all the things they had, or maybe it was just because he was an outsider seeing things for the first time, but it felt like he was walking through a mausoleum sometimes. Everything felt...off, stuck, and he couldn’t take the looks and ghosts anymore. He had needed a damn break from being seen as both Neil and not-Neil at the same time, sick of being judged and compared and clearly not measuring up to whatever myth or legend his brother had left behind in the eyes of these people. In all honesty the clear distain in the eyes of the purple haired man – Tieria – when he’d first seen him, and every time since, sent a shiver down his spine and made him wish any number of impossible things. The top of the list being a tie between a smoke and Neil still alive so Lyle could tell him to set the damn record straight once and for all because the entire thing freaked him the hell out. Lyle had been round the block, he’d seen people obsessed and Tieria’s obsession with his brother was downright terrifying.

“The hell’d you do to these guys, Neil?” Lyle asked the empty room.

It was one thing to miss someone who had died and treasure the memories left behind, the box of mementos sitting in his cupboard back on Earth was proof of that, but it was something completely different to... To put the deceased on a damn pedestal and convince yourself that they were perfect, that they could do no wrong and had no faults, and that was just creepy since that was what he saw in Tieria’s eyes. The comparison between himself and his brother, but not the brother he had known, the foolish idiot who had chosen revenge over life, who used to skip class and get into fights just like Lyle had, and used to get in trouble for it too. He guessed Tieria knew none of that though, and, as much as the guy creeped him out, Lyle still felt sorry for him. Sorry that whatever good Neil had tried to drum into the purple haired man’s head had been taken the wrong way if the echoed mutterings about being human were anything to go by. To be human was to be flawed, to be not-perfect.

The whole thing looked horribly twisted from where he stood and, honestly, Lyle had no idea how to deal with it. So he ran with his gut instinct - he threw on a smile, tossed out a few flippant lines and lied through his teeth. Lied about who he was, who he was supposed to be, snatching up yet another name and trying to make sense of the character of Lockon Stratos that Neil had dreamt up and everyone else had given life to. The other names – Allelujah, Setsuna, Sumeragi...the list went on – were all real names, or at least had deeper meaning. ‘Lockon Stratos’ had about as much personality as a name as ‘Gene One’, it was just a code, nothing else. Lyle had read the reports, all ‘Lockon Stratos’ meant was ‘the man who can snipe from across the stratosphere’, it was about as impersonal as he could get without just using numbers instead of letters. Neil had done a damn good job of covering up everything about himself, lying through his teeth even more than Lyle was now. Apparently his older brother had even covered up his accent, Lyle’s own clear Irish tone taking them by surprise. Lyle was not surprised, not after everything else he had learnt. Neil had always been good at languages, and manipulating them. He’d tried to teach Lyle his tricks once, all that had resulted in was an evening full of hilarity and frustration as Lyle mangled more languages than he’d ever have need to use.

Now he kind of wished he’d paid more attention. He was this Lockon Stratos now, not Gene One or Lyle Dylandy. Though, he had a feeling that before this was all over people might have a few other, less polite, names for him. He couldn’t be Lyle, he wouldn’t be Neil, and definitely not Gene One, but at the same time, he couldn’t be ‘Lockon Stratos’ either. He couldn’t be the golden boy, everyone’s confidant and friend, because then they’d see Neil and not him, he couldn’t be the big brother, the marksman, the man on a mission. Instead, all he could do...

Lyle smirked and pulled his lighter from his coat pocket, sticking the cigarette between his lips and lighting it.

All he could do was breakdown and disgrace the name they loved, play the same part that his brother had – that of a liar – and pray that space was kinder to him than it had been to Neil.

He clicked the lighter shut, running his cold fingers over the initials engraved on the even colder metal – N.D. - and closed his eyes, resting his head against the glass window behind him as somewhere on the ship an alarm went off. Someone would be telling him off soon enough as he slipped the lighter back into his pocket, and he was fairly sure his brother would have understood his choice of actions, but none the less he had to say before anyone found him, or found out about his plan:

“Sorry, Neil.”


~ FireFly