It had been five months since Aion's defeat, and still no one knew where Rosette and Chrno had disappeared to. They both knew that everyone would be looking for them, and that they were probably hurting them all by not letting them know, but they were past that now. For all the hardships they had gone through for the sake of others, for all of the pain they had to endure up until this moment, they felt, justly, that they deserved this time alone. Their last moments should be spent together.
But now they could both feel that the end was nearing. The clock's ominous hands were ticking with more insistency now, and Rosette was becoming more tired with every passing day. Chrno was no better; the wound he had sustained in his battle against Aion had since caused him a constant and unrelenting pain, but he remained in his weaker form. He refused to let Rosette suffer any more on his account. He had tried many times before to draw the line, but this is where he became adamantly firm about it. There was so little time left for either of them that none of it could be wasted. And he figured that if he remained this way, he would pass when she would. He wanted it that way; he had told her, after all, that he hadn't planned on outliving her. He had done too much of that in his time, and he looked forward to the end of it all. With her.
That night, he found that he couldn't sleep. Something had happened that afternoon that still clutched at his heart with the icy claw of fear. Rosette had collapsed in the middle of washing their dishes, and he had dreaded the worst. The clock was good for something at least—he could tell how much time she had left just by looking at it. There wasn't much time left on it, but he could see that there was some, and that she had not yet left him. So he had carried her to her bed and she had been lying there in what seemed to be a dreamless sleep since. It was now past midnight, Chrno was sure, but he couldn't sleep. That episode had given him such a scare that his mind was still racing. Finally, he decided on something that would set his mind to rest.
Getting up, he padded silently from the living room where he had been sitting on the couch since she fell asleep, and down the small hallway to Rosette's door. Out of habit, he almost knocked, but then remembered where they were. She had told him when they first came that there was no need for that anymore: "Life," she had said, "is too short for formalities." She had said it with that warm smile of hers that he was so fond of. Of course, he knew why she closed her eyes when she said it; if she left them open, it was too easy for him to see the sadness in them.
He slowly opened the door and winced as it creaked on its old hinges. He looked around the door cautiously, but it appeared that the noise had not wakened her. He sighed with relief and moved silently inside, still careful not to make a sound, which was rather difficult, considering the age of the floorboards beneath him.
As he stepped closer, he could just see her profile in the moonlight that streamed in through her window. As soon as he was close enough, he stopped briefly and held completely still until he could confirm that the rise and fall of her chest was not just some trick of his eyes. Her breath was shallow, but even. On her face he could see the emotional scars of too many battles, shaded but little by the beauty of her youth.
I did that to her, he reminded himself bitterly, as he had done every day since they made that godforsaken contract. I took her life away from her. It's my fault that she is lying there now. Just as it will be my doing when she…
He closed his eyes tightly against that thought. He did not want to have to dwell on it any more than he had to. There had been enough pain already without having to add to it with thoughts of the inevitable.
When he opened his eyes again, his resolve strengthened at the sight of her. He went to the side of her bed and gazed down at her for a little while. Closer, the scars of her past were much more painfully apparent. But so was her beauty. He didn't really know when he had started thinking of her as beautiful, but knew now that this is how he saw her. In appearance, she was very lovely; but he'd had the privilege to know the beauty that was within her; the strength and kindness of a soul untainted. The soul of a Saint.
He smiled bitterly at that thought. There had been only one time when she had been called such by the people; when she had been under Aion's control. Under the weight of her own past.
Chrno looked down at the cross-shaped scar that graced her wrist, just visible in the dim light. The weight was gone now, but it had left its mark. With this thought in mind, he looked again at her face. He remembered how cold it had been when she had pointed her own gun at him, but he hand known too well the softness he saw before him now to be deceived by any mask Aion could give her.
Almost subconsciously, Chrno reached out to stroke the hair out of her face. When his fingers brushed the scars on her forehead, she stirred, making the soft noise of one who felt a distant pain. He pulled back in a flash and grasped at his own hand.
You can't, he told himself. Don't cause her any more pain.
"Chrno…?"
He held his breath as her eyes opened and slowly focused on him.
"It is you, Chrno," she said in a soft voice that betrayed her exhaustion. "What are you doing?"
It took a little while for Chrno to find his tongue. He hadn't expected her to wake up. He hadn't realized at all what he had expected to happen, but he hadn't expected that.
"Just…coming to check on you," he said. "You scared me today."
A small smile graced her face, reaching all the way up into her eyes, but she forgot to close them; he could see the sadness.
