Sanctuary and Asylum 99

by Negative-Z

In the aftermath of torment our aliens find their foresight. By the gravity of freedom our friends search out their starlight.

2. Verse Twelve is Reflection

Standard Disclaimer:

I thank all the owners of the Tenchi characters who have chosen not to sue me for suggesting some alternative uses for them.

Standard Advertisement:

I thank all the readers who have perused my other submissions and favorite authors.

Standard Procedure:

Form alliances that can be called upon in times of crisis.

Tenchi Muyo: Sanctuary and Asylum

-Verse Twelve is Reflection-

***

By choice, or belittle. Be well, and bygone.

But bolder, thus beseeched. But balanced, so be strong.

-ZJS

***

When the futility of a grudge becomes as apparent as death there is often a reluctance born from its bleached remains. In such cases where justice is denied for lack of a faulted party it can emerge as a miser's reflex, a fortune built up high to provide a vantage point from which to measure another's growth. Yet whenever two opponents survey the end of a common threat something entirely different may emerge. This aftermath hesitation, akin to an awkward pall, can easily grow to beautiful melancholy, or crippling doubt, as two forces find themselves still together, standing side by side for what might as well be the first time in their long memories.

They would both know that they both saw the same opportunity: to become allies, or to accept that their opposition runs deeper than they'd thought, if they'd thought. Often it takes some greater ideal, or concept of objectivity, to turn one to face the other. If there were room for honor it might be simpler, as it never is when the distribution has already been assumed predetermined, and discarded.

And so it was with two sisters, overlooking a conceivable end to a previously inconceivable threat. They remained at a loss as to when the emerging changes would signal a return to their respective and distant places. Knowing that this, their reluctance, was shared, and knowing better that neither wished to speak of it, these blood-bonded women offered each other a slight glance. Shimmering inversion, as eyes and mirrors do, they decided for their own reasons not to waste all the time they had on such a silence.

Naturally the more ambitious of them took her nature first.

---

*It seems she has underestimated the rate---the reach of his decay.

*If ever she estimated.

*...

*So would you now explain why you left the evaluation to her?

*Surprised?

*I hope to be pleased.

*You've always hoped for too much.

*I've always hoped.

*Then you may be disappointed with my motivation.

*I may.

*But you may also find hope, as you may find fundamental connections between siblings after all.

*Oh?

*It seems quite possible, that giving him the slow, rather than swift end, was as much her preference as mine.

*I see. If I find no hope, and no surprise in that, would you forgive me?

*I ask nothing of you; do me the same courtesy.

*Then are we best parted now, perhaps forever again?

*There is no answer to that, as it was never more than circumstance that brought us so near.

*Are you still set on bringing our sister back and over to you, or has the loss of your champion changed those plans.

*Do not think you are in any higher a position simply because your champion remains.

*My champion remains, he lives, but he still believes that he lives without me. Your champion, however, did already give his life for you.

*He merely destroyed himself to destroy that---abomination.

*Oh, are we even now to avoid his name, even after he went through so much trouble to reveal it? And now that it is a memory, shouldn't you have fully regained your precious confidence?

---

And she felt gentler things sicken a little as she lost herself that moment, as she turned her own wisdom into snide violence, lashing out at her own blood as she swore she would not do.

Her own blood merely waited out the shock, hoping the regretful attacker would still have regret to twist when they resettled themselves.

Yet, for any reason, they were on equal footing again when the moment passed. So thus the ambition resumed.

---

*At least my only regret is that I was not able to use him properly.

*Just as I would not pride myself on something so regrettable.

*...So, after all this you really are entirely unchanged. Indeed I remain the greater of us then; ever progressing, endurance after endurance, ever increasing my power rather than merely coddling it, ever-

*Yes, ever unchanged.

*...Fair enough.

*Your concept of fair play does not interest me, I only want to know if you'll stay on to see the game through.

*See it through? Why sister, hasn't it ended already?

*Even if you're only asking me to ask myself: it shows some doubt in you.

*And whether you're more afraid of my participation or abandonment: it shows some fear in you.

*Have you still not learned which is more destructive? Do you still only regret---lost opportunities for power?

---

The smallest chuckles could be despairing enough.

---

*...

*Hasn't there been enough joyless laughter already?

---

The sharpness of smoke echoes best through post-physical planes. Choking plumes curled out like glamour from the furnace of her throat. Minds throughout the universe, already dedicated to spite and greed, glowed white hot for their moments, for twisting blows beneath the black hammer of her laughter.

And her sister only waited for her to accept responsibility for the fruits of power, quiet till they both were, then listening again.

---

*What then, are you tempted to call me into a comparison, to call me what our dear distant little relative has already called herself?

*The game is ^not^ yet over, and there is thus no place for cruelty, and she is not so very distant.

*I was only referring to the distance she has taken for herself.

---

And the meeker sister offered a smile to speak over all the confrontation she'd allowed, its delivery taking more time than its preparation.

---

*Perhaps you give up too easily.

---

Returning to their respective positions, two sisters watched in silence as they always could, beside each other as they'd never been.

***

Morning sun struck the icicles on the Masaki home and for a moment turned glass delicacies into crystal teeth. Thinning blankets of snow screamed back at the shadows and reassured every sleeping tree that the sun had not left them. A few patches of ice cracked impatient and futile at the lake's edge, mocked by the wind's unaffected laughter, lorded over by a clock's trumpet.

Tenchi sat up and watched the time, but mostly the faintly blinking icon punctuating it, his eyes heavy and halfway between re-setting, or daring it, just ^daring^ it to go off again. After scratching a few places and stretching a few more, he carried the rest of the mess downstairs.

Sasami was up already, sitting on the couch in her sleep robe and bent over a whimpering stream. Ryo-ohki didn't give any protest to the tight embrace, seeming to show support by imitating a pillow. Mihoshi was up as well and in the same low posture with a protective arm stretched gently around the young princess. She looked up at the sound of Tenchi's paused entrance, giving a vague, drained, and helpless clue before bending her head back to Sasami's.

With slower steps and wider eyes, on thinner ice and colder air, Tenchi came closer. There was no strength, he told a million of his own voices, to remember dreams or trust instincts.

"What's wrong, Sasami?"

Not having heard his approach as Mihoshi had, Sasami swung her head upward. The redness swelling around her pink eyes held a monochrome that only intensified whatever tragedy was strangling the pillow and ignoring the blanket. From the way her tears spilled, as she gently yet no less quickly set Ryo-ohki aside, he feared he'd accidentally promised to fix everything before he knew anything.

"Tenchi!"

Sasami flung herself against him more desperately than she had after he'd reassured her place and Tsunami's as the same. She was slightly higher on his chest now, and cried with more force. After making sure he was supporting her correctly, Tenchi looked up to see if her other confidant knew any more than he did. Mihoshi rose and watched them through her own set of slow-sinking tears, hands welded together.

"She's gone, Tenchi!" A second wail erupted before the detective could fully respond to his questioning look.

"I remember hearing her come in last night, but when I woke up early to make her a special breakfast---she wasn't in the study, and wasn't on the beam---she wasn't anywhere!" The explanation was quickly followed by a wheezing sob that would surely rake out coughs or hiccups at any moment.

Tenchi tried Mihoshi again, who had already given in to looking away, but could still sense her place.

"We tried to get Ryo-ohki to help find her, but she isn't responding to anything we do."

The weight turned to ether just so that it could more easily burn its way down to his stomach. And though he already knew the core it carried was a seed, he didn't feel its metal roots twist through him any less.

Nobuyuki was beginning his morning lumber down the stairs. His only son knew he couldn't acknowledge him; his hand had already stopped stroking Sasami's hair.

Tenchi looked down simply to escape Mihoshi's frailty and saw that his hand was still moving. Even though his father had yet to speak, he could hear him grow quiet and sit into the couch, slow and heavy. He hoped he could assume that the simpler man had already heard the outburst.

"Why did she have to leave us, Tenchi?" Sasami groaned as she shook her head against him.

"^I think she was afraid she'd hurt somebody^." Mihoshi drifted under a whisper.

