when the candles are out
by Bethany Ten
chapter 2: sanzo is smart

The journey continued as per normal as Goku gradually became accustomed to his new body as teenagers did; his diadem was beginning to bear a suspicious resemblance to a tiara, perched glittery gold atop his head. He stopped chewing on his nails, so they metamorphosed into neat, white crescents. But aside from that, he appeared dubiously unaffected by it all, uncomplaining when he fastened his skirts on in the morning and when he laced up his bodice and did everything within his immediate power to maintain the pliability of his body, because it wouldn't do to possess any hindrances. He learned that from Sanzo.

The paper fan rarely saw the light of day.

"Ne, Sanzo," Goku said one day, fiddling with the ribbon in his hair. His sleek brown locks had assumed their original length, which was somewhere near the small of his back, but it was vaguely tamer instead of jutting out in obscene directions. "You haven't insulted me or hit me or anythin' lately. You okay? Or are you really an assassin in disguise or somethin'? …HEY! Where the hell's th' real Sanzo?"

"Shut up," Sanzo muttered, and stood. "Let's go eat."

"Huh?" His animosity vanished as quickly as it came. "But what about Gojyo and Hakkai? They're not back yet."

"Fuck them."

"H-hey! Wait up! Oi, Sanzo!"

Sanzo decided he hated humanity. He hated youkai. He hated his life, he hated wearing leather in the summertime, he hated the fact that Gojyo made him doubt the fullness of his hairline, he hated Gojyo. He hated a lot of things, like the way fate had always managed a good laugh at his expense no matter the scenario. But out of those lots of things, those mile-high lists of things Sanzo hated, Son Goku was not among them, but the monkey suffered anyway.

"Sanzo, you know I'm not really a girl, right? 'Cause, you know. I look like one, yeah. And I pee like one, yeah. But I'm not a girl."

"I know," Sanzo said, and hit him.

"Ow!"

"I know," Sanzo said, and asked him what he wanted for lunch.

● ● ●

"They've been leavin' us alone a lot," Gojyo mused.

"Yes," Hakkai agreed sentiently, "I suppose they have. Well, Sanzo may feel obligated to protect his ward from any and all manner of dishonorable suitors."

"You can hit the monkey, but you can't hit on the monkey."

Hakkai smiled, all arced, closed eyes and tight lips. "That's correct. Goku is eighteen, and he has been transformed into a moderately attractive young woman."

"Mm-hmm."

"The sort you would be attracted to."

Gojyo fell out of his chair and clambered back onto it in one fell swoop. He adjusted his headband, dusted his arms, and brushed off his pants before interlacing his knuckles and resting his chin on them, looking as though he had just not topped out of his chair, arms akimbo and eyes the size of Goku's dinner dishes. "I'm sorry," he said, sounding genuinely apologetic as he took Hakkai's hand in his, "I hallucinated. I tend to do that. Would you mind repeating that for this delusional soul?"

Hakkai repeated that, and Gojyo, accordingly and accommodatingly, repeated the process of falling out of his chair and clambering back onto it in one fell swoop. He adjusted his headband, dusted his arms, and brushed off his pants before interlacing his knuckles and resting his chin on them. He opened his mouth, possibly to plead insanity, but shut it immediately as he met Hakkai's calculating, smiling, carefully shadowed gaze. "Hakkai, what the hell are—"

Hakkai's fingers twitched surreptitiously.

Gojyo swallowed, scowled, and shoved his teacup forward. "Feh. Even if the thought did cross my mind, Sanzo would slaughter me. And it would be slow. And painful. I don't do slow or painful. Except in bed," he added, as an afterthought, dwelling on that fact for a second, "for a certain value of 'painful'."

Hakkai laughed, genuine delight twisting its way onto his pretty face; Gojyo absently took his hand again, playing idly with the grooves between Hakkai's fingers, and suddenly, everything was alright with the world. Certainly not great or amazing, but alright, and Gojyo never took alright for granted.

Well, not quite alright. Because Goku was still a girl, and Sanzo was still emotionally retarded (nothing new) and grievously mentally injured.

● ● ●

The thing was that Sanzo liked Goku better when Goku was a boy. It was nothing personal; he wasn't a chauvinist pig or anything of that sort. In fact, when it came to women, Sanzo was courteous (still a little on the gruff side), smelled a bit nicer, and, above all, was completely detached. Genjyo Sanzo quite literally had no time whatsoever for girls. He never had any time whatsoever for girls. He had enough on his plate already—namely, Goku—oh, and maybe all that saving the world shit—without having to tend to the beck and call of a woman (because, undoubtedly, women had their beck and call).

It was just that…well.

The thing was that Sanzo wasn't so much of a complete asshole so as to only be tolerant of Goku when Goku had soft curves and long eyelashes and eyes that positively glowed something topaz at any prospects concerning food, Sanzo, or combat, or possibly some unattainable mix of the three. It was just that…

It was just that…

Gojyo's policy regarding women's clothing was very…flagrant.

