No Matter What Chapter 3: Plead, a scryed fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own, you don't sue. You'd get a jenk deal if you did – I got snuffin'.

Sorry for the delay. School, work, and muse all conspired against me at once. But, because you guys have been such a great bunch of reviewers, I kicked myself back into gear just for you.

Hope this was worth the wait. Let me know what you think.

With naught more than a single strangled cry of "Konami!" he was gone. No other explanation – no preamble or quick words to explain the abrupt departure. Just that single word – that single name – and his alter had already formed – he was already whirring away in an abrupt leaping flight.

Such was typical of Kazuma – no consideration for the past or future, none for others – just the now. Like an animal, really – easily distracted by whatever happened to present itself at any given moment.

But even so, even as his analytical mind wanted him to scoff and be irritated by the abandonment of his erstwhile brother-in-arms, Ryuhou found himself on his feet, his insides both tingling and boiling in that distinct manner that precluded the summoning of his alter. He took a step to follow him before thinking better of it – before slowly, uneasily sitting back down on a barren rock on the quiet shore.

He didn't entirely understand the seemingly psychic bond that coursed between the two of them, but he imagined it had something to do with her newly developing alter. She probably reached out to him unconsciously – thoughtlessly reaching for the one she trusted above all others – her knight in shining armor.

There surely was no threat beyond their vigilant defenses from the mainland that Kazuma couldn't handle alone. And so, Ryuhou ignored the disquiet within him – told himself that he wasn't being a pompous ass, an unforgivable coward for not following Kazuma to his goal. No – he was simply being cautious. Responsible, even.

He was assuring that no attack from the Mainland occurred in their stead. He was assuring their safety by remaining here, just the same as Kazuma was assuring their safety by going to Konami at her call for help…

'You're assuring that you won't run into her,' a traitorous part of his mind needled relentlessly, and Ryuhou was far too logical to dismiss the claim. Yes – he was assuring he wouldn't run into her, but that was for the best as well. He didn't know what would happen if he did see her again – he didn't know if he could keep it up any longer.

He was so cold – so lonely, and so tired. But even after so many long months – years by now even, gods above – even after so long that he could not even trust himself to look upon her from a distance – even now, the mere thought of her warm brown eyes caused his insides to burn in a way that was painful and comforting and exciting all at once.

Glancing once again at the chasm of emptiness left by Kazuma's abrupt alter usage, that part of his mind continued to whisper treacherously, baiting him. Would she call for him, were she in danger? And if she did… would he hear her?

The errant idea discomfited him in a deeply primal way that he was loathe to examine more closely. But even as he winced uncomfortably, looking longingly in the direction of Tachibana's home where all the others stayed, something inside him shifted, hardening even as he crossed his arms stubbornly. 'Don't be such an idiot. The path you have chosen for yourself is one of war – of violence. There is no turning back now.' And with less conviction, 'You can't turn back now…'

Yes; he was confident in Kazuma's ability to take care of anything that could have happened to warrant his abrupt departure – or so he kept telling himself as the seconds agonizingly became minutes.

But more importantly, he was confident in Kazuma's ability to return after the danger had passed. Confident in Kazuma's ability to turn his back on something he clearly cared so deeply for – to ignore the warmth for the cold, to stay the course and fight the fight.

It was the only thing he trusted to Kazuma more than he trusted to himself.

But as the minutes continued to tick by, something terrible began to gnaw away at his insides, something that refused to leave him to his pathetic semblance of peace until he was able to ascertain some sort of assurance. And so, with a forlorn sigh, Ryuhou went to acquire that elusive entity, never quite realizing that he would receive quite the opposite until the very end…

The moment he came within eyesight of Tachibana's house, he knew something was terribly wrong.

The sense of dread first awoke when he saw Kazuma standing on the front porch, awkwardly holding a near hysterical Konami. The young girl looked near collapsed in his arms, but the closer Ryuhou came to the scene, the more certain he became that the young girl was not injured.

Though he continued to approach them at a calm, steady pace, he felt as if he were standing still – or as if the house were moving further and further away with every step he took. From the midst of her sobbing, Konami glanced up absently at him, almost as if looking through him, but her gaze did not linger long. Her soft brown eyes flitted back to the ground almost guiltily, refusing to meet his, and if anything, she seemed to cry harder when she saw him.

He didn't even notice that he had paused in his approach until another voice – a soft feminine and most distinctly non-Mimori voice – hailed quietly from the door. "Ryu…hou?" She furrowed her brow, clearly uncertain about her own deduction, peering closing at him.

Some distant, socially well-trained corner of his mind insisted that this young girl must be Cami, Tachibana's much-talked-about girlfriend – but the rest of Ryuhou spat bitterly at the vain attempts of his rigid mind to add formality and structure and some semblance of comforting norm to this situation. Gritting his teeth, he didn't want to ask – he didn't want to, but needed to as much as he needed to breath, or eat, or drink to live. He needed to ask the question, even if he feared it. "Where is she?"

