Author's Notes: See chapter one for disclaimer and explanation (is anyone still reading this line?).
Love, Life, and Death By Annie-chan Chapter Eighteen: SorrowKôran woke to warmth surrounding her on all sides. She opened her eyes and beheld her dear husband, his eye closed in sleep. She smiled. He was back home.
They lay on their sides, their arms wrapped tight around one another. Last night was the first night they had had together for a long time. She gently pushed him onto his back and lay back down, her head resting on his bare chest. He sighed in his sleep and tightened his hold on her. Tama-neko, the small white cat that had come home with him, mewed and pawed at her face, for the movement had woken it up. She smiled and scratched the cat behind the ears.
Finally. Finally, the war with Kutô-koku was over. Kônan-koku had won, and Kutô-koku had been released from the tyranny that had ruled it for so long. But, most important of all, she thought, she had her husband back, and her children had their father back. She wouldn't have cared if Kônan-koku won the war or not. She had only wished her dear Hôjun returned to her safely.
She stroked softly along his upper arm. He had some new scars, and he was much thinner than she remembered. He didn't look sickly, but the war and the turbulent happenings he encountered during his Seishi duties had definitely taken their toll on him. Now, he looked much like he did as an adolescent before his body grew into his arms and legs. He reminded her of a gangly, clumsy kid.
His hair was longer now, too. He had apparently, and understandably, forgotten to cut it while he was away, and it now reached almost past his waist. His fringe of bangs fell over his face, too long to stand up much anymore. He said that he'd probably cut his hair back to normal length within the next couple of days. She ran her hand through the feather-soft strands. Maybe she could convince him to leave it like it was.
"Mmm…" he moaned. He was starting to wake, his body beginning to unconsciously stretch itself as his brain woke up. She stayed atop him, her arms wrapped around his waist. She shivered slightly as his bare skin moved against hers, bringing memories of the previous night to vivid recall. They had really been too long apart from each other.
"Kôran…?" he murmured, sitting up. She pushed herself up as well, letting him rise. He gently cupped her face in his hands, leaning forward and pressing their lips together insistently. When they separated, he cradled her tenderly against his chest, his fingers combing through her hair. "It feels so good to be back in your arms, my love."
Kôran only sighed in response, burrowing deeper into his embrace, tangling her own fingers in the sky-blue silk falling down his back.
"Kâsan?" they heard through the door. It was Tori. "Sei-chan's kinda cranky." She had learned quite a while ago that she was never to walk into her parents' room without being told she could first. Luckily, she was pretty fast on the uptake, and never disobeyed that particular rule.
Kôran sighed, disengaged herself from Hôjun, and got up to put some clothes on. Her husband followed suit.
About an hour and a half later, breakfast having been made and eaten, and the children happily playing with some friends across the street, Hôjun and Kôran were alone again. Kôran had been debating for quite a while as to whether she should ask about what happened while Hôjun was away, or wait for him to bring it up himself. She knew he had been through Hell and back, for the darkness in the back of his eye hadn't escaped her notice, and she didn't want to upset him so soon after coming back home. She was so wrapped up in her internal debate at the moment, that she didn't notice that Hôjun had gotten up from the table, and was now staring blankly out the window. When she did, his silence and his stiff-as-a-board posture worried her.
"Hôjun?" she questioned, laying a hand on his back. "Daijôbu?" Tama-neko mewed at him, climbing up onto his shoulder.
He suddenly relaxed and looked at her, a smile on his face. "Hai, Kôran, no da. I was just thinking about stuff, no da."
"Is it something you want to talk about?" she asked.
His smile faltered. "Iie, no da. I'm fine, no da. Nothing to worry about, no da."
Kôran was less than convinced. She knew him to be in the habit of suppressing immense emotional pain to the point of it being almost undetectable, and his behavior right now told her that his good mood was just a front. Still, she did not press him. If he was in some kind of emotional turmoil, the worst thing she could do was force him to admit it. It just might cause him to break down.
Her desire to know just what had happened to him just wouldn't leave her alone. Around midday, however, her suspicions were confirmed in a most drastic fashion.
She and Hôjun were in a tailor shop, talking to the owner. They were quite well acquainted with the man, and had come by so Hôjun could say hello after being gone so long. The tailor had asked Kôran how her children were doing, and Hôjun had left the conversation for a moment, and was at the moment looking randomly around the store (with Tama-neko perched on his shoulder still), when Kôran suddenly heard his distressed voice.
"K-Ko-Kôran…" he stuttered, stumbling up to the counter. "Th-there's s-something wr-wrong with m-me…" With that, he suddenly fell to his knees, breathing hard. Kôran cried out in dismay and dropped down beside him, supporting him as he was about to fall completely to the floor. He was sweaty and trembling. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, and his eye was glazed over.
The tailor immediately ran to the door of his shop, hollering for a medic. He came back inside once he knew one was coming, and knelt down to Hôjun, who was now laying on his back on the floor. The other customers in the shop, who were four in number, where gathered around, helping in any way the could, which wasn't much. Hôjun was no better than he was when he collapsed; if anything, he was worse. Kôran knelt by his head, stroking his cheek, whispering reassurances. She was very nearly in tears. This was completely unexpected. The cat sat on her lap, clearly agitated as well.
A medic finally came into the shop, took one look at him, and immediately declared that he should be moved to a bed as soon as possible. The tailor was kind enough to let them put Hôjun in his bed in the living part of his building. Kôran didn't leave Hôjun's side for a moment.
