You can always spot a moral victor…He's the one bleeding on the ground.
---Anonymous
Nicholas lowered her limp body to the ground, taking care not to jar her shoulder. He had to reset it as soon as possible, before any permanent damage occurred.
Kneeling beside her, he removed her uniform jacket, gently probing her shoulder with his fingertips to ascertain the extent of the injury before gripping her arm and giving it a firm tug; almost wincing in sympathy when the joint slid back into its socket with a grinding pop. It was fortunate that she was unconscious…the pain would have been excruciating otherwise. The Suzaku no Miko had been lucky…no muscles or tendons had been torn when she had dislocated it, although her shoulder would probably be sore and bruised for a few days.
His mouth curved mirthlessly as he grimly recalled what he had done to prevent her from going back to Keisuke and Taka. When it had become clear that she wasn't going to give in quietly, he'd hit her…
Again.
One swift, hard blow to the base of her skull with the edge of his hand. It would not harm her…just knock her out for a while.
He sighed inwardly. He hoped hitting her was not going to become a habit.
They were relatively safe for the time being, under a small rock outcropping which served to hide them from view. He had managed to get both of them away from the immediate area of danger while avoiding the men who were still hunting for them.
However, now that the adrenaline in his body was slowly draining away, there was nothing to keep the sedative from the assassin's wire from completely flooding his system. Once again, the feeling of intense weariness overtook him, clouding his senses. His eyes felt dry and gritty, and his muscles ached.
Not seeing any need to stay awake, he did not attempt to fight the effects of the drug, and allowed himself to slip into a deep, dreamless sleep.
It was already late morning when Miaka woke up. As she gingerly pushed herself upright, her shoulder protested vehemently at the movement, sending a bolt of pain lancing down her back and arm. Her head felt as if it had been run over by a truck…which had then reversed to finish the job. Squinting into the sunlight, she took in her new surroundings.
What happened? Where am I?
She tried to remember everything which had happened the night before. The attack, Taka and her brother being beaten, Nakago dragging her away…hiding from the assassins…something colliding with the back of her head…and then, nothing.
Why had those men attacked them and taken away the two people most precious to her? She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back the tears which threatened to overflow. Oniichan, Tamahome… Why do all these things have to happen? Just when I found him again…it's not fair! IT'S NOT FAIR! Why? She did not know if she would survive losing Tamahome all over again.
Losing…she was losing everyone she cared about, one by one…
"Nakago?" she called uncertainly, looking around for any sign of blonde hair, praying desperately for a response.
No answer.
Did something…happen to him?
Miaka felt panic rising, thick and stifling, making it hard for her to breathe. She realised how dependent on his help she had become, taking so much of it for granted… she felt completely and utterly lost without him. Please, not him too…Onegai, Nakago…where are you?
a tiny voice in her mind whispered in a heartwrenching plea.She slowly got to her feet, using the uneven rock wall behind her for support. However, when she attempted to walk, pain shot up her leg from her ankle. She managed to stumble a few steps before her leg gave way under her weight and she sunk to the ground, biting on her lip to keep from crying out in agony and frustration.
In all her life, she had never felt so truly alone…
Just as she was about to give herself up to her despair, feeling the last remnants of her strength disappear…It was then, that she suddenly felt someone beside her, seemingly having appeared out of nowhere…
Long fingers gently examined her ankle as she looked up, hazel eyes wide and startled, much like deer caught in the glare of headlights…only to meet a pair of cool blue eyes returning her stare.
"You must have twisted it last night," his enigmatic gaze switched back to her injury, not bothering with the simple common courtesy of greeting her or even telling her where he had been.
His presence and familiar deep voice brought a surge of uncontrollable relief. Without thinking; before she even realised what she was doing, she had flung herself at him, burying her face in his chest as the tears which she was powerless to stop came unbidden.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, almost as if she had to reassure herself that he was really there…as if she was afraid that he would vanish again if she let go.
