Warnings in effect: Slight spoilers for manga backplot, this fic borrows some elements from it.

A/N:
Just a random sort of AU backplot fic I jotted down for fun—sometimes it's nice to write in a different style ^_^ I'm always interested in How Things Came to Be, so I usually have at least ten different backplots floating around in my head, and this is one of them. Please read if it suits you, I know it's a bit rough.



"Only the Inevitable"
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

There had never been a time when Clow Read didn't know everything, at least from his point of view. He had been born with the Veil and naturally, the Foresight that came with it, and from the very first his existence had been celebrated and cherished…as was only fitting and appropriate. His parents were mages, of no small renown, and even as a young child he had been able to See that their love for him would be great, and his talents would bring them honor. It was only proper and fitting, and the future could never lie. Yes, he was raised with his father's church, but his one true God was the future, shining and bright. It might not have temples or churches or holy men, but time's shining threads commanded everyone, knew their innermost secrets, and knew what would become of their ambitions. He had only to reach out and touch them to know Time was there, and it loved him.

So it was no surprise to him on that hot day in June when he met a young woman on his way home from university—though Time had not whispered her name precisely, it was still inevitable that he should meet such a lady at this most appropriate hour. He was reasonably young, reasonably attractive, and school was on its way out for the summer…the perfect time for a man of his stature to rest from his studies and look to the fairer sex.

And how fair indeed, this wonderful girl! She was standing at the corner with a too-small sun shade, utterly failing to keep the summer heat from her delicate shoulders. He caught a glimpse of an elegant wrist and instantly slowed, He was twenty, certainly eligible, and she was utterly perfect.

Even more perfect than he had seen in his visions.

"Excuse me, miss…" he addressed formally.

She turned to him slowly, as if woken from a dream.

"Yes sir?"

And Clow Read found himself staring into the eyes of the woman he was going to marry. He knew this, as he knew everything else, and it was only fitting and proper that he should speak with her.

"He's late, isn't he?" He said, pulling out a discrete and immaculate pocket watch. It had not existed even a few moments before, and would cease to exist the moment he returned it to his pocket, but she needn't know that.

"How curious you should say that." She cocked her head at him inquisitively. "Because I do happen to be waiting for someone."

"And I just happen to be the one you're waiting for." Clow pronounced. She looked at him strangely, but did not protest as he tipped his hat to her beauty. And because it was inevitable, and because it was proper and fitting, she eventually accepted his outstretched arm and light-hearted jokes with a lilting giggle that rivaled the sun itself.

They were married that very same fall in the small village chapel, a lavish affair with all the little extravagances that exceeding wealth brings. It was, in truth, a rather hasty match by the community's standards, but one does not question Old Money's eccentrics. Her family were the only ones who truly objected, thinking the man entirely unsuitable for a girl six years his junior. It had taken all his restraint not to do something incredibly rash when her brothers walked out of the wedding hall, and that surprised him. He had Seen it would happen, and knew that nothing would come of it. He was even more surprised that it was she who forced them to continue with the ceremony, lips set in a hard line as she stared down the preacher. It was the first time he could ever recall being unsettled by anything, and the surprise was both sweet and alarming. Time had not predicted this, but Time quickly washed his worries away with the sun-sweet smile of his bride on their honeymoon.

Life proceeded then, as life was wont to do, and within a few months she had forgotten her brothers' insult entirely. Though they would not take tea with "Mr. Read", they at least agreed to hold parlor while "her husband" was out. He made himself scarce and encouraged it. He knew that she was lonely in his drafty old mansion, and for the first time he found himself unable to see a clear solution to the problem. She had come to accept his magic, as he had known from the start she would do, and he had already created all manner of delights to tease her senses: whimsical music sprites to sing by her harpsichord, sugary spirits to sweeten her tea. He even made flowers for her, even caused orchids to bloom during winter…he had many visions of her clutching them happily, and it was only fitting and proper that she receive them. Yet something remained amiss between them. Then one day, she came to him in his study.

"Dearest…" she said hesitantly. "I am…of a certain age now." Here she blushed, her ivory skin turning that curious shade of pink that never failed to enthrall him.

"I would like to have a child."

And finally, he thought he understood.

He knew she would be barren so he did not burden her with the shame of trying; instead he set about to create children for her. Three days it took to make them, splitting them from earth and fire and wind and water, and he made them as the moon and the sun: glowing and beautiful, perfectly matched in every respect. They were to be male and female, as was fitting and appropriate, but when he pressed the first of them into her arms for the final Forming, something strange happened.

