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For a prompt on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic. Um. It wasn't meant to go this way. The prompt was Pink Floyd's Learning To Fly. Apparently Pink Floyd draws angst?
Title: Eagle, Downdrafted
Rating: R
Fandom: Airwolf
Characters/Pairings: Gabrielle Ademaur, Stringfellow Hawke. Gabrielle/String
Summary: "She had flown because it was useful, not because it was life. Until now." Gabrielle's last moments
Wordcount: 820
Warnings/Notes: Canon character death, angst and tragedy
Disclaimer: Not mine
comment_fic. Um. It wasn't meant to go this way. The prompt was Pink Floyd's Learning To Fly. Apparently Pink Floyd draws angst?Title: Eagle, Downdrafted
Rating: R
Fandom: Airwolf
Characters/Pairings: Gabrielle Ademaur, Stringfellow Hawke. Gabrielle/String
Summary: "She had flown because it was useful, not because it was life. Until now." Gabrielle's last moments
Wordcount: 820
Warnings/Notes: Canon character death, angst and tragedy
Disclaimer: Not mine
Eagle, Downdrafted
Flight had never been her first love. Not like it was for him, not the consuming solace, the balm across a torn soul. An eagle, for her, was a beautiful thing, a living thing, but not ... not a symbol. Not a siren, the call of the sky that hollow strings strove to answer. She flew because it was useful, not because it was life.
Or at least ... it hadn't been. Before.
It would be now, if she could but learn. Life and death and all between. She needed it now. Caught between sand and sky, the sun tearing her open, prying her up and out, she was flayed on the cusp of it, the breathless moment before take-off, torn loose into the sky. Flesh parched to dust, to stone, burning wires seeded beneath skin she could no longer feel, and in front of her ... that endless, burning blue. That vault, that freedom, the siren call of sky. Her bones were hollow strings, striving to answer. It was freedom, death, life, everything that mattered in that moment, and she yearned. Helpless, breathless, agonised, she yearned.
He wouldn't come. Couldn't come. He would never make it, and she had known that. She'd known, the moment Moffett found her. She'd known the moment the jeep turned out into the desert and she was caught between the sky's molten blue and the deep, glacial chill in a madman's eyes. There would be no turning back. There would be no return. No-one, now, would reach her in time.
But she wanted ... she wanted an eagle. Just to see one, one last time. She wanted ... not a living thing, not anymore, not a beautiful animal that existed only in passing. She wanted a symbol, a siren. She wanted the beat of wings and the sound of the cello, she wanted a song of mourning and safety and the joy of flight. She wanted a dark shape over burning sands, drifting aloft on endless updrafts. She wanted ... she wanted ...
Flight. God, please. She wanted to fly, to learn, to tear free. An escape from this burning shell, this body that was crumbling to dust around her but not fast enough, never fast enough, god, let her go. Let her go, let her fly, let her be ...
An eagle. A parched angel in an empty sky, listening to hollow strings echo up at her. Listening to love, a longing for trust, a hope for the future. Listening to a lonely man who would love her like flight, who would love her like life because that's what flying was. She had never flown before, not really, not the way flying was meant to be, but she could learn. She could learn right now, this moment, her soul tearing free and gaining wings, if he could just ... if she could only ...
Hands tore her loose, little more than a shell, falling to the sand. Hands blind with panic, blind with rage, and oh. Oh. She heard it, then. A hunting scream, an eagle's cry. Black shape in the blue, a furious shadow falling across her fleeing tormentor. No. Not an eagle. A wolf, a hawk. For her. He had come for her.
Her Hawke. For that little time, hers. One moment. That was all ... that was all she needed. Just one ...
One moment. One flight. An eagle. For one moment in this hell, let her be an eagle. Let her find that solace. Let her find him, just for one moment.
Black shapes in the endless blue. Wings above the sand dunes. The hollow sounds of strings.
Please. Please, String. I promised I wouldn't die. But I can't come back and I need ... I need you to show me. How to ... how to fly. Wings in the endless blue, and a song like life, like love. Please. Just this once.
And there. He was there. Arms around her and his shadow across her, gathering her up like a bundle of threads for the wind to play songs through. Ephemeral. That was all she was. But there was ... hope, in his arms. Love, a longing for trust. A song of mourning. She felt that in him. Felt herself, gathered against him. And in that moment, in his keeping, she felt ...
