Tattooed

Summary: "I've lost everything to drugs, do you know that?" Sakura told him with tears in her eyes. "The funny thing is I've never even touched a drug in my life and yet it destroyed me. It took everything." She turned to face him then. "Please, don't let it take you away from me. I won't be able to handle it, not this time, not again." S x S.

Author's Note: Fashion Fairy 26, ginnna, Randomsam123, SweetSeductionCherryB :

God, I already miss writing this story, thinking of the plots and the what nots to go with it.

And I miss YOU guys, reviewing and telling me how cute, or how sad, or how happy you are for Sakura and Syaoran. I know I haven't given you much of the two of them in the past ten chapters, but that's just how life is.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

xxxxviii.

By the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top
I climbed the tree to see the world
When the gusts came around to blow me down
I held on as tightly as you held onto me

- To Build A Home/Cinematic Orchestra

Syaoran dreamed of the first night he met Sakura many times over. He dreamed of how he had gotten high at Luke's house, how he refused a ride home and insisted on walking, how he missed his father more than anyone else.

An aching had settled into his chest about his father, about his mother, just about anyone he'd have had the right to call family, a little before Sakura had found him and slapped him. Twice too, Syaoran thought with a grin as he shifted onto his back and gazed at his ceiling.

He thought of the day when he found her flying her kites. She had looked so even and controlled. The day they'd fought over her father's phone call had left him perturbed, even till this day. Never had he seen Sakura so angry before that, so out of her element, so... un-Sakura.

"I should have known better than to get in so deep,"

Syaoran wished he could forget seeing regret in her eyes, the regret in having met him. It was the same look he imagined on his mother's face if she ever has the pleasure of meeting the son she abandoned.

*.*

New Year's Eve day, Syaoran and his sisters, along with Wei, had gone to their father's grave.

Syaoran blocked out his sisters and stood at his father's grave in solitude, even though they were right by his side. He watched the grave for activity and there was none. The dead were lucky, they could be done with everything that was breathing without having a better reason than 'I'm dead,' for it. Maybe thinking that way was a tad bit too harsh on Syaoran's part but that was how he felt. Sometimes he viewed death as liberation, a freedom he hoped the dead had when they were gone. His father was gone; he had been gone for over six years now. Syaoran prayed that he'd never had to see his son's weak moments.

Syaoran remembered a lot about his father. On the days that he had been high he could even hear the man, like he was his own conscience, like he'd been warning him, telling him not to. It had been his own conscience, though, and Syaoran knew that it was only his wild imagination. His father was gone, and there were no such things as ghosts.

"I hate sisters," he'd told his father one day after they converted him into a brightly dressed little girl. His father had laughed at him and wiped away the lipstick from his lips.

"I understand, Xiao Lang. It'll be alright. You can trouble them when you're older." He'd told him.

"Why do I have sisters?"

"Because they need you, Xiao Lang. They need the little wolf to protect them."

Syaoran felt himself laugh. Till this day, that nickname of his made him laugh.

"I don't want to protect them. Don't wolves eat people?"

"Not their own sisters, my son."

His father had been so patient, so loving. In all respects, he'd made up for everything he'd missed in a mother. Fact was his father had been everything he'd needed. Maybe, if he'd been alive, he'd never have left Hong Kong in the first place. The thought was traumatizing. That was like asking fate to change everything he'd known all along and what he knew was this: He was a Li, he lost his father when he was young, he never really had a mother and his only family were four deranged sisters and one comical cousin.

Syaoran had gotten high on New Year's night, at a party Shiefa had taken him to. Feimei had been furious. She'd slapped him. For the first time in his adult, or child life, one of his sisters had slapped him. Right after he'd simply grinned at his sister and then hugged her. She'd thought he'd gone mad. Shiefa had too. Fanren had been at work, then when she returned she'd been too tired to notice anything strange. Mei Ling had been away at a shoot in Tokyo.

Tokyo... so close to where Sakura was... probably is. How far was Tomoeda from Tokyo anyhow? How far was he from Sakura?

Weeks passed before he decided to go back to Glasgow, find work and get back to life. Whatever Kaho had been, she'd been helping and he knew better than to throw it all away. So he'd smoked a little coke, big deal. Coke wasn't even his thing anyway. He'd get over it. He would have to. His sisters were on the brink of killing him if he didn't change.

His brother-in-law, Feimei's husband, Xi Chen, had dropped him off at the airport. Syaoran and he didn't really have many words to exchange, but Syaoran figured he was a good man. He had to be.

"Will you be back?" was the one thing he'd asked Syaoran when they'd neared the airfield. Syaoran nodded.

"Well, the kids will miss you, as will Feimei, I'm sure." He slapped his back and said. Syaoran nodded again.

"I'll see you soon," he'd told him before flipping on his backpack.

