Disclaimer: I do not own X/1999 and its gory horrors, that was all Clamp's fault.
Author's Notes: This fic is the first answer to Tanuki-Dono's "try not to write about sex" 'challenge'.
Many great thanks to my beta Cait.
'These' are thoughts
The Night Daisuke Died
Tokyo nights were never dark for the last half a century. Mostly the sky was a kind of dark purple hue with hardly any stars shining past the neon lights gleaming from beneath.
This year brought a new taint to the Tokyo sky; dark red and bright orange with the occasional ashen gray of billowing smoke torrents.
When crumbling massive buildings reached a certain heat level in the fires licking at their frames an odd green or bright blue flame added to the night when metal frames caved in and burnt.
The air of the Tokyo nights, so far filled with the masses' chatter and gleeful shrieks of people out on a fun night, was now filled with the soft and ever present sound of rumbling. Buildings rumbled as they slowly disintegrated, stone by stone, glass window by glass window. The sound of sirens was also ever present as fire fighting trucks and ambulances drove frantically back and forth to sites of disaster.
The dark red and burning orange of the Shinjuku High-rises clashed with the lavender walls and dark navy blue curtains framing a window of the Aoki family apartment. No one was looking out that window and so the mismatch offended no one's aesthetical sense.
The three people in the apartment looked at different things, each to their own thoughts.
One was looking at blurry vague dreams about a popsicle she dropped in the park and the squirrels dashing across the bright green lawn.
The dream ended and a black blur she will not remember when she wakes up took the previous vision over.
The next dream was about Tanji-sensei putting all of the dreamers' personal toys on the shelf where the kindergarten's toys were. The dream troubled its dreamer, but not to the point of waking her up.
The second tenant was looking at her right hand thumbs' nail as it moved sideways on the temple of her husband. She noted her nail varnish was chipping, drew a conclusion from it and quickly filed it under 'products I shouldn't buy again' so she could focus on her husband's condition again.
She followed the path of her husband's rich dark brown hairs as they moved from under her fingers and back to their former position, she noted the dull shine of the hairs and smiled. Her husband's hair was soft, his scalp was warm underneath. His skin was always warm; like his heart was towards her.
She repositioned her right palm and ran her fingers from the side of her husband's head to the back slowly, softly, careful not to touch the slender metal arm of his glasses. Small things like knowing her husband is troubled when his clear visions' borders are moving is what made her a good, devoted wife.
She had her own feelings of the news her husband gave her the moment he put the phone dial back on its cradle, but she saved them for later, after her husband vents his initial thoughts and emotions.
For now she'll be there for him, silent and soft, and await his words in silence.
The third and last tenant was looking at a patch of lush navy blue carpet, a third of which was covered by a white, bright pink and cheerful blue block.
White for the block's body, bright pink for the lining frame of the block and cheerful blue for the number '2' on the side of the block facing upwards.
Pressed to the carpet was the number '4' but that was just a passing thought in the block's observer's mind, the kind you think when your mind tries to analyze something very big and very disturbing it just received news of.
Seiichiro blinked and the block, the carpet and his wife's fingers were still there.
Souhi was very formal when she informed him of what had happened to Daisuke. The phone's ringing tore him from the doorframe of Yuka's room, on which he leaned to observe his sleeping daughter.
Seiichiro had walked into his home, kissed his wife who smelled of flour and chocolate powder when he leaned in and gave her a small sweet peck on the lips. As much as he felt uncomfortable that she was the one cooking (though he shouldn't; it was her turn to cook dessert) he couldn't help feeling extremely happy and cosy as he watched her drawing back from the door and looking him up and down while removing her oven mitts.
The next thing he did was to walk to Yuka's room and make sure her nightlight was on.
This was always a bit annoying to Shimako but she learned to cope with it.
After all, she was perfectly capable of taking the insecticide aerosol can and spray under the kitchen sink and inside its cabinets, but Seiichiro insisted on doing it himself.
She came to realize he did these sort of things not because he thought her incapable of doing it herself but because he wanted to feel that he did it; he did something to protect his slightly entomophobian wife. Such was the case with Yuka's nightlight.
Seiichiro, who was pretty exhausted after he pulled an all-nighter the previous day, then running off to do research for a mangaka he was also responsible for, used the little time Shimako took for re-heating their dinner to look at his peacefully sleeping child.
Then the phone rang. Reluctantly (but bearing in mind that his wife must be hungry and would like to not be disturbed while preparing their meal) Seiichiro tore himself off the doorframe and answered the phone before the noise might wake Yuka up.
Funny how, when you look back at what happened just before something disastrous came upon you, you remember every tiny detail.
Seiichiro remembers that he could hear Hien shuffling in the background while Souhi informed him of what had happened at Shinjuku.
He remembers walking to the living room table and picking up the television remote control and pressed the 'on' button. He remembers the little red light bulb that meant the remote was functioning did not flicker. He remembers making a mental note to inform Shimako the remote needs new batteries.
He remembers wondering why was Souhi informing him about a broken kekkai (as massive as Shinjuku was) when he was perfectly capable of watching it on the news. That's when the first pinch of icy terror touched his heart.
He remembers how a faint taint of empathy was distinct in Souhi's voice as she informed him of his nephew's death.
Daisuke Saiki.
His one and only nephew.
Dead.
Sometimes when you abruptly learn of someone close's death you lapse into ridiculous reactions like, "But he has an appointment at the doctor's tomorrow."
