Chapter 19: You are You

This was the first time Ami ever thought it could rain in heaven. She stood behind a latticed screen watching sheets of rain pour down on the immaculately landscaped garden on the other side of the long hall. Chichiri was in one of the rooms with a perplexed-looking Taiitsukun and he had asked her to wait outside. Tasuki was hustled into a bedroom the moment they arrived, and had been there for hours.

Hands clasped behind her, Ami sighed and rested her forehead on the smooth woodwork. She was beginning to wonder how much longer Chichiri's meeting was going to drag on when the great doors suddenly opened.

She whirled. "Are we ready to go home?"

For a moment the monk's face contorted into a little wince. Without a mask, the effect was multiplied several times over. Ami found herself growing inexplicably nervous.

"Lolita-chan's going home as planned, no da." He paused to take a deep breath and continued, "But you are staying."

Despite herself, Ami gave in to the urge to snicker. "What? Haven't I stayed long enough? I've got some pretty important things going on back home."

Chichiri's eye closed, and looked away from her to the floor. "You'd best...forget about them form now on...no da."

Ami was beginning to ask why when Taiitsukun floated out from the room. She looked from her student to Ami, back and forth, and finally said, "I asked you to bring her in, Chichiri, not handle things your way." Whereupon the monk ducked into a bow and brushed past his teacher back into the meeting room.

"What was that about?" Ami blinked at them both.

"There's something you need to know, child," Taiitsukun replied, scratchy voice somehow managing a softer tone. Nodding towards the open threshold, she was about to follow Chichiri back in when Ami's voice stopped her.

"Wait a minute – we came to send Lolita home before everything's too late. I mean...that's what Chichiri said, and that's what I assume we should be doing right now. Right? ...Right?" Her words came to a grinding halt as she continued to stare at the Creator's stony face. Ami began to realize that she had absolutely no idea what was going on. Not really. Floundering, she nevertheless babbled on, "We should be saving lives here. Whatever I have to know, I can know later. But we have to..."

"Ami-chan."

She jumped at the voice. It was Chichiri's. It came from inside the room. It sounded really, really strange.

"Come on in."

Her legs obeyed, carrying her to the door, through it, and to a seat several feet beside the monk. Ami fidgeted; looking now here, now there...anywhere but at the gargantuan mirror floating before them, the only ornament in the marbled hall.

Taiitsukun drifted to the side of the mirror, looking like an emcee about to give the opening remarks. Stern eyes flickered, settling first on the bowed blue head, and then at the curious little face beside it. She almost wanted to tell the girl it was a prank, but she had duties to accomplish, and amongst them were, sometimes, disclosing the painful truth.

"Ami." The girl snapped to attention. "Do you remember how you came into this world?"

Dark eyes only stared back at her. Very slowly, their owner shook her head.

"Well then...can you tell me what happened when you were washed away in the flood?"

There was a long pause, during which Chichiri actually lifted his head to look at her. She met his gaze, and then had to avert her eyes, feeling suddenly naked. "I was... These..." Unconsciously, she wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging herself, clothing herself against what felt like probing looks. "Images. Like memories...but not quite. I don't know. I...I don't understand..."

"What was the last thing you remember doing in your world?"

"Going to sea. A little boy couldn't get out of the water...the tide was coming up."

"And what happened in your vision?"

"I couldn't surface. I was...drowning."

Taiitsukun nodded. Chichiri looked pained. "If you were told once more that you could not return home," the Creator said, "would you be able to guess why?"

Ami's brow creased in thought, and then suddenly cleared as her eyes widened in understanding. Helplessly, she looked to Taiitsukun for a refutation, but the old woman merely turned to the mirror. The surface clouded, and then cleared with a scene. Ami's eyes flickered to the picture, disbelieving, and then to Chichiri. The monk was watching her closely, pain written all over his face.

She knew what Taiitsukun was showing her; she just didn't understand why. For a moment fear danced within her. Who was everyone wearing black for? Who was in the big black box...in the coffin?

Her father? No; he was right there in the front row, looking stoically handsome in his mourning clothes, political friends ranged on the seats behind him.

