Disclaimer and Notes:  Geez, why is this a recurring theme in my fics lately? ^_^;;  Anyway, uh...suicide is a bad thing.  Don't do it.  *nodnod*  Also, info on Tenkou--which I'd forgotten, actually ^^;;--was obtained from http://www.animeinfo.org/featured/fy/people/tenkou.html. 

The Last Wish:  Chapter 27

Dreams.

The tabletop was cool beneath her arms, a scent like cedar and potpourri filling her nostrils.  And that was a surprise; Miaka could've sworn she hadn't smelled anything since she'd started crying, and that had been at least four hours ago.

"--talk about what happened, no matter how difficult it might be," Chichiri was saying, hands folded respectfully in front of him.  "I realize that we're all still very...affected by what happened--and we should be--but talking about it...might help us to deal with it, and to understand why it happened."  The twenty-four-year-old sighed.  "I know I would certainly like to understand."

Chiriko, seated on the blue-haired man's left with legs dangling several inches above the ground, glanced up from the table cloth.  "Shouldn't we wait for Hotohori-san and Mitsukake?"

There was a moment's pause.  "We've waited long enough," Chichiri said at last. 

I don't want to talk about it.  I don't want to...

In desperation, Miaka let her attention wander to the room around her, letting her eyes drift from priceless vase to

velvet-curtained window to polished marble floor to artful wall hanging.  Due to the wealth of Hotohori's parents--both of whom were spending the week in some distant European country, she remembered dimly--the house was large enough to accommodate at least twelve people, and the dining room table showed it.  To the best of Miaka's knowledge, the Seishuku family had never exceeded three members, but the table was huge, stretching through the elegant dining room in a lengthy, lace-covered oval.  A chandelier of rainbow crystal dangled above the center, gems of refracted sunlight from the window scattering like stars on the tablecloth. 

She was just examining the tiny blue flowers that made up the centerpiece when something warm gripped her hand; upon glancing up, she found Tamahome's larger fingers encircling her own, her boyfriend's features a mask of worry and grief.

"Miaka," he said gently, his fingers squeezing against her own.  His eyes were red and puffy, she saw, and she couldn't help but feel a flash of guilt at the memory of how near she had come to pushing away his love forever. 

I would have, if it'd been up to me.  I would've given him up forever, if it would've changed things.  But it didn't.  It didn't do anything...

"Miaka," Tamahome repeated, "Chichiri asked you a question."

Blinking seemed to take several seconds longer than it should have; when she finally shifted her gaze to the blue-haired man, his left eye squeezed shut beneath the same scar he'd borne in the other world, many hours seemed to have passed.  "Did you?" she asked softly.  "I-I'm sorry.  I didn't hear..."

"It's all right," Chichiri assured her.  He shifted slightly in his seat, flickers of dying sunlight framing his bangs in gold.  "I asked you...if you could tell us anything about the man who...attacked Nuriko.  I wouldn't ask," he continued hurriedly, "but you seemed to know him, and when the police speak to us--"  He broke off, looking uncertain, and didn't seem to be able to find the words with which to continue.

Finding all eyes on her, Miaka flushed and let her gaze drop to the her hands.  "I..."

What're you going to say, ne, Miaka?  How can you tell them that because of you, they're all going to have to suffer the same things they did in the Book?  How can you tell them that?  How can you tell them about the Book?  How can you tell Chiriko that he's going to die?

She was just beginning to panic, wondering what on earth she could possibly tell these people, when a voice, low and still rough from crying, sliced up through the silence.  "Miaka doesn't fuckin' know him," Tasuki growled.

Slumped in the chair at the head of the table, as far removed from his companions as it was possible to be while still at the same table, the seventeen-year-old was clutching the tablecloth in his fingers, hand clenching and unclenching as if unaware that it was even moving.  He didn't look up as he spoke.  "Why the hell would she?"  His voice went suddenly soft.  "Why the hell would she fuckin' know a guy like that..."

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, no sound but the nearby twitter of birds and the far-off rush of cars--and then, slowly, all eyes drifted to that mass of red hair and the tear-streaked face beneath it.  "Tasuki," Chichiri murmured, and Miaka had to force herself to remember that these two men had only just recently met, "did you know him?"