Seiichiro remembered he was going to take Daisuke to a Hanshin Tigers game tomorrow and no excuse his nephew was about to give him would stop him.
Seiichiro then thanked Souhi, nodded at her many formal words of consolation and bid his farewell. He remembers he placed the dial back on the receiver very thoroughly so it wouldn't click and how his initial thought at that was that he was trying to grab hold of reality by clinging to tiny details like the phone not clicking. Actually, he was trying to distract himself from fully digesting the word of Daisuke's death by clinging to tiny things aught to be done right like shutting the telephone properly.
Seiichiro straightened his back and walked to the kitchen to inform Shimako. He remembers how her eyes' upper eyelids quivered when he told her. She then blinked and looked away, towards the dishwasher down to her right. She was wiping her hands on her apron, one palm cradling the other.
Without looking up, Shimako closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his neck. He remembered taking her arms gently and wrapping them around his torso. Hanging on his neck reminded him too much of how she holds him when they're kissing and it disturbed him she was making the wrong gesture. He remembers bashing himself inwardly for thinking something like that.
Seiichiro remembers his wife wrapped her arms around his left arm and led him to the living room (not before turning off the fire under the pot full of soup so it won't burn). He remembers how he scanned the living room carpet with its jungle of cast away toys and story books. He found that disturbing but shook the thought out, remembering Shimako didn't tidy up after Yuka because she was too busy making dessert and dinner for his arrival back home.
Seiichiro remembers the gentle tug to his left arm as Shimako led him away from the comfortable deep couch where he usually sat, to the matching larger sofa where the both of them could sit.
He remembers briefly thinking it's not appropriate to sit and talk out such horrid news on that sofa.
This is the sofa they bought with the money they got for their wedding. The sofa on which he would find Shimako splayed in deep sleep after waiting for him to come back from the office. The sofa he used to carry Yuka to, wrapped in a towel and still a bit wet from her bath, so he could put on her diaper for the night and her pajamas while tickling her.
He remembers remembering how, in the first days of fatherhood, he was amazed at how small clothes could come and how adorable they looked because they were small.
Shimako sat him on their family sofa and settled in by his side, facing him, right leg folded under her, and started running her fingers through his hair.
The memories ended. Seiichiro raised his head a little and saw the dark oak living room table and the remote on the table, outside its little pocket hanging at the side of the table.
"The remote needs new batteries."
Shimako's fingers stopped what they were doing for a few seconds. Then she nodded and continued combing his hair softly. In the corner of his eyes Seiichiro could make out the blur that was her nod.
"I was going to take him to a baseball game tomorrow. The tickets are still on the refrigerator?"
The blur outside his glasses' lenses nodded again.
"I-I'll give them to Nanto-san, he's a very big fan."
Shimako removed her palm from her husband's hair and placed it in her lap, above the left palm already there. "You plan to go to work tomorrow?"
"Ah…well." He turned to her. The blur took the shape of his wife. "Do you think I shouldn't?"
Shimako looked at the oak table and sighed softly. "I don't know."
"I'll inform Kodaka-san and see if she'll give me pardon from tomorrow's work." Seiichiro looked at the table and his wife became a nodding blur again.
Seiichiro leaned backwards and let his gaze wander to the television and the tiny china miniature of a shrine placed on it. It was a gift from Daisuke's mother when they married.
He remembered how, as he unwrapped the delicate object, he and Shimako filled with awe at the discovery that it wasn't really a shrine at all. It was a miniature tea set, each part fitting into the other so that it will appear to be a shrine.
As always when he looked at the miniature, Seiichiro made a mental note to show the miniature's true shape to Yuka as soon as it was safe to place such fragile things in her hands.
As always when he thought of that, Seiichiro was filled with the hope that he'll get to see that surprised and delighted look in his daughter's eyes as she discovered it was a tea set and not a shrine.
Daisuke stopped drinking tea when he began working for Hinoto-hime. He started drinking coffee, which angered Seiichiro to the point of making a remark about it to Daisuke's mother with a tinge of rebuke in his voice.
"Daisuke drinks a lot of coffee you know," he heard himself say. He forgot to say "drank" instead of "drinks" but these changes take time to settle in.
Shimako looked down at the sofa and nodded slightly. She noted a loose string and fumbled with it a little, more awkwardly than to actually push it back into the fabric.
"I always tried to make him stop it, but he wouldn't listen.
"Often I felt like he was older than I was, that he made himself be that way. That's not healthy; to push away your youth and leap into adulthood so quickly. He wasn't always like that; he didn't always reject the joys of life."
Shimako placed her right palm on her husband's shoulder.
"I remember the first time I noted it was when he stopped eating sweets. Now that is a sure sign that someone is too serious to enjoy life, that he's too busy thinking and worrying about other things. He was eight when he stopped eating sweets."
Seiichiro suddenly shot his head up back to the television after it began sinking down to the floor while he spoke.
"Yuzuriha-chan! They were getting along so well…and you know, he blushed whenever she looked at him…I-I better be the one to tell her."
"Yuzuriha-chan is a girl from his school?" Shimako's voice tore through Seiichiro's thoughts.
'No, Yuzuriha-chan is another Seal in the battle of the apocalypse I was going to tell you about as soon as 1999 is over.
' Fighting by her side is what I'm going to divorce you for soon, so you won't be a widower if I die.'