Was it their mother? ...No. She was in front of the whole assembly, preparing to give a speech. Shuffling papers in her hands, the blonde woman looked out at the mourners. Her lower lip quivered, but she bravely began, "Wherever she is, I hope my daughter can forgive me."

Daughter? Was it her sister, then? No; she was right beside their father, a piece of paper sorely abused in her wringing hands. It was strange to see Claire so ruffled, her eyes red-rimmed.

"As a mother, I have committed the ultimate wrong of shunning her. She came back asking for forgiveness..."

As her attention travelled away from the speaker, Ami began to be able to take in more of the strange movie. She realized she knew most of the people in the crowd. They were people she'd gone to school with – the principal, her old friends, a few of her classmates; people she worked with – lifeguards, waiters and waitresses at the restaurant she worked in part-time... A sinking feeling began creeping up inside her. She cast her eyes back to the front of the room, towards the coffin, seeing it now in a harsh new light. It was too big, too bulky, too overcrowded with flowers and candles and – the breath hitched at her throat – pictures. Framed pictures, mostly of a child. There was one with a rowdy group of teenagers, and one obviously taken from the school yearbook.

With weakening knees, she dragged herself to the mirror. Chichiri rose halfway but was stopped by a stern glance from his teacher. Ami placed her hands over the pictures, recognizing herself in some of them. There were others, especially the shots of the little girl, that she had never seen before. Little white creases crisscrossed across them as if someone had kept them crumpled for a very long time before smoothing them out again. The corner of one was stained with dirt.

"...It may be too late to say this, but Ami, Mommy loves you. We all do; we were just foolish enough to never tell you before..."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"As we put you to rest..."

She jerked backwards, stumbling a few steps. What?

"...we can only hope to see you again someday..."

Like a horror movie, the picture zoomed in. She saw the person everyone was mourning. It was neither her father, nor her mother, nor her sister. She knew the person lying dead below the glass window. She had known her since they were children. Of course. She was, after all, staring at herself.

"...We love you."

Knees buckling at last, Ami screamed.

Chichiri tore across the hall without a second thought. He tried to gather her to himself, but Ami fought out of his grasp, hysterically sobbing as she pounded on the mirror.

"Mommy! Daddy! Claire! I love you...I love you! I'm right here! I'm not dead! Mommy –!"

"Ami-chan, please calm down!" Forcefully, Chichiri wrapped his arms around hers, pulling her back against him and away from the mirror. She struggled wildly, but Chichiri was determined this time, shutting his eyes and his ears to the stream of verbal abuse. "It's no use," he kept murmuring, flinching when she began digging her nails into his wrists. "You can't go back home, Ami-chan. So please calm down...calm down..."

After a final, futile attempt to wrest herself free, Ami grew still. She seemed to shrink into herself so that Chichiri was, even then, reluctant to let go. When she spoke, her voice was raw with bitterness. "Don't ever think you have the right to tell me that. I can't go home and I can't stay here. I have nowhere to go! How the hell – just tell me how the hell am I supposed to calm down when I might as well die?"

"Never say that!" It came out as such an abrupt snap that Ami sucked in a breath and grew quiet. Chichiri loosened his hold a little. "You can stay here. You can stay with me."

"I don't need your pity."

"I'm not offering it." His voice softened. "I'm admitting a mistake. And I am very, very sorry for having judged you when I did not have the right to."

Extricating herself from him, "I want to be alone. I don't...I don't hate you," she added quickly, looking anywhere but at his face, "I just need to think. So please... leave."

She didn't see it, but he nodded anyway. As he stood, he cast a last appraising look at her, offered a short bow, and walked away. Ami did not move until she heard the door click shut behind him. Then she raised her head.

And saw Taiitsukun floating near where Chichiri had just been, looking like her usual, stern self.

"I said I wanted to be alone," she muttered, turning stubbornly back towards the mirror, which had thankfully cleared. Now all she saw there was the harsh reflection of her puffy, red-blotched face and curled, insecure figure.

"There is one final thing you have to know."

Ami ignored her.

With an inaudible sigh Taiitsukun shook her head. Nevertheless, she continued, "Chichiri does not know it, but it was because of him that you were brought to live here instead when you...passed away...in your world. Suzaku thought it was time for him to, you might say, grow up, and hopes that you might be able to help him do that." She emitted a derisive little laugh. "He might act like he's in control, but one must never forget that that student of mine has his childish tendencies, too. The older he gets, the more they seem to resurface."

