Notes: First things first-I'm extremely sorry this chapter is two weeks late! No, I wasn't busy or anything; I just had a moment of panic the couple of days or so leading up to the original post date of this chapter and thought to maybe revamp the rest of the fic. Now that I've calmed down, and now that the third set of Primo memories more or less made sure that I would not be Jossed (*cheers*), I've decided to stick to the original plan. There will be two interludes before we finally get to meet D. Spade.
Now, here is the most important note for this chapter: There will be an attempted suicide in this chapter. I know it's a touchy subject, so please, use your discretion. If you wish to skip this chapter for any reason, feel free; I will briefly recap next week. This is as dark as the fic will go; things will considerably brighten up next chapter.
G handed the merchant the old coins Ugetsu had pushed into his hands before he snuck out of the cargo bay of the Portuguese ship. He grabbed the packages of provisions and thanked the merchant in excruciatingly slow Japanese with as much of a Portuguese accent as he could muster. As he walked away, he pulled the hood over his red hair as he passed one of the city guards patrolling the streets undoubtedly for their little band of felons. G heard them halt in their steps and he could feel their narrowed eyes following his back, but he did not peer over his shoulder until he turned a street corner. They continued on their way, seemingly deciding that he was not the boy they were looking for.
Idiots, G thought as he reached into his pockets for a match and a cigarette. The Portuguese had an extra crate of them in the cargo bay, apparently for their own personal use and not for trade.
Knuckle and Giotto had not approved of his rummaging through the crates; Giotto worried that the sailors would notice before the ship took sail at noon and that they would find them and turn them in. Knuckle simply reminded G that tobacco was "extremely addictive" and could not be healthy. G snapped at Knuckle to mind his own business and assured Giotto that the sailors never kept good track of their own stocks of anything. If they noticed, they probably would blame each other before trying to find a stowaway thief.
Giotto had not looked convinced but he did not press the matter further.
"Just take one," he had said with a sigh. G grinned and did exactly that.
But all of them were in agreement: they had to leave the stores of food untouched. They could only nibble on so much before anybody realized that it was not rats sneaking away crumbs. While this would likely not happen before it was too late to turn around and take them right back to Japan, they had little interest in trying to escape the law twice.
And so, they sent G out in a makeshift disguise to buy all that they would need for the few days it took to get to China. He was the one who could run the errand and return in the least amount of time and by drawing the least amount of attention. "Be careful," Giotto had bid him, and G promised to be back within half an hour.
It was getting close to that time. G turned into an empty alleyway and saw the Portuguese ship looming nearby in the harbor. He stopped against the wall to take a quick drag before realizing that this was the exact alleyway they had stopped in last night, when Ugetsu's sister came to tell them the terrible news.
G scowled. That son of a whore of a brother. Last night, after parting ways with Fuku and just before they made the mad dash to the ship, G had said, without thinking, "Why don't you go kill that backstabbing asshole?"
Everyone had given him appalled looks.
"G!" Giotto had hissed with the tiniest hint of fury. Knuckle had launched into a sermon about turning the other cheek, about how exacting revenge would solve nothing, and about how killing was a sin, all of which G had done his best to ignore.
But nothing made G want to take back his words more than the look of despair on Ugetsu's face, of conflict, of heartbreak.
"He is my brother, G-dono," Ugetsu had said quietly. "It would be dishonorable, and I have disgraced my family and myself enough."
Then he cast his gaze to the dark water lapping against the port and made a face that G hoped to never see again.
G threw his cigarette to the cobbled ground and stomped his foot on it. He leaned back against the wall and stared at the ship again, reflecting on how Ugetsu had yet to smile like he used to and laugh like he used to. It had only been a few hours, and G knew he had little reason to have his smiles reach his eyes and have his bell-like laughs sound less forced, but something about his quiet melancholy disturbed him. It was as though he had not let go of the fact that he was to be executed, that he could not escape his fate no matter where he ran to, and that he did not actually want to go with them to Italy, that he only agreed to it to appease his sister.
Even Giotto, being as eerily perceptive as he was, picked up on it, asking Ugetsu about it as soon as they found a quiet, dark corner in the cargo bay where the sailors would be less likely to spot them.
"Ugetsu, is there something more going on than you're telling us?"