"Yes. He talked about her often but only briefly. He was…very much unaware of his feelings towards her though he had a hunch as to how to act about it."
Shimako nodded again and moved closer to wrap her arm around his back. She leaned her chin on his shoulder and looked up into his face.
A flash of memory filled Seiichiro's vision.
In the memory, he was sitting on a simple tatami in his poor collage student's residence, holding a phone dial in one hand and a toy with the other.
The dial was slippery due to his sweaty palm, so was the toy which slipped from his grip and landed on the floor rolling until it was stopped by Daisuke.
Daisuke sat on the floor playing with his toy truck and the arrival of the toy his uncle dropped angered him a bit. He didn't quite form it in such clear thoughts, but at the time Daisuke was slightly annoyed that his uncle was still giving him infantile toys to play with while he clearly moved on in his development to get any kind of joy from playing with baby toys.
Seiichiro was darting looks from the phone dial, its digits suddenly ominous and alien, to the phonebook where he jotted Shimako's residence number, to the young child on the floor a little away from him.
Daisuke was safely grinding his toy truck's wheels into the worn tatami as he drove it back and forth. The boy gained some strange pleasure from driving the truck very fast then stopping it. This made the toy workmen in the truck's front seat leap out of their tiny seats and out of the cabin, onto the tatami.
Seiichiro frowned at that and wondered why Daisuke was enjoying this so much. He recalled a theory a friend of his, a psychology student who was about to study child psychology, came up with: that children often test the laws of nature by playing. He gave the example of a baby sitting in his path pushing a floating toy into the water, letting go, and watching the toy spring back up. The friend claims that it's one experiment in a series of many babies and children perform in order to get some kind of hold onto the basic laws of nature so they will be able to survive all sorts of things in their life.
Seiichiro wondered if Daiskue was about to become a very good driver by conducting the specific experiment he was carrying on now. Then again Seiichiro always took that friend's theories and advices with a bit of skepticism due to that friend's high consumption of marijuana.
Seiichiro needed courage so he leaned forwards and wrapped his arms around his nephew, picking him up and cradling him a bit.
Daisuke sent his chubby fingers to Seiichiro's cheek. The fingers felt sticky.
Seiichiro forgot to wash Daisuke's hands after the ice-cream they shared.
His sister is going to kill him when she comes to pick Daisuke up.
Climbing to his feet with the child still in his arms, Seiichiro walked to the tiny kitchen's sink and carefully washed Daisuke's hands.
Daisuke giggled and waved his hands frantically, casting water droplets on his uncle's face.
Smiling politely, Seiichiro placed the child down and wiped his glasses. Then he walked back to where the phone lay on the short table (the only piece of furniture in Seiichiro's apartment) and crushed on the floor, legs half folded before him.
After half an hour of thinking about anything other than calling Shimako, getting angry about his lack of courage, thinking about how he will never get someone like Shimako for a girlfriend (he was a slim, four eyed nervous youth, she was the campus beauty and the kindest person he ever met), getting angry again for how his self esteem was low when it came to girls, and talking to Daisuke a bit, Seiichiro tore the phonebook from the floor and placed it on the table with a slap.
He snatched the dial from its cradle and punched Shimako's number as quickly as he could without making mistakes. Turns out he did make a mistake, which was probably because he hardly slept this past week and his hand-eye coordination began complaining.
Shooting a glance at Daisuke to make sure the child was still 'experimenting with the laws of nature' and not doing anything reckless, Seiichiro punched Shimako's number again.
He got it this time. Shimako's roommate answered and giggled for five minutes straight when he asked her to please kindly pass the phone to Shimako.
While the young woman on the other end of the line giggled, Daisuke began crawling towards his uncle.
Reaching out to ruffle the child's hair while thinking how well Daisuke was developing so that he won't have to think about the giggle in his ear.
Apparently some girls considered his chances of dating Shimako are extremely slim to the point of laughter (that's not what she meant; Shimako's roommate was in fact simply not very smart so a high school girl's reaction to the idea of romance was the best she could react with), Seiichiro sighed.
Daisuke ducked the outstretched palm and crawled onwards, slamming his palm on the phone's chord like a cat nailing its prey to the floor before consuming it.
Sitting up with the chord in his hands, Daisuke turned to look at his paling uncle to make sure the adult was carefully watching him, he then began pulling at the chord to see which part of the machine would come crashing to the floor.
Seiichiro immediately lashed forward to try and pry the chord out of the tiny soft fingers with very little success. His nervousness at the whole situation made his voice high pitched as he begged his nephew to, "No, don't do that! Put the chord down Daisuke-kun! It's not a toy, put it down. Let go of the chord please…come on, Dai-su-ke."
The giggle on the other end of the line was of a different timbre now. Not without a horrified shudder, Seiichiro realized it was Shimako on the other end of the line now and not her roommate.
The first thing Seiichiro and Shimako spoke of was Daisuke: Who was Daisuke (not Seiichiro' child, not at all!), what was the child doing and why.
Shimako gave Seiichiro the advice of tickling the child to make him let the chord go.
Seiichiro followed her advice and the giggling Daisuke pulled the chord unintentionally, bringing the phone cradle crashing to the floor.
For a while, Seiichiro and Shimako laughed heartily at the whole incident. Seiichiro discovered Shimako was warmer and sweeter than he had imagined her and his affection for her matured into love.
