Disclaimer: Verily, they are not mine.
A/N: For Sparksearcher, who requested it when I threw out a 'make me write things!' challenge on Livejournal.
Continuity: Post-Time After Time in the canon. Can also follow A Perfect Graveyard of Buried Hopes, a fanfic I wrote last year, and which you can read if you have burning questions afterwards.
Feedback: Feedback keeps me flexible.
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Reflections and Visitations
© Scribbler, July/August 2006.
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All men and women are born, live suffer and die; what distinguishes us one from another is our dreams, whether they be dreams about worldly or unworldly things, and what we do to make them come about... We do not choose to be born. We do not choose our parents. We do not choose our historical epoch, the country of our birth, or the immediate circumstances of our upbringing. We do not, most of us, choose to die; nor do we choose the time and conditions of our death. But within this realm of choicelessness, we do choose how we live. -- Joseph Epstein
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"This must seem mighty weird, huh?"
"Actually, this kind of thing happens more often than you might think."
The other Clay raises a sceptical eyebrow. "Seriously?"
Raimundo juts out his chin and folds his arms, just a little defiant. Omi peers out from behind him, eyes dominating the round moon of his head. He's still a little kid in so many ways.
Kimiko, for her part, just can't take her eyes off the pair. They stand close to each other, not quite back to back, but there's something about their stance that says they'd be ready to kick some heads in, like, no seconds flat. They might even give Omi a run for his money. There's just something about them – a hard edge to the way they carry themselves, a peculiar intensity in the slope of their bodies.
Plus, it's just way too bizarre to see two Clays doing Clay-like things – things a Chameleon-bot wouldn't know. Currently they're both grunting thoughtfully and scratching their heads through their hats. The other Clay's is slightly more battered, with scorch marks all up one side and a hole the size of an acorn through the brim.
Yet even weirder than two Clays is seeing another version of herself – her as she could've been, given some major league changes in her life. The girl standing in the centre of the kitchen is about fifteen pounds thinner than herself, and there are dark circles under her eyes. Her hair, Kimiko's pride and joy, is plain black and scraped back into a tatty little braid that barely reaches her shoulders. It obviously hasn't been washed for some time. Neither has her neck, or her hands. There are stains on her knuckles too dark to be dirt.
Kimiko shivers.
"So how the heck did you come through to our universe?" Raimundo demands. He's still new at being leader, and feels he has to prove himself by being brash and obnoxious to things he doesn't understand.
The other Kimiko stiffens the way she has every time Raimundo speaks, no matter how much warning she's received. For all the guardedness of her body, her eyes haven't left him so far, as if she's afraid she'll go blind tomorrow and have nothing to remember him by. She looks almost hungry, the rest of her expression flitting between pained and angry without any stimulus.
Kimiko isn't sure she wants to ask what sort of world they come from. She isn't sure she'd like the answer.
It's the other Clay who responds. He's the mouthpiece, and Kimiko can't help but notice that he inches forward a little, subtly interposing himself between the other Kimiko and Raimundo. "I ain't rightly sure, though I reckon Grand Master Dashi might've had sumthin' to do with it. All I know is, we was fightin', he was spellcastin' again to get us out of our fix, and then this big dang hole opened up in the ground under us. We fell on through, and landed here."
"In the middle of our dinner," Clay (the real Clay, as Kimiko mentally dubs him, though the other Clay is no less real, just not their Clay) points out.
"Yeah … sorry 'bout that. Wasn't 'zactly aimin' anywhere in particular. Did we ruin anythin' good?"
"I made Alabama Chocolate Mudslide."
"Tarnation! An' I sat in it? Man, I ain't eaten chocolate in … well, s'gotta be goin' on six months now!"
"Landsakes! Truly?"
"God's own truth."
"Well, when y'all get a chance, I'll make some up for you. T'ain't right to go so long with sweet stuff."
"I knew I was a decent guy."
"Hold it, hold it, hold it!" Raimundo holds up both hands, making the other Kimiko startle and fall halfway into a defensive posture.
She straightens guiltily, her movements sharp and quick, and the other Clay puts a hand on her shoulder as if to steady her.
"You two know Grand Master Dashi?" Raimundo demands.
"Uh…" At once, the other Clay looks uncomfortable. "After a fashion."
"For real? Man, that is so cool! He's, like, a legend! The greatest Xiaolin warrior who ever lived! At least in our universe."
"Ours, too."
