Author's Notes:  This chapter is all flashbacks to the past of the characters in Sakura's world, including her and Syaoran; I couldn't help adding a sappy S+S moment here…heh heh. And the headings like twenty years before means twenty years before the present, okay?  There's death and general drama in this chapter…  Read and review, please?

Thanks to Skiff (I always think my sentences are too long and confusing…but I can't help it), Misstress Dark (thanks for the mild threat of violence), CreatiStar (where are you now?  And yes, I'm going to bother you to finish your other fics…you just wait.), mya (yeah, that whole time element can get confusing), Rhea-chan (look rhea-chan, chocolate *leads rhea-chan away from carrot* Sakura can't die yet…), Little Blossom (I guess he is, but I can't help but like Yana a little bit…), Caoilfhionn (hmm…you do bring up a good point, maybe I'll incorporate that somehow…), Riley S (aww…if only I could give you some chocolate…I have a 500g block of Toblerone…mmm).

This chapter is especially dedicated to Jurei:  it's been a while, but I finally got this chapter done. Your encouragement always means a lot to me.  And I'm glad you updated 'foreign destiny;' I'm going to review just as soon as I finish editing this chapter…

Disclaimer:  If I die I want to be reincarnated as a poison arrow frog…oh, yeah and I don't own CCS.

Slipping Away

Chapter 6:  Shrouded Memories

Twenty Years Before

Tomoyo watched herself in the mirror, her new silk dress fluttering in the spring winds.  She was eight today, and with good reason, excited.  Her reflection stared back at her, smiling, but something was missing.  Vaguely, she touched her bare neck, taking an askance look to the rectangular velvet box on her desk.  She playfully pretended to walk towards the door, suddenly stopping and racing back to the desk as if to surprise some imaginary watcher.  Giggling, she parted the two sides, a shaft of light reflecting over the nacre surfaces inside.  With a click, the box locked open, a small string of pearls glistening in the morning sunshine.  Tomoyo cast her mind back to this morning with delight, her heart fluttering with joy.

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Daidouji Sonomi was not one to be late; she was always intensely punctual, arriving at work exactly at ten and leaving on the second at six.  Today, however, she smiled almost nostalgically as she stroked the soft velvet of a jewelry box.  She sipped her coffee appreciatively, watching the clock sweep past nine thirty without anxiety.  

The cook stirred the oatmeal a little quicker, thinking about the preparations to be made later, cakes, cookies, candies, streamers...  He shook his head dismissively, a thin smile appearing on his lips. Miss Tomoyo was eight today; where had all the years gone?

The soft tread of footsteps on the stairs floated over the rising aromas from the kitchen.  Sonomi blinked, a loving maternal smile on her lips.  Tomoyo's small figure flew into the dining room, throwing herself easily into the nearest chair.  "If it isn't the birthday girl."

Tomoyo's soft eyes flew upward, fixing on her mother.  "Okaa-san, aren't you late for work?"

Sonomi shook her head slowly, beckoning Tomoyo to her side.  She presented the box to the puzzled girl, chuckling at her fear to touch it.  "Take it Tomoyo; it's a present for you."

Tomoyo's eyes danced, her fingers quickly opening the box, hesitating in shock as she surveyed the cream beads nestled on crumpled felt.  "Oh, it's beautiful."

"Yes, aren't they?  They've been the family for generations; they're given to the first daughter on her birthday.  I got them on my tenth birthday as my mother and grandmother.  But, I thought you're responsible enough to have them now."

Tomoyo stood reverently momentarily before throwing a hug around her mother's neck.  "Thank you.  I'll take really good care of them."

Sonomi patted her daughter's back, standing up and reaching for her briefcase.  "Of course you will; I have no doubts.  But, now, I really have to get to work; but we're going to have a big party for you when I get home.  I even put a new dress in your closet.  Bye, Tomoyo."

Tomoyo waved to her mother as the tall figure descended the steps to the garage.  Her mind swam with anticipation of dresses, jewelry, presents, parties.  She succumbed to the overwhelming emotions, allowing herself to jump and laugh before composing herself and walking more or less normally to her room.

