A Card Captor Sakura Fanfiction
Part Two
All characters portrayed here are the property of CLAMP, Kodansha, a bunch of other Japanese
media companies, and a certain Canadian dubbing company that will heretofore go unnamed. I
don't claim to own these characters, but the situations I put them in belong to me. I would rather
this wasn't posted anywhere without my permission, so email me with questions. Don't steal. I
bite.
Lyrics are from Ani DiFranco's "Pixie."
I'm a pixie
I'm a paperdoll
I'm a cartoon
I'm a chipper cheerful free for all
And I light up a room
I'm the color-me-happy girl
Miss live-and-let-live
And when they're out for blood
I always give
[Mid-Afternoon; One Year Ago]
Perhaps I'd better explain.
I am still in high school -- nominally -- but school is such a minor part of my life that I pay little attention to it. I am at the top of my class through a quirk of genetics and a healthy dose of luck. I have been called brilliant, but I tend to disagree.
Brilliance is a better descriptor for my Sakura. Oh, she'll never be an intellectual, but she already shines brighter than I ever will. During our childhood together, I frequently puzzled over what made Sakura so very special. It wasn't her mind or her looks, though she is certainly attractive. (Syaoran agrees with me on this one; or he would if he were close enough to do so.) It was only when she began to discover her magic that I finally understood.
Sakura practically oozes mystical energy. She's fey and wild and intensely alive. By birth and fate, Sakura is a sorceress, a witch, a seer. She hides her magic well, but it's always there and it's always drawn me.
By birth, I might be as much a witch as Sakura, but fate didn't agree. Despite my apparent brilliance, despite my songs and eyes and mind, I didn't inherit my mother's magic. Not a glimmer. But I am still drawn by the magic of others, which brings me back to the subject at hand.
Sakura.
I've loved her since I met her. I probably always will. But Clow, that meddling busybody, dead all these centuries, had different ideas. The manipulations of a long-dead sorcerer have cheated me out of true love, but I've had plenty of time to resign myself to that fact. I will never be able to have Sakura for myself. It hurts, even now, but time dulls pain and fresh wounds scab over eventually.
So I watch her. I watch over her. I've spent most of my life protecting Sakura from hurt and pain and the uglier sides of life. But, unlike my mother, I know I can't keep her. Caged birds don't fly very well and I refuse to force Sakura to share my cage with me. So instead, I'll cushion her if she falls. I bind up her wounds and listen to her teenage anguish. But I can't share my own wounds or she'll be hurt too. I can't share my love with her for that same reason.
Does any of this make sense?
I try to puzzle through the logic and fairness of my situation sometimes when I'm alone. (I'm alone frequently.) I'm usually good at puzzles but this one's ridiculously complex. Sakura is an open book. So is Syaoran, or at least I assume he still is. It's been a couple of years since I've seen him and his letters to me are all ridiculously succinct. I am not an open book, however. It's something I've cultivated since childhood. Even now, as I wait in the park for Sakura, I'm keeping safe behind my smile.
Any moment now Sakura will come tearing into sight, out of breath, hair tousled and streaming behind her. I'll be waiting here on this chilly bench.
She's going to Tell Me Something. I have a feeling it has something to do with Syaoran. Touya let slip this morning that Sakura spent two hours on the phone with the Chinese boy last night. Sakura's brother and I are working part-time at the same bookstore and he's proving to be a prime source of gossip from the Kinomoto household. A two-hour phone conversation could mean many things for Sakura. I'm so tense with anticipation that my neck has been aching all day.
I nibble absently at a peanut butter cookie as I wait. It's my fifth one today. If I was a normal girl, I'd be worried about my figure, worried that the calories of the cookie were drifting directly to my hips. But as we've already established, I'm not normal. I could eat a dozen of these cookies and not gain any weight. Believe me I've tried. I remain stubbornly frail. Other girls at school envy my slim figure, my translucent skin and delicate features. I don't think they realize how easily I bruise or how unlikely it is that I will ever be strong enough to bear a child. My mother has told me before how much I remind her of Kinomoto Nadesico, but I realize now that I'm probably not even as strong as she was. Sakura's mother managed to bring two children into the world before her energy was sapped utterly. I suspect I will never be so lucky.
