Disclaimer: I don't own Saiyuki and any recognisable characters. The rest, are all mine ;p

IV.

"Loss helps appreciate more what one has; thus, the value of what remains, becomes magnified"

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November 1993.

Undisclosed location

"…in public life only the praise and blame of fellow human beings counts. Thus, Machiavelli supp-supposed, the ruler needs to acquire a good repu… reputation while actually doing whatever wrong seems necessary in the cir..cir….

"Cir-cum-stan-ces."

"Cir-cum-stan-ces. Thus, rulers must seem to be generous while spending their money wisely, appear to be compas…compassionate while ruling their armies cruelly, and act with great cunning while cultivating a reputation for integrity. Although it is desirable to be both loved and feared by one's subjects, it is difficult to achieve both, and of the two, Machiavelli declared, it is far safer for the ruler to be feared."

Koryou looked up from the text he was reading. It was not a book she would have chosen for a child to read – what child would be interested in Macchiavelli, for heaven's sake?- but then again, Dr Nii was unpredictable. And as she reminded herself for the millionth time, it wasn't her place to ask why, but only to follow instructions.

She forced her thoughts away. "That was quite good, but you must remember how to pronounce the t-h when together. Like this." She sounded it and mimicked the action with her tongue, crunching her face into a funny expression. Koryou laughed suddenly and stopped, confused, as though unsure of whether he should have laughed.

Reika smiled at him. She liked to hear the boy laugh – it was a rare event, especially in the past week. "Try it like that," she told him, but he shook his head shyly. He took up the book and tried again to pronounce it like she did, frowning with concentration.

"Slightly better, but you can improve there," she told him. "Tongue with teeth, like I showed you. Without the pained expression of course – that was just for effect." Koryou grinned involuntarily.

"Finish this exercise, and we'll go on to French." Reika allowed her thoughts to wonder as the boy bent his head studiously over the papers. Too much work for a little boy, she always thought, too many thought he can't really understand, to many words and not enough living…

"Dr Reika?" Koryou was looking at her, an unusual expression on his face. She realised that he was fiddling nervously with his sleeves, a sure sign of unease. After being confined in a room with the same person for over two years, Koryou's mannerisms were as familiar as her own.

"Do you have a problem Koryou?"

"No." He didn't look at her and started playing with his pencil uneasily. "I just…it's that I…" She had caught him looking at her with an inscrutable expression on his face several times, and he had always refused to tell her if there was something wrong. Perhaps the child was ill? Or upset about something?

Reika drew her chair near his, concerned. "What is it? You know you can tell me." Koryou flushed and lowered his eyes. "I just…" he mumbled, "I wanted to know… Why do you hate me?" The words came out in a rush, and Koryou clamped his mouth shut, as though afraid that other words would come out unbidden.

Reika stared at him. Hate him? Where had the boy got that idea from? "I never…" she began, trying to form a coherent sentence, one which would reassure the child, make him believe that she was being truthful without letting her show too much emotion.

The look on the child's face made her pause. It was a look which plainly said that he knew that whatever he would be told would be a flimsy excuse, something to push him away again. He had so easily accepted that she would hate him, he was just asking her why.

Something snapped within Reika. It was wrong, twisted. No child should be made to feel that way. The feelings of pity she had tried to keep at bay for so long overwhelmed her. Reika couldn't help it, she went to Koryou and hugged the boy fiercely, longing to dispel the loneliness she could hear masked under the usually controlled voice. At that moment she didn't give a damn about anything or anyone else.

"I don't, Koryou," she whispered to the child, "I never could hate you." Koryou pushed her slightly away and stared into her eyes, as though trying to read into her mind.

He was stiff in her arms; no one had ever hugged him before but he thought he liked it. Did he believe her? Could he really believe that she didn't hate him like all the others did? Somehow he wanted to. He needed to believe that there was someone who cared about him, who wasn't Nii.

Reika stroked his hair gently, as she struggled not to cry. Was it possible that he couldn't trust her? "I care about you, you know," she said. His eyes softened slightly. Koryou felt a sudden surge of happiness. It was the first time someone had spoken that way to him.

He smiled at her, accepting her words as truth, as she drew him to her again, burying his face in her hair. "I'm glad," he told her, simply.

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They had continued with the lesson eventually. Reika took care to hide her anger behind a cheerful face, smiling and talking to the boy with a hint of intimacy that had been lacking previously. Koryou had seemed happier; a weight seemed to have been lifted off his shoulders.

