Summary: The cast have spent their night on the Galactic Railroad. Now they must say their goodbyes to the man who led them there.

Notes: Set right after the inaugural performance of the Galactic Railroad play. Iwao does not die that first night.

oOo

Curtain Call

He never liked hospitals. There was something about the sparse, bland decor that he hated. And the smell. They always gave off the same smell. Fear. Hopelessness. Grief.

Scents that he was intimately familiar with. Scents that he preferred to avoid, until they were required for a role.

He would do anything for a role.

It was late when they arrived. The entire company had come. Visiting hours were long over for the hospital. He expected trouble with the receptionist as they shuffled in.

But then Yonagi simply gave the woman at the desk a smile, murmured a few words, and before they knew it they were outside the sliding doors.

It was that smile.

"I have to go now."

He shuddered.

Kei Yonagi understood death. And because she understood, she could express what it would mean for him, for everyone, to see him again. She could make people understand that which could not be understood by the living.

They all stopped at the sliding doors.

"We should… we should go in separately. I'm sure that Mr. Iwao wouldn't appreciate all of us barging in at once." That was Yonagi again, speaking gently, and nobody raised a protest.

They simply nodded, and looked at him. Looked to him.

Almost as if they were rehearsing again.

Ah.

I suppose I'm first, he thought.

He pushed open the doors. The room inside was filled with machines that whirred and beeped. And in the center of that mass of technology lay the man that had been so intrinsically linked to him. To his identity.

The man stirred as he approached, and their eyes met as he stopped just short of the bed.

"...Damn it," Iwao muttered.

"Mr. Iwao?"

"You're supposed to be Giovanni. You're not supposed to see me like this. You've got nine more runs to perform. Those quack doctors promised me more time, but of course you can't trust 'em."

"Giovanni boarded the galactic railroad with Campanella, did he not? You used Yonagi to show us the galactic railroad. And Yonagi is brilliant, but everything I learned, I learned from you."

He took a deep breath.

"I need your help, Mr. Iwao, to get in character. So this… consider this our train ride through the Milky Way."

Iwao regarded him for a moment with a strange expression on his face.

But then the moment passed and he was Director Iwao once more.

"What do you need to know?"

"I'd do anything to make you happy, Mr. Iwao. But what is your true happiness?"

"... Getting cheeky, are we?"

"No," he said. "I need to know, so that Giovanni can know. So that the Giovanni of tomorrow can continue to live his life, without his Campanella."

He paused, and then continued, "So that I can let go, when the time comes."

Iwao was silent for a while. He almost thought that he'd fallen asleep again, as he was wont to do at late night gatherings in the past.

"I can't speak for Campanella," he finally began. "That's something that you should ask Yonagi. But as for me… true happiness is watching everyone perform. Watching each and every one of your talents blossom and flourish under the lights of the stage. That, for a stage director, is true happiness."

"So did you find true happiness? Was all of this worth it? Dedicating the end of your life to this production… there were so many other things that you could've done. That we could've done. But this is what you chose. So it must have been worth it right?"

"...Right?"

And Director Iwao smiled. "Of course, Araya. I had always dedicated my life to the stage, sometimes to the detriment of those who performed under me. But now, seeing everyone perform so brilliantly at the final rehearsals, I realized that I could die knowing that I left behind generational talents that truly love acting. Watching you grow up and develop into the greatest stage actor of your generation, I realized that I was finally content with my legacy. That made me realize what true happiness was."

"Your legacy?"

"Aye. You are my greatest treasure, Araya. I'll always be watching your next performance."

oOo

Nanao smoothed down her hair. It was still a little damp from the performance. She didn't know whether it was from the water she had poured over herself or from the sweat of her performance.

Not that it really mattered.

The only thing that mattered to her was the man leaning against the headboard of the hospital bed, regarding her with a fond look in his eyes. And that was all it took.

The world blurred.

She'd promised herself that she wouldn't cry. She didn't want to cry, damn it. She'd cried enough already. But she couldn't control the tears that flowed without warning.

"Hey, Nanao…" Iwao began gently, reaching out with one quivering hand to gently pat her head. "You won't be able to board the galactic railroad like this."

She started.

"I-... Kei said the same thing to me, before we went out on stage," she hiccupped.

