A/N: I was thinking about how Grahf never attacks Elly when you fight him, no matter what. Then I thought about how Id doesn't hesitate to attack her. Then I wrote a fanfic about it. Go me? (Plus I like Id, and I wanted to get inside his head.)

Spoilers: If you don't know who Id is yet, run away.

Warnings: Violence, I spose. We are talking about Id, after all.

Disclaimer: I don't own Xenogears. Whether or not it owns me is debatable.

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All his life he was given nothing but the dregs of their existence. Tossed the scraps that the coward didn't want, the pieces that didn't fit into his shiny, perfect little worldview. Anything the coward couldn't accept, he was given to deal with, while the other hoarded the times of happiness to himself.

So it was. So it had always been. The coward couldn't accept the harshness of reality, and so he merely shoved it all onto him. And he, he was forced to deal with it all.

That woman, the one that used to be their mother. Strapping him down on the table, cold metal straps snapping shut around him and keeping him trapped. Leaving without a word of comfort, or so much as a single glance. The tests, the ones that made him scream and cry as his body wracked with pain, pleading for help from the one that should have been his mother but receiving no sympathy--only that same cold, emotionless stare. Trying to tell his father the truth, to gain his help against the woman who had invaded his life, and receiving only disbelief and finding himself branded a liar.

The body of his mother, collapsing on top of him. Her blood, dripping wetly down the side of his face. Himself laughing, half-mad with anger and grief and terror, as he unleashed his power and the world exploded around him.

And then the coward had retreated into the back of their mind, walling himself away with his memories of joy. Keeping the good from him, blocking out the light to keep him eternally in his shadow. And for years he'd walked with Grahf as a twisted father figure, murdering at his command and reveling in destruction.

But then that other had been created, and blocked him from access to his own body. And once more he was forced to play the role of a second being, fed scraps from his own life as though he were merely a dog at the dinner table.

The hail of bullets, the spray of blood as Timothy was killed--and the sweet joy of unleashing his power as the village around him went up in flames. The crunching of metal as the Gears Maitreya and crew piloted were crushed by the Dora--and the glee of trying to destroy the young pirate Bart, knowing as he did that he would cause untold pain to him. Such were the moments his existence was made of.

And now, she stood in front of him.

Incomplete and destructive existence or not, he was still the Contact. And he knew, from the moment he laid eyes on her. His heart pounded at the sight of her, and every cell on his body tingled with the thrill of knowing she was near. His body ached with feelings he had never known; he longed to hold her against him, to stroke her hair and caress her body, to let himself feel the love that was alien to him.

But it wasn't him she loved, was it? No...it was his other. Toward him, she felt nothing but hatred, and the urge to destroy that had defined his very existence.

And so he reacted toward her in the only way he knew how. He fought, and hurt, and tried to destroy. For if she couldn't be his...then by God, she wouldn't be his either. He would see to if it he had to end her life himself.