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Sonomi answered her ringing cell phone, pausing in the parking lot to extract it.  "Yes?"  Her face lost its shine as the other voice on the end of the receiver spoke harshly and voluminously.  "What?  He can't!  I'm a partner too; I'm not going to allow this."

As she argued, her body stationary on the pavement, a car's engine roared to life, halogen lights flashing blindingly.  Sonomi snapped her head sideways, squinting into the glare of the headlights, the colour draining from her face.  The squeal of tires accompanied the hurtling car as it sped towards her.  Her scream echoed shrilly in the empty parking lot, followed by a soft thud and the screeching of rubber against asphalt.

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Tomoyo lifted her eyes from the pearl necklace, watching curiously as her mother's photograph appeared on the television down the hall.  She placed the box back on the desk, skipping merrily to the living room.  A news reporter had supplanted her mother's picture, rattling off some news.  Tomoyo turned the volume higher, the reporter's voice resounding through the room.

"Today, Yana of Yanacorp has announced a full takeover of its rival companies.  This announcement has come in wake of the tragic news of his partner's sudden death.  We have received confirmation that Daidjouji Sonomi, Yanacorp's silent partner, has died after being struck by a car in the company parking lot this morning.  We now go to the steps of Yanacorp's headquarters where Yana Hiroshi is making a statement."

Tomoyo stared blindly at the television, her legs failing her as she crumbled into a mess of creased silk.  She started as Yana's voice and face filled the television.  He coughed peremptorily, face immobile and deadly, it's cruel youth on show.  "I have only just heard the horrible news about Sonomi; I can't believe she's gone.  She's been such an instrumental part in keeping Yanacorp at the top of industry.  She will be sorely missed as it is impossible to replace such a unique and shrewd woman.  In the light of her tragic death, I think we should make Yanacorp even better than it is now; her work for this company should not be in vain.  We owe it to her memory to do whatever is necessary to see her dream fulfilled."  Yana bowed his head in silence, the newscast returning to the reporter's narrative.

Tomoyo weakly scrambled to full height, stumbling back to her room, nothing registering in her mind.  She scanned her room without recognition, fixing a dumb gaze on the pearl necklace.  She absent-mindedly took it up from the box, feeling the cool weight sliding past her fingertips, smelling the lingering, soft fragrance of her mother's perfume. The news slowly imprinted itself in her mind.  Her mother was dead; she had no mother.  Flashes of memory cascaded back, her mother's pacing figure in the dim living room as she argued on the phone with Yana, her worried face as she poured over contracts, her anger as she ranted to the cook about Yana's unethical business transactions.  Yana's face filled Tomoyo's mind's eye.  She watched morbidly fascinated as her fingers had automatically wrapped tightly around the pearls, her knuckles white, the string snapping under the stress.  Pearls dropped in all directions, clacking loudly on the floor and desktop.  She turned, finding herself looking into the mirror, feeling a part of her slipping away.  Her reflection fumed back at her, angry tears staining its cheeks, fists clenched at its sides, a snarl pulling back lips to bare teeth.  As suddenly as she saw herself, she knew at once what she lost:  her innocence.

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Three Years Before

Yamakazi sighed heavily, rolling his shoulders and neck to dissipate the soreness that had settled at work.  He blinked owlishly in the dim corridor lights, fumbling for keys in his pockets.  After several unsuccessful attempts, pulling out coins and folded memos, his fingers curved around the key ring.  After a satisfying click, he twisted the rusted knob, slowly pushing open the door, squinting as the door gave an irritating creak.  If only he could get some oil…maybe on the black market?  The aroma of dinner brought him back to reality, a quiet sizzle mellowing the dreary atmosphere of the sparsely furnished apartment.  "Chiharu?"

Two pigtails swung into view from the kitchen before a beaming face called out to face him.  "You're home."

Takashi raised an eyebrow.  "Pigtails?  Aren't you a little old for pigtails?"

Chiharu's full figure materialized, arms crossed over her chest, spatula pointed upward.  "I felt like having pigtails today."  Her eyes narrowed just slightly.  "And what do you mean old?"

