A/N: It's been a crazy, crazy absolutely positively crazy week. Right now I'm running on caffeine and no sleep and from the looks of it, it will be another eleven hours or so before I can sleep properly… I've got my final year project mid defense (God that's such a mouthful) at 3 pm and I've been up all night working on the stupid thing and I still have a loooooooong way to go. *sighs* It's at times like these that I wish I wasn't such a procrastinator. I decided it was time to take a little break before returning to work again so I figured why not update Broken again. I had the chapter with me for a while now.

I did a little research on how to take care of paralyzed people and what sort of problems they face and how the problem affects them emotionally. This chapter basically sheds light on some of those problems.

Enjoy the update while I return to the horrendous task of turning my brain to mush. Wish me luck by the way. ;)

"Are you sure?" A frown settled on her features as she looked at him skeptically, but at his nod, she picked up the bowl and utensil and proceeded to place them on the side table before heading over to the cabinet. Her fingers slid across the patterns traced there and Syaoran detected a faint glow coming from the wooden panel before it opened with a small click.

Syaoran watched her rummage about inside it for a little while before his attention was drawn by a foul smell and he dropped his gaze to his lap in mortification. Embarrassment did not even begin to describe what he felt at the moment as he realized what had just happened. He had not had any access to a proper toilet while he was being kept in the dungeons, so obviously he had to relieve himself in one corner of the tiny cell, adding to the filth and the stench of his prison, but at least he had never soiled himself. But now…

"Oh dear," he could not even bring himself to look at the healer standing at his bedside as he clenched his jaw and screwed his eyes to keep himself from crying in shame. When had he become so pathetic? "I think we might have to give you a bath sooner rather than later." He did not reply to that. After all, what was there to say? He was nineteen years old and he had just wet the bed! "Hey," he felt her move closer to him, felt the mattress tip under her weight, felt her fingers take hold of his chin and felt her move his face in her direction, "look at me, Syaoran."

He did no such thing and after almost an eternity of feeling her expectant eyes on his face, he heard her sigh and drop her hand. "I'm going to sound like a bitch when I say this, but you need to hear it." She was holding his bony hands in her warm fingers now, "I'm not one to sugarcoat my words and I'm sure you'll appreciate knowing the truth a lot more than being fed false hopes... Just because you're out of that place," she was rubbing her thumb against his knuckles in an almost-distracting manner, though his heart still clenched painfully in the face of his pathetic helplessness, "it's not going to get any easier in the blink of an eye, but it will get better."

"I don't think it will." He was surprised to hear his voice come out so strangled and defeated. Her thumb stilled on the ridge between his second and third knuckle."Things just keep on getting worse."

"They won't always stay this way." She said, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze.

"Have you taken a look at me?" he grit out bitterly, tears of frustration and anger prickling his eyes as he finally opened them to glare at her, "Look at me! Look at how pathetic, how helpless they've made me! I can't even… I can't even…"

"Control your bladder?" she offered, making him cringe in revulsion as he drew his hand from her. She was right, after all. They had robbed him of even that last shred of his dignity. "Your body is paralyzed from waist below, Syaoran." She said softly, once again catching hold of his hand and pressing it in her comfortingly warm fingers, "I know you know that already, but this," she gestured at the soiled bed with her head, "is a result of that paralysis which resulted from injury to your spinal cord. The nerves that connected the lower portion of your body to your brain were damaged because of that. This does not make you pathetic, far from it actually, so don't you dare believe that even for a second."

"Just look at me…" he repeated weakly.

"I am," Masooma replied firmly, "and all I can see is a young man who's been through hell. Know what else I see?" She paused until his curiosity got the better of him. He did not know what it was, but whatever it was, he wanted to know what she could see in him. He was weak and pitiful, a broken mess. What was it that she could see in him? At his hesitant nod, her smile widened a fraction of an inch, "I see someone worthwhile." The conversation seemed over as she dropped his hand and moved to retrieve the wheelchair. "Now how about that bath, hmm?" she asked him, even as she pulled back the quilt and carefully lifted his body off the bed and into the chair. He clenched his hands into fists of frustration, but she seemed to ignore his actions if she saw them, "I was actually trying to arrange something to prevent what just happened before I brought you lunch."

