A Card Captor Sakura Fanfiction
Part Three
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. (Oh! And Ani DiFranco owns the song, "Two Little Girls," and while I stole it shamelessly
and completely without permission, I'm not claiming it as my own. Bah!)
You were fresh off the boat from Virginia
I had a year in New York City under my belt
We met in a dream
We were both 19
I remember where we were standing
I remember how it felt
Two little girls growing out of their training bras
This little girl breaks furniture, this little girl breaks laws
Two girls together
Just a little less alone
This little girl cries wee wee
All the way home
[Noon; Ten Months Ago]
I've always thought that steam is just safe smoke, but I'm not sure that's really the case. Sure, they look similar, all misty and amorphous, but steam billows in a way that most smoke just can't quite manage. Cigarette smoke is something else entirely.
Cigarette smoke is sharp, like a mostly-insubstantial razor. It cuts through the steam billowing up from my hot spring. Of course, if I'd ever learned the trick of blowing smoke-rings I might be able to manage softer exhalations.
When did I start smoking, you wonder?
A week after Syaoran died. I'd . . . rather not talk about it.
I tap ash off onto the rock next to me then lean back into the stone-lined bath. There's really something almost sinful about near-scalding water and abrasive rocks against one's bare back and buttocks. I'm sure Sakura would agree with me if she was around.
Actually, now that I think about it, I'm not really sure where she's gone off to. I should probably go look for her to make sure she's not trying to kill herself again. She's already tried a couple times. If she makes a third attempt, I may just have to strangle her myself. Or at least I'd have to give her a very stern talking-to, once I'd finished with the inevitable panic attack brought on by her misery. Yes, it's definitely time to go check on Sakura-chan.
I hoist myself from the onsen, gasping at the chill of the air. Goosebumps rise on my bare flesh like some sort of virulent skin disease and the tender flesh of my breasts and belly prickle at the thought. The resort we're staying at is high enough in the mountains that even though it's summer, it's still pretty nippy. My mother recommended this place to Sakura and I. Actually, she bought us the whole trip as a graduation present. It was an unusual choice for a pair of high-school graduates, but my mother has always had good instincts about this sort of thing.
It took several days to actually convince Sakura to come with me to the resort. She had still been functioning at a merely marginal level after Syaoran's death. She managed to graduate, though it was due more to my considerable pull at school than to any effort of her own. But she finally agreed to come with me to the mountains. I think it was the promise of quiet and solitude that finally convinced her. Or perhaps she thought there would be more opportunities to steal razor blades or bottles of over-the-counter sleep medication.
Wrapping a yukata around myself, I pad off down the flagstone path to the main lodge, my hair dripping chilly water down the back of my neck.
I knew I shouldn't have gotten my hair wet.
As it turns out, Sakura isn't in our room. The room is as impersonally immaculate as when I left it this morning. She isn't loitering around the kitchenette, nor is she in the bathroom trying to slit her wrists again. I mutter a quick prayer of gratitude for small blessings.
I finally end up asking the hawk-nosed concierge if he's seen my roommate and vacation partner. He gives me a slightly supercilious stare, taking in my bare feet, dripping hair, and shivering shoulders, then suggests I head out to the dojo.
I decide to ignore the man's stares and thank him politely.
His eyes are glued to the swing of my hips as I leave.
Idiot.
Sakura is, indeed, in the dojo. She's seated by the open shoji in a nest of scattered sunbeams, arms wrapped around her knees. Her gaze is fixed on the agile maneuvering of two young men in gi's who are sparring with swords. I really don't know much about martial arts, but even I can tell they're very good. The blades are whistling through the air as they dodge and weave, dancing back and forth across the wooden floor. The rush of their breaths and the swish of the blades are the only sounds.
They're beautiful in an effortlessly masculine way, muscles bunching and stretching beneath fine cotton.
Belatedly I realize that they're fighting with Chinese-style swords; tai chi swords, I think.
The man on the left looks a little like Syaoran, particularly when the sword dance brings him into the sunlight, which glints gold against his unruly hair. He's a bit taller than Syaoran is. Was.
I sigh and settle down next to Sakura. She shows no sign of noticing me, so intent upon the sparring is she. To my surprise, when I follow the line of her gaze, I realize she's watching the man on the right, the tall, thin one with red-shot black hair.
"The other guy looks more like him," I note calmly, reaching out to clasp her hand her hand in mine. Her fingers twitch in response. Her face is expressionless.
