A Wilting Rose

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Part III: Tempting the Demon

It stands tall and proud in the spotlight,Resented for its beauty,But loved for the self-same reason.Hungry eyes put it on center stage,Yet, again, it is only an imitation.It can never feel the warmth of the lights,Can never feel,Can never truly be.

I wake up to the sound of something tapping on my windowsill rather impatiently; the sharp noise echoes through my mind, coaxing a wince out of me. Opening an eye, I glance towards my window to find a heated-looking fire apparition sitting on my windowsill, his trademark scowl in place. I pull myself from the sheets and stand, stretching as I make my way to where he is undoubtedly waiting for me.

"What brings you here so early?" I ask, smothering a yawn with the back of my hand and I regard him with polite curiosity. I had told him he was always welcome, yet never expected so early in the day.

"About time you woke up," is his clipped response. Then, "Have you seen Yukina lately?" I hear the agitation in his voice — the concise syllables. He is annoyed, obviously. I had best tread carefully.

"Not recently; no," I reply lightly. I cast him a curious glance, fighting back another yawn that has been building in the back of my throat, pressing to be let loose. "You cannot track her with the Jagan?"

He glares at me, his eyes shining over in malice, fire dancing loathingly in their crimson depths. "Would I be asking if I could?"

"True enough," I concede. Currently, I find it is best to keep my end of the conversation down to as few syllables as possible, and as are necessary, because Hiei is clearly not in a pleasant mood.

"Hn." He crosses his arms over his chest, fingers clenching tightly in the folds of the black material, and turns on the windowsill to face me, his jaw taut, teeth probably clenched behind his thin-pressed lips. "Since early this morning I've lost track of her. The Jagan can't pick up on her."

"Surely, she's with Kuwabara. Just find him and you are bound to find her as well," I reason.

"That's another thing," he growls in annoyance, the agitation in his voice spiking at the mention of the 'Oaf's' name. "I can't find him. I can't find Yuusuke either. You're the only one."

Now this is curious. Where could all the others have disappeared to?

"I see," I mumble quietly, thoughtfully. Then, "Well, let us resume this conversation downstairs on the porch, shall we? I would like to get dressed," I add, gesturing at myself and the half-nakedness that I had crawled out of bed with to answer his summons.

That said, I turn from him, and shortly thereafter hear his characteristic 'Hn' followed by the swish of his cloak, signaling his departure. As I pull on some fresh clothes, my mind races.

So much for assuming it is another mission. If it were, we would all be together; and surely, Koenma would explain the disappearances. What could have happened to the others? I wonder. And why are Hiei and I the only ones left?

I hurry down the stairs and utter a hurried good morning to mother in the kitchen before heading out the door to meet with Hiei.

He is sitting perched on the ledge of our porch, his eyes falling over my rose bush. Although his gaze is one of indifference, I know he admires them. For he once, long, long ago, admitted to me that he respected me for the power I have over my plants.

"I am sure there is no reason to worry. Wherever Yukina is, she is undoubtedly safe," I call out to assure him and to signal my arrival, though he is still looking at the roses and not me, so I am not sure he heard me.

"You're probably right," he agrees turning to me with a nod. "But I want to know where she could have gotten to, where my eye won't trace her."

"Honestly, I could not say," I reply, contemplating for a moment. There are very few and far between places that Hiei's Jagan cannot scope out. It is curious to find a place so close to home.

"That makes two of us, then."

Silence ensues, a gentle wind rising between us, catching our loose clothing and sending the seams dancing tightly around our figures.

I walk down the porch and turn to my rose bush, looking it over intensely to assure myself that the blooms are in general good health. I can feel Hiei's eyes on me as I move about them, but make no comment on it and just continue on my way, moving between the bushes silently.

We are both comfortable in the silence.

As I contemplate the nature of half our teams disappearance and where Yukina might be so that the Jagan will not track her, I come to a startling conclusion. Essentially, Yukina is to Hiei, what Shiori is to me. Not exactly, of course, but the similarities are striking. He and I are virtually in the same predicament.

I straighten myself up, smoothing down the wrinkles the wind has coaxed into my shirt, and turn to Hiei, his gaze following me steadily.

"What is it, Fox?" he asks, eyeing me curiously.

Apparently, the abruptness of my action warrants his suspicions. I suppose they would have warranted my own, had the situation been reversed; it is in our demon natures to be suspicious, even of those closest to us.

I close my eyes in a moment of pensive thought. How should I word this? I am not sure. Not really sure I even want to ask this of him. I know Hiei well enough; he will surely laugh at my weakness, scoff and brush of my concerns as trivial. Perhaps it is simply in my best interests to drop this now, before it has a chance to go any farther.

"Well, what is it, Fox?" he asks again, his impatience deepening, rapping his knuckles against the porch ledge.

I open my eyes and meet his probing gaze unflinchingly. "Nothing," I reply shaking my head, deciding to leave well enough alone and exempt myself from his ridicule before the chance arises.

"Liar," he spits, but not venomously. Just stating the fact for what it is. "I can see the question mirrored in your eyes."

