Author's Notes: This is a vignette inspired by Asuka Neko's "The Lies I've Told", which is a stream of internal dialogue in first-person narrative point of view with Fye Fluorite as the viewpoint character. I wanted to create a sort of mirror-fic featuring Kurogane's thoughts on the same subject, told in third-person narrative point of view without any actual dialogue, and received Asuka Neko's permission to do so. The vignette takes place during the Infinity arc, specifically two nights before their final battle.
The lies never seemed to end.
Kurogane sat back on the couch, the faint smile that the white meat bun had managed to put on his face gone as quickly as it had appeared. She and the kid were stretched out next to him, their breaths deep and even. Beyond the door to his left that connected to one of the bedrooms, all was equally quiet, the magician having either chosen to watch over the princess's uneasy slumber or fallen asleep in there himself.
With one last frustrated glare, Kurogane pulled his eyes away from the door and finished his drink in a single gulp, then refilled his glass with what remained in the bottle. It was a good amount, considering how much the white meat bun had originally set out to imbibe. The air had been heavy despite some quiet efforts to clear it, however, and none of them willing or able to let the spirits lift their spirits artificially. The ninja gave the glass a swirl, watching the clear liquid chase itself around and around in a spiral, similar to how his thoughts were turning 'round in his head, getting nowhere fast while uneasily circling the question of what the magician was hiding.
From the moment they'd both arrived at that witch's shop, the willowy blonde had grated on his nerves. At first it had been simple annoyance at a manner and mind that seemed a polar opposite of his own, and he'd responded in his usual style. Irritation hadn't stopped him from taking the man's words at face value, of course, but then his own reactions - the internal ones at least - had begun to change, soon after they'd landed on the island of Hanshin Kyouwa.
After the lies had begun to pile up.
The first night and morning it had been only more outrage at the other man's ceaseless teasing and idiotic nicknames. During the afternoon's brawl with the flabby crab-man, however, before Kurogane had himself taken the initiative, the magician had seemed on the verge of stepping forward to do battle despite the previous day's flimsy committment to assist the kid only so long as it didn't put his precious little hide in danger. It was a small but telling gesture that caught Kurogane's notice slightly, like silk snagging on a rough patch of skin. The other man had been smiling and joking as usual, but those blue eyes has been intent upon their opponent, cool and calculating.
The battle with that whiny little girl immediately afterwards had made it more obvious; the magician was a seasoned fighter, despite that air-headed, noodle-spined demeanor. When Kurogane had tested him by noting in passing that the kid had also noticed that their blonde companion was more than just the joker he acted, the verbal shot had been as neatly sidestepped as the childish little songstress's attacks had been some minutes earlier. After the battle, and especially later that evening after another of the princess's feathers had been restored, there had also been comments that revealed yet more sharpness of eye and mind. It was disconcerting to a ninja who prided himself on keen powers of observation to have to re-assess an opponent and end up with such widely disparate conclusions. Distracted by the layers of silly fluff, Kurogane hadn't noticed the weapons hidden underneath.
Ever since then it had been nothing but repetitions of the same discordant impressions. The more he watched, the more he caught, and yet all he could gain from his observations was a knowledge of what the man was doing without understanding why. The magician smiled and laughed and joked and teased and his eyes only laughed half the time, if that. He was unfailingly polite save for where his sense of humor sacrificed propriety to poking fun, and seemed as affectionate and friendly as even the princess could be. The impression he gave was still cold at some level, however, as if keeping someone close was merely a strategy to also keep them close enough to push away. Like a hug that was only half an embrace, and the other half a means to keep the other person from looking into his eyes. Like a kiss to shut up the questions.
Not that Kurogane knew or cared to know the full and detailed truth behind all the lies, at least not the private, personal truths that had shaped the blonde man into this enigma. He could tell when there was a lie, even if he didn't know what was being lied about. Kurogane didn't deliberately set out to observe and analyze body language. He simply saw and understood, usually immediately, through a combination of instinct and training. Like catching the sound of a stringed instrument plucked incorrectly and knowing without recognizing the song that there was a wrong note, there was a faint but telling unease struck within him when there was discord between the magician's words or behavior - or both - and the truth, whatever it might be.