Takashi stammered, knowing he was treading around a dangerous pitfall. "Oh nothing, you're very young, very, very young."  After a quick moment of thought, he blurted explanations mindlessly, hoping to pacify her.  "In some societies, being older is an honor; the children have to worship the elders because…."  He gulped as his girlfriend's mouth thinned appreciably.  "Um, what I mean is…"  He groaned audibly, smacking himself square on the forehead.  "I should just stop huh?"

Chiharu rolled her eyes, speaking dryly.  "Yeah; that's probably a good idea."  She walked back into the kitchen, silence engulfing the small apartment.

Yamakazi sighed wearily, throwing off his coat and dropping his briefcase to the ground, the damaged hinges giving way and scattering white and yellow forms across the ground.  He looked angrily upward as if cursing some higher being before dropping to his knees and trying futilely to put the papers back in order.  As he reached for a cream-coloured sheet, a second hand stopped him.  He looked puzzled up at Chiharu's teasing smile.

"Dinner's ready; you can clean this up later."  She chuckled at his confused expression.   "Don't worry; you're forgiven; I only wanted to see you make a fool out of yourself."

Takashi made a noise of exasperation before joining Chiharu in a good laugh.  "Alright, this can wait until later."

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"Fish?  Who'd you have to kill to get fish?"  Takashi gratefully placed the tender filet into his mouth savouring the long forgotten taste of fresh fish, grimacing at the past twenty years of tasteless food the government rationed out.

Chiharu smiled mysteriously.  "Some guy at work owed me a big favour, and he somehow miraculously caught this fish in the river last night, so he gave it to me in exchange for canceling his debt."

Yamakazi smiled gratefully if not a little perplexed.  "A favour?  What'd you do?  Take a memo for him?"

Chiharu frowned.  "You know, that's not all I do at my job."

"Aren't you just a secretary?"

"Big insult coming from a lowly accountant."  Chiharu's eyes flared threateningly as if daring Yamakazi to make another witty rejoinder.

"Point taken.  What did you do for him?"

Chiharu paused pointedly, the air pregnant with something important.  "Well…see…"  She twisted her hands nervously.  "I'm not…I haven't been completely honest with you."

Takashi swallowed, looking anxious, half fearing another man.  "What do you mean?"

"I…"  A loud rap broke her confession.  "I'll get it."  She hurried to the door, abstractedly undoing the lock.  "Who is it?"

The door swung open ferociously, an arm clasping around Chiharu's wrist.  "Are you Mihara Chiharu?"  She stood still, shocked and trembling with fear.

Takashi leapt to his feet, instantly by his girlfriend's side.  He glared at the corpsmen in the doorway.  "What are you doing?!"

The corpsman holding Chiharu dictated from memory.  "Mihara Chiharu is charged with working with the resistance and is therefore to be immediately incarcerated."

"What?!  You have to be kidding; she'd never do something like that."  Yamakazi reached for Chiharu but found himself restrained by two guards.  "Let me go; I'm telling you she's innocent!"

The soldier drew Chiharu's attention with a sharp twist of her arm.  "We have ways of finding out the truth, quite painful ways."  Her eyes widened as the man gave a discreet glance towards Yamakazi's thrashing figure.

"I'll admit it; if-if you don't harm Takashi."

Yamakazi stopped fighting, mind reeling with shock.  "Don't do it Chiharu!  You're innocent; I know it."

The head corpsman drew notice to his gun; Chiharu clung fiercely to his arm.  "I'll say it!  I worked with the Resistance. Leave Takashi out of this, I'll go with you!"  The soldier gave a curt nod, dragging Chiharu out of the apartment.  The two other guards released their hold on a stunned Yamakazi.  Takashi broke out of his shock instantly, jumping forward to reach for Chiharu's back.  "Chiharu!"

A guard turned quickly, the butt of his gun crashing down on Yamakazi's head.  Takashi vaguely heard his name being screamed as his body sank onto the floor, a thin trickle of blood from above his right eye staining the white and yellow papers underneath him crimson.