Shimako fell in love with the deep timbre of Seiichiro's laughter and the soft way it rolled out, with the kindness to this Daisuke child, at that moment she fell in love with the man on the other end of the line.
Nine and a half years later Seiichiro felt something warm slide down his cheeks and realized he was crying.
He wiped the tears away immediately, mumbling small unpleasant rebukes at himself.
Shimako pressed her husband's shoulders tightly. "It's okay to cry," she whimpered at him.
Seiichiro turned to his wife. "No, it's not. I promised Daisuke I wouldn't cry for him when he died and I'm breaking that promise."
Shimako shot backwards immediately, as if her husband just confessed to her that he cold-bloodedly murdered a class of young high school girls. Her eyes widened in deep shock, the upper eyelids quivering more violently now.
"What! What kind of a promise is that to make?"
Seiichiro frowned, his face the picture of sorrow. "He made me make that promise."
"Yes but…but…" Shimako was shooting her eyes from the television, to the sofa (where she shook her head), back to her husband. "What kind of a promise is that to make? It sounds like he knew he was going to die."
She looked away, talking in a lower tone now, touching a sensitive subject. "I thought you said he died in the Shinjuku earthquake."
It took Seiichiro some time to process what his wife was trying to suggest. When he did, it shocked him. Then again, he was always complaining to her that Daisuke was not behaving like a normal teenager, that he was heavier and older than the rest of his age group. Shimako thought he meant Daisuke was depressed.
'He wasn't depressed Shimako, he was simply working as a guardian of someone very, very important. And if you know you're a guardian then eventually you realize that there's something out there about to hurt who you're protecting. Then you realize that, the more important what you're protecting is, the more dangerous the thing about to attack it is. Eventually you realize you might die while protecting that person.'
He couldn't tell Shimako about Hinoto-hime and Daisuke's role in protecting her. Shimako thought Daisuke was babysitting, working as a waiter, as a cashier, something teenagers Daisuke's age might do.
Seiichiro couldn't correct that mistake.
'I might die during this year, just like Daisuke, Shimako.'
His wife was still staring at him, waiting for him to answer her question or brush it off, or give her some kind of an excuse, anything.
The deep, sad, troubled look Seiichiro hung at her disturbed Shimako very much.
"Daisuke wasn't suicidal, if that's what you mean; he was simply…realistic I guess. Too mature for his age."
"A nephew shouldn't think about his uncle grieving for him, it's the other way around." Shimako's voice was a bit harsh.
Seiichiro looked down at the carpet and wished he was not there at the moment; that his wife would stop getting too close to the truth.
"I don't know," he mumbled finally. "I don't know why he made me make that promise."
Shimako folded her arms on her chest irritably, frowning at her husband. Then she realized that she was behaving horribly and unfolded her arms, easing away her frown and blinking away her harsh look.
Her husband did not need such troubling thoughts now; her husband needed support, love, compassion, not prodding and painful interrogations.
Finally, she reached out to her husband and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down to lay his head on her bosom.
Supporting his weight on the sofa, Seiichiro placed his head on his wife's lap and closed his eyes.
The temptation to relieve himself with tears was immense. The pain in his heart was pounding and deep, so powerful it echoed all over his body. But he will keep his promise, even if it tears his heart apart.
Shimako ran her fingers through her husband's hair again and idly noted another nail with its varnish chipped.
Four hours after she heard the first reports of the Shinjuku earthquake, Karen picked up the phone in her apartment, picked up a phonebook and began leafing through it for numbers of hospitals around Shinjuku.
She plopped down on the sofa by Poe and began punching in the numbers of the hospitals she found.
Most of the girls who answered her told her they didn't know the names of casualties yet because of all the mess and the sheer number of injured pouring into their hospitals.
Karen added an extra quiver to her voice, faked a tear soaked tone and begged the girls to look in whatever records they had so far, even if it's only a partial list of patients, anything, please.
The girls gave up and asked her for the name of her relative.
"Uh…well, it's my daughter and her friends; they were all hanging out together."
"I'm afraid I can only give you information about your daughter, information about her friends would be given to the friends' families and to them alone."
"Look you!" Karen faked the rage of a frantic and worried parent, "my daughter's friends stayed over at our house because their parents are on a delegation abroad, their parents won't be here to retrieve this information until two weeks from now."
The girls on the other end of the line always paused here, letting Karen hear the cacophony of phones in the background and the other girls who answered them, giving information to other worried relatives.
"All right, tell me the names please," the girls would always give in.
Karen was by now an expert in 'hacking' into hospital information from the other earthquakes previous to Shinjuku's. She always called up the hospitals to find out if any of the 'children', as she called the young Seals, were hurt.
"M-my daughter, Nekoi Yuzuriha?"
Nerve wrecking silence.
"No one of that name was brought into our hospital."
"Oh god," Karen gave the lady on the other end of the line some time to think she was breathing in with relief. Then she cleared her throat and continued.
"Kishuu Arashi?"
Silence. Karen bit her thumb's nail nervously.
"No one checked in under that name."
"Arisugawa Sorata?"
Silence besides the sound of shuffling papers. Karen caressed Poe's head carefully, eyeing the teddy as if it was a child to watch over.
"No such name in our records."
Karen took a deep breath, clutching her golden crucifix "Shiro Kamui?"
Three of the four hospitals answered that particular question negatively.