"Oh?"

"I was… I didn't want to believe the news. I wasn't ready to step out onto the stage. The scene was changing; we were just getting into the second act and I… I couldn't compose myself. But then she… she told me the same thing. That I wouldn't be able to board the galactic railroad. That I wouldn't be able to see the same things that Giovanni and Campanella would be going to see. The same things that… that you…" Her throat closed up, and she found that no more sound would escape her throat.

Iwao gave a small laugh. She winced. It sounded more like a wheeze, nothing like the hearty deep chuckle that she was so used to.

"You can say it. I'll be boarding that very same train soon."

She clenched her fists.

"Don't."

"Nanao?"

"Don't just be so casual about it!" she burst out. "Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tell me? These last few months… I would've done everything differently."

"That's precisely why I didn't tell you. I didn't want this production to be any different. I wanted you to perform as you always had. Letting everyone know would have ruined that."

"So what? It's just one production. Who cares if it's not perfect? Why couldn't you have just let it be imperfect for once, and spent time with us? Not as a director, but as a mentor; as someone that we all… that we all loved for all these years. There's so many things that we never got to do. There's so much left unsaid."

Iwao was smiling. It was strange to see him smile; he was much more prone to frowns and belligerence than smiles or encouragement. But he was smiling.

"I'm happy that you felt that way. But Nanao, what could be a better way to spend that precious time together than in preparation for one final production? You all worked so hard, and seeing all of you shine on that stage; it was better than any painkillers that I could take."

"Because not everything has to be about theater, Mr. Iwao! There are more important things that we could've done; happy memories that we could've made together. We didn't need to spend that time focused so heavily on the play."

His smile didn't falter, but there was an air of melancholy to it now. "I'm sorry Nanao. Truly, I am. But I've only ever known the stage."

He paused, and a single tear slipped down his cheek. She was stunned.

She had never seen him cry before, after all.

"For me, watching all of you bring to life my final act as a director is the best gift that you could've given me. So Nanao, please believe me when I say that there is nothing more special that you could have done for me. Seeing the galactic railroad come to life on my stage; that's all I could have ever dreamed of."

oOo

"Director Iwao? Still hanging in there, old man?"

"Who are you calling an old man, Kame? You wanna fight or something?"

"Oh please, you're not beating anyone up in that state, old man."

"The fuck did you say to me, you little shit?"

Iwao reached out and the old fear of being put into a headlock flickered through Kame. But then Iwao was slumping back onto the pillows, the energy gone from his frame, and suddenly the fear disappeared, only to be replaced by a crushing sort of sadness. It was heavy, this type of sadness, and he couldn't even look the director in the eyes.

"Kame?"

"What?"

"Smile. Laugh. It's weird seeing you be so serious."

"How can I smile and laugh when you're… when you're like that?" he gestured helplessly at Iwao's prone form.

"Aren't you an actor Kame? The Japanese Jim Carrey? You can't put on a show right now?"

"I'm not an actor," he muttered.

Iwao raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean you're not an actor? What are you doing in my production if you're not an actor?"

"I'm not an actor!" he shouted out this time. "I'm just a kid that you picked up to perform background roles in your plays. I'm not Araya, and I'm not Yonagi. I don't have their talents; I'll never be able to play a role like them. And I'm not like that Hoshi guy either, because he's got the looks and I don't."

He could feel the tears starting to fall.

"I'm just a talentless nobody that you picked up off the street. And so… without you, I'm not an actor. I'm just a weirdo who can exaggerate his own emotions."

"You shut the fuck up right now," Iwao snarled, and Kame actually took a step back at the visceral anger that bled through his words.

"Talentless? Who the fuck do you take me for? I've told you all a million times haven't I? I cast based on talent alone. If you think that I'd take just anybody to perform the background roles that you look down on so much, then I guess all my time working with you was wasted," he spat the last word as if it had personally offended him.

"But-" he tried to protest, but Iwao cut right across him.

"You are talented Kame. I wouldn't have scouted you if you weren't. You speak as if the only actors and actresses that exist are people like Araya and Yonagi, but that's simply not true."

He took a deep breath.