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Five Years Before

Syaoran peered anxiously into the dark alley, self-consciously running a hand over his suit, as if he could change its threadbare condition back to pristine new.  He fidgeted noticeably, taking discreet looks behind him every other second.  A flickering light shone overhead as he reached the end of the alley.  He coughed softly yet loud enough to echo; an elderly man stepped out of the shadows looking intently at Syaoran's form.  "Mr. Nezumi…is Sakura here yet?"

The older man shook his head, placing a reassuring hand on Syaoran's shoulder.  "I'm sure she's on her way."

Syaoran nodded dumbly, eyes reverting back to his suit.  "I wish I could've had a nice suit…"  He patted the fabric, a cloud of dust clouding the air; he coughed, grinning sheepishly.  "I guess that's why the suit's gray…"

The elderly man chuckled lightly, throwing his memories back to far too many years ago.  "I'm sure it's all fine; Sakura won't mind."

Syaoran contemplated silently, knowing the man was right.  "Yeah, but still…"

Nezumi looked thoughtfully at Syaoran.  "You know it's nice to know the old traditions are still around."

"We both agreed that there was no other alternative."

"You couldn't apply for a government license?"

A low yet light voice echoed from just outside the streetlight's illumination.  "It wouldn't be a real marriage; we'd be just another set of numbers to be kept track of…"  Sakura stepped into the light, removing her hood and casting off her cloak to look mournfully at her pale green silk dress, worn patches dotting the fabric.  "At least we match."  She laughed amused as she considered herself and Syaoran, standing side by side in patched clothes long past their prime.

Syaoran smiled lovingly at her, taking her hand in his.  "It doesn't matter so much anymore."

Sakura nodded softly, hair sweeping around her cheek.  "Are you ready Mr. Nezumi?"

He smiled, cracking open a worn little book.  His quiet recitation of the ceremony murmured thoughtfully in the stillness of the night, the somber words fighting against the dread that threatened to envelop the night.  He stopped near the end, looking somewhat uncomfortable, knowing the impossibility of his question.  "Do you have rings?"

Both bride and groom grinned in thought, remembering.

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Sakura laid back on the rickety couch, looking fancifully at the ceiling.  "Just a week more and we'll be married..."

Syaoran looked across at her figure, the heat rushing to his face as he wondered what it would feel like to have her under his fingertips.  "Yeah…"

Suddenly, Sakura's head twisted to face Syaoran, a frown marring her features, voice sullen.  "I don't have a ring for you…"

Syaoran nodded in sympathy, knowing there would be no way to ever get enough money to actually buy a ring.  "Me neither…"

Brightening, Sakura reached over the coffee table, plucking a chocolate from a little cup.  "Don't you think this candy is pretty?"

"Hmm?"  Syaoran looked baffled as Sakura admired the wrapped candy.  "I guess…it should be; it cost quite a bit."

Sakura nodded distractedly twisting off the golden foil and placing the chocolate in her mouth.  Twirling the wrapper around her index finger, she looked pointedly at Syaoran.  "Isn't it pretty?"

He finally caught on as he moved to her side, taking her slim hand and moving the foil to her ring finger, the reflective covering glowing against her skin.  "Very pretty…"

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Mr. Nezumi looked from Syaoran to Sakura, both apparently lost in thought.  "Ahem?"  Both started, flushed and embarrassed, apologizing rapidly.  "You don't have to apologize; it's just that you both suddenly went off to somewhere else.  Do you have rings?"

Both nodded, extracting a molded foil circlet.  Sakura looked a little self-conscious as she tied the round strip around Syaoran's finger, twisting the two ends together.  Syaoran repeated the same action, eyes shining in something akin to playfulness. 

Mr. Nezumi smiled amusedly, that old feeling of nostalgia rushing up to overtake him again.  "Very ingenious.  I now pronounce you many and wife; you may kiss the bride."  He extracted a bulky device from his coat, pointing it discreetly at the couple.

Syaoran brushed his thumb's pad across Sakura's jaw line, her face tilting to meet his in the mute yellow light.  A soft click and a flash of light broke their kiss as they both looked questioningly at the minister's wry face. 

