I hate hospitals, always have. I think it's how white the places
always are. Walls and ceilings washed with white, and the floors always
some faint, worn pastel shade. That bright, overhead fluorescent lighting
doesn't help either. It's almost painful to look at the walls for too
long, and I find myself squinting, reminded of snow-glare on the mountain
slopes. The too-clean smell reminds me that this isn't a place for living,
it's a place for people who are in so much pain that the staff has to wipe
the smell of suffering and blood away.
I've seen livelier battlefields.
The furniture isn't exactly Lay-Z Boy quality, you know. I swear that it can't be possible to make chairs this uncomfortable on accident. No matter now I squirm or slump or slouch, it's impossible to hold a position for more than a few minutes at most. I get a couple of odd, sideways kinda looks from the other people sitting and waiting. Quietly, I might add. None of them seemed bothered by the arse-bruising chairs. It's almost like the seats are put out on purpose to discourage non-sick people from visiting. Like they're saying: "Go away, you healthy person, you. You've got no business around ill people."
And you just know you've been in the waiting room too long when the furniture starts to talk to you.
But I'd wait here forever, harsh seats, sticky-paged old magazines and all, for her sake.
"Onii-chan?"
I look up from scowling darkly at the seats, hearing the now-familiar creaking of wheels accompanying the faint, fluting voice. I remember when she had such a musical tone, but now it's sort of wasted away to just an echo of what it used to be.
We don't look much alike, for siblings. We never really did, even before she fell ill. I mean, I've been compared to a brick wall, a mountain, a boulder, and several other less-complimentary things that are probably better left unsaid. I'm tall, I'm stocky, and I know it. But Ki- lin's so tiny! She's twelve now, and she looks nine. She was always petite, but now she's just skeletal. Her arms and legs are thin and frail from lack of exercise, and her eyes are almost too large for her face. One healthy sneeze would knock her right off her feet, I'm sure of it. There aren't any hollows beneath her cheeks though, so at least I know they've been feeding her regularly, if not well. If she wants anything that doesn't taste like gruel and look like something a goat regurgitated, I have to smuggle it in to her, but I don't mind. More than anything now, she looks like those American-style paintings of little street kids with big, sad eyes.
Except…without the curly hair. She doesn't have hair anymore, thanks to the bloody chemotherapy.
She smiles up at me from the wheel-chair, and I have to smile back. That's one thing that hasn't changed; her smile. It's always been the brightest one I've ever seen, and our family is somewhat renowned for their big grins. She's wearing a T-shirt that I recognize as a hand-me-down, and a pair of pajama pants sporting penguins on sleds. Instead of shoes, she's got a pair of Sailor-Uranus slippers on her feet. No lie. They actually make those things. Somehow, my eyes are drawn to them, and I find myself snickering.
"Nice shoes you've got there Ki."
She gives me a mock-glare, and crosses her legs. "They happen to be very comfortable. But you wouldn't know that, since you're too macho to ever try them on," She holds her arms out to me, silently requesting a hug. In her eyes, I can see the desire to get up, walk over, and give me one herself, but she's too weak for that, and we both know it. So instead I pry myself out of that demonically uncomfortable chair and walk over to fold her gently in my arms. God, but she feels so brittle, like if I squeezed her too hard she'd break right in two.
The orderly behind the wheel chair left. I guess he thought to give us some privacy. Shyeah right. Everybody in the waiting room's staring at us now, and trying to pretend like they're not. I know most of them are shooting quick, sharp glances towards the brightly colored kerchief tied around her bald head. And that really pisses me off. I want more than anything to spin around and shout at them, ask if they've never seen a sick little girl before?! Beat them upside the heads 'til they stop that damned staring! I know Ki-lin feels it too, but she's been here so long that she's probably used to the pitying gazes, the 'poor baby' comments.
But I'm not. If anyone else says to me or my parents that, "It must be so hard," and nods in that patronizing way, I'm going to do something typically rash. Violently and all over the place. Because they don't understand, no matter how well intentioned they are.
Their little sister isn't dying.
"C'mon Ki, let's go outside for a while," I suggest, standing back up. Our eyes meet and her thin lips twist into a wry little grin. She knows what I'm thinking, probably better than anybody.
It's an easy thing to wheel her mobile chair over to the elevator. The first time I tried to steer her around, I ended up crashing the both of us into an oncoming gurney. The nurse driving the thing had had some words with me about that. A whole lot of them, in fact. None of which she should have said in front of a kid Ki's age.
We're quiet during the elevator ride, but it's an easy kind of silence. Ki-lin's my second-youngest sister, but we've always been close. I'm the brash one, the loud one, the one who opens his mouth and blurts stuff out without thinking first. She's the quiet, scholarly kid, the one always off in the corner with a book or journal, the one who played surrogate mom for the younger kids. We bounce off each other well. Kinda like me and Shin, come to think of it.
After all that clean, sterile white, the vivid colors of the courtyard are almost painful. We both squint against the sun for a second. I stop the chair rather than keep going and run her into something again. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever live that incident down.
Ki-lin leans forward in her wheel chair, tilting her head back to let the sun hit her face. She sort of reminds me of a cat, for a second, just basking in the heat. I can understand that. Our family doesn't do well indoors; we have to be outside doing something.