"Ryuhou – I'm –" Her voice broke, and there were tears shining in her eyes as well. There was a red stained towel in one hand, and the mere sight of it nearly drove him mad.

"Where is she?" His voice was hoarse, tight, as if he hadn't had water in days. "I need to see her!"

"Ryuhou – I'm – I'm sorry!" she cried, and there was something in her tone – some hint of pity, of true and heartfelt grief that he simply couldn't bear.

"No!" Frantically, shouldered his way around her – and the moment he looked into the shadowy interior of the house, he wished he hadn't.

Blood had never particularly bothered him before.

Indeed, his mother's death had been pointedly bereft of any physical manifestation of the crimson life force, as if even an inanimate, uncontrollable thing like the thick stuff coursing through her veins was unwilling to spoil it, loathe to mar the serene looking slumber. His mother had been torn from this life violently, for sure – but there was no scarlet that haunted the vivid nightmare, and thus, Ryuhou had never really ascertained any particular preconceived horrors when it came to the stuff like so many others seemed to have.

Oh, certainly Ryuhou was familiar with physical injury. How many grave physical wounds had been inflicted upon him – how many had he seen inflicted upon others? Too many to tally on either account. He had often wondered, even as he drove himself recklessly beyond his own limits, if perhaps red should be a more fitting color for a surrender flag. Surely that was what the body urged – and, the stronger, the more resilient that crimson banner, the more unerringly it announced the final fall.

Not his fall, of course. No, the red signaled the fall of his enemies, and occasionally, his allies. Acquaintances, perhaps – coworkers, for certain – but never friends. He kept them at arms length, always, so that it wouldn't hurt so much if something happened to them – so he wouldn't freeze upon the sight of it.

So no; blood had never bothered him before – until this moment…

He froze upon the sight of it – so much – everywhere. It looked too bright, staining the white sheets upon which she was laid; too wet, soaking through the makeshift bandages and pads pressed over her ribs; and altogether too red – too much, everywhere.

In a single moment, an entire lifetime of apathy came to an abrupt and violent turnabout, and Ryuhou suddenly realized how very much he both hated and feared the color red.

"Ryuhou." She paused, staring at him with a wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights expression. How she knew it was him, even swathed and hidden in shadows he wasn't sure – but somehow, those warm brown eyes cut through everything, all the pretences, all the disguises – everything. Somehow, she laid his heart and soul bare before her with a single hopeful look.

"Mimori –"

"Ryuhou!" Her feet shuffled, and she made as if to run to him. Panic coursed through him –

'No!' He felt an irrational fear of her touch course through him – if she touched him, it would all fall through – as if his entire resolve would crumble. Just a single touch, and it would all bleed through – it would all show. It would be over.

Desperately, he grasped for the one meager barrier he could summon on such a short notice – to use the formal, distancing name that would force her to the arms length he had kept her so carefully at for so long. "Ms. Kiryu." It worked – she hesitated, and his heart soared. There was hope, after all. Stoic mask firmly in place, he spoke with more confidence this time. "Ms. Kiryu – I have come here today because there is an important favor I need to ask of you."

She hesitated, confused, but prompted nonetheless. "A favor?"

"As long as the mainland government's policy remains the same the people here will refuse their interference. I will personally support them. If the mainland tries to control us by force, I'll fight back using the greatest power I can muster." With every rigid word, he gained momentum. Yes; this was what he believed. This was what he needed to do, and therefore, it was what he was going to do. "If you stay here it is likely you will never see your parents again. It's still not too late. Go back to the mainland. Go back, Mimori."

"No Ryuhou I can't do that!"

So stubborn – she had always been so stubborn! Gritting his teeth, he verily snarled, "Why not?"

"Because I won't go – I refuse to go anywhere without you!" Her words poured straight from the depth of her heart – straight from a warm pool that rested somewhere in the core of her – so readily drawn from a part within that was quintessential to her very existence. It was truth and passion, spoken for the singular sake of that truth and passion.

"Mimori…"

"I know. This is how I choose to live my life." There was a deep sadness in her claim, even as the swift wind blew her midnight locks before her face, her papers rustling wildly as they floated away, all but forgotten.

He dipped his head sorrowfully, hearing something in her voice that reverberated within him – something steely and resolved, and in that moment, he knew that this was a battle that he could not win today. "I understand." Oh yes, he understood all too well. "Well then, I am going to follow the path I have chosen for myself as well." With steely resolve of his own, he turned and began to walk away. "Goodbye."

"Wait. Ryuhou wait! Wait!" He was startled when he felt the abrupt impact of her upon his back – and even more so when he felt her impromptu embrace, her arms wrapped so tightly around his chest. Not so tight as to warrant his sudden breathlessness, however…

"Is there any chance of our paths meeting again somewhere? Can we be together? I love you! I do love you!" There was something breathy and frantic and thoroughly true about the rushed exclamation – something deep and powerful – something that clung painfully to him, constricting his chest, making it hard to take in another breath, threatening to wash him away.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to think – forcing himself to just breathe.