"There was one patient brought in under that name Nekoi-san," answered the fourth, making Karen stunt the girl on the other end of the line with a chain of unrepeatable words.
"Thank you very much, when can I come visit him?"
It was at the fourth hospital that Karen heard the news of Daisuke's death. Her initial reaction was "…Oh…"
Sorata looked down at the hospital corridor's floor. He was leaning on the wall outside the operation room where Kamui was slowly sewn back from the damage the Dragon of Earth caused him. Arashi was at the coffee machine brining everyone a cup of hot cocoa.
"Poor Aoki-san…"
The first thing Karen thought about was how incredibly stupid she was to not remember Daisuke was Seiichiro's nephew.
She remained silent until Arashi came back with the cups, then she sat the two teens down on the comfortable modest sofas in the waiting room and made them tell her about Kamui and what had happened.
When Sorata was finished, Karen nodded and scanned the two teens.
She placed a soft palm on Arashi's shoulder, "How are you doing?" she eyed the blood stains sprayed on Arashi's blouse and on the neat bowtie.
Arashi seemed a bit surprised at her approach. She stared at Karen a little, then looked away and nodded, shrugging gently.
Sorata rubbed the back of his neck, an uncomfortable look in his face, "I…I hope I didn't do him any damage."
Karen turned to him, waiting for him to continue.
"His ribs were broken and all….and I kinda picked him up a bit roughly at first…"
Karen placed her other hand on the monk's knee, rubbing it gently. "That's alright, you didn't know."
Sorata turned doubtful guilty eyes to her.
"You're not a paramedic Sorata-san, you couldn't possibly assess Kamui's condition."
Sorata nodded faintly and looked down at the floor, still unconvinced.
A nurse walked out of the operation room and approached them, "The surgery is finished. Shiro-san was very resilient during our procedures and struggled to stay alive. He gave a good fight and won.
"Shiro-san should wake up from the anesthesia in about an hour or so, then we will see how he recovers. He suffered a series of very grave injuries and…we all hope for his quick recovery. Please do your best to stay by his side."
The three Seals nodded the kind of quick nods one does when they've heard it before and already know what to do.
Karen climbed to her feet, "Do you want me to stay here? Can I bring you anything from your dorms maybe?"
Arashi shook her head and bowed a bit, "We will stay here and watch over Kamui in shifts," she gazed at Sorata quickly for his approval. Sorata nodded.
"Karen-san…have you found Yuzuriha in any of the hospitals?"
Karen buried her eyes in the floor, clutching her handbag "No. I phoned every hospital in the area…maybe I should phone every hospital in Tokyo…"
"Ah! There's no need for that," Sorata leaped into the conversation "We can do that."
Karen shot her eyes to him "Oh but I…"
"You have work tomorrow Karen-san?" Arashi cut the woman's speech.
Karen blinked at her, "What…?"
"Clamp Campus is kind enough to excuse us of our studies for occasions such as these. Your boss, I'm sure, is not that patient."
Karen had "I can take a day off" on the tip of her tongue when she remembered she already booked a day off, next week, to go patrol Tokyo with Seiichiro like they planned a few weeks ago.
She nodded and bowed shortly, walking up to the two teens and giving them short warm hugs.
Arashi felt stiff and startled in her arms. Sorata patted her on the shoulder neutrally while she hugged him.
Walking out of the hospital, Karen let her mind wander and her legs take her wherever they pleased.
The entrance to the hospital became a chaos of incoming and outgoing ambulances. The sirens tore the night viciously, commands and calls of the medics pierced the long panicking wail in the air, in the background the soft miserable murmurs and whimpers of the wounded lulled.
Daisuke was dead. Daisuke, nephew of Seiichiro…
Karen rummaged through her handbag in search of her mobile phone. Her palm stopped suddenly. Who is she to give her condolences?
Sure, she's a fellow Seal but…isn't it too early? Are condolences really that appropriate? Giving them so soon might prove a tactical mistake.
If Seiichiro was alone in his life, Karen guessed her presence would be welcomed, but Seiichiro had a family to fall back on, he had someone to be there for him, didn't he?
Seiichiro's wife probably knows nothing of her husband's second occupation, it will only bother her to see Karen there, only raise questions and doubts.
No, she better not come over immediately, she better not call as well.
Karen stopped herself before she walked into a zebra crossing a fire truck zoomed past madly.
People brushed past her at violent speed. They were either running away from the fires and disaster or towards it to try and look for their dear ones. Maybe the crowds were stampeding towards the hospital to seek treatment or look for their beloveds. Karen lost track of where she was going and where she was by now.
She'll wait for Seiichiro to tell her himself. That way she'll be able to asses his condition and will know how to react. Sometimes you need to keep a distance and wait for people to come to you with their problems. She'll pretend she doesn't know and wait for Seiichiro to approach her.
Her palms missed Po. The need of his matted soft fur and light shabby weight formed a ghost Po at her fingertips until she could almost feel the toy animal there in her hands.
She stopped and looked up. She was standing before the lobby of Seiichiro's apartment building. How on earth did she get there?
It was one of the silly things she did after she first met Seiichiro; looking up his address and leaping across town to look for the building.
Now what is she supposed to be doing here! She can't go up to his home, can she? She can't ring his intercom and call him down can she?
Stupid woman, what are you doing here! Who do you think you are, anyway?
Karen dug around in her handbag in search of her cigarettes and found none. She cast a few glances around and located a convenient vending machine three buildings down the street to her left.