Sakura absently strokes her thumb against my palm; I don't think she even realizes that she's doing it. "Yeah, but the dark-haired one moves like him."
"Why are you watching them?" I ask suddenly, my heart in my voice. Why bring more pain upon yourself?
"They're very good, you know," Sakura comments quietly. "Almost as good as Syaoran was." Her voice has that unnaturally steady, wooden quality that I associate with suppressed emotions. "Syaoran was a bit quicker on his feet, though. More imaginative too."
"You don't need to put yourself through this, Sakura-chan." I slide closer and slip my arm around her shoulders. She leans back against my body. For a moment, I'm horrified; her shoulders are shaking against my arm. "You shouldn't torture yourself like this." Once more, I find myself hurting for her. And I realize that it's not Sakura who's shaking; it's me.
"When I watch them," Sakura continues, "It's like I can pretend, for just a moment, that he's still here with me."
The man with the gold-brown hair steps once more into the sunlight and I have to avert my eyes. I miss Syaoran too, though not quite the same way Sakura does.
"You're still hurting," I note. My voice quavers a little. Her pain is almost tangible.
Sakura stiffens and pulls away from me just enough to look me straight in the eyes. "Stop that, Tomoyo-chan," she says sternly, her mouth fixed in a disapproving frown.
"What are you talking about?" Once again, she has me confused.
"Stop trying to mourn for me," she explains. "It doesn't work."
"I'm not . . ." I'm just trying to help you, Sakura-chan.
"Yes, you are!" Her voice has risen to a strangled little shriek and the fencers have noticed us. I blush.
Sakura looks startled by her outburst. Then her eyes fill with tears and she staggers to her feet. "I . . . think I need to lie down for a while." Then she runs back toward the main building.
The two young men with the swords are staring at me now. I'm not sure whether it's because of the scene Sakura and I were making or whether it's because I'm still wearing only a damp yukata. I pause to give them an apologetic smile. Then I go after Sakura.
By the time I catch up with her, she's made it back to the room we share. Mother spared no expense when planning our vacation. She even managed to reserve the 'honeymoon suite' for Sakura and myself. I didn't think I could explain it without blushing, so I didn't tell Sakura about it. But the room was beautifully decorated, an intriguing mixture of classic and modern decor. Sakura doesn't seem to care at the moment; she's face-down on her futon.
For a brief instant, it looks like she isn't breathing and I panic.
"Sakura?!"
Then she stirs and rolls over enough to peer at me out of one eye, her hair a tumbled mess around her face. "I'm fine, Tomoyo-chan," she mumbles. "I just need a little rest. That's all."
"That's bullshit," I tell her bluntly.
I don't think Sakura's ever heard me use profanity and she's startled into sitting upright and staring at me.
"You're more than tired, Sakura-chan," I continue calmly. "You're grieving. And for your information, I can't help but mourn with you. Not only was Li-kun my friend, but you're my best friend and seeing you in pain hurts more than anything else I can imagine."
Sakura frowns and sits up. "So you brought me all the way out to the mountains just to let me grieve?"
"Actually, my mother planned all of this," I correct her gently. "I already told you that . . ."
"No, wait," Sakura interrupts, gesturing sharply with her hand. "That's not the point. What about you?"
"What about me?" I wince inwardly. Sakura's moving toward an uncomfortable topic. I hope she doesn't pursue this one . . .
"What about your mourning, Tomoyo-chan?" Sakura looks angry now and I'm not sure why. "Why do you always think of me first, and then yourself last?"
Perhaps I should note that this is the most energy I've seen from Sakura in weeks. I'm not sure which is worse: her horrible lethargy or this sudden, inexplicable fury aimed toward myself.
"You're my best friend, Sakura-chan," I begin carefully. She can tell I'm improvising, edging around something I really don't want to discuss now. "I care about you. I want to make sure you're alright. I thought that this trip would be a good way to give you time to grieve. If you want to go back we can . . ."
"You're changing the subject!" she accuses as she rises from her futon. She stomps toward me.
I take an inadvertent step backward. I've never seen Sakura like this and I'm almost afraid of what's going to happen. It's obvious that she's been thinking about this for a while now. It makes me wonder what other, more dangerous things she's been contemplating.
"Well?" Sakura prompts. She steps closer. I step back. "Why do you always think of me before yourself, Tomoyo-chan? I want to know!"
