Author's Note: A short sweet thing. Martel/Tabatha POV, post-regeneration. This just sprouted from the idea: what happens to Yuan? I don't know.
Title: Reach Into You Pocket
Summary: For someone so similar, she was strikingly different.
Rating: K. It's just sort of sad at points.
Sountrack: None that I can remember.
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The first morning he came, the half-elf seemed to me in awe, if not disappointment. I could see him from a distance, sitting by my tree, and he was obviously looking for me.
He appeared to be of a sturdy mind, simply shaken for one reason or another. Only a few feet away, he opened his mouth to speak.
" Martel?" His voice was soft and tentative, but thick with an emotion I could not rightly name. Something in me urged me to stand and embrace him; to pull the fine hair away from his eyes, and to carefully trace the young(though worn) lines of his face, my hands ached.
My mind, still my own, however, stayed faithful, and I discreetly folded my hands in my lap. " I'm sorry. Martel is no longer here."
He looked down, frustrating what remained of Martel further, as the blue locks fell further over his eyes. I stood, determine to gratify some part of the odd longings. I took only a few steps closer, then reached out to take his left hand. At first, he tensed, but relaxed almost as quickly. I brought his hand within a short distance of my own eyes, and ran my thumb over the silver ring he wore. Understanding came over me as I turned it to read the inscription.
" Oh, poor thing," I murmured.
I reached up to stroke his cheek, but he pulled away suddenly. " No!" The cry was sharp and short, almost causing me to shrink away myself. He stepped back further and turned his head to the side. " Don't."
I was mildly confused as he walked around me, kneeling in front of my little tree. I only wanted to ease his obvious pain. Why would he not allow me that one favor? Though I, in my present state of mind, did not know him, the woman I used to be was almost audibly screaming for him to turn, to recognize me--or her. I could not say which.
I'm still me. No matter what happens, I'm still me, Yuan...
It was strange, what he did. One by one, he took each glossy green leaf in the palm of his hand and bent his head over it. He kissed the leaf. Though not numerous, every one was pressed to his lips. I could feel an energizing rush run through stem and branch from the contact, and the tears that already fought to escape the half elf's eyes eagering sought their way to my own. I wonder if I shall ever understand why.
When he had finished, he sat stationary, staring at the sprout. I heard his deep breaths and imagined that he found comfort in the fresh smell of the young green. I moved to kneel beside him. It was my expectation that he would at least look the opposite way, as he had done previously. However, he did not shift in any way.
His long bangs were caught in the leaves and branches. The mixture of cerulean and emerald bothered my eyes, but he made no effort to disentangled himself. Frustrated and saddened, I cautiously began to pull out the strands of blue and tuck each cluster behind his right ear. He made no protest as I did this, but one tear managed to push its way free.
" I see they chose you well." I told him softly. " I can think of no better caretaker for this tree."
Here, he pushed my hand away, though not roughly. " I have to go."
I frowned. " You'll return?"
" ...of course," he looked up to capture my eyes, " how can I not? I chose to accept this duty. This is the only reason I'm still alive."
Still, I was displeased at his bitter words. But, the blatant affection he had for my looks and for the tree--I could not deny any means of protecting the world's hope. I placed my hands on his cheeks and turned his face to me. " It is a worthy duty. A fine reason."
His lips quivered for a moment, before turning up into a small, lop-sided smile. It was tired, and awkward, as he were unused to the action. Again, he gently pulled my hand away, then stood. I said nothing as he turned to leave. There was no need for words, I think. I knew he would return, for one reason or another.
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It stung. This realization seared a hole in his mind, in his heart. She wasn't there. Yuan bit his tongue till it bled. Even out of the sight of the spirit, he would not cry.
Before the Chosen and her naive entourage, he had been sure that he would not mourn the second death of Martel. He had accepted loss already, and prepared to lose her forever. He knew that she would never take the " vessels" that Mithos so painstakingly prepared for her. He resigned himself to do what he considered to be the best for the entire world--for both worlds, really. He had refused to allow his personal desires to overwhelm what he kenw to be the most practical.
And then it happened. They saved her. Those incompetent fools saved her. Or so he thought.
Still, in his head, he knew she would have changed. The very fact that she was again somewhat terrestrial would obviously have massive influences on her being. The merging of Tabatha and Martel--no, she could not truly be called " Martel,"--had to have affected her. But, somehow, his foolish hopes held onto the dream that things could again be as they were--though, admittedly, they were never as blissful as he imagined love to be. However, just as war and Mithos stood between them in days past, peace and Yggdrasil held her just out of his reach now. And, he had let himself hope, only to be shot down again by that mannequin, that shell of what was once Martel.
Overhead, a roll of thunder shook the sky, and a moist wind rippled at the sound.
Let it pour, His mind spitefully dared, Let it fall on me. Let it drown me. If it's going to stop this pain...
Yuan paused to spit out the blood that had accumulated in his mouth. It was not a great amount, but enough to cause a disturbing flavor. A slight wetness remained on his mouth, but he wiped it away quickly and angrily. A noise caught in his throat--something between a sob and scream--and he simply collasped. No one remained to shame him by their observation. On his knees in the grass, Yuan cried.
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Sitting gracefully on the ground, the spirit of Martel smiled. It was going to rain.
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Nix: And, tada. A Tales of Symphonia fic. Comments eternally appreciated.