The Most Difficult Word

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Tales of Legendia. In any way, shape, or form. D:

As his cleats tore the tightly packed, mulched-up rubber of the track, Senel's only thought was that he would happily run forever, if only he could.

His whole body would ache the next day, but right now it just felt good—too good to bother with anything but the immediate moment. There was a certain kind of euphoria in pushing yourself past your sensible limits, in stubbornly clinging with your will alone to a goal your body hadn't wanted to reach. There was a point at which your conscious mind blanked out, and the agony that was every muscle in your body was completely silenced. And then, everything was power, and speed, and blissful ferocity. It could last for minutes or even hours.

And in that time, there was just him. Just him and the track. Nothing else existed in the world, and the anguish he'd been fighting to keep at bay was gone as though it had never been in the first place.

But as Senel turned the bend and completed the lap, he suddenly became aware that every breath he took burned his throat and slashed his lungs, that his back was soaked with sweat, and that he was starting to shake, the strength draining from his body and leaving crushing exhaustion in its place.

He broke his sprint and settled into a listless jog, making his way towards the shadow of the bleachers, then finally veering off the track towards the duffel bag he'd deposited there earlier—hours earlier, maybe. He tended to lose track of time when he was running. Safely out of the sun's reach, he collapsed into a half-sprawled sitting position, light-headed and gasping for breath, closing his eyes out of exhaustion.

He heard the slosh of water and opened them again, looking to where a slim hand was wrapped around a water bottle that was being thrust out at him wordlessly. He grabbed it, twisted the cap off with his teeth since his hands were probably too sweaty to work it, and drank deeply. Once he'd had enough, he pulled the bottle back with a distasteful grimace; the water had not only gone lukewarm in the heat, it had been left to sit long enough that it had gone sweet against the plastic.

Still, waste not. Senel set the bottle down, peeled off his drenched shirt, and then poured what remained of the water over his head. He flinched a little as it trickled down his back—God, that felt so cold—then threw the empty bottle carelessly aside and flopped back onto the grass, his chest heaving.

Lying there gave him a nice view of the blindingly bright sky. Coincidentally, it also gave him a nice view of the jeans-and-white-tee-clad girl who was scowling down at him, her hands on her hips. As he watched absently, his head spinning as he drew in blessed air, she ran one hand through brown hair so dark it was almost black and tightened her scowl to a smoldering glare.

"Christ, Coolidge," Chloe Valens exclaimed irritably. "Are you trying to kill yourself or something?"

"…shut……… up……," Senel managed, still panting, giving her a sour look through hooded green eyes.

Chloe shook her head at him, then knelt down in the grass, turning to his unzipped bag and rifling through it. While ordinarily Senel would've demanded what in the holy hell she was doing and made her stop, at the moment, he just lay there and stared tiredly at her. He didn't have the energy for a fight with Chloe today.

"I've been looking for you," she informed him as she shoved roughly through his things. "I figured you had to've come here, since they said you left the gym a while ago."

Senel didn't answer. He just lay there and breathed. He still felt dizzy, like if he tried to stand or even sit up, he'd pitch over in a dead faint, and the pain in his hands was starting to sear again.

"Interestingly enough, I was told there that they'd attempted to get you out of your boxing corner for about an hour or so, and the only reason you left was because if you'd kept trying to kill the punching bag, you would've broken something." Chloe's voice was wry, but mild. Senel knew her well enough to know that it meant she was really, really pissed. "They also showed me the one you'd been using. What did you do, Coolidge, go straight to the bag after punching the wall for an hour?"

He still didn't answer. That was probably a rhetorical question, anyway.

Chloe finally turned back towards him. She'd dug his first-aid kit out of the bottom of his bag, and was opening it, taking out cotton swabs, gauze, tape, and antiseptic. "You're doing no one favors by working yourself to the point of collapse," she informed him in an annoyed but worried tone as she lifted his left arm into her lap, gently spreading his fingers so as not to jar his torn and bloody knuckles too badly. When he didn't reply, she shook her head at him exasperatedly and dipped a swab in the bottle of antiseptic, touching it to one of the open wounds.

Pain—hot, searing, unbearable pain—shot from Senel's abused hand all the way up his arm, making him gasp. "Shit," he managed, squeezing his eyes shut and just barely resisting the urge to tear his arm out of Chloe's grasp.

"Oh, stop being such a baby," she ordered, and continued to clean his hand.