"I'm fine now," she told him. "Thanks for worrying."
He smiled back at her. "What else could I do?"
Sleep seemed to drain from her eyes as Rosette pushed her arms under her in order to sit up. Chrno rushed forward to help her, and held back a wince of pain his wound caused, but she saw it.
"Chrno," she said, concern knitting her brow.
"It's okay," he said. "It's nothing compared to what you had to go through."
She took his shoulder as he was speaking and guided him to sit beside her on the bed. As he turned so that she could only view his profile, his hair shaded his face. He didn't want to look at her; didn't want to see her pain, or her pity.
They were both silent for a little while.
"So," she said finally. "You still think that way, do you?"
Her tone surprised him and he looked up. The one-sided smirk she was now wearing completely erased any trace of sadness from her eyes.
"You really shouldn't," she said, glad that she had his attention, but not at all sure how she'd gotten it so fully. "I have no regrets, and neither should you."
Chrno looked away again.
"After all I've done to you," he said quietly. "After all of the pain and the suffering, why do you say that? Why do you act as though I haven't caused you nothing but hardship?"
"Because you haven't," she said with such conviction that he had to look up again. "My life may have been shortened because of all this, but it has caused me to live it more fully. I've learned to take every moment as it comes, and never hold back. Everything to me is so much more than it is to other people, because I know that I will not have very long to enjoy it. And above all, my friendship with you was one of those things."
Her hand went to the clock around her neck and clutched it tenderly.
"This may seem to everyone else a curse, but to me it has felt more like a gift. It is because of this that I have been able to spend the last four years with you; and that makes every other hardship seem like nothing.
"Don't you see?" she asked, the smile growing on her face, now. "You didn't take my life, Chrno; you gave it to me."
Despite the hurt he felt at her words—knowing how much pain he had caused this person without her scorn—he also felt their truth. She really felt this way, and there was nothing in him, not even the voice that reminded him everyday of the source of her suffering, that could convince him otherwise.
His vision of her suddenly became blurry with tears. Before he knew it, he was in her arms, his own arms wrapped around her back, his face buried in her shoulder.
"How?" he cried. "How is it that you feel the way you do? How is it that you can be so forgiving? Why don't you hate me, when you have every right and reason to?"
She smiled over his shoulder.
"Well," she said. "I am a Saint, you know."
At this he pulled back and looked at her quizzically. She gave him a goofy grin in return. They both suddenly lapsed into a fit of laughter.
When that was done, and Chrno's tears were gone, he felt as though a weight had been lifted from his chest. It was still there, to be sure, but it had lessened.
"I don't want you to ever forget," Rosette said. "That I'll always be glad to have known you, Chrno."
He felt words form behind his eyes that wanted very badly to be spoken, but he bit them back. No, he said to himself. I can't put that on her. Not now.
"Me too," he said instead, using her method by closing his eyes as he smiled.
Then Rosette yawned a little and smiled drowsily.
"You should go back to sleep," Chrno said, standing up to help her back into bed, adding silently, I shouldn't have woken you up in the first place.
"Thanks," Rosette said as he tucked her in.
He smiled at her briefly, then turned to go, but felt her grab his hand.
"Wait," she said. He could almost hear an edge of panic in her voice. He turned back to see most of the drowsiness in her eyes gone; replaced with a sort of urgency.
"What is it?"
"Will you…" she looked a little uncertain. "Will you…stay with me…until I fall asleep?"
Chrno could not help smiling at this. He would have liked nothing better.
"Of course," he said, and sat back on the bed at her side.
She smiled, and her face softened, the drowsiness returning.
"Thank you…" she said as her eyes closed and she drifted off again. "Chrno…"
He listened to her breathing until it had become shallow again, and he knew that she was asleep. She hadn't let go of his hand, and he wasn't inclined to make her. Instead, he gripped it tighter for assurance that she was there, with him.
You're here now, he thought, looking at her face, then down at the clock that hung around her neck. But for how long?
He suddenly heard her words echoing in his head.
Life is too short…
He couldn't stop a small smile as he heard her voice.
Right you are.
He reached out his other hand and cupped her cheek, then bent low over until his lips were just over hers.
"Goodnight," he said, his voice just barely a whisper. "My sweet Saint."
Then he pressed his lips to hers and held there for a moment, reveling in her scent; the taste of her soft mouth. He was sad to pull away at last, but kept the memory of it fresh in his mind. She didn't move, but he saw a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth.
Then, her hand still in his, he straightened and kept watch over her throughout the night.