Tasuki viewed the girl he had watched over for...so long. It felt like she was all he had ever known, though that wasn't true. He knew that the better part of his life had been spent in bandrity at Mt.Rekaku.

But this one person. She was amazing. Just one small girl. Though he thought the world of her, judging with an unbiased eye, he knew that there were people stronger, and smarter, and more beautiful. Miaka had something, though, that brought everyone to love her. Even, he admitted softly to himself, him.

What was it about her? It wasn't cunning and strategically placed clothes anyway, because although she was very pretty, and growing into her beauty surely enough, she didn't have that kind of know-how.

It had to do more with her vulnerability. The way that her vulnerability became her strength. The way that she naturally showed her heart to the world. How she truly cared for people-for everyone. Tasuki remembered when Miaka had finally confessed to Hotohori that she didn't think she could truly love him. He remembered the tears that had poured down her cheeks; how she had felt his pain as if it was her own. She realized how she was hurting him, but she cared enough even so to spare neither of them, and to tell him the truth.

Yet, the sight of her heart seemed to strengthen all who saw it. Because as the emperor stared in surprise at her, he had taken courage and heart from her, and eased her guilt. Hotohori had loved her; truly loved her. He had had the strength to let her go.

Which is more than an old bandit like me's got, Tasuki thought reproachfully, mentally kicking himself. He knew how she felt about Tamahome though, and honestly, knew that a confession of heartfelt love from him would do no good, and probably a lot of harm. And besides...

He looked around their little group, showing a fang in a little half-smile. He guessed that at least half of them were in love with their Priestess. It was bound to happen, but it was really too bad. He guessed that the only members really exempt from this were little Chiriko and Mitsuake, who had already had the love of his life. Tasuki shuddered a little. He didn't really want that to happen to him, either. Unrequeited love was a major bitch.

"Tasuki," Miaka called to him quietly. His head snapped up.

"Yeah? Wha's a-matter?" he asked in his customary drawl, craning his head up to look at her standing above him.

"I - I need to ask you something important," she said softly.

In spite of himself, his heart sped up. It was just that she looked so sweet standing there, with her silky hair tumbling about her shoulders, and her strange foreign clothes accenting her slight curves, and complimenting her skin and eyes. He couldn't help wondering if she was going to ask something interesting - for example, "Excuse me, Tasuki, but by any chance would you like to marry me?" Or perhaps, "I've been in love with you for quite some time. Perhaps you would like to take me to bed?"

He shook his head to clear idiotic thoughts from it - good luck there - and stood up smoothly. "Uh-huh?"

She bowed her head a little, but he saw that her face was solemn. Then she squared her shoulders, and looked up at him. "Tasuki, we're going to Qu-Dong again. And we might not come out alive. We might all die. I know that you're a Suzaku Warrior, but you've gone above and beyond time and time again. And if you don't want to come, I'll understand."

"How can you think I wouldn't?I've been achin' for a good tussle with them Seiryu Warriors for a while anyway," he said indignantly.

She smiled faintly. "Thank you. But really, this is going to be bad. And it might be better if as few people were hurt as possible."

"Why don' you stay back then?" he asked pointedly.

"Alright. I just wanted to let you know." Her chin trembled a little. "I don't want anyone else to get hurt over me."

Tasuki looked at her. For once, he gave in to what might be called sentimentality. And he saw her as beautiful as she was then and would someday be as a full-grown woman. He saw her lover looking fondly over, too. Tamahome, his friend and the one who held the woman they both loved in his arms.

This was his moment where he could break this. He could refuse heartbreak, and pain, and bittersweetness that he knew from experience came from unrequeited love. He knew what it felt like to see someone every day and to know that you could never have them. To feel each touch's fleeting sweetness, and to know it's falseness. To lose hope for love. He wasn't sure which one of these was more precious, but he knew that most of the time, you had to give up one for the other.

Slowly, deliberately, he sank to one knee. Still looking in her brown eyes, he took her hand.

"I'll protect you until I can't any longer," he swore. As a lover and a friend, he added silently. "And I'll bet my life that th' rest of the guys here feel the same." He stood up again, ignoring the tears that were now dripping down her cheeks, though he would have given his metal fan to wipe them away for her. "Don't insult them by even asking," he said as he walked away.

Walking away from her as she stood there crying was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. All he wanted to do was to run back and envelope her in his arms, comforting her. But he was a warrior, not her man. More importantly, he was her warrior. She didn't need him that way. He had his duty, and that was all he got. She didn't need him as a lover; she needed him as a friend. He had to stay with her; his will wasn't that strong. But he knew that he couldn't be the one to dry her tears,and his love for her was stronger than anything. And sometimes, if you really loved someone, you walked away.