"You were?" He looked up in surprise. Had she known he'd end up wetting his bed like that eventually?

"Of course. I'm a healer, it's my job to know how an injury affects your body. I asked one of my assistants to bring it here when they've arranged it," She told him as she wheeled him over to the door on the left, stopping next to an ancient-looking stone basin covered in heavy carvings along its rim. It was big enough to hold an adult and still have room to spare and Syaoran decided that it must be a bathtub. There seemed to be a small ventilation shaft in the roof that had yet another intricate mural built into it. There were no windows to provide natural light in the room, but several glowing orbs hung in the air to make up for the lack of windows. He watched her bend next to the stone basin as her fingers traced over a set of carvings and to his amazement the entire stone structure glowed softly before producing gurgling sounds as spirals of steam began to waft up from inside it. "Since I don't want you to drown while bathing, I'm afraid I'm going to have to stick around in here," she told him with a mischievous wink. "I can help you out of your clothes if you want." She added with a wide grin, before finally laughing at the alarm that showed up on his face. "Oh relax, Syaoran. I'm not going to do anything to you, I swear. I've already seen it, so no need to be shy now." At his embarrassed blush she laughed harder, clutching her sides as she doubled over. "Sorry, sorry, I think I'll shut up now." She sobered up, "I'll just go and get you some fresh clothes, alright?"

"Oh, by the way," she stopped by the doorway, "I was serious about not wanting you to drown, so don't move from that spot until I get back…Unless you want me to give you CPR." She waggled her brows in a mockingly suggestive manner, causing the brunette to finally laugh a little at the sheer silliness of it all, though the embarrassed blush remained on his face.

"Just go, please?" he muttered weakly as he started unbuttoning his shirt.

"You're still as cute as ever when you blush, Syaoran." And with one parting wave she was gone through the door. Pulling the shirt off, he winced a little at the pain the action seemed to cause. He looked down, fingers slowly tracing down his chest as he undid the bandages wrapped around his torso. He felt each bump of his protruding ribs in morbid fascination until he finally reached the hollow of his sunken stomach. In some places, half healed scars and scabs marred his pale flesh, ugly and twisted. Phantom pains shot through his body as he traced each and every mark, his mind recalling with great detail how he had obtained each and every wound. His gaze strayed to the stone basin that was slowly getting filled with bubbling water. Pushing the wheels of the chair he sat on, he moved closer, stopping only when it collided with the basin and nearly toppled over. Leaning over the top, he looked at the gurgling water, watching the almost hypnotic dance of the bubbles beneath its frothy surface. In a dreamlike state he reached over and pushed his hand into the churning water, feeling the temperature to be surprisingly comfortable despite its appearance. Withdrawing his hands, he struggled to lift his body out of the chair with trembling arms, before his hand slipped and he slammed back into the chair, his chest heaving with the effort. Not giving up, he tried again, wondering just how much force would he need to heave himself over the basin and into the water. He would drown, she had told him. Would that really be so bad? He was useless, helpless and pathetic. Left at the mercy of a witch who claimed to be his friend, but was someone he couldn't recall ever having met before. He could feel his arms beginning to give out as the trembling worsened, but he grit his teeth in determination before giving one final push, momentarily standing on his feet before his legs buckled and he tumbled into the water, face first.

His lungs burnt with the lack of oxygen as he inhaled a mouthful of water, choking and sputtering, helplessly flailing about under the water, the upper half of his body leaning over the edge of the tub while the paralyzed half hung uselessly on the outside. Just as it all became too much and he felt like his head would explode from the pressure, he was pulled out of the water and dumped on the cold, cold floor.

"What the fucking hell do you think you are doing?" Masooma shrieked even as he coughed up water, gasping for air. "Do you want to die so badly that you decided to end your life like a coward? You don't give a damn about the sacrifices others have made for you to be alive today, do you?" Her fingers were digging painfully into the bones of his shoulders as she drew him to face her. He cringed at her touch, trying to draw away from her as flashes of Sakura's cold, narrowed eyes as she hurt him overlapped with Masooma's features.

"N-No…" he whimpered, trying to push her away but the witch seemed willing to have none of it as she jerked him forward rather violently.