Then again, it's fairly useless to even ponder my future now. If there's anything I've learned from my years at Sakura's side -- watching her, filming her, loving her -- it's that you'll never guess what will happen next.
And then, suddenly, she's here. There's a huge smile plastered across her face and her glorious green eyes are alight. I recognize her expression. Whatever she's going to tell me will have something to do with Syaoran. I'm sure of it.
"Guess who I talked to last night?" she asks me as she comes to a halt in front of my bench, skidding on the loose gravel.
"Li-kun?" I hazard a guess.
Sakura blushes. She's adorable when she blushes. "Oniichan told you, didn't he?"
All at once, I regret spoiling her surprise. "Yes," I admit. "But he only said that you'd talked for two hours last night on the phone."
Sakura's smile shines as she plops down on the bench next to me. "Well, Syaoran-kun talked to his mother," she announces, obviously pleased with herself.
The tension in my neck increases, shooting bright sparks of pain along my spine. "That's nice," I say. "What did he talk to her about?"
"The Clow Cards." All at once, Sakura's expression is grave. "Li-sama has finally recognized me as the Clow Mistress." There's a catch in her voice that I think I understand.
"That's new," I comment gently, attempting to steer Sakura toward the reason for her excitement. "Does that mean that Li-kun is officially no longer your 'rival?'" That would certainly be sufficient cause for celebration. The matriarch of the Li clan is nothing if not careful about her decisions. She's been angling to somehow take the Cards from Sakura ever since she captured them all, seven years ago.
"He's no longer my rival," Sakura confirmed, "But Li-sama has decided that she still wants the Cards under the jurisdiction of the Li clan. That's what Syaoran-kun talked to me about last night."
For a moment, I'm completely baffled. Then realization comes upon my like false dawn over the ocean. And it hurts a little. Just a little more pain to add to my stockpile. "Congratulations, Sakura-chan," I say, my smile gentle and my eyes misty with vicarious joy. "When will the blessed even take place? You are still in high school, in case Li-kun and his mother forgot . . ."
Sakura's face is scarlet. "Oh, no, Tomoyo-chan," she says quickly. "We're not getting . . . married or anything. Li-sama has offered to complete my training with the Cards on the condition that I am adopted into the clan. I'm going to go live with her and Syaoran-kun in Hong Kong for a while after graduation."
As usual, I don't allow my face to display my emotions. Perhaps I pale a little, but my smile remains firmly in place. "That's wonderful," I announce. Perhaps Sakura doesn't view the arrangement as a prelude to marriage, but it's clear that the Li matriarch has set it up as such. Marriage is the only was to bring the Cards into her family without action that would alienate her son. Syaoran probably understands this as well. I'm sure he'll explain it to Sakura. Eventually.
Sakura continues to prattle on about how exciting it will be to go to Hong Kong again, how much she misses Syaoran-kun, how she can't wait until graduation. I don't think she notices the distant look in my eyes as I slowly realize what such an announcement means to me, to Daidouji Tomoyo. Already I can feel the great gaping hollow she'll leave inside me.
Our time together in the park passes in a haze. My muscles are stiff, from my neck on down, and my face is starting to ache from my fixed smile. Sakura is too busy enthusing to notice such minor facets of behavior. Finally I remind Sakura that she has a paper due tomorrow and she's barely begun the research. With a yelp, she remembers.
"I've got to run, Tomoyo-chan," she says, flinging her arms around my neck.
For a brief, bittersweet moment, I can pretend.
"I'm going to miss you so much when I go to Hong Kong," she murmurs, her breath stirring the wisps of hair that escape from my braids. "Without you, how will I remember to turn in term papers?"
