Warning(s): past death, knives,
Diaz clings to memories. He can't help it, it's just how he is.
He holds onto the memory of his dear late wife, Abina.
He still remembers the day he met her.
He had just run from his home, barely managing to catch the bus to the military program.
Juan had been secretly training for a few years now to enter the military. He'd train every day. Running, working out, swimming. Everything.
No matter how bad his muscles burned, no matter how hungry or tired, he kept pushing. He kept going. He never gave up.
Even as he struggled to maintain a decent college life just in case it all went downhill. He kept going.
Along with his shit part-time job and the younger than him bossy no-body that nags him about doing the little things that didn't even matter.
Juan didn't believe in little things. He'd always thought about the big things.
On top of that, he struggled to hide the money he made from his job from his nosy excuses for his parents.
Knowing them, they'd probably take it all and spend it on alcohol if they found out about the loose floorboard in his room.
Now, as he gazed out the window of the bus that was taking him to his new life, he wanted to smile.
Juan was never one to brag or congratulate himself. But now, he couldn't help but be proud of himself for getting out of that hell hole.
"Excuse me," came a kind voice from behind him and he snaps around to spot the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
"H-hi," he stuttered, suddenly feeling very hot with embarrassment.
She chuckles and then tucks a strand of long black hair behind her ear.
"Is this seat taken?" She gestured next to him.
Juan scrambled to get his stuff off the seat, blabbering and feeling like a fool.
"No, n-no, it's not. Y-you can sit. I mean, if you want to. I mean- you can, but if you don't want to." Now he felt like an even bigger fool.
She chuckled and sat next to him, and holy shit if he wasn't already red in the face.
"So, what's your name?" She prompted as if Juan wasn't too busy admiring her beauty to hear the question.
"Uhhh, you okay?"
Only then did he realize he was staring. "Sorry, uh, it's Juan."
Juan swallowed. "Juan Diaz. You?"
The woman smiled. "Abina."
Her name was gorgeous, just like the rest of her. Her silky black hair went down to her mid-back, her eyes a deep color of chocolate that he couldn't get out of his head, and her dark skin smooth as could be.
After a beat of silence, Juan finds something to speak of.
"I like your accent," he hopes the next question won't get anything smashed over his head, "Where are you from? If you don't mind."
Abina smiles, and it's like an ethereal guardian angel Juan had needed all his life.
"Ghana. I miss my family, but I came here for the military program since it's known to be the best, well, in the world."
"Yeah," Juan says awkwardly, "It was really hard to even pass the entrance exam. Can't imagine how bad the real thing is gonna be."
"Or how good," Abina laughs, "I mean, since the entrance exam was that tough, we're probably gonna come out of there some of the strongest soldiers on the planet."
--------
Abina was almost right. They both graduated after a few years, but they weren't some of the strongest.
There were stronger. But Juan shouldn't be surprised. He should be used to being below other people.
That didn't mean he was ever going to stop aiming for more.
Juan had always made a point to try and get farther ahead in everything he did. At first, it was to please his sorry excuses for his parents, then it was to prove his doubters wrong, then it was just for himself, then it was for Abina.
Juan strives to be among the best at anything he does.
He did it in school and college, at his work, in the military, and most recently, being the best husband he could be.
Juan never would've thought Abina would love an awkward, stuttering, stumbling mess like him.
What did Abina see in him? That, he had no clue. But she saw something. And especially coming from a place where everyone looked down on him, that meant a lot.
Abina had even mentioned children.
Juan never thought of children. He didn't hate them, but he wasn't exactly fond of them.
That's why he was so conflicted about how to feel when his wife gave him the news.
It was a shock, but they managed to secure a home for their little girl to grow up in.
They customize the house and make it feel personal with the paint they chose and the family pictures hung on the wall.
All those 'family pictures' were either of Abina's family or her and Juan, mind you.
Juan didn't like thinking about his parents. His wife didn't blame him.
Then the wedding rolled around. Abina invited all her family and friends from Ghana, and Juan reached out to some old friends from high school and college who had especially helped him through tough times.
The couple was also sure to invite some of their closest friends from the military program.