We talk quietly as I wheel her over towards a grassy area. She tells me about the new medication they have her on, and how she's usually sleepy most of the time. She grins conspiratorially up at me, and tells me in a secretive kind of whisper that she didn't take them this morning, because she had a feeling I might be dropping by for a visit.
I fix her with a severe sort of look, squinting one eye and raising the opposite brow. "You shouldn't be doing that, not if it could help you."
"But it doesn't!" She protests, scowling now. "It just keeps me groggy. I think they only give it to me so I'll sleep, and not just sit there in my bed staring out the window." Her voice goes very soft, and she looks down into her lap. "It doesn't matter what they give me. I'm not going to get better."
My breath catches in my throat, but only because I know she's right. Ki- lin was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma shortly after I returned from my unexpected trip to Africa. She'd gone in for a physical so she'd be eligible to play school sports, and the doctor had noticed an 'abnormal swelling in the lymph nodes' around her neck and under her arms, so he'd scheduled a few more tests. No big deal, I figured. At that point, I was sort of burnt out, and just wanted to go back to mindless, dull, daily routine.
Then the doc called again, and suddenly I found myself caught up in a whole different kind of war, only this time, all I could do was stand off to the side and watch my baby sister fight it without me. This wasn't just one cancerous tumor, oh no. Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma spreads through the lymphatic system in the body, which moves disease-fighting cells in the immune system to where they're needed. Fuckin' ironic, isn't it? The cancer was moving throughout the entire body and affecting organs, nerves, and muscles. Her whole body was suddenly betraying her, leaving her in constant fatigue
At first, we figured it was just a temporary kind of thing. People beat cancer all the time, right? It wasn't as if money was any object; my family's more than marginally well-off, and my parents didn't even give a second thought to dishing out the kind of yen needed for the increasingly pricey treatments. I went ahead and put college off for a year or so, and got a job to help out with the bills. No big deal, it's wasn't anything I couldn't make up later. The doctors gave us good reports, told us everything was going better than expected, and Ki-lin'd be alright after a time.
Lying quacks, all of 'em! Within six months, her condition deteriorated, and four months ago, we'd made the decision to move her into the hospital. No, that's not quite true…the doctors said that'd be the best thing, that there she'd have easier access to tech and meds that could help her live a little longer. I wanted her at home, where I could keep an eye on her, not locked up in some swabbed-down tower. But no dice. My parents went along with it, and here she's been for the last four months.
Three months back, they declared her cancer terminal.
There was no way in hell I was going to take that kind of news lying down! Up to that point, I'd kept all this quiet. Nobody outside of the family had any idea that something was wrong. It's not that any of us were ashamed of Ki-lin in any way, but some things just aren't meant to be spread around. But I was getting desperate, so I went to Seiji. I figured, hey, if science couldn't get the job done right, then maybe magic would. So I approached him with my problem. That was probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do; the two of us have never been the closest of the five, we're just too different. Having to ask for help goes against everything that I am, but I swallowed my pride for my sister's sake.
Every time I remember that incident, I feel guilty. Seiji's usually so composed, but that mask shattered like ice when I told him about Ki-lin's condition, and practically went to my knees begging for help. The shock and horror and compassion I'd expected were all there, but so was a kind of hurt that I hadn't said anything before. I was supposed to be able to trust these people, my friends, with anything, but I hadn't. I got a lecture over that later, but since Ki-lin was rapidly deteriorating, the 'why didn't you tell me's were postponed. Come to think of it, I still haven't told the others...
My sister had known for a while that on certain occasions I put on magic armor and go out to save the world, and over the years she'd met the people I do that with. So when I showed up that morning with Seiji in tow and told her he was going to try and cure her ("make an attempt to" were his exact words) she knew better than to ask how. For the first time since her diagnosis, I was able to see real hope in her eyes. I'd give anything now to see that again.
As in so many things, I stood back and watched. Seiji bent over her and began the now-familiar healing process. Only...it seemed to take longer than usual that time. The minute hand on the clock ticked out more and more moments, and nothing happened; neither of them moved. Then a thin trickle of blood began to run from the corner of Seiji's mouth, and oozed from his nose. I yanked him away from Ki-lin and shook him 'til he came out of the healing daze. I'd never seen side effects like that before, and it scared the shit out of me. He stared up at me then, and so long as I live I'll never forget those eyes. They brimmed with horror and pain and so much sadness I felt a lump rising in my throat.
"I can't help her," He told me. Each word seemed to cause him pain, but they killed me inside. "For every tumor I find and fix, there's dozens more...and I can't isolate where it's coming from." He drug his sleeve over the blood on his chin and upper lip, and I knew I saw his eyes watering. "I tried to spread myself around, but it's too much to handle all at once, or even in stages. She's...dying inside Shuu. And I can't do anything. Maybe if I'd tried sooner..."
Maybe if he'd tried sooner. God, how I've tortured myself since then, staring at the ceiling at night and beating myself over the head mentally. Why hadn't I gone to him when she'd first been diagnosed? Why hadn't I done the obvious thing? Because I have a head like a rock, that's why. All those taunts about being stupid never bothered me before. But this time my stubbornness might be what was going to cost my sister her life.
Seiji looked at me like he expected me to go into a rage, demand that he try again and again until it worked. I think I surprised him that day. I let go of his shoulders and turned to Ki, who was only now sitting up on the bed. She looked at me, and without exchanging a single word, she knew the results, or lack of them.