After a moment's hesitation, Ugetsu had promised them that he was fine. It wasn't until G asked him about the coins Ugetsu had that he finally gave in.
"My instruments are worth a lot of money," he had said. "That's how I was able to buy these swords and still have some left over for you. I'd hoped to eventually convince Ani-ue to get me another one, perhaps for the New Year, but…" Then he smiled. "It doesn't matter. You are more important to me."
G remembered how he spent his afternoons listening to Ugetsu perform his music, enthralled by the raw emotion and power and passion in each note that floated out of the flute. G noticed that his eyes shone the brightest whenever he touched the instrument, and that every time he set it down to focus on his other studies his eyes betrayed his longing to play it again.
This wasn't fair. G and Giotto had put themselves into their own mess and had been quite ready to get themselves out of it. He had not expected the priest to bust them out of the jail cell—not that they needed his help; G could have figured a way out before dawn, certainly—and then Ugetsu gave up everything to save them. Now Ugetsu was the one suffering for their indiscretions.
G pulled out the remaining coins from his pockets and counted how much he had left. He did not have much time, but there was one last thing he had to try to do before they left Japan for good.
To Giotto's surprise, they had managed to land in China undetected by the Portuguese sailors. After sneaking in between crates being moved from ship to harbor they quickly assimilated themselves among the crowd of Liampó, trying to locate a European-friendly inn to stay for the night while they decided on their next move.
As soon as they found an inn with plentiful Portuguese on the outskirts of the city, Knuckle handed the few coins he had left from their last trip into Liampó that he had forgotten to exchange with Fernão those months ago. He only had enough for one room with one bed that was big enough for one of them, and they launched into a heated discussion over who would not take it.
"I can't take the bed in good conscience, to the extreme," said Knuckle.
Ugetsu forced a laugh. "I'm not used to a bed like that. I don't think I'd be comfortable."
"Giotto, I think that means it's yours," said G with a shrug.
"No, that's fine, one of you can take it. I mean, I don't think I can deny a priest a bed and Ugetsu, well…"
This continued for another fifteen minutes before Knuckle and Ugetsu finally sided with G on the issue. Giotto took the two pillows and blanket from the bed and handed them to his friends, telling them that they should at least have that, which they all accepted with little argument. The three claimed their spots on the floor, with Ugetsu closest to the door and G closest to Giotto. After a brief discussion about trying to find another caravan to travel back to Europe with first thing in the morning and sorting out what they had on them to sell for bargaining chips, they laid down for another uncomfortable night of rest.
To be fair, Giotto finally had a comfortable place to sleep even without pillows or a blanket, but long after Knuckle said a prayer in Russian and blew out the candle, Giotto found himself still staring at the ceiling. Every so often he would close his eyes and try to fall asleep, but after rolling first to his left side and then to his right he was right back on his back, sighing at the darkened wooden ceiling.
It was not as though he had been able to sleep well on the boat. The heavy footsteps of the sailors above their heads had kept him up worrying, and if not that, then the soft swaying of the boat kept him too queasy to try to sleep. He should be plenty tired now, just like G who crashed as soon as his head hit pillow and Knuckle who snored gently into the blanket he had bundled up under his head.
Nagasaki's guards would not think to look for them out here if they had not bothered searching the boat before it left the harbor. They had escaped the notice of the sailors soundly. They were safe now.
But something was wrong.
Giotto glanced over at the door where Ugetsu took his rest, his back to the others. Ever since leaving Nagasaki, he had become silent, only speaking whenever one of them directly addressed him. His eyes were almost always downcast as he knelt with his hands planted firmly on his knees and his brows furrowed in a manner unbecoming for a boy who never seemed to stop smiling. Often, the shortest of his blades sat in front of him, and Giotto realized that it was about the same length of the same flute he had sold to save them.
He meant to thank and apologize to Ugetsu so many times, but every time his voice caught in his throat and he could not bring himself to say anything. Every word that crossed his mind sounded inane compared to everything Ugetsu lost, and Giotto felt as though nothing he said would help Ugetsu smile again. The sooner they reached Italy, the better. If they even made it that far.
Giotto frowned at that thought. If? But then Ugetsu stirred and his hand reached for one of the four swords resting against the wall. The shortest one, Giotto saw, and Ugetsu stared at it for a few seconds before sitting up.
