Ah, Haji. What would my story be without a cameo or two from you. :D
There's also a little Nathan in this, whom I've kept-(or at least attempted to keep) strictly in-canon to the series. I cannot do Anonymousness' tricky chessmaster Nathan and wouldn't dare to.
That means Haji's gonna get hit on. Like alot. :D
Reviews are much appreciated.
The Milky Way is a weeping gash across the moonless sky.
Stars sweep the night, lucid pearls across black velvet; in the distance, city lights glimmer, throwing an eerie multicolored smear across the seaside. Seated atop the high promonotory, Haji feels wind stir at his hair, sending dark locks fluttering about his face. The air is cold and salty, tasting of salt and rimey ocean froth. A hundred feet below him, waves crash high and white against jagged upthrust rocks.
Exhaling, Haji lifts his face to the sky. The stars above bring a deceptive semblance of life to his eyes.
He has lived a long time, but it is startling that no matter how many decades creep by, the stars never lose their lustor. How many nights has he navigated by them, with Saya at his side, during their journey to defeat Diva? How many nights during Saya's Long Sleep, has he stood at the highest points in each city, stringing constellations among them?
It is an old saying that it is impossible to count all the stars, to imprint their patterns within memory.
And Haji, who has known that hypnotic landscape for decades now, who has had ample opportunity to learn every inch of it, silently agrees.
No matter how intimately you know something, there are certain facets to it that even you cannot anticipate or grasp.
And the same is true of people.
Saya…
Haji closes his eyes, wind whistling against his ears, numbing his nose and cheeks. But he can barely feel it. His entire body feels bruised—or rather, in the state preceding a bruise. He knows everything will be discolored and aching in a few hours' time, the agony making it impossible to think or even breathe—but at the moment, all he feels is an oppressive numbness, as though he is frozen alive.
For a second, he thinks of warm hands touching his face, soaking his skin with heat. Warm lips ghosting across his brow, soft and moist as tears. The glitters of that sweet familiar smile, whispering his name between curved lips.
Haji...
In the next instant, he shuts out the whimsy.
No point in imagining kisses, caresses, that will never be vouchsafed to him. That belong now to another man, and are no longer his to treasure or anticipate.
He is alone here. And without Saya, he always will be.
His eyes burn with the impulse to tears, but even that release is beyond him. Not even playing the cello tonight can bring him solace. He can barely stand to touch it, barely summon the energy to lift the bow. It seems as though he has completely lost that capacity, that innate desire for motion or thought.
As though he has completely lost… the urge for life itself.
Behind him, a familiar but unwelcome voice chants:
"Every breeze that blows, brings your scent to me… Every bird that sings, calls out your name to me. Every dream that appears, brings your face to me…"
Haji does not turn around; his acute hearing has heralded the intruder's presence a mile away. He does not move as Nathan darts lightly out from the dark underbrush behind him, materializing like an imp from the shadows.
"…Every glance at your face, has left its trace with me," Nathan recites, his voice carrying high and loud across the seaside. "I am yours, I am yours… whether near or far. Your grief is mine, all mine, wherever you are…"
Haji makes no reply. He watches from the corner of his eye, as Nathan bows as though to a cheering crowd of spectators. Straightening, the elder Chevalier turns to face Haji with a brilliant smile. "Sorry. The sonnet's just so apropos to the mood. But of course, you're too young to know the poet."
"Nizami ye Ganjavi," Haji says tonelessly.
Nathan's lip curls, incredulous and amused. "Impressive. I didn't think you had the slightest interest in literature."
Haji does not answer.
"I figured you'd be here. I mean, really, there's all the elements of dramatic tragedy practically screaming all around you. Starry sky, city lights, stormy ocean. Add a sulking Chevalier to the mix, and you have a winning combo. If this were a play, your position right now would be what we call a catharsis, Haji. The audience would be bawling bucketloads over you."
The Chevalier gives no reply.
Nathan's intruive chatter is the last thing he needs right now; ever since Saya has awakened from her Long Sleep, the flamboyant Chevalier has been like a tumor in Haji's brain with his insinuating tirades and merciless taunting. After Vietnam, when Saya had sliced off Haji's hand, he had been unsurprised to find himself sinking into the speechless torpor of depression.
Nathan was sliced in half by Saya at the MET, yet the experience has not borne so much as a dent of his high-spirited antics.
But then again, the difference there lies solely in the emotions.
Nathan sidles closer, his feet making absolutely no sound across the rocks. His eyes are soft with enigmatic assessment. "I'm sure you don't want me to interrupt while you're getting your brood on, but I felt it necessary to check up on you."
Haji looks him askance.