We both laugh like children, then go our separate ways.
I detour through the park, making two complete circuits before heading for home. By the time I slip in through the front door, my mother has begun to get worried. I'm not sure what she has to worry about. What sort of idiotic thug would bother the daughter of Daidouji Sonomi? I think even the criminal element of Tomoeda is aware of my untouchable status. Besides, the self-defense classes that my mother enrolled me in a few years back are probably enough to get me out of any significant trouble.
"Where on earth were you, Tomoyo-chan?" My mother is still an attractive woman despite the scowl that mars her features.
"Sakura-chan and I were at the park," I tell her. "I'm sorry I forgot to call and say where I was going."
"Ah," she says quietly. "Your dinner's in the kitchen."
I nod and silently retreat to my waiting dinner, interrupting a tentative attempt by my mother to engage me in conversation. Mother and I don't talk much and that's the way I prefer it. It's not hard to avoid her, actually. Our house is ridiculously oversized for the two of us, particularly since I spend most of my time at home doing school work in my room.
Mother looks in on me around nine. I'm in my room, working studiously on an essay for my literature class.
"I'm fine, Mother," I tell her with a smile. It's as close as I can get to a genuine smile. Sometimes I think I haven't really smiled in a decade.
"Are you sure, Tomoyo?" she asks again, worry catching faintly in her voice. "You've been looking a bit . . . out of sorts for the past two days . . . ."
I can tell that "out of sorts" wasn't the first descriptor she had in mind. I would guess that "haggard" might fit better, or perhaps "hollow and gaunt." I make an effort of project reassurance. "I'm just tired," I say. And it's true. I'm at the end of my resources. The whole complicated situation with Sakura is getting a little too exhausting when added to exams for school and this ridiculous part-time job that I took on. Even Touya commented on my pallor at work this morning. Touya's observant, but he tends to keep his comments to himself.
My mother strides out of the shelter of my doorway and fully into my room. No matter how domestic and motherly she tries to act at times, she still strides like the CEO of her corporation. "You're more than tired," she corrected me gently. "You take on too much work, Tomoyo-chan. Is there anything you can drop?"
I shake my head briskly. "Student council needs me to chair the graduation committee," I begin, ticking points off on my fingers. "The choir director has been begging and pleading to have me sing the solo for the spring concert. Exams are coming up and I've already agreed to help the tutoring program after school. I can't quit work or I'll get a bad reference and won't find work later. And Sakura's in the middle of something very complicated with Li-kun right now." I've been through the list in my head before but it's daunting to actually recite it out loud.
"What on earth were you thinking by taking on all that work?" My mother's face is a mask of horrified fascination. It's as though she can't quite figure out how she gave birth to such a frenetic overachiever as myself. She settles gingerly on my bed next to me. "Tomoyo, I understand having obligations, but why don't you let Sakura work her own problems out this time?"
For a moment, I have absolutely no idea what she's talking about. Sakura's problems are my problems. It would be like ignoring a sore tooth in hopes that someone else would take care of it.
My bafflement must be obvious because my mother suddenly smiles at me. "Sakura's a big girl now," she reminds me gently. "Doesn't she deserve to have a private life?"
Then, in a sudden flush of crimson, I'm furious. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about, Mother," I say, my voice startlingly harsh to my own ears. I hope I'm not developing a cold or something.
"Oh, Tomoyo," my mother sighs. I can tell she's working hard to remain sympathetic. It's difficult for her, though. She and I have never been terribly close. "You can't keep this up! No one could!" Particularly not a high-school student with a delicate constitution like yours, she doesn't say. She doesn't have to.
"Mother." My voice is sharp and cold. Is this the only way? "Sakura is my best friend and she needs my support. End of conversation. Would you have abandoned Nadesico in such a situation, mother?"
She recoils as though slapped and I'm instantly contrite. I never mean to hurt her. It just happens. "I see," she says, her voice low and utterly flat. She rises stiffly from my bed and smooths her skirt. "Finish your homework and get some sleep, Tomoyo. I'll see you in the morning." And then she's gone.