But Reika was furious. No one had the right to tell a child that he was hated, particularly a child like Koryou. It had to be that sloe-eyed bitch, she thought, seething with rage. No one but that stupid cow who hung around Nii all the time. Bellacci was nothing but a venomous little viper with an enormous chip on her shoulder.

Given half a chance, Reika thought grimly, she would willingly wring her neck.

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Nii frowned. It had been lucky, he thought, that he had installed cameras in the room to be used for Koryou's teaching. You never knew what might be happening there. This turn of events had been… unexpected.

He sniffed. Maternal instincts, he thought, always more trouble than was required. The girl should have been more professional. Children were there to be taught, not to be fussed over. He sighed. Nii lit up a cigarette and inhaled thoughtfully.

Suddenly, his expression changed. He grinned at the thought which had suddenly presented itself to him. Perhaps, there was a use for all these maternal instincts and whatnot. It was lucky that he had such a brilliant mind, he thought complacently. True genius knew how to turn every situation into one where profits could be reaped.

He stubbed out his cigarette and threw it in the trashcan as he walked out of the room, locking the door safely behind him. "Strengthening ties is just as important as breaking them," he murmured, to the mystification of the armed guard who stood near the entrance.

"Beg your pardon doctor?" asked the bemused guard.

Nii laughed. "Advice to be followed, my dear friend," he said airily, and strode off, humming tonelessly, leaving the guard staring.

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"Dr Bellacci will be teaching you until Reikacomes back," Nii told him as they played chess.

A pair of stricken eyes stared back into his. "Where did she go?" Koryou asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

Nii shrugged nonchalantly. "She asked for time off, said that work was becoming stifling." He moved his queen.

Koryou didn't ask anymore questions, but he lost miserably to Nii, that evening. His mind seemed to be on something else.

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Anxious eyes greeted his. Nii sat down slowly on the boy's bed, and Koryou clambered next to him. "How are the lessons going Koryou?"

The boy bit his lip. "Will Reika be back soon?" he asked. He hated to sound whiny and child-like, but he wanted to know why she wasn't back, he missed her.

"Oh." Nii passed his fingers through his hair. "Reika… well… I'm afraid she won't be coming back." Koryou stiffened. "She found another job," Nii said carefully, "She said she would be happier somewhere else." The dark-haired man looked at the motionless child near him. "I'm sorry, Ryou," he said softly. He put his hand on the child's shoulder and Koryou looked up, eyes full of mute misery. His lips were pressed tightly together, but there were no signs of tears.

"Would you like to play chess Ryou?" asked Nii gently. Koryou nodded and fetched the chess set. Nii placed the pieces on the board and watched the child.

They played in silence. Koryou studied the pieces furiously, calculating every move, relentless and precise. Nii won, but only by a narrow margin

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Koryou clung desperately to Nii, sobbing his heart out.

"You died, you left me, I was so afraid but you didn't come back!" Still half-asleep, with the shadows of his nightmares still haunting his imagination, the child had let his guard down. Nii had heard him cry out in his sleep, and had found him, trashing wildly, tangled in his sheets.

Dr Nii stroked the boy's hair gently as he rocked him to and fro, making soothing noises. "Hush Ryou, don't worry, I won't leave, I won't." Interesting, he thought mildly, that a child usually so quiet and composed could be shaken by a dream. Koryou was obviously terrified of being abandoned again – he had learnt a harsh lesson about whom to trust, thanks to Reika.

The child's sobs subsided but he continued to cry quietly, his face buried in Nii's chest. "I'll stay with you tonight, Koryou, go back to sleep now," Nii told him.

"Not just now, always," came the muffled reply.

"I will. I'll never leave you." The child's grasp on his shirt loosened slighlty and Nii placed the boy gently on his bed. The child looked up, eyes puffy with tears and sleep as the man brushed the stray blond hairs from the child's forehead, clammy with sweat.

"Promise me," whispered Koryou.

Nii smiled. "I promise."

Phew. That took a bit of writing! Hope you enjoyed :0) Thanks to all those who reviewed! Comments, as usual, are much appreciated.

Niccolo Macchiavelli (1469-1527): active politician in the independent city-state of Florence and engaged in diplomatic missions throughout France, Germany and Italy. When the republic collapsed, he was driven from his post - repeated efforts to win the confidence and approval of the new regime were unsuccessful, and Machiavelli was forced into retirement and a life of detached scholarship about the political process instead of direct participation in it. One of his most famous works is Il Principe (The Prince). The Prince is a practical guide to the exercise of raw political power over a Renaissance principality. It was written in the hope of securing the favor of the ruling Medici family.

The 'text' Koryou is reading from is a summary of 'The Prince'.