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A Gatchaman Vignette by Sabrina Alexander
A Gatchaman Vignette by Sabrina Alexander
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She doesn't know I'm watching or that I know what he's become to her. I've watched her expression as she speaks to him via communicator, as they pass through the halls. In quiet moments during missions, she pauses to smile at him, to pay him silent homage. Even when she's with me, his presence is palpable. She thinks of him and it softens her features, as my company alone no longer does.

 

I call to her, hoping to catch a soft word, perhaps to ask a favor. She gives those gifts, but is distracted. He distracts, he disturbs; he interrupts the fluidity of our love.

 

At night, her attentions are divided, my needs no longer of singular importance. She divides herself, one thing to me, another to him. At times, I believe she considers him first. Sometimes she comes in late or rises early, my desires secondary. When I am away, I know he warms her bed. She doesn't know, but when I call I can hear him breathing, a soft sighing distinguishable between words.

 

I wonder that she is so absorbed. What appeals to her so much it takes precedence over sleep, even our connection. She risks our peace, her heart for him. I must know why; so I've come back early to spy, pressing my forehead against the chill of the window glass. I am entranced by what I see.

 

A quiet moment together. He lies with his head in her lap, eyes closed, body relaxed. I can see his chest rise and fall with the calm breath of one sure of his position, of the affections of his mistress. As she strokes him, he opens his eyes and turns his head to give her the soft look. They stare into each other's eyes, his blue-gray, hers deep green. He lifts his chin just slightly, anticipating her kiss and the finger drawn along his throat. I watch that finger follow the strong line of his jaw, trace his lips as she leans back to study his chiseled features. I shift position; he hears first and rises abruptly, fully as protective as I. Understanding the signal, she follows him, led by his instincts, his power.

 

As he opens the door and she pauses in shock at my arrival, he waits in anticipation of anger. I come to a realization.

 

Damn. I love him too.

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