He immediately took notice of Giotto, and he forced a smile.
"Giotto-dono," he said with false cheer. "You can't sleep?"
Giotto shook his head slowly. He opened his mouth once then shut it, biting his lip. He had to ask it, even if he knew what Ugetsu would say since they had this conversation so many times before.
"Ugetsu, are you alright?"
"Of course, Giotto-dono. I was just thinking. You don't have to worry about me."
"I'm your friend, Ugetsu. Of course I'm going to worry about you. You're not acting like yourself."
"I'll be fine, Giotto-dono. Really." And then, quietly, Ugetsu said something he had not said before, his eyes glued to the small sword. "You won't have to worry about me anymore."
Giotto snapped up as Ugetsu climbed to his feet, grabbing his swords and heading out the door.
"Ugetsu, what—"
"I'm going for a walk," he said. He paused for a brief moment just outside of the room, and a distant smile crossed his face. "Goodbye, Giotto-dono."
And then he was gone.
Giotto gaped at where Ugetsu once stood, trying to process his words. Something was wrong. Something was dreadfully wrong and Giotto for the life of him could not figure out what, but he knew he could not let Ugetsu walk away like that. Not right now. Not by himself.
He fell to the floor and nudged G awake. "G. G. Wake up!"
G groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Wha…? Giotto, it's still dark," he mumbled, rolling back over to bury his head into the pillow. Beside him, Knuckle stirred.
"G, it's Ugetsu," said Giotto. "I think… he's gone. He just left, and I don't think he's planning on coming back."
One eye flew open. "What are you talking about, Giotto? What do you mean, he's not coming back?"
"He just left, G! He just left with his swords and he said some things including goodbye and I don't think he's going to come back." Giotto realized his voice was rising, shaking.
G sat up and stared at the open door, his face wrought with fear and panic.
"When did he leave? Just now?" Giotto nodded. "Are you… are you sure? Maybe he just went for a walk, and his Italian still isn't good so maybe you misunderstood him—"
"I don't think Giotto misunderstood him," said Knuckle, standing. "You noticed it too, haven't you, G? Ugetsu has extremely not been himself lately. He has all the reason in the world to be the way he has been, but I trust Giotto's intuition, to the extreme. We need to follow him. All of us, together."
Giotto pulled at G's arm, giving Knuckle a small, appreciative grin and seeing all of his worries in the priest's eyes.
"We can't let him leave us. Not after everything he's done for us."
For a moment, G looked completely dumbstruck, slowly letting everything sink in. Then he hopped up and stuffed his feet clumsily into his shoes, running out the door without waiting for either Giotto or Knuckle. They wasted no time in following him, Giotto forgetting to grab the cloak until they were well out of the inn and down the street, and he wondered if maybe, just maybe, they had not eluded the Nagasaki city guards or the Portuguese sailors as well as they hoped. And maybe, just maybe, Ugetsu's departure had something to do with them. With a single glance at G and Knuckle, Giotto knew that they would be helpless if Ugetsu was in any danger.
But before any of that, they had to reach Ugetsu first.
G stopped at the end of the street, looking down first the right road and then the left, both empty save for one or two wandering drunks.
"Damn it… damn it."
He spun back around, and Giotto noticed his horror-stricken eyes.
"Damn it! Maybe he went down the other way. Why did I go this way? We should split up. I'll go back down the other way, and you two—"
For the rest of his life, Giotto could not comprehend why he gazed at the trees beyond the road, on the other side of the trickling creek, or why, without a word to G or Knuckle, he ran straight into the woods. G and Knuckle followed closely behind with G questioning Giotto's move and that they should go back, because it was impossible that Ugetsu would have left the city this way.
Then they came to a small clearing where Ugetsu sat, but Giotto could not breathe a sigh of relief, not with the sight that greeted him. Ugetsu knelt the same way he had in the cargo hold of the Portuguese ship, his hands placed dutifully on his knees and his eyes wistfully closed. Three of his swords laid next to him, the fourth and the shortest in front of him. As he opened his eyes, he reached for the fourth sword, took a short bow, and unsheathed it. Finally, to Giotto's horror, he held the hilt with both hands and aimed the blade at his bare torso.