She wouldn't be saying that if this were the other way around, Senel thought bitterly as every aching muscle in his body tensed up and he let out a colorful string of oaths. As soon as she was done with the antiseptic, Chloe set gauze pads in place over his knuckles, taping them there and then applying one of Senel's treasured and rarely-used boxer's bandages, wrapping the flaps around his fingers to ensure the whole thing would stay in place.

"Give me the other one," she ordered. Senel glared at her just long enough for her to know that he was only doing it because he knew it was for his own good, then reluctantly held out his hand. Even though he knew it was coming, he still swore vehemently when she slathered the stinging antiseptic on his open wounds.

"You really need to stop being so dramatic," Chloe scolded as she put the first-aid supplies back. "You did that to yourself, and you should've known that nobody in their right mind was going to leave you like that. Idiot."

Senel just sighed and closed his eyes. He hadn't done it purposely at all—hadn't even noticed that he'd gone too far until he'd become aware of the blood splattered down the side of the punching bag. He'd been too intent on burying his turbulent emotions beneath the frustration and hatred he channeled into his fists. Even that hadn't been enough, so… he'd come out here. And it had worked, however fleetingly. But now…

Now, the pain he'd so insistently pushed away had seized his chest again. It was unbearable. He didn't want to have to face it, but today—today he would have to. With a long, shuddering sigh, he covered his face with his taped-up right hand and gritted his teeth.

After a few seconds, he felt Chloe's hand on his head, giving his soft white hair a gentle ruffle. "Come on," she said, a lot more gently than she'd spoken before. "Will's waiting. We have to go get Shirley. She'll be at the pool, right?"

"…Probably." Chloe removed her hand, stuffing his first-aid kit, empty water bottle, and balled-up shirt back into his bag, then silently offered him a fresh one. With a groan, Senel sat up slowly, putting a hand to his head as it spun momentarily, then accepted the plain sleeveless shirt and pulled it over his head. Chloe hoisted the strap of his bag over her shoulder, then offered him a hand up. He took it, letting her pull him to his feet.

They passed the slow walk back to the school in silence. Halfway to the building, however, Chloe put her hand on Senel's shoulder, a rare display of sympathy. And because Senel knew he needed as much support as he could get today, he didn't shrug her off.

---

As the two of them stepped from the empty halls into the oppressive heat of the pool room, Senel heard the creak of the springboard and watched as a graceful blue-and-gold streak turned a perfect backflip and vanished into the water with barely so much as a splash.

As he and Chloe drew closer, the diver surfaced, floating peacefully on her back on the slightly rippling surface of the bluish, chlorinated water. While Chloe hung back—even after an entire summer of lessons that Senel and Shirley had forced her into, she wasn't a very good swimmer and would always hate water—he walked to the edge of the pool and knelt down there, silent for a moment.

She continued to float, her eyes closed, as dead to the world as he'd been on the track. Since he knew she wouldn't notice him otherwise, he called out to her.

"Shirley. It's time to go."

She opened her eyes and looked over at him, her blue eyes wide as she treaded water, then crossed the pool in a few graceful strokes, climbing the silvery ladder and emerging onto the tiled floor.

"Senel…"

He stood, and it didn't matter that she was sopping wet or still in her deep blue swimsuit with her daisy-blonde hair straggling and clinging to her shoulders and back or that her usual light, airy scent was drowned in the smell of chlorine. He held out his arms to her, and she fell into them, clinging tightly and stifling what might have been a sob against his shoulder as he held her close.

Senel did not want to let go—out of all his friends, he would need Shirley's support the most, and she his—but when he felt her hands at his chest, he reluctantly did.

She bit her lip a little and looked down at the floor. "I'll… go change," she said softly, then padded over to the girls' locker room.

"Come on," Chloe said to him, and the two of them left the nearly-unbearable heat of the room, and waited outside until Shirley emerged from the locker room in her sundress and sandals, her wet hair pulled back over her shoulders.

Will was waiting outside, leaning out the window of his pickup with the keys turned and the engine purring low. Chloe loaded Senel's bag into the back and got into the cab on the shotgun side; Senel clambered into the open back and helped Shirley up after him. The two of them sat back against the cab, careful not to obstruct Will's view, and looked wordlessly at each other as the vehicle began to move. Impulsively, Senel reached out and clasped Shirley's hand; she wound her fingers tightly in his.

It was about a half-hour's drive down to the beach, and Will was taking the road slowly. Senel leaned back to look up at the sky through the trees that framed the road.