Then came wedding preparations. Juan didn't know much about this, so he let Abina do most of the work.
She didn't mind. In fact, she loved planning her wedding, but that didn't mean she neglected her fiance's opinion.
Then the actual wedding day comes. Juan looked at himself, dressed in the outfit Abina had practically begged him to wear.
Abina is stunning as she walks down the aisle.
The dress is pure white and hugs her frame, covering her legs completely so the matching heels were hardly visible. The sleeves and collar are translucent, flaked with small white dots and beads where the sleeves pulled together at her wrists.
Her hair is pulled back and curled, a white flower crown resting on top of it. Shining earrings hang from her ears, and a white train-like thing hangs from the back of her head, held there by something Juan didn't understand.
Juan would be lying if he said she wasn't the most beautiful person in the world.
Actually, she was always the most beautiful, but now it was amplified so many times over that if Juan attempted the math, his head might just explode.
The vows made him cry. Juan had always been a sentimental sop, not that he would ever admit it to anyone but his dear wife.
The wedding was amazing. The newlyweds caught up with some old friends. Some shared, some from their lives before meeting one another.
They dance, the music is Abina's choice and Juan could never be happier than he was at that moment.
Abina's parents cry too. Both her father and mother look so glad that even Juan agreed to wear the suit.
He didn't know until a little into the wedding, but the dress and suit they were wearing were the exact same ones Abina's parents were married in.
That made it all so much more sentimental than he would've liked, but his happiness be damned if it meant Abina would never feel sadness.
Then the birth came. Juan doesn't know if it was the best or worst day of his life.
On one hand, he should be joyous, because his little girl, his little Akira that he had waited nine months to meet, was finally here.
On the other hand, Juan feels guilty for loving the child that caused his wife's death.
It was a complicated pregnancy and Abina lost a lot of blood.
Doctors warned that a c-section would be their safest bet, but Abina refused.
For the longest time, Abina had wanted a natural birth, and she wasn't going to let a few minor complications get in the way of that.
Abina had always been in over her head and always stuck to her choices no matter what.
It was one of the many things Juan loved about her, but it was the same thing that lead to her death.
She refused the c-section and tried for a natural birth. She'd always been one to push limits, but that's what lead to the end of the best time in her husband's life.
Juan holds her hand in her final moments, failing to realize the baby crying in one of the hospital's baby beds beside him.
Abina looked over at the infant.
"Give her to me, please." She begged.
"You're too weak," Juan tried to protest. He should've known Abina wouldn't have any of that.
"I know," she said, "Give me my daughter."
Juan does as told, and he watches fondly as the woman he loved most cradled their child.
The baby opened her eyes then.
"That was fast," Abina chuckles, though she becomes weak again and has to hand back her daughter.
Juan looks into her eyes, begging her not to say what he knew was going to be said anyways.
"I'm sorry, Juan," Abina breaths faintly, "Take care of little Akira for me, alright?"
Juan holds her hand for one last time, feeling the warmth seep out of it. Then Abina took her last breath, and Juan felt a bit of himself die with her.
He screamed, feeling out of his own body.
Doctors rush in, attempts are made, apologies are shared, and then Juan is left alone again.
He holds little Akira close, sobbing.
When he finally forces himself to look his daughter in the eye, it's like seeing his wife all over again.
"You have mama's eyes," he said in a sad coo, holding her tighter with a tiny sob. "I'm sorry."
----------
It was a lovely thing, watching his daughter grow. The pain never truly left, but it was dulled slightly by Akira. She had not only her mother's eyes but also inherited her fire-like passion and love.
She was beautiful to watch too. Slightly wavy mouse-brown hair. Dazzling grey-black eyes that lit up when she was excited. It was certain to say Akira had some part of her mother's eyes.
However, they were just off from the brown his wife possessed.
Yes, Akira had similar eyes to her mother, but her own were black.
Not the brown her mother had, just flat-out black. Juan thinks she might've gotten it from his grandmother.
Akira grew on stories of her mother, praises, and compliments on how she was just like her. It didn't only come from her father either, but also from other people who missed the woman dearly.