"Thank you for trying," she said softly, not looking at all surprised or even sad. But I saw that hope die in her eyes, and knew somehow that it wasn't coming back.
"Onii-chan,"
I blink myself out of my daze and look downwards. Ki-lin's gazing up at me with a concerned expression.
"Huh?" I reply, oh so intelligently.
"You were thinking again," She accuses me. "You get this little line between your eyes when you think."
"Then I'll try not to think so much," I grin, "Wouldn't want to get wrinkles at my age."
She laughs again, and swings her Sailor slippered feet in her chair. She doesn't bring up the fact that she knows I was thinking about how she isn't going to get well again. We never do. There's a kind of unspoken agreement not to mess up the rest of her time by talking about depressing things like death. Even if those depressing things are never far from our minds. She always avoids the subject when our parents come to visit, no matter how often they try to bring it up. Ki's gotten very deft at changing the topic of conversation. Experience will do that to you, I guess.
Once again I'm looking at those ridiculous slippers, and thinking how she looks awfully small in that big metal chair. It seems to be swallowing her up, and maybe it is, to some extent. Without warning, I scoop her up in my arms, hold her over my head, and deposit her on my shoulders. She squeaks in alarm and grabs for something to steady herself, her hands briefly covering my eyes.
"Shuu! What are you doing?!" Ki-lin yelps.
"You're not a cripple," I say lightly, already striding away from that damn chair, "And you shouldn't have to be wheeled around like one."
Her hands settle atop my head, one pats absently at my cheek.
"Arigatou." She murmurs, almost too faint for me to hear.
"Don't mention it," I look around. Now there are other people out in the courtyard, enjoying the early summer afternoon. "So, where to?"
"Anywhere but here," She replies flatly, "I want to see something different for a change."
"That makes two of us," I snort. "Lessee...there's a pretty nice park about a block away. Good food too. We can sneak out if you don't mind being seen in your PJs and those...things."
One heel thunks lightly against my chest. "Would you drop the slippers already?"
"Gladly," I go to pry one off her foot, and she squeals a giggle and jerks it away. She always did have ticklish feet.
Nobody made any attempt to stop us from leaving the hospital grounds. I mean really, what's a short walk gonna do? Kill her? I try to push thoughts like that away, but it isn't easy. People stare openly now, away from the hospital walls where they expect to see sick people. An ordinary person doesn't think about things like the effects of radiotherapy or chemo, and you'd be surprised at how shocked most of them are to see them close up.
On the way, she talks about friends she's made in the pediatrics ward; about a little girl with TB that has to be isolated, because she could spread the disease just by breathing the same air as other people, and an older boy with muscular dystrophy. All I can do is wonder at the kind of guts these kids have. They wake up each morning, knowing they're dying, and wondering if it'll be the last day they have on earth. That's the scariest thing I can imagine...I don't think I have that kind of courage.
I wasn't kidding when I said the park was nice. There's a paved path that runs through the width of it, curling around and back on itself to show off the landscaping. At one point, it goes up into a bridge that oversees the whole place. I grab us each an icecream cone and pass one up to my sister.
"Drip that on my head, and there'll be hell to pay," I say in my best Wrath- of-the-Gods voice. She just laughs. There is no scaring this girl!
I make the climb up the path and we stop atop the bridge, just watching the world go by. Her weight is nothing on my shoulders. She can't be any heavier than eighty-something pounds by now.
"Tell me a story," She requests suddenly. "You know, the ones I like?"
I do know. I've told her everything that I've gone through, in my time as a Trooper. Well, not everything, there was some editing going on, obviously, but the majority of my 'stories' are just as they happened. For some reason, Ki especially likes the part where Shin, Seiji and myself were trapped in the Youjakai's clutches, and how Touma broke us out to come save the day. She loves a good rescue story. I wonder if that's significant of anything?
At any rate, that's the tale I choose to tell, all the way through to Arago's destruction. My sister's a great audience; she knows just when to make those little appreciative noises, and when to hold her breath in anticipation. No matter how many times I tell her a particular story, she always listens like it's the first time. That's a rare trait, I know.
The story draws to an end. Or at least, that part of it does. My own tale isn't done. The yoroi isn't through with me just yet, I can feel it deep down in my bones. I don't often tell her the chapters involving Shikaisen, or the KuroiKikoutei. Those don't exactly have the best, or most final of endings, and I'd hate to tell her a story with anything less than a happy ending.
We're quiet now, just eating our icecream, and watching as afternoon fades to twilight. I hadn't realized so much time had passed. I'll have to take her back to the hospital before long, but neither of us really want that.
"You're so brave," Ki-lin's voice comes finally from over my head. I waited for a second, unsure if she'd said that, or I was hearing things. It wouldn't have been the first time.
"Me?" I deliberately keep my tone light. I may not be the most empathic Trooper, but I can tell from her abnormal seriousness that a bomb is about to drop.
"Hai," Her tone is wistful, and not a little sad. "I wish...I wish I was strong enough to do things like that. But instead I'm...I'm stuck in a body that's..."
I lift her easily up off my shoulders and set her on the stone wall that makes up the side of the bridge. Her blue eyes shimmer with tears she refuses to shed. Sometimes I think she's even more stubborn than I am.
"I'm not the strong one," I say quietly, using my sleeve to wipe a sticky icecream smear from the corner of her mouth. "I'm not the one who stays in that hospital room twentyfour-seven. I'm not the one who tries to make everyone else forget how bad things are. You're the brave one in this family, Ki-lin."