"Tut tut. It's out of no personal inclination—or no, wait," Nathan puts a musing finger on his chin, letting a faint smirk play through. "Maybe just a little. At a time like this, I figured a little mood lightening was necessary."
Haji glances away without answering.
"What, you don't think I can pull it off? Y'know, esthetically speaking, you'd probably be the toughest audience I ever took on—but I've always found a good challenge…stimulating. Makes the rewards all the more satisfying. You think so too, don't you, Haji?"
"What do you want?" Haji demands without raising his voice. Against Nathan's gregarious overtones, his own strikes a chord that is deathlike in its flatness.
Nathan does not appear the least bit cowed. If anything his smile widens. But there is a certainty in his eyes, something that renders his face more wise than disdainful.
Still smiling, he leans against a boulder at the corner, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. "Hm, guess we have veered a little off the topic, haven't we? Well, I blame you, Haji. You have to be one of the most abominably distracting men alive—although in this case, not for reasons you think."
Haji does not respond.
"I'm surprised you aren't hiding behind your trusty cello tonight. That's a first. Looks like the gods too, are fond of a joke."
No reply.
Nathan tilts his head, scintillating blue eyes fixed on Haji. "So what are you planning to do now, anyway? Join a monastery? Take up painting? Pole dancing? Or maybe you'd like to get into real showbiz?—I can give you some pointers there. Does underwear-modeling appeal to you? You have the perfect look for it. And I'm sure it would be quite comforting to Saya, seeing twenty-foot-long billboards of you pasted all across the country in nothing but a marble bag."
"If you have nothing useful to say, Nathan, please leave."
Nathan clutches his chest as though shot. "Yeowch. Someone is testy this evening. That time of the month again, Haji?"
"Shut up."
"And baby's talking dirty! Will the wonders never cease?"
Haji's expression does not shift in the slightest.
The elder Chevalier cocks his head, eyes shrewd and watchful. In the space of an eyeblink, he has abandoned his spot and is right at Haji's side, movements transmuting to a violet blur. "Well, if you're going to be such a sourpuss about it, I'll get to the point. You know Saya's leaving to travel with Solomon tonight, of course."
Haji gives no reply, but his silence is lividly eloquent.
"Well, since your fair lady's butchering days are far behind her, she asked me to give you this, seeing as there was no one else who knew how to reach you." With dramatic flourish, Nathan reveals the sheathed sword that has been strapped along his spine, presenting it before Haji like a stolen trophy.
Haji stares, but makes no move to take it. "This…is Saya's sword."
"Yes."
"Why would she give it to me?"
Nathan shrugs, twirling the weapon one-handed like a baton. "Apparently, Saya felt you could keep it safe. And really, it's not like she has a vault she could just chuck this into."
"Why not simply return it to Red Shield?"
"She made it pretty clear it was supposed to go to you, boyo."
Haji shakes his head.
He cannot bring himself to touch the sword. The very sight of it brings back too many memories—memories he can no longer allow to be a part of his thoughts, or indeed, even a part of his reality. Without Saya, their recollection seems meaningless; it is as though everything has plunged into a nebulous unfeeling blur.
He wants to scream, to just break out of this too-brittle barrier, scream and scream until he can no longer see or think anymore—but even that feels impossible, just another triviality he can find neither the effort nor the purpose for.
Glancing away from Nathan's sharp gimlet eyes, he murmurs, "That sword should be at Saya's side. It belongs to her."
The older Chevalier exhales; his voice is low with a delicacy that is almost like contemplation. "I think that's one of the reasons she wanted you to have it. Make a matched pair."
Haji glances at Nathan, not understanding. But the other man's expression is impossible to decipher. He is just looking at Haji, not mocking or playful, but strangely earnest.
Haji hesitates for a moment, then takes the sword from him.
Nathan watches him put it away, within the folds of his coat, almost like a parent making sure a child is drinking his entire glass of milk. After a moment's pause, he perches himself on a flat stone beside Haji, wind ruffling his hair like parade streamers. When he speaks, his voice is light, but with a buoyancy that suggests a particular seriousness.
"Say, Haji—are you just going to loll here? After the presentation you gave at the wedding—all stoic, silent-movie idol—I was actually looking forward to an outburst on your part. Some sort of catastrophe—and everyone knows catastrophe equals denouement. I've always wondered how you'd behave if you finally snapped."
"I plan to do nothing rash."
"Fascinating passive sentence construction. So typical of you."
Haji does not answer.
"It's to be expected, of course. You won't kill yourself. Not literally, in any case. Not as long as Saya still exists. Even if, without her, that's all you seem to be doing; existing for the sake of existing. On one level, it's touching. On the other, nauseatingly maudlin."
No response.
