Disclaimer: I do not own these two boys; they, and their universe, belong to Asano Atsuko.
Reviewers: All 7 of you, thank you very much. I appreciate the reviews, especially since I'm new to the fandom.
Author's Note: Wow ::scratches neck sheepishly::, this is a completely different scenario from what I first imagined. But you know what? I think I like it. A rather unorthodox reunion, but hey ::grins::, can you blame me? I hope I've done all right with Shion and Nezumi's characters. I think they might be slightly OOC, but I think that's just the way this fic has turned out so far. It's interesting ::smiles again::. Several more chapters to go with this, so please enjoy!
Rating: T/M
Summary: Almost exactly three years after No. 6's downfall, the wandering star returns home…(Post-Series. Reunion-fic. Multi-chapter.)
"Speech"
Personal Thoughts/Memories (Italics)
.:No More Farewells:.
By Sentimental Star
Chapter Two: The Ever-Fixed Star
(Two Hours Later)
"Mama Karan!"
The bakery door below literally slams open and Nezumi jerks awake, disoriented and groggy. Cravat and Tsukiyo, who have crept upstairs at some point, scurry around in momentary panic and startlement on his chest as Nezumi tries to process why the loud voice is so familiar.
A minute later, a white blur of color streaks into the room he's been sleeping in, shrilling desperately at the top of his little lungs.
Nezumi's sleep-deprived mind takes a moment to process the identity of the mouse, but when it does, he is abruptly wide-awake:
Hamlet!
It is the mouse who chose to stay with Shion, the mouse who has taken it as his duty to warn either Nezumi or Shion whenever the other is in danger. His abrupt, frantic appearance now sets all of Nezumi's nerves on edge:
Something's wrong.
He swallows against the constriction in his chest and the tightness of his throat.
Something's happened…to Shion?
A flurry of insistent chirps. Nezumi shoves his feet into his boots and twists his hair up into a messy bun in record time.
Two seconds later, he is pounding down the stairs, taking them two, three at a time.
Damn! I thought he'd be protected, that this city was safe…! I am such an idiot—I should have known better…!
Hamlet scurries down the steps in front of him while Tsukiyo and Cravat take up the rear. He nearly slides into the wooden table once he topples into the kitchen, slamming his right hip into its corner, before spilling out into the bakery a moment later.
Karan whirls around with a stifled cry. Inukashi, who is with her, unabashedly gapes at him.
He has no time for greetings, no breath to spare for pleasantries. He is in no state to notice the changes three years apart have wrought on the girl; his entire being is focused on one thing, and one thing only, "Where the hell is Shion?"
Much later, he will be embarrassed by the language he uses in front of Karan. At the moment, he doesn't care.
Inukashi slowly closes her mouth, still undeniably stunned, and points out the door, "Five blocks down towards the old West Block and in an alleyway to the left. They've got barely any weapons, just knives, and—hey! Nezumi! Where the hell do you think you're going? Do you even know the way?"
But Nezumi is already gone, out the door and following on the tip of Hamlet's tail.
Back in the shop, listening to the door rattle itself quiet, Inukashi lowers her arm and blows out a frustrated breath. "Che! That idiot! He hasn't changed a bit. I don't suppose it would have done any good to let him know that Shion'll be perfectly fine on his own."
"Let's hope so," Karan murmurs, moving to place a few newly baked bread loaves out on the shelves. But her eyes are constant and fretful, wandering outside to the street below, so much so that Inukashi is obliged to quietly take the empty trays from her hands and help Karan prepare for the evening rush.
IOIOIOIOIOI
(Alleyway Outside of Orphanage)
A soft grunt. Shion ducks to the side as two beefy fists hammer down on his head.
"Are you crazy? Of course I'm not going to leave you here alone!"
The man staggers forward, overbalancing, and lands headfirst in the large trash bin occupying part of this alleyway. Shion, in spite of the situation, allows himself a very faint, very slight smile.
"Inukashi…weren't you the one who said it was high time I learned how to fend for myself?"
"Well, yeah, but-!"
A knife whistles past his cheek. Shion jerks aside and side-steps the thrust with less inherent grace than he'd like.
