"Clover and Lilacs" - continued from 2
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Part I: Farewell, Miaka...Forever
Segment 3: Nuriko
~ ~ ~
The door to Miaka's room was gone...and, so was Miaka. Hotohori took a long step into the room, eyes turning reflexively towards the empty bed...and drew in a heavy breath, let it out slowly through his nostrils. Miaka was gone. She was...she was gone. Gods, why? Why, when they'd FINALLY called Suzaku, when they were FINALLY making things right...why now?
The soft flicker of Chichiri's approaching lamp shed more light on the darkened room, drew a new, golden warmth to the chamber...and brought into view the still, motionless form lying in a growing pool of crimson in the corner. Hotohori felt the blood drain from his face, the breath seep out of his lungs...and a cold, spasming chill work its way over his flesh, ripple down the length of his spine. Nuriko lay limply on his side, the thick, untamed violet of his hair hanging in blood-dampened waves over his shoulders and back, his eyes lightly closed, no sign of breath or movement...no sign of life.
"Nuriko," he whispered.
A moment later, he was on his knees on the floor, the hot liquid of Nuriko's blood seeping into the fabric of his robes, staining them a dark, dampened scarlet. He was vaguely aware of the others coming to a dead halt just behind him, of the lamplight shaking in Chichiri's fingers...but, he barely noticed...barely noticed at all. Because, Nuriko...gods! Just a few minutes ago...just a few minutes ago, he'd been talking to this man, and he'd told himself...oh, GOD, he'd told himself that Nuriko could wait! That he would wait and deal with him later, talk to him later, figure things out later...but, now...now, there wasn't going to be a later, was there?
Because, Nuriko was dead. Nuriko was...dead.
He stretched out his arms, gathered those slim, lifeless shoulders into them...and lifted Nuriko up from the ground, held him against his chest...held onto him tightly and tried not to cry. It wasn't fair. This was his fault...his fault that this man...this man who'd loved him, who'd been here because of HIM...his fault that this man was dead.
Life without Nuriko...gods, how was he going to do it? How could he even think about it?
"Heika."
Shaking and still clutching the lifeless body to his chest, Hotohori glanced up into the lamplit darkness, felt his gaze wavering from the blank looks of horror on Tasuki's face, Chiriko's face, Chichiri's face...and onto the tense, worried face of Mitsukake. Abruptly, he drew in a sharp breath, stared at the man as if seeing him for the first time.
"Mitsukake!" he exclaimed, stretching out a hand towards the healer, beckoning him down to the floor, down to where Nuriko lay still and cold in the warmth of his own blood. "Mitsukake...onegai...can you help him? Is there anything you can do?"
The man's features were dark and tense in the lamplight...but, he gave a curt nod, dropped to his knees on the other side, and closed his eyes softly. Mitsukake lifted a hand, held it lightly over Nuriko's nose and mouth...then let out a soft breath, shook his head slightly.
"Not good," the healer murmured. "He's not breathing..."
Hotohori felt the thin glimmer of hope fading away within him, dying as...dying as...oh, god...god! This...this couldn't be happening... All the times he'd sent Nuriko away...all the times he'd ignored him because he didn't want to deal with things...all the times he'd set him aside, given someone else precedence, found something else he'd needed to do first...now, he was never going to be able to make up for all those broken promises, all those desperate moments of choosing everyone and everything but this man...this man who lay dead and bloodied in his arms...Suzaku, why??
"Wait," said Mitsukake firmly. His voice was low, solid...stern. "There's still a chance, Hotohori-sama. If...if his heart is still beating..." He trailed off, closed his eyes lightly. "Then, I can still save him."
Eyes wide, the fading warmth of Nuriko's flesh solid and cool against his skin, Hotohori watched as Mitsukake lifted his hand, watched as he gently spread apart the crisscrossed neckline of Nuriko's robe...watched as he pressed his palm against the smooth, pale skin of the young seishi's chest. He waited, barely breathing, barely thinking...seeing only that large, trembling hand, those long, stretching fingers...gods...gods...
Abruptly, however, Mitsukake sat back onto his heels, squeezed his eyes shut tightly. "Hotohori-sama, let go of Nuriko."
He stared at the man, confused and a bit taken aback. "N...nani?"
"Let go of him! Now!"
Startled and just as confused as ever, Hotohori gently lowered Nuriko to the bloodied boards of the floor, sat back...and watched, awed and in shock, as Mitsukake lifted his hand, held it palm outward...and a soft green glow began to swarm around those large fingers, trickle up and down the veins like a living river of light...streak down through the darkness and bathe Nuriko in a cool, otherworldly glow.
//Onegai,\\ he prayed silently, watching as the ragged wound in Nuriko's side began to stitch itself back up, as the torn blue fabric of his robe began to weave itself back together, become clean and fresh and new once more. //Onegai, Suzaku...let him live! Onegai...!\\
A few moments later, Mitsukake sat back and let out a heavy sigh, leaned his back against the wall. His eyes closed in exhaustion.
"Well?" Tasuki demanded, his voice sudden and gratingly-loud in the thick silence. His words shook, just slightly...and his eyes were wide and fearful. "Is he gonna...is he gonna @(*@&# be all right?"
"If he is," Mitsukake said slowly, "we'll know it very soon. If not..." He let out a soft breath, closed his eyes in genuine anguish. "If not," he repeated in a stronger voice, "then we'll know even sooner. All we can do is wait."
"Wait," Hotohori echoed softly. He closed his eyes, shook his head slightly as if to clear away the events of the evening...and pressed his lips together into a tight, thin line. "Wait," he whispered.