"Scheris Adjani lost her life using her Alter power… to save me." A rush of guilt panged at his heart, to use his comrade, his friend's death as a weapon – as a tool in an argument, a mean to an end. It was despicable, it was underhanded, and most of all, it was cruel.

But none of these things were beneath him. Nothing was beneath him – not when it came to this. Not when it came to her safety. 'I'm sorry, Scheris… I hope you can understand…'

Mimori reared back, shock and hurt glinting deep in the soulful pools of her eyes. "No!" Her voice wavered even as her grip did, giving him the much needed chance to pull away from her – outside of her grip, he would be able to think clearly – be able to stop the painful thundering of his heart, beating wildly in his chest.

"Please go back to the mainland." He did not turn around – not even when her forlorn cry slid like an icy blade through his back. He didn't look at her – he couldn't.

"Ryuhou!"

"Please." A safe distance away by now, he jerked out one arm to the side, summoning his Alter armor. He almost laughed aloud at how pathetic he was, to summon the armor just to assure she could not touch him – to use his power to portal away just so she could not follow him.

What a pathetic, despicable coward. What a sorrowful excuse for an Alter user – a warrior who needed to utilize his fiercest, most powerful weapon just to defend himself from one gentle young woman…

'I'm… sorry Mimori…'

Images of their last meeting replayed over and over again behind his eyes, crashing into him like so many crippling waves. It tore at him, ripping at his cold heart, shredding at his broken soul.

Tachibana was clearly hard at work, trying to use his Alter to heal her as best he could. A doctor was also at hand, clearly trying desperately to stem the blood flow. Neither heeded him – and for the first time in his life, Ryuhou didn't care about keeping face before onlookers.

Shamelessly, he faltered over her – there was so much blood, and he wasn't sure what he could do. Oh god – he didn't even know where he could touch her without hurting her – there was just too much blood. His hands trembled violently as he finally couldn't take it – he needed to touch her, anywhere, if only to assure himself that she was here before him.

Even as he clutched desperately at her red-slicked hands, he was depraved of what little comfort he had hoped to attain. Her skin was cool beneath the warm, sticky blood. He pressed his fingers hard against her wrist, taking only meager comfort in the shallow pulse that throbbed there as proof of her life…

"Mimori – can you hear me?" Frantically – roughly, even – he rubbed his hands over hers, trying to warm them. Brief anger flashed through him, and he nearly shouted, squeezing hard against her dainty fingers. "Mimori – god-dammit answer me!"

He was angry – angry that this had happened – angry at himself, for letting it happen. Angry that he had been 'blessed' with an Alter power that could only destroy, not heal.

Somehow, the harsh shout which sounded far too loud for the small room seemed to break through her haze. Her brows furrowed the slightest bit, and slowly, with so much difficulty, she cracked her eyes. Even after having been so betrayed by him – even after being so weakened, pained, and injured, lying in this bed, she somehow managed to smile when she saw him. "Ryu… hou…"

"Mim –"

"Shhhh…" Just barely, she shook her head. Painstakingly, she returned the embrace of their intertwined hands, pulling them to her face. Never before in his life had such a small gesture send such turbulent emotions coursing through him. Somehow, she seemed take great comfort in the feel of his fingers against her cheeks. Desperately eager to please her, he caressed her face with one hand, resolutely ignoring the trails of crimson blood left highlighting her delicate features, continuing to clutch her hands with his other.

When she sighed, he barely heard her whispered word. "You are… my warmth…" Her eyes slipped closed, and then, she was quiet. A moment later, he felt her grip slackening – and suddenly, he became too-acutely aware that the silence was permeated only by his desperate pants; their hands only moved by his impassioned clutching.

"Mimori… Mimori, please don't go…" He didn't even recognize his own voice, now so choked with desperate tears and agony. Instead, he was reminded of hers – hers, so broken and defeated, begging him to stay.

But he didn't stay. He had walked away – he had left her without a backwards glance, like the worthless bastard he was. Some corner of his mind screamed at him that this was his own justice, meted back to him – that it was all a terrible irony designed by the most depraved, twisted god out there. Was this how she had felt, standing deserted in his wake?

He would take it all back – he would spend the rest of his life taking it back, if only she would answer him now. "Mimori… please… Oh god, please, Mimori…"

With steely resolve of his own, he turned and began to walk away.

Her hands were going limp, blood-slicked and slipping from his desperate grip. Letting him go.

"I love you! I do love you!" It was him crying now – begging shamelessly. Baring his soul, as if it would tip the scales.

He did not turn around – not even when her forlorn cry slid like an icy blade through his back. He didn't look at her – he couldn't.

It didn't, of course. Now then, not now.

I could end it here. But, ohhh, should I be greedy and say like, 10+ reviews says I won't? So, 29 reviews total? Please? Pretty, pretty please?