Six months later, Shiefa joined Glasgow Univeristy with Fuutie. The two of them were studying law, and they'd decided to do it together. They moved in with him, killing off all chances of peace and quiet, and he was never alone. No. There were days when he'd wished they would leave him alone, but they didn't. Not once.

Shiefa got into go-karting and took part in national level races. Syaoran had never been more proud.

"To every man who claimed that women couldn't drive!" she said as she toasted at her congratulatory party. A grin came over Syaoran's face just thinking about it.

A year later, Fuutie had helped Syaoran set up a gallery, sorting out the legalities and all that. Sure, it was from the help of an amateur lawyer, but Syaoran took it nonetheless. Lillian had been a huge help. She and Syaoran were co-owners of the place, sharing the burden of who puts up what and who gets an opportunity to go up there and all that. That was how Lillian finally found some income. Lillian had been more than grateful. Syaoran had been more than willing. Anything for the girl.

Syaoran did not date. He found it beneath him to date, especially after Sakura. Sakura had been his everything and he missed her dearly. It was sad to think that a single girl had made such a mush out of him just with a few months in hand. Sometimes he would look over at her apartment balcony and question...

Do you miss me, Sakura?

Getting high that one last time had reminded him of everything: of Sakura, of Nakuru, of his life, of his mother, of his father. He never met Nakuru again and thank heavens for that. No. He'd wasted his life over his mother once. He would not do it again. No more, not again.

His phone rang.

"Yeah?"

"You'd better get down here. You've got a pretty high up visitor."

"Who is it?"

"Clow,"

Syaoran hung up and picked up his coat and things. One last fleeting look out his balcony and he was out of there.

It wouldn't matter. He would be exactly six minutes late in meeting the man who'd given him his first chance at becoming a world renowned painter.

*.*

Clow had returned home after his visit to the new gallery. Little Wolf, it had been called. It had intrigued him, made him wonder, and so he went in.

Lovely little place, he'd decided as he walked through the halls searching for his wife.

"Hello, uncle," Eriol's voice boomed across the halls. Clow smiled.

"Eriol," he nodded. "Nice of you to visit. Have you seen your aunt?"

"Last I saw her she was in the library."

Clow's lips smacked in understanding. "Of course she is. If you'll excuse me, I shall go find her. I assume you're staying for dinner?"

"I am, uncle, if you'll have me."

"You're always welcome here, Eriol, don't be ridiculous."

Clow entered the library after that and found his wife draped across his favourite chair, her chin high as she speculated the painting before her, he presumed.

"Do you like it?" he asked her after kissing her hand, then her cheek. She nodded.

"It is marvellous. Who is the painter?"

"The same boy as the painting I bought at the Exhibit. Lovely boy, very talented." Clow told her before turning to look at the painting he'd just picked up at the gallery he'd been to. His men had it put up before he'd requested, it appeared.

"I love the pose, how the woman is standing. I especially love how her hair shields her away from us, as though no one else exists for her."

"To me, she reminds me of you, darling."

"Really?" his wife turned then, her eyes ablaze. "Pray, tell."

"It is merely instinctual. I see a resemblance between you and the two paintings. I must have you meet the boy."

Yelan rose then. "I am not interested in a self portrait, Clow. You know that."

Clow smiled in a way that suggested that he knew that she would say that. "I know that, my dear. Shall we go down for dinner? Your nephew is here to join us."

"I know. Is Nakuru joining us as well?"

"I'm afraid not. I have no idea what that girl does with her time," Clow said. "I will need to tell her mother to keep a closer eye on her."

"That may very well do no good, Clow. You know how the girl is."

"She is still my niece, no matter what I say." Clow told her as a matter of fact like, as he offered her his hand to escort her.

"That, she is. If I may have a few minutes to freshen up, I'll be right down. Carry on without me," she told Clow. Clow nodded and left, his face still smiling as he walked away, his footsteps soundless.

He turned around when he rounded the corner at the door, watching his wife's expression as she took in the portrait before her. A last glance and he was gone.

Yelan stood staring at the painting before her.

"So, you're a painter, are you?" she spoke to the painting as if it were alive. A smile crept into her face as she reached forward and touched the canvas, remembering the words of her son's last voicemail.

I need you.

That had been the last time he'd called her. She turned around and observed the first painting Clow had bought, the one of the woman facing away and dressed in black, holding up a fan before her face.

Yelan then turned away and left the room to go to her own, realizing how close she'd been to answering that last call of his.

No matter, she told herself as she walked down to the dining hall. The boy was doing well for himself, and finally he was out of her life. He hadn't called her in years and for that she was grateful. Their somewhat eccentric relationship had come to a hasty finish.

The thought saddened her more than she let on.

*.*

Lillian stood on a tall, wooden ladder, painting the walls of the ruins as she thought about various things.

She thought about the gallery, how it was doing well considering that both Syaoran and she were new to the art world.