"Ugetsu!" he called out. He did not take a single step towards his friend before a flash of red hair pushed past him and landed a solid blow to Ugetsu's face with a clenched fist. "G!"
Giotto and Knuckle rushed to the pair, trying to pull G off of Ugetsu but G refused to let go of the seams of Ugetsu's loose white robe.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" G bellowed, his voice raw, giving Ugetsu a small but forceful shake.
"G, stop it, this is not helping," said Knuckle.
G ignored him, repeating himself over and over again his voice breaking more each time before declining to silence. The shock on Ugetsu's face faded into something Giotto could not quite place his finger on. Guilt, regret, pain, hopelessness?
Ugetsu turned his face away from them and remained silent.
"Ugetsu," Giotto managed, his heartbeat still thundering in his ears. "Why? Why are you doing this? I don't understand… why would you do something like this?"
Ugetsu responded softly, "I am dishonored, disgraced. This is all that's left for me to do. This is the only path left for me."
His words swam circles in Giotto's head. "What do you mean? I don't understand."
"I extremely thought that you left Japan so that you wouldn't die," said Knuckle. "Why would you throw away your chance like this?"
"It doesn't matter where I go. This will be my fate no matter how far away from home I get. And I left Nagasaki so that I could end this on my own terms instead of waiting around to see if I was to be executed as a noble or as a commoner. At least this way, even though I ran, I can die more honorably than if I stayed."
Knuckle's face twisted in disgust, an expression Giotto had never seen on the priest. "This is honorable?"
Ugetsu gave Knuckle a quizzical look. "Yes. You… don't think so?" He turned to Giotto.
"I…" Giotto started. "I don't know. I just… wouldn't it be better to live?"
"In shame?"
"What do you mean, 'in shame'?" snapped G, giving Ugetsu another jerk. "What are you trying to say, that you wish you never helped us escape? Because if that's the case, then you shouldn't have. You didn't have to. We were already halfway out by the time you showed up anyway!"
"G," Giotto hissed, once again trying to take him off of Ugetsu. He still did not budge. "G, don't be so ungrateful."
Glancing at Ugetsu, he continued, "We… we really do appreciate you coming in to save us. I don't think we could have done so well against the guards by ourselves, and you were incredible with the sword—"
"I'm not being ungrateful," said G, turning his tear-soaked face to Giotto. Giotto's breath caught in his throat. "He's the one who… he's the one who's saying that he's ashamed for having ever helped us."
"That's not what I'm saying, G-dono," said Ugetsu, alarmed. He placed his hands over G's and gently removed them from his robe. "Meeting you, and Giotto-dono and Knuckle-dono, being your friend… I don't regret it. Not for a second.
"The shame isn't that I helped you. I have been dishonored, disgraced, disowned. And this—" He looked at the small sword that had flown out of his hands when G hit him, now laying out of arm's reach on the cold dirt. "—this is the only thing left to do when that happens. It has nothing to do with you. This is simply my fate. And I would take nothing back. I am very happy to have known all of you, to have helped all of you."
"Quit talking like that," said G. "We're not going to let you do this."
Ugetsu only smiled. Giotto had the sinking feeling that they could not convince him out of this, and he did not know where to even begin to try. Ugetsu was talking like Grandmama and Grandpa did the hours before their deaths. His eyes burned with tears, and he shook his head.
"Ugetsu, you can't," said Giotto quietly, knowing how helpless and awful his words were. "You can't do this. This isn't fair."
Finally, Knuckle spoke, his voice less hostile than before. "This isn't a case of what's fair and what isn't, Giotto. This is just part of the culture he grew up in. But Ugetsu, we're not in Japan anymore. I don't know about here in China, but where we're going, what you're planning to do is a sin against God, and it is extremely frowned down upon."
Ugetsu stared at Knuckle, his face unreadable. The priest continued.
"There is a saying your people and ours share. 'When in the village, obey the village,'" he recited in Japanese, and then in Italian, he said, "Ours is, 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do.' Ugetsu, we would have still tried to stop you if you tried to do this in Japan because of our culture, but I know we would have had to eventually accept it. It is the way of your people, whether or not we agree with it.
