43. Deja-Vu. Syaoran.

Seeing through his twin's eyes was like having deja-vues all over.

Clow Country: Touya and Yukito, black and white. Sand, sun, the ruins, a life he'd lived and yet not-lived. And, of course, Sakura: At seven, ten, sixteen. Healthy, alive, happy, alive. Beautiful. Her radiance gained intensity with every second he was able to look at her.

Then the travels.

Kurogane, Fye, Mokona. The Witch of the Dimensions. Hanshin, Oto, Tokyo – wherever they went, he went, too, and watched. Deja-vu because it was painful. And lonely: so incredibly, heartbreakingly lonely.

Deja-vu: Kurogane's pain, Fye's loss. Sakura's realization as she remembers.


44. Beautiful day. Sakura.

The sun woke her early, tickling her nose. Outside, peoples' voices told her stories of a busy-morning street. Kuro-chan was fast asleep on his bed of pillows.

Dressing quickly, the girl made her way down the staircase and into the living-room. A glance to the side: the picture was there, as usual. She peeked through the kitchen door: Touya was busy making pancakes. Yuki sat at the table, smiling, watching him. The newspaper was gone, Dad had already left.

Stepping onto the street, she felt the soft breeze. It felt like spring.

Sakura knew it would be a perfect day.


45. Together. Syaoran.

Sometimes he wondered.

In all their travels, of all the numerous worlds they had visited – why had they never met another version of themselves? The Witch had warned them and yet it never had occurred. How strange that something Yuuko saw wouldn't happen.

So it had to exist: a world in which they were together, all of them. Kurogane, hot-headed and strong, kind, soft-hearted Fye, Sakura and him. Always together, laughing, smiling, crying, annoying each other. Loving each other.

There had to be a universe out there which had remained untouched by Feiwan's insanity.

Fate owed them one big time.


46. Children. Sakura.

Touya still called them children.

It went like that: "Sakura" – he had abandoned the "little sister", and if anything, this hurt far more – "the brat is back" – and she wouldn't notice until Syaoran had his arms around her, and then Touya would smirk again and call him "brat" and tell them that "children" had to be in bed by midnight.

(And, incidentally, did not sleep in the same room.)

She could have resented him for that: she did not. She understood it was his way of coping with the fact that he couldn't protect her anymore.

It hurt her, too.


47. Doubt(less). Syaoran.

Once he told a stranger, because it was impossible to tell someone he knew. Gave him an abbreviated version without magic, dimensional travels or Hitsuzen, a rather generic version of their story. Boy meets girl, swears to protect her, fails, searches for her, insert action here. The answer came swift:

"Why didn't you just leave when you knew she would die? It seems to me that staying with her all those years did neither one of you a favor. Especially since you only knew her for a few days. Why didn't you just go home?"

And wasn't that the question?


48. Decisions. Syaoran.

There just had to be a way, and he knew what he had to do. It was simple, really, except for when it was not.

Fye hurt, Kurogane, Mokona, Sakura – even his twin. His betrayal had left all of them devastated but it was the only way he could think of in order to save them.

(It all has happened before, love.)

So he ran from them. He killed to protect Syaoran from it and fled from Sakura to stop Fye from hurting her and every injury he caused made him bleed out internally a little bit more.

I lo-…


49. Interlude.

"Woah!"

Sakura has some trouble with the hose before the water lands where it is supposed to land.

Kurogane turns towards the Princess: she has a smudge of dirt on her nose but her face glows. The garden around them is lush and green – how the heck has he ended up here? – but he guesses working as gardeners for their stay is not as bad as it could be. At least they have proper names here.

"Kuro-Rin-Pin!" The stupid mage hollers across the fence. He and the brat are in process of painting it brightly blue.

(So much for that.)