Tenchi looked over, seeing only the detective's profile, curtained with sleep-tangled hair. His appropriate response must have gotten lost along the way, again.

"Sasami?"

Aeka's quiet concern hardly matched the hurried steps that brought her into the living room. Her hair was still slightly slept-on and her morning robe billowed from her waist as she tied it mid-stride. Tenchi tried to gage the best course of action by her eyes and their baggage.

She looked ready and even experienced to comfort away any nightmare, but hardly ready to face the more than possible news. Tenchi only kept eye contact long enough to know how much his numbed expression frightened her.

"Tenchi, what's going on?" Aeka looked from the back of his eyes to the back of Sasami's head as it jerked out another choked sob.

Something like a subconscious fear of the younger princess replying for him, and Tenchi held her closer.

The broken toy half-movements of Aeka's mouth shifted through all possibilities till the same one tired of being ignored. She forced her mouth open a little wider, but couldn't do more than gulp at the spread of her own numbing wave. Tenchi feared for a moment that she was having just as much difficulty closing her eyes.

A slow creak turned everyone's face toward the closet door with similarly strained movements. Even Sasami watched Washu's every step, joining the collective of drained and trembling eyes as they fought to foresee if the universe's personal genius would serve them.

Washu kept her arms crossed and her head down, but clearly not for morning drowsiness; her steps were too light, even in her child form. Before she even regarded them with green glass shards and robotically tightened lines, Tenchi knew that Sasami had not been too hasty.

Despite his confidence, Washu still surprised him by speaking evenly to everyone present while only looking at him.

"She told me she thinks he's still somewhere she can find him."

No time for a moment later, she continued walking on a path to the back door. The echo of her footsteps picked at him like memories made suddenly uncertain.

Tenchi heard a few weak but quick inhales that didn't release. It meant something, but he only responded by dropping his head with tightly closed eyes, letting that pass as an indifferent bow. Detachment could, he realized, consume senses till the body or the other part left. Only Sasami's chaotic dash away from his chest was able to make him feel entirely present again.

"Little Washu!" Sasami cried out, blocking the path of science with hands clasped and eyes wide in prayer. "Please, tell us you can find out where she went! She couldn't have gone that far!"

"She told me I could either leave her with a fast ship I couldn't track, or deprive you of Ryo-ohki."

Washu's reasonably prompt downward reply froze the lowest ground in Tenchi's self to crack it quickest, to swallow up the wave of numbness so that he could relive each needle of his initial shock. He only heard his own throat clench, and could only watch as Sasami's gapping mouth shook on its hinges. The last bastion of his quick reflexes rose up from the wreckage shortly after The Second Princess clenched her eyes to shame her barred teeth and tight little fists. Washu resiliently, then almost indifferently, absorbed a few hysteric pounds against her chest before Tenchi could hurdle the couch and hold Sasami back.

"WHY! WHY! How could you let her leave us like that! You're not a genius! You're not! I hate you! I hate you!"

Aeka and Mihoshi ran to aid Tenchi, though he didn't seem to need it. Washu just lowered her head and pulled one of her special jackets from a subspace wardrobe. Noboyuki stood by with helpless hands as Sasami screamed at vengeance denied. He couldn't be sure if anyone else heard Washu's wilted alternative to an apology amid the violence and the corpse of wind thrown at her exit.

"If it's just the same to you all, I'd like to tell Yosho myself."

***

Overeager grasses died while more timid sprouts took their time, leaving the exposed areas as blank as they were often dark. Washu warmed up her mind by trying to construct a thermodynamic equation to explain why some seemingly random areas had melted while others were still freezing solid at night. It could, of course, be the result of all the repairs she had done in the area. From the look of things spring would melt it all before she'd be able to test any theories, anyway.

At least the shrine had remained thawed. She sipped confidence from this till it dawned on her that no one had built a single snowman all winter. A thoughtful expression descended into dumb melancholy as she let her breath fall out on the surface of her tea.

Her elegant-for-a-girl's fingers were pale, but still throbbed with a little too much heat. She set the mug down on the railing and wiggled them into her jacket pockets, wondering why Yosho always approached her from behind with slow, almost loud steps. Maybe he thought it made for a more romantic effect, a lesser chance of startling her. Or maybe she kept track of his every breath too closely.

"It's a new blend." Yosho mentioned softly, setting his mug next to hers as he always had and rubbing her shoulders the way he'd quickly learned. Washu remained still, but lowered her head with closed eyes to be grateful.

"It tastes like the one you usually make."

The covertly undisguised prince beneath the priest laughed to himself in a tone that couldn't possibly offend anyone.

"To be perfectly honest, it's a similar blend from a different vendor."

Washu didn't respond to the little confession and kept her head steady despite the pressure of a new maneuver. Yosho glanced over her shoulder to catch a piece of her face, but could only see her cup slightly more full than his. A gentler chuckle cleared the way for him to ask for a confession in return.

"How can you know if you haven't tasted it yet?"

Tilting her head back a little and opening her eyes even less, she let out a breath to make a rough sketch of a wall.

"Excuse me. I guess I meant that it ^smelled^ like the one you usually make." Sarcasm only dawned on her when she kept herself from adding something to the tune of 'Oh, wise one'.

"I see." Yosho let his smooth fingers fall back, trying to catch the softness of Washu's hair without getting caught. If she noticed she didn't seem to care.

A clump of snow rustled and puffed in a nearby tree, signaling another stretch of silence. Yosho frowned and pocketed his fingers before they realized how cold and obsolete they were outside.

"How do you think she's doing?" A more forward attempt at deep warmth leaned him against the railing to gaze hopefully at her profile like a courting youth.

"I do-not know," Washu said plainly and lifted her cup to blow on it, "so I try-not to think."

Yosho looked at his own mug, equally unimpressed with his imitation of telepathy. It didn't take long for him to tire of it.

"That doesn't really sound like you at all."

"No?" Washu didn't leave room to regret her now almost hostile sarcasm.

"No." Yosho's voice folded its arms resiliently, waited, and prepared for her reply even while he delivered his side approach.

"Do you think any of them believed you wouldn't be able to keep track of one of your own ships?"

"Probably not."

Washu's voice smoothed out a space for more antagonism. Yosho waited for her follow up answer while he saw her brow narrow from the tensions in her neck.

"I'm not a liar, by the way. I never ^said^ that I couldn't keep track, but without her consent there's no way for me to keep in touch. In any case, it seems she's found an outpost and 'traded up'."

Yosho breathed in understanding and breathed out disappointment. His voice softened again with the hope of shaking her defenses, the fear of sentiment turning into stubborn curiosity.

"I appreciated you taking the time to inform me yourself, but it's still a great disappointment that-"

"That what? That I didn't warn you? That I didn't get your approval?"

"No," Yosho pulled his shoulders back sternly, "that you agreed to pass along the message rather than insist she leave her own, at least in print."

Washu's head tilted into a slighter voice.

"At least Sasami, and you, both believe me."

Yosho listened to her throat die with another sacrifice of the wind.

The eldest Masaki could have remembered what it was like to regret a question and to wish an answer could have been avoided, but he tried not to. He didn't need to remind himself that no one needed to revisit a cause for doubt, even if indirectly.

But any cause for quiet to be painful was unjust, and wishing for another wind made him feel a petty wizard rather than a holy man, an old man rather than a survivor, less a man for not making sure Washu's silence didn't submit to the current. He would roar back at white waters to bring her back if he had to.

"Might someone else doubt you?"

"Someone ^else^? Do you mean to say Sasami won't---and you can't?"

Her harsh reply struck him blessedly quick and, if tricky, then he'd have to match her.

"Washu, you must know you'll have to explain to them how you could let her search blindly for something that doesn't exist."

"To them, but not to you? Is that it?" She tightened up all the work her companion had loosened. "Well what makes me so special to you then, or is it just your place to be trusting."

