sun, wind, moon

--revised version completed 11-26-05

Mild Jin & Mugen shounen, nothing physical. Spoilers for episodes #13-14, posted in honor of these superb eps' American TV debut.

Contains references to my own"Scarlet-Indigo".

Usual disclaimer: I do not own Champloo or its characters, who are (c) Manglobe and Shimoigusa Champloos, but I love them a lot.
Once Jin had told Mugen of Mukuro's death and parted with him on the beach, he'd walked back toward the village, but found he was not ready to go there, not yet. The rain had stopped, the clouds that had borne it now moving out to sea, burning with sunset light. He climbed onto the round back of a boulder and settled there, centered and breathed deeply, seeking comprehension and clarity.

I thought you were dead. There were no words for that crushing weight of pain. I couldn't move. I could barely breathe. I let Fuu go alone; I couldn't follow. I thought I too would die.

I killed that man in your name and I felt nothing. Nothing at all, no satisfaction, no revenge, not even grief.

Even setting out after that girl, who'd betrayed us all, was empty…and I was so afraid that I had lost everything I've found on this journey, turned back into that frozen creature, barely human, a device with a sword…

Then I saw you walking down the beach. I saw you alive, and heard your voice, and I could breathe. I came back to life.

He gazed out over the slow waves that glowed in the last beams of the sun. I've found the one I was looking for, that I can't be without, and I didn't even know it. I should have seen it from the first... this barbarian with its reckless fighting style, its tattoos and earrings and exotic tawny skin, the wildest animal a well-bred city boy could imagine: how could he be anything but Jin's other half?
Gold to silver, sun to moon, the yang fire his subtle nature had never let burn…

He'll laugh at me, he knew this months ago, Jin was thinking, half smiling; and then he heard Kohza's terrible shriek, and leapt off his perch, was off down the beach in an instant, sword drawn. Saw Mugen's crumpled form in the sand, thought that the girl had somehow contrived his death after all and forced back a rush of cold, red rage: if she had snatched away what he had only now found--

No. The only one bleeding was the ragged heap that lay behind Kohza, cut to red ribbons by a fast, savage blade. Moment of grim satisfaction: the spider was caught in her own web at last--

--then over the girl's anguished sobs he heard Mugen groan.

So he had finally returned to the village well after nightfall, Mugen carried on his back like a child, feverish and half-conscious; following, only half-aware of it, a wonderful, warm fragrance of food...

And in the cabin it came from they'd found Fuu half-asleep by the fire, a pot and tripod she'd scavenged kami-knew-where filling the room with a rich smell of seafood and broth, and three chipped bowls, carefully scoured with sand, sitting by. Waiting, with nothing but her hopes, for them to come home.

Even ever-ravenous Mugen had barely been able to get down a bowlful before slumping over, and they'd settled him by the fire, wrapped in Jin's indigo montsuki, and made him as comfortable as they could. The salt water had kept his burns clean; there was no infection, for which they could be thankful. But he was still wounded and exhausted, had spent the whole night in the sea, and something strange had happened to him: what words he did mutter were in a tongue neither of them understood, addressed it seemed to gods or spirits. Perhaps he had come so close to death that he'd touched the actual shore of the Otherworld. More than enough reason to be ill…

So Jin and Fuu had shared out the rest of the soup--not equally, of course, but Jin didn't mind--and told each other the stories of their very long day. It wasn't long before Fuu began to yawn; she'd tried to stay awake and watch over Mugen with him, but after dozing off twice--once nearly falling into the fire--she'd been easily persuaded to settle for the night. And now here he sat between them, looking from one to the other, hardly able to decide which was more remarkable.

Look, he thought, at this girl. No stronger than a plum blossom, one would think. But last night, when one of her yojimbo was addressing his ancestors and the other stood stunned and useless, look what she did: she mastered her grief and fear; she went alone, by night, barely armed, into strange and dangerous terrain to rescue a wounded comrade, and brought him safely home.

He regarded the sleeping Fuu with deep, quiet admiration. He couldn't imagine how she'd done it; Mugen weighed half again what she did, and was unconscious and soaked besides, and that coward fisherman was so afraid of the pirate village that he'd run before they'd carried him half the distance. She did it by herself. Honored captains of samurai have done less for their men than that; but she would no more abandon you than a tigress would her cub. And when you--you ingrate--tricked her and slipped away, what did she do then? Decide you were worth no more of her trouble? No; she went back for the coward's fishnet, made bansan for three--(Jin could so clearly see Fuu pouring all her anxious energy into cleaning and preparing that pile of fish, searching the abandoned houses for cooking tools and water, carefully cleaning every last scale and shred off her tanto before curling up by the fire)--and waited for us. Having no idea if we were alive or dead. Because her courage, and faith in us, never faltered.

I have so long thought there were no masters left worth serving.

Something else I found without knowing it…

It should be done when she could hear and see it, but he wanted to do it now. He would know, even if she did not, and that was enough. He was deeply glad to have found one so worthy of a samurai's vow.

He shifted to face her futon, and knelt facing her. He laid his katana solemnly on the mat before him, bowed his head to his knees, spoke with grave, serene respect.

"Your servant, shishou Fuu."

He stayed in obeisance until he felt she'd heard him in her sleep, sensed their minds in accord. Only then did he straighten, incline his head to her, and turn his attention back to Mugen.

His sleep had become less restless; perhaps that was a good sign. Jin leaned over him again, held the dark head between his hands, sighed in worry: his skin was parching hot, dry as paper, his brow tightened with pain or bad dreams. It must break. He would not rest until it did.

…found himself looking at the contrast they made, his long pale hands on Mugen's deep golden skin, tanned by the summers of a lifetime. Again they were matched opposites, perfectly in parallel. We are the sun and the moon, aite, and without either one of us, not enough light on this road...

--sat up with a start: he'd almost been asleep. That wouldn't do. He straightened his spine and gave his head a firm shake. They were depending on him.

He looked down again at the exhausted face, stroked his profile with a light finger: the sharp nose and stubbled chin, that slice through the eyebrow he'd never tell them about. He'd been right, he'd known it weeks ago, longer…

He leaned close, voice very quiet, utterly sure.

"Aite, remember: you told me that I belong to you, that my death is yours. Then no less are you mine, and your death mine, and I will not let go of either one. I will not."

He rested his forehead against Mugen's; his eyes slowly closed. He was so tired…a long, long day…

…don't leave me. I will not leave you.

Bansan: evening meal.

aite: essentially "necessary other". Half of any working pair, whether paired for good or bad purpose. Can mean partner, comrade, colleague, but also foe or opponent. Takes two to tango, and a lot more things besides.