"Only You" - continued from 2

~ ~ ~

No matter what she might know...conversation was as it always was with Miaka--light, friendly, and pleasant. In fact, Nuriko couldn't remember the last time the words had come so easily to his lips, or the smiles...or the laughter. It was as if...as if, all his life, he'd been standing outside the circle of where he was supposed to be, as if he was always an outsider, always looking in...but, now... Now, he stood in the very center of where all his heart cried out for him to be, stood with the warmth of love and the light of friendship and the contentment that only moments like these could bring. And, gods, it felt GOOD. Just walking here beside this girl, smiling and laughing and talking about whatever came to mind...he couldn't remember ever having been happier in his life.

"Ne, Nuriko?"

Startled from his thoughts, the eighteen-year-old blinked, glanced down at the girl with a questioning tilt of his eyebrow. "Hrm?"

Miaka was staring down at the soft cotton of her mittens, pressing the tips lightly together as she walked. Her lips, he noticed, were twisted slightly downwards, and her gaze never left the safety of her hands...even as she spoke. "L...Last night," she began a bit hesitantly. "When you were talking to Tamahome..." She paused for a long moment, taking slow, shuffling steps over the snow-covered road...and, then came to a slow halt in the center of the street, turned to face him. Even as she did, however, those eyes stayed trained on her mittens, and her voice was soft, halting, and tentative. "I...I just wanted to...well, to say..."

Nuriko closed his eyes briefly, a sliver of genuine anguish slicing into his heart. Gods, she knew...and she was angry about it, wasn't she? Or...or, she hated him for it or she wanted him to leave her alone or...or something...gods. Mattaku, how could he've been so stupid? He'd spent more of his life eavesdropping on other people's conversations than any rational human being had a right to, and yet he'd had no idea she was there...he hadn't even CONSIDERED that she might be listening in...gah. He deserved this, then. He deserved her spite, her anger, her disgust...maybe even her hatred. But...but, if she hated him...then, why the light-hearted conversation? Why the comfortable walk? Why any of this--why be kind when she was just going to throw it all back in his face a few moments later??

He realized, suddenly, that she'd broken the stare from her mittens and was gazing up at him, her forehead creased slightly in concern. "Ne, Nuriko...you don't look well...do you wanna sit down?" Her eyes widened. "Is it your arm? Does it hurt? Here--sit down over here..." She took a short step forward, grabbed onto his right arm and began to lead him towards a nearby wall...but, he stood firm, shook his head slightly.

"Iie," he said softly. "Daijobu." He realized, rather suddenly, that Miaka's fingers were still pressing lightly against his arm, warm and solid against his skin...he let out a soft sigh. "Gomen," he murmured. "I'm just...just tired."

Miaka blinked at him for a moment, looking concerned and puzzled...then, she shrugged slightly, let her gaze drift downward again. "Un...okay. Ne, you wanna rest for awhile?"

All right...so, she obviously didn't hate him. But...but, then, what had she been about to say?? Gods...why did things have to be so damned complicated? Things were so much easier when Miaka was just Miaka and he was just Nuriko...gaaaaah. It was so frustrating...and so exasperating.

Realizing abruptly that Miaka was still waiting for an answer, he shook his head lightly, readjusted his grip on the reigns of the horse and took a few short steps forward. "Iie," he replied in a stronger voice. "I'll be all right. We need to find the others as soon as possible."

"Oh...hai."

They began to walk, Miaka falling into an oppressive silence as they moved...and it wasn't difficult to figure out just what she might be thinking about.

"He'll be all right," he said at last, putting all the reassurance he could muster into his voice. "You'll see, Miaka...he'll probably show up any minute now."

Miaka swallowed, glanced down at her mittens again. "Hai," she said quietly. "I guess...I guess you're right."

They walked onward in silence.

~*~*~*~

He was cold, he was wet...and he was pissed off.

"Where are you, Miaka?" Tamahome muttered. He rubbed his hands together as he walked, struggling to work some semblance of warmth back into them. Since both his hands were rather wet, however, all it did was spread the moisture a little more thinly on his skin, make his flesh shrivel up into tiny, watery wrinkles. He sighed, wondering if he was going to have to circle the city again...then, straightened, abruptly, as he caught sight of a flash of violet hair, heard the rhythmic thud-thud of horse's hooves...

He dashed forward, sprinted through a crowded street and turned a corner...and, there they were--Nuriko and Miaka, walking side by side down the snowy road, the horse trailing contentedly behind them. He nearly called out...but decided against it, remembering the creature Nuriko and Miaka had told him about yesterday...the one who'd tried to kill them... Steeling himself briefly against the bitter cold, the dark-haired seishi drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly through his nostrils, and broke into a run. As he moved, his footsteps echoed loudly in his ears--so loudly, in fact, that he almost glanced back over his shoulder, checked to see if anyone was following him...but, he didn't, because, there were Miaka and Nuriko, getting ready to turn another corner and take them out of reach agaaaaain...

//Damn it,\\ he swore silently. //When did this turn into some kind of game of tag??\\

Finally, however, he managed to draw close enough for the two to notice his thudding footsteps, glance back at him... Miaka immediately broke into a wide grin, raised her arms up above her head and began to jump up and down.

"Tamahome!" she squealed. "You're back!"

He smiled and ran towards her, already lifting his arms to sweep her up into his embrace.

~*~*~*~

He stopped, breathing heavily from the exertion of running, his arms hanging loose and heavy from his shoulders, and stared down into the lightly-blowing snow. A dark, pleased grimace stretched itself over his lips, bore the jagged edges of his fangs to the unseeing humans below. Ashitare smiled, letting his gaze drift from the dark-haired man, Suzaku no Miko...to him.

Him. The one who'd hurt him...

The one who would die. Oh, yes. The one who would die.

A moment later, he'd dropped silently to the ground, crept to the edge of the alley, and peered out. It would take only an instant--the one who'd stung him looked fragile...weak...it wouldn't take much at all. And, then, once he'd taken care of him...then, Suzaku no Miko.

Yes.

Tensing his muscles and drawing in a deep breath, Ashitare took a long step out into the open...and began to run towards the unsuspecting back of the one who'd hurt him. He could already taste the blood on his lips, even before he reached him.

~*~*~*~