The elderly man held out a photograph.  "See?  You didn't need better clothes."

Syaoran looked appreciatively at the developing picture, both his and Sakura's bodies leaning against each other, the worn and patched clothes blurred and soft as the whole scene unfolded, two lovers kissing under the pale glow of golden light.  "I guess not."

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One Year, Six Months Before

The gun recoiled with a barely noticeable force.  Nakuru watched intently, the energy blast missing her target by a hairsbreadth.  "Shit!"  The people in her vision were fleeing and ducking; there'd be no way to get a second shot now.  Yana won't be happy.

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Azukizi Nakuru was deadly, known to be one of Yana's top assassins.  She took no pains to disguise herself, in fact drawing attention with her tight fitting clothes, bared skin and scarlet lips.  As such, it was immensely disturbing that she still found her way into her target's lives, easily picking off resistance leaders and dangerous allies.  She half smiled as she thought of the violence that was her life, but swinging open the gate to her house, she reflected.  She was lucky.  Along the street, her small comfortable home stood in contrast to the slum apartment complexes flanking both sides.  Well-oiled hinges gave way to a garden, artificially grown and maintained but still scenting the air with floral fragrance and displaying its vivid colours.  It was a nice alternative to the upcoming gray, stale summer. 

She punched in the security code, letting the front door swing open easily.  Slipping off her shoes, she let the soft carpet curl around her toes.  Her home was the profit of death, lavish gifts in exchange for human lives.  She smiled ruefully, knowing it was either this or to suffer as those around her have done.  Even her parents understood, resigning themselves to live knowing that their daughter was a paid mercenary. "Okaa-san?"

A black haired woman appeared off the right, a vase of bright tulips, the air of domesticity emanating from her figure.  "Nakuru? You're home early; don't you have to see Yana?"  She lowered her voice as she pronounced 'Yana,' a subdued anger burning in the depths of her steel gray eyes.

Nakuru shook head no; she usually went straight to Yana to get her reward.  This time, she thought letting a night pass before she'd have to explain her failure would be better.  "Not tonight; I failed."

Her mother nodded, not knowing whether to sigh in relief or worry for Nakuru's safety.  "I…I don't know what to say…"

"You should say 'I'm glad.'  Strangely, I'm happy I missed."  Nakuru grimaced.  "Unfortunately, Yana's not going to see it that way…."  She heaved off her coat, smiling as that motherly disapproval reappeared.

Her mother placed the vase of flowers down on the sideboard, heaving a sigh.  "Do you have to wear such revealing clothes?  In my day…"

Nakuru laughed, shrugging off her mother's words, echoed every other day.  "Let's not get into this again…I'm starving, what's for dinner?

The ebony haired woman drew up short.  "Dinner's in the kitchen; it's stew tonight.  You should be hungry; you look like a stick."

"Call it a job requirement."  Nakuru replayed the various times where she'd had to crouch uncomfortably in narrow crevices, twisting and bending her body to dodge enemy fire, having to seduce disgusting men.  "Better yet, let me have a shower first."

The hot water rained down from the nozzle, sending the dust and dirt away.  Nakuru murmured reminiscently nursery rhymes, the times of childhood, before this apocalyptic era had begun.  "Jack be nimble; Jack be quick…"

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The teacher looked at Nakuru, the small girl raising her hand urgently.  "Yes?"

Nakuru frowned in childish miscomprehension.  "Why can't Jill be quick and jump over the candlestick?" The class giggled, Nakuru frowning.

"I'm sure Jill can, but the nursery rhyme has Jack jumping over the candlestick…"  The teacher grinned at her own inner thought, talking to her faculty members during break about her little 'kindergarten feminist.'

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Nakuru leaned her head against the shower door, remembering the day in fifth grade when she finally figured out what a feminist meant…  She turned the water off, wrapping a towel around her body.  That was all behind her, only the present to think about.  She stepped into the kitchen with new vigor, sitting at the table, looking hungrily at a steaming bowl of stew in front of her.  She picked up a spoon, relishing the hot liquid warming her from inside out.  It was times like this that she felt like she could relive her interrupted childhood.  She paused to take a long draught of iced tea. 

