II. [Mylene]

 
          "How did the recording go?"
          She was surprised for a moment, then smiled at Gamlin as she took another sip of her water. He rarely ever asked about the band, and even more rarely about what they were doing at the moment. She understood; after all, he had his own commitments to worry about. He had been promoted to Commander a month before and was busy with his new office and squadron and the paperwork and responsibility that came with it. And he'd always had sort of a grudge against the band.
          It was almost funny, really, to imagine a man jealous of a rock band.
          "Mylene?"
          "Not too well," she said at last. "Basara got sick and had to go home."
          "I see." The tone in his voice was carefully neutral, but she knew him well enough to hear the conflicting emotions. Gamlin had always been jealous of Basara, in one way or another, even after the war ended. At the same time, he really liked the guitarist.
          Men. She couldn't understand them.
          "He's probably sleeping right now…I'll go visit him after we eat and see if he's ok."
          "All right," he said, and she winced mentally. She should have known better than to mention Basara's name in the middle of a date.
          "I'm sorry, Gamlin."
          He smiled at her. "No, it's all right. I understand you are concerned about him. If you do drop by, tell him I said hello."
          She smiled back. He was so sweet. "I'll do that."
          They sat in silence for a while, watching the stars and waiting for their food to arrive. The sky was bright tonight outside the canopy and there were no clouds. She hoped they didn't decide to turn on the rain tonight…it was so lovely and warm.
          "Ne…Mylene."
          "Yes?"
          "How-" Gamlin's eyes went to the tablecloth and he toyed with the embroidery on the table napkin. "How do you feel about me, now?"
          She frowned at him, though she knew exactly what he was leading towards. "What do you mean?"
          "You know how I felt about…about you, during the war." This was obviously hard for him, and for a moment she pitied him. She'd heard stories of men who were articulate at expressing their feelings, but she had yet to meet one. "I was wondering…since we hadn't seen each other in a while…maybe…maybe you would-"
          "Gamlin."
          He stopped. She paused to collect her thoughts.
          "You know I consider you a friend. A very good friend. Right?"
          He nodded, almost mechanically. "Yes."
          "I know since the war ended we've been busy…you with your job and me with Fire Bomber and we haven't really had time to see each other. It's-" she paused. "It's been hard, for both of us."
          He nodded again.
          "I'd like to continue seeing you like this…I enjoy our time together. But I don't think I'm ready for a relationship at this minute." She forced him to meet her eyes. "I'm only eighteen years old…I'm not quite sure what I want right now, but there are many things I'd like to try."
          "I understand," he said softly.
          "But I'd like us to continue to…be together. For now. Don't discount any possibilities." She grinned. "You know?"
          To her surprise, he grinned back at her, catching her hand across the table. His hand was large and warm, the hand of a pilot. For a moment the thought flashed unbidden in her mind, if Basara's hand was warm and large, like Gamlin's.
          What are you thinking, Mylene?
          She'd always had sort of a crush on Basara, but it was a child's crush, she'd thought, that she would grow out of in time. And with the best pilot on Macross 7 chasing after her, she didn't have to go for that no-good, arrogant, guitar-playing nuisance anyway. She had Gamlin…that was enough, right?
          She'd never felt the same way about Gamlin as she ever had about Basara, but that was understood. She had known Basara for longer and deeper than she had known Gamlin. They were in a band together, for heaven's sake…they might not be the best of friends, but they got along well enough with the occasional argument or two. Or three. Gamlin had his own life, his own friends. She was just someone he went out with, with whom he put on a polished mask, as she did, speaking politely and hiding true emotions, playing the part of people they both were not.
          She wanted to know Gamlin. He was a man with many deep, hidden layers, but at the same time he was still young and naïve, and his loyalty to her was endearing. She would hate it if she had to hurt him.
          Basara on the other hand…she didn't think the man knew the meaning of love or hate or hurt. All he knew was his music. When she was a part of his music, he noticed her. When she put her bass away, she was a stranger, a girl he didn't have time for.
          She'd bet he had never had a date, like she'd said, but at the same time she didn't think he really cared. His music was his first love.
          She sighed.
          "Is something wrong, Mylene?"
          She blinked. Gamlin was looking at her with concern. She blushed. "Uh…no! Just thinking, that's all. Remembering."
          He nodded solemnly. "Ah. I do that sometimes."
          She smiled at him and he smiled uncertainly back. "I'm glad you're here with me, Gamlin. After everything that's happened."
          He looked embarrassed. "Me-me too."
          The food arrived just then and she decided to let it rest for now. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. After Basara had left with Ray, she had packed up her bass and sat swinging her legs over the side of the stage, staring at the recording studio which had become so familiar. It had been four years…where had the time gone?
          If she didn't look deeper she could pretend it was the same, with Basara being his usual loud self and refusing the gig, she trying to convince him to come around, screaming in his face, Ray standing looking amused, and Veffidas banging some rhythm or other on the drums in the background.
          But somewhere along the way she had grown up.
          It was different now. The arguments continued, but they were tired ones, old rehashing of the same few lines. He didn't even bother to answer her anymore when she demanded an answer, and she found herself asking the same rhetorical questions to the empty air. He still composed songs like mad, but somewhere, somehow, the fire had gone out of them. His new songs lacked…something. She didn't know what that something was, only that it wasn't there. She had confronted him about it a few weeks ago, the same tired argument.
          You don't care, she accused him. You don't care about the band, the music anymore.
          So what? He had returned, not even denying her accusation. We're successful. That's all you wanted, right?
          There was a note of contempt in his voice.
          She had wanted them to be successful, but with success came an awful feeling of emptiness, a void. Ray was always away now, having decided to try producing as well as playing, and bands clamored for his attention. Veffidas was as silent as ever. Basara…
          Basara had grown older, distant. She missed their old arguments. She missed the old Basara. The new Basara was a successful rock guitarist who toured solo more often than with the band, writing songs for other popular singers who desire to emulate him, appearing on shows and gracefully answering questions. She remembered the days of the war, when he'd brush aside reporters to race to his Valkyrie, to sing away the enemy with the passion of his music.
          The passion wasn't there anymore.
          She had grown up too, she supposed. It wasn't so much of a change in physical appearance as a change in the way she acted, the way she thought. She was quieter now, respectful, giving others the right to speak before she did. She had studied her mother's speeches and public appearances on television, trying to learn how to be more tactful, and apparently it had worked. Even Michael had remarked on what an intelligent young woman she had grown into, the other day.
          She had made an effort to understand the people around her, and the only one she still couldn't understand was Basara.
          She'd tried. She'd tried to understand what his music meant to him, and she thought she had, at one point and time. When the beat pulsed through her veins and their voices soared into the sky in perfect harmony, she had felt so alive, so whole. As a part of Sound Force, she had tried her best to live the music as Basara lived the music, tried to feel the music through her as he did. Ray had told her that she and Basara made a great stage pair, and even Basara had reluctantly agreed. If she worked just a little harder, she had thought. Just a little harder, maybe he would stop seeing her as the child he still thought she was, even after all these years, and look upon her as a fellow musician. Or if not that, then as a friend.
          Then he had changed, and she was left floundering in the dark once again.
          Gamlin had picked her up at the studio and commented on her unusual silence. She'd told him she was just tired from practicing, and he had nodded sagely, as if he understood. But he couldn't understand. Only Basara could understand, and Basara didn't want to.
          Basara didn't understand her, as she didn't understand him. She believed the music was just as important to her as it was to him, but he didn't seem to think so. It wasn't fair. Music was for everyone, not just for one special guitar player with the ego the size of the colony ship. Which was what Nekki Basara still was, morose and brooding or not.
          "Mylene? You all right?"
          She realized she was picking at her vegetables. "Oh! I'm-I'm fine." She gave Gamlin what she hoped was a cheerful smile. "Not too hungry is all. I'm worried about Basara."
          The look flashed across his face again. Yes, she knew he was jealous of Basara. Yes, she knew she didn't help the situation by mentioning Basara's name perhaps more often than was necessary. But she wasn't interested in Gamlin the way he was interested in her, as exciting as the prospect seemed, and using Basara as a shield was the only way she could remind him of that.
          Basara deserved it after all, for being such a jerk.
          "Mylene."
          "Eh?"
          "Should we go?"
          She gestured to her half-finished plate helplessly. "But we-"
          "You're worried about Basara," Gamlin said softly. "Why don't I drop you off at his apartment? It will make you feel better."
          "Oh!" she breathed. "Oh, no! You-"
          "I want you to be happy," he said. "We can make up the date another time."
          To be happy…
          For a moment she felt guilty for using him like this, but it was the only thing she knew how to do with him, and he didn't mind.
          "Thank you," she said softly.