Taiitsukun paused, waiting for her to say something.

She remained silent.

"I shall leave you to your thoughts, then." And shaking her head once more, the Creator vanished.

~010101~

When Tasuki backed into the room, the last thing he expected to hear was a cheery little voice saying, "Let's go for a walk!"

He nearly dropped the tray in his hands. It was Lolita, looking as chipper as she could in rumpled sleeping robes and blinking at him from her perch on the edge of the bed. When he left only a few minutes ago she was still stirring from sleep.

"Ne, Tasuki?"

Plunking supper down on a convenient table, he went over to feel her forehead. It still burned with the stubborn fever. "No. Yer too sick."

"Come on, don't be a spoilsport."

"Get back ta bed."

They had a brief staring match until Lolita gave up. "It's your fault if my ghost gets trapped in this room forever," she muttered with a pout. "That would suck so bad."

"Ya know I don't like ya talkin' about that."

"Come off it, Tasuki," she sighed. "We've been avoiding this conversation since two weeks ago when I got sick. I say it's about damn time we dig it up and lay it straight."

"Fine. Whatever." Whipping off his coat, he wrapped her in it and scooped her up. "Where d'ya wanna go?"

"Cliff on top of the waterfall."

They started walking. Dusk was falling and Taikyouku was surprisingly Nyan-nyan free. Sunset shadows slunk down the walls, swallowing up expanses of marble in its wake.

Tasuki strode down the halls. With Lolita lying noiselessly in his arms, he felt strangely alone and claustrophobic, like the world was closing up around him. They emerged from the palace into the gardens but the lump in his throat wouldn't budge. It grew, blocking his throat, cutting off his air supply. Suddenly he couldn't breathe. A steady pounding grew in his head. Lolita still wasn't moving; wasn't saying anything. Tasuki wasn't sure he could still hear her breathing.

The panicked steps at last brought them from the formal landscapes into a narrow uphill stone path. A whip of nippy air sailed down from the crest, blasting into his face and combing into his hair. He sucked in a lungful. Lolita shivered.

He glanced down. "Continue?"

"March on, soldier!"

Tasuki smiled despite himself. Hitching her higher up his arms, he began the climb up the rocky trail. They had no light, but a line of paper lanterns lit the way. He followed the winding path so high uphill that the air began to grow thin. Mist swirled around them, veiling the shadows of nearby pines in white. He walked until he heard the first sounds of water, and then left the trail to follow the echo. The surrounding wood thinned out until it finally cleared at the base of a monstrous block of jutting rock. Beneath it spurted the mouth of a waterfall.

He sat down near the edge of the cliff, Lolita in his lap. The rising moon threw the first rays of pale light upon them.

"Thank you," she whispered, settling into his embrace.

"Yer ghost won't be trapped now, I b'lieve?" His attempt at humour was tinged with bitter sorrow.

"No."

"Lo –" he halted, buried his nose in her hair and went on, "I think...I think I'd like it better if yer ghost was inside a room. 'Least...I'd know where ta look."

"You won't like me as a ghost. Trust me."

"I'm tryin' ta be serious here."

"And I'm trying...not to make you cry."

"I'm not cryin'."

"I don't mind boys who cry."

"I'm not cryin'," the bandit seishi insisted, for which all he got was a gentle laugh. After a moment's silence Lolita shifted in his arms to look up at him.

"You said I'm going back home."

A grunt.

"So how am I supposed to know I'll go home in time? How do I know I won't die first?"

"Th' old hag's pro'lly fig'gered it out, though ya should've asked Chiri if ya wanted ta be sure."

"If I don't die will you try something for me?"

"What'd ya have me do?"

"After I'm gone give me a week. Think of me; mourn for me as if I've died; as if I'd never return; as if we'll never meet again. Just one week: seven days. I'll do the same for you. And after the week we'll go on with our lives, try to move on as best as we can."

He paused, gave her a long look, and shook his head. "I'll give ya th' week. Hell, I'll give ya a whole year if only you'd ask! But I won't move on by pretending I never knew ya. I can't bring myself ta try ta forget."