I take a final step backward and find myself trapped by the shouji. Damn. Just my luck. So I temporize. "Sakura-chan . . . it's very complicated . . ."
"We've got time," she tells me, eyes narrowing. "Start talking."
Sakura is more perceptive than most people give her credit for. Even I tend to underestimate her at times. This appears to be one of those times. My hands spasm against the paper of the shouji behind me. Somehow, she's managed to turn the tables on me. Instead of forcing her to deal with her grief, I'm being forced to deal with something else entirely.
She reaches out a hand and touches my cheek. It takes all of my failing willpower not to flinch as searing warmth spreads from the tips of her fingers across my face.. "I love you," she says quietly, seriously, her anger sliding smoothly into something even more confusing. "You know I always have."
Yes, this is something else entirely.
And suddenly she's kissing me with a sort of clumsy intensity, her teeth clicking against mine in her rush. My nostrils flare as I desperately try to regain my breath and my balance. These aren't the chaste kisses of our childhood. She's kissing me the way I've seen her kiss Syaoran, with an almost spiritual fury.
"You don't always have to be the healer, Tomoyo-chan," she tells me between kisses. Her hands are now tangled in my damp hair, holding my head still and imprisoned. "Let someone else feel pain, for once."
"No," is all I can quickly gasp out. "No." This isn't what I wanted, never what I wanted. Sakura hasn't merely overstepped the careful boundaries I'd laid out, she's removing the boundaries completely, totally. She can't possibly understand what she's doing . . .
Sakura's hands are cold, her fingers nimble as she carefully tugs my obi loose. My yukata falls open, the chilly air spiking along bare skin. "Hush, Tomoyo," she murmurs against my throat. "Just let me love you." Her voice is pleading now and my resistence is flagging. "We both need this."
I know nothing about need, but Sakura's touch is something I've always wanted, desperately and without exception. Between her soothing admonitions, her lips soft against my collarbone, and her hands sliding up along my ribcage, it's becoming difficult to continue rejecting her. As her palms feather across my breasts, she realizes how very close I am to breaking and she stops.
"Tomoyo?" Her voice holds a hint of worry. "Tomoyo, look at me please . . ."
I hadn't realized that my eyes were closed so it's a shock to open them and realize that Sakura's cheeks are wet with tears.
"Just let this happen, Tomoyo," she continues, her green eyes dull with lingering grief. "It's a physical comfort we can give each other. Just let it be."
So, with a sigh that shakes my whole body, I kiss her back. Even as I'm figuring out how to unobtrusively slip her yukata off, I marvel at how distressingly skillful she seems at this sort of physicality. Once her nervousness wears off, her lips are clever against mine, smooth and supple as they trace down toward my neck and breasts. In fact, I barely get her yukata off in time for her to push me gently down onto the futon.
I am soon thanking all the gods that might be listening that we have our window shaded. Sakura's hands drift lower, sliding down across my moon-pale belly, the still lower to nestle between my thighs. My usually iron composure buckles under her persistent ministrations and it takes me a while before I'm able to reciprocate. With the edge of my hunger faded, I turn my attentions to repaying this gift she's given me.
Before long I begin to realize that it's not mere physical warmth that we're sharing on a single futon in a mountain resort. With each caress, my senses sharpen. Each kiss sends my consciousness flying in broad arcs, like a fisherman's net thrown into the rising tide. I have no experience with either sex or magic, but I know enough to understand that something extraordinary is happening. Much as I shared Sakura's agony and grief on the night that Syaoran died, I can now feel every sensation of my hands against her skin, every flexing of muscle and sinew along her body. I'm almost painfully aware of the rise and fall of her gentle, fluttering climaxes.
Like a silvery web, strong and fine as silk, the plane of my mind expands, touching other lives as I pass by. Sakura still dominates, but I'm now aware of the other guests at the resort, moving complacently through their assorted leisure activities. Ancient conifers are like steel girders, forming the underpinnings of the gently pulsing life in the surrounding forests. The sky is bright over my head, the stones warm and alive beneath my feet and Sakura is . . .
. . . Suddenly still, her body arched next to mine, sweat cooling along the length of her torso and legs. She's staring at me, her expression a mixture of fear and wonder.
"What are you doing?" she asks me in a soft whisper that reminds me how young she really is. We are both only eighteen.