Akira wishes desperately she could've met her late mother, but she didn't cry over it.
Her father always said, "There's no point in feeling guilt over something you can't control." So she didn't feel bad for herself.
Because her father was all she needed. And Akira was all her father needed.
It was just them. Father and daughter. Daughter and father. Through thick and thin, through sleepless nights, tears, and fighting, the one thing both always knew they had was each other.
Akira liked visiting her mother's grave in the graveyard a street down from their home.
Her father never liked talking about her much, and when he did it always led to tears at one point or another.
When at her mother's grave, however, he let free and told story after story after story. Akira loved every second of every one. No tears came of those stories, not when they both felt so close to the woman at her place of burial.
---------
Akira always felt safe around her father. He was the strongest person she'd ever met.
Being so high up in the military, he had to travel a lot. Still, he always found a way to bring her along on his missions.
Whether it be a mile or a planet away, he never left Akira.
To her, that was pretty strong. Fighting with a person who could very well have him fired at any moment just to be able to take his daughter along on the mission was strong.
It always worked out though. They either let him take Akira, or he didn't go at all.
Akira liked outer space. She found it fascinating. That's why she was so happy for her father to be taking her on an off-planet job.
Somewhere called 'Planet Infiniti'. Akira looked up at the large base, dazzled.
"That's where we're staying?"
"Yes, dear. You'll be living here for a while."
Akira didn't know what he meant when he said 'for a while', but she didn't really care.
----------
Juan was happy for a while. That was until he moved him and Akira to Planet Infiniti for his new job training soldiers for war.
Apparently, there was some man who had previously worked for the government trying to overthrow them, for whatever reason.
Juan didn't take the warnings of the man being dangerous too seriously at first.
That was his fatal mistake.
He'd let Akira go off exploring during one of his shifts, and she didn't return.
When a search party was conducted, they found her dead body at the border, a knife stuck through her heart.
On it was written the initials: DH.
DH...
Dajjal?
...Heitai?
That was his name.
Dajjal Heitai.
Dajjal Heitai killed his daughter.
His precious, perfect, sweet, darling little Akira. Taken far too soon all because this man wanted to overthrow the government.
That was foolish in itself. But then he hurt a child for it.
Juan- no. He'd let go of that name long ago. He wasn't Juan anymore.
Commander Diaz had greatly underestimated what Dajjal was willing to do, and it lead to losing the one good thing he had in his life.
Never again. He wouldn't do it ever again.
Diaz also promised never to love so deeply again. The more you love something, the more it hurts when it's inevitably ripped away from you by the harsh reality of the sick world he lives in.
He succeeded in staying unattached to the trainees for nearly a decade.
Then they showed up, and he met her. 889. Kiora.
Fate was cruel to him.
The daughter of the man who had murdered his little girl just so happened to resemble his own daughter.
Her hair was a shade lighter than Akira's, and a lot more curly. Her eyes were just a shade darker than Akira's.
The shape of her eyes slanted downward just a little sharper than Akira's had, and even her name sounded similar.
Diaz hated himself for trying to replace his daughter. Nothing could replace Akira.
But 889...just looked so similar to her. Just like her, if he stared long enough.
He hated himself for it. It seemed like every time he looked at 889, images of Akira flashed through his mind.
They even acted similarly. If only he could've stopped that monster from taking his little girl, maybe she and 889 could've been friends.
Just maybe.
889 wasn't Akira, and she never would be.
If only he could get his stupid brain to recognize that.
That's why, the night after 889 had been sent to his office for attacking another trainee, and he couldn't stop thinking of Akira, he berated himself.
"Stupid," he hissed, "You said you'd never love someone like that again. Nothing can replace Akira. Not even that little look-alike."
Diaz looked at an old photo he had of him and Akira.
He looked so much younger and happier. His beard and hair weren't grey and said beard was shorter. His eyes didn't have the same constant lingering eye bags under them that they had now.
His eyes were so much more alive-looking, and he looked happy.
Never again would he be that happy. He promised himself again. Never again would he love so deeply.
Diaz cried himself to sleep that night with memories of his dearest Abina and Akira.