"Do you? If death is all you care about, just say the word and I'll fucking snap your neck for you right now," She hissed, drawing another whimper from him, "Who cares if someone else had to go through months of torture just so you could be safe, huh? Who cares if there are people left behind who would cry over the fact that you're gone so long as you don't have to fucking face any of it? Right? Who fucking cares about any of that? …You were supposed to be someone worthwhile." She spat, letting go of his shoulders and turning her back to him just as he collapsed on the cold floor, "Turns out you are nothing more than a coward."

He felt his anger flare at that. He was not a coward. And what gave her the right to judge him? What did she know about the hell he had gone through?

"What would you know about what they did to me?" he spat weakly, "All you have is what you saw in my memories."

She tensed at his words, her fists clenching at her sides so hard he saw her knuckles turn white from the pressure. He was sure she was on the verge of turning around and strangling him with her bare hands. "You're right." Her voice was surprisingly calm and in control when she spoke, though he could tell it was requiring a lot of effort on her part to stay that way. "What would I know about any of it? I have no right to judge you for wanting to put an end to this misery, right? Do you want me to do it?" She was crouching next to him once again, her amber eyes boring into his own with an intensity that almost scared him, "do you want me to kill you?"

Did he truly want her to do that? It would be his chance to finally be free of it all. And he had no doubt about it that the woman would go through with her promise if he gave his assent. He could see the resolve in her gaze.

"Tell me what you want me to do, Syaoran. Is living really so bad?" her voice was barely above a whisper, "Is it really so hard that you don't think you have the strength to get over what was done to you?"

The silence between them seemed to stretch out forever. Moving away from him a little, she sat on the floor with her legs folded beneath her. Then, to Syaoran's alarm, she did something completely unexpected. She began to peel off the light shirt she wore, placing it beside her calmly once she had pulled it off her head. She wore a black chemise underneath, though it ended right below her ribcage, leaving her lower abdomen bare to his gaze. A motley group of old scars accumulated right below her navel, thick and shiny and gruesomely fascinating to look at.

"I can't have children," she admitted solemnly all of a sudden, her fingers stopping just short of brushing markers of what had to have been a horrendous injury. "He loves kids, you know, but that's the one thing I won't be able to give him anymore. And you know whose fault that is?"

Syaoran tried to tear his gaze away from her but there was something about her that kept it glued in place. He swallowed thickly, not really sure of whether he wanted to know what her next words would be.

"I've been through the same hell you have, Syaoran. I was stupid enough to let myself get captured by those bastards. I was beaten, burnt and tortured but I kept on fighting back. They decided that this was best way to break me. By the time Nixon found me, it was already too late. When he first brought me back here, the thought of death, that… blissful ignorance, that calm detachment… it all sounded so wonderful." Her tone took a slightly wistful edge, "There were times when I wanted to crawl into a hole and be forgotten by the world entirely until I died… and yet, I'm still here. In the time that I had known you before you were captured, you appeared to be a person that was far stronger than I ever was. Why is it then, that I still hold on to this life while you try again and again to let go?" Scooting closer, she drew him into a hug. Her soft hair brushed his damp skin and made him shudder in her arms. He tried to push away, his hands subconsciously pressing against her scarred stomach and he felt her stiffen at his touch.

"Did they ever…" he trailed off, wondering if something more than just beating had taken place when she had gotten those scars.

"Did they ever rape me?" She murmured the words so softly it took him a moment to realize she had spoken at all. It was such a personal question. Did he even have any right to question her about it? Apparently she thought he did, for she spoke up again. "Yes... It happened so many times that I can't even recall the exact number anymore… Do you still want it, Syaoran?"

"What?"

"To die." She asked unflinchingly, pulling away to look him in the eye, "Do you still want to die?"

He thought about her words, about her loved one, about how he had suffered for his sake, about how she had suffered too, about his own helplessness and infirmity, about his shame and frustration. He thought about everything.

"… No."

"I'm happy to hear that," she smiled, "Don't ever try to do something like that again, understand?" She added sternly, "Last time you tried to end your life, you ended up paralyzing half your body."

"That happened because I…" he trailed off, horror sinking its claws into the pit of his stomach.