She felt a siren call, a song from hollow strings. She felt flight. She felt love. Black wings in the endless blue, her shadow falling across him. An eagle on the updraft.
And his song, trailing after her. Bright notes of mourning, a sorrow and a guide. A song of flight, to show her how. A song of love, to show her why.
And a song of sorrow, because he had taught her to fly, but could not follow.
"Gabrielle," he whispered, the grief of a broken promise, that sorrow that she had never been able to lift.
And the only answer she could offer ... was an eagle's cry of mourning.
Flight had never been her first love. Not like it was for him, not the consuming solace, the balm across a torn soul. An eagle, for her, was a beautiful thing, a living thing, but not ... not a symbol. Not a siren, the call of the sky that hollow strings strove to answer. She flew because it was useful, not because it was life.
Or at least ... it hadn't been. Before.
It would be now, if she could but learn. Life and death and all between. She needed it now. Caught between sand and sky, the sun tearing her open, prying her up and out, she was flayed on the cusp of it, the breathless moment before take-off, torn loose into the sky. Flesh parched to dust, to stone, burning wires seeded beneath skin she could no longer feel, and in front of her ... that endless, burning blue. That vault, that freedom, the siren call of sky. Her bones were hollow strings, striving to answer. It was freedom, death, life, everything that mattered in that moment, and she yearned. Helpless, breathless, agonised, she yearned.
He wouldn't come. Couldn't come. He would never make it, and she had known that. She'd known, the moment Moffett found her. She'd known the moment the jeep turned out into the desert and she was caught between the sky's molten blue and the deep, glacial chill in a madman's eyes. There would be no turning back. There would be no return. No-one, now, would reach her in time.
But she wanted ... she wanted an eagle. Just to see one, one last time. She wanted ... not a living thing, not anymore, not a beautiful animal that existed only in passing. She wanted a symbol, a siren. She wanted the beat of wings and the sound of the cello, she wanted a song of mourning and safety and the joy of flight. She wanted a dark shape over burning sands, drifting aloft on endless updrafts. She wanted ... she wanted ...
Flight. God, please. She wanted to fly, to learn, to tear free. An escape from this burning shell, this body that was crumbling to dust around her but not fast enough, never fast enough, god, let her go. Let her go, let her fly, let her be ...
An eagle. A parched angel in an empty sky, listening to hollow strings echo up at her. Listening to love, a longing for trust, a hope for the future. Listening to a lonely man who would love her like flight, who would love her like life because that's what flying was. She had never flown before, not really, not the way flying was meant to be, but she could learn. She could learn right now, this moment, her soul tearing free and gaining wings, if he could just ... if she could only ...
Hands tore her loose, little more than a shell, falling to the sand. Hands blind with panic, blind with rage, and oh. Oh. She heard it, then. A hunting scream, an eagle's cry. Black shape in the blue, a furious shadow falling across her fleeing tormentor. No. Not an eagle. A wolf, a hawk. For her. He had come for her.
Her Hawke. For that little time, hers. One moment. That was all ... that was all she needed. Just one ...
One moment. One flight. An eagle. For one moment in this hell, let her be an eagle. Let her find that solace. Let her find him, just for one moment.
Black shapes in the endless blue. Wings above the sand dunes. The hollow sounds of strings.
Please. Please, String. I promised I wouldn't die. But I can't come back and I need ... I need you to show me. How to ... how to fly. Wings in the endless blue, and a song like life, like love. Please. Just this once.
And there. He was there. Arms around her and his shadow across her, gathering her up like a bundle of threads for the wind to play songs through. Ephemeral. That was all she was. But there was ... hope, in his arms. Love, a longing for trust. A song of mourning. She felt that in him. Felt herself, gathered against him. And in that moment, in his keeping, she felt ...
She felt a siren call, a song from hollow strings. She felt flight. She felt love. Black wings in the endless blue, her shadow falling across him. An eagle on the updraft.
And his song, trailing after her. Bright notes of mourning, a sorrow and a guide. A song of flight, to show her how. A song of love, to show her why.
And a song of sorrow, because he had taught her to fly, but could not follow.
"Gabrielle," he whispered, the grief of a broken promise, that sorrow that she had never been able to lift.
And the only answer she could offer ... was an eagle's cry of mourning.