They weren't always or even mostly outright lies, of course. Most of the time, the dissonance came from a sense that the magician was hiding something, but it was still a deception all the same. It was stupid; how long did the other man think they'd been traveling together already? The kid might be too polite and the princess too innocent, but Kurogane was a well-trained, battle-tested shinobi: sharp, efficient and deadly as the blade he wielded.
If reconnaissance failed to gain him anything useful, Kurogane was not the type to hesitate from attack, though gently drawing someone out and patient offers to be a willing listener were not part of his style either. He went straight for it; choosing those moments when they were alone and verbally making it obvious to the magician that he wasn't fooled by those smiles, and challenging him to ditch his past and whatever emotional baggage he was dragging around and commit to - actually be in - the present. The magician had let slip the facade briefly in Tokyo, expressing a wish that no one be made unhappy due to their connection with him, but even those words were too simple for something said with such a tired, heart-sore voice.
He gave away nothing, save for the fact that it was obvious that he had something to give away.
The princess was giving Kurogane the same uneasy feeling lately as well, and it was even one more wellspring of mystery surrounding the magician. The princess and her newly sworn chevalier's relationship had added a new layer in Tokyo, but now here in Infinity there seemed to be something more to it than care and devotion. Her second knight seemed not just protector and support, but guardian of her secrets as well as his own.
Kurogane had told the kid the night before that the Princess was fragile due to the very nature of her strength and needed someone to teach her that reality before it was too late.
To drive home the underlying point, he'd made sure to discount the possibility of the magician being able to fulfill this role, as that man was possessed of the same sort of brittle strength as the princess and would be as blind to its dangers as she was. It had to be "Syaoran", even though he wasn't the one that held the princess's heart.
What remained unsaid and was passed over, due to tunnel vision on the kid's part and a dislike of unnecessary revelations on Kurogane's, was that the magician needed a rescuer just as badly as the princess. He might not even last as long as she.
Strength was found in different ways and places, and it came in as many varieties of shape and supply as there were people. The ninja had known many; some well, some not. There were the types of people sustained by their faith or passion for a cause, and so long as their beliefs held strong, they could endure. Some, like Kurogane himself, simply found their strength in knowing themselves well enough not to need an outside set of beliefs to call their own. So long as they did not betray themselves, they were unshakeable. Yet others found deep springs of endurance in the family, friends and companions they had about them. When protecting and being protected, through loving and being loved, in the constant give and take of life and love and learning, their hearts were constantly fed and renewed.
And then there were these two blondes, platinum and strawberry, who at the moment were keeping their heads up and spines stiff with little more than the driving need to protect their companions from everything, including themselves. They gave without taking and bled without ever allowing themselves to be fully healed. Not even the most seasoned, battle-hardened warrior could keep going for long if he had to hold his shield up even when not in battle, keep his guard up even when among friends, and wear all his battle armor without rest or respite. So much the less these two, who seemed so naturally made and molded for love and affection.
Fair hair falling in careless waves about their faces, too-serious eyes like pale jewels set above ephemeral smiles, speaking without saying, looking without seeing. They were too much alike, these two. The princess would raise her knight from the ground where he knelt before her, and the knight would support and escort her wherever she chose to go. They would fall and burn, the both of them, trying to hold the other up.
The ninja's attention and eyes were brought back to the door leading to the princess's room as faint footsteps sounded on the floor beyond. Natural grace and practiced movements made the magician a quiet presence - save for when that mouth was running - and he slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him with little more noise than the shadow he seemed. Kurogane narrowed his eyes at the other man; he looked even more subdued and weary than when he'd first escorted his self-assigned charge to her room. A clear blue eye moved from the glasses on the table, to the still forms on the couch, up to Kurogane, and then catching that assessing look, quickly shuttered closed as a cheerful smile took over the pale face, to all appearances a natural expression of the heartwarmth generated by the scene.