"But hell, this has to be your worst nightmare come true, right? You're probably even hating Saya just a little. I mean, if this isn't two-faced backtracking, I'm not sure what is. Swearing to love one man for eternity, and running off with another? Talk about Face Heel Turn. But like they say, the higher a monkey climbs, the more you see of its behind."
Silence.
Nathan ignores his victim's unresponsiveness. He leans back with his weight propped on his hands, gaze taking in the panoply of stars. "You know, it's funny. No matter how long I've lived, I never get tired of that view. There's just so much drama going on in there."
Haji's eyes shift to Nathan. "Drama?"
The older Chevalier smirks, insolently knowing. "What? Oh, don't tell me you're ignorant about the constellations."
Haji shakes his head no.
"Oh really? Know those two?" His long finger aims at the line of stars on either side of the Milky Way. Three on one side, four on the other.
Haji's eyes follow Nathan's finger mechanically. His voice is inflectionless. "Altair and Vega."
"Correct." The elder's lips curl wider. "Know the story behind them?"
The silence on Haji's part seems to translate into a no. Or perhaps, more likely, a discourse toward I don't want to know. But Nathan seems in no mood to show him any mercy tonight.
Haloed in starlight like some perverse allegorical figure, a brainchild of delirium, the elder Chevalier leans forward.
"The story of Altair and Vega is part of a Chinese festival called Qi Xi—falling on the seventh day of the seventh month or something like that. It's when all the teenage girls carve melons and pray for good husbands. Anyway, on this night, the stars of Vega and Altair are brightest."
Haji does not shift his gaze from the sky.
"Legend goes, Altair was a humble cowherd, and Vega was a princess. The two fell in love and married, and spent their days happily together. The only problem was that they enjoyed being together so much, they neglected their duties. Altair stopped tending to his cows, and Vega no longer weaved at her loom. This pissed off the Emporer of Heaven, so he seperated them, tearing the sky open to form the Milky Way, a barrier to keep the little slackers apart."
Wind whistles across the cliff. Haji hears the surf thundering far below, almost an echo to the blood clamoring against his ears.
Nathan sits crosslegged beside him, pausing a moment for obvious dramatic effect, before launching into a further foray of illumination, or madness, or perhaps both.
"Deprived of each other's company, Vega sat at her loom all day long, pining for her husband. And Altair sat in the fields all the while, daydreaming about Vega. They were both so miserable that they couldn't function. Finally the Emporer of Heaven felt sorry for them. He agreed that they could see each other—once and only once—every year. And everafter, on that oh-so-blessed day, all the magpies of the world form a bridge across the Milky Way, so Altair and Vega can cross it and be together."
Haji does not repond.
Nathan leans forward, all sly smile and the glint of half-lidded eyes, imparting his tale with the quiet mockery of a paranormal trickster—Puck unleashed by the Powers that Be to induce chaos in the shape of well-meaning assistance.
"They say, at some point, Vega and Altair's stars will unite in the sky, right in the center of the Milky Way. And then they'll be together at last. So can you guess what the moral of the story is?"
"I will only see Saya once every year," Haji mutters. Part desire to end Nathan's tirade, part mechanical impulse. At that moment, it is all that really comes to mind.
Nathan lets out a heartfelt groan, pinching the skin on the bridge of his nose between his fingers before jabbing one poniard digit at Haji. "No, junior—Christ. The moral is that every single action has a consequence. What goes up, must come down. It's the law of Physics, God, and Chiropteran. The point is that Altair and Vega tried to block out their obligations, shut out real life—and in return, they were screwed bigtime."
"I fail to see how this concerns me."
"It may not concern you, per se—but Saya it most assuredly does."
This time, Haji turns to glance at Nathan. "What do you mean?"
Nathan's smile is long and self-satisfied, the curling elflocks and glittering eyes giving him the appearance of a vicious lifesized goblin.
"I mean, Haji, that just because Saya's gone now, doesn't mean she always will be. If there's one thing I've seen, it's that nothing in life goes as expected. Anyone who thinks he or she has it all figured out is full of shit. None of us can anticipate the future. Who knows, Saya may just realize that living her dream isn't as dreamy as she pictured. Besides, to use one particularly famous cliché, love may be blind, but marriage is a real eye-opener."
The younger Chevalier stares at Nathan. "What?"
Nathan waves a hand, the gesture grandiose and negligent. "Nothing to stress your pretty little head over. But keep in mind, even if Saya's married Solomon, you're still her Chevalier by blood. You still have a sacred duty to serve her—and this includes not wasting into a walking-talking zombie. I don't think it would do either of you any good, if you sat on your ass all day long, wallowing in self-pity. That's not what Saya would want for you."
"What do you know what Saya wants for me?" Haji cuts in, before he can stop himself. His voice is flat, but the edges of his mouth hold a tension akin to bitterness. "She has her own life to live now. I have little or no bearing in it."
