Note: All Suikoden elements belong to Konami.

Note: Yes…Sierra has…

Rebirth

Chapter 3: Essence

by ArchFaith

She was awakened by a thin trickle of water down her hot face, the feeling of a warm, wet towel being placed against her sweating forehead.

Confusion flooded her soul; where…where was she? The old village, once again? Or perhaps she had collapsed on the road, and some kind travelers had taken her in…

The towel was placed onto her head, and the soft hands which applied it now moved down to her damp cheek. She forced her eyes open, struggled to see through the red film of tears that still obscured her vision; but her sight was blurry, and she could not make out little more than a few familiar lines and colors.

"Nash?" she whispered, the sound little more than a gasp as she blinked, trying to take in the sight of him as he bent over her, smoothing her face with his hands.

He nodded. "Don't talk, old girl," he answered calmly, though a frown had formed on his face. "You're pretty sick."

She sighed as he smoothed the moist tendrils of silver hair away from her eyes. It was him…him. The emotions seemed to pour out of her heart as she noted his patient eyes looking down at her. She opened her mouth to speak—what would she say? That she loved him, that it was a grave mistake she made, that she wished to return to him permanently?

The great swell of pride suddenly surged into her heart, and swallowed up anything pleasant she could have possibly communicated. "Do not be unreasonable…vampires do not become ill," was the statement that tumbled out of her mouth. "And I, of all vampires, should not be an exception. This condition I am in is a severe anomaly."

He creased his brows. "You're sick and you know it."

Another sigh reverberated through her chest, followed swiftly by a short cough. The various emotions that had welled up inside of her seemed to slowly fade, and were now replaced by a weary neutrality. "Alright, alright," she admitted, coughing as she brought a hand to her slightly aching chest. "It is true that I have been feeling very strange as of late…my body is in very poor condition, I'm afraid."

He brought his hands away from her face to gently grasp her hand, which had been clutching the sheets of the bed. She turned her head, and tried to focus her eyes on his tanned face, his wavy hair. Ah yes—he was coming into view now. He was staring at her with a neutral expression—well, almost neutral. Underneath she could detect curiosity, anger, affection—all natural reactions. He taken it quite well in fact; quite well for the fact that his former lover had suddenly shown up at his door six months after she left him, ill and feverish.

And it was true, no matter how much she tried to deny it; she was incredibly sick. The migraine was gone now, but no doubt it would be back; now a disturbing hot feeling inside her brain made her feel light-headed and weak. She tried to shift her legs over and found that she could not; she could barely squeeze her toes against her foot before she let go, grimacing in pain.

Yes. Something was definitely wrong.

The boy was still holding her hand as she raised her weary eyes to his. "I apologize for being so terse," she whispered, trying to make her voice as mild as it could possibly be. "It is most likely a shock for you…to have me turn up like this, in this condition…?"

He nodded, his face intently fixed on hers. "Yeah."

She blinked and sighed, the colors and shapes of the room slowly sharpening before her still unfocused eyes. Beneath the comfortable covers of the bed her traveling clothes had been removed; instead she now donned a long white tunic shirt which had clearly been made for a man. The shirt reached halfway down her thighs, and the cuffs were folded up to make room for her slender hands. Her torn, dusty skirt and cape were folded and placed on a nightstand next to the bed, on which a new-looking oil lamp rested. The rest of the room was non-descript; there were two windows into which the yellow moon shone through, and a small mirror hung on the wall next to the bed. Nash was seated next to her on the bed, dressed simply in a white shirt and loose brown pants. Her gaze returned to his as she involuntarily squeezed his hand, trying to figure out what kind of explanation she would give him.

"Well…you are correct, boy. I am extremely ill…I have been having migraines lately, and my legs pain me to no end…they seem to have a mind of their own these days…"

He nodded. "But what happened? There has to be a reason…" Though he saw with his own eyes what condition she was in, the old lessons she had taught him lingered in his mind. Vampires were nearly invincible; vampires did not have the same physical limitations humans possessed; and lastly, vampires did not become ill.

"I do not know," she answered, momentarily raising her head. "I only know that, as time wore on, this illness became so unbearable I had to return…I did not have anywhere else…" At this she closed her eyes in annoyance. "…to go."

"I see," he replied thoughtfully after a moment, observing her half-closed red eyes. "You should've just said so in the first place." He placed a hand on her arm suddenly, as he used to do whenever he would move in to kiss her.

She had closed her eyes in anticipation when she realized that he was not moving closer to her. "Is that the only reason you came back?" he asked, a glint of hope audible in his tone.

She reached out, her fingers gently grasping a wavy blonde tendril of his hair as she gently pulled him closer. "Do not ask me any more questions, boy," she whispered, closing her eyes. "I realize that this is an imposition on my part…that I have no right to be in your house when it was I who left you six months ago. But allow me to rest for now…I will tell you everything in due time, I promise." She swallowed. "But I will tell you that one of the reasons I returned was because I knew you would look after me in this condition."

The frown was back on his face again as he reached up to grasp her hand, pressing it against his warm cheek. "Well, you were right, old girl," he said, as the general confusion gathered within the base of his being. He had never recalled seeing Sierra so…genuinely emotional. Truthful, even. He wanted to press her on, wished to ask her if she had returned because she needed him, felt the same way he had felt about her for six months; but such a thing would be unwise in her state.

Even if the state she was in was impossible by the standards of the supernatural world.

He gently lowered her hand down to her side as he slowly stood up. "Get some rest," he whispered as he tucked the blankets around her.