Tasuki's eyes squeezed shut; a stream of moisture trickled over his cheeks for a few silent seconds.  "Shit," he whispered at last.  "Yeah, I knew 'im.  Not well or anything, but yeah, I fuckin' knew 'im.  Guy was only a few years older than us, didja know that?  Back when we were little, he and me used to fuckin' play together."  He laughed once, but it sounded too near a sob for Miaka's comfort.  "Can ya believe it?  Can ya fuckin' believe it?  I've got a picture of that guy--"  Tasuki's voice began to shake.  "--that fuckin' killed Nuriko playin' in a sandbox with me grinning like a goddamn moron right beside 'im.  I've got a fuckin' picture.  Can ya believe it?"

"Tasuki," Chichiri said immediately, "this wasn't your fault.  Just because you knew him--"

"I fuckin' know that!" the younger man exploded, head jerking up to look at his friends.  "I know it.  But it still feels like...like maybe, if I'd'a been there..."  Trembling, the seventeen-year-old brought a hand to his eyes and pressed it there.  "I don't know," he whispered.  "Just seems like I maybe coulda done somethin', ya know?"

Vision suddenly blurry with tears, Miaka wrenched free of Tamahome's grasp and got shakily to her feet.  "You couldn't have done anything!" she cried.  "I tried!  I tried to change it, but I couldn't!  I couldn't do anything and neither could you!  It's HOPELESS!"

And while the stunned expressions were still flickering over her friends' faces, the girl turned and ran from the room; moments later, she was racing up the carpeted spiral staircase, and--after accidentally charging into the bathroom, which had a door just across from her own--finally found herself locked safely in her room, back pressed to the door.  She stood there for a long time, breathing heavily and struggling against the flood of guilt swimming in her mind, and then she staggered over to the bed--queen-sized, with a soft, floral-decorated comforter and three large pillows--and collapsed onto it. 

I tried.  I tried so hard...  Gods, why did this have to happen?  Why couldn't I change it?  What did I do wrong?  I won't accept it!!  I won't accept that...that Chiriko and Mitsukake and Hotohori are going to have to die! I won't accept it!  There must be something I can do...  Please.  Please, there must be something...

The thoughts were still spinning in her head, mingled with tears and the soft remembered murmur of Nuriko's voice, when sleep took her. 

~*~

She was dreaming.  She knew she was dreaming from the moment she opened her eyes to the dimness, but knowing didn't give her the power to wake up, and so she had little choice but to let the dream do as it would.  It was all right, though; the room she was in looked eerily like the one she'd chosen for herself in Hotohori's house, and the bed beneath her felt warm, as if she'd been sleeping on it for many hours, but it didn't have the feel of a nightmare.  The night air was soft and cool, trickling in through the far window, and there was a sense of peace on her heart such as she'd never imagined, soothing the pains from her soul and making even Nuriko's death, which had been so near and so agonizingly-real only moments ago, seem distant and dreamlike.

The peace sent a smile to her lips, and a laugh sprang from her throat before she could stop it.  Before she was entirely aware of what she was doing, she had swung her legs over the side of the bed and pressed her toes into the plush carpeting; moments later, she felt herself walking towards the door, and knew, somehow, that she was being guided, that this was more than dream, that someone was answering her plea and giving her the solace and the salvation she'd prayed for...

Still smiling, Miaka let herself be led out into the hallway--dark and smooth with night, and seeming somehow alive with shadows--and soon found herself standing in front of the bathroom door, her fingers wrapping lightly around the handle.  Despite the glorious peace that was encircling her and making bubbles of laughter slip from her lips, she couldn't help but wonder what kind of god would send a dream that saw her going to the bathroom, for goodness' sake--and then the door swung open before her, and all thought stopped.

 It was such a beautiful little bathroom, with an old-fashioned porcelain bathtub in one corner, knobs of polished bronze and filled with softly-scented soaps, and a sink of the same material and make against the opposite wall.  Even the medicine cabinet, a square mirror framed in blond wood to match the floorboards, seemed elegant and refined, and as she reached for it, she knew very well that she could never taint such a beautiful and elegant room with what she was suddenly sure she was about to do. 