"I'll be fine. You're the one who taught me how to fight, after all."
"…Che! Fine. But I'm not the one who'll explain this to Karan if you somehow wind up dead!"
"Thank you for your concern, Inukashi."
"Hmph."
A foot kicks out. Shion leans to the left, grabbing his attacker's leg as it sails past him, and twists it, forcing his second assailant to the harsh, unforgiving concrete. There is a muffled curse and a knife clatters to the ground. Shion sends it pin-wheeling out of the alley by kicking the weapon aside with his foot.
"When I tell you to go, go. Get them out of here."
A jerk of his chin towards the two shaking children huddled together in the shadows who are watching the proceedings with fearful eyes.
"Got it. Don't keep me waiting too long, Wonder Boy."
A flash of a smile as he sets his feet: "Of course not."
The remaining four opponents are hesitating now, uncertain how to approach him and get through his defenses. He has already taken out two of their number and looks fully capable of taking out two more.
Shion doesn't hesitate.
A swift kick sends a metal milk container, devoid of its contents, careening into their midst. Having been pressed against the back wall of the alley, Shion dives through the center of their knot as they scatter, twisting to avoid the badly aimed swipe of yet another knife.
He has reached the mouth of the alleyway now, and spins to face his opponents, fully prepared to run if need be.
Two come at him at the same time, from opposite sides. There is the quicksilver flash of a knife through the air.
Shion ducks and grabs that particular arm, flinging it against a protruding brick.
A pained cry; the knife clatters to the ground and its owner drops into a crouch, cradling his broken wrist.
That doesn't stop him from lashing out at Shion's ankles, though.
Shion hastily backpedals, ducking as a beefy fist whirls at his face from the left and slamming his body into the other man's stomach. He has used all the momentum his body can muster and the thug crumples soundlessly to the ground.
Only three opponents remain now (two and a half counting broken wrists), but these are the ones that make Shion wary. For the most part during this little tussle they have held themselves back. Shion takes that to mean they are either incompetent or the best-skilled of the pack.
Somehow, I don't think it's the former.
The one he's injured has since dragged himself to his feet. There are two others conversing somewhere in the background, but Shion doesn't dare look away. This one is a young man, and clearly has a great deal of pride.
Which I've just spectacularly shot to hell, he quietly notes.
There is no way he is going to let his companions join in the melee now; he has become the most dangerous type of opponent, willing and reckless enough to do anything to gain back his pride.
Shion swallows and sets his feet again.
Oh, well. Not like I wasn't expecting this.
The work he has done for the Reconstruction Committee is well-known, and this group is the last of the Cleaners, the gang that terrorized West Block while he still lived there with—
Shit. Not now. Damn it, focus!
The voice in his head sounds awfully like Nezumi.
Willing the memories back, Shion focuses on his current situation.
A knife flashes up into the other young man's uninjured hand. Had he the thought and time to spare, Shion might have wondered exactly how many knives this Cleaner has sheathed on his person.
He doesn't, though, and is forced to duck the slash that sails towards his neck, coming a little too close to nicking him.
A second knife suddenly flies at his face from his opponent's other side, from a supposedly injured right hand.
Lurching back a step, Shion cries out as a white-hot flash of pain zings across his cheek. Blood, hot and fluid, splashes down his skin. He steps back, steps wrong, and chokes back an involuntary gasp as his ankle twists, sending him careening to the ground.
Even through the wavering haze of his pain, he sees that it is too late, time's run out, and both of the blades are currently descending on his neck at an alarming rate. He wishes, fleetingly, that he might be able to say "Good-bye" to a few people and "I'm sorry" to a few more…but he doesn't, he can't, and the moment passes.
There is a clatter and a cry. Shion stares, uncomprehending, as his assailant collapses mere centimeters in front of him, blood pooling from his side.
Who…?
Black boots enter his peripheral vision before their owner comes to stand in front of him, his stance casual and unruffled. Shion's gaze tracks its way up to his face, and he notices that the gray eyes—Nezumi's gray eyes—are incredibly alert. A knife rests easily in his palm, and its wielder carelessly flicks the blade open. "So…who's next?"