"I-" Yosho swallowed weakly as Washu's eyes swung into him before the rest of her turned, heightening, maturing, gracefully ascending a spiral stairwell. Each and every time she'd changed this way it had taken only a distracted moment or simply a blink to hide it. Even as the curiosity finally outgrew itself, Yosho was ready to wonder how their eyes could have remained motionlessly locked the entire time. But, before that, he'd have to marvel that her emeralds could remain open so wide while the rest of her face clenched tighter, cocking to the side with some reemerging spite.

"Or are you like the rest of them?"

Washu took a step back to steady her threatened posture only to look like she'd taken a step forward.

"Still worried about 'you-know-who'?!" The sarcasm clenched the tendons in her throat and cheeks so bitterly that she looked ready to spit out a tooth.

"Ryoko thinks that I'm either a fool, or a liar."

For Yosho, it felt surreal not to watch someone's body when their face threatened so much violence.

"And if I'm a liar, it's because I either have him stored away in my lab, somewhere," sarcasm shook her vowels till she had to breathe, "or because I ^am^ him!"

Her jaw clenched, yanking her eyes down under the shadow of her hair.

"Well, wise man, which is it?"

Yosho tried to breath and reach for her hand, resisting the truth that he would have to choose one or the other.

"Washu, I don't think any of that is possible." His voice swam deep to travel under the buildup of so much floating debris.

"Of course it's ^possible^, it's always possible that we're all playing along in a grand illusion. Hell, why only worry about this family being 'real'? Maybe we've just been livestock in a big metaphysical joke since before Seita even arrived, since we were born and bred and branded into-"

The sarcasm shot Washu a single step forward to grab Yosho's collar. Having eaten itself, her sarcasm began to choke on the bones of its prey, but would not be denied.

"There's some clever thinking Yosho, let's just officially assume that anything and everything can be an empty illusion!"

Washu turned away again and clutched the railing, ready to vault herself over or tear it off as a weapon. Her voice lowered slightly, but didn't soften whatsoever.

"I thought you'd have figured things out better after having such a 'personal' experience with him. Caution falls into helpless fear in a blink of an eye where he's concerned...even where he's just remembered."

Yosho caught a glimpse of frailty as her reprimand trailed off, clear and pained. Some kind of boyish valiance chanced out his first response.

"Is that what you learned from ^your^ experience?"

He readied to absorb the most brutal of attacks, to endure eons of silence pushing the question everyone had waited for someone else to ask. It was possible they'd all assumed Seita never spoke between entering the lab and Washu's announcement. It was equally possible that he could be manipulating them for the rest of their lives, equally possible and self- destructive to consider.

The wind hurt again, but Jurai's loss told himself to feel aware and alive as he took a step forward. He was ready to put a hand on the shoulder of Science's latest gift when it spoke. The pre-ancient voice surrendered with hardly a trace of honor, and it tightened everything in the victor's chest.

"Yes."

Not to let the wind make him feel any more alive than he was willing, Yosho fought his hand up and onto its proper place, where it could wait to feel her warmth directly and let the many strays of her hair tickle his knuckles. Whether it sounded wise or not, he wanted to let her know that he ^did^ still understand some things, one of them being the sound of too much to hold back.

"I hope that this is the right time for you to trust me, and I'll pray that this was the right time to face him again."

Washu seemed to move her head very slowly to look at his hand, to will it away or press her cheek to it. But she only froze her gaze on a different angle of the ground, unmoved by the victor's mercy.

"He...he explained everything."

"Everything?" Yosho winced to hear a small paper rustle in his confidence, and he tried to compensate. "What do you mean by 'everything'?"

"I mean ^everything^." A lingering hint of that singular terror drowned out her frustration with him. He readied himself to think of how they would hold each other before he considered imagining what such a thing could leave as its final words.

"Go on."

She swallowed his support like a bitter cure-all, to humor him and her better memories.

"For all I know he's already hinted at it to everyone, but that it was all just stored away with the rest of his-"

As cold as it was becoming, it was still the warmest it had been since the first snow. Washu's word choice and shiver obviously came from some place deeper than skin.

"-nature."

Her first sip of tea took half her cup in a quiet gulp.

"But I don't think anything he told me, lying there---so frail and defeated--- I don't think any of it was a lie, or at least he believed it wasn't.

"It was like he'd been waiting for the single moment when he could let it out."

The Found Prince could feel her wavering, losing herself in the memory. He wanted to shake her for focus, but instead came closer to put his remaining hand on her shoulder. He liked to think that this helped her raise her head to look out over the trees.

"He wanted to be destroyed, Yosho."

If her pause was for herself or for him, he wasn't concerned. If the softness was for bewilderment or if it was for pity, he didn't allow. Yosho gripped his ever-closer companion, ready to pull her into himself, but instead he struggled for balance as he refused to lower his head or breathe too harshly. The ambassadors from every faith and philosophy had come storming into his mind, yet upon reaching the podium they all tried to hide behind each other with both doors already closed behind them.

Somehow Washu's new isolation brought them to attention.

"This was the core of him long before he offered Tenchi a chance to do the honors, and before he prepared himself to give it to me."

Yosho knew how to listen, and now, as Washu reeducated herself on how to speak, he thanked Life for every second of training he'd endured to learn how to listen without doing, thinking anything else.

"The dimension we saw him access, the one nobody could stand to be near, it's not a dimension at all. The reason it was so very white, the ^reason^ it 'disoriented' us, is because it ^is^ ^nothing^. It is not simply a parallel existence as he let on; it is a precursor to everything--- to matter, to atomic energy, to time. It is the infinite blank slate that the universe grows over. And it still confounds me that, after he told us he could move his consciousness about the entire---universe, that no one asked if he'd seen anything 'outside'.

She breathed once, twice, even.

"Well, he had. He'd seen the universe expand over the emptiness like an ink stain."

A humorless puff of air through her nose almost made it too easy for Yosho to stop listening.

"And, apparently, 'stain' is precisely the appropriate term."

If it was confidence she was rebuilding her support didn't notice, but would have hoped.

"If a place more empty than could exist by the laws I know, if a place like that could be considered an entity all its own, and if its consciousness could ever want something, doesn't it only makes sense that it should want to be alone?

"Seita came to understand that the will to exist, as manifested by a sentient being, must be some king of torturous cacophony to this 'oblivion'. It explained why he grew more powerful not for spreading destruction, but for spreading doubt. He believed that it ^knew^ the only way to erase existence was to infect all sentient beings with doubt, so that they'd eventually be so crippled with apathy that, whatever had started time and space and life, would finish it."

The next stretch of silence cut into Yosho so deeply that he had to chance merely a slight lean, just to catch a bit more of her profile. Her emeralds had successfully frozen every possible tear into themselves. It was not glass, not stone, not even ice. He felt a coward for leaning back and praying for her to finish, and for the first time he felt that she was truly speaking to him alone.

"But all that was not entirely what he wanted, perhaps it was only some bastard child of what he thought was justice and what he began to think was his destiny." Washu's breath strengthened necessarily.

"He told me, that whenever he wasn't deliriously pursuing some higher kind of Godhood---he told me that he c---comforted himself, quelled his loathing with the idea that, since no ^truly^ omnipotent being had stepped forward when he was looking down on existence---he'd create the need for one that could destroy him."

Washu finally lowered her head

Yosho was breathing normally, but his eyes stared blindly for someone to lead him to a safe place. Every idea shuffled feet on its pedestal. Nothing would speak, even as he begged it to. As this new concept dried its wings, the others, for the first time, held a moment of silence for a birth. The return of calm to Washu's voice was slow in coming but short on introductions and the sound almost unbalanced her companion's feet.

"I guess he just didn't want to wait anymore."

After solemn minutes, with nothing of valiance this time, Yosho let his reflexes speak. There was hope that he could regain himself so long as he gave out only pieces at a time.

"Is that all?"

"He explained things with a bit more detail, and he couldn't seem to help toying with me, of course."

Trusting his instincts again as he dreamed of trusting them, Yosho allowed himself the clearest notion of what might keep Seita from their thoughts.

*Hold her, Yosho. Hold her close so that she will hold you.

He hesitated, seeing The Ghost of Madness with hands outstretched. The same blue above the sea of fire consuming Jurai. If he trembled any more he might have to take his tender hands off her numbed shoulders.