Her lower lip starts to quiver. "I'm not brave," she insists quietly, "I'm scared. I'm so scared." Her hands are fisting into the sleeves of my shirt, gripping my forearms tightly, and her voice is a breathy whisper. "But I don't want to let mother and father see...because they have so much to worry about. They shouldn't have to concern themselves with whether or not I'm happy. I-...If I cry, I'll scare them. They shouldn't be scared too."
"We're all scared, Ki," I tell her softly, one hand rising as though to push back a non-existent lock of hair. "Being helpless makes people feel scared. And we're all helpless here. Me most of all. I'm not used to having to sit off on the sidelines and watch without doing anything. You shouldn't not cry because you worry for us. It's okay to be scared." God, she had the most right out of anyone to be afraid! She was dying slowly, inch by inch, and she thought it wasn't alright to be frightened? I'd be terrified out of my fucking mind! But I don't tell her that...at least not in those exact words.
She throws her arms around my chest, and caves in. Her tiny, frail frame shakes and shudders with sobs she's probably only voiced into her pillow up until now.
"Th-there was so m-much I meant to do!" She wails. "A-and I never did, b- because I th-thought I had so much time!" A horrible sob racks her shoulders violently. "But I don't! And n-now I never will!"
What can I say to something like that? I go to my knees and hug her to my chest, rocking her slowly and stroking her kerchief-covered head. She cries into my shoulder, and I'm glad I'm here. The thought of her crying alone in that empty, cold hospital room stirs a rage inside of me. More than likely she's done so more than once, when all the visitors had left, and there was no one left to see her.
Next to everything she's lived through, what I've endured seems tiny and insignificant. Fighting hordes of bad-guys isn't brave, it's suicidal. Bravery is waking up each morning, surrounded by the sick and the dying, knowing you're slowly slipping too, and not giving in to despair. Bravery is knowing that maybe you won't be eating another meal after this dinner. Bravery is laughing when your relatives come to visit, and making them forget that they originally came to pity the sick kid. Bravery is lying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, and being afraid to close your eyes because there's a good chance you won't open them in the morning, and not taking it for granted when it comes. Bravery is living a death. And my sister, and those other terminal kids in the pediatrics ward, are the bravest people alive. They have the kind of guts that you only see once in a lifetime. If Arago had to face down that kind of courage, he never would have come back for seconds.
A body as wasted as Ki-lin's can't keep up sobs that intense for too long. Eventually she stops shaking, and just sort of leans against me, her face buried in my chest, her hands gripping at my shirt. I rub at her back and murmur something vaguely comforting. Words and platitudes are insults to a dying person. You don't tell a terminal cancer patient that 'it'll be alright'. You just don't.
"D'you know what the worst part of it is?" Her voice is slightly muffled by my chest. I look down at the top of her head, worried another emotional storm is on the way.
"What?" I venture.
"....I'm gonna die a virgin."
"ACK!" I sputter in brotherly-rage, floored by the comment, never seeing it coming. And she laughs at me! Ki-lin shook now with a fit of the giggles. Her eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot from crying, but I see honest enjoyment there, and if seeing me choke is what it takes to make her laugh, then I'll let her shock me as many times as she wants.
"You'd better be!" I growl when my voice comes back. She throws her head back and laughs harder, a light peal of sound that makes my heart rise in my chest. I realize that I'm not thinking ahead to the inevitable pain at the end of the story, I'm just living in the here and now. That's the only way to live, the only way to appreciate what we have.
By now it's dark, so I scoop Ki-lin up to my shoulders again, and we head back towards the hospital. For most of the way, we travel in silence. The streets are still full of people, and they stare, but for once I'm not angered by it. My sister leans over to talk over the noise of the crowd, and into my ear.
"Onii-chan, I want you to do something for me," She says seriously.
"Name it," I reply. Maybe it's a rash promise, but I'll do what I can to give her what she wants.
"Tell your friends about me?" It's more of a question than a request, really. "I don't want you to drift away from them, because of me. And you're probably being really distant lately."
"I am not!" I argue, but only halfheartedly, because I know she's right. I've been spending more and more time at the hospital lately, and less with the other important people in my life.
"You're a really sucky liar, you know that?" She settles back on my shoulders, but reaches down to take one of my hands away from where I'm gripping her knees to hold her steady. For the rest of the walk, we're like that; her perched on my shoulders, holding my hand. An ache slowly grows in my arm, but I don't care. Even now, she's worried about the well being of others, making me laugh and taking my mind away from the approaching day when I'll lose her forever.
And that's the kind of bravery I can only aspire to.
AN: Well, whaddaya think? Somewhere along the line, it got almost hopeful. It was angsty in my head when I plotted it out! I swear it was! But for a first shot at Trooper-angst, I'm happy with myself.
Ki-lin was named for the Chinese version of a Unicorn. In actuality, they look NOTHING like the European version. The only similarities are the horn with healing properties, and the fact that they both have four legs. That's about it. Ki-lins were created by Buddha, and take pacifism to whole new heights. They never tread on a single living thing, including ants or blades of grass. They eat only fruits and veggies, and leave the seeds for further planting. They drink only water, and are capable of changing their size from knick-knack size to small-pony size.