Walking out of the alley beyond the vending machine was a young slim man in a white trench coat. Half his face was covered by a white bandage. The bandage's edge became loose some time ago and was now billowing in the wind and the speed of the man's walk.
"Subaru-san, good evening, " she chirped at him, palm still half buried in her handbag, "say, you don't happen to have a spare cigarette here do you?"
Subaru stopped before her, looked up at the building and then down to her. He started when he realized Karen asked him something. Fishing in his breast pocket, Subaru handed her his packet of Time cigarettes.
Beaming a smile at the young man, Karen stared at the open box and wiggled her fingers in the air as if trying to choose which of the slightly squashed twelve cigarettes she wanted to smoke.
She picked one, elegantly twirling it from one side of her palm to the next and then back again, a trick some customers find extremely charming.
Subaru did not find it charming and even if he did he didn't show it. He simply stared at the slightly flattened cylinder and patiently waited for Karen to put it between her lips.
'Playing hard to get, eh?' thought Karen and moved on to her next trick. She closed her long, well manicured fingers on the cigarette, opening her palm again to reveal that the cigarette had disappeared.
Subaru stared at the open palm for a moment.
Karen was leaning forward a little bit, her neck stretched out and her shoulders slightly hunched over her palm, her smile had a catlike quality to it.
Subaru moved his big eyes from her palm to her face. His expression was blank; not surprised, not excited, not very thrilled and yet not as grave as it was when he walked up to her.
Understanding she'd have to make due with that reaction, Karen reached out and 'pulled' the cigarette from behind Subaru's ear. She made a tactical mistake of choosing the ear on Subaru's blind side.
"That's very nice," the onmyouji stated, his tone revealing nothing of the excitement or appreciation he should have pasted to the sentence.
Karen gave up. She placed the cigarette in her mouth and rummaged in her handbag for her lighter which seemed to have gone missing as well.
Subaru offered her his lighter, to which she thanked happily. Subaru's cigarettes were a lot thicker than her usual stylish slim menthol cigarettes and a bit stronger.
Sucking in the first lovely dose of nicotine and puffing out the smoke, Karen realized something. "Aren't you supposed to be in the hospital?" she poked the air at Subaru's direction with the two fingers holding her cigarette.
"I took a night off."
Karen folded her arms on her chest, moved her weight to her right leg and cocked her head to the same direction, making a disappointed face.
Subaru looked at the pavement's decent to the asphalt road. "I don't like hospitals."
Karen did not change her posture. She began tapping her left foot on the pavement a little.
"I have something to do in the morning, anyway."
"Really? They call you out even when you're hospitalized?" Karen never got a good grip on the shrine system in Japan.
Deep down she was a bit envious of the other shrine-raised Seals who came to understand their powers via the help and support of others. Her underdog senses made this little revelation about the Sumeragi clan a tad worse then it should have.
"No, it's a very big assignment," Subaru looked at the place where the night's deep purple met Shinjuku's flaming orange and red. Seiichiro's building was at a safe distance from the disaster area and from where Karen and Subaru stood they could only see the sky above Shinjuku.
"Oh?"
"Yes. Some new hi-tech company wants to build a new office block and they need our consultation."
"Eh?"
"They want to know which location in the plot they bought will be the luckiest to build on."
Karen frowned, "I thought you were more of a medium then an architecture consultant."
Subaru turned his eye to her, his expression a lot clearer and brighter now as if he was delighted to talk about something completely different with someone who seem interested in his job. "The role of consultants in such a department is one of the most ancient there is in our tribe. Onmyoujis used to advice emperors and their ministers about many things, not only architecture."
Karen softened her pose, "Really? But surely they could have sent someone else to do your job."
Subaru shook his head gently, "The company's CEO insisted he will get the best service from my clan, he claims he paid a lot of money to this project and a lot of money for our clan," bitterness and slight scorn snuck into Subaru's last words.
Karen tapped two fingers on her forehead and shook her head, "Ugh, tell me about it. Customer service is always a tough job, no matter what shape it takes."
Subaru nodded and examined Karen with his eyes. His expression was blank again, with a tad of graveness at the corners of his eyes and lips.
Stabbing the air in Subaru's direction again (by then the cigarette was mostly a butt and a bit of burning tobacco). "That is still no excuse to leave the hospital an evening earlier!"
"I wanted to come here."
Karen was taken aback by it. There was something she didn't like in the depth of Subaru's eye, in the hidden warmth and dark sympathy burning a hole into her.
She threw the cigarette butt on the floor and crushed it with the tip of her shoe.
She looked up at the windows of the apartments above them. Some windows were open with peoples' upper bodies sticking out, leaning on the windows to watch the mess of Shinjuku, and sometimes pointing at something in the distance as they spoke to people beside them.
A child poked his head out and was immediately snatched back into his home. The berating cries of the child's mother reached Karen and Subaru's ears in broken syllables and fading angry tones.
Karen hugged herself and rubbed her arms. She insisted on not looking at Subaru and not acknowledging his deep stare.
"I…I wanted to go up there and talk to him but it's foolish isn't it? Who am I to go up there? I don't really know him. It's his personal grief and I have no saying in it. Besides, I'll only confuse his wife, what with the way I'm dressed and all," she gave a short nervous giggle.
"Why do you dress that way then?"
