The cool breeze bothered his heavy eyelids, forcing them to twitch uncomfortably. He would have liked to close them immediately, but then he quickly decided against it. He could not let sleep overcome him now, especially when he was so close to a breakthrough. Breakthrough. That was such a literal term. Far too literal in fact, since he had glanced at his lightly bandaged forearm.

Skin and fur.

He had avoided using the crimson stained blades today, for he was almost sure that someone would notice the deep scars eventually. He might have been hallucinating, but he was almost sure that Tigress was watching him for that brief, fearful moment. Acting quickly, he had covered it and diverted the conversation into a more pleasant topic, but the initial curiosity never left the orange ovals; a permanent questioning look forever burned into them.

He was safe here. The wind, which had initially troubled him, almost came to a complete halt as he swerved himself around, disturbing the circle of dust which had gently floated around him. The broad back absorbed almost all of the air, not to mention the cold. The naturally high contrast of his fur helped somewhat; he had read somewhere that black was viscerally heat-retentive.

He took in the sight before him again. Regardless of his current exhaustion, the thin lips slowly curved upwards… he might have been happy one day, if it were not for his present predicament. He shifted his eyebrows constantly as the dark expanse of blue in front of him vibrated repeatedly as the heat given off from the bright flames next to him twisted and adjusted; it was swimming, almost dancing through the air, a merry tune playing on otherwise rugged edges. The fur on his head bristled subtly as the breeze forced itself upwards, the sigh leaving his mouth before he could stop it. It was all right though; there would be no obvious punitive measures for-

"Po?"

Dammit.

He was wrong yet again. The striped feline slid beneath him, making no more noise than the leaves spinning from her sudden presence. She smiled subtly at him – he had expected this. Before he had always jumped in surprise, but her habit of sudden appearances had long since become a usual occurrence; so frequent that perhaps, Po was more disappointed by the new mundane life that embraced him than Tigress was more disappointed in her lack of usual intimidation.

The pandas. No – he was the pandas. He was a memory. A mistake.

He urged his head to shut down. He didn't want such intrusively violent thoughts to break out prematurely. He needed to suppress it. He wanted to push it so far back down his throat that it would reach into his stomach, forever trapped in an eternal amalgamation of food, acid, hatred, envy, depression and pain. He hoped it would die there.

It would die there. Then I wouldn't have to think about this at all. I could erase it forever, just like the peacock did to the other "Me's"… I'm no better. I'm him. I'm a monster. No. I'm my monster.

*THUMP*. Evidently he had failed to notice her awkwardness. Her resting foot had only slid on a decrepit branch, its sordid nature causing a rather noticeable cacophony of twigs breaking, grass bending and of course, the THUMP of foot on land. She seemed embarrassed by this. She had taken his cue of silence, so breaking that unwritten oath was a failure. Perhaps it was.

Nevertheless, she seemed eager to talk, but her first words came out more accusatory than she would have liked.

"How long have you been sitting here?"

"35 hours."

She frowned at him, although with more tiredness than disappointment.

"Are you trying to make fun of me?"

"Why would you ask something that you know I would try to lie about?"

She nodded in approval. It was, after all, her mistake. She turned her face away, an abstruse mix of shame and anger etched so plainly he might as well have read a book on it. He tried to amend:

"30 minutes or so."

She seemed more satisfied with this. Making a sudden move, she snapped out a paw at seemingly nothing in front of her – a miniscule fly freezing in mid-air from the force of the rapid impact; Po watched it fondly as it erratically floated downwards; its crushed wings doing nothing to slow its descent as its limp form collapsed on the ground, resting gently on a moist blade of grass – Po narrowed his eyes. The soft jades analyzed the variety of flora beneath them. The dew was just beginning to form, a definitive sign to stand up immediately and walk back to his room. It was critical that he get some sleep; training tomorrow would be brutal; Shifu had even raised his voice a full 2 octaves, much farther than his usual norm.

He glanced nervously at her. She was perfectly still, completely quiet, almost statue-like, as if movement itself would threaten to break the perfect calmness that enveloped them both. He had long since expecting this, but he had never before thought it would happen in one of his weakest moments. He had planned to introduce it capriciously, lightly, perhaps while she was cracking a wooden warrior or munching on what now must be mundane tofu.