"We've talked this over before –"

"Wait for me," he insisted, voice husky as he crushed her to himself. "I know it's selfish, but I'll still ask ya ta wait. Somehow, someday –"

The first soft beams of a red light began to come up between them.

Tasuki clutched her tighter to himself as his words grew more strained and panicked. "– we'll meet again. I don't know how long it'll take but I'll find ya. Fer sure..."

Her lips crashed against his in a frenzy of teary longing and fever-fed adrenaline. "I believe you. I'll wait. I promise I'll wait. Be happy. I..."

The red light was growing stronger; a wall between them. When the last flare of red shot up they managed to lock lips one final time. His fingers tangled in her hair.

I love you.

And then the light died. The jacket fell limp over his arms, still warm, still choked with her scent. The Suzaku seishi doubled over, his face within its folds.

"I...love ya, too...Lo."

~010101~

Her steps halted just at the edge of the shadows. Beyond it was the sweeping front entrance of the heavenly palace, flooded in a pool of moonlight. A figure sat at the white steps, so still she wondered if he had not fallen asleep. Clutching the extra blanket tighter to herself, Ami took that last step and emerged into the light. The figure she was eyeing didn't so much as twitch.

"Chichiri," she said under her breath.

"Can't sleep, no da?" came the reply. Still he didn't move.

"May I join you?"

A nod, at last.

She sat down on the top step beside him, took a breath and let it out slowly. "I'm...ready...to talk. If you still...want to hear it." The words came out in a stammer. She snapped her mouth closed.

"Have you sorted everything out, no da?"

"I have." Drawing up her knees, Ami crossed her arms and rested her chin over them. "And I have no idea where to begin."

"Is there anything you particularly want to do?"

"I..." Huffing a violent sigh she hid her face in her arms. "God, I don't know. I suppose there's no institutional path for me to follow?"

"You make your own path, Ami-chan. From now on, you'll make the path you walk on."

"Like you did, huh?"

Chichiri stiffened. But then he managed to look down with a tight smile. "A little like that."

Unexpectedly Ami giggled. "I don't want to be a nun, though," she said, straightening up and meeting his eyes gaze for gaze. "Maybe I'll be a politician instead, like..." she swallowed and the tears welled in her eyes. And yet she pulled her mouth into a grin. "Like...my daddy. I'll be a good statesman."

"Ami-chan..." he reached out, and she crumpled under his touch. Her tears stained his kesa into a near-black colour.

"If there's one thing I learned all afternoon, it was that...in the end I had nothing to regret after all. I'd done my best; fought my best fight. I've been forgiven, and...that's all I really wanted...in the end." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Ami leaned into him, sobbing into his shirt, grabbing onto him for dear life. "I'm a new person at last, but I'm not comfortable in this body. There's something missing. There's a part of me that's not here anymore..."

He knew what was missing. Many long years ago, he had been like her; had felt like her. Even when he came to grips with his destiny and threw himself head-on into his new calling, that weight had been there. It went away only a year ago when he learned to forgive himself and made the decision to start life anew. The weight disappeared. The shackles stopped ringing with every footfall, grew silent, and went away.

"You get used to it, no da," he murmured soothingly. "You get used to the freedom."

They sat entwined in silence for a few more minutes until Ami stopped whimpering and pulled away. "Chichiri, why...why do you still wear your mask?"

"Force of habit, no da."

"But don't you ever get the compulsion to take it off?"

He paused to think. "Let me put it this way: if you could do things over would you change anything?"

"Plenty of things!"

The straightforward answer made him smile. It had been a while he saw this candid side of her. "Would you try to forget the unpleasant things if forgetting would make you a whole different person?"

Something akin to understanding lit her eyes and slowly, Ami shook her head. "I...I guess not."

"That's just how it is with my mask, no da. It reminds me...of me."

They stared at each other until Ami surrendered to a chuckle. "Remind yourself...of yourself? It sounds silly from this point of view!" When she sobered up, though, she rewarded him with a sincere smile. Her eyes still glistened with unshed tears, but the conviction in her voice spoke for itself. "I think I really want to be a politician, Chichiri. Like my daddy, but not quite. And while I'm at it, I'll be careful not to lose sight of what's really important."