I stare for a moment at the door she closed behind her. There's a life-sized poster of Sakura in one of my costumes on the back. Her green eyes glitter back at me and her teeth are very white in the dim light of my bedroom. Then, without warning, I burst into tears. My exhaustion must really be getting to me if I'm suddenly crying for no reason.
I abandon my literature essay in favor of wasting a little time online. These brief email checks are what keeps me sane during these long nights of studying, planning, writing, and thinking. I begin to sift through the new messages in my box. First, I delete the obvious spam. Mother buys me the top of the line in spam-avoidance software, but the advertisers are too canny to be stopped by software for very long. As a result, a slew of junk emails have made it through the spam filters. Advertisements for credit cards, pornography, electronics, and work-at-home opportunities are quickly deposited in the trash can.
Then I notice an email from an unknown sender. The virus software isn't triggered when I open the email so I read the first line.
It's from Syaoran's mother.
I briefly wonder how on earth she found out what my email address was. Then I move on to the meat of the note.
There was an accident, she writes. A car accident. The car that Wei, Syaoran, and Meiling were in was hit by a drunk driver on one of the back-roads near the Li compound this afternoon. Wei and the other driver were killed instantly. Meiling is in the hospital and it looks like she's going to pull through. When the paramedics pulled Syaoran from the wreckage, he was alive but hemorrhaging severely. By the time they got him to the hospital . . .
Syaoran is dead.
The Li matriarch is going to call Sakura herself this evening, probably already has. Li wanted to drop me a quick note so that I can be there to help Sakura. For a moment, I marvel that despite the loss of her only son, Li is able to think about the mental well-being of the girl who stole the Cards from her family, the girl who would have been her daughter-in-law in a few years.
But I can't think about that right now. I need to get to Sakura.
I briefly contemplate calling the Kinomoto house first, but then I realize that there would be no real use in it. If Sakura hadn't heard the news from Li yet, then what would I do? Instead I bolt from the sanctuary of my room. I call out some sort of excuse to my mother as I dash down the stairs at top speed. She pokes her head out of her study to ask me what on earth I'm rushing for. But I don't have time to stop.
The front door slams behind me.
Sakura's house is only a few blocks from mine, but it seems like forever. I'm not used to running, particularly not on uneven sidewalk in the stylish sandals that I slipped on at home. I'll have to remember not to run in platform sandals in the future.
By the time I skid around the corner and up to the front gate of the Kinomoto house, I can barely breathe. My face is so hot that I'm sure it's beet red. Beet red is not one of my better colors, particularly not when paired with my wheezing gasps of breath. I pound on the door.
I wait almost a minute before knocking again. This time, I keep up a steady stream of noise. When my knuckles get sore, I start kicking. There's an irate shout from inside and then the door is torn open.
"What do you wa -- Tomoyo?!" Touya's paler than I've ever seen him and his hair is more rumpled than usual. I can tell from the hollow shock in his eyes that he's heard the news. "Come in," he says before turning and heading up the stairs toward Sakura's room.
I realize, as I close the door behind me and follow Touya, that he's older than I remember. I think I've always envisioned Touya as Sakura's big brother, still in high school. But he's not seventeen anymore; I am. He's twenty-three and worry has stooped Sakura's tall, broad-shouldered brother. I wonder what else I haven't noticed recently.
Yukito is huddled on the floor outside Sakura's closed door. He appears to be murmuring something in a soothing voice to the doorknob.
"Any luck?" Touya asks sharply.
Yukito shakes his head. "The door's still locked."
Touya bangs his fist against the door hard enough to rattle the lock mechanism. "Open the door, Sakura!" His voice breaks when he says her name.
I barely hear Sakura's quiet, determined, "No, oniichan."
"Let me try," I murmur to Touya, laying my hand on his arm.
He glances at me in surprise, as though he'd already forgotten that he'd just let me in. "If you think you can . . ."
