She had said so many, many times. The body also has memories.
Watanuki hadn't been entirely sure of it until she had left. There would be times when her smell on the bed sheets, the taste of her favorite liquor, the touch of her silken kinomos, the vision of her pipe, would bring her presence back, so strong and yet so unreal, and his heart would race, his eyes would become filled with tears and he would cry until every part of his body ached for her, for seeing her just once more, even if for a minute, for he dared not to ask for more, for what he truly wanted. Those moments never did quite go away, not even after decades passed.
But his story wasn't just a sad one. Maru and Moro would always somehow sense whenever sadness was overcoming him and smother him in hugs and cheek kisses that, inevitably, made him laugh. Mokona would jump to his shoulder and nuzzle his cheek tenderly and then demand for food he would make gladly despite his constant bickering with the black fur ball. Kohane and Doumeki visiting, both of them with their new life stories, the once-in-a-year group party where Himawari would join them. Life wasn't perfect, but it wasn't hell. Some days the pain was worse than others, but it was bearable, and it constantly reminded him of why he was there; not only in the shop, but alive and still moving forward, despite his apparent lack of evolution.
They all died young. On the first year when Himawari didn't appear on their annual party, Watanuki was turning his fortieth year. The three remaining members gave a toast to her, tears falling into the liquor as Kohane and Watanuki drank it. Doumeki didn't cry- hell, Watanuki wasn t sure he was capable of it- but his brow had a line, among the others the years had drawn there, that just didn't go away during the whole afternoon. Some years later, Kohane, who Watanuki had first met when she was twelve, also died. That day the pain was worse than it had been in years; Watanuki wept, his sobs coming out in strangled screams, feeling as though something had been ripped apart from him, Maru and Moro clinging to him, their faces moist with tears as well. Mokona had stayed in the veranda with Doumeki, and when the archer left, around half an hour later, Watanuki could have sworn his eyelids where reddish and swollen, and his voice hoarser than usual.
Then, finally, came the day when Doumeki didn't return to the store. On that day, after waiting for him and knowing he wasn't going to come back -not that day, not ever- Watanuki hated himself. He crashed every mirror in the shop, hurting his hands and too angry to notice. He hit his head against the walls, wanting to break it apart. He screamed until he had the sensation that he wasn t going to be able to speak anymore. Finally, furious, bleeding from one another wound that still hadn't magically healed, he collapsed on the wooden floor, sobs making their way to his mouth, trying to bite them back with the thought that, wherever he was, Doumeki was enjoying it.
"Not on your life, bastard" he said through gritted teeth, tears falling from his eyes, rolling to the floor "Not even on your afterlife"
He had eventually gotten back up, fixed all the things that he had broken and told Maru, Moro and Mokona the bad news, holding them as they cried, but he didn't cry anymore. His tears had run dry. That night, more than ever, as he inhaled the smoke from her pipe, his body remembered her presence and the good times. Not just her, but everyone he loved and the sensation of being surrounded by them. And that it happened becasue he'd met her.
Some years later, a boy had appeared on the shop's entrance. He looked just like that idiot who had just passed away; and as he introduced himself, it was revealed to Watanuki that it was the idiot s great-grandson. He came back every day through the years that followed and grew to become exactly like the original Doumeki. Watanuki couldn't tell whether he was glad or annoyed, but he mentally named the kid Doumeki Jr. and let time pass. He would often find himself somehow annoyed by some gestures Jr. had, and he would always think about the past whenever they sat together on the veranda, looking at the night-sky. It was to that Doumeki to whom he revealed he was now free to leave the shop, but didn t really want to.
That Doumeki got married around his 25th year and around seven years later suddenly said, out of the blue.
"Tomorrow, I ll bring someone who wants to meet you"
Watanuki, clinging at the crimson pipe between his fingers, let the words linger in the air for a minute before asking who.
"My kid" Jr. nonchalantly explained, and Watanuki nodded, remembering how years before, that Doumeki had come telling a story about how his wife had sadly died of childbirth. But damn him if he remembered any other details. Doumeki said he didn't want the child to be alone in the temple and so he wanted the shop to become a new home and asked if it was OK; Watanuki found himself agreeing before he could think it through, almost as if his lips and tongue had moved on their own.
The next morning, Watanuki woke up early and felt the urge of doing the chores. The store was clean, Maru and Moro, after several years living with him, had acquired the habit of cleaning as well, and yet he really wanted to clean. Shrugging the 'Why? s' off, he got to it and finished before noon, when he prepared food, snacks, a few trays with liquor and sat on the veranda, smoking and waiting.
Soon enough, steps resonated on the street. He listened. Yes, definitely Jr.'s and someone else's. They seemed light, almost as if they could be lifted by a breeze, and skippy. He smiled somewhat reminiscently; he had always liked children, and yet he had seen very few besides Maru and Moro on the past century. Surely Doumeki's kid would be a good company, unless it was like the father.
Soon enough, the pair appeared on the door. Watanuki froze, the greetings he was about to utter dying on his lips, his eyes wide as plates.
"Good afternoon" Doumeki Jr. said as they entered and made their way to the veranda, his small companion, no older than seven years old doing her best to keep up with his huge steps. They stopped a few yards before Watanuki and she raised her crimson eyes, meeting his gaze, an electrical shudder running through her body at the sight, and Watanuki couldn't help but thinking she had recognized him despite haven't ever met him before. She stood, staring at him with her wide, surprised a eyes and then suddenly ran to him and hugged him, pressing her small face to his chest, under Jr.'s surprised gaze.
"I'm back, Watanuki"
He knew that feeling, that smell. He knew what her favorite food was, what colors suited her best. He knew those arms, he knew what her voice would sound like when she was older. His body remembered her as if she hadn't left at all and despite how different she was from the way she had been when they last saw each other; his body remembered the ache of not having her near, the years that had gone by without her. He hugged her back, tears streaming down from his eyes. He should have known, he should have known that is most important person had to somehow be related to the persons to whom he had mattered the most. She was back, and now he treasured her at least ten times more with the memory of Kohane and Doumeki permanently linked to her presence.
"Thank you" he muttered to them, and to their great-grandchild who was now staring at him hugging his daughter, an air of comprehension washing over him "Thank you"
C.C. (a) the author here. I'm perfectly aware that this fic is a whole new brand of perturbing -then again, what CLAMP pairing isn't at least a little perturbing? Either way, I was really hoping for something like this to happen in the actual manga and...guess what: It never happened. I'd toyed with this idea for a while, but it wasn't until I realized Holic was really finished without a proper closure that I sat down to write this. Watanuki's appareance in 'Drug & Drop' made me hopefull that the girls are finally giving the xXxHoLic/Tsubasa Reserviour saga a proper end. But just in case they don't...
Reviews are welcome.