Title: Waxing and Waning

Author/Artist: Pixieblade
Rating: T
Warnings: character death; dark musings
Word count: 926
Summary: Ukoku comes home.

It's interesting how the mind turns. When they said he died I came back to see for myself, because I knew they were wrong; they were always wrong after all. They were wrong when they said I wouldn't be the victor against my master, they were wrong when they said I'd never be a Sanzo, they were wrong when they said you wouldn't reciprocate my…well, let us just leave it at that, shall we?

Too bad they weren't wrong about this though.

I noticed the crows before anything else. The hush of the temple, the coldness of the halls, even the paleness of the faces and the burnt out ruin of the walls didn't affect me. You're body laying on the funeral pyre did.

They gasped when I jumped up and stood atop it, your prone body between my legs like so many nights; they cried out when I pulled the shroud from your face and fondled your pale lips; they clawed at my robes and flesh when I laid down beside you and pulled you into my embrace, your cold body against mine where there should be warmth but wasn't; and they fled when I lit the match and dropped it between the slats of wood below us while I closed my eyes and said my prayers.

First and last time I bothered with the things you took as pure truth. First and last time I saw the sun. First and last time I cared for anyone, including myself. I breathed in the scent of sandalwood and pipe smoke, even in death they clung to you like that golden brat. That's when I noticed he wasn't by your side now and a twisted smile stole what little real laughter you'd managed to tease from my lips. Figured I'd pay you back and pressed mine to yours, maybe the imprint would stick long enough for the wood to catch and send us both to heaven or hell, maybe both.

Damn thing didn't take though.

When the sun set and the moon rose high and bright, so bright I thought it must have eaten up every last spark of your light, only then did I leave you to your eternal rest. I left you amongst those that swore their love, their allegiance, their fidelity to you even after death and walked away into the darkness of the forest. That same forest where I shed so much blood I could have created a new life from it and you bound me to you with a name. the same wood where you wrapped strong fingers around me in the darkness of the new moon and slowly pulled me closer to your brilliance before I fell, white light sticking to your fingers before your tongue stole it away, a thief in the night.

Somewhere in the darkness I felt myself shatter, the pristine glaze of your strength chipping and breaking open, the darkness of my soul slipping out, unbound now by your touch, your voice, or your passion. That night the moon stole away my shape and bound me in this viscous form of humanity-a soulless puppet whose master had left it like a child would, a crumpled heap of lifeless, bloodless, loveless wood and tangled cords on the floor.

But puppets cannot scream and curse the sun and moon, heaven itself. No, the gods do not hear the voices of children's playthings and so my shouts and damnable cries and fearsome raging fell on deaf godly ears while the crows shrieked with me-the only one's to understand my hate and baleful feelings. One flew to my shoulder, its raven wings fluttering around us, a canopy of darkness and nothingness and dropped my salvation at my feet. It's stupid. But I felt its whiteness was mocking me and smashed it beneath my sandal, it's glassy obsidian eyes didn't blink, didn't waver, didn't pull back from my abuse and that's when it hit me.

I took it up from the dirt and brushed its faux coat clean until it glimmered with moonlight and unshed tears, because I would never allow them to fall where you might see them, and named it after you. I tried to steal your soul back from the moon and trap you in its plush body but I knew it failed; even my power's not so great. Not yet anyways.

Maybe it was that moment in time-your name upon my lips and your body burning behind me while you smiled down from the rabbit's home that this all went sideways. You always said I had a tendency to take everything to the extreme, maybe you were right. I don't know if this was for the best or not. I don't even think I really care. I brush his ears against my lips and think of you; they are almost as soft as yours, but not quite. I guess nothing ever will be. I'm not a saint, hell, I'm not even a good priest, and I'll probably stray from you; no, I'm sure I will, but he'll be by my side until you can be again. Does that promise make you smile? Does that one stupid, selfish, little oath make it alright? Does it?

"Koumyou…"

Damn thing's laughing at me. Maybe I caught a piece of your soul after all and maybe in the sunlight it will look different. Guess we'll see.

"With the rising of the sun…"

Fin.