"You know, its funny," she began with a genuine shadow's sliver of life, "he gives me one of the most significant testimonies in the history of science, one that seems to prove that-" her laughs fall like the ghosts of coughs, "that I was 'right all along', that everything about existence can be put under a microscope. Stars, dimensions, Tsunami, life---it's all ultimately finite."

Sarcasm approached closure like the weariest moth to the softest flame.

"And when what he was telling me finally sunk in," the driest sobs could have been 'just tired' breaths for all Yosho's meticulous listening, "when I let myself entirely forget that he couldn't be trusted, and felt like I could tell again if someone was being sincere, one question absorbed all the others."

Washu was staring straight ahead at the universe now but, Yosho noticed, even though it threw his visions of Seita into the background, that she was spreading one of her hands over his while turning to face him again.

She allowed age near her eyes for the first time, however, the lines were anything but disqualifying. Much more intense, they stretched on her maiden's perfection till they made her look, and Yosho feel, even older than they were. It shamed him to be thinking such things as she was clearly looking for solace or nothing.

"It's something I never thought I'd ask you, or anyone, for most of my life. But, just before---I almost asked him." She put her other hand over his, and he put his other over theirs. So much hope warmed in their palms that it hurt for-real to watch her head lower even just enough to be looking at his heart.

"What have we done to deserve this, Yosho? What horrible sin did we commit to bring him to us?"

They took turns tightening their grips as Washu shook too mildly to bother a sob. Every time Yosho had asked himself this question he'd been doing so reflexively, hypothetically. It sounded too vain to say he 'couldn't think of anything', but that was all he wanted to say.

"Heh," Washu sniffed, scraping the barrel for spite, "I guess I already know your answer." She didn't try especially hard to mimic or mock his voice. "'Whether we deserved it or not is meaningless.for some reason or another we ^needed^ it.'"

Her hands went limp in his.

"So am I right?" She swallowed and pulled her hands out of his to clench them behind her back, her emeralds piercing back up at him with a surprise reserve of fire. "It's still the only question worth asking, by the way. Forget about whether I'm him---or this is ^all^ him. What's the answer.hmm? Chaos or fate? Firecrackers or puppets?"

Yosho tightened his jaw to her callousness, hoping his tear would convince her of his sincerity if not of her own. He reached up to caress her cheek, they way he lived to do, they way he prayed would help them survive.

"He managed to challenge both our faiths, but he couldn't give us any real answers."

At the first sign of cooling behind her eyes he swiftly grew the gesture into an embrace, still unable to shake the fear that he had already failed. Washu matched his strength with little coaxing or effort.

"You don't need to give up what you believe in," he kissed then whispered into her hair, "just to strike back at what you can't undo."

Past a sigh, Washu breathed solemnly, her forehead warm against his neck.

"I guess you are still a 'wise man'."

Yosho embraced her tightly again for the chance to chuckle, yet all but let her go now that he had to prove honesty still overshadowed wisdom.

"You're not the only one to have learned something."

Impossibly, she felt softer beneath his hands. It was the temptation again, to lose himself in her rather than remember any more of him. If he could just take comfort in the idea that he didn't have a choice, that her revelation would draw his out no matter the pain.

He would need her though. He would need her eyes even more than he'd wanted them back when he first told her about surrendering his illusion of age.

"Washu."

When he'd exhausted everything that might take responsibility for making him doubt so much.

"Washu, look at me."

When he hadn't been ready to tell her.

"He told you, didn't he?" Washu almost interrupted.

She had only needed to stare at him a moment before she could speak, swallowing his throat with the wholly ancient emotions of her own, of a compassion that, after eons, was still uncomfortable in its own skin.

"About Jurai---he told you what they've made of you."

Where there might have been accusation, or a challenge to his denial, she had formed a stare of nurturing, even apologetic encouragement.

He breathed, but looked like he whimpered, to ask 'how', how she could have known, and then: how long had she known before Seita told him.

A flash of crippling betrayal scratched at the base of him, but couldn't stand up to Washu's gaze. Instead of surrendering to the weight of searching out a replacement for his confession, he clutched about in himself for the strongest will. Finding it, he was inspired to finish what he'd begun.

"Seita didn't explain anything of the universe to me," Yosho began, slightly stronger for being detached, still holding Washu's shoulders, "but now, what he did tell me, it might make more sense."

Washu closed her eyes beautifully, ready, Yosho hoped, to give him all the strength he needed.

"He'd prepared to send all of Jurai into chaos, but needed me to do it. So when I decided to stay on earth-" Though he'd started out strong, a familiar tightness caught up with his throat before it could cover much distance. He had to complete his confession with a series of brakes and broken strides.

"By what he could observe, my decision made me into a sort of--- martyr---back on Jurai. So many now believe that Tsunami chose me of all Jurains to sacrifice myself for her, for everyone."

He tried to smile for his next thought, but could only swallow and shake his head so slightly only Washu could have noticed, had she opened her eyes.

"The new religion that rose up apparently made it too difficult for him to make a new plan to drive Jurai insane."

Again he looked for poetic justice, and only found a cold universe.

"If this is true---then I have to assume that my father has gone to extreme lengths to keep secret my place on earth---and my place in Jurai culture--- from me, my sisters."

He gulped audibly for the bitter girth of truth.

"It's good to know I don't have to doubt it anymore."

Washu was almost timid when she moved closer, to stare up and into him again. She opened her mouth, but closed it with a breath, stepping back to let his hands fall off her shoulders, to let her own hands find professionalism beneath her arms.

"One of the first things The Science Academy's biology department teaches," her voice stepped forward while her eyes retreated to a corner, "is to respect the fragility of an external ecosystem."

Yosho closed his eyes and set his jaw tighter and tighter, till he couldn't keep her out of his arms. She responded in kind, letting him think clearly enough to offer thanks. He held her gently by the neck now, almost tempted to do nothing but watch her eyes nearly open as she held his hands in place.

"You don't owe me any sort of apology, Washu. It is my father's duty to make these decisions, and if my mother can stand by them, so must I."

A flash of disgust ruined Washu's face for half a moment, but she swallowed it in less time.

"The strange thing is-"

Washu opened her eyes at his resigned nostalgia to hold it up from self- pity. He looked steadily into the forest behind her to reassure them both.

"It was not this knowledge that struck me hardest, and it is not what makes me uncertain if even my 'nephew' can breathe new life into the shrine. His intent was not to turn me against my father, or even to make me regret imprisoning Ryoko."

He knew Washu could see his eyes faltering, but even if it spread, and he lost his mouth, he would continue.

"Even though what he intended was to, as you said, 'destroy me with my own immortality', he...he was first determined to make me believe-" another swallow and Washu held his hands closer to her neck, willing to show her own fear of what he might remember.

"He recreated my life here on earth, almost entirely, just to build up to the moment when he felt he could convince me that---that my life as a priest, that all my devotion to prayer and meditation, to cultivating my soul-"

Tears streaked his face, but otherwise it remained unaffected.

"For a moment then, and for half-moments every so often, I believe his voice when it declares that all of this," Washu blanched as he yanked a hand free to turn and gesture at the shrine, "is no less ^self-indulgent^ than any of his cruel ambitions."

They stood up to silence together. Yosho let his head hang only a little while quieting breaths honored and returned his tears. Washu held fast to his other hand, looking out into the forest till thought fully refortified her face. They both wondered if the other had tired of tempting the paradoxes of guessing another's mind. If they knew this, they let it strengthen them no differently than fresh air, carried on a wind that seemed almost peaceful again.

With flesh and blood fallen away, Washu imagined their skeletons glaring in the sun, sturdy as ever. She only hoped Yosho could feel the same, and when her voice reverberated in her throat it was as real as it needed to be.

"He was a psychologist, by the way." Washu tried not to wait too long for the wind to carry this, what she hoped was the last revelation. When he looked back she tried not to wait for his expression to change, and wouldn't let herself reconsider where this information might take them.

"The reason Kagato kidnapped him was, well," it hurt to fail at laughing just as much as she remembered, "he needed an on-hand therapist; he was there to counteract the effects of studying the opening."

