Author's note: I came to the conclusion today that Hakkai and semi-consciousness don't go well together. And why is it that when fanfiction inspiration strikes at work, that's the time it gets busiest and you don't get a chance to write it out?
Disclaimer: Blah blah blah, I don't own Saiyuki. 'Course, with my handwriting, you'd never be able to tell what I was writing about anyway, so I think I'm safe.
Awareness comes to me slowly. There was a sound . . . a sound that repeated. Cold hardness on one side of my body, pain behind me. Left. The coldness is on my left. I am lying on my left side. Pain. The raging pain behind me is my back. I shift slightly to try to ease my back, and points of agony lace through my left ear, causing the world to vanish in a haze of white-hot torture.
Cold hardness on my back, which throbs in grumbling protest. I am lying on my back. The ceiling is dark stone, with a faint rectangle of warm light on it. My left ear aches and feels cold; there are also points of cold on the bridge of my nose and next to my right eye. I digest this information for a long moment before the relevant memories surface and attach themselves to the physical sensations. My eyepiece. My inhibitors. With those two bits of thought, everything else comes rushing back, including the fact that it was the lunch bell that woke me. At least, I hope it was the lunch bell. I force myself to my feet, ignoring the screaming protest from my back, which had gotten quite fond of the numbing cold. Two quick steps to the door of my cell, push it open, and—
There is a plate of food in front of me. The hand holding the plate has a black half-glove that is secured to the middle finger and turns into a sleeve that disappears under the thick edge of a beige robe being worn by Genjo Sanzo. My eyes are drawn to his violet gaze.
If I were capable of rational thought while those violet eyes held me captive, my only thought would be gratitude that there is no apology in them. As it stands, all I can manage is recognition of the concern that's mixed with other, heavier emotions too complex to wade through. After a long moment, Sanzo's eyes flick down to the plate he's holding, and with relief I take it. It makes a safe place to rest my eyes.
"Thank you." The first words that come to mind. While appropriate for the situation, they do nothing to acknowledge the circumstances leading up to it. I can feel Sanzo's heavy gaze on me, demanding something more. "I'm sorry." The guilt that had been quietly lying in wait for the last two days scuttles out and sinks its claws into me. I have been neglecting Sanzo's needs today, and there is something else I have done to upset him that I haven't quite figured out yet.
There is a sigh of weary irritation, and I can imagine Sanzo's hand massaging his temple. "Just . . . don't do that again."
I numbly nod my head, still not looking up from the plate, and after a moment I can hear him walking away. I am left in the hallway outside my cell, holding a laden plate and mentally beating myself about the head and shoulders, trying to figure out what it is that I'm not to do again. After a moment, I go back into my cell and sit at the tiny table inside it, eating absently as I try to figure it out. What have I done today that runs counter to what Sanzo wants of me? My actions with the vines can be omitted – I don't think he knows that I spent the night burning vines and portions of my psyche. My hands? A moment examining the various cuts and scratches rules that out, as well. Washing my hands thoroughly in very cold water took off the blood and darkened scabs, leaving only very pale ones that are hardly noticeable unless you look for them. Washing. Breakfast. I neglected to wake Sanzo for breakfast. Would this be enough to upset him like that? Or is it the fact that I didn't eat breakfast? I didn't find him for lunch, either. He had to come and find me, and when he did find me . . . I have to assume he saw me unconscious. That train of thought loops back and strings itself together with the events of yesterday; it is entirely possible that Sanzo thinks I haven't been eating. Relief floods my tired mind. That's easy enough to obey, since I've already made the decision to eat enough to keep myself going.
Lunch and contemplation both done, I feel as though I have been set back on my path towards atonement. Quiet determination to follow that path to its end fills me as I take my plate back to the kitchen, and not even the darkening evening sky shakes me. It was the dinner bell, then, that woke me, and I missed lunch entirely. No wonder Sanzo was upset. Well, I won't let that happen again. My little garden calls to me, but I must keep my word to Sanzo. The library, then, is where I spend the next few hours.
