Disclaimer: Saiyuuki does not belong to me. I'm just dumping more angst on the characters for my own pleasure. No profit involved.
Warnings: Introspection and run-on sentences ahead. This story has not been beta-ed. Read at your own risk!
A Chrysanthemum in Winter
A body had to question what it was doing, hanging out in a gray expanse of nothingness.
A body also had to question how it had gotten there, especially when said body had no recollection of what came before, or of what might come after.
He blinked, or at least thought he might have tried. Perhaps he shouldn't be thinking of himself as a body, since he really didn't seem to have a body at the moment. At least not one he was physically aware of. There seemed, almost, to be a memory of a body, but even that was fleeting, slipping in and out of his consciousness like a slippery eel through his fingers.
Did he even have fingers? He must have eyes, at least, since he could see. For what it was worth, which wasn't much. His first conscious thought, his first memory, even, had been correct. This was a place of endless gray mist, stretching as far as he could see. Which could have been forever, or only a centimeter in front of him. It was hard to tell when everything was the same.
What the hell is this?
He couldn't even tell if he had spoken the words aloud or just thought them. Really, what difference did it make if he was the only one around to hear? Unexpectedly, though, there was an answer.
You know. You've been here before.
A body he didn't have jumped in surprise then scowled at his own weakness.
Show yourself.
He could swear it was laughing, even though he couldn't hear it.
Che. Do I really need to do that? Ba-ka.
It was then that he recognized his own voice.
How he knew it was his voice, he couldn't say. It seemed as though he had once known many things, things that should be at the tip of his tongue if only he could remember if he had ever had such an appendage. He must have, or else he wouldn't have a voice to recognize.
Still, he wasn't one to sit around and let someone insult him, even if that someone happened to be himself. At least, he didn't think he was, although it would have been helpful to have some memories to go along with the feeling of annoyance the voice...he...brought out in himself. Really, this was all too confusing. There was a faint flicker of movement, a ghost of a feeling, a phantom finger twitching against what should have been cold metal but was only air and gray mist. A sudden desire to rain fire and metal down upon his captor, but the feeling disappeared the way of his memories, leaving him once again empty and alone.
Urusei, he thought, or maybe said. Shut up. If I'm trapped here, I'd rather not have to listen to your noise.
A pause, in which he allowed himself to relax into the grayness. And then...
Ah, so you finally start to get it. A little slow, aren't you?
What the hell do you mean by that?
The silence stretched so long he didn't think he would hear an answer. Somehow, that didn't bother him so much as it should have, he thought. And besides, this wasn't so bad really. He had a feeling that what came before had been infinitely more bothersome than this reality. If anything had really come before. He had to question the idea of before, once he thought about it. And after. There were these words in his head that he swore meant 'not now', but he hadn't any idea how there could really be anything but now, so he cast off those words as useless.
Useless. Like all the other words floating around inside his head. Like the word 'useless'. Though most words were not so easy to cast away as those other two (whatever they had been) were. Maybe he had already discarded more than those two words. There was no way to tell, in this world where the only words that seemed to matter were 'grey' and 'I'.
You're almost there...
He thought about each word carefully before letting it dissipate into the gray. First he let the colors go, for there were none, and even if he at one time had had color, which he knew he must have, he had no body anymore to hold that color. Black and white were last, and he hesitated over these two. In the end, however, he flicked them away as one might flick away an annoying insect, for his world was grey, a perfect blend of light and darkness, of being and non-being. That was all he needed.
And at last, all the words were gone and there was nothing but feeling.
There's just one more thing...
The voice reminded him of words again. It hurt so badly he almost cursed, even though he'd forgotten all the curses he once knew.
And he thought of rain. He didn't know how such a thing could exist, how anything could exist except this grayness, except himself as a part of the grayness. But still, he thought of something called water and of that thing called water falling from something called a sky, something that was like this endless expanse of gray except it was blue, and far above him, and changed from day to day, from minute to minute. And he knew, somehow, that this thing called rain that was made of the stuff called water falling from a sky as grey as his world except from far above him rather than from around him. He knew that rain should make him sad; that this rain was important and that he felt it in the air and on his skin and felt it running hot down his face even though he refused to admit that it really wasn't rain. But this time, as he thought of this thing called rain, there was no sadness. He wasn't empty, exactly, as...as the man with the empty smile would be when it rained, but he was at peace. He accepted this thing called rain, embraced it as a part of existence separate from him yet intimately entwined, and though he had no memory, he knew that for the first time in a long time he thought of rain and knew no sorrow.
Hold nothing.
I understand.
Hold nothing.
I understand everything.
Hold nothing.
Could this be...
Paradise.
...paradise.
Sanzo. Sanzo.
That...that was his name. Or at least his title. He knew this word.
Oi, bouzo. What the hell you doing lying around at a time like this?
That was also his title, but he knew the sarcastic smirk that would accompany it. A finger twitched in irritation, and this time the feeling didn't disappear into the mists.
Maa, Genjo-san. Really, this isn't like you to be sleeping when we've work to do.
Right. He had a name. Genjo Sanzo. And a mission. There was something he needed to do.
Sanzo! Sanzo! Wake up!
The first voice again, and a sudden jarring that couldn't be part of his existence. It was much too corporeal to be a part of the bodiless limbo he had attained. But it wouldn't stop, and little by little he found himself being drawn into a new world, one of too bright colors and too loud sounds and idiot monkeys' golden eyes staring down at him though a tunnel of light.
He blinked, and one pair of golden eyes turned into three. One golden, one red, one green, all staring down at him. A green canopy of trees resolved itself overhead. He blinked again and it didn't disappear.
"What the hell's the matter with you, baka-zaru?" The words sounded harsh and all too real to his ears.
The next thing he knew he was being clasped in strong arms, shaken so his head rolled back and the bones in his neck cracked in protest.
"Sanzo! You're alright! Yappari, I knew you would be!"
"Maa, maa. Let's let him get his bearings, Goku." Gentler arms, yet just as strong, gathered him up and stopped the godawful shaking. Green eyes narrowed as they looked at him, lying limp and passive. "Sanzo, are you really alright?"
He gathered himself together then and pushed himself up, knowing it was expected of him. "Of course. What happened?"
"Che. Never thought you'd let yourself get taken so easily, bouzo." Red eyes refused to look away when he turned to glare at them. The smirk remained firmly in place on the scarred face. "All that wimp of a youkai had to do was look at you, and you were off in dream land." The eyes hardened as Gojyo leaned forward. "Oi, bouzo. What's the matter with you? You hurt?"
To his shame, Sanzo had to look away first. "No, I'm fine," he said, pushing himself out of Hakkai's and Goku's arms and to his feet. "I assume the youkai was taken care of."
Hakkai nodded. "Of course. He didn't stand a chance once Goku realized he'd done something to you."
"Hn," Sanzo grunted. "What are we waiting for then? Let's get going."
"Ah, of course," Hakkai nodded, signaling Hakuryuu to transform. As the dragon turned into a jeep and Goku danced around proclaiming how hungry he was now that Sanzo was awake, Sanzo turned his gaze to the distant hills. He could feel red eyes boring into his back, questioning, knew they knew far more than was good for them, but he resolutely ignored them. Storm clouds were gathering, darkening the sky to the west, and if one breathed deeply enough one could smell the scent of water in the air.
Sanzo thought of rain, and ignored the sudden heaviness behind his eyes.
He thought of grey, and longed for it.
End