Suki ja nai

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Yggdra Union. I own Yggdra Union fanfiction. And in working on said fanfiction, I think I addicted myself to this pairing. Hence the following oneshot/drabble collection. …I'm a moron, aren't I…?

01: zetsubou

As soon as Rosary got the news, she ran to the castle's infirmary wing, blinded by her terrible fear. The doctors and healers she passed were murmuring to each other with grim and saddened expressions, and when she got to the room she sought at long last, the looks on her friends' faces told her everything she needed to know.

She tried to hide her trembling lower lip behind her hand. "It's… that bad?"

Yggdra looked down at the ground and nodded. "Rosary, it's… so horrible. I never thought… he seemed to be doing so well lately. He'd been easing off that medication so slowly… all the doctors said he would be able to function normally… but…!" She buried her face in her hands.

Rosary forced herself to smile. "Oh, Yggdra, don't… Not here. Think about your condition. You shouldn't be stressing yourself out. Besides, just think of where you are. You know you'll lose face if your people see you weeping."

Yggdra wiped her eyes and tried a shaky, lopsided smile in return. It looked more like a grimace. "Okay… I know. I'm sorry."

"Listen, Rosary…" Gulcasa put his arm protectively around Yggdra's shoulders, giving her a concerned look before turning to regard the Lady of the White Rose. "Can you take care of him for now? Yggdra's been here for too long. She needs to sit down, get some rest. And neither of us'll be able to, so long as we know he's… alone in there." Absently, he reached up and rubbed one of the dark, jagged marks that traced along the side of his throat, frowning. Even after so many years, his scars had yet to fade even a little. "I know what that's like. I've been there. More than anything else, he needs somebody in there with him. Not because—he doesn't have that kind of strength. He just needs to know he isn't alone. There's nothing more painful than being alone when you're… like that."

"I'll do it," Rosary agreed with a sigh, although she was dreading the moment she'd have to open that door and walk inside. "Yggdra, just go lie down. Remember, you're not just thinking of yourself anymore, alright?"

As if taking Rosary's words as a cue, Yggdra suddenly winced and laid a hand to the ripe curve of her belly. Although both Gulcasa and Rosary started forward with concern, she shook her head at them with a weak smile. "Just fidgety," she said, although her voice wavered nervously. "We've still a few months yet."

"Come on, you need rest," Gulcasa cajoled softly, looking down at his wife with worry in his eyes. "You can't overexert yourself now."

Not this time, Rosary added mentally, making a face. She didn't have to say it. She knew that it loomed over them more than it did her, and God alone knew just how badly Rosary herself wanted things to work out for the two of them. Yggdra had been so heartbroken when she'd miscarried last year, and had blamed herself endlessly when she'd been told it was likely because she'd pushed herself too hard. Now that she and Gulcasa had decided to try again, they were both deathly afraid that something would go wrong, and Rosary and all the others knew they had to do their part to take care of the young couple.

And that meant picking up slack when Yggdra needed to rest when things like this happened. Besides, it was her responsibility as much as her friends'.

"He's right, you know," she said, attempting a light and easy tone. "I'll take care of Roswell. Don't you worry about a thing. I'll tell you everything that happens later, once I know I can leave him to his own devices."

Yggdra nodded, subdued. Gulcasa shot Rosary a look of pure gratitude, then gently shepherded her off down the hall.

Rosary sighed as she watched them go, then turned back towards the door and laid a hand on the brass knob. She hesitated for a moment, then slowly turned it and let herself in.

Slowly, weakly, Roswell turned towards her from his bed, his brow furrowing for a moment before he recognized her and tried to smile. "…Hello…"

"Shhh. Don't talk." Rosary looked around, grabbed the nearest chair, and pulled it up to his bedside, sitting on the edge and leaning forward to stroke his hair back from his forehead. "Don't try to move. Just be still, okay? You'll just make it worse."

"…I…" Roswell began, but had to pause for air, his breath rasping and erratic. "I… Rosary… I…"

"I said hush," Rosary ordered. God, he was so pale. His skin was as bloodlessly white and delicate as paper, his lips more gray than pink. How long had it taken for someone to realize? How long had he been left wherever he'd been, that he was so close to having been bled dry? There was a needle in his upper left arm hooked to a half-filled IV of fresh blood, but… Rosary doubted that could make up for it. His forehead had felt clammy when her fingertips had brushed it; his eyes were half-closed and bleary, and he seemed to be having trouble focusing on her. Even through all the time she'd known Roswell, Rosary had never seen him this out of it before. It was like he was still hovering in the foggy area between life and death.

This was even worse than the way it'd been at Heaven's Gate, with his life swiftly eroding as she and Yggdra had held him. At least then he'd been—mostly unconscious, and still struggling. Not like this.

Rosary bit her lip and made herself look. White bandages were wrapped all up and down Roswell's forearms, tied over his palms—he'd gotten the wrists too this time. He'd been serious, then. Blood soaked them in a bright scarlet line from wrist to elbow, leaving wet blotches on the comforter. Oh, God. He was still losing blood.

Her first instinct was to demand why the hell he'd done it. Rosary mentally sat on that urge, refusing to let herself give voice to it. Yelling wouldn't help at all; it would only make things worse. This was not Roswell's fault. The healers who knew best about such things said that the flow of life in some people was more delicate than in others, that the signals that dictated mood and physical responses were more easily confused and misdirected. Consequently, when those people found themselves in emotional distress, the internal imbalance they had sent them spiraling out of control.

Roswell was one of those people. And this was not something he could help.

Besides—the only real surprisehere was the magnitude. Roswell had tried to hurt himself several times before, just… never this badly. Had he truly meant to die this time?

"…I…" Roswell tried again.

"No," Rosary told him, trying to bite back tears. She would not cry, damn it. "Just hush. Just stay quiet for now. It's fine. I know you're hurting, and I'm not going anywhere."

Laboriously, Roswell slid his maimed right arm across the bed to where Rosary's hands clutched the sheets, leaving a faint red smear behind it. He laid pale fingers over hers, meeting her gaze wordlessly.

Rosary clutched his hand and squeezed it. He tried to squeeze back, as if to reassure her, but he didn't have the strength.

He's cold, Rosary realized suddenly. After losing that much blood… if he can't stay warm…

The witch made a face, then peeled back the sheets and kicked off her high-heeled boots, setting her hat on the bedpost. "Here. Get close. You need to warm up for now."

"…………"

"And don't get the wrong idea," Rosary said a little sharply, with an attempt at a wry smile that went lopsided. All the same, Roswell gave a soft laugh at her effort at humor as she eased him into her arms.

"Sleep now," she crooned as he lay listlessly against her side, running her fingers through his hair. "Everything else can wait. Just sleep now. Get your rest. Get better."

Either Roswell was too weak and too tired to argue, or he knew better. He simply closed his eyes and rested his cheek on her shoulder; almost instantly, his breathing evened out until it was almost normal. He was asleep.

"…Idiot," Rosary murmured as she looked down at him worriedly. She might never be able to ask him directly why he'd tried to kill himself, might never be able to do much more than hold him while he wavered between life and death, but—what little she could do to ease his despair, she would.

As his friend—as someone who cared for his sake—Rosary could do nothing else.

Owari.