Noodles. He would definitely try to coerce her sometime.

She didn't seem interested in leading either, which made the task of remaining quiet yet cool doubly difficult. He certainly needed to talk, but not with her, as much as he would have liked to. He needed assurances, not accusations. He wanted closure, not bluntness. He would have admired gestures, not objectivity.

He smiled slightly. As much as he hated himself, the enormous silence that was stretching now was as awkward as it was hilarious. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming need to burst out laughing, quipping, talking, joking, anything that would distract him from thinking. He wasn't used to these emotions anyway.

"You seem to be in your head."

He wanted to jerkily snap his head back, but he suppressed the urge and instead settled for a slow glance at his comrade. Or friend. Or something.

Or something. Or something. Or- No. Or nothing.

"Yeah well," he began, "I was bored." And I don't want to get into whatever you're going to do now.

"Was?" she inquired.

"Yeah I should rest. A warrior needs his relaxation-" So I can avoid more of your plans. "Big day tomorrow." Maybe I can find a new place after training so I can be alone.

He turned to leave, but was immediately confused. He had not expected this. She had to intervene. There must have been something that she said, but he didn't quite hear it. She must have. A nervous query, a penetrating gaze, something to let him know-

"What?" He wanted it to sound questioning, but he knew it sounded matter-of-factly.

"I didn't say anything." Her response was quick, too quick in fact, as though she anticipated his confusion.

"Really?" That was a mistake. His curiosity was too evident, his eyes too soft, his guard too low-

"Do you want me to ask?"

That was a breaking point. Her tone was not mocking, but he had hallucinated yet again, feeling months of suppressed emotions surfacing within seconds. She stood up abruptly, evidently expecting this as well. Po felt a certain rage built up, having absolutely no source at all, but present all the same. It was literally burning him.

"I get it. I'm weak. JUST BECAUSE I WOULD LIKE TO BE ASKED ABOUT SOMETHING!"

Her expression did not change in the slightest. She did not expect this, but the rage was so understandable, so natural, and so perfect, that she almost empathized.

"So they're all dead. It's done. Actually, it was done even before you-" she started.

"Stop it. Just, stop it." He began, although he knew his words were fruitless. "Stop looking at it logically. I don't want logic. I don't want analysis. I want – I just need closure that the pandas didn't die – that they passed away. They felt happy at one point."

"They were massacred by the thousands." She replied coldly.

His mouth tried to open, but his mind would not permit it. He knew he was defeated from the moment he had opened his mouth, the moment he had engaged a conversation… he was always defeated. Just as the pandas were defeated, just as the peacock was defeated, just as his mother and father were defeated – just as he had always known. An eternal, cyclic model of failure.

"It's fine."

`He startled. How had she responded to an inner feeling? He hadn't even expressed it…

"Po," she began, tentatively putting a paw on his shoulder. He realized how taxing this must be on her, so he quickly feigned appreciation on his face. "I'm not going to pretend to be good at this stuff, but-"

His eyes widened massively, disbelieving of the gestures he had needed so badly but never even dreamt would occur. The breeze had burst back to life, howling and ripping through the before-dawn air, crystallizing the moment in an impasse – a perfect sequence of time that eclipsed the serene nature of its surroundings. It was a matter of aesthetics.

"-you matter to people. Thinking obsessively about this by extension hurts others. Perhaps – "she hesitated, achingly slow at progressing, "damage to you might damage others." So she had known.

She removed the paw, clearly uncomfortable, but accomplishment glowed from her pupils.

"The people who care about you might not want to see you pondering. It doesn't suit you."

And she left. Abruptly and without kind farewell, or even a half-hearted chuckle at her own joke. but Po was more than satisfied. The overt implication, the calm tone, the imperceptible glitter in her eyes had spoken all what she could not force her tongue to do. No, he had imagined.

No I didn't. Actually I don't care either way.

The morning sun was dawning. He still felt the coldness buried deep within him, but the sun, or something, had warmed his chest slightly. Trite as he was, a "ray of hope" was an inaccurate assessment. It was a ball of energy. Erratic, compulsive and fiery.

Something.

He was hacking away her walls each day. Today would be another milestone.