All they could do was wait.
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Part I: Farewell, Miaka...Forever
Segment 3: Nuriko
~ ~ ~
The door to Miaka's room was gone...and, so was Miaka. Hotohori took a long step into the room, eyes turning reflexively towards the empty bed...and drew in a heavy breath, let it out slowly through his nostrils. Miaka was gone. She was...she was gone. Gods, why? Why, when they'd FINALLY called Suzaku, when they were FINALLY making things right...why now?
The soft flicker of Chichiri's approaching lamp shed more light on the darkened room, drew a new, golden warmth to the chamber...and brought into view the still, motionless form lying in a growing pool of crimson in the corner. Hotohori felt the blood drain from his face, the breath seep out of his lungs...and a cold, spasming chill work its way over his flesh, ripple down the length of his spine. Nuriko lay limply on his side, the thick, untamed violet of his hair hanging in blood-dampened waves over his shoulders and back, his eyes lightly closed, no sign of breath or movement...no sign of life.
"Nuriko," he whispered.
A moment later, he was on his knees on the floor, the hot liquid of Nuriko's blood seeping into the fabric of his robes, staining them a dark, dampened scarlet. He was vaguely aware of the others coming to a dead halt just behind him, of the lamplight shaking in Chichiri's fingers...but, he barely noticed...barely noticed at all. Because, Nuriko...gods! Just a few minutes ago...just a few minutes ago, he'd been talking to this man, and he'd told himself...oh, GOD, he'd told himself that Nuriko could wait! That he would wait and deal with him later, talk to him later, figure things out later...but, now...now, there wasn't going to be a later, was there?
Because, Nuriko was dead. Nuriko was...dead.
He stretched out his arms, gathered those slim, lifeless shoulders into them...and lifted Nuriko up from the ground, held him against his chest...held onto him tightly and tried not to cry. It wasn't fair. This was his fault...his fault that this man...this man who'd loved him, who'd been here because of HIM...his fault that this man was dead.
Life without Nuriko...gods, how was he going to do it? How could he even think about it?
"Heika."
Shaking and still clutching the lifeless body to his chest, Hotohori glanced up into the lamplit darkness, felt his gaze wavering from the blank looks of horror on Tasuki's face, Chiriko's face, Chichiri's face...and onto the tense, worried face of Mitsukake. Abruptly, he drew in a sharp breath, stared at the man as if seeing him for the first time.
"Mitsukake!" he exclaimed, stretching out a hand towards the healer, beckoning him down to the floor, down to where Nuriko lay still and cold in the warmth of his own blood. "Mitsukake...onegai...can you help him? Is there anything you can do?"
The man's features were dark and tense in the lamplight...but, he gave a curt nod, dropped to his knees on the other side, and closed his eyes softly. Mitsukake lifted a hand, held it lightly over Nuriko's nose and mouth...then let out a soft breath, shook his head slightly.
"Not good," the healer murmured. "He's not breathing..."
Hotohori felt the thin glimmer of hope fading away within him, dying as...dying as...oh, god...god! This...this couldn't be happening... All the times he'd sent Nuriko away...all the times he'd ignored him because he didn't want to deal with things...all the times he'd set him aside, given someone else precedence, found something else he'd needed to do first...now, he was never going to be able to make up for all those broken promises, all those desperate moments of choosing everyone and everything but this man...this man who lay dead and bloodied in his arms...Suzaku, why??
"Wait," said Mitsukake firmly. His voice was low, solid...stern. "There's still a chance, Hotohori-sama. If...if his heart is still beating..." He trailed off, closed his eyes lightly. "Then, I can still save him."
Eyes wide, the fading warmth of Nuriko's flesh solid and cool against his skin, Hotohori watched as Mitsukake lifted his hand, watched as he gently spread apart the crisscrossed neckline of Nuriko's robe...watched as he pressed his palm against the smooth, pale skin of the young seishi's chest. He waited, barely breathing, barely thinking...seeing only that large, trembling hand, those long, stretching fingers...gods...gods...
Abruptly, however, Mitsukake sat back onto his heels, squeezed his eyes shut tightly. "Hotohori-sama, let go of Nuriko."
He stared at the man, confused and a bit taken aback. "N...nani?"
"Let go of him! Now!"
Startled and just as confused as ever, Hotohori gently lowered Nuriko to the bloodied boards of the floor, sat back...and watched, awed and in shock, as Mitsukake lifted his hand, held it palm outward...and a soft green glow began to swarm around those large fingers, trickle up and down the veins like a living river of light...streak down through the darkness and bathe Nuriko in a cool, otherworldly glow.
//Onegai,\\ he prayed silently, watching as the ragged wound in Nuriko's side began to stitch itself back up, as the torn blue fabric of his robe began to weave itself back together, become clean and fresh and new once more. //Onegai, Suzaku...let him live! Onegai...!\\
A few moments later, Mitsukake sat back and let out a heavy sigh, leaned his back against the wall. His eyes closed in exhaustion.
"Well?" Tasuki demanded, his voice sudden and gratingly-loud in the thick silence. His words shook, just slightly...and his eyes were wide and fearful. "Is he gonna...is he gonna @(*@&# be all right?"
"If he is," Mitsukake said slowly, "we'll know it very soon. If not..." He let out a soft breath, closed his eyes in genuine anguish. "If not," he repeated in a stronger voice, "then we'll know even sooner. All we can do is wait."
"Wait," Hotohori echoed softly. He closed his eyes, shook his head slightly as if to clear away the events of the evening...and pressed his lips together into a tight, thin line. "Wait," he whispered.
All they could do was wait.
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