Why'd I choose this name? Two reasons: I thought the whole pacifistic nature suited her, and I suck at coming up with good, foreign sounding names ^_^;; If you've ever read Mary Brown's 'Master of Many Treasures' and accompanying books, you know what a Ki-lin is. Ms. Brown spells it differently though. I went with the spelling from Acorna because I thought it
I've seen livelier battlefields.
The furniture isn't exactly Lay-Z Boy quality, you know. I swear that it can't be possible to make chairs this uncomfortable on accident. No matter now I squirm or slump or slouch, it's impossible to hold a position for more than a few minutes at most. I get a couple of odd, sideways kinda looks from the other people sitting and waiting. Quietly, I might add. None of them seemed bothered by the arse-bruising chairs. It's almost like the seats are put out on purpose to discourage non-sick people from visiting. Like they're saying: "Go away, you healthy person, you. You've got no business around ill people."
And you just know you've been in the waiting room too long when the furniture starts to talk to you.
But I'd wait here forever, harsh seats, sticky-paged old magazines and all, for her sake.
"Onii-chan?"
I look up from scowling darkly at the seats, hearing the now-familiar creaking of wheels accompanying the faint, fluting voice. I remember when she had such a musical tone, but now it's sort of wasted away to just an echo of what it used to be.
We don't look much alike, for siblings. We never really did, even before she fell ill. I mean, I've been compared to a brick wall, a mountain, a boulder, and several other less-complimentary things that are probably better left unsaid. I'm tall, I'm stocky, and I know it. But Ki- lin's so tiny! She's twelve now, and she looks nine. She was always petite, but now she's just skeletal. Her arms and legs are thin and frail from lack of exercise, and her eyes are almost too large for her face. One healthy sneeze would knock her right off her feet, I'm sure of it. There aren't any hollows beneath her cheeks though, so at least I know they've been feeding her regularly, if not well. If she wants anything that doesn't taste like gruel and look like something a goat regurgitated, I have to smuggle it in to her, but I don't mind. More than anything now, she looks like those American-style paintings of little street kids with big, sad eyes.
Except…without the curly hair. She doesn't have hair anymore, thanks to the bloody chemotherapy.
She smiles up at me from the wheel-chair, and I have to smile back. That's one thing that hasn't changed; her smile. It's always been the brightest one I've ever seen, and our family is somewhat renowned for their big grins. She's wearing a T-shirt that I recognize as a hand-me-down, and a pair of pajama pants sporting penguins on sleds. Instead of shoes, she's got a pair of Sailor-Uranus slippers on her feet. No lie. They actually make those things. Somehow, my eyes are drawn to them, and I find myself snickering.
"Nice shoes you've got there Ki."
She gives me a mock-glare, and crosses her legs. "They happen to be very comfortable. But you wouldn't know that, since you're too macho to ever try them on," She holds her arms out to me, silently requesting a hug. In her eyes, I can see the desire to get up, walk over, and give me one herself, but she's too weak for that, and we both know it. So instead I pry myself out of that demonically uncomfortable chair and walk over to fold her gently in my arms. God, but she feels so brittle, like if I squeezed her too hard she'd break right in two.
The orderly behind the wheel chair left. I guess he thought to give us some privacy. Shyeah right. Everybody in the waiting room's staring at us now, and trying to pretend like they're not. I know most of them are shooting quick, sharp glances towards the brightly colored kerchief tied around her bald head. And that really pisses me off. I want more than anything to spin around and shout at them, ask if they've never seen a sick little girl before?! Beat them upside the heads 'til they stop that damned staring! I know Ki-lin feels it too, but she's been here so long that she's probably used to the pitying gazes, the 'poor baby' comments.
But I'm not. If anyone else says to me or my parents that, "It must be so hard," and nods in that patronizing way, I'm going to do something typically rash. Violently and all over the place. Because they don't understand, no matter how well intentioned they are.
Their little sister isn't dying.
"C'mon Ki, let's go outside for a while," I suggest, standing back up. Our eyes meet and her thin lips twist into a wry little grin. She knows what I'm thinking, probably better than anybody.
It's an easy thing to wheel her mobile chair over to the elevator. The first time I tried to steer her around, I ended up crashing the both of us into an oncoming gurney. The nurse driving the thing had had some words with me about that. A whole lot of them, in fact. None of which she should have said in front of a kid Ki's age.
We're quiet during the elevator ride, but it's an easy kind of silence. Ki-lin's my second-youngest sister, but we've always been close. I'm the brash one, the loud one, the one who opens his mouth and blurts stuff out without thinking first. She's the quiet, scholarly kid, the one always off in the corner with a book or journal, the one who played surrogate mom for the younger kids. We bounce off each other well. Kinda like me and Shin, come to think of it.
After all that clean, sterile white, the vivid colors of the courtyard are almost painful. We both squint against the sun for a second. I stop the chair rather than keep going and run her into something again. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever live that incident down.
Ki-lin leans forward in her wheel chair, tilting her head back to let the sun hit her face. She sort of reminds me of a cat, for a second, just basking in the heat. I can understand that. Our family doesn't do well indoors; we have to be outside doing something.
We talk quietly as I wheel her over towards a grassy area. She tells me about the new medication they have her on, and how she's usually sleepy most of the time. She grins conspiratorially up at me, and tells me in a secretive kind of whisper that she didn't take them this morning, because she had a feeling I might be dropping by for a visit.
I fix her with a severe sort of look, squinting one eye and raising the opposite brow. "You shouldn't be doing that, not if it could help you."