Yosho hardly breathed. Washu brought his hand back to him and let it hang gently alongside the other.

"This is something for everyone to take as they will, but from what I've experienced it's a field that always gets caught, sometimes bitterly, between the two of us."

Her next breath sincerely reminded her of a laugh, she tried another and almost fooled herself.

"Maybe---maybe that saved us, that he couldn't totally undermine one without exalting the other."

Yosho looked at her slowly, and found his smile slower, but he closed the distance between them in perfect time.

"Maybe that's why-" Washu whispered to herself, but swallowed the rest as she swung her eyes up into his. "No, I don't think we have to defend ourselves anymore, and I don't have to say that even he admitted to not being certain about everything."

Yosho's eyes reflected her affection, but his confidence managed to be smoother.

"Perhaps you already said enough," he held her face, "when you said that he was gone."

Their kiss was as real and then as long as it needed to be, but they copied it twice to be sure. Noticing the sunset, Yosho steered them toward it. He disciplined himself to see all of the aspects, even as he blinked. All the while Washu closed her eyes tightly, then tighter, then buried them against his chest.

Fast winds sped the clouds over their colors, spreading promises of snow thinner.

***

Mihoshi knew what embarrassment felt like, but she'd never really had to explain it before. And if she could do it in a way someone as young as Sasami could understand, well then, did that make her a good teacher, or still just simple-minded?

Washu had given everyone a batch of pills to help them sleep after the closing ceremony (no one called it a funeral), and another batch after Ryoko had gone, even though nobody had used up the first batch yet. Mihoshi, still being a detective after all, figured out that they weren't so much to help everyone fall asleep as to keep them from having bad dreams. Maybe the reason they didn't work on her was the same reason she could always find Washu wherever she was in her lab.

Pills or not, Mihoshi felt as guilty as ever now. She'd lured Sasami into watching a late movie, hating herself, but hoping that her friend would fall asleep on the other couch, just so that someone could be there if another dream woke her. Serves her right; it turned out that the dreams bothered her a thousand times more with someone there to notice them. At least when she woke up with sweats, or white knuckles, or something strangling her all alone she could worry whether she'd woken anybody, and maybe even tell herself that something simpler had torn her out of sleep.

"It's okay, Mihoshi. It's okay."

Sasami had said it so many times already, but not once loud enough to be heard hadn't they been so close.

The young princess had washed her hair recently. It didn't smell expensive enough to be grown up shampoo, but it was still the softest and sweetest thing Mihoshi could imagine, and that helped. When she felt the tips of tiny fingers on her own scalp she only hoped it wouldn't be too tangled.

"I'm sorry."

They were the first words she sobbed, but it felt like she'd already said them a hundred times more than necessary.

"Wha-What for?" Sasami settled back to search up into Mihoshi's eyes.

It was a simple enough question, but the pain of Sasami backing away was still distracting her.

"I shouldn't have made you stay out here."

It was surprising how simple the truth was when she forgot to think about it.

Mihoshi waited for Sasami to call her silly, to say it was her own fault for trying to watch a late movie. Her petite, yet still unmanaged eyebrows moved together a bit, but as hard as she was thinking she couldn't have been angry. In a slow blink of gentle pink Mihoshi felt it was now her duty to comfort the younger friend.

"I tried to get Aeka to stay out here to, or---or to find another cot so you could stay in the guest room with us."

Sasami gulped something impossibly small that must have been conviction.

"Nobody should have to stay by themselves---anymore---if-if they don't want to."

It was the worst thing when Mihoshi could tell that two thoughts were tangled up and fighting but couldn't tell what either one was. This time hurt more than normal, maybe she was trying to blush, but her blush got the hiccups, but worse, like a really bad muscle cramp in her throat, then the back of her teeth. Regardless, every inch of her skin went cold as all of it brought back most of her dream. She'd have to apologize for hugging Sasami so tightly, but thank goodness she was crying too hard to be too loud.

"^I was so scared!^"

Somehow Sasami hugged her back just as hard. Luckily they were both on their knees so neither one had to worry about supporting all of the other. Mihoshi barely noticed this thought as it passed through vivid memories.

"He---^He-^!"

"Shsssh, it's okay."

Sasami was crying too now, or about to. Mihoshi knew she'd have to apologize for that too, but didn't notice this thought much more as the memories decided 'vivid' wasn't enough.

"I thought he was going to-"

"Don't worry, Mihoshi."

The sobs were starting to hurt.

"Don't worry."

"He-" Mihoshi began again, even though she knew she wouldn't be able to say anything.

"It's okay, he can't hurt anyone anymore."

There was no way such a small girl could calm herself down so fast. Mihoshi sobbed harder in frustration that she couldn't stop to peer into her little friend's eyes. When she was weakened enough to pull away she almost gasped at how much safer she felt, just looking. A big memory of the magical thing sharing a body with Sasami made the other big memory start to sink.

"Sasami-"

Now her beautiful little smile almost scared her as much as it hurt.

"I'm sorry." Mihoshi still knew it wasn't making either of them feel better, but she must have stopped counting a while ago. Maybe, she hoped, she could try explaining it now.

But then she'd have to remember all over again.

But now it was too late.

"He looked right at me---I mean right ^at^ me."

Closing her eyes made it easier to talk to Sasami, but harder to remember and think long enough to speak.

"It was like-"

She was always terrible at describing things. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Maybe if she could skip ahead and just give an example.

"I---thought one of Tenchi's father's comics.you know the one's we used to read together," Mihoshi opened her eyes and almost looked up, but closed them again.

"I thought it might cheer me up, but it just made me remember everything.

"And so then I thought one of the big books with tiny words and no pictures."

She gulped only to worsen what was left of her throat. The whisper ate her sob so much that it sounded like a whine.

"But that made me think of him even more!"

Soon her arms and everything else started to feel weak, but Mihoshi knew she didn't want to sleep.

"I don't know what might have happened, I don't know what I would have done. I know he's gone, he has to be, but I still can't stop these dreams."

Sasami was quiet for so many long seconds that Mihoshi had to look up or have a heart attack. Again she felt so safe she couldn't---couldn't do anything, she guessed.

"Tsunami and I both saw him," the young guardian began, a little louder than her charge's whisper, "and she was scared too, more scared than I thought she could be, and---and he looked at us too, he must have looked at me that way."

Being angry always scared Mihoshi the most, but by now she was so scared in so many different directions that it came easy, especially since she couldn't think about it. Her voice sounded just terrible.

"No, Sasami. This had to have been different, he was talking about-"

Sasami's eyebrows had closed together again, still far away from anger, but a little closer this time.

This time Mihoshi almost did fall over. She'd leaned back, her whole body retreating, just to think to herself that Sasami couldn't mean the same thing. But it was like all the apologies; it felt like she's said it so many times already and none of them had meant anything. The poor little girl almost fell back when Mihoshi threw her arms and the rest of her around the tiny shoulders as if it were her only chance to undo something.

She felt horrible for whishing that they could both be crying, and it made her sobs hurt more. But then she got her wish and it made everything better, even if she couldn't understand any more gentle whispers.

"But he didn't do it, he could have but he didn't---he didn't---he didn't want to. It was like, like when Kagato was controlling Ryoko, only no one was controlling him---but-but I still know he didn't really want to."

Mihoshi didn't want to admit that she didn't want to understand anymore, even if she already did. After they gave up talking, then sobbing, then, after a long time, sniffling and smoothing the other's hair, Mihoshi wanted to pray that being exhausted would help her at least doze till morning. She almost thought it funny to know she would fall sound asleep before the prayer was finished.

***

The bokken blisters weren't quite as sore today when Tenchi dusted his palms off outside the tool shed. Better yet, he'd been able to leave his jacket unzipped all day as he worked to make the soil workable again. It would be good weather for growing things soon enough.

Spring was still slow to emerge this year, holding onto thick clouds and pinches of snow long after the sleeping season had retired. Even his fresh- looking mentor, in the prime of his life, admitted that this condition made the air seem colder than it had been during any of the ice storms. Maybe this 'uncle' just wanted to make conversation or seem less intimidating.