She sighed in obvious relief as she closed her eyes, let her body sink into the soft mattress as the warm covers were nestled around her. For once in her entire relationship with Nash she did not care that it was him looking after her, and not the other way around; of course, in their relationship, she knew she would always be the dominant spirit, the aggressive half, but for now she was weary; perhaps an equalization of sorts was in order. The thought had barely crossed her mind before the aura of sleep overtook her.

He sat for a little while, eying the sleeping vampire, pondering her ethereal beauty and her mysterious nature. A few minutes ago he had been thinking of her, thinking of their life together if she had stayed with him; and now, now that she was right in front of his eyes, he suddenly couldn't bring himself to imagine his life without her.

But what if she had returned to him in the same condition she left? Sarcastic, insulting…her regular attitude? Would he have been so kind to her then? Was it only because she was ill that he made an effort to keep her appeased?

He pushed the complex emotions out of his mind and looked down upon the tired girl. She was curled up in one of his old shirts, her hair slightly tangled against the white pillow. Her soft breathing pulsed through the room, brought a sort of comforting aura as he momentarily closed his eyes.

Well. Now was now, and the past was in the past. Perhaps he would give her a piece of his mind when she felt better; but for the time being, he'd do his best to keep her comfortable.

Now…what exactly was wrong with her?

He reached his hand out to grasp hers, which lay absently against her stomach. Her fingers slipped smoothly into his without resistance; ah, it was good she was asleep. He was not sure if she would have allowed such a display of affection if she had been awake—or would she? This Sierra was certainly different from the one he knew months ago; she was softer, more unassuming, easier to approach, it seemed. He did not know which one he loved best, but silently resolved to love whichever version emerged at the end.

She hadn't made a fuss about him undressing her…it was nothing he hadn't seen before, anyway. He chuckled, thinking about the insults she would hurl at him were to tell her that. Ah well. It was that very same attitude that kept him close to her in the first place.

You're so difficult to understand, old girl.

Her fingers pressed his hand up to the soft white fabric drawn loosely over the pale flesh underneath. He sighed as he gave her hand a tight squeeze. Her skin was smooth and supple, and even in sickness she still retained her girlish beauty.

I wonder how many men have fallen for you before.

He gently rose, his hand still clasping hers. "Sleep tight," he whispered. His hand was about to slip out of hers, about to leave the warmth of her body when—

Existence.

"What the—" he gasped, immediately dropping her hand and wringing his own. He looked at her sleeping form as confusion seeped into his soul. What—what he had he felt? There was no one in the room with them; Dominguez was snoozing in the living room, and surely there was no one lurking about outside; but it was unmistakable, this…this presence…

He sighed as he looked around. No…he must have been hearing things….and yet…

He reached out again to touch Sierra's pale hand. The feeling…it had called out to him as soon as he had let go of her hand. Perhaps if he…

Nothing. Sighing, he once again laid her hand against the white fabric, let it down upon her slender stomach—

Rebirth.

He heard no words, saw no one materialize out of the still air. But someone was speaking to him; not exactly speaking, but thinking to him. Existence…rebirth…who was this…?

He looked to Sierra's prone form, her face peaceful against the soft white pillow. She was not producing these thoughts, no; but there was something within her—inside her…

Gingerly he reached out his hand, placed it once again on the white fabric stretched over her abdomen. At once the strange energy returned; it took him by surprise, seemed to swirl around his arm and wrap about his body, ensnaring him in a tight embrace one moment, letting go the next. And then fading, gradually, as perfume diffuses into a room; warm and friendly it had seemed, yet at the same time anxious, as though its fate were not yet clear—

You must allow her to see…

He was still sitting with his hand pressed up against her stomach when she batted one sleepy eye at him. "What are you doing?" she asked, yawning, her eyeteeth visible as she shifted slightly, pushing his hand off her body.

He turned his azure eyes to hers and shook his head. "Nothing, old girl. Just watching to see you don't run off again."

"Mmmm," she mumbled, her head sinking down onto the pillow once again. "You have no need to worry about that."

"I know," he answered, his fingers automatically reaching for her silvery strands. "Hey…Sierra?"

"Yes?" she whispered, deciding to momentarily tolerate his soft stroking.

"Did you hear anything while you were asleep? Like someone whispering or something?"

"No, none whatsoever."

"Ah…alright."

"Why?"

"Nothing. I must be hearing things." He gave her a reassuring smile as he slowly rose up off the bed. "I'm gonna get some rest myself. See you tomorrow."

She did not answer. She had drifted off once again, her red pupils no longer visible under the full set of eyelashes that crowned her lids. Sighing, he crossed the room and turned the knob on the door.

Giving her a last glance, he saw that her hand had once again moved to hover protectively over her stomach.

To be continued…

Note: If you're thinking something about Sierra, it might be right. However, it also may not be right. And if you are going crazy, saying "Vampires can't do that!" then listen up: everything will be explained in due time. EVERYTHING. Be patient and keep reading! And remember to review, with any comments and constructive criticism to give me!

Special thanks to: Dark Shadow (thanks for sticking with me!), Pipp-ork (your randomness is quite refreshing), kissbyachainsaw (write more N/S!), thundersenshi (yay Filipinas rule!), Virtue (so glad you've converted to our side!) and musank (hope I satisfied your expectations!)

Coming up: Sierra, despite all her extrasensory perception, has no real insight into her unique condition. Nash takes it upon himself to convince her, along with the help of an old friend…