The roof, she told herself firmly, fingers somehow knowing precisely where to go in the cabinet to find what she sought.  The roof would be the best place.

Something about that particular piece of logic didn't seem terribly right, but she was smiling too hard to notice; the razor blade fit neatly into her palm, her loose grip preventing even a minute cut, and the moment the metal touched her skin, she knew relief such as she'd never felt before.  It seemed so obvious, now--so clear and perfect and right.  What better way to change things?  What better way to make sure that things were changed forever, that Chiriko would grow up and Hotohori would see his son born and Mitsukake would live to heal others?  What better way than to remove the one thing keeping them all trapped in suffering and death?  What better way?

Humming softly to herself, Miaka slipped out into the darkened hallway and made her way towards the closet.  Set at the far end, near the staircase that led downstairs, the closet held the only ladder into the cramped attic.  The attic, meanwhile, provided a small ladder onto the house's flat black roof, on which Hotohori, she remembered vaguely, had once often retreated when in need of peace from his quarrelling parents.  It seemed fitting to her, somehow, that that would be the place where she would free him of his fate, although of course it would be too late for....

(Miaka...)

No, there was no need to think about that!  After all, the solution to all their problems was at hand, wasn't it?  In a few moments, she would finally succeed at what she'd been struggling to do for what felt like so long--she would save them!!  She would save them all, and make up for the lives she hadn't saved when she'd been too afraid and too stupid to see that this was what had to be done!  And it did have to be done!

(Miaka...)

...didn't it?

She was in the attic, starting towards the ladder, when she realized that this was not a dream.  The razor blade was in her palm, and the night air was cool around her, and this was real and she was really going to do it if she didn't stop herself but how could she when this was the only way?

The only way.  It was the only way, and the only thing that she could possibly do to save them, and wasn't it fair, anyway?  She'd given up their lives, so why shouldn't her own life be given up for them?  Didn't it make sense?  Wasn't that how it was supposed to be? 

(Miaka!)

Shaking her head, Miaka gripped the ladder--carefully, so as not to injure herself with the razor--and soon found herself standing alone on the broad, flat surface that was the roof.  It, too, seemed smooth and alive in the darkness, and even as she pushed the wooden flap back down over the ladder, she couldn't help but smile at its beauty.  The night sky was rich with stars and a slim crescent moon, casting a silvery glow over everything, and the lights of the city burned against the distant hills; she hadn't been enjoying the view for more than a few seconds, however, when the moonlight glittered against the silver square in her palm, and she was reminded, suddenly, of the task awaiting her.  She thought, dimly, that what she was about to do might hurt, but the thought was so distant that she barely noticed it.  Before she was completely aware of what she was doing, she was walking calmly to the edge of the roof, the blade sliding neatly between her index finger and thumb, and was gazing down into the hazy darkness below.

Just one quick slash.  One quick slash, and it would all be better--everything would be the way it was supposed to be, and everyone would be alive who should be alive...except of course for Tamahome's family and  Nu--

She came to a halt, toes stretching just beyond the edge of the roof, and felt, for the first time, the enormity of the drop beneath her, as well as the solidity of the razor blade in her fingers.  And as these realizations trickled into her, slow but steady, she became aware of the sudden presence of warm hands on her shoulders, and the voice that had been with her all along...

"Miaka..."

It's not real...he's dead...it's not real...

But, it was, and she knew it.  When she turned, Nuriko was there, standing behind her in a white button-down and black slacks, hands folded together in front of him, the warm breeze sending wisps of shaggy violet hair fluttering against his ears.  He seemed paler than usual, somehow, and it wasn't until she brushed the tears from her eyes that she realized that there was a haze around him, as if an aura of moonlight surrounded his body; she had only a moment to think on that, however, before he'd stepped forward and pulled her back from the edge, slim white fingers drawing the blade from her hand as he moved. 