Thinking on this, Tenchi brought himself back to an unfortunately unforgettable practice lesson. He'd been blunt, even vulgar with the sacred Jurai techniques, treating his instructor's parrying sword like a witless punching bag. At first there was no face, or object for this rage, or rather, he would not let it appear. What concentration he could maintain overburdened itself with keeping this animosity on the situation, rather than the person behind it.

But she ^was^ behind it, after all. And it would be twisting him any second now to be remembering how he envisioned her then, a sword-swinging symbol of her stubborn, selfish-

Tenchi gripped his hands in themselves, feeling some water return to the blisters.

The moment the weapon's recoil went numb he'd imagined it vividly, her wild mask replacing Yosho's true form. There was the sensation that his rage could prove itself just as dangerous as hers, that he still deserved a rematch for all the pain she'd caused. A good beating at his hands was exactly what she needed to snap her out of this damned withdrawal. And damn her recklessness.

It only felt like 'damn' when it bellowed out of him to drive his bokken to crush through its opponent. Yosho had disarmed him mid swing and simply let his own momentum throw him to the ground at honorable teacher's feet. The cold stone pain gave him back his senses slowly, first to let him know that his outburst was still sending birds into frenzy.

Breath by breath he'd pulled himself up, settling into a crouch that resembled a vagrant gargoyle but definitely not the humiliated bow the world deserved from him. He gave up preparing himself for the disciplinary strike, then gave up cowering from it like a dog, even though he wasn't, damn it.

As he rose to face his instructor he couldn't find disgust, or even disappointment. Much worse: he truly thought he was being sized up for a lecture. When even that didn't come he was forced to search his grandfather's young eyes. This calm compassion was going to make him talk about his true feelings for the new development, as if they weren't already too obvious. He'd have to break back his fingernails to pull down the hurried wall built around everything Ryoko had done and still meant.

He'd clenched into his blisters then, too, knowing he was far from ready to unleash any floodgates. In no time he would be cursing everyone for what was nobody's fault. Then he would finally lost the shred of dignity that kept him from yelling up to space incoherently till he chocked up exactly what made her departure so wrong.

But all Uncle-Yosho had done was let out a breath that wasn't a sigh and walk back to the center of the courtyard, saying something simple like 'let's try again from a different stance'.

There hadn't been another incident since. In fact he felt like he was finally working himself back to a place he might progress from again. Some injustices, his reflex wisdom told him, just had to be dealt with through control rather than tantrums.

*Boy, I could use a hot bath.

Tenchi breathed into his hands to ready himself for a short jog, but stopped on an awkward skip.

Aeka was balancing her tea in her hands to the motion of their fully thawed porch swing. The best parts left of the sun smoothed over her and glared into him. He shielded his eyes reluctantly and approached, glad the light was again filtered and enhanced through the clouds by the time he reached her side. In turn Aeka closed her eyes to inhale the tea steam, a shy smile to be acting like she didn't know he was there. Tenchi sat down next to her without hesitating, even though he was terrified through every little movement. If he made the princess spill her tea he'd improvise Hare and Kare then and there.

If fate, then it was merciful after all: Aeka merely bowed her head with a more heavily blushed smile and sipped her tea.

"There's still some in the kitchen, some tea I mean, would you like me to bring it out."

For a moment Aeka almost sounded like someone who'd been bullied for far too long. But Tenchi could only consider her as shy as ever and wonder how her milk skin could catch the sunset with a brighter gold tint than the purest patches of snow. And similarly, not that he wanted to avert his gaze, he noticed above the remerging grasses how insects trapped the last light in their wings like firefly imitations.

"That's okay, miss Aeka." The dreamy tinge to his voice made his jacket seem quite unnecessary, but he gulped to think of taking it off next to her. Each blister felt tender against the next and looked raw under his scrutiny. He knew she couldn't be shifting herself closer to him, and knew one of her happy sighs when he heard one. It matched his memories perfectly.

*Now, just don't tense up, don't tense up and don't look over at her for at least another minute. The sunset's getting even better, just look at that.and think of ^nature^ not romance, or anything.

"I have a feeling that the 'spring' will be very beautiful this year, don't you Lord Tenchi?"

Her careful use of the earth term touched his ears as delicately as what had to be his favorite and her most expensive perfume clutched the back of his eyes, and everything from his lower lip down.

*Just breath through your mouth, Tenchi. There you go.

It worked, but also made him sound like he was now prepared to say something important.

"Uh yeah, I sure hope so."

And he definitely wasn't.

The bench-swing creaked under them both yet closer to Aeka; checking the corner of his eye, Tenchi made sure twice that she'd only set her tea cup down somewhere and crossed her hands into opposite sleeves. The jacket looked so inflated on her small frame that he had to hold back a chuckle from interrupting her new melancholy.

"After all that has happened, it is very good to hear that you can still be optimistic."

She must have intended to spread another layer over the past, but ended up peeling off the previous one. Tenchi narrowed his eyes over the field, all but seeing someone unwanted walking through the grass in yet another outfit suited only for display, but he closed his eyes before he could even finish their face.

"How are lessons with the new shrine keeper if---you--don't- mindmeasking." Aeka asked more naturally, then less than the same.

Tenchi memories jumped over the fresh actions of his uncle and fell to the side of what were nearly the last remains of his grandfather. There were dreams to go along; a thousand finely painted fingers spewing from cracks in the earth to drag them all through holes in space, five pairs of eyes stretching like cellophane as leering faces pressed through them.

An expansive variety of voices and laughter snarled up in random samples to feed the grind of Tenchi's teeth. Yet, as was becoming the case with all his recent nightmares, the swelling rage in him popped like a balloon as his last vision of Seita's eyes flickered between his last look into Ryoko's. Even if he hated losing control of his anger more than ever, he wondered if he'd prefer that over the numbness that always followed sterile oceans being placed beside tarnished gold. He almost forgot that Aeka was sitting next to him as he let his head bow under pressure.

"Forgive me, Lord Tenchi. It seems I've all but lost my sense of tact."

Tenchi slapped himself out of it, perhaps too hard as he blinked rapidly to bring Aeka and her tender voice back into focus.

"Huh? Aeka, what are you talking about?"

"I'm only reopening old wounds." Her pitiful self reprimand put glass under his skin.

Tenchi spread both hands into his hair and shook his head, as much for himself as for her.

"No, no, ^no^ Aeka. You haven't said anything wrong, I'm fine, really."

They were silent while Tenchi waited to give her apology back even more formally than she'd given it, and hopefully add his own. She remained as downcast and shy as a widow for long enough to turn him back to the sunset.

"Hm." The thought in Aeka's head released a tiny, yet almost amused sound. Tenchi was quick to give his undivided attention this time.

"What is it, Aeka?"

"Oh, it's just almost funny that I keep giving you things that you don't want. Apologies, I mean."

"Aeka, don't worry about it, okay? Can't we just enjoy the sunset?"

The sudden croon in his voice surprised him. He'd meant to sound comforting, but had almost sounded seductive. Aeka looked up at him then, slow and gracious, both eyes, full force. Tenchi should have taken off his jacket, and should be following his own advice.

Within a minute of retreating back into the scenery, the princess's near whisper found him again.

"Lord Tenchi," fabric gasped as her hands move over themselves, "were you thinking about Seita?"

A gnarled block of ice raked itself down his spine and dropped into his stomach from a high bridge. The ocean surged toward him, white with power, unimpressed by whatever justification he might have for dishonesty, unmoved that he still held up his hands to push back. Somehow he managed to keep his eyes on the sunset, even if they were closed for all the time before and after he answered, but answered evenly.

"I was."

The fabric of her coat moved beneath however long a breath she hoped would make a difference. Tenchi knew she was waiting for him to face her, or at least offer his profile. He hoped she wouldn't wait forever.

"I remember, after," she swallowed, "after we began caring for Yosho, after we had already shared the basics of our encounters, you told us that you were always willing to listen if we needed to---share. But you, but we, we almost always ended up apologizing if we tried after that. At least, I know I did."