I read in silent contentment until the librarian stats dousing the lamps. It is a few hours to midnight, close enough that I won't have spent the entire night outside. I must be alert enough to properly see to Sanzo's needs tomorrow, and the only way my back will let me sleep is if it has been numbed with the cold. Silently, I slip out of the library and through the temple until I am outside Sanzo's room. A momentary pause to ensure that his room is dark, and then to my little garden with the guilt nipping at my heels. I know that Sanzo would disapprove if he knew what I was doing; I am as good as lying to him. But I do need to sleep. Between me sleeping outside and me not sleeping, I think Sanzo would understand my decision.
The stone Buddha is waiting for me, smiling reassuringly as I kneel before it and spend several minutes in meditation. The vows I'd made to myself and to the memory of Kanan, the day's events and my improper actions – all are reviewed and weighed. The vows are reinforced, and I feed a little bit more of myself to the guilt at having made Sanzo worry. When I have attained a half-trance and my mind is firm and determined, I mindfully lay myself on the cold grass among the ashes of my soul. My back throbs for a while, and I let my mind empty until I am just an outline, a vessel of awareness filled with physical sensations. The stars shine placidly in the smooth, dark sky, and I realize I've never looked at the stars in all the time I've spent in this garden. Eventually, the throbbing dims to a dull ache, and with my mind full of stars I let myself drift off to sleep.
Light, pouring into my eyes, burning them until all I see is harsh bloodstained gold, shining through the ruins of my eyes, burning into my brain. Fiery golden light, the sun itself, searing my soul and purifying my unworthy self, leaving me a scorched ghost. A spirit, baptized in blood and golden fire, the echo of a man. Something no longer tied to fragile flesh. I am floating, formless, through the searing, cleansing light. I am pure, I have atoned through the burning away of all my sins. This golden light grants me forgiveness, restores me to the cleanliness I had held before my hands became stained with blood. Now that blood has been burned away, and what is left is free of what I had become.
There is a shadow in the light, a figure barely detected among the brilliant gold. The life-energy of this other soul reaches me, and I can feel the deep wounds it has suffered, and the peculiar vulnerability of not holding its aggressors responsible for the violence inflicted upon it. Kanan – I'm coming. I reach out to the spirit, eagerly touching the energy that is so desperately reaching out to me. In the timeless golden light we come closer, and after an eternity an image begins forming. If this ethereal form could weep, the anticipation of seeing Kanan's face again would drive me to shed tears of hope and joy. The image slowly becomes clearer, hair and features crystallizing around eyes that look at me with a hurt so profound that I am consumed with loathing at myself for betraying a soul this vulnerable, a spirit that reaches out to me in desperation and without even a hint of malice or accusation at the wounds I must have inflicted to have that look of forlorn disappointment turned upon me. Colors bleed into the image; the hair soaks up the gold of the light, leaving those hurt, betrayed eyes a deep purple. The mouth opens and soundless words form, each syllable striking the core of my very being in reproachful admonishment that I cannot hide from or evade.
"You
promised."
Sun in my eyes; I shade my face carefully with one hand before daring to peel my eyelids apart. Sun? In my eyes? I'm on my back, hand directly above my face. Almost noon. I've slept through breakfast – I must have worried Sanzo. After what happened yesterday, he must be very upset. Unforgivable. I have to find him and apologize. I have to –
I fling myself to my feet in a rolling motion, and immediately three bits of information strike my brain and my train of thought, such as it is, grinds to a panicky stop. First, my attempt to stand failed, and I have returned rather abruptly to a sitting position. Second, there is a sickeningly familiar blanket tangled around my legs. Third, Genjo Sanzo is sitting not three feet from me. The look in his eyes teases my frozen thoughts, but the only recognition it gets is a vague, dreamlike memory of guilt for something I can't quite remember. Somehow, I am able to meet his gaze with a steadiness I don't feel, my entire soul exposed to him, every fiber in my being ready to accept whatever anger of disappointment he wishes to express.