 
          The apartment was dark, and the door was not locked, as usual. She opened it softly, stepping inside, hoping she wouldn't trip on anything. Dirty clothes were dark shadows on the floor. Basara usually snored, but she couldn't hear a sound from the loft. Either he was too sick to snore or he was not asleep.
          If he wasn't asleep she would physically drag him into bed and make sure he stayed there. He was going to kill himself if he kept driving himself like this.
          She reached the top of the ladder without mishap and was gratified to see a dark head barely peeking out of rumpled covers. He was breathing shallowly, and when she put a hand to his forehead, it was burning.
          Scurrying down the ladder, she wet a washcloth. When she returned, he had changed positions, one arm flung out of the blankets across his bare chest. She placed the washcloth on his forehead, her hand lingering just a moment. One dark bang fell across his eyes and she brushed it away involuntarily, then snatched her fingers away as if his fever had burned her.
          What was she thinking? It was Basara…and no one would catch her showing that kind of sympathy towards him, of all people.
          It was a childish crush, and she was not a child anymore.
          She should go.
          Turning, she saw that the far wall looked oddly empty, and there was a strange crumpled shape in the trash can. She walked over, curious. Pulled the large sheet of paper from the tiny trash can and held it up to the moonlight.
          It was their poster…their first promo poster.
          He had thrown it away.
          For a moment, all she felt was an empty shock, and then a hot wave of betrayal swept over her. She gripped the poster tightly. It was torn at the top, probably when he had ripped it from the wall.
          Is this what the band means to you, Basara? Is this what we are now? Trash?
          A hot tear slid from one eye, down her cheek, running down to the corner of her mouth. She could taste the salt on her tongue.
          She loved the band. She thought Basara loved the band, but all he really cared about was himself. That was what had been happening, and she had been too naïve to even notice. When he was changing…he had always been selfish, but selfish in a thoroughly innocent, giving sort of way. But now…
          She dropped the poster in the trash, not bearing to touch it anymore, wiping the tear from her cheek. Glanced back at the fitfully sleeping man on the rumpled bed. Her heart ached. For him, for what he and they had all become.
          When had it gone wrong? The dream…power to the dream, Basara had said. Power to the music. The mystery and the universe. The music was all of those, and more.
          At least it had been.
          There was a crumpled white piece of paper on the floor by the music stand, and she guessed it had been the song he had been working on last night. Against her own better judgment, she picked it up, unfolded it by the light coming through the partially open window.