Every last thing in her voice was pulling Tenchi's head away and down to the side, to better hear or hide his face. He could smell the perfume again but knew he couldn't breath above a whisper anymore. While he, now halfheartedly, searched for words to reassure them both, Aeka continued.

"But now, after everything that has happened, I think it is more important that I be as honest as possible."

Edges of Ryoko's voice echoed in the cave again, but Tenchi couldn't be interrupted. If Aeka was rushing herself, he'd have to calm things even faster.

"I must apologize if this upsets things, but I can't bear the thought of keeping anything from you."

"Aeka, what are you talking about?" He asked paternally, dismissively, and still halfheartedly.

*Damn it, Tenchi, don't stop there! She might answer!

In contrast to his reflexive confusion, her answer came almost naturally.

"I was thinking about, Seita as well."

*Yeah. And I knew it, and I couldn't say a thing.

"Moments ago, right after I complimented your optimism, I began--- remembering."

"Oh," Tenchi barely heard himself and tried to speak up before he gave out, "that's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Thank you, Lord Tenchi. But it is not memories of ^him^ that shame me."

"Shame you?" Confusion isolated him for a single blessed moment.

"No," Aeka exhaled anxiously, then took a series of rapid breaths, preparing to dive particularly deep into frigid water. Tenchi slipped out of his jacket, moved closer, and attached his voice more sturdily, all without thinking.

"Aeka, what's wrong?"

"Lord Tenchi, there are some things that I've neglected to tell you that took place while Seita was still here."

She sounded almost exactly as she had moments before Washu had sprung from her lab, full sized and bleeding. Preparing himself for the worst only seemed to bring out the worst in him lately, but he didn't believe there was a choice. Aeka held her breath this time and swung her eyes around straight into his.

"That day, just before Washu tried to trap him in her lab, he---he found Ryoko and I asleep in the living room."

*And he plagued you both with terrible nightmares about giving birth to monsters, I remember, and he did it because I was an idiot, an incompetent little boy. Anyone who trusts someone who can get into other people's heads doesn't deserve to walk on-

Tenchi felt he could swallow his own tongue if he tried hard enough.

"I remember, Aeka. You told me."

With the boulder crumbling back to gravel in his throat, Tenchi mentally lashed back at that seemingly happy change to the household. For a moment all he could think of were stories of men dressing as clowns to abduct children. His hands began to shake as he consequently thought of Sasami on that roller coaster. It made it easier to fight this thought off when he reminded himself that this 'happy' period hardly lasted past his date with Ryoko.

He suddenly found himself with more to lash at, but nothing could push back at the weight in Aeka's voice, as it was seemingly too much for her to even lift her eyes against.

"There was more to it."

She managed to look up at him and smiled with a strength that must have left the rest of her as frail as frost.

*She's so beautiful.

*I wonder if she cried for hours before she came out here.

This time the warmth in his face was more pleasant and it flickered like real fire as he blinked rapidly. This time, he knew she was moving closer to him. He felt her hands wrap around his torso, promising to hold him rather than merely hug him. Unexpected but understood relief stumbled into him as he watched sadness reclaim the allure from her face and steer it back towards the ground.

"But, Lord Tenchi, please---please let me tell you the next part like this." She inched closer and rested her head against his chest, moving her arms more snugly around him. "I know it's rude not to face someone when speaking to them, yet, if you'll allow, it would be so much easier for me."

Tenchi knew she was referring to the position of their bodies more than the angles of their eyes. Rather than let too much in, he immersed as much of himself as possible in the irony that he wouldn't have had to sweat over how loudly his heartbeat struck her ear if he'd left his jacket on. Amid all this it surprised him to answer tenderly rather than diplomatically.

"It's okay, Aeka."

She sniffed, giving him a tiny and short-lived squeeze before returning to the trial of formality amid who knew what kind of confession.

"You do remember then, when Ryoko and I told you---how he manipulated our dreams?"

With eyes closed Tenchi considered everything akin to adjusting his throat, even though he knew the problem was in his guts and most of his bones. He managed to nod, then answered quietly after realizing she couldn't see the gesture.

"Yes."

"We---I told you that, in our dreams, he'd given us horrible visions of giving birth to---to-" Aeka probably wasn't gripping him as tightly as she wanted to, put Tenchi held her closer with no less sympathy. It felt, too, like she might be swallowing one sob after another.

*Tsunami, mother, how am I going to do this?

Tenchi closed his eyes and breathed concentration the way his grandfather and television showed him.

"You don't have to do this, Aeka."

She sniffled rough, but not as sickly as he might have expected.

"No, Lord Tenchi. You have to know."

Again she found so much strength that he eased up his hold on her for fear of breaking wherever she'd taken it from. Her voice wavered a bit more before she cut off any further argument he might have had, but Tenchi didn't notice.

"In the dream---the baby was yours."

This time she held him tight, and he could feel the softness of her cheek flatten itself against his lower chest.

"Ours."

Tenchi listened to the wind, for his heartbeat, for something to snap him out of whatever Numb and Petrified had spawned together. After moments indifferent even to the sunset, Aeka began softly crying her words out, and that revived him enough.

"I'm so sorry I kept this from you."

*How can her hair be this soft?

"Don't---don't you see, Lord Tenchi?! He knew my most horrible fear was that, even though brother Yosho and my father started families from this planet, if I---if we-" Aeka sobbed more harsh, more helpless.

Tenchi could have learned everything they'd left out when they'd taught him about inbreeding and birth defects in school, learned it all at once even, and it still wouldn't strike him this hard.

"And I'm ^still^ so terrified that, if you and I were to wed, something might go wrong with our---there might be chance that our children would be born and-"

But it would probably feel little different when so much knowledge drained from his head the same way it, apparently, still did. Aeka continued shaking her head and muttering faintly through the muted sobs, likely apologizing, when he managed to convince himself what it all meant, like unquestionable clockwork. The twinge of taboo still simply wasn't there.

*Tell her it's okay. Make her feel safe. Lean in closer and whisper not to cry, not to worry. It'll be okay.

It was soon thoroughly unnerving, not that he was somehow calm while comforting a beautiful girl, all but helping her to his handkerchief, what took him aback was where he realized Seita had gone. By some miracle Tenchi caught a glimpse of trapping him in perspective, of being able to look at and recognize his hatred in its place as a lower priority. He could hardly believe how well he was focused, how clearly the important things put themselves ahead of whatever that maniac had been for. An almost intoxicating warmth, that he hoped resembled what he was giving Aeka, began to rush into him, however, it made him notice that she'd pulled away to properly blow her nose on her own stash of tissue.

"Thank you, Lord Tenchi. You are so---so-"

"It's okay Aeka, don't worry about it."

He cut off her almost exhausted thanks with another diplomat turned seducer. It froze his blood for a moment to think he might be sounding like Seita, but Aeka quickly melted it, and even evaporated a little for good measure, returning to her position against his chest with an even more velveteen tone.

"It's always harder to worry when I'm with you."

The almost childish response was too sincere to judge. Tenchi felt the fire in his cheeks churn to white embers, no longer convinced that anyone could be that close to his heart and not know its force. When he turned back toward the sunset to consider this line of reasoning he felt Aeka shift, but before she could lift her gaze as well an entirely new thought stole its chance to push to the front.

*Tell her. Now.

"Aeka, listen. I have something I want to share, too.

*You have to tell someone, and who else can you really confide in anymore?

"Yes Lord Tenchi, what is it?"

He wished that he hadn't sounded so deathly serious, and he wished he could better tell the difference between nervous and anxious. In any case, it was too late to withdraw now. Aeka had finally cut in everything he'd thought was painted on obviously enough. If she wants to tell him so directly that she thinks about their children, then he'll eventually have to tell her what Seita had shown him that night. But in remembering what was far to the side of those 'revelations', there was something that preceded, and fit even closer to the shame she'd felt. If it had been a test before a bargain, it would haunt him. If he kept it to himself till he had absolutely no ideas left of what it had been, it would scar him.