She thought about Syaoran, how much better he seemed to be doing. From what she understood, he was taking the Group therapy even more seriously than before and seemed to be enjoying his time in Glasgow. Yes, she was glad he was finally moving on, if not with her, but just moving on in general. It had been heartbreaking to see him the way he'd been before he left Glasgow. Going home had indeed helped him, and for that she was relieved.

The sound of footsteps fell onto her ears and she turned, careful of the ladder, wondering who it could be. It was pretty late in the night. Unfortunately for Lillian, this was the only time she had to spare for painting in the subway ruins nowadays. With the gallery on her head she had too much to get done, but even that wouldn't be worth getting killed over in the middle of the night in the dark, musty ruins.

"You look a little pale, Lilli," came a dark, vicious voice that Lillian recognized instantly. A sigh of relief left her.

"You scared the hell out of me, Nakuru,"

The girl with the long red hair came into view, a sly grin on her face. "You'll have to forgive me for that,"

"What're you doing here?" Lillian asked her old best friend as she stepped down from the ladder and onto the ground. "Last I heard you were in America, lynching them of everything they're worth."

Nakuru's dark laugh vibrated through the ruins. "I was, actually, lynching the Americans of everything they are worth. I'm surprised you even knew."

Lillian huffed. "Yeah, right. I haven't seen you down here in two years."

"Haven't had the time, sweet. And I have been here. You just haven't been here when I have."

Lillian cocked her head forward.

"Besides, I didn't know I had to explain to you my reasons for being here. I thought it was a privilege as co-founder of these ruins to be here as and when I pleased."

Lillian punched her former best friend's hand. Or were they still best friends? Lillian couldn't tell, really. They'd lost touch, plus so much had changed in the two years that had passed since they'd last met and moreover, she had a new best friend now.

"Just start painting will you," she told Nakuru as she headed back to the ladder.

"Aye, aye, captain," was Nakuru's sarcastic reply.

They didn't say anything else to each other and painted on till dawn.

*.*

Mei Ling had come to Glasgow to visit Tomoyo over one weekend. Tomoyo had never been more pleased. Sonomi Daidouji, her mother, had been more than accepting of her partner, and that had made Tomoyo happier than ever.

Mei Ling sat on her bed eying her photo frames as Tomoyo used her bathroom. One photo frame stood out, and Mei Ling went closer to inspect, wondering if she'd been seeing. She held the photo frame and narrowed her eyes.

"What're you looking at?" Tomoyo asked as she came out of the bathroom, shutting the door after her.

"This," Mei Ling showed her the photo of Syaoran and Sakura. Tomoyo smiled and took the frame into her hands.

"This was the one photo I took of them remember? That time during dinner?" she paused to take in their expressions. "I think this is their only photo."

"Why do you still have it? And why put it up?" Mei Ling asked then as Tomoyo placed it back with the other frames. She shrugged in reply.

"Why not? I found it one day and knew Sakura wouldn't want it, and neither would Syaoran obviously, so I kept it instead."

Mei Ling shook her head at her lover. "You really are weird, you know that?"

Tomoyo grinned like a wild cat. "You love me for it."

So she did, Mei Ling decided as she slipped off her shoes. So she did.

*.*

Fujitaka had woken up bright and early to get the day started. It was the day of Sakura's first job interview, a teaching position at Tomoeda University, and the man hoped that she would get it. She had it in her blood to be a better professor than he ever was, and he just knew she was going to get this.

He got dressed, wore his apron and walked down the stairs past Sakura's bedroom. He peeked in just for a second to find her sprawled across the bed, snoring lightly. He chuckled. Nothing had changed. She was still the same, little person he thought for sure he'd scarred for life but no, she was braver than that. His Sakura was more than that. She was brave, so very brave, and he hoped that would never change.

Fujitaka wondered if she'd managed to fall in love, meet a boy? Touya had told him a long time ago that she'd been with a local boy from the neighbourhood, but it didn't seem like she was with someone at the moment.

"They were a gift,"

He was sure that the earrings had meant more than a gift to Sakura, whomever they had come from.

"She's going to stay, Nadeshiko," he told his wife as he flipped the pancake. "She's come home and she's going to stay."

It wasn't an out of the ordinary act anymore. He spoke to his wife, loud and clear, whenever he was alone. It had always felt good doing it in the haze of the high, even if he'd been losing his grip on what was real and what wasn't. Seeing his wife was the one thing that could have made him happy, that had made him happy. Now, though, things were different.

"I think she's forgiven me," he whispered with a smile. "I didn't think she ever would, but she did."

He stood still for a moment and then proceeded to pour out the next pancake. After he set the table he went to put in some clothes into the machine. He couldn't help but smile when he found his daughter's sweatshirt and other clothes in the pile.

And I built a home
For you
For me

QUESTION: What was your favourite part of Tattooed?

If you haven't heard this song, you have to hear it. YOU MUST.

Epilogue coming up in a few hours.

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