Karen shot a glance at Subaru, then at her deep neckline, her short skirt and high boots. She exhaled a small nervous giggle again, "Well…no need to hide anything anymore, right?"
Subaru did not answer her.
"I mean I have nothing to hide and there's nothing to cover because…because…well, if you know what's in the present you don't need to open the wrapping anymore, right?"
Subaru kept staring at her in silence. His left hand began fishing for a cigarette.
"No, that's not a good way of putting it…I just don't feel like dressing modest, you know? No point anymore." she shrugged, hung a hopeful look at Subaru and decided it's ridiculous to behave the way she is right now.
Subaru lit a cigarette and poked the box in her direction suggestively.
Arching an eyebrow at how generous he was, how careless he was for her health and his financial condition and how goddamn right he is to assume she might want another cigarette, Karen took his offer on.
They consumed their cigarettes in silence for a while. A rumble rolled through the night as another piece of the high-rises collapsed to the ground. It was a lot like being in a city during an air raid.
The noise unnerved Karen; it made her think of how difficult it's going to be to find Daisuke in there when it's all over. "So….Do you think we should go up there? Or call him maybe?"
"No."
"I thought so too, you know." Karen nodded a little bit too enthusiastically. "So, wait a minute, why did you come here then?"
After monitoring his cigarette with the pavement as its background for a while, Subaru leveled his gaze with Karen's again, "I didn't come here for Aoki-san."
'Dear Saiki….'
Hanging on to hopes and dreams will get you no where…watching the future before you, hearing of it coming true, that's all you should do.
Hinoto sat bent over the floor of her shrine, letting her tears drip down and form a pool between her tiny palms on the decorated platform. Souhi and Hien at her sides made no difference; they failed to register in her mind.
The look in Saiki's eyes just before the Dragon's hand sliced his head from his neck.
The boy was terrified.
He was not resilient and stubborn as before, he wasn't angry, wasn't defying; he was terrified.
He was a teenaged boy fighting against what he would never defeat.
Hinoto shuddered violently.
Hien suggested a cup of warm tea. Souhi got up to fetch it. Hinoto did not answer the offer and still they went to get it.
Foolish. She knew Saiki was ready to die for her; it was a part of the oath he took when he took up his position.
Still, she did not fully comprehend his situation until it was too late.
Saiki; so young, so very innocent and fresh. How she took it from him selfishly without thinking for once of what he wanted.
Of course no one was asked what they wanted in this wretched battle. No one was consulted with about their expectations of the future and plans of life before they were chosen for their roles.
Still….the look of terror hung before Hinoto's eyes, lingering there when she blinked and closed her eyes as if it was burnt onto the inner side of her eyelids.
She could have fought on to transport Saiki, she could have done better. Even if the shrine around her shook and creaked all around her to the slight pushes of the Dragon, even if Saiki struggled his way out of the spell. Hinoto knew she could have done better.
So why didn't she?
Because she saw it all before and the moment it began forming into reality she cringed out of the sheer shock and disbelieve.
Why was she so shocked! Her silly emotions were the ones to keep her from helping Saiki all the way. Stupid woman, useless, measly, wretched, miserable excuse for a dreamseer.
Politicians come to her everyday, asking her how to save themselves from assassinations, from wrong political moves, from faulty choices. She helps all these men, these despicable slithery politicians, these absolute strangers and cannot help her own Saiki!
Hinoto bit down on her lower lip until she felt the skin break under her teeth and tasted blood. Hien will bring some ointment to treat that, but who cares?
Pitiful Hien and Souhi; silent and obedient as sheep. Mindless, emotionless, worthless. What are shiki like them to Saiki?
With a wave of her hand she can cancel them, send them back to where they belong. But Hinoto didn't. She couldn't stand being alone now, even if the only company she has are Souhi and Hien.
Hinoto blinked away the blur her tears covered her eyes with and stared forward. She was in the dreamscape again.
Oh god! She's in the water, wallowing in them. Hinoto tried to sit up, to make herself hover up. She couldn't; she was trapped and the water rippled all around her.
Her glass earth was gone…gone…now she was at the water's mercy.
She ignored Kakyou's presence when he appeared by her the moment she fell to the water. She did not hear his words because she already said them to herself over and over again whenever her cruel dreams became reality, no need to pay attention to the enemy's words and especially when this was what they were.
She stared down at the water, ogling at her reflection. She was like a deer staring at a bush, waiting for the tiger to leap out of it and consume it.
The moment she realized what lurked in the reflections she built herself the glass earth; to keep away the outstretched arms, the clutching fingers that were her own.
There were no spells in the world to blame the reflections on and no dreamseer powerful enough to blame for what lurked in the water; it was all hers, all her making and her fault.
She worked so hard to stay away from her, to hide her from anyone who ever walked into her dreams. Perhaps it was only Kanoe who knew about it and she was powerless to fight it.
The water created tiny circles around her shoulders, belly and hips. Too deep, must pull herself out of it before she comes.
Working her powers frantically, Hinoto managed to pull herself up until the water's surface formed a hard floor. That's better, not so sunk in it anymore. She must strive to keep herself this high above the water's deeps from now on and maybe then….
Maybe then there's hope.
Hope for what?
'If the future must come to pass…let it be my hopes, not my dreams.'
Hinoto felt the water quiver under her. The surface slightly disturbed as something deep inside it vibrated softly. She was waking up.