"You'd think that, wouldn't you? Just because she isn't here. But like you said, she has her own life, and hence, she has to find her own way. The same is true of you, Haji."
"What?"
"You spent decades serving this woman. Your existence cycled around her, night and day. With her gone, I'm a little interested in what you're going to do now. Garden? Get a new hobby? There's a million possibilities for a man who'll live forever—but since this is you, the margin's pretty skinny. If I were stupid, I'd say it's only a matter of time before you meet someone new and move on—but it's just as likely you'll spend all eternity with nothing but Ms. Palm and her Five Daughters for company."
Haji makes no reply.
"In any case, with Saya gone, you're gonna have to relearn what it means to say 'I' again. To live for yourself. Otherwise, things could get ugly in a hurry. This is a good chance to try. That's why I think this separation might be a good thing for both of you. Helps to straighten out priorities and encourage self-discovery and all that crap."
Haji's eyes narrow to slits. "You make it sound as though she's on a brief vacation rather than married."
Nathan idly scratches the back of his head, gaze drifting skyward. "What is a honeymoon, if not a vacation? And what is marriage if not another phase in life. An important one, true, but not the only one. And really, as long as life goes on, things will keep on changing. For better and for worse. It's the Karmic cycle."
Haji doesn't respond; he is staring at Nathan, bemused and wary.
Abruptly, the elder Chevalier cracks a leering grin, gaze dropping dangerously close to areas not Haji's face. "Besides, you're the one Saya gave her sword to. If anything, it means that she wants you to keep it handy for her."
"What?"
"Think about it. This sword's as much a part of Saya as her lungs or her arm. It's part of who she is—and of what you two are to each other. And instead of setting it alight with a keg of gasoline, she's left it in your care. If that isn't a coded message, I don't know what it is."
Haji frowns, the distant surges of a premonition rising within him, teasing at his psyche without taking definitive shape. He glances back at the seaside, feeling the wind pick up, whipping his hair to a chaotic tangle, before turning to Nathan again.
But the space he beholds is empty.
Like surf sliding off the rocks, Nathan has vanished.
Haji is alone again, with nothing but the familiar weight of Saya's sword, held bundled within his coat, to serve as company.
His hands travel to the weapon on instinct, thumb rubbing idly back and forth across the hilt. A brief fantasy flits across his mind, of just taking the sword, of slicing through his own wrists, gashing red curlicues across his skin and bleeding to death out here at the cliff.
Nothing but the stars above and the sea below. No more pain, no more regret.
But as long as Saya exists, he knows it can never happen. As long as she lives and breathes, so too will he—not out of pleasure or comfort, but pure instinct. Forever her shadow, her silent doppelganger. Try as he might, he cannot begrudge her for leaving him, for choosing a man he so loathes. That decision is hers alone to make; she is free to choose her own destiny.
Not her fault the result consigns him to utter solitude and despair in the bargain.
The sword he holds now is an aching reminder, both of her absence, and of the enormity of his own loss.
When the first tear drips down his face, he blinks, startled. Raising a hand, he dabs away the warmth on his cheek. His fingers glisten wetly in the starlight.
He freezes, shocked by this sudden loss of control.
He has not cried for so long. He has made no complaint or protest throughout all the yawning decades, has kept silent through every single agony he has endured. But this moment seems to enlarge every loss and suffering, to redouble and burgeon the pain until he can no longer hold it back.
He hasn't even felt such despair since Vietnam. Felt as though the world has ceased to matter, to exist at all—as though the floor has been yanked from under his feet, and he is falling, falling, and can never hit the ground.
But abruptly, the realization crashes in, engulfing him whole. A tsunami of grief, previously held back by the rigid dam of self-restraint, surging loose with tenfold the force.
And for once in his life, Haji welcomes it. He needs this release—any release—so badly. Until now, he has been too numbed to cry, to grasp the gravity of Saya's loss. Nothing has felt real to him—he is caught between mourning for a friend who is still alive, and dreading the departure of a lover whose absence will plunge his world into darkness.
His shoulders shake, silent stifled sobs tripping out, slowly at first, then harder and faster. Raising his face to the sky, he lets the tears stream down, streaking frozen cheeks in shining webtrails. Pulse beating in tandem with every choked gasp, with every vibrant memory of Saya that rages behind his eyes.
But it is comforting, in its own terrible way, because it reminds him that he is still alive.
And for now, while Saya lives, that will have to be enough to sustain him—through this night, and every night after.
Ooc behaviour? Maybe, maybe not.
If there's one thing that'd make Haji cry a river, I think it would be Saya's abandonment. The guy's pretty uptight, but he's not emotionless.
That's what I feel anyway. All comments are welcome