"But we're not there anymore, and we will not accept it. I cannot accept it, because every life is precious and a gift. And yours especially so. But more importantly, we cannot accept it because you are our friend, and we cannot bear to lose you."
"But what do you do when you have been dishonored?" asked Ugetsu, shifting his eyes back to the small sword. "How can you live with yourselves?"
"We move on, and we work extremely hard to get that honor back. We don't give up."
Ugetsu first looked at Knuckle, then at Giotto, and then at G, his brows furrowed in thought. Then he said in Japanese, slowly, "'When in the village, obey the village.'"
He smiled, and his next Italian words delighted Giotto that Knuckle's words had gotten through to him. "You're right, Knuckle-dono. I am not home anymore. If this is a sin for you, then it is also a sin for me, right? I'm sorry to have worried you all."
The next morning, a handful of Portuguese traders saw Knuckle's cassock and collar and decided to dine with the priest for breakfast, yearning for the company of a man of God. After enduring complaints from the traders over the heathens of the east for the better part of the morning, Knuckle found out that they were leaving for Portugal at the end of the week. He did not even have to ask if he could accompany them; they extended an invitation and were more than happy to accommodate his three companions, free of charge.
He returned to the room he shared with the three boys, keeping a tight grip on the small dagger Ugetsu had tried to take his own life with the night before. Though Ugetsu promised he would not try again, Knuckle had dealt with enough desperate victims of the mafia in Solntse to know better. It was unbecoming for a priest to carry around a weapon, let alone four, so he had Giotto keep Ugetsu's other three blades in his possession.
"But he said he wouldn't," Giotto had protested after G and Ugetsu retired to the room. Fear trembled in his eyes: he did not want to believe anything that had just happened.
"Given the chance, Giotto, he will, to the extreme. This goes beyond dishonor. If he falls back into his desperation, he will try again, and next time we might not be able to stop him."
Knuckle slowly opened the door where only a pile of pillows and a blanket on top of the bed greeted him. The boys had gone into town to see what they could do about exchanging what little foreign coin they had left to buy food and other supplies. Knuckle noticed a glint of metal underneath the bed. Peering underneath, he saw that Giotto had wrapped the swords in his cloak before they left to keep them as far away from Ugetsu as possible.
Knuckle put on a grim smile and sat on the edge of the bed, taking the small sword out of his pocket. He pulled the blade from the bamboo scabbard and examined the dangerous simplicity of the weapon. Ugetsu had traded in something so perfect and beautiful as his instrument, his path to the purity and joy of music, for something so sharp and deadly. Knuckle could not deny that Ugetsu's sword fighting was nearly as graceful as his music, but he also could not ignore the fact that without his music, Ugetsu seemed lost. Dead, even. And Knuckle wanted the Ugetsu they met in Nagasaki back as much as Giotto and G did.
He cringed as he remembered the ruckus from the night before. He had not meant to preach to Ugetsu the way he did, but he had been so scared, so desperate. While he could tell the people of Solntse to put their faith in God and that their life is a gift from Him, and while he could quote Bible verses at them to encourage them to push through the hard times, he knew that those words would have meant nothing to Ugetsu. It would not have worked.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the yellow stone ring he had found in the church gardens in Solntse. If Ugetsu had succeeded last night, would this ring have been enough to save him? Would God have been kind enough to keep Knuckle from seeing another one of his friends die? He slipped the ring on and clenched his fist, wondering if God had forsaken him when he used these same hands to fight last winter.
Still nothing. Maybe Giotto was right, that he had to have the resolve to heal someone before anything could come from it. Or maybe God really had decided that Knuckle was beyond redemption but that Ugetsu was not, and that was why He had let them find Ugetsu just before he had taken the plunge rather than after.
Knuckle buried his head into his palms. Trying to stop men and women from taking their own lives in Solntse was one thing: he had cared for them as a Father should, but he barely remembered their names. He considered Ugetsu a real and true friend, and he knew that Giotto and G cared for and loved him, too.
Why wasn't it enough?
The door swung open. Knuckle lifted his head to see G standing there, an annoyed look on his red-splotched face. Knuckle frowned. What happened? The red curves were too perfect, too pointed, too deliberate to be blood.
Before he could ask, G demanded, "What the hell are you doing here, you lazy merda of a priest? You're supposed to be finding us a caravan to go back to Italy with."