Kurogane scowled, wanting to growl at the other to cut the crap because he wasn't fooling anyone but keeping silent lest he wake the kid or bun. The hesitation to speak aloud was certainly not because he was still too aware of the wall newly built between them. It wasn't that the sound of his full name falling from that smiling mouth in that coldly mocking voice was still too fresh in his memory, warning him back from familiarity and relegating him to the distance of mere acquaintance.
The expression on the magician's face was now that non-expression he assumed when he stood in that neutral mental territory where he didn't bother with the false smiles but also refused to communicate in any way. His eye simply watched and waited, holding steady to Kurogane's gaze, and his lips were curved in a faint, meaningless smile.
Kurogane glared. Hard. He might not press, but neither would he back down.
After a few stretched out seconds, the magician gave a faint breath of a laugh and barely discernible shake of the head and began walking across the room to the bedroom on the opposite side. With a sunny smile that somehow combined indulgent exasperation and light-hearted amusement, he quietly admonished the darkly brooding man on the couch not to stay up too late and then disappeared into his room.
Red eyes bored into the closed door. Smiles and laughter, mind games and little tricks, all stacked on top of each other like bricks to keep the wall between them growing despite that fact that the both of them knew that Kurogane could see right through the wall. The wall was transparent, but the ninja admitted that his power of sight ended at that smile. He didn't know how blue-eyed people could pull off "innocent" so easily.
He knew there was something dark behind the smile. He just couldn't see it, and the magician wasn't going to let him in. Certainly not anymore.
Suddenly recalling the glass that he was clenching too tightly in his hand, Kurogane tossed back his drink in a few gulps and set the now-empty glass down on the table with a frustrated clack that rang sharply through the living room. He was done with this stupid dance they were all dancing around each other. The magician and the princess could keep their secrets for a little while longer, but as soon as they'd cleared the final battle and could all let some of the tension go, Kurogane was going to do some damage.
He wouldn't let pressure build upon pressure until a crack finally formed and the magician's entire psyche suddenly shattered. He'd destroy that shell himself, the only way he knew how. His methods might be brutal and blunt, but they would work, and what damage he might cause would still be better than that fatal, final break he could feel lurking in the distance. Maybe even the near distance.
The magician encased himself in fluffy snow and thick ice. His armor was laughing blue eyes and constant smiles, playful mannerisms and a happy-go-lucky demeanor layered over lies and half-truths, evasions and silence. Perhaps someone else could have gently brushed the snow away and melted the ice over time. Someone who knew the details of the magician's past and had been there to share in or at least observe all the joys and all the hurts that had shaped the youthful-seeming man into what he was today. Perhaps this "Ashura" that made the magician's eyes darken and smiles falter was one such person, equipped with the better knowledge that would enable them to waste time in subtlety and a light touch.
Kurogane didn't know and he didn't care about personal history. He'd tried hammering that into the magician's seemingly empty skull before, though he didn't know if it had taken. History was history. His style was more direct; focused on what was in front of him, what he could reach out and put his hands to. Snow could be swept aside; ice could be shattered. The magician was in a rapidly accelerating slide down a very slippery slope. Kurogane would grab him by the collar and slam him into the ground. Bones might break - perhaps even their relationship, whatever of it remained - but so be it; it was better than letting the man fall off the cliff and perish entirely.
The magician was already broken, in fact. Broken a long time ago; long enough for him to have learned to become such a practiced liar, and healed crooked. So crooked that he'd have to be re-broken, shattered and ground into dust to be remolded. Whatever agent was needed to hold the dust together to form new clay from the old would have to be figured out later. First things first.
Without bothering to examine motivations or wonder when he'd made this decision, Kurogane knew he would find a way to break through to or simply break the other man. Never mind whether the patient wanted to be healed or not. It needed doing. He would do it.
And then the magician wouldn't have to lie anymore.