I chuckle slightly at my own ignorance; of course Hiei would notice. It is foolish of me to think he cannot read me quite so well. He, who knows me almost as well as I — claim to know — myself.

"Well?" he persists, jumping off of the porch railing and landing in front of me, his cloak billowing out behind him like a liquid shadow, settling slowly back against him as the winds die down.

"Curiously," I begin slowly, acquiescing to his prodding, "How do you manage living?"

"Manage living?" he repeats, the question reflected in his own voice. "I don't think I manage living." After this statement a harsh laugh, bark-like, cuts through the stillness between us. "Manage existing maybe, but not living. Why do you ask?"

"I said curiously, did I not?" I reply shortly, intending to end this quickly.

"You may as well tell me," he hedges on. The expression on his face is one of 'I know you better than that and I know there is more to it than your words suggest.'

I sigh. There is no way I am going to get out of this conversation now. And I cannot — and rarely ever do — win against his stubbornness. I can only move to drop the conversation where we stand. But knowing him as I do, I know he will only pursue the matter until I finally crack.

"You and I are much alike," I begin; conceding to what I know is the inevitable. "That is to say, the circumstances of our existences are alike. The both of us are two different people, but our circumstances are not… They are very much the same, in varying regards."

"I suppose," he agrees. "But, that's nothing I don't know already."

"Yes." I nod offhandedly. "Well, I was wondering how you manage to deal with your life, because I am finding it to be increasingly more difficult to do so with each new dawn."

"You're having difficultly? Don't tell me you've gotten bored with your humanity." He scoffs.

"I have never considered it 'boredom', actually," I reply. "Rather, tiredness."

"It's the same principle."

"Not exactly." I shake my head in disagreement, to argue his point. "I want to continue living this life; well, I am bound to continue it. I am just tired of it."

"So, you want to leave, but you can't?"

"I am obligated to stay here."

"I warned you, your humanity would prove fatal one day," he reminds me all-too-happily, shaking his head at me and gracing me with a thin smile, the merest upturning of his lips.

You have no idea how right you were.

"There is bound to be one time when the Fox's perfection cannot measure up," I reply, trying to sound casual, nonchalant. I shrug the words away lightly, ignoring the sting they elicit from my very core.

Hiei stays silent. I watch him with wondering eyes as he turns away from me. "Do you have any idea how much like me you sound?" he mutters, and I hear him give a small chuckle.

"Pardon?" Of course, I know we are similar — to deny such an obvious thing would be repugnant.

"You want to leave but you can't, can you?" he asks quietly, yet still managing to sound entirely matter-of-fact. As a result, the intended question comes out as more of a statement.

I nod, knowing very well that his words are the truth.

"You'd break the woman's heart if you left." He nods in assurance of his words. "You're obligated to stay with her; she's caught your heart. You want to leave, but you know the only way to do that is if she lets go first. The only way she'd do that is if you tell her the truth—"

"You know I cannot do that, Hiei," I cut across him sharply, my voice a dangerous whisper. A ripple of anger courses over my muscles.

I know he had no intention to, but by mentioning the one fault by which I know — just as he knows — I can escape my human imprisonment, he has upset me. Just as the thought — of telling Shiori that I am the Thief of Makai Legend — always does.

"—That you're Youko," he continues on as though I had never spoken. "But you won't do that, will you? Because you fear that she'll reject you. So, you're stuck here: living caught between the lies you've erected, and the shields you've built around yourself for self-preservation."

You have hit proverbial nail on the head.

I stay silent at his shocking summary of the life I have made for myself. I guess I am far easier to read now then I thought myself to be. Or perhaps, it is just that Hiei knows me too well.

"Think about it…" he continues, his voice growing quiet and reflective almost.

Briefly, he falls silent. I do not know if he has lost his nerve to speak or if he has just become tired of talking — perhaps he feels he has used his allotted amount of syllables for one day. But, to coax him into continuation, I give him a small nod. It seems to work, as slowly he picks up his thread.

"I deal with the same things." He looks at me with hard eyes, but I see the warmth within them. They have softened considerably over the past few years.

"I fail to see how this connects us. You have yet to bring the similarities between us to my eyes."

A scathing look settles on me. "I remain in a realm I hold no ties to merely to protect the one person that I harbor affectionate emotions for: Yukina."

I knew he would liken us through the similarities we hold regarding Yukina and Shiori — I had seen the connection and used it as my incentive to speak in the first place. But even though I know all of this, I listen raptly. Rarely does Hiei expose himself like this to anyone. Doing so now is costing him a great deal, I can tell, which makes it only an all-the-more precious gift.

"She can never know the truth. If she turned from me…" His voice breaks off, leaving him looking awkward for a moment. Then, he shakes his head, eyes closed. "It's better that she sees me as a friend, rather than brother, because it keeps things in perspective without complicating everything."

"I know the feeling," I mumble quietly, to voice my opinion. I am mindful to keep my voice low, however, lest an increased tone discourage him from exposing himself.

"So," he concludes, looking up at me once more. "She doesn't know because I won't say it. And despite this all, it's the one thing keeping me here. For me, it's Yukina. For you, it's the woman — Shiori. But it's the same regardless."