She must stop her before she takes over; she must make someone stop her from drowning in her.
In the meantime, she must keep herself as high above the water as possible. She must let no one see her.
She was already there, below her, she opened her eyes and looked straight at her.
She was her perfect reflection save for two things; the eyes looked at her with malice her own albino orbs never contemplated on harboring. There was also the smirk on her lips.
Hinoto quivered, the movement forcing a whimper out of her.
'Kamui….you must….'
Blood dripping on his face.
Someone else's; not his.
The blood was coming from above him.
'No, go back, don't look at it; you'll only sink in again.'
Saiki's head on a banister. It was only the head, the body was above him, where Fuma sto….
'No, don't look! Don't look!'
Why put it on the banister like that? Why smear the blood everywhere? Why place the body so that it would drip on him? On his face? Why did he do it like that? Why did Fu….
'Don't look! Don't remember, stop it, you caused Subaru enough trouble the first time you regressed.'
Why must he see it all! Why make it like that? Why turn this battle into such a show of horrors?
A child should never watch his mother burn before his very eyes. He should never think his mother is waving at him when all it is is the sinews heating up and stretching, pulling the palm backwards.
A child should never watch as his mother's skin blisters and blackens. A child should not see the body fat ignite and throw the fire into wilder forces; not the fat of the body of his own mother.
A boy should not come to recognize his aunt, his last blood relative, only to see that woman explode until it showers him with blood and flesh. The entrails on his own aunt, the disconnected bones and loose joints are not a sight for someone so emotionally close to the victim of the explosion.
A boy should not see his childhood love sliced like cheese and falling to the ground. A boy should not stare as the pieces of body collide with the floor and smash against it, shouldn't see the blood spray and the flesh smear. Should never be in a mental state where taking a decapitated head and holding it in his lap is a sane thing to do.
'It is not sane; nothing in this year is sane. Maybe everything in me is insane'.
A boy should not come to terms of awkward friendship with a boy his age only to have his new friend's blood drip on him from the ceiling where….
'No, Fuma didn't do it….it wasn't Fuma….it wasn't Fuma!'
He shouldn't have crouched to place a solemn hand on Saiki's discarded head. The feel of dead skin, slippery and cold, was too farfetched at the time but it haunts Kamui's fingertips now, even in his sleep.
The fleshy, liquid, heavy thump Saiki's head made when it landed by his feet echoes in his head still.
'Mustn't look, mustn't remember, and mustn't think about it. Already too close to sinking in for good.'
Kamui opened his eyes and saw a dark grey blur before him. His head was on a soft pillow he was familiar with. Pillows only come in this level of softness in Clamp Campus' hospital.
Kamui blinked and tried to bring his sight into focus. He managed to make out a fold in the canopy curtain a short distance from him but the canopy itself was still blurry.
The room was dark, making the immaculate white curtains appear grey around him. It was still nighttime, but what nighttime? Was he asleep for only a few hours or did he sleep through a few days? Time is such a slippery thing when you're in and out of hospitalizing.
The pain he was in began to creep slowly past the painkillers' effect. Soon his back would burn and his ribs would pound with agonizing torment. Kamui wanted to be asleep when that happened.
He closed his eyes and tried not to see decapitated heads and burning mothers before his eyes.
'It's going to be a long night and a long year to follow it.'
Yuzuriha did not wake up yet. She was dreaming about running spirit dogs and rumbling buildings.
Dogs should be kept on leashes or they'll run away, but Inuki never needed a leash.
'Inuki!'
Inuki was dead, like many people must be…Yuzuriha doesn't know what happened to Shinjuku after she passed out.
Why shouldn't she kill people?
Yuzuriha knows the answer to this but it keeps slipping her mind. It's on the tip of her tongue, was on the tip of her tongue, why didn't she say it?
Yuzuriha frowns in her sleep and turns her head sideways on the pillow. The slightly hard pillow brushes against the bandaged cut on her cheek and she flinches unconsciously.
Perhaps she was unable to answer that girl because she was simply overwhelmed by her.
Yuzuriha was fully aware of the existence of Dragons of Earth and of their goal, but still, she was never quite aware of the full meaning of someone ready to fight for the death of humanity.
How could she? She wasn't raised around people like that, she was not brought up to try and figure out how the enemy thinks beyond battle tactics and places to fight.
She never came face to face with someone who posed such a question the way that girl posed it.
The girl's voice was leveled and cold. The sheer icy tone was probably what struck Yuzuriha the most. How can anyone pose a question like that, while wielding a weapon able of giving an example to the question, and keep his voice level like that? Have it carry such a load of carelessness and emotionless air?
That girl is dangerous. Yuzuriha clutches at the starched blanket above her. Dangerous because no one is allowed to wield a weapon like the girl has and talk like that: it is not human, it is not humane, and it should not come to pass.
The girl killed Inuki and hurt her until she passed out. The rest of the battle spun beyond her control. Yuzuriha gasped in her sleep. Painkillers and light sedatives kept her sleeping.
When she wakes up, Yuzuriha will do better in her next battles; she will face whatever it is that will come to face her and she will win. She will be stronger and more resilient and she will not pass out again.
When she wakes up she'll figure out why it's wrong to kill people. Until then she'll rest and do her best to become stronger, for the earth, for humanity, for her friends and loved ones, for grandmother and Kusanagi-san….
For Inuki…
Inuki, where are you going? Come back…
(The End)