[this is for Ashley, aka sharingank. 'Cause, well, what the heck. She gave me the prompts 'tattoo' & 'lord, what fools these mortals be' and I sort of sewed them badly into this silly little patchwork of self-indulgent nonsense written between one and two in the morning. writing gods, I ask forgiveness for this travesty. I've never written more than a paragraph of Fai-centric anything before, so bear with me...

Back then—before—although it isn't much of a 'before' as befores go—some hours ago, Kurogane'd already learned the art of giving a damn. Yeah, he was scared. He would admit that. He was scared as hell for about six reasons and number one was what, what, what the hell is that guy going to do? Ashura's blood was still on his sword and there was a curse hanging in the air and—

gods, but Kurogane hated magic, simply hated the whole accursed—

"It seems that the more I use my magic, the closer I am to dying."

--What?!

It was: a dark map of sprawling wizardry; confusing, like the air was being ripped apart and rearranged to trap them. It was Fai's magic and Mokona's forcing open a hole in the sky as Celes began to envelop itself in a whirling shroud of white.

Fai, saying: Go!

--like hell, Kurogane thought.

(If there was one thing he knew, it was that he'd had just about damned enough of being the last one standing.)

Like hell I will.

He just—knew.

There's only a few things he knows like that and that's one of them: another's the air of Nihon. So that and this is why when they arrive, even though he's actually thinking the word 'ouch' and—well—it's agony, no doubt about it, but when they arrive it's shot through with so much relief and a strange, sure kind of joy because he's home. He kept his promise to Tomoyo ('cause he's here) and his promise to himself ('cause they're all here)—

Hurts like a bitch, this, but—

There's Syaoran, eyes wide and concerned, still holding Sakura who's still holding their hope somewhere, and—aaah, his vision's a little uncertain, but he can catch Fai's face—at least that—(good)—that raw shock's gone, that resigned smile, too, but

--yes, it's Fai.

Idiot.

(they've been through a lot--)

He hasn't released his grip on Fai's arm with his right hand, maybe just because he wants to know they're both still there. Oh, there's blood everywhere. What a pain. He's not sure when he collapses. He knows this ground and it gives him the weirdest urge to smile rather than scream. He feels Fai catch him as he falls; Fai's hands seizing his. And Fai's saying something that drifts through awareness—the mage's urgency and his anguish make Kurogane want to at least try to listen and give that voice the benefit of the doubt.

Kurogane, Fai's saying, his voice breaking, Kurogane, stay with me—

"Sorry," Kurogane murmurs.

--what? –aaah, Kurogane, you're such an idiot—

I am not, Kurogane thinks vaguely.

And then:

Well, maybe a little.

He's gotten used to idiocy. Seems like a human thing, really.

Kurogane, why—

He loses consciousness right about then. --and it's just as well because Kurogane hasn't got the slightest idea where to start: how to tell this idiot what it was like, how he couldn't do it, how he'd lose both arms before losing Fai to some, some lingering stupid fucking desire to die alone.

Sorry, is what Kurogane said when they arrived here—murmured, really. Not that Kurogane didn't have it in him to be gentle. Before he'd lost consciousness, that was all he'd had the gall to say—sorry.

What the hell did he have to be sorry for.

Fai's staring at the wall.

Ou-sama, what should I do?

The thought sends a trickle of bitter laughter down his throat, acrid and uncertain.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

"Kurogane—" he'd said some hours ago—new, sharper desperation than what he feels now, "Kurogane,"a panic, really, "I told you I—you—why--?!"

Sorry, Kurogane'd said.

Now Fai is silent, and Kurogane is silent, and they—

Odd how he told Kurogane to go, back then, and now he would plead for the opposite.

What Fai does is gulp down the sterile air and try not to think that he doesn't deserve it because to think that would be, in some way, disrespectful, and Fai would hate Kurogane for backing him into that corner if only he could summon the will for it. But he's exhausted. Not that he's going to get any sleep. He will stay here; he'll stay here no matter what.

He shouldn't be thinking about himself.

Since he arrived in the witch's protected little sliver of space he has been trying not to do that, because the person who he had been (defender, chosen, unfurling oddly under the soft light of that small smile) he knew could not have been the person that he was. For some reason he kept the name. He doesn't want to know why that is. It wasn't his. Fai, the way it hurt at the back of his throat and the way his voice got caught on the fraying edges of the end-vowel, wavering—the way he cut it off with the title and the talisman; gifts from his king, small anchors. He took those with him, he supposes, because he had nothing else. Nothing but that elegant knot of ink at his back and its empty purpose.

And he thought on that, for a while: that tattoo. It'd been created out of air and sorcery…

Markings, he thought once, absently. That marking is now an absence, as Ashura is. It is an empty space, except not quite. Because the weights and words and battle-scars of these truly few days have been hard-earned; absolute: indelible.