"I heard you failed."

Nakuru looked up, meeting her father's gaze across the table, over his newspaper, the headlines screaming of Yana's wonderful new institutions and policies.  "Hmm…yes."

Her father removed his glasses, folding his newspaper into a neat rectangle as he'd done for the past twenty years.  "Good for you."

Spilling her spoonful of soup onto the table, Nakuru looked up inquisitively.  "Why?  Yana's going to be angry."

"That spoiled brat can live with a little disappointment; I'm glad you didn't kill anyone tonight.  All that we have is based on death; I wouldn't mind living in poverty if I could know that innocent people didn't have to die."

His wife looked up from stirring a pot on the stove, fear in her eyes.  "Don't say that!  Nakuru's too involved; do you really think Yana'd let her leave?  He'd kill her first."

Nakuru sighed knowingly.  "It doesn't really matter, does it Okaa-san?  I mean when I'm too old to keep doing this, when I've outlived my usefulness, he'll kill me anyway, won't he?"  She stood up resolutely, leaving her parents to look worriedly at her retreating back.  "Thanks for dinner; it was delicious."

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Nakuru walked into the vast office, not even remotely fearful of the consequences of her actions.  She'd given up on fear, and love, and anything remotely associated with happiness long ago.  "I failed."

Yana fixed one sienna eye on her figure momentarily, his attention reverting back to watching the model airplane in his hand fly aimlessly in the air.  Laying the toy down, he frowned contemplatively.  "I figured as much; you didn't come to pick up your reward yesterday."

"I'm ready to take my punishment."

Hiroshi screwed up his eyes, hands banging out a rhythm on the oaken desk.  A light flashed in his eyes, the burden of age shed as he looked like an earnest teenager again.  "Tell you what.  I'm in a good mood; I'll give you another chance at Daidouji.  Follow the general; he'll brief you on her whereabouts."  He rushed up to her, waving his hands in front of her, producing a small white flower from his sleeve.  "Look, magic."  He handed Nakuru the flower, smiling brightly.  "Have a nice day."

Nakuru raised a single eyebrow, rigidly accepting the flower and turning on her heels.  Something was wrong; Yana couldn't be so indifferent to her failure.  She merely shrugged off her unfounded suspicion, following the military man into the briefing room.

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Nakuru frowned; she had pointlessly sat through hours and hours of receiving information that she'd already been briefed on before.  She partly wondered if she was being distracted for some reason.  The hinge opened quietly, the flowers swaying in the wind.  An uneasiness rose in her stomach as she neared the door, the wooden slab laying ajar.  Stepping through the threshold, she stopped, affronted by the sickening smell of blood.  Instinctively, her eyes averted to the sideboard, a tulip petal dangling perilously from the stalk.  As if weighted down by Nakuru's gaze, the petal fell away from the stem drifting lightly to land softly onto an opened palm.  Nakuru's eyes went from the tulip to the hand, staring long at the two prostrate figures sunk into the carpet.  She knelt by both figures, making a cursory inspection.  They were dead.  She would've cried if she could; a low pain ached in her, only this, nothing else.  She growled low in her throat, evoking the only emotion she'd been able to preserve all these years:  anger.  "Yana."  Her fingers tracing the outline of her gun along her thigh, she caught her coat off the hook.  Pausing reluctantly in the doorway, she returned to her parents' sides, kissing their foreheads in farewell, burning their faces into her memory.

Azukizi Nakuru emerged from her home, face expressionless, mouth red, not with lipstick, this time stained with her parents' blood.  She whispered quietly to herself, only the flowers to pay witness to her vow.  "I will kill you Yana."