He says nothing, not even chiding me with his eyes. He is looking straight at me, but it is as if I am not there. There is no recognition of my presence – I simply do not exist to Sanzo. Anger, hurt disappointment, even that unnerving apology: all these I could have handled. This dispassionate dismissal is more than I can face; my gaze drops to the blanket, and out of the need to focus my attention on something, I begin untangling and folding it carefully. This is Sanzo's blanket, I force myself to acknowledge. Sanzo brought this blanket out here because he didn't want me to be cold. He shouldn't have to worry like this about me. I look up, ready to voice this thought, but that same uncomprehending stare makes the words dry up and drives my gaze back down to the blanket, now folded neatly in my hands.
"I'll just bring this back to your room." The words fall short of the proper tone Right Speech demands, sounding nervous and cowardly. Sanzo's expression does not change even as I scurry by him; it's as though he doesn't hear or see me at all.
After fleeing Sanzo's disquieting presence, I am shamefully reluctant to return to it. I find myself in front of the cleaning supply store room, telling myself that I am seeing to his needs. The mindful cleaning of his room takes a depressingly short amount of time. By the time the cleaning supplies have been returned to their proper place, Sanzo has still not returned to his room. Swallowing my reluctance, I make my way back to the little garden, and am not surprised to see that he hasn't moved at all. For several minutes I stand in the entrance, watching him sit motionless until the lunch bell rings. He stands up stiffly, turns to leave, and stops just short of where I stand.
The bell tolls unheard while Sanzo's sterile gaze burns into me. He deserves to know why I was sleeping outside. However, knowing the reason for my actions would be putting my own failings on his shoulders, and I can't bring myself to burden him with my pain. Right Speech demands I not tell a falsehood; it also directs not to speak unnecessarily. These conflicting directives pull me one way and the other until I finally decide to keep my silence until Sanzo asks. But he doesn't. After it becomes obvious that he's not going to say anything, I bow and step aside to let him pass. He looks at me awkwardly for a moment, then walks off quickly, head down as though to avoid me.
I trail after him halfheartedly until I realize he's not going to the dining hall. That becomes my destination, and in what's become almost a ritual I assemble lunch on a tray for him, grab some bread and cheese for me, and leave his lunch in his room. Not wanting to impose on Sanzo should he return, I find a quiet corner and eat in silence, guilt gnawing at me for my transgression this morning. By the time the dinner bell rings, I am too miserable to believe that I deserve to eat, and too ashamed to face Sanzo. I can't even bring myself to knock on his door; I just leave a tray in the hall for him, and retreat to my cell and the flickering circle of light shed by a candle from the store room.
The candle burns quietly on the tiny table; I sit on my cot, as far away from it as I can get. The hallucinations don't come; the light is still too strong, but I can't bring myself to put it out. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest when the door opens and Sanzo steps in quietly; I can't begin to guess what he's read in my face, but he says nothing and seats himself in the simple chair. My eyes drop to his feet. We sit in silence for a long time, the candle burning lower as time passes unmeasured. I glance up at him every once in a while, but he says nothing. He just looks at me, waiting. The candle reaches the point where the hallucinations usually come to me, and I am terrified that Sanzo will see my private horrors. When I glance up at him, however, the whole world freezes, and it seems to be an eternity until my next heartbeat.
Sanzo is dead.
His corpse sits propped up in the chair, face and clothes covered in dried blood from hundreds of small wounds, as though he's been beaten to death. His skin is bloodlessly pale, and his dead eyes stare sightlessly at me. I bring my teeth down hard on my lower lip and squeeze my eyes shut as my mind threatens to shatter into a million pieces, and when I open my eyes, Sanzo is looking at me strangely.
My hands are suddenly fascinating, drawing my eyes down to where they clasp each other.