Shion gapes at him. Gray eyes slide briefly to his and the corner of a mouth quirks up into a warm smirk, "A bit of extracurricular activities, your Highness?"
Shion sputters and doesn't receive a chance to reply as, with a sudden scrape of rubber along concrete, the closest Cleaner lunges for his savior.
IOIOIOIOIOI
The brawl is elegant, brutal, and short. Shion can only stare as it plays out in front of him—a savage, beautiful dance that makes his head reel (or maybe that's just the pain).
Towards the end there is a misstep. The dancer doesn't see it, but Shion does.
It's an anomaly, something that doesn't belong in the script.
Staggering to his feet, ignoring the blinding heat screaming from his injuries, Shion dives, slamming the entire weight of his right side into the tall, female shadow that has detached itself from the wall.
Her intent had been to sneak up on the dancer, currently engaged in a rather vicious knife fight with the man he thinks is the last assailant.
Now Shion nips it, so swift, so fast, that she isn't even able to draw her knife. Nezumi did say he was light on his feet, after all.
The air leaves her lungs. Two of her ribs crack as she is rammed into the brick wall, and she drops to the ground with a strangled cry, clutching at her side. In the background, a knife clatters to the ground.
Shion's blood sings through his veins at a startling velocity. His whole body shakes—trembles—as he squeezes his eyes shut and forces the adrenaline to seep out of his blood vessels, rather afraid of what he will do to this woman if it doesn't.
We're fine. We're safe. He's safe. It's over. So don't do something you know isn't necessary!
A hand touches his shoulder, and long, elegant fingers grip it tight, "Shion…?"
The voice, slightly breathless and lacking the steel of battle, causes his head to spin. Part of him feels like he's sobbing hysterically (It's him, it's him, oh, Gods, it's him!), the other part forces his eyes open, forces him to take stock of their surroundings and assess them for any lingering threats.
There isn't any.
"Shion!"
His legs have given out. The two of them end up sprawled out on the ground, Shion toppled across his rescuer's chest.
A strangled half-gasp, half-laugh rises from the other boy's throat as shaking fingers work their way into his hair. "Shion…" a pair of warm lips abruptly collides with his forehead, again and again and again…"Shion…Shion…"
Shion cracks his eyes open and discovers that he's crying, choking as he struggles to breathe through tears. His hands, shaking and white-knuckled, clutch at the lapels of his companion's leather jacket. Through blurred vision, he sees gray eyes, bright and wild with an odd mix of worry, awe, anxiety, and delight, tracing every feature of his face.
Their owner can't seem to stop kissing him. Every unbloodied inch of his face is showered with an onslaught of affection. Fingers tenderly swipe at the parts that are bloodied, even as the salty sting of his tears enters the wound he's sustained.
"N-Ne…zu-?"
He can hardly say it, but it turns out that he doesn't need to—their lips crash together a second later, a hard press of skin against skin. Shion's breath continues to hitch, and his brain continues to reel, but he is able to mumble out around the kiss, "Will I need stitches?"
It is not what he wants to say at all, but apparently it's good enough.
Nezumi pulls back, staring at him in utter disbelief for a whole tenth of a second, before completely cracking up. "Y-You…You haven't changed a bit, have you?" Wiping away tears of mirth, he chuckles again, shimmying out from underneath Shion and, standing up, offers him a hand. His gray eyes are glowing, joy and relief radiating from them, "Y-Yes, your Majesty, I'm afraid stitches are quite necessary."
Shion sighs, feeling his tears start to dry. Grabbing Nezumi's hand, he allows himself to be hoisted to his feet, "Fine, but you're the one stitching me up."
Nezumi's hands rest on his chest as Shion transfers most of his weight to his good foot. Raven hair brushes against his uninjured cheek as the other young man suddenly leans in and brushes his lips across his jaw line. "As my Prince commands, I obey," Nezumi replies warmly against the skin, teasing, before stepping away.
Heat floods Shion's cheeks. Oddly enough, it feels like he's the one who has finally returned home.
End Chapter