________________________________

One Year Before

Sakura looked hard at the gun that lay on the table before her; it was an easy choice one moment and then an excruciatingly hard one the next.  Would the burning energy discharge feel just like the gut wrenching pain she woke up every morning?  It had been a horrible month, the countless hours of crying and feeling as if her heart throbbing in her chest.  She had finally buried all the grief underneath her conviction and fury.  She promised him; she'd try until she breathed her last breath.  Yana would die at her hand.  Her eye caught the edge of a frame, the glass smashed and cracked.  Roughly shaking the broken glass to the ground, she unearthed an old photograph, the picture threatening to push her over the edge, to take up the gun and pull the trigger.  She laid the photo down again, smiling ruefully at her wedding kiss.  So long ago…in fact, a lifetime ago…his lifetime…

A knock sounded against her door jolting Sakura from her inner thoughts.  Almost perfunctorily, she stuck a card to her skin, the blue circle flaring to life.  "Come in."

The door hesitantly creaked open, a familiar face stepping out from behind its protection.  "Sakura?"  Takashi looked uneasy, staring point blank at Sakura, gun pointed at his face.

Sakura pursed her lips, deactivating the Shield card, laying the gun back on the table.  "Yamakazi."

Takashi turned around, ushering in a second figure, whirling to warn Sakura.   "She's not anyone dangerous."

Chiharu's figure peered out from behind Yamakazi, her face regaining its old strength, the only remnant of her incarceration, her eyes sunken and rimmed with dark lines.  "Hello."

Sakura eyed the woman warily noting her attachment to Yamakazi, eventually nodding for them to come in.  "Shut the door after you."

Takashi stood uncertainly in the middle of the living room, watching Sakura's outline against the window.  "I'm sorry for your loss."

"So am I."  Sakura's words were harsh, cutting.  She turned blank eyes to the couple.  "What do you want?"

"We…we're going up against Yana."  He sucked in his breath at the fury spreading across Sakura's face.  "He's just finished making another tunneling machine; he's going to invade another world."

Sakura clenched her fist, looking venomously at her gun.  "So?"

"Daidouji asked us to see if…if you'd help."

Chiharu noted Sakura's red-rimmed eyes, the deep sallow quality of her face. She quickly added,  "But if you don't want to, it's fine."

"No, I'll do it."  Sakura smiled, frighteningly cruelly.  "We can't let Yana do this another world."

Takashi warned, "It's dangerous."

"What's dangerous?  Why would I care?"  She looked him deep into his eyes, nothing in her green orbs readable as alive.  "Do you think I fear death?"

"N-no.  I'll tell Daidouji."  He turned to go, but arrested at Sakura's quick shout.  "What's wrong?"

A glimmer of something other than iciness swallowed up Sakura's eyes for an instant.  "You love her, don't you?" She pointed to Chiharu, who had shrunk back behind Yamakazi's form.

"Y-yes.  Of course I do."

"Then quit.  Leave."  Sakura stopped considering, letting her eye fall back on the framed photograph.  "Or else end up like me…"

Takashi paused considering, seeing the anguish buried deep in Sakura.  "But Yana…"

Sakura lashed out.  "Leave Yana to me!  Live your lives.  I'll help Tomoyo with every last ounce of my energy, only if you take her and leave."

Yamakazi looked uncertainly at Sakura's inflamed figure, feeling a slight tugging behind him.  He turned a concerned eye to Chiharu.  "What?"

Her quiet voice breathed out in gasps.  "She's right; can't you see how much suffering she's going through?  Don't we deserve some kind of happiness?"  He eyes sought his in earnest pleading.  "Can't we be selfish this once?"

"Okay."  He turned to face Sakura.  "We'll leave; we'll live our lives."

Sakura's contorted face fell back into indifference, the hardness returning to her words.  "Good.  Go now; disappear.  I'll tell Tomoyo."

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The door closed shut with a soft scrape.  Sakura returned to her post by the window watching the two figures, hands clasped together, disappearing into the maze of alleys and streets.  She picked up a box, taking out a preserved gold foil loop.  Crushing it in her fist, she whispered to the empty apartment.  "That was us once…"  She let the broken ring drop, heart shattering with finality as the twisted circlet hit the ground.  Raising her eyes to the gray sky, she whispered, "Soon."

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Author's Notes:  Wow, done in one day.  Hope it was okay; it's amazing how spring break can get my inspiration to write back up again…  Next chapter:  back to the present!