Author's Note:

I'm taking some liberties with certain plot events from