And the fact that he had to adjust his policy to conform to the mold of a movement-happy boy-turned-girl—

—well.

The fact that he had to adjust his policy at all was startling in itself.

So there, Genjyo Sanzo found himself faced with the most daunting adversaries at all:

Goku's suitors.

Goku's suitors. Goku's. Suitors. Goku's suitors. They were supposed to be completely incapable of existing in the first place, but then they did, and they were everywhere, it seemed. They were lecherous sleazebags with appreciative eyes. They had a special place in their hearts (or in their dicks) for brunettes with golden eyes; they usually could be found in the local bars, the atmosphere around them painted thickly with the scent of cheap booze and equally inexpensive cologne. They made him yearn for Gojyo's company. At least Gojyo, regardless of the fact that he apparently had an affinity for fashion makeovers, had a decent sense of what, exactly, was irrevocably, infinitely, perpetually, forevermore off-limits.

Sanzo liked bars, normally. They were cesspools of human filth, and Sanzo was an observer of examples of filth and a tasteful drinker simultaneously.

Every sixteen minutes (he ticked off the seconds in his head), however, whilst dwelling in one of these bars, he would find Goku unwittingly being accosted by some rogue. Goku was socially incapable of fending for himself, so, naturally, being the nice, all-around saintly guy he was, Sanzo handled any and all dealings with other well-meaning people. A charmingly worded sentence and a euphemism here or there, followed or preceded by a reference to religion, often did the trick. Knight in shining armor, and all that. Or knight in tight leather gear and flowing white robes.

"Finish that sentence and I swear to Buddha I will find some way to make you shit out your mouth instead of your ass."

Yes, Sanzo did take a particular pleasure in fending off those who dared impede upon Goku the Monkey Queen's honor. After all, if anyone was allowed to impede upon Goku's honor, it was him. He deserved that right. Gojyo could go fuck himself. Everyone else could go fuck themselves.

"He was kind of nice," Goku was saying obliviously, his hand tangled in the throng of fabric somewhere at the small of Sanzo's back, "though he smelled really bad, right, eh, Sanzo?"

"He was a shithead."

Goku's smile was a little unnerving.

"A shithead," Sanzo insisted.

Goku tittered malevolently, just like a bodhisattva somewhere on high was as well, but before Sanzo could accurately weigh the religious retribution for killing monkeys, a random man slipped into the stool beside Goku and abruptly began a vicious cycle of grinning and winking lasciviously and making offhandedly lewd comments.

Another person became well-acquainted with Sanzo's killer left hook.

● ● ●

"Heal me."

Hakkai dabbed his brow with a damp towelette.

"Heal me," Sanzo demanded to the best of his ability.

"Refrain from talking, please; your jaw is swelling," Hakkai said cheerfully.

"He started it," Goku said, his voice floating from somewhere outside of Sanzo's peripherals.

"You started a bar fight?" That was Gojyo, who had his pants on, so he was only fifty percent naked now.

"…No."

"Why?"

"Because."

Smiling blissfully, Hakkai increased the pressure on the towelette that was now making a nice fringed imprint on Sanzo's skull; Sanzo hissed. "I do hope your credit card will be able to cover the damages, Sanzo-sama; you did start it, after all."

"I did not start anything," Sanzo insisted.

"How did it happen?" Gojyo asked, incredulous.

"I met this nice guy!" Goku chirped.

Gojyo and Hakkai's left eyebrows raised in unison.

"He offered to buy me dinner!"

Up went the other eyebrows.

"And breakfast, and lunch, an'…"

Then the eyelids.

"…then Sanzo punched him."

The corners of their lips.

"An' he toppled over the counter…"

Hakkai looked at Gojyo.

"…an' the guy tried to hit Sanzo with a bottle and talk to me at the same time."

Gojyo looked at Hakkai.

"Was shit at multitasking," Sanzo said, wringing his hands.

"I'm sorry," Hakkai said, eyes doing that gleam thing that never failed to creep Sanzo out, "but was that supposed to be in your defense?"

"Fuck all of you."

Goku cracked a cheerful smile. If the monk was cussing, everything was gonna be fine.

Gojyo and Hakkai's smiles were just. Painfully conspiratorial.

Some part of Sanzo's brain helpfully alerted him to the fact he was doomed.

He pointedly ignored it, like he always did.

(That never did him much good, either.)

"…Dinner," Sanzo pleaded.

"What about dinner?" Gojyo said mildly, fingers twitching.

"That guy. Him," Sanzo said, wringing his hands. "All of them. Goku. Dinner."

"Sanzo, 're you gonna buy me dinner since that guy isn't gonna?"

"B-but—"

"Yes, yes," Hakkai said soothingly. "Of course you can buy him dinner, Sanzo."

"But…"