SPOILERS for EPS. 17, 22, 46 (SUBTLE-ISH SPOILER RE: "The Promise"). Basically a bit of the Russia & France arc, mostly Russia though.
My first foray into Blood+ fic (and on this site, for that matter), a Haji & Saya one-shot version of the exchange they had in Ep. 17 toward the end. I chose to focus on their thoughts and left out dialogue, and I took some additional small liberties, as you shall see. All in all, I'd say I'm semi-happy with how it turned out, I may eventually add more detail and even some dialogue. If anyone wishes for me to do so, let me know.
Sudden exhaustion she knew all too well overcame her; she bit her lower lip in frustration. The scenery around her glowed and blurred and enveloped her in a warm cocoon. Then she opened her eyes, Haji leaning over her, cradling her in his arms. She thought of him at his cello and the rueful smile it had last given her, she felt she was to wear this until her struggle was complete. It was all she wished, all she would permit herself to wish.
Haji noticed her jacket was unbuttoned at the neck and swiftly fastened it, a small gesture to bring just a modicum more warmth to her cold visage. He took her hand from his cheek, supporting it to lessen the strain he knew she was feeling. He was so close to her face, his eyes pools of comfort and stability. She had to tell him—to reaffirm...their promise. Her lips spoke with the same established urgency, with the certainty that haunted Haji's very existence. So it was he dipped his bow into the past; for her, as well as himself. His subtle moments of pleasure & peace at the gilded volumes that had passed between them were his reinforcement, the glue in the spine of their tome. He would indeed follow her to hell's gates if she headed in their direction.
They were both displaced, he a gypsy in his former life, now a nomad once more, she taking up ranks alongside him. All he had was her, his solitary treasure across the ages, and all she had was her sword, steadied by her single-minded need for vengeance. He felt a pain of melancholy when his mind would wander to days that had yet to dawn, for the future, a future with her was something he didn't indulge to dream of...
But for now, for now he could continue to fulfill her wishes, until the black day of her last wish. Still, he had chosen his words carefully, that day on the train; maybe, when it was all done, she would see...some reason to look forward, some meaning outside of duty.
Saya's senses focused on a familiar vestige: The faint scent of roses was upon his lips, she didn't have to guess at what color. Where had he found them out here amid the snow? Or was she too quick to take refuge in a fallen time; was she imagining this? An Olfactory hallucination, a trick of the light? But so pleasant, not typical if she was in fact fashioning this from falsity.
It had been far and long since she'd walked in lighter days, in shoes that glided and stepped without the burdens she had come to know. Shoes that she had since traded in for ones that walked with pertinacious functionality. It had been far and long since she'd permitted herself to even think of the roses that, now, were so near to her thru his lips. They were relics of a past she no longer had the luxury of enjoying, even thru nostalgia; and so, she supposed, she was a relic as well, as was her cellist. The pair of them. She smirked sardonically at this.
As she closed her eyes, too heavy to strain open any longer, her last thought was found to be wondering whether Haji anticipated her sleep and thus stained himself with the scent of roses, to remind her of simpler times. She drifted off into her 30-year deep sleep with the roses guiding her softly into the past.
FIN