"Oh!" she gasped, her mouth a round 'o' of surprise. "D-did I do that?" she sputtered nervously. He rushed to her immediately, realizing his mistake, but it was already too late.

"I'm sorry, love." he whispered, making as if to take the creature from her. "I'll fix it."

"No, it's alright." she whispered, running her hands through the "child's" yellow fur, and as she did it seemed more and more fitting and proper. The second was much the same, for though the flaw in his incantation warped its form also, she cradled it lovingly and called it perfection---and the moment she said it he knew it was so.

It seemed she had a gentle magic of her own.

Perhaps that was why his Foresight began failing, or perhaps Time did hold its own secrets, because eventually he began to find that there were things that he couldn't predict. The Grand Events were no mystery to him, of course, but the smaller mysteries were: the feeling one gets on a warm summer evening with children afoot, and the strange, simple pleasure of afternoon tea-time. The children he had Forseen were not mere entertainments but actual heirs to be loved and protected and cherished. The days began to bleed together in his head, one shining smile after another, until his life was nothing but a blur of stories and laughter and light. He never noticed, the whole time, that Time was moving faster and faster, because he simply failed to pay attention to it.

…Until finally his foresight failed him completely, and he found himself squeezing her hand as she lay on her sick bed, helpless to save her. The fever that had sprung out of nowhere was eating her alive, in the middle of the moors where no doctors could travel, and he had no way to tell if she'd live or she'd die.

She sensed his distress, and gave him a tired smile. "Don't worry…" she whispered. "I'm—"

In the ground.

In the ground, out in the garden, where he had buried her under the cherry tree. Time was raging around him, the universe out of control. Nothing made sense anymore. His children approached hesitantly, still too young to really understand, but he could see the fear in their eyes as they looked at the gravesite. The vacant, hollow sound of their cries as they began to ask where their mother had gone.

And for the first time in a long while, he thought he understood again. He saw himself choosing to affect their minds, bend their wills so they could forget their suffering, though he could no longer be sure it was really Time's will or just his own feverish hope. Time had deserted him, refused to insulate him from this painful fate because he had paid no attention to it; now was his chance to make it all right. He was strangely reluctant, but he called them to his side anyways.

And cried the whole time as he wiped their out memories.

Time passed. His creations grew and changed in their own ways, but never again were they the same sweet silver children that he had known when his wife was alive. For the first time, he regretted his choice, and wondered if Time had truly betrayed him—or if there were simply secrets it wanted to keep. They floated through countries, jumping whenever he thought he glimpsed anything that would lead him to her. She would be born again, the visions told him relentlessly, but the details were unknown to him—merely a young woman's smile, and the sweet scent of a flower.

It was in Asia that he finally realized the toll this was taking on his children, who could no longer remember the life they had shared but knew much of the hardships of travel.

"Let's rest for a while." Yue said on a street corner in Laos, and his eyes pleaded for more than a trip to a tea house.

"Why can't we stay put?" Cerberus whined in Hong Kong.

So he bought some land in Japan on a whim, and they settled down happily for a rest in their new summer home. There was no point to continuing anyway. He had already reached the End of the World, the Farthest of Easts. And there, on the Edge of the World, looking over the ocean, he finally knew peace. There was Life to be looked forward to, not merely the Inevitable; endings and beginnings and laughter all tied up together in one joyous knot. They moved there for good, for better or worse, and the daffodils in spring and hydrangea in summer bore witness to their happiness.

Time sped up. Slowed down. Lost its meaning in the endless turn of the seasons and the laughter in his children's voices. The visions that he had once worshipped turned into nothing but annoyance, ruining the humor of a practical joke and sucking the fun out of a birthday surprise. Gradually, he began to understand the nature of his curse, and over more time he came to accept it—because Time's greatest gift was, in the end, simply the promise of freedom, in the form of a dark-haired boy and a gentle, brown-haired man.

So that's why it was inevitable that he found himself outside in autumn, simply watching his children as they played in the leaves. Silver chased gold to the shadows; gold tossed the silver one into the leaves again, howling the whole time. He laughed at it all equally, praising and rebuking when necessary, and they smiled at him blissfully--happy to know nothing but the sun and the leaves, and the companionship of friends. Clow looked toward the falling leaves, and knew again of his oncoming death--but the thought could not trouble him here in the sunlight. Because for now…

For this one very long heart's beat between autumn and winter, he could finally enjoy.

And it was fitting and appropriate, as all Life should be.

~fin~

Be kind, please rewind—er, review!