"Before Seita-"

*I can't do this. I know I'm not even remembering all of it, but it still makes me want to scream. How could I have been so weak?

*No! Snap out of it!

*Aeka, she's here with you, holding you now. You can be strong for her.

"It happened before---before he cut himself off from his power."

Tenchi breathed once and tightened his grip gently, relieved to almost another breath when she returned twice the pressure.

"That night he opened one of his portals in my room. But it was so small-"

Aeka's face moved, and he noticed, but couldn't move till he handed over everything to his throat again.

"It was so small that I could hardly notice it at first. And for some reason I could actually be near it without the usual effect. I could even stand and walk towards it."

*Stop shaking, damn you.

*But no! Don't stop talking! Tremble all you want, but don't stop talking.

"When I took the first steps," he could at least teach his breath to be anxious instead of nervous, "I thought I might actually be able to, to overcome it, I guess. Then before I knew it I was reaching out, trying to hold it in my hand like some grand prize."

It was only two long breaths before Aeka must have realized that he wouldn't be able to continue without her.

"I-I'm," it sounded too sweet to be a stutter, "I'm right here Tenchi, you can tell me. It's alright."

His eyes closed to her voice without his permission, but thankfully his mouth opened.

"I think I might have known, for a second anyway, how Seita felt when he first started to live inside that place; I was ^drawn^ to it. I wanted to get closer and closer, first to---show I wasn't afraid, I guess, but then I wanted it, wanted to have it, and I couldn't stop. I can't believe I could be so-"

Shoulders, head, all of Tenchi was curling inward. He wanted to say that he barely snapped out of it, though wanted more for Aeka to figure that part out herself. Whatever she had put together she held him up with it, her hand only needing to touch his cheek, or the air immediately before it.

"That's all over now, Lord Tenchi. Whatever he did to you, it's over."

"Aeka."

"Yes?" She hid her surprise as quickly as he wore out his fear.

"Please, from now on, seriously, please, please don't call me 'Lord' anything."

When enough moments overstretched themselves for Tenchi to be sure, certain she wouldn't be so agreeable this time, she smoothed over even more of everything that would have kept him trembling.

"I'll try, starting today, I'll really try."

There wasn't much of the sun left, now that Tenchi had enough nerves to look at it again.

*Why do I feel so tired?

He wouldn't yawn or stretch, but he would breathe again.

"It's going to start getting colder again, do you-"

"Can't we just stay out here a little longer?"

Tenchi hadn't really breathed as forcefully as he could have, and hadn't asked if it would be okay if he started smoothing her hair again.

"Tenchi."

By all means he should have yanked his hand back behind his neck, but it simply glided down to her shoulder as she inched closer and brought her head up beneath his chin.

"You still miss Ryoko, don't you?"

Tenchi figured his ribs had to made out of rubber to be keeping whatever it was in or outside them. The rest of him might as well have been in the onsen or in space, but he tried to thank something that his head was finally too chaotic to be pained. Everything in the jumble seemed like a reflex, or an old memory anyway. And besides, he was too tired to give a real answer, so he shouldn't worry.

"By her time I guess she hasn't really been gone that long."

*^That^ was not the answer I wanted.

"No, I suppose not."

*And ^she's^ not supposed to have such a wounded answer.

It was just like every tender moment around here, Tenchi thought, ruined by the pain the two girls caused each other.

*That's it, she can come back when she's done being so obsessed. I'm sick of all this-

Tenchi saw his hand clench over Aeka's back and thanked everything that he wasn't holding her anymore. She could probably still hear his heart, and now maybe his teeth too.

*Well there it is, that horrible pain, this damn cannonball, and all for what? Some poor experiment that desperately needs attention?

Tenchi waited to see if Aeka noticed the metal that yanked his jaw down to crush the rest. He pulled up the pieces slowly, amazed she hadn't noticed, though she'd obviously been thinking too.

"She may not return for some time."

*Oh no, am I going to-

Eyes closed, breathing, Tenchi noticed Aeka again, every last inch and scent. If the weight inside him was hell then surely being able to sense her was something else.

*That's it, whatever this grief is, if Ryoko's going to give it to me I'm going to throw it right back.

"I guess there was nothing we could have done about it."

The weight seemed to melt then, filling every part of him with iron as a cold liquid. Tenchi could believe that this was like dissipating; it was falling apart inside him but soon it would crumble away.

A long breath of air filled Aeka's lungs, and she brought her face level to his. The tear lines on her face were barely there, and only made her look more determined. Tenchi saw Ryoko and Seita, and himself with his scalp in his fists.

He remembered two ships crashing each other into a bay, and watching something supernatural wither away.

The sound of Sasami's laughter and gods Aeka was so beautiful and how could he have attacked so blindly.

There must be a way for Washu to contact anybody and Yosho must have seen something more and he had to breathe soon.

"I do so hope you don't blame yourself."

More than halfway through with the compassion, she turned away and rested her back against the swinging bench, rocking them a little. When Tenchi could look she had already bowed her head, but low as it was he still expected to be able to notice when the coming tears broke through.

*I have to put my arm back around her. Now, do it now.

A sacred spirit out of hiding, Aeka's voice put his arm the rest of the way around her, a perfectly gentle new mother who would not think twice to defend her family to the death.

"You know how unpredictable she is."

Even though he saw everything again, the weight seemed to fill even his eyes, making them oddly impossible to blink. In any case he didn't feel like he knew much of anything beyond Aeka's face lifting into view again. All the sinister blues crumbling and selfish golds weathering, but The First Princess of Jurai was lifting her head again, eyes first at least.

"Tenchi, you know that, no matter what happens, no matter what my father says, I'll stay here as long as you want me to."

She was moving her eyes back to his very slowly, but his thoughts rushed about faster than ever. His voice was so reflexive and hushed that he didn't mind that it spoke for itself.

"Thanks, Aeka."

The weight had to be nothing compared to whatever her eyes were doing to him. He told himself that it was his cowardice, rather than any type of honor that was wailing out at him to put up some kind of guard.

One specific memory began to gain footing and Tenchi didn't have room to care how gulping would seem now. He'd seen this consuming affection before, but clearly she'd held it back for too long. In fact something might split across her taut and slightly reddened perfection if she didn't swallow loudly too.

Even before she balanced herself with a hand on his leg, Aeka began leaning towards him. This first movement could have separated a moth's wing, but it shattered glass and pined Tenchi down with it. Passion became her, someone who would truly adore and never doubt him, who would stay by his side perhaps even after death. Her voice promised even more even if there wasn't such a thing.

"I would never leave you, Tenchi."

Aeka closed her eyes sooner than most would have, but with nervousness that ^must^ have been merely hidden better than his, she pressed her lips together then gently parted them to fit a few threads, to reach out. He forced his eyes closed, knowing he was too heated to be nervous and hearing someone yell about this or that not being done properly. The voice was right as right but it didn't mean anything. None of the horrible things in his head meant anything and he didn't care if one more fact was one of them; Aeka was perfect, and all he wanted, and now, now and forever she would protect him from every pain.

Their kiss folded together with such care that their noses hardly bent. They pulled away after only a minute but only for long enough for a single breath. Friction let out its special definitions, the clouds and rivers trading qualities; tiny wet sounds for hidden shimmers grew steadily louder as Aeka trembled opened her mouth to invite every part of him inside her, to gloriously claim her prince.

Tenchi was acutely aware of his growing arousal, the amazing warmth just behind a person's teeth. If he still felt the weight, or even now more than everything, it was really pure bliss for not even fear could be this intense. As unnecessary, as absurd as it was, he even reassured himself that it simply couldn't be guilt, not after everything they'd endured. They deserved perfect fate.

He felt like he was eating the world and cursing random people in a chaotic new tongue, but the next time he stopped to breathe it didn't even feel like stopping. He would not stop and would prove he didn't have to as he intensified the kiss to the point of eliciting throaty moans from his princess. After, whenever he decided that they should go inside, everything would be different all over again, but everything would have no choice but to be better. Aeka's hair was even softer the deeper his hand moved, and now the bare voices cut out of her breaths dragged his mind further under white steam waters.