          Mimi o sumaseba kasuka ni kikoeru darou
          Hora ano koe
          Kotoba nanka ja tsutaerarenai nanika
          Itsumo kanjiru are wa tenshi no koe

          Melody wa kieru yami ni shimi komu you ni
          Echo nokoshite
          Shizuka ni oriteku deep blue no aurora ni
          Ore mo uta-

          There were chords scrawled on the top, almost halfheartedly, as if he didn't really feel like writing them all down. She hummed the melody absentmindedly in her head. Some chord changes were missing, and some simply sounded strange. She might not have perfect pitch like he did, but her pitch was good enough.
          Again, like all the songs he wrote now, there was something missing.
          The messy hiragana and kanji faded into messy scribbles at the end of the last written line. The paper was torn there too, as if it had been stabbed with a pencil. In frustration, maybe.
          Something missing…
          Basara's acoustic guitar was lying by the bed in an open case, as if he had forgotten to close it before he had stumbled into bed this morning. She lifted it carefully, resting it on her lap, strumming softly. He stirred on the bed but did not wake.
          Plucked the first chord.

          Mimi o sumaseba kasuka ni kikoeru darou

          It was not a bad melody. It sounded much nicer played.

          Hora ano koe
          Kotoba nanka ja tsutaerarenai nanika
          Itsumo kanjiru are wa tenshi no koe

          Angel's voice. That was a nice title for the song, if he ever finished it. For some reason, she didn't think he would.
          She didn't feel angry anymore, just tired. Very, very tired. She supposed that was what people felt like when their dreams disappeared into dust before their eyes.
          Or maybe the dream had disappeared long ago, and she just hadn't wanted to believe it.

          Melody wa kieru yami ni shimi komu you ni
          Echo nokoshite

          He turned on the bed again, and she stopped strumming for a second, watching him. He swallowed. The washcloth stayed on his forehead as he thrashed between the sheets, then quieted again. She waited until she was sure he was asleep before continuing.

          Shizuka ni oriteku deep blue no aurora ni
          Ore mo uta-

          She stopped.
          Hmm.
          There was a pencil on the music stand and she picked it up, penciling in the rest of the line, knowing him well enough to emulate his speaking patterns.

          Ore mo utau ze

          She kept strumming, trying out words in her head, discarding them, picking new ones, imagining Basara singing them and trying to match the sound of the words to the imaginary sound of his voice. Closing her eyes, she sang softly.

          Shinjite ita mono ga aru
          Baka da to iwareta keredo

          She didn't even notice when she began crying again, just that the tears were dripping down her chin and onto the wood and the strings, making odd chords along with the ones that were being released into the still air.

          Kawara nakatta
          Ano hi no yume
          Angel voice-

          She stopped.
          The words had run out, and she opened her eyes. Basara was still asleep, or at least if he was not, he pretended very well.
          There was something there, still. She had felt it in the words of the song. He had to finish this song, even if he didn't care about the music, the band anymore. He-
          She knew he wouldn't finish it. It would be just another discarded melody, another distant dream.
          Standing, she placed the guitar softly back in its case and shut it, then stood with the paper in her hand, looking down at him. He looked so peaceful, sleeping. And older. He looked old. When had he become so old?
          "I'm sorry..." she said to unhearing ears, and folded the sheet of paper, stuffing it into her pocket and clambering quickly down the ladder, already hearing more words in her head, running through her mind like fire.

          Angel voice mitsuketa no sa
          Chiheisen no mukou ni…

 
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