"But it doesn't!" She protests, scowling now. "It just keeps me groggy. I think they only give it to me so I'll sleep, and not just sit there in my bed staring out the window." Her voice goes very soft, and she looks down into her lap. "It doesn't matter what they give me. I'm not going to get better."
My breath catches in my throat, but only because I know she's right. Ki- lin was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma shortly after I returned from my unexpected trip to Africa. She'd gone in for a physical so she'd be eligible to play school sports, and the doctor had noticed an 'abnormal swelling in the lymph nodes' around her neck and under her arms, so he'd scheduled a few more tests. No big deal, I figured. At that point, I was sort of burnt out, and just wanted to go back to mindless, dull, daily routine.
Then the doc called again, and suddenly I found myself caught up in a whole different kind of war, only this time, all I could do was stand off to the side and watch my baby sister fight it without me. This wasn't just one cancerous tumor, oh no. Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma spreads through the lymphatic system in the body, which moves disease-fighting cells in the immune system to where they're needed. Fuckin' ironic, isn't it? The cancer was moving throughout the entire body and affecting organs, nerves, and muscles. Her whole body was suddenly betraying her, leaving her in constant fatigue
At first, we figured it was just a temporary kind of thing. People beat cancer all the time, right? It wasn't as if money was any object; my family's more than marginally well-off, and my parents didn't even give a second thought to dishing out the kind of yen needed for the increasingly pricey treatments. I went ahead and put college off for a year or so, and got a job to help out with the bills. No big deal, it's wasn't anything I couldn't make up later. The doctors gave us good reports, told us everything was going better than expected, and Ki-lin'd be alright after a time.
Lying quacks, all of 'em! Within six months, her condition deteriorated, and four months ago, we'd made the decision to move her into the hospital. No, that's not quite true…the doctors said that'd be the best thing, that there she'd have easier access to tech and meds that could help her live a little longer. I wanted her at home, where I could keep an eye on her, not locked up in some swabbed-down tower. But no dice. My parents went along with it, and here she's been for the last four months.
Three months back, they declared her cancer terminal.
There was no way in hell I was going to take that kind of news lying down! Up to that point, I'd kept all this quiet. Nobody outside of the family had any idea that something was wrong. It's not that any of us were ashamed of Ki-lin in any way, but some things just aren't meant to be spread around. But I was getting desperate, so I went to Seiji. I figured, hey, if science couldn't get the job done right, then maybe magic would. So I approached him with my problem. That was probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do; the two of us have never been the closest of the five, we're just too different. Having to ask for help goes against everything that I am, but I swallowed my pride for my sister's sake.
Every time I remember that incident, I feel guilty. Seiji's usually so composed, but that mask shattered like ice when I told him about Ki-lin's condition, and practically went to my knees begging for help. The shock and horror and compassion I'd expected were all there, but so was a kind of hurt that I hadn't said anything before. I was supposed to be able to trust these people, my friends, with anything, but I hadn't. I got a lecture over that later, but since Ki-lin was rapidly deteriorating, the 'why didn't you tell me's were postponed. Come to think of it, I still haven't told the others...
My sister had known for a while that on certain occasions I put on magic armor and go out to save the world, and over the years she'd met the people I do that with. So when I showed up that morning with Seiji in tow and told her he was going to try and cure her ("make an attempt to" were his exact words) she knew better than to ask how. For the first time since her diagnosis, I was able to see real hope in her eyes. I'd give anything now to see that again.
As in so many things, I stood back and watched. Seiji bent over her and began the now-familiar healing process. Only...it seemed to take longer than usual that time. The minute hand on the clock ticked out more and more moments, and nothing happened; neither of them moved. Then a thin trickle of blood began to run from the corner of Seiji's mouth, and oozed from his nose. I yanked him away from Ki-lin and shook him 'til he came out of the healing daze. I'd never seen side effects like that before, and it scared the shit out of me. He stared up at me then, and so long as I live I'll never forget those eyes. They brimmed with horror and pain and so much sadness I felt a lump rising in my throat.
"I can't help her," He told me. Each word seemed to cause him pain, but they killed me inside. "For every tumor I find and fix, there's dozens more...and I can't isolate where it's coming from." He drug his sleeve over the blood on his chin and upper lip, and I knew I saw his eyes watering. "I tried to spread myself around, but it's too much to handle all at once, or even in stages. She's...dying inside Shuu. And I can't do anything. Maybe if I'd tried sooner..."
Maybe if he'd tried sooner. God, how I've tortured myself since then, staring at the ceiling at night and beating myself over the head mentally. Why hadn't I gone to him when she'd first been diagnosed? Why hadn't I done the obvious thing? Because I have a head like a rock, that's why. All those taunts about being stupid never bothered me before. But this time my stubbornness might be what was going to cost my sister her life.
Seiji looked at me like he expected me to go into a rage, demand that he try again and again until it worked. I think I surprised him that day. I let go of his shoulders and turned to Ki, who was only now sitting up on the bed. She looked at me, and without exchanging a single word, she knew the results, or lack of them.
"Thank you for trying," she said softly, not looking at all surprised or even sad. But I saw that hope die in her eyes, and knew somehow that it wasn't coming back.
"Onii-chan,"
I blink myself out of my daze and look downwards. Ki-lin's gazing up at me with a concerned expression.