"Jumped out of the window, yes." She said as she climbed to her feet and pulled the wheelchair back from where it had toppled over. "It's a good thing I came in when I did, I'm quite sure you wouldn't have appreciated losing your hearing next."

"…Thank you."He muttered softly as she picked him up and set him at the edge of the basin. Picking up a towel, she covered him up before helping him out of the loose trousers and lowering his body into the warm water. She handed him the soap and a scrubbing cloth before moving away and sitting down on the floor with her back to him.

"Don't worry about it." She shook her head, "Let me know when you're done washing, okay?"

Syaoran was grateful for the gesture. She'd probably never leave him on his own after the stunt he had just tried to pull, but at least she let him have some semblance of privacy.

"I was thinking, once we're done here," she spoke after a while, just as Syaoran started scrubbing his arms, "I could show you some more memories of yours if you're up to it later on."

"Okay."

"Honestly speaking, mind-magic is not my forte," she admitted, "I'm more of an offensive magic user who just happens to be a healer as well. All witches were required to learn healing magic where I come from. It's more or less a necessity for one to be able to learn magic at all."

"You're not from around here?" He asked, the water sloshing as he rubbed the soap on his chest, taking care not to pull at any of the scabs.

"No, I'm a dimensional traveler that got stuck here in Magihidusi."

"Magihidusi?" He asked, wondering why the word sounded so familiar-yet-not at the same time. He had thought he was still in Clow.

"The last magical stronghold in this world, it's called Magihidusi." She replied softly, "The place where you were stuck, it's called Complex. That's located in the heart of the hunter's city, Metropolis."

"It all… sounds so familiar, yet I can't recall ever having been here before." He frowned, feeling the distant pangs of an oncoming headache but he pushed himself a little further, trying to remember why he had forgotten it all in the first place. "You say you know me, the Oracle says the same. The hunters… they sound familiar, but…" he grunted as the pain magnified tenfold, his vision going white as a loud ringing overtook everything else in the world.

"Don't push yourself." Masooma warned immediately, her hand softly gripping his own as the sound of her voice cut through the pain and it slowly ebbed away, though she still did not turn around to look at him. "It will come to you as we go through your memories. They did something to block some parts out. I'm not skilled enough to just pluck the specific memories out of your head for your viewing, so we might have to go through a week worth's of them before you start to remember it on your own."

Panting slightly, he nodded.

"Why won't you tell me the truth?" He asked softly, slowly tracking the path of a soap bubble in the water before it popped.

"If I told you your friends were not the ones that did this to you, what would you say?"

"I'd say you were lying." He replied without missing a beat.

"That's why," she murmured in response, "even if I told you the truth, you wouldn't believe me."

"Because it's not the truth."

"I don't expect you to believe me right away, Syaoran. That would be stupid." Here she stopped for a moment, as though waiting for him to deny it, "There are holes in your memories, and you've noticed that as well. You don't trust them, you don't trust me, and I'm pretty sure the only reason you've allowed me to do anything for you so far is because you want answers. You don't believe a word of what I've told you, you think I'm trying to gain your trust," Syaoran's heart sank at hearing those words. Was this it? Was she going to admit it? "And that then, when you're at your most vulnerable, I'll do just what you think your friends did to you and destroy you."

He was sorely tempted to ask her 'are you?' daring her to lie to him, but he suppressed the urge to do so. It would not do well to confirm her suspicions. Instead, he busied himself with using the scrub to wipe to soap suds off his body.

"I've been trying my best to show you that I mean you no harm." She finally turned back to face him, "promises of trust mean little to you, but please don't write me off as your enemy just yet. Give me a chance to help you regain your memories. I'll leave you alone after that if you want."

He could not make sense of why she was trying so hard to gain his trust when she could just as easily beat him into submission. He schooled his expression into one of composed blankness, even though he had always worn his emotions on his sleeve. The witch's eyes were silently pleading for him to believe her words, to give her his trust… there was a touch of desperation to her gaze, a sense of urgency in the way she looked at him, as though her whole world might fall apart if he refused her request. No matter how good a pretender one might be, hers was a look that could not be faked. He lowered his head a fraction of an inch and she blinked, collapsing rather ungracefully on her back with an exhausted sigh.

A/N: So, anyone wants to try and take a guess on what the solution to Syaoran's little problem might be?