"N...Nuriko," she managed hoarsely.  "How can you--"

"Shhhh."  She heard the clatter of the razor blade hitting a distant patch of tile, and then Nuriko's arms were around her, pulling her down until they sat together on the ground, Nuriko holding her so closely that she could hear the phantom thud of his heartbeat beneath her ear.  As he spoke, he rocked her gently, and she was sure she could hear tears in his voice.  "Miaaaaaka," he whispered.  "Why would you want to do that?  Ne, Miaka?  Why would you want to do that?"

Slender palms caressed her suddenly-moist cheeks, drawing her face up to meet rosy-violet eyes that glittered in the moonlight, and despite all that she wanted and needed to say, all that came out was a small, choked sob.  "I'm sorry!" she wept at last, fingers clenching tightly to the fabric of his shirt.  "I'm sorry, but it's the only way I can save them, Nuriko, it's the only way the only way..."

She felt soft hands smoothing at her hair, sweeping the sweat-sticky strands back from her forehead.  "Miaka," Nuriko said gently, "it's not."

"But...but it's what I have to do!  Suzaku...Suzaku sent me the dream so I would know!  H-He answered my prayer--"

"No."  His voice, firm and strong, sliced effortlessly through her words.  "Miaka, he loves you.  This isn't the end he wants for you, believe me.  You're his Priestess, and even if you're still blinded by how deeply you want this to be real..."  She heard the rustle of Nuriko shaking his head.  "He loves you, and he would never send a dream like that to you.  Never."

It wasn't him. It wasn't him I don't have to do it but--

"But, it's right, isn't it?" she demanded, pushing herself up and out of his embrace.  "It's right.  If I...if I die..."

Nuriko gazed at her levelly, such a strength in his voice that she barely recognized it.  "If you die," he said slowly, "then, yes, their fates will been broken.  But, Miaka...your life in the Book was worth more than that, wasn't it?  Don't forget, if you free the fates of Hotohori-sama, Chiriko, and Mitsukake, you free the fates of Nakago and the Seiryuu seishi, also.  And even if they might not be evil in this world, you have no idea what evil might be done through them."
She stared at him blankly for a moment, a chill working its way up her spine, before she could find the will to speak.  "What...what do you mean, what evil might be done through them?"

"There's a man," Nuriko said after a moment, very softly.  "He was a prince, once, in the Book World, but he was sentenced to die because of his allegiance to Dark Arts.  He didn't die, though, Miaka--at least, his soul didn't.  He was reborn as a demon, and had dreams of overthrowing the Four Gods and ruling the world.  But...he had very little power in the world, and so he needed humans--powerful humans--to aid him.  Humans who might, under the right circumstances, be able to summon one of the Four Gods and give him the power he desired.  That man's name was Tenkou, Miaka, and the humans he found to help him were the Seiryuu no Shichiseishi.  But, when you made that wish--"  He shook his head.  "Tenkou, like everything else from the Book, was brought into this world, and was given another chance at achieving what he'd failed to do in the Book.  He contacted Nakago first, and since the Seiryuu seishi were drawn to one another, anyway, it wasn't long before he had almost all of them.  He gave them a copy of the Book, and that--plus all that it helped them remember--was enough to convince them that he was telling them the truth.

"He told them about you, Miaka, and about how their fates were sealed to what they'd been in the Book.  He told them that they were going to die unless they did something about it, and he told them to kill you.  And do you know what happened, Miaka?  They refused.  Tenkou told them that all they would need to do was change something that had happened in the Book, and so--rather than trying to hurt you--they decided to try to keep one another alive, instead.  But...well, it didn't quite work out that way, as you know.  They still won't kill you, Miaka.  Tenkou has told them again and again that it is the only way, but they won't.  But...as they start dying...  They might change their minds.  Like anyone, they don't want to die, and Tenkou won't rest until he's killed you.  You have to be very careful, Miaka.  I can't always be here...and you need to survive.  You must survive."

"But--" Her voice seemed too high and too shrill, but she couldn't seem to calm it.  "But, if he wants me dead...what can I do to stop him?  I-If he can get into my dreams, then what can I do?"

Nuriko regarded her almost sadly, then, something in his eyes that seemed poised between sorrow and relief.  "You can wake up," he whispered, "and fulfill your duties as Suzaku no Miko."

~*~