~010101~

She first woke up with her head against cold stone. Her body ached all over and she was tired. For a moment she thought she was dying in dungeon somewhere; it took her a full minute to realize that the blinding beam above her was not The Light, but a chopper's searchlight. Lolita stayed conscious long enough to read the bold "Coast Guard" printed on the body of the helicopter before blacking out.

The second time she woke up she found herself lying on a hospital bed, apparently being treated for mild hypothermia and, ironically, a fever. Somewhat more rational the second time around, she began looking herself all over. Gone were the Konan clothes, replaced instead by a nightdress and sweater. Lolita was just deciding to go back to sleep when she realized that she was missing her doll. Kicking off the blankets, she looked under them and under her pillow. She was even on the point of dropping to her knees to search under the bed when, sheepishly, she saw it on the nightstand across the room, propped up against a glass of water. Picking it up, she padded back to bed.

The TV caught her attention. It had been turned low so that if she chose, she could ignore the murmur of the news anchor. But when the screen flashed a succession of familiar photographs, Lolita couldn't help watching. She turned the volume up until the words filtered into her tired senses.

"...Today, Senate President Arthur Langley, his wife, their eldest daughter Claire, their friends, and their family, braved the late summer downpour to send their second child Amelia to her final resting place. Amelia Langley drowned the Saturday of last week after trying to save a little boy from the incoming tides..."

Ami's...dead...?

Another set of footsteps entered the room and Lolita's mother found her still standing, staring at the evening news as tears streamed down her face.

Her hands were cold, but it wasn't because of the autumn chill. She had just been to the cemetery to lay flowers at her friend's grave, and to stop by the post office. Now she hesitated at the front door, a thick manila envelope clutched to her chest. Under her clenched fists, her heart beat fast; expectant, excited, frightened.

This was going to be her first official revolt.

The door flew open before she knocked and there, framed in the warm light of the foyer, was her mother. "Come on in, honey. I've got good news for you." And mother and daughter disappeared into the house.

Her father was in the library, legs crossed, leisurely perusing his evening paper, but he looked up when his wife and daughter entered. A grin broke across his face. He rose. He hugged his daughter. He said the words that made her spirits sink.

"Congratulations. A letter has just come in from Vienna. They want you at the auditions next week."

Lolita smiled, tried to reply. But where words failed her, tears did not. Her eyes prickled hot and, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, she threw down the envelope. Her parents hovered protectively around her. She took a gasping breath and then shook her head. "I'm not going."

"But you're even lucky they want you –" interjected her mother.

"I'm not going!" she almost screamed. "I don't want to be a musician. That's your dream. I don't want your dream!"

"Lolita!" It was her father, now.

"I want to be an artist!"

"No school is going to accept you now," her mother tried to be reasonable. "It's too late to send in applications..."

"No." Shaking her head, she tore open the envelope, spilling its contents onto the table. Photographs of artwork spilled across the polished mahogany, falling off the edges, fluttering down to the floor. Above it all was a smaller letter envelope. Its contents have already been read. "I made it to Goldsmiths."

Her mother paled. Her father's hand clenched into a tight fist.

"I want to make my own life. I want to write my own story," And the face that she lifted was, though tear-stained, confident. "If Senator Langely's daughter can do it, I can, too. I want to be brave. I want to throw myself head-on into life. I've only got one shot at it, so I'm going to do it right."

The only sound in the ensuing silence came from the fireplace. Then her mother uttered a piteous little wail and fell upon a nearby chair, head clutched in her hands. Her father cast her a stern look, but the only thing he said to her was "We'll talk about this later," in a tone that Lolita would later learn to recognize as grudging acquiescence.

She nodded, excused herself. She was barely out of the house than she was inside her car, flooring the accelerator. The silver vehicle sailed down the freeway, easing into that familiar beach route. Overhead, the sky roiled a turbulent gray, much like the day of her first encounter. The sea still crashed upon the jagged rocks, breaking foam. She pulled up at her favourite spot, from where she had a broad sweep of the beachfront. The beach club, the empty places that used to house billowing tents, the abandoned beach chairs...and the well.

