Author's Notes: A short vignette involving Tamahome as he drifts between consciousnes and unreality as he reflects on the memory of his family's death and a talk he had with his father shortly before their death.

Warnings: Mildly adult themes, stuff like that.

Spoilers: Mild for series.

Obligatory Disclaimer: I own no part of Fushigi Yuugi or the characters Tamahome, Miaka, or any others mentioned.

Worth


The ceiling was grey above his head, and he gazed at it dutifully as the thoughts and feelings flowed through his body like water in a stream. They were gone. Dead. The very memory was painful enough, but to have no rest between the fighting and the loss of his family--

"Son, I'd like to talk to you about something."
He turned to his father with bright eyes. "What is it father?

--It was almost too much for him to handle at times. He was only seventeen trying to deal with the world around him, trying to get by with what he was. All his life he had only known the love of his family. But he didn't have his family anymore--

"That young girl who took care of Yuiren's fever...was what that young, erm, man said true?"
A terrific display of blushing and then, "No, no! It's not what you think. Nuriko was just joking. Miaka and I haven't done anything you would approve of, I swear!"

--and the knowledge was like a silver blade plunged deep into the core of his heart. How was he to live without his siblings by his side, without his father's guiding words? All his life he had followed the path to making his home life better. His only concern had been the welfare of his family. After all, they had already lost their mother, and that had been painful enough--

Deep, rumbling laughter sounded from the bed his father rested on. "I don't worry about what you do and don't do with girls, Kishuku. I'm actually glad to see you out and about with other people."
"What do you mean? I've done perfectly fine in the cities with other men...and women," he protested.
"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

--He had never really thought about girls that way. He was always too busy taking care of the family, making sure father was well enough to be left alone and that the kids had enough food and money to survive on. The family came first, himself second. Besides, he had taught himself to be tough enough that most people usually brushed him off as a greedy, uncaring man who wanted nothing to do with love--

"I've seen the way you look at her. I can remember that look in my own eyes when your mother was still alive." His father turned his eyes downward for a moment. "How I miss her..."
"We all miss her, Papa. It's because of her sake that I do this."
"Hmm...yes, but my son, you've been doing this too long. It's about time you began to think of a life on your own. You can't just waste your life away looking after an old man like me. Chuei's coming of age soon, and he'll be able to take your place as the head caretaker. It's about time you started thinking about a family of your own..."

--but if only they knew how much love he truly had to give, how difficult it was to hold up such a front of serenity in a world where he knew only chaos. He was born to love in a world that only threw it back at him. Every friend he made eventually left, every ally won eventually deserted him. And then she came--

More blushing occurred. "Father! Don't say such things!" His voice dropped to a whisper. "She may hear you. And besides, I have no intention of leaving Chuei and you to fend for this family all by yourselves. I may be a warrior of Suzaku, but I'm still your son and their older brother."
"Yes, but son...you have so many duties elsewhere. How is it that you expect love to blossom and grow if you will not open your heart to the falling rains?"

--Miaka Yuuki. His priestess. His world. She was like the solitary light of sanguinity in the mass of clouds that hung over his soul right now. If it wasn't for her, he may have very well perished alongside his family that day. Of course, a part of them had already died with them, but it was her smile that encouraged him to live on, her smile that showed that life was still worth living--

"I-I just don't know what to do father, that's all. I've never, you know, been in a relationship with a girl. Besides, it's not as if either of us have made any vows of love or...anything..."
"Love is not something that can be spoken. It is something that only you can know within. Can you look at me in the eyes and tell me you don't love her?"
"I-I...I just don't know father. I just don't know."

--Was life worth living? It had to be. Nuriko and the others had said so after they comforted him back on the boat. Even Tasuki, his fiery, brawling rival, had shed his tears selflessly for the sake of his lost family. All of them had held his hand during through the suffering, had held him when he needed a friend--

His father sighed softly and placed a hand over his younger one. "All I'm saying, Kishuku, is that you need to live life before it slips through your fingers. Love. Let yourself be loved. It's the only way you can live life." Intertwining his fingers with his son's, the old, sickly man leaned his head back, reclining further into the bed. "Do you think I won your mother's heart by giving her the cold shoulder?"
Shutting his eyes sadly at too equally painful memories, one of his mother's death and the other of Miaka's betrayed features as he rejected her love, Kishuku turned his head away slightly. "I'm not saying you did. But I...I'm not like you. I just can't...tell her like that."
"I know you aren't. You have your mother's stubbornness," replied his father softly as the old man reached up his other hand and gently ruffled his hair. "But if there is any advice I will ever give you, this will be the most important lesson of all: Don't let her go, and don't wait until it's too late to tell her.
"There are times when I can hardly stand to open my eyes in the morning, I miss your mother so much. But I have you children, and I know that simply waking up each day to see your bright eyes and smiling faces is enough a reason to keep living, no matter how much it hurts."

--It hurt so much to remember that sometimes he wished he couldn't. The memory of violet eyes that reflected his own were so clear that it was painful; he could hardly look in the mirror anymore. What was life if all that his father had considered worthwhile had been destroyed? Even with Miaka's help, could he live through this hellish aftermath? Could he go on? Why was he still living--

"Time passes so quickly, and before we know it, those we once loved are already gone. And once they are gone, there is nothing that can replace them. Nothing of this worldly value anyhow. You can try to fill your life with material value, raise from your destitution to a life of luxury, but you won't ever find anything to replace the memory of love."
The old man paused now, gazing at his son with loving eyes. "And I tell you know, my son, that if you forever live your life in poverty for the sake of what you love, then you have not fallen at all. The worth will be found in something beyond this world."

--Was this what life was about? Was this love? To be comforted and supported by all those around you, to know that you weren't alone in the world, to know that no matter how difficult the road became, your friends would always be there to help you along?--

"Do you understand me now...Tamahome?" Violet eyes wavered, nearly shedding tears, only to be cleansed by the calloused hand that gently stroked pale cheeks lovingly. His father smiled at him gently. "Why is it you hide your tears, my son? Even the strongest of warriors must fall sometimes."
The elder man's words struck a cord deep within him, and for the short while they were alone, he let them fall, the salty water splashing into his father's open hand. Why did life have to be so hard? Why was he forced to choose between two realities, two loves that tugged two corners of his heart in opposite directions? Why was it the path only seemed clear when his father's hands touched him gently, when his words guided him?

--If so, he never wanted to stop living. The pain was worth it if it mean opening his eyes to another die of her bright eyes or their smiling faces. Death was no release. It only meant an eternity spent without a guiding hand by his side or a lover's touch caressing his cheek. Yes, living hurt, but he had the memories, and they were almost as true and as real as the flesh that had created them, and that alone was worth living for.

"Do you promise me, Tamahome, that you'll live life as fully as I've told you?
Clearing his tears, the youth nodded. "I promise."
"Forever?"
He hesitated, then nodded mutely. "Yes father, forever. I promise."


Final Notes From the Author:

I always felt it was a shame how little focus Tamahome's family received throughout the series. I mean, these were people who shaped his life, his way of living, and as such, it deserved a bigger spotlight.
What bothered me even more was the short time we saw Tamahome dealing with his family's death. I highly doubt that one episode's worth of crying is going to heal a wound that deep. Therefore, I was inspired to write this story, and I do hope you believe it was in character for him.
As a note, the reason why Tamahome's father switches between calling him by his given name and his celestial name is a matter of psychological transition. When Tamahome is the unsure, tough, seemingly uncaring young man, he is Kishuku, but the brave warrior who loves without reserve is Tamahome, a hero. Get it? ^_^
I do hope you enjoyed it. I know I liked writing it. ^_~