"I . . . don't know," I admit in a rush. "Something's happening to me." Despite the loss of the glorious freedom that Sakura's body offered me, I can still feel the tendrils of power reaching out to me from the surrounding forest. Power continues to pulse up through the floor, curling deep in my abdomen like an unborn child -- content, for now, to simply wait.
"I felt a flash of something," Sakura says, eyes wide as she stares at me. "It wasn't magic. I'd recognize that."
"What is it?!" I'm not the magical one. I'm the supportive best friend. I'm not designed to deal with this sort of metaphysical nonsense. It's been a long, long time since I've been truly frightened.
"It reminds me a little of the power Oniichan used to have," Sakura muses. She nibbles on the inside of her cheek as she thinks.
"That doesn't answer my question, Sakura-chan," I whisper, my hands instinctively moving to rest across my stomach, where the skin is still abnormally warm and my muscles are trembling ever so slightly. I feel as though I'm hovering somewhere between euphoria and vertigo.
"Does it hurt?" Sakura's expression shifts from fascination to worry.
"No . . ." It actually feels rather . . . comfortable. But I don't think I can tell Sakura that. "I should probably go talk to your brother once we get home," I decide. "Maybe he'll have an idea what's happening. Or maybe Yue will." I need to tell someone about this . . . heat. Someone, anyone, other than Sakura.
Sakura brightens at my suggestion. It's obvious that she wants this dealt with. Sakura dislikes problems that cannot be solved or explained. "That's a great idea, Tomoyo-chan!" A relieved smile blossoms across her face, the first I've seen in a long time. Something seems to have changed in her. I would like to think that it is due to me, or perhaps a mind-blowing sexual experience, but I somehow doubt it.
I sigh and twist over to lie on my back, thoughts looping back upon themselves with dizzying frequency. Now that I'm no longer entwined with Sakura, I'm beginning to get cold. Despite her frequent insistence that she isn't telepathic, Sakura somehow senses my chill, pulls the blanket up to cover the both of us and snuggles in next to me, arms wrapped around my waist. We're quiet for a few minutes, each lost in our own separate thoughts.
"Are you upset that I seduced you?" Sakura asks plaintively after a while, nuzzling her chin against my shoulder. I realize, as I never have before, just how pale I am. Against my ivory shin, flushed only slightly from our exertions, Sakura seems almost golden-brown, a smattering of freckles accenting her vitality.
"Of course not," I tell her. And it's the truth. Something has changed between the two of us, something terribly profound, but it's not necessarily a bad thing. "And you?" I hold my breath, ready for the worst. What on earth possessed me to sleep with her? There's absolutely no way our friendship will ever survive this. What will I do without Sakura in my life?
"You're still my best friend," Sakura replies easily, burying her head in my thick hair. "And I still love you as I always have." Sakura is stronger than she and I ever give her credit for. She was strong enough to conquer Clow's ill-planned legacy, strong enough to beat Eriol at his own silly games. I have a feeling she'll be able to overcome her grief as well.
"And I still love you too, Sakura-chan," I agree, with a sigh of relief. And I truly do. Though perhaps I don't love her the way I always have . . .
That thought settles deep in my mind now, as Sakura falls asleep in my arms. Despite the fact that I am now holding, to my bare breasts, the one person I have yearned for since my earliest memories, something seems off-kilter. Somehow, this moment isn't the joyous triumph that I was half-expecting. Could I be so selfish that now not even Sakura is enough to whet my need? Or is there something much more complicated going on.
At the moment, I can't quite bring myself to ponder the matter. No matter what puzzles
this incident has produced, I am physically sated . . . and exhausted. Events have been set in
motion and I'm afraid to see where they'll take me to. Or who they'll take me from.
You were always half crazy, now look at you baby
Make about as much sense as a nursery rhyme
Love is a piano dropped out a four story window
And you were in the wrong place at the wrong time
Coming Next -- Fuel
Tomoyo must decide how badly she wants the truth. Bonds will be broken and new ones
forged. In the end, who is more important: Sakura or Tomoyo, herself? And finally,
Tomoyo is forced to seek aid from a very unlikely -- and decidedly ambivalent -- source.
And they say that alcoholics are always alcoholics
Even when they're as dry as my lips for years
Even when they're stranded on a small desert island
With no place in 2,000 miles to buy beer
And I wonder
Is he different?
Is he different?
Has he changed? What he's about?...
Or is he just a liar with nothing to lie about?