Knuckle resisted the urge to make a jab at the boy's new face design. "I did. They leave in a couple of days, and they're patrons at this inn. They're allowing us to travel with them for free. How are you three doing?"
He noticed that neither Giotto nor Ugetsu were behind G.
G kicked at the floorboards. "Fine, I guess. This language is damn near impossible, you know that? At least something good came out of our latest flub."
Then he smirked and pointed at his face. "Pretty awesome, don't you think?"
"Is it permanent?"
His grin grew wider. "Of course it is."
Knuckle sighed and shook his head. This was something else that God did not approve of, but he was not going to say anything this time, for now. However, his silence was enough to make G strut over to him with a sense of pride before his grin weakened.
"At the very least, you should be happy that that whole fiasco made Ugetsu laugh, finally," said G quietly. "Something's still off, but at least it was genuine."
"Where is he? Is Giotto with him?"
G nodded. "They're downstairs eating. I told them I was going to come up here to find something to sell so we can pay the innkeeper back for the food. Sounds like we'll need more money for the extra nights we're staying."
Knuckle waved his hand. "Do not worry about it. The traders told me they'll foot our bill, to the extreme."
G stared at Knuckle, astonished. "Well… good." A beat. "You look awful, priest. Maybe that's why. They're just taking pity on you."
"That may be, but I know better than to question an extreme blessing like this," said Knuckle, fully aware that G referred to the bags under his eyes. He had the same under his own. Knuckle had remained awake throughout the night, making sure Ugetsu did not try to sneak out again, and he knew that G could not fall back to sleep either. Really, none of them could, though all of them pretended to.
"We should probably still sell something, just in case," said G, staring at the dagger in Knuckle's hand. "Something that's probably worth a decent amount of money."
Knuckle gently curled his hand around the blade, minding the sharp edges. "I extremely think that would be a bad idea, G."
"Giotto said you're the one who wanted to keep those things away from him," G snarled.
"Getting rid of them isn't the answer."
G's face turned red. "You figlio di puttana, make more sense! What's the point of keeping them around when the only one who knows how to use them is the one who wants to use them on himself?"
"Like I told Giotto, this goes beyond dishonor," said Knuckle. "I think I don't need to remind you what the extreme costs of these swords were."
G fell silent, reaching his hand into his bag. He looked the same as last night when he grasped onto Ugetsu, only no tears streaking his cheeks and the whites of his eyes still white.
"Okay, you pompinara," he muttered. "You're right. I'll figure something else out."
The Portuguese traders Knuckle secured transportation with invited all of them to a rambunctious dinner complete with Chinese wine and imported whiskey and beer from Europe. The innkeeper kept the plates of food flowing out the kitchen door and the Portuguese kept pouring coin into his hands. Though Knuckle did not touch a sip of the alcohol, he was, as expected, the loudest foreigner of the bunch. G did his best to quiet him, though his efforts were in vain; Knuckle just kept getting louder and louder until finally, Giotto had to ask G to stop trying.
Ugetsu smiled at the scene, and he laughed, but he could not decide if he did those things because it was expected of him or not. Desired of him. The more he thought about it, the tenser his mouth felt and the more distant his laughter sounded. Finally, he quit trying, and he quietly slipped out the front door.
So much about Liampó reminded Ugetsu of Nagasaki but too much was too different. On this side of Liampó, the streets were quieter, the only noises being the party in the inn and mothers calling for their sons and daughters to come in for the night. Ugetsu could not speak to anybody outside of Giotto, G, and Knuckle. The smells were beyond just fish and sweets but of many different types of animals Ugetsu never knew could be cooked and eaten. The locals gave his outfit, and not the others, a second glance. He recognized many characters but none of them meant what he thought they meant, which had given them more than a few troubles already while running their errand.
He wondered about Mother, and Ujizane, and Fuku. Had Ujizane's scheme worked? Was the family safe and away from scrutiny? Or did his flight from Nagasaki ruin them? Should he have stayed to make absolute sure that they would not be punished for his impudence, no matter the cost of his own honor?
Then he remembered Fuku's desperate eyes, bidding him to leave Nagasaki, asking him to restore his honor and dignity… or was she asking him to live? Ugetsu was not so sure anymore.