To think that today he was going to finally close what had been one of the most painful chapters of his life was laughable. He would have to rebuild, somehow, and that would be almost as hard to do as surviving the breakdown. And right now, both were equally unthinkable. In some corner of his mind or his heart, there was still a voice protesting shrilly that there had to have been some mistake, that something like this just wasn't possible.

He'd been so young back then, he thought, and his throat tightened. Nobody forgot his first experience with love. It had been sweet, and tempestuous, and beautiful and ugly. And she'd dumped him, and it had hurt. And dealing with that had been hard enough. But now…

Pain stabbed through Senel's chest. It didn't even bear thinking about.

"Senel…"

He looked over at Shirley again. She was squeezing his hand, pure misery in her eyes.

It made his heart ache. He wanted to reach out and reassure her, tell her everything was going to be alright, but if he did it would be the worst of lies.

So he did the only thing he could think of.

"Listen…" he said, reaching across to her to cup her cheek in his free hand. "I'll be here for you. I'll take care of you, even though it's going to be hard. I can't promise you much, but… I can promise you that, Shirley."

"Senel…" Shirley's big blue eyes filled with tears. "You don't have to pretend it doesn't hurt you, too… it's too much for you to deal with all by yourself. We have to get through this together…"

"Shirley… I…"

But before he could say any more, the trees vanished, and the car slowed to a halt as pavement gave way to gravel. They'd reached the docks.

"We're here," Will announced unnecessarily, and Senel's heart seized with pain and went cold, sinking in his chest.

As the researcher got out of the car and locked his door, Chloe came around to the back to help Senel and Shirley down, and assist them in pulling a tarp over the bags lying there so no one would decide to steal anything while they were out. Will headed down the docks towards the boat, keys in hand, with Shirley following him. Senel hesitated, watching them for a moment as Chloe double-checked the doors. He didn't want to take another step. He didn't want to go any further; he didn't want to join his stiflingly sympathetic friends on his boat and head out to the platform station floating in the middle of the vast lake; he didn't want to see Stella's familiar face under the gauzy veil of the funeral shroud; he especially didn't want to watch as she was given to the water in the tradition of her people. He didn't know if he could take those sights without breaking.

Chloe was standing next to him. She turned to him with a sad look on her face and, to his shock, put one arm around him in a rough and masculine embrace.

"I'm… sorry, Coolidge," she said softly. She went. Unable to help himself now, he followed.

When they got to the end of the dock, Will was already starting the boat's engine. Although it belonged to Senel and he usually didn't like letting anyone else man it, everyone knew he was in no state to be driving anything right now. Chloe got in before him, sitting in the white pleather chair next to him; this left Senel with the awkward audience of everyone else.

Moses was sprawled along the back half of the right line of cushions leading towards the back of the boat, with Grune in the space he'd left for her, almost right up against Chloe's chair. Shirley was sitting across from them, looking up at him quietly and expectantly. Up in the very front of the boat, separated from Will and Chloe by the windshield, were Jay and Norma, both uncharacteristically silent.

Senel climbed over the seat to stand in the aisle down the middle of the boat, then sat next to Shirley, who put her arm around his waist. Closing his eyes, he leaned against her.

The engine roared, and they were moving—slowly at first, then bouncing as they hit waves, speeding over the vast expanse of blue towards the sad farewell that awaited them.

The wind whipped Senel's face even as he turned further into Shirley's shoulder, feeling her shift to lean against his. This was all wrong. Stella was the first girl he'd ever felt anything for, the first one who'd ever broken his heart; she was Shirley's sister, and she had no right to do this to them right when they'd finally found their happiness in each other—if she still didn't have claim to a part of his heart he would've hated her for it.

This had to end, once and for all, for his sake and for Shirley's. They had to get this over with, this last and worst rite of passage. It would be long and it would be painful and he already knew that too many days and nights would be spent the way they had when he'd first heard the news—the late nights, the awful crying jags he'd shared with Shirley, her grief and his despair at finding such an integral part of their world gone forever.

Senel hated it. He hated that he was speeding to a funeral he wanted to run from, hated that it had hurt him so badly, hated that he was going to have to say the word he hated more than any other—the one most difficult for anyone to say—to someone he'd once loved so much.

He needed that emptiness back, but all he had was the bitter ache of overexertion and a heart sick with loss.

He felt Shirley gently touch his bandaged hands, and then the light brush of her lips against his cheek. If she tasted tears there, she ignored them with grace.

Owari.