A/N: Decided that it would be fun to experiment with xxxHolic, got this idea stuck in my head, couldn't get it out, surrendered to Calliope and sat down and typed it all out. I couldn't come up with a good title, but I rather like the story (even if I do manage to mutilate the grammar of the English language beyond any hope of recognition in it).

Tired Eyes

When Watanuki walks into Yûko's shop that day, he looks older than he has any right to be.

She takes a few moments to recognize the difference, and when she does, her heart sinks. "Why the long face, Watanuki?" she asks, but her voice is gentle and strangely solemn.

He looks up at her, and she feels an uncharacteristic rush of empathy as she sees his tired, world-weary eyes. "Does the sake help?"

It's the first time in years beyond measure that she has been truly surprised. "What?"

"Can you really get drunk enough to forget everything?" He sounds tired and beaten and forlorn, and she wonders both who has reduced him to this state and if perhaps the price for murder was not quite so heavy as she has always thought.

"The sake helps… sometimes," she says honestly. A pause; and then she succumbs to her curiosity and adds, "Talking can help, too."

He gulps, and Yûko's brow furrows. She hadn't sensed anything ominous that was to happen this evening, but hitsuzen could be tricky, and Watanuki was clearly distressed.

"She's going to die," he says suddenly. "A woman I saw on the street. She had that… cloud—I don't know what it was, but I don't think it was a spirit—she reminded me of that lady who told lies, when I first started working for you, remember? I don't know why she had it, what she had done… but there's no way she can live longer than a month. I… I know this, but… I can't do anything to help her. I don't even know her, and I know that she's going to die." He looks down, and his voice grows soft. "She had… a child with her, not much older than I was when…" He trails off. "Whatever she's done, it's not fair to him, that she should…"

Ah. That explains quite a bit. "There's probably still the father, you know," Yûko suggests neutrally.

Watanuki sighs. "Yes, I know."

Yûko looks at her normally energetic helper. All the fight has been drained out of him, and she can't think of anything that would put it back. She's been dealing with people who have doomed themselves for ages, and as of yet the only thing she has found to be even slightly helpful is lots and lots of alcohol.

A shame, then, that Watanuki can't hold his liquor.

"What else?"

He doesn't have to ask what she means. "I cried."

"And…" Yûko prods, unable to see what would be so awful about that. Of course, no teenage boy would ever willingly cry in public, but it's nowhere near as bad as what he has just finished describing.

"And Dômeki saw."

Yûko reminds herself that Watanuki has just been through a very severe emotional trauma, and therefore smacking him on the head with her fan would be an exceedingly inappropriate action, even for her. "So? Did he say something?"

Watanuki shrugs morosely. "No, he didn't say much, but he didn't have to. It was mean of you to push me on him, you know. He has stuff to worry about besides me."

Do. Not. Whack. Do. Not. Whack. Do… not…

Ah, hell.

Thwap!

Watanuki goes sprawling back across the floor. "Hey! What was that for? I didn't even—"

Yûko rises to her full height, glaring down at Watanuki. "You're irritating when you're stupid. Stop it."

Apparently he's gotten a bit too used to her intimidating looks, because he glares right back. "No! It's not fair that you keep forcing him to—"

"Force?" Yûko arches an eyebrow. "I don't recall forcing him to do anything. He doesn't come into my store, remember?"

His mouth opens and closes wordlessly, and Yûko, deciding that is enough of a victory for her, takes pity on him. Sort of. "For instance, I didn't force Dômeki-kun to wait outside my gate tonight, which is what he is currently doing."

She resists the urge to laugh at his shocked face. "It's supposed to rain soon, and it would be a pity if he caught a cold, don't you think?"

Watanuki is automatically halfway to the door, apparently forgetting that he is supposed to hate Dômeki with a fiery passion, when he stops and glances back. "But you just said that he can't come in."

She waves an elegant hand dismissively. "You'll just have to come in extra-early tomorrow and the day after to make up for it then, won't you?"

He looks at her with well-deserved disbelief. "Okay, what's the catch here? You never—"

A clap of thunder cuts him off, and his eyes widen to comical proportions before he spins around and marches out the front door. It is mere seconds before Yûko hears him yelling at Dômeki for his idiocy, and she wonders if she could perhaps sell Dômeki a hearing restorative potion soon. Plugging one's ears really couldn't be very useful against a tirade of that magnitude. The boy's attempts to defy fate never fail to amuse her.

A faint, ironic smile touches her lips as she turns back into her home. She knows from long, bitter experience that no matter how normal Watanuki appears, he hasn't forgotten his pain—it would take a miracle to do that, and even she cannot produce true miracles. All he can do is force it back until it coalesces into something more manageable, more definite than the only loosely connected emotions that are racing through him right now. She prays (as well as anyone who has created gods can pray) that it won't break him, won't harden his gentle spirit into something icy and cruel, because he will have to endure much more than simply this and she doesn't know how it will end. She knows what should happen, what was supposed to happen, but hitsuzen is fluid and she has come too close to be able to see his future with any accuracy: it is too tightly entwined with her own, and she knows better than to attempt to divine her own fate.

Really, there is no good cure for heartache, is there? Watanuki deals with it by shouting at people, and she…

"Maru! Moro!" she calls. "I want some wine!"

So... review?