"Well," said the medic, after examining Hôjun, "it looks like a nervous breakdown, to put it simply. Although, I've never seen one of this magnitude before." She cleared her throat. "Is he susceptible to extreme emotions?"
"Hai," Kôran answered, looking down at Hôjun. He was now in a light, uneasy sleep. "And, he has a habit of suppressing them to the point of them almost being unnoticeable."
"Hmm," the medic mused. "My guess is that he's been suppressing tremendous grief over something, or maybe shock from a traumatic event, and it's finally broken out. Or, perhaps, whatever happened to him or whatever he witnessed was bad enough that his mind just didn't acknowledge that it happened, and this is a delayed reaction to it. That's been known to happen from time to time. That happened to my mother when she was a child the day after she saw her brother die in an accident."
"Well," Kôran said, "he was in…in the war." She was hesitant to say it. Hôjun had never been meant to take part in such a terrible thing. He was too kind and gentle at heart.
The medic nodded. "That's probably it. Now, he should be moved to your house, so he can wake up in a familiar setting. If you need me again, just come to my house. If I'm not there, just ask my apprentice, and she'll tell you where I am. Oh, and my name is Kangofu."
Not long after that, Hôjun had been taken the short distance back home on a stretcher, still not having woken up. It wasn't until late in the afternoon that he finally opened his eye. The first thing he saw was his wife, sitting on the bed next to him, clutching his hand.
"Hôjun?" she asked softly. "Are you feeling all right now?"
He turned his face away from her. "Iie." His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.
"What…what happened?" she asked, seemingly tentative to bring it up.
He drew in a shaky breath; it sounded more like he was trying to stifle a sob. "I can't talk about it right now…I don't know if I'll ever be able to talk about it."
"Hôjun, please," she said gently, taking his chin in her hand and turning his face back toward hers. "If you keep it inside you like this, it will only get worse and worse as time goes on." He had closed his eye and was not taking notice to what she said. She sighed. "Hôjun, I want to help you through this. I can't if you won't tell me what's bothering you."
He eventually opened his eye again, and she almost started to see such potent anguish in them. He looked over to the bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. "Where are the children?"
"They're outside of town with a bunch of their friends and a few older kids."
"Close the door," he murmured, closing his eye again. "If they come back, I don't want them hearing this."
She did as he asked, then returned to her seat on the bed. She took his hand and squeezed it tight, reminding him that she was there if he needed anything. The cat had curled up near his head, and he was now absentmindedly stroking its soft white fur with his other hand. He opened his eye and stared at the ceiling for an endless moment, until, at last, he took a deep breath and began.
He told her everything, from being bitten on the hand by Miaka, to his injury and seizure before the summoning attempt, to the battle in the Miko city called Tokyo. He didn't shed a single tear the whole time. Unimaginable torment at the memories shone in his eye—which was glassy with repressed tears—for the most of it, especially when recounting the deaths of his fellow Seishi and the horrific war that raged on less than half a mile from the makeshift hospital camp he was stationed at. He had seen almost every type of sickness and injury in the space of only a few months, and was surrounded day and night with the agony of the dying.
Kôran couldn't keep her tears in. She couldn't imagine what her husband had been forced to endure, and her cheeks were often wet as she listened, completely silent, to his account of his Seishi duties. Legend had called it a great honor and gift to be chosen as one of Suzaku's Sacred Warriors. Hôjun had long since realized, and Kôran was just now finding out, that it was by far no gift or honor at all. It was a curse of the worst kind.
Hôjun finally finished, several hours later, with the remembrance of the funeral wake held after the war was won for Nuriko, Chiriko, Mitsukake, and Hotohori-sama, as well as for all the men, women, and children that had died as a result of the war. He had shed no tears there either, just stared numbly ahead as the ceremony went on.
He stopped talking and lay silent, still staring at the ceiling. He lay there, listening to Kôran's soft breathing as she sat beside him, and a few moments later, he felt his eye start to sting. Seconds later, his tears burst forth in a barely contained cry of mourning, his tears so numerous and powerful that they forced their way from his scarred eye as well, staining both his left and right cheeks. Tama-neko mewed mournfully, understanding Hôjun's distress. Kôran, her own tears starting anew, pulled him to her, letting him wrap his arms around her and weep bitterly in her embrace. His grip was frail, and his sobs were weak, despite the forcefulness of his tears. He had lost so much physical strength while he was gone, his deteriorated body visible testimony to that. He was shaking violently, and she felt as if she were holding a little lost child, wailing for familiar comforts long gone.
"Oh, my love," she whispered softly into his loose hair. "I'm so sorry."
To be continued…Author's Notes: I noticed as I was watching the anime and reading the manga that Chichiri sheds remarkably few tears the entire first part (the second part being when Tenkô starts making chaos in both worlds). Really, the only time he really cries in the anime is when Mitsukake died, and in the manga version of that scene, he only let one or two tears fall. At least, from what I saw. Mitsukake died at the end of book twelve, and I haven't read book thirteen yet. Anyway, it only stood to reason that he would eventually have to let all the tears he was holding in come out sooner or later. Just imagine the pain he had to go through in the anime/manga, though. He had no home to go back to, nor a wife and children to take solace in. Anyway, what'd you think? Please let me know at mangareader@hotmail.com, onegai shimasu!