All at once, Nicholas felt…uncomfortable. She was clinging to him as though her life depended upon it. A small part of him wanted to comfort her; assure her that everything would be all right. It would be a lie, of course…empty words, but it would at least put a stop to the tears which had started trickling down her pale, delicate face.
Unfortunately, the logical side of him warned against it…and logic won out against emotional impulses every single time. You need to disengage… NOW, his mind ordered sharply. The soft sound of her sobs interfered with his thought processes, distracting him and thus making it difficult for him to concentrate on planning their next move.
Furthermore, his nerves were starting to fray from the chaotic emotions he had started picking up from her the minute she had begun crying. The entire matter of his unexplained empathetic link with her mystified and annoyed him. Why him of all people? Nicholas hated being kept in the dark, particularly when things involved him. The sooner he had the answers, the sooner he could find a way to rid himself of the unwanted ability.
"…I don't know what I would do if…if I lost Tamahome again…" Miaka was saying through her tears.
Nicholas closed his eyes briefly, letting himself to revert back into the persona which would allow him to push her away…the one which he knew she detested. Her anger would lend her strength, and if making her angry would help her overcome this setback, then he would present himself as her tormentor. If that's what it takes…His chiselled features hardened into the cold, bland expression he had often worn as Nakago.
"Aren't you worried about someone else as well? Tamahome was not the only one they captured…I thought blood was supposed to be thicker than water."
Her sobs stopped abruptly as her mind registered his terse, cutting remark. She drew back from him, recoiling as if she had been burned.
The anger he had expected from her did not show itself at his not-so-gently administered verbal slap, nor was there any of the fire which signalled an impending outburst of temper. Instead of lashing out at him and accusing him of being callous and insensitive, she was trembling…not with rage, but as though she was making an immense effort to hold back her tears.
The Suzaku no Miko looked pale and defeated…in pain…and he had just done the verbal equivalent of kicking her in the ribs. For an instant, he regretted his harsh words. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done, and he could not take them back, even if he had wanted to.
"Go-Gomen…You're right…of course. You're always right," she whispered almost bitterly, taking a deep shuddering breath before scrubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. Lifting her chin with all the dignity she could muster, her luminous eyes fixed his with a stare which seemed to dare him to look away.
His intention had been to push her away and still her tears. Those objectives had been achieved, and now the least he could do was to leave her with her pride.
He stood up and turned away, allowing her to claim this small victory.
Miaka glared at the back of his head silently, wanting so badly to hurt him for his cruel words…to make him hurt as much as she was hurting.
Consumed with vengeful spite, it took her a while to notice, for the first time, the angry red welts and barely-closed cuts that criss-crossed over his left forearm. Her gaze quickly travelled downwards, where she caught a glimpse of the wounds on his hand and across his fingers.
The memory of the night before flashed through her mind with vivid clarity.
The blood she had tasted when he had put his hand over her mouth…the blood had been his.
Oh my god…he had been—…he's injured!
The sound of his voice interrupted her thoughts, tearing her attention away from the thin red lines marring his skin.
"Someone wanted us captured alive. The assassins only used tranquillizer darts to knock Tamahome out. If they had really wanted to kill us…we would be dead already," he said flatly, his manner abrupt and blunt. It was not something said to give her hope…it was merely a statement of fact. No more, no less.
"How can you be so sure?" she asked slowly, her anger at him rapidly disintegrating as she considered this new piece of information.
He half-turned to face her, and did something which caused her to shiver involuntarily, feeling as if a coil of ice had somehow wrapped around her soul…
He smiled.
Cold, chillingly ironic, and without a trace of humour.
"Those assassins were from Kutou…Who do you think trained them?"
Notes:
1) Poor Miaka. What she needs most at this point in time is someone who will comfort her...unfortunately, she's stuck with a guy who has got all the warmth of an ice-cube.
2) Nakago's past comes back to haunt him. This is the reason why the assassins were hesitating when they attacked him in the last chapter. Teacher-student bonds are not easily broken...