"What you are saying is the truth," I comply. "But, what gives us the right to continue hiding from the inevitable truth? What right do we have to lie to everyone?"

"It's not a right. It's instinct." He replies matter-of-factly.

"Instinct?"

He nods. "Self-preservation. We don't want to hurt ourselves, so we spare ourselves by lying, without regard to those it may hurt otherwise."

"It makes sense," I mumble, nodding slightly. "But what gives us that right? We are not entitled to be here; to live in this world. What gives us the right to, in the first place?"

"We have every right," he replies shortly, his voice rising slightly in annoyance, the beginnings of a twitch working at his eyebrows.

I shake me head firmly. "No. We are different, we have no right."

"Different?" He laughs harshly; it is an almost bark-like sound that echoes on the deadened breeze. "And this is coming from you? Your own diversity has turned against you, Kurama."

"But it is the truth, regardless." I bristle in annoyance at his laugh. My tongue is itching to whip back a nasty, snide comment — something I would have done without a second thought as Youko — but I bite down, my jaw taut, teeth clenched, and hold my voice.

He shakes his head feverishly, like a dog trying to remove water from its flooded ears. "'Different' is such a misleading word. Kind of like 'perfect'."

I flinch at the sound of his voice as he says it. He had raised his tone, sharpened it like a knife edge to drive home the point.

At this moment, I want to turn from him, and his gaze — so probing and deep and unnerving. Or, at the very least, I want to lash out; strike him violently and repeatedly to make my own pain and anger somehow known. I want to do something; anything to show my pain. But, I cannot bring myself to move to do any — or even a single one — of these things.

Then, without warning — without my expecting it — I hear him sigh.

The next thing I know, there is the silver flash of his katana, — the soundless wind gust of the descending blade — and a stinging sensation suddenly pulsing up my left wrist. I glance down at it confused, and notice the delicate paper cut-like wound running over my flesh. A small bubble of blood leaks from the mouth of the wound and trickles down my arm slowly, a thick crawling sensation sweeping down my limb.

I glance at Hiei confused, more curious as to why he had cut me rather than worried that he had, knowing that he could have easily taken my entire arm off without my knowing it.

He looks down at my wrist intensely, his vermillion eyes blazing as they track the flow of blood coursing down my forearm. Then, using his still drawn katana, he unflinchingly pricks himself in the same spot on his respective wrist. I watch — his flesh tears seamlessly as the blade cuts through the delicate tissue like a hot knife through butter; blood pools around the lips of the cut and slowly seeps out to greet my wide, stunned eyes.

But, for the intensity of this display, it does nothing to sufficiently explain a thing. Moreover, it does nothing to lessen my mounting confusion.

Odd, though, I notice after a subdued moment — how from the one small wound on my wrist, it feels incredibly as though my troubles are trickling out right along with the red liquid that sustains this life. I marvel at the feeling: such an intense sense of relief, as though all of my problems are leaving this body as steadily as the blood.

My body goes numb — time freezes, motion stops. It is as though everything other than my self ceases to exist for a time. There is a buzzing in my mind, countless, blurred sounds in the foreground of my thoughts. Words run together thickly, syllables unheard, the sounds meshed together in a thick knot, shrouded in fog; a thick catalyst where my conscious should be.

There is an indescribable peace that comes with being in a catatonic state. Something utterly and unerringly soothing about the complete and total numbness that wholly consumes the soul as the mind shuts down, shutting out external stimuli and centering around one focal, internal point.

And I know — oh, how I know — that my current relief stems from a mortal sin. The steady thrumming of my heart, the tightness in my chest, and the rush in my head all scream in defiance that I should ignore the feeling.

The addiction is a narcotic.

I know.

But the feeling is of such relief… such immense and infallible pleasure…

"Idiot Fox," Hiei snaps suddenly, dragging me back to reality.

My gaze shoots mechanically back to Hiei at the snide comment, my wrist momentarily forgotten. He is watching me smugly, with a look of understanding that is readily annoying, and most probably sorely out of place.

"What?" I ask confused. I still do not understand why he has done this to begin with. Nor do I understand why he has so plainly insulted me.

He glances to his wrist, idly dripping blood, as though it is the most natural thing in the world. The flow has almost stopped completely of its own accord, as he made no motion to stop the flow prior. Then, he motions at mine. I stand confused, my eyes instinctively following his gaze — the blood has painted thin streams of red along the contour of my inner forearm muscle.

"Idiot Fox," he mumbles again, before turning from me.

"What?" I repeat, anger slowly getting the best of me. There is a heated, venomous edge to my voice as I mouth, for the second time, my annoyed curiosity.

"We are not different. We all have blood, and we all bleed when we get pricked." He glances over his shoulder, his eyes surprisingly soft, and a dim flame glowing from their depths. "Kurama, we are nothing, if not the same."

I remain silent, eyes flying from my wrist, which has stopped bleeding, to his receding figure.

We are nothing, if not the same…

I want to call him back to keep him from leaving. But, at the thought, my voice catches in my throat, and I can't bring forth the words I desire to urge him back. I dredge out a sigh, resigned to watching him disappear gradually from my field of vision. A single though resonates through my mind:

We all bleed…