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Written, of course, for Rocket100, prompt #41 Truth.
If you don't understand the meaning behind the name in the end of the story, look it up. This story is based on a dream I had the other night.
Things like thoughts were always a fluid thing with you.
I'd never heard you say that name in all the years we were partners. Of course, I knew the reference; I had to. But to see it there in front of me after all this disturbed me.
Was that your real name? It could't have been, that would be too much of a coincidence. Was it even in part, though? Is that why you told me your name was what it was?
If you hadn't told me your name was Bashou, I never would have come up with Buson. I know you never thought anyone would get the reference, because when I said it, your eyebrow arched faintly. It was slight, but that was the way you were, never showing what was going on inside your head.
Hell, that's what happened when you died too. I thought we got away from that fight just fine, even though we had to lean on each other. But when you smiled at me, that's when I knew things were bad. You never smiled. Sometimes you smirked, but this was a sunny expression, and you never did that.
You smiled, right before you slipped to the ground, that smile frozen on your face. And you left me behind with nothing but that envelope.
You always brought that envelope with you on missions. You told me once that if anything happened to you, I should open it. But I hadn't thought about that in years, not until I was securing you back in your seat on the ship and it fell out.
This was a new version, just written a few months ago. The paper was crumpled, and your handwriting was the same clear focus it always was--some things about you were predictible after all, I guess.
And when I started reading the letter, that's when I knew you were really gone. I mean, I knew, but it hit me. I felt sick, and grabbed for your hand, but that just made it worse. Dammit, you'd have called me a weakling for that, but I couldn't help it.
I couldn't read the damn thing then, so I dropped it and started up the copter. Concentrating on flying was all I could really do, as long as I avoided the pull to look at you.
One word that I'd managed to pull off the paper hovered around in my head, and I couldn't figure out what it meant. But if I started thinking about it, I'd lose it. And you'd get mad. Not that you could, but you would have if you could.
When we arrived at the base, I stuffed the letter into my pocket before picking you up. They asked me if you were injured and offered to call the doctor, but I told them it was too late in a voice that was too flat to be mine. I took you to the infirmary anyway, since I didn't know what else to do. There was an empty room, so I laid you down on the open bed and covered you up with the sheet. Last thing I saw was that you still had that smile. It was creepy and totally not like you, and it made me feel sick again.
Waiting for someone to come get you, I pulled out the letter and started reading it. If I didn't do it now, I knew I never would.
It was to me, of course, but using indirect speech and code names. That's what I thought it was at first, that word that stood out, but when I saw it again it confused me.
You never used the name Bashou, refering to yourself by this name. Yeah, that could be code, but you said you wanted to be buried under that name.
Why? Why would you want that? Was it real? Or was it as fake as any other name you'd given over the years?
Dammit. Why am I telling you all this anyway? It's not like you can hear me. But I can hear you, standing over me telling me to get rid of those stupid tears because only idiots cry.
You're the one that had to go and---no, I can't blame you for something that wasn't your fault. But why did you have to go and be such a fucking enigma all the time?
I can't call you by that name. No matter what you wanted to be buried under, you'll always be Bashou to me.
I guess it had to be that, didn't it? It's the only name that would make sense.
Matsuo. Even dead, you're a puzzle.
If you don't understand the meaning behind the name in the end of the story, look it up. This story is based on a dream I had the other night.
Things like thoughts were always a fluid thing with you.
I'd never heard you say that name in all the years we were partners. Of course, I knew the reference; I had to. But to see it there in front of me after all this disturbed me.
Was that your real name? It could't have been, that would be too much of a coincidence. Was it even in part, though? Is that why you told me your name was what it was?
If you hadn't told me your name was Bashou, I never would have come up with Buson. I know you never thought anyone would get the reference, because when I said it, your eyebrow arched faintly. It was slight, but that was the way you were, never showing what was going on inside your head.
Hell, that's what happened when you died too. I thought we got away from that fight just fine, even though we had to lean on each other. But when you smiled at me, that's when I knew things were bad. You never smiled. Sometimes you smirked, but this was a sunny expression, and you never did that.
You smiled, right before you slipped to the ground, that smile frozen on your face. And you left me behind with nothing but that envelope.
You always brought that envelope with you on missions. You told me once that if anything happened to you, I should open it. But I hadn't thought about that in years, not until I was securing you back in your seat on the ship and it fell out.
This was a new version, just written a few months ago. The paper was crumpled, and your handwriting was the same clear focus it always was--some things about you were predictible after all, I guess.
And when I started reading the letter, that's when I knew you were really gone. I mean, I knew, but it hit me. I felt sick, and grabbed for your hand, but that just made it worse. Dammit, you'd have called me a weakling for that, but I couldn't help it.
I couldn't read the damn thing then, so I dropped it and started up the copter. Concentrating on flying was all I could really do, as long as I avoided the pull to look at you.
One word that I'd managed to pull off the paper hovered around in my head, and I couldn't figure out what it meant. But if I started thinking about it, I'd lose it. And you'd get mad. Not that you could, but you would have if you could.
When we arrived at the base, I stuffed the letter into my pocket before picking you up. They asked me if you were injured and offered to call the doctor, but I told them it was too late in a voice that was too flat to be mine. I took you to the infirmary anyway, since I didn't know what else to do. There was an empty room, so I laid you down on the open bed and covered you up with the sheet. Last thing I saw was that you still had that smile. It was creepy and totally not like you, and it made me feel sick again.
Waiting for someone to come get you, I pulled out the letter and started reading it. If I didn't do it now, I knew I never would.
It was to me, of course, but using indirect speech and code names. That's what I thought it was at first, that word that stood out, but when I saw it again it confused me.
You never used the name Bashou, refering to yourself by this name. Yeah, that could be code, but you said you wanted to be buried under that name.
Why? Why would you want that? Was it real? Or was it as fake as any other name you'd given over the years?
Dammit. Why am I telling you all this anyway? It's not like you can hear me. But I can hear you, standing over me telling me to get rid of those stupid tears because only idiots cry.
You're the one that had to go and---no, I can't blame you for something that wasn't your fault. But why did you have to go and be such a fucking enigma all the time?
I can't call you by that name. No matter what you wanted to be buried under, you'll always be Bashou to me.
I guess it had to be that, didn't it? It's the only name that would make sense.
Matsuo. Even dead, you're a puzzle.