"I've been deceiving you." My voice is a strangled whisper. Sanzo says nothing, but I can feel his intent gaze on me. "I spend the nights outdoors because I must, if I'm to get any sleep at all." There is no attempt at Right Speech, and my voice sounds worn and harried.
". . . Don't feel well indoors?" Sanzo's voice is carefully casual, as though trying to ignore how shaken I am.
A shudder runs through me and I look up quickly to make sure we are alone, and he is alive. We are, and he is. "I suppose it would sound silly if I said I was afraid of the dark," I start slowly. "I'm not, though." He nods once in a deliberate manner, reassuring and encouraging and most importantly, not judging. "It's the silence."
Sanzo says nothing, just looks at me measuringly. Behind him, Kanan spreads her cold, white arms, silently pleading with me. I wrap my own arms around myself and resolutely focus on Sanzo's face, which currently bears a guarded expression.
"You should bring a thicker blanket with you if you're going to sleep outside," he says in a remarkably offhand manner, considering the phantom blood Kanan's bleeding on him. "Or find someplace indoors that isn't so quiet."
A bitter chuckle escapes me, banishing the specter. "What part of a temple, at night, isn't quiet?"
"Well, I wouldn't recommend sleeping in one of the meditation halls, for obvious reasons." Sanzo's lips curve into a sarcastic smirk at the jab towards the other, less tolerant residents of the temple.
His eyes unfocus a bit as he drifts off into thought, leaving me alone with the flickering light. After a minute or so, his skin gets that particular paleness to it, and a gaping hole over his temple bleeds thick clots of blood into his hair. It startles me as Kanan's specter hasn't done since the first night, and I rock back and forth slightly trying to keep calm. Or at least, trying not to gibber or bolt.
"I don't know if I can really do much about the quiet," he finally says dubiously, turning each word over in his mouth as though making sure it's not hiding an answer before he lets it go.
"It's okay. I'll just sleep outside." My words are clipped, almost rushed. I'm mentally urging him to leave; I don't know how much longer I can take this, with every second threatening to show me a gruesome hallucination of Sanzo's corpse.
"If it rains, that won't be a good idea. Not at this time of year."
The obvious disapproval threatens to spawn hysterical laughter in my chest; I fight it down. ". . . I'll live," I finally manage in a blatantly self-mocking tone.
Sanzo flinches and looks away, an unremarkable section of floor suddenly capturing his interest as completely as my hands had captured mine a while back. "If you don't make any noise about it, and it's that bad, you can spend the night in my room."
For the second time that night, the world freezes and stands still. Suddenly, there is nothing to laugh about.
In the event that a dead face that is not Kanan's ever stares back at me from the silent darkness, I will dedicate my worthless life to keeping that person from harm and being attentive to any indication that anything is wrong.
The memory of my earlier resolution slams into me in the wake of Sanzo's offer. I need to know. I need to be sure before anything else happens. If this is my second chance, I absolutely can not, must not fail.
"It's late. You should go to bed." Right Speech comes effortlessly, but then again, most of me is still in shock. I stand up calmly and fetch the dying candle, every movement smooth and precise. "Here, take the candle. I won't need it."
Sanzo looks at me penetratingly, but there is nothing behind my eyes except silence and Right Intention.
". . . Are you sure you don't want the light?"
He's offering, giving me a way out. Any other time, I might accept. But right now, I need the darkness. I look away before he sees that in my eyes. "I'll be fine."
Sanzo gives me another measuring look, then nods once and takes the candle. I watch him leave, eyes tracking the light as it moves down the hallway, and then there is only silence, and darkness.
Come out, I challenge the hallucinations. Show me what lurks in the dark corners of my heart. Show me who I care about.
I can lie to myself, but the grisly visions tell me the truth. I feel my way back to the cot and sit, waiting for the blood-soaked horrors to tell me my worst fears. Waiting to see if I have been given the opportunity to atone for Kanan's fate.
It doesn't take long.