"Huh?" I reply, oh so intelligently.
"You were thinking again," She accuses me. "You get this little line between your eyes when you think."
"Then I'll try not to think so much," I grin, "Wouldn't want to get wrinkles at my age."
She laughs again, and swings her Sailor slippered feet in her chair. She doesn't bring up the fact that she knows I was thinking about how she isn't going to get well again. We never do. There's a kind of unspoken agreement not to mess up the rest of her time by talking about depressing things like death. Even if those depressing things are never far from our minds. She always avoids the subject when our parents come to visit, no matter how often they try to bring it up. Ki's gotten very deft at changing the topic of conversation. Experience will do that to you, I guess.
Once again I'm looking at those ridiculous slippers, and thinking how she looks awfully small in that big metal chair. It seems to be swallowing her up, and maybe it is, to some extent. Without warning, I scoop her up in my arms, hold her over my head, and deposit her on my shoulders. She squeaks in alarm and grabs for something to steady herself, her hands briefly covering my eyes.
"Shuu! What are you doing?!" Ki-lin yelps.
"You're not a cripple," I say lightly, already striding away from that damn chair, "And you shouldn't have to be wheeled around like one."
Her hands settle atop my head, one pats absently at my cheek.
"Arigatou." She murmurs, almost too faint for me to hear.
"Don't mention it," I look around. Now there are other people out in the courtyard, enjoying the early summer afternoon. "So, where to?"
"Anywhere but here," She replies flatly, "I want to see something different for a change."
"That makes two of us," I snort. "Lessee...there's a pretty nice park about a block away. Good food too. We can sneak out if you don't mind being seen in your PJs and those...things."
One heel thunks lightly against my chest. "Would you drop the slippers already?"
"Gladly," I go to pry one off her foot, and she squeals a giggle and jerks it away. She always did have ticklish feet.
Nobody made any attempt to stop us from leaving the hospital grounds. I mean really, what's a short walk gonna do? Kill her? I try to push thoughts like that away, but it isn't easy. People stare openly now, away from the hospital walls where they expect to see sick people. An ordinary person doesn't think about things like the effects of radiotherapy or chemo, and you'd be surprised at how shocked most of them are to see them close up.
On the way, she talks about friends she's made in the pediatrics ward; about a little girl with TB that has to be isolated, because she could spread the disease just by breathing the same air as other people, and an older boy with muscular dystrophy. All I can do is wonder at the kind of guts these kids have. They wake up each morning, knowing they're dying, and wondering if it'll be the last day they have on earth. That's the scariest thing I can imagine...I don't think I have that kind of courage.
I wasn't kidding when I said the park was nice. There's a paved path that runs through the width of it, curling around and back on itself to show off the landscaping. At one point, it goes up into a bridge that oversees the whole place. I grab us each an icecream cone and pass one up to my sister.
"Drip that on my head, and there'll be hell to pay," I say in my best Wrath- of-the-Gods voice. She just laughs. There is no scaring this girl!
I make the climb up the path and we stop atop the bridge, just watching the world go by. Her weight is nothing on my shoulders. She can't be any heavier than eighty-something pounds by now.
"Tell me a story," She requests suddenly. "You know, the ones I like?"
I do know. I've told her everything that I've gone through, in my time as a Trooper. Well, not everything, there was some editing going on, obviously, but the majority of my 'stories' are just as they happened. For some reason, Ki especially likes the part where Shin, Seiji and myself were trapped in the Youjakai's clutches, and how Touma broke us out to come save the day. She loves a good rescue story. I wonder if that's significant of anything?
At any rate, that's the tale I choose to tell, all the way through to Arago's destruction. My sister's a great audience; she knows just when to make those little appreciative noises, and when to hold her breath in anticipation. No matter how many times I tell her a particular story, she always listens like it's the first time. That's a rare trait, I know.
The story draws to an end. Or at least, that part of it does. My own tale isn't done. The yoroi isn't through with me just yet, I can feel it deep down in my bones. I don't often tell her the chapters involving Shikaisen, or the KuroiKikoutei. Those don't exactly have the best, or most final of endings, and I'd hate to tell her a story with anything less than a happy ending.
We're quiet now, just eating our icecream, and watching as afternoon fades to twilight. I hadn't realized so much time had passed. I'll have to take her back to the hospital before long, but neither of us really want that.
"You're so brave," Ki-lin's voice comes finally from over my head. I waited for a second, unsure if she'd said that, or I was hearing things. It wouldn't have been the first time.
"Me?" I deliberately keep my tone light. I may not be the most empathic Trooper, but I can tell from her abnormal seriousness that a bomb is about to drop.
"Hai," Her tone is wistful, and not a little sad. "I wish...I wish I was strong enough to do things like that. But instead I'm...I'm stuck in a body that's..."
I lift her easily up off my shoulders and set her on the stone wall that makes up the side of the bridge. Her blue eyes shimmer with tears she refuses to shed. Sometimes I think she's even more stubborn than I am.
"I'm not the strong one," I say quietly, using my sleeve to wipe a sticky icecream smear from the corner of her mouth. "I'm not the one who stays in that hospital room twentyfour-seven. I'm not the one who tries to make everyone else forget how bad things are. You're the brave one in this family, Ki-lin."