"And you guys know him! Seriously? Man, what I wouldn't give for one conversation with him … Dude, I wanna be in your universe!"
Both the other Clay and the other Kimiko exude an awkward silence that spreads to the rest of them. Though he's gone to fetch Master Fung, Kimiko thinks that even Dojo would be quietened by the unpleasant sense of the unsaid rolling off them in waves. They don't just say nothing, they consciously aren't saying something.
She's about to speak, to add her own yen's worth on this latest piece of weirdness (could this be the work of a new Shen Gong Wu? Is it reversible? Does it really matter?), when the other Kimiko suddenly shifts her expression and drops her fists. She takes a step forward, brushing off the other Clay's hand when he tries to stop her. As she does so she enters a patch of sunlight and is bathed in its glow. The bright red of her training uniform sharpens, making her seem even greyer and more wilted than she already does. Only her blue eyes look truly alive in her wan face. They glitter as she approaches Raimundo, who regards her with a mixture of eager interest and unease.
Kimiko catches his eye over her doppelganger's head.
"Uh, that might not be the best idea," she says quickly. She sounds a little scratchy, and self-consciously clears her throat before continuing. "The last time two people from different universes touched, they kinda nearly imploded the fabric of reality."
"I did not know that would be happening!" Omi protests. "And it was not so much badness. Look at what we learned. So many handsome varieties of Omi could never be a badness thing!"
But the other Kimiko isn't listening. She snatches back her hands from where they are about to cup Raimundo's face, but doesn't take her eyes off him. The other Clay moves to stand behind her and replaces his hand on her shoulder. It looks a well-practised move.
Kimiko narrows her eyes a little, mind bounding around like an inquisitive dog that's been cooped up for too long. She reins it in, however, when the other Kimiko suddenly sniffs and drags the back of one dirty hand across her eyes. Her lashes are spiked with damp, and the stain on her knuckles leaves a reddish smear all across her cheek.
"It's you," she whispers hoarsely. And man, isn't that a kicker, to hear your own voice coming out of somebody else? "It's really you. You're here. And you're still you."
Raimundo looks perplexed. "Uh, I was the last time I checked."
The other Clay's hand tightens and then relaxes in what Kimiko assumes is a comforting squeeze. "You know it ain't, darlin'. Don't torture yourself."
"Can't you see him? He's here. He's here, and he's still him!" Her voice climbs an octave.
"But he ain't our Raimundo. He's the Raimundo of this universe. Look at them duds. They look like anythin' our Rai'd wear?"
"I don't care! I want -" She stops. All at once, the light goes out of the other Kimiko's eyes. She drops her head. "Yeah. I-I guess you're right. Sorry."
Another comforting squeeze. It's a strangely intimate thing.
Now the real Clay is looking at the pair of newcomers with concern, too. Maybe he's moving towards the same conclusion as her, Kimiko thinks. There's a closeness to them that can only be explained in one way that she knows of, and it means she's too embarrassed to meet the real Clay's eye when he glances at her. She can feel her cheeks beginning to burn at the very idea.
Raimundo is staring at them all like they're nuttier than a big bowl of Nutty-Nut Flakes. "Did I miss something?"
The other Kimiko smiles. It's jagged as a rusty penknife. "It is you," she murmurs. "I don't care how we got here; I'm never going back. Not ever. "
"Don't say never, darlin'," the other Clay warns. "It'll come back to bite you."
"There's nothing left for us anyway. You saw what happened to Omi … the Shade … you saw it pick him up. You saw. And the others - Master Fung, Dojo … Jack …" Her voice cracks. "They're all gone, Clay. All that's left is … is Dashi." She doesn't say his name with the same reverence as Raimundo did, but spits it out like a spoonful of salt. It seems an odd way of talking about the greatest Xiaolin warrior who ever lived.
"This ain't our universe -"
"It could be! We could make it ours! We don't have to go back! It's not like moving house; we don't have to bring any possessions with us. What is there left for us there? Can you think of anything you'd go back for?"
"Kimiko -"
"Well can you?"
"It's our responsibility to -"
"Screw responsibility."
"Kimiko!"
But she just murmurs under her breath, rocking slightly on the balls of her feet. "It's not fair. I never asked to be a Dragon in the first place. I didn't ask for any of this to happen. It's not fair, and I'm not going back. Never, never, never, never…"
Kimiko shivers at the tinkling of the little charm clutched in the other girl's fist.
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