I manage a smile. "Why don't you stay out here with Tsukishiro-san?" I suggest firmly.
Touya's frown deepens and he glances down at Yukito.
"Actually, why don't we go downstairs and make some warm milk and honey for Sakura-chan, To-ya?" Yukito's tone is gentle, but he brooks no opposition.
Touya is obviously defeated as he trails forlornly after Yukito.
I smother my smile and turn back to Sakura's door. "Sakura-chan? It's me."
Silence.
"If you don't open the door then I'll have to pick the lock," I say conversationally. "And I'm still not very good at it. I might end up breaking the lock if I try."
More silence.
"Sakura," I repeat, a little louder. "I've sent your brother and Tsukishiro-san downstairs, but if you don't open this door right now, I might just call them back up here . . ."
I can hear movement from inside her room: the rustle of her bedspread and her staggering footfalls on the carpet. Then the door unlocks.
By the time I get inside and lock the door again behind me, she's huddled back on her bed.
"Sakura-chan?" Now that I'm here with her, I'm not really sure how to proceed.
"He's dead, Tomoyo-chan." Her voice is muffled against her pillow so much that she's almost unintelligible.
I settle on the bed next to her shuddering form and lay a hand on her back. "I know," I murmur brokenly. "I already know."
Sakura's wail is that of a wild animal. It's an inhuman expression of complete and utter loss. Again, I feel completely at a loss. I've never lost a friend or family-member. Until now. Sakura continues to sob beneath her bedspread.
And suddenly I realize that I'm crying as well; not the convulsions of grief that rock my best friend, but the silent, inexorable tears that come so easily to me. But I have to be strong now. Sakura needs me, not my tears.
I pull back the bedspread enough to reveal the back of Sakura's head. Her hair is tangled and tear-damp. I smooth her hair down with pale, shaking fingers. Sakura's sobs are choked now and I have to remind her: "Breathe, Sakura-chan," I tell her. "You have to keep breathing for me and your family."
Sakura take a great, gasping breath, then shudders and returns to crying.
I'm suddenly terribly aware of her pain. I've always been inconveniently empathic, and now that skill is reaching out and drawing all of Sakura's hurt and loss into myself. I understand exactly how she feels and why she just wants to disappear and how she can't imagine what she'll do now and oh, how she wishes everything would just go away.
And it hurts. Oh, how much it hurts!
The pain is almost enough to knock me off the bed and flat against the floor. Instead, I curl up behind Sakura on her bed. She's slightly shorter than I am and her back fits perfectly against my chest and belly, spoon-fashion. We used to sleep in the same bed when we were little girls, when one of us spent the night at the other's house. She's even warmer than I remembered.
I'm cold, so very, very cold. As soon as Sakura's pain came upon me, my fingers and toes began to grow numb with cold. I'm shaking, but so is Sakura so she doesn't notice. I detached portion of my mind notes that I'm probably going into shock.
So I just hold her. That's all. With my arms wrapped around her shaking body, I try to comfort her in the only way I know how. She doesn't need platitudes right now. The anguish of Li's loss will grow less painful in time, but it would be cruel and pointless to tell her that. Instead, I just share my heart with her. It's all I can do. It's all I've ever really been able to do for her.
Some time later, I realize that Sakura's fallen asleep. She's still shaking a little, but her breathing is deep and regular and the tears on her face are beginning to dry. My own tears are still falling, slowly and steadily. I'm not sure how to stop them, or even if I should. Is this a side-effect of sharing my Sakura's pain?
I draw her closer, my palm against her sternum, my breasts against her shoulder blades. She's so warm, her body curled alongside mine. And as she sleeps, I continue to mourn for her.
And for myself.
Yeah, I would like to perfect the art
Of being studiously aloof
Like life is just a boring chore
And I am living proof
I could join forces with an army
Of ornery hipsters
But then I guess I'd be out of a job
So I guess that's out of the picture