Ugetsu arrived at the same small stream he had crossed just the night before with his swords at his side. This time, he had nothing but the robes on his back. This time, he stopped at the edge of the river. This time, he was certain Giotto, G, and Knuckle did not follow him.
Not that they would need to. He promised. He promised he would not die, at least not by his own hands. He promised he would live. He had no intentions of breaking that promise.
And yet, he wondered if the stream was any deeper downstream.
Ugetsu frowned. Stop it. According to Knuckle, by their standards, his honor would never be restored if he took his own life. And now, because Giotto and G and Knuckle was all he had left, that was all that mattered. He had no family, no home. No music, no passion. No honor. He only had his friends, his friends who begged him not to leave them. Even G, usually so cold, had tears streaking down his cheeks. Knuckle, usually so composed even when loud and enthusiastic, panicked. Giotto, who always wore his heart on his sleeve, desperate and terrified.
"Ugetsu," called a voice behind him, startling him out of his reverie. "What are you doing out here?"
Ugetsu turned and stifled a chuckle at the sight of G's tattoo. It was not that it looked ridiculous—Ugetsu thought the red flames fit the boy perfectly and actually looked quite good—but he wondered just how awfully they had butchered the language to go from asking for a simple currency exchange to paying for that.
G, however, did not look so amused. "You shouldn't be by yourself."
"I'm fine, G-dono," said Ugetsu. "I just needed to be alone for a little while." He chose not to say that he'd been alone all night anyway. He did not want G to feel badly.
Concern tinted G's red eyes. "You weren't thinking about… were you?"
"No, of course not. I do not break my promises. And besides, Giotto-dono and Knuckle-dono took my swords." He realized too late that he probably should not have said that last bit.
G narrowed his eyes. "I know you're not completely stupid, Ugetsu. I know you know there are other ways of killing yourself. And you're an awful liar."
Ugetsu turned back to the stream, remembering that the deepest part had barely reached his knees. He thought about holding himself underneath, about how far the river could have taken him before anybody found him, and about how he hoped that the people who did would not be his friends, because he knew, now, just how horribly their hearts would shatter.
"Yes, I thought about it," Ugetsu finally admitted. "But I wasn't going to do it." It was too impractical. "I couldn't break my promise to you."
"That's it? That's the only reason… Ugetsu, you cagacazzo. That's why you're still thinking about it, isn't it?" G was at his side now, his hands stuffed into his pockets and his eyes fixated on the stream. "You need more reason than just that. That pezzo di merda priest is right. This is more than just your honor. You lost… everything: family, home, honor, country, passion. I know a little bit about that."
Ugetsu stayed silent, letting G continue. "But all of those things are something you can get back. Not all at once. And it won't ever be the same, but… Giotto and I both lost our families and our homes, too. Now we have that with each other. The priest lost his honor and his passion, but he found a new… annoying… passion, and through that, he has gotten his honor back. You're not alone, Ugetsu. And so long as we're around, you're not going to be."
G smirked. "You're not getting rid of us."
Ugetsu stewed over G's words for a moment. "I can't replace my family."
"No one's asking you to. Even if—" G cut himself off, though Ugetsu knew what he was about to say. He was thankful that he did not say it because he could not hear another word against Ujizane again. "No one's asking you to. Just… there's more to family than blood. You know that, right?"
Yes, he knew that. "I don't want a new passion either, G-dono."
G fidgeted with his pockets. "Yeah, I know. And again, no one's asking you to get a new one."
He pulled out a white cloth from his pocket, wrapping messily around something cylindrical, and he handed it to Ugetsu.
"We had extra money. And, well, we've… I've never really thanked you for what you did. Or apologized. Consider this, you know, both. For me and Giotto. That stupid priest can figure it out for himself."
Ugetsu unwrapped the cloth, and he froze at sight of the bamboo flute now resting in his hands. "G-dono…"
"It's probably not as good as your old one," said G, looking away. "And it's probably not enough, but… it's something, right?"
Ugetsu smiled, warmth filling him up and tears watering his eyes. "It's more than something, G-dono. This is… Thank you. Thank you so much."
At the very least, Ugetsu knew, it was a start. G was right. He just hoped he had the strength enough for his new life, but even if he did not, he at least had his friends to help pull him through.