"Kame, they are generational talents. They were born to be actors. And you have to understand, it isn't easy to be Araya or Yonagi. In order to perform their roles, they have to struggle and suffer in order to understand the characters that they play. They have to spend weeks getting into character, and during that time they will only be able to play that one role. But you, you can play anyone, because you have such a wide range of emotional expression. You may never be able to bring to life a leading character in the same way as Araya or Yonagi can, but you play your role better than anyone else."

"But without you… what will I do? I've only ever performed on your stage. I… I can't-"

"What are you saying Kame? Without me, you won't be able to act? That's a lie and you know it. Stop making excuses. You're a good actor, so you will be able to perform any role, any part that is asked of you. You said that you can only perform under my direction, was that it? Then my final instructions are to tell you that I expect you to win a Japan Academy Film Prize."

oOo

Director Iwao looked tired. It was to be expected, of course. He didn't have much time left, and he'd likely spent the last of his energy saying his goodbyes.

Kei could understand that.

"Take care of Rui and Rei, okay?"

A faint whisper and a frail, outstretched hand.

"I promise," she had said, reaching out to clutch onto her mother's hand as if it were a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.

She was okay with going in last. There were others that needed to see him; there were others that had been far closer to him.

She was just an outsider, privileged enough to have studied under the genius that was Yuujirou Iwao. Lucky enough to have been selected to perform on his stage.

So she let all the other members of the theater company go first. She even waved Akira in before her.

And one by one, she'd watched them all file out of the hospital room. Some still weeping, others stoic, but each with an air of understanding. That same understanding that she'd slowly gained during those weeks spent in conversation with the director.

"Campanella is a dead man walking, but what does it mean to die?"

"I don't know, Mr. Iwao."

"That's right. Nobody knows what it truly means to die. They can speculate, they can talk, and they can pretend that when their time comes, they'll handle it in a way that they think is right. But until the moment comes; until Death is knocking on the door, nobody will know what death truly means to them."

"Then, what about you, Mr. Iwao?" She asked quietly. "Do you understand what it means to die?"

"Not quite," he replied, looking up at the stars. "But Yonagi, I do understand what it means to be living on borrowed time. And I do understand what it means to have accepted my own death. It is those two traits that you must express as Campanella."

"You know, Mr. Iwao. I almost ruined the performance today."

"Hmm? That's unexpected. I would've thought that you, of everyone, would have been able to play your role."

She bit her lip. "I thought so too. And it was easy at first. It was easy to show everyone the brilliance of the Milky Way galaxy; of the landscape of death."

"Oh? Then what was the problem?"

"It was when I had to leave. When I had to leave Giovanni behind. And when he implored me not to go."

Yonagi looked away.

"I almost couldn't do it. I couldn't push him away. How could I? It was too cruel. I wanted to stay. I wanted to be together forever, just like he'd asked."

The only sound in the room was the continuous whirring and beeping from the machines.

"How did you do it?" She whispered. "When everyone left today… how did you manage to say goodbye?"

There was only silence. Yonagi turned to look at the director again only to find his head bowed.

"M-Mr. Iwao?"

"I'm sorry, Yonagi." That… was he crying? Was Director Iwao, perhaps the toughest person she had ever met, crying?

"Director?"

"I asked you to play Campanella because you were in the unique position of being talented enough to play the role, while maintaining your equanimity in the face of my death. But…"

He stopped, but she did not interrupt.

"But I didn't realize how hard it would be. How hard it would be to see everyone for the last time, knowing that I'll never be able to hear them laugh, comfort their cries, or watch them perform again."

He looked up at her.

"To answer your question, Yonagi, it is impossible to say goodbye. I had thought that I had accepted my death, but seeing everyone today… it made me realize that nobody can truly be okay leaving behind the people precious to us. The most we can do is pretend that things are alright. The most we can do is justify to ourselves… that our death was okay, because it was for a truly good thing."

Kei's eyes widened in understanding.

He swallowed heavily.

"The fact that you were able to finish the performance tonight at all is a testament to your resolve as an actress if nothing else. Kuroyama wasn't lying when he brought you to me. You are truly the reincarnation of Arisa Hoshi. A generational talent with colossal potential."

"I-thank you, Director."

He shook his head.

"Don't thank me, Yonagi. I've brought you nothing but misery. No one should have to die before they are already dead."

oOo

I still miss this series. Goddamnit.