Her lower lip starts to quiver. "I'm not brave," she insists quietly, "I'm scared. I'm so scared." Her hands are fisting into the sleeves of my shirt, gripping my forearms tightly, and her voice is a breathy whisper. "But I don't want to let mother and father see...because they have so much to worry about. They shouldn't have to concern themselves with whether or not I'm happy. I-...If I cry, I'll scare them. They shouldn't be scared too."
"We're all scared, Ki," I tell her softly, one hand rising as though to push back a non-existent lock of hair. "Being helpless makes people feel scared. And we're all helpless here. Me most of all. I'm not used to having to sit off on the sidelines and watch without doing anything. You shouldn't not cry because you worry for us. It's okay to be scared." God, she had the most right out of anyone to be afraid! She was dying slowly, inch by inch, and she thought it wasn't alright to be frightened? I'd be terrified out of my fucking mind! But I don't tell her that...at least not in those exact words.
She throws her arms around my chest, and caves in. Her tiny, frail frame shakes and shudders with sobs she's probably only voiced into her pillow up until now.
"Th-there was so m-much I meant to do!" She wails. "A-and I never did, b- because I th-thought I had so much time!" A horrible sob racks her shoulders violently. "But I don't! And n-now I never will!"
What can I say to something like that? I go to my knees and hug her to my chest, rocking her slowly and stroking her kerchief-covered head. She cries into my shoulder, and I'm glad I'm here. The thought of her crying alone in that empty, cold hospital room stirs a rage inside of me. More than likely she's done so more than once, when all the visitors had left, and there was no one left to see her.
Next to everything she's lived through, what I've endured seems tiny and insignificant. Fighting hordes of bad-guys isn't brave, it's suicidal. Bravery is waking up each morning, surrounded by the sick and the dying, knowing you're slowly slipping too, and not giving in to despair. Bravery is knowing that maybe you won't be eating another meal after this dinner. Bravery is laughing when your relatives come to visit, and making them forget that they originally came to pity the sick kid. Bravery is lying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, and being afraid to close your eyes because there's a good chance you won't open them in the morning, and not taking it for granted when it comes. Bravery is living a death. And my sister, and those other terminal kids in the pediatrics ward, are the bravest people alive. They have the kind of guts that you only see once in a lifetime. If Arago had to face down that kind of courage, he never would have come back for seconds.
A body as wasted as Ki-lin's can't keep up sobs that intense for too long. Eventually she stops shaking, and just sort of leans against me, her face buried in my chest, her hands gripping at my shirt. I rub at her back and murmur something vaguely comforting. Words and platitudes are insults to a dying person. You don't tell a terminal cancer patient that 'it'll be alright'. You just don't.
"D'you know what the worst part of it is?" Her voice is slightly muffled by my chest. I look down at the top of her head, worried another emotional storm is on the way.
"What?" I venture.
"....I'm gonna die a virgin."
"ACK!" I sputter in brotherly-rage, floored by the comment, never seeing it coming. And she laughs at me! Ki-lin shook now with a fit of the giggles. Her eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot from crying, but I see honest enjoyment there, and if seeing me choke is what it takes to make her laugh, then I'll let her shock me as many times as she wants.
"You'd better be!" I growl when my voice comes back. She throws her head back and laughs harder, a light peal of sound that makes my heart rise in my chest. I realize that I'm not thinking ahead to the inevitable pain at the end of the story, I'm just living in the here and now. That's the only way to live, the only way to appreciate what we have.
By now it's dark, so I scoop Ki-lin up to my shoulders again, and we head back towards the hospital. For most of the way, we travel in silence. The streets are still full of people, and they stare, but for once I'm not angered by it. My sister leans over to talk over the noise of the crowd, and into my ear.
"Onii-chan, I want you to do something for me," She says seriously.
"Name it," I reply. Maybe it's a rash promise, but I'll do what I can to give her what she wants.
"Tell your friends about me?" It's more of a question than a request, really. "I don't want you to drift away from them, because of me. And you're probably being really distant lately."
"I am not!" I argue, but only halfheartedly, because I know she's right. I've been spending more and more time at the hospital lately, and less with the other important people in my life.
"You're a really sucky liar, you know that?" She settles back on my shoulders, but reaches down to take one of my hands away from where I'm gripping her knees to hold her steady. For the rest of the walk, we're like that; her perched on my shoulders, holding my hand. An ache slowly grows in my arm, but I don't care. Even now, she's worried about the well being of others, making me laugh and taking my mind away from the approaching day when I'll lose her forever.
And that's the kind of bravery I can only aspire to.
AN: Well, whaddaya think? Somewhere along the line, it got almost hopeful. It was angsty in my head when I plotted it out! I swear it was! But for a first shot at Trooper-angst, I'm happy with myself.
Ki-lin was named for the Chinese version of a Unicorn. In actuality, they look NOTHING like the European version. The only similarities are the horn with healing properties, and the fact that they both have four legs. That's about it. Ki-lins were created by Buddha, and take pacifism to whole new heights. They never tread on a single living thing, including ants or blades of grass. They eat only fruits and veggies, and leave the seeds for further planting. They drink only water, and are capable of changing their size from knick-knack size to small-pony size.
Why'd I choose this name? Two reasons: I thought the whole pacifistic nature suited her, and I suck at coming up with good, foreign sounding names ^_^;; If you've ever read Mary Brown's 'Master of Many Treasures' and accompanying books, you know what a Ki-lin is. Ms. Brown spells it differently though. I went with the spelling from Acorna because I thought it