The window's a few squares of indigo-blue where a few stars are flickering into view, and the moon rises over foreign, rolling hills. He doesn't know how to read the clocks here and doesn't bother counting the distant chimes from down the hall. They don't seem to end, anyway. --The others are asleep and left to whatever dreams they might have, but Fai cannot sleep like this and he doesn't want to know what images followed him here.

He's felt more accursed before.

He's known fear, like this. Anguish.

But…

(it--)

…different, isn't it?

Because no matter how much distance he puts between himself and Kurogane it's never, ever been enough.

…sorry.

The problem is, he knows why Kurogane would do a thing like this.

"I'm not worth it, you know," he tells Kurogane, staring into the quiet and feeling sick. A wretched sort of smile's on his face, and his one eye's definitely haunted. "Not you." Not him. That's the problem. Fai has come too far to speak of sacrifice in sureties, but…not him. Not sharp, infuriating Kuro-chan, who's slower to anger than he looks; who gets that amazing look in his eyes with a sword in his hand; whose fierce loyalty to a princess under the shifting skies of Nihon stays with him even after he chases someone else's wish across the worlds; who knows Fai; who Fai knows; who Fai cares about too much.

And who of course knew everything and still made his decision that—damn him—Fai can't fault.

Don't you dare leave me here, Kurogane.

"If you want to die so badly," Kurogane offered heatedly back then, "then I will kill you. Until then, live."

Fai realizes wearily that he must, because to die would be to forget and he cannot bring himself to do that.

(even if--)

He buries his face in his hands.

"You should get some sleep, Fai-san."

--and glances back at the doorway, to Tomoyo and her soft voice and its oddly familiar kindness. His half-smile isn't much of an answer, but that's all he has. After a pause, he adds, "So should you, Tomoyo-hime, if you'll forgive my saying so."

Tomoyo's answering smile is wry. "True. Are you well?"

"…Enough," Fai says.

Tomoyo just looks at him—and again the familiarity is almost painful.

Fai looks away. He wishes that he and Kurogane and Tomoyo could share more than this aching silence and that he had more to fill that silence with than he has.

"…This is not your fault, you know," says Tomoyo quietly.

"It—"

"It isn't." As if she'll brook no argument not because she is a princess, but because she knows she's right. "And I am sure Kurogane would—and will—say the same. You should understand that."

Fai shrugs helplessly. "Maybe I should. Maybe I do."

Tomoyo's expression says, is that so?

Fai's is like parchment; white and with everything written on it quite clearly.

"You're afraid," Tomoyo says.

…he nods.

She shuts her eyes, as if in meditation. "You shouldn't be."

"…He'd probably hit me if he knew." Fai sounds tired.

"Probably," agrees Tomoyo, almost amused. "He might not, though. You never know."

"You never know," agrees Fai.

--and Fai's thinking, didn't this hit me harder than he ever…?

"…or, rather," he adds, "I don't," and swallows hard. The space between he and Tomoyo's been bridged by grief already, and he is beginning to know regardless that the time for distance is past. He asks, finally. "…Kurogane. He…"

"He'll survive," says Tomoyo, and there's something surprisingly unsteady in all that certainty. "No thanks to circumstance, but he will. He—refuses to settle for less." Her face breaks out of elegance into a grin, which Fai returns with a shaky smile of his own. "Besides, I could hardly let him vanish when he finally did what I told him to for once."

(–'In my life, I've only served under one person, and that's Tomoyo-hime!')

"What's that?"

--she could hardly have told him to lose his arm like this. –and he recognizes with that thought that she also must—a little—

"He learned the meaning of true strength," Tomoyo says.

And what Fai thinks without hesitation is: …how could he not know that?

"Which is…?"

But Tomoyo doesn't have to answer.

Because back then—before—although it isn't much of a 'before' as befores go—lies the memory of it. Fai thought he was done. He thought that he should free all of them from the last vestiges of his past, and die with the wreckage of who he'd been and the king he'd loved—his gift to them and his final indulgence: two escapes. And he couldn't have said how much it meant that even now, even now Kurogane wouldn't let go.

But he thought, they have to get out and I can't follow, and that's the way it is. And they have to get out. No matter what.

And back then Fai offered a bow to hitsuzen and was ready to accede, with most of a true smile as Kurogane released him at last (…I guess I'll never…) and then—

What was he—

No! Not you, not you, don't you understand—

Back then everything vanished that wasn't fear and his thoughts were full of wordless prayers and the wrenching smell of blood and he still shakes to think of it, but even so: he sees more clearly now. Kurogane is going to live, see.

…and so is he, as chance would have it.

And they're both idiots: tossing around their lives that have so much damned weight. Ashura-ou always said that mortal men become infatuated with mortality. Maybe that's true. When the stakes are high they seem to always step aside for each other, waiting, grasping to understand what's more important than survival because without that, what's survival worth? They each carry the memories of that, don't they? Even if Fai has spent so long dodging it.

They're both idiots, to have said in such plain terms: I'd die for you.

When what they mean—yes, both of them—is: for you, I will live.