The engine purred into silence and Lolita leaned back. Her doll version swung from where it hung on the rearview mirror. She reached to cup it in her palm; squeezed the belly. The amulet was still there. And quite unable to take it anymore she suddenly laughed. She laughed so hard it was difficult to breathe. But she couldn't stop. Not when it felt so good and the memory of him hurt so bad.

Tasuki...

A tear slid down her cheek.

...I'm not a doll anymore.

She vowed that that would be the last.

~010101~

He gave her the week she asked for, and more. All the way back to the palace Tasuki was miraculously silent, absorbed in thought while Chichiri helped Ami make plans. Vaguely, their conversation drifted through his busy mind:...learn the language...learn Konan's history...study politics...maybe she could start out as somebody's secretary...

He, too, was making plans. Now that the last memory of her stung less and less, his mind cleared enough to enable him to think through his next step. He vowed to find her. She promised to wait. He didn't know how to find her yet, but he would. In the meantime, he had think about what he would do once he found her. Where would they live? What could he offer her? And in the space of those months it took to travel from Mt. Taikyouku to Eiyou, Tasuki made up his mind.

After paying the usual formalities upon their return, and after Chichiri and Ami laid their proposal before an enthusiastic Houki-sama, Tasuki let one night fly. He gave himself one last chance to change his mind, and spent that whole night in wakeful contemplation. Dawn found him staking out the hall before the audience chamber, restlessly pacing, running his lines over and over in his head. When the Empress took her place at the throne, he was the first one at the foot of it, kneeling with bowed head.

"Yer Majesty," he began, and forgot everything he had rehearsed. "Yer Majesty," he said again, "I'd like ta join th' army."

Houki remained silent for so long that Tasuki ventured to raise his head a little. The Empress was looking straight at him, a pitying, puzzled look on her face. "Tasuki-san, why don't you stand up?" He obeyed, and did so with his hands held behind him in an uncharacteristic show of uncertainty. Choosing her words carefully Houki said, "I...sympathize...with your loss but...you must realize what it is you are asking."

He met her eyes gaze for gaze and suddenly those dull amber depths flared.

"I'd like to be a spy, Yer Majesty. Th' boys up Reikaku are a good starting point, an' they've got networks nearly everywhere. We'll have ta start over at th' borders but it can be done. I don't have ta be at the palace all th' time. I'd just send in periodic reports..."

"It is a dangerous job. I'm sure you know that."

"It ain't too different from what we've been doin' during th' war." The smirk that tugged up the side of his mouth was just a little too tired; a little too worn out with pleading; a little too much of a desperate attempt to secure assent.

At length Houki sighed. Though she wasn't too keen on his proposal, she knew there was nothing much she could do about it. Tasuki was stubborn and would always end up getting what he wanted one way or another. At least, she thought, if she employed him, she would always know what he was about and would somehow be able to curb what seemed to be his inherent recklessness.

"All right," she finally nodded. "We'll try it. I like your idea of setting up a network at the borders. I want to hear a full proposal on that matter tomorrow morning. Same time."

"Yes, Yer Majesty." Tasuki dropped a bow and was turning to go when Houki's voice caught up to him.

"Be careful. And...I'm sorry...about what happened..."

His back muscles tensed for a minute, but he turned around and was even able to flash his usual lopsided smirk at his Empress. "Don't be, Houki-sama. I'll bring 'er back. You'll see."

~010101~

Wai! I think maybe this chapter's my favourite. Everything seems to converge and to end here. The storyline feels cleaned up all of a sudden, and the major character turning points have happened. How many were suprised that Ami and Chichiri didn't turn out to be a pairing? (grin) I must confess, though, that that was what I had intended to happen from the start. But halfway through I felt they just didn't have that special spark and their story...just didn't write itself into a romance, I guess. Chiri-kun's been grossly neglected in this story. Gomen ne, Mr. No da-man. ^^

On a note: THIS DOES NOT END HERE. I already have an epilogue planned and will work on it at the soonest possible time. I hope to have it up in time for Valentines' Day, but if not, then maybe some other day, but still within February.

Thank you to those who have added LOTCT to their favourites/alerts list. Maybe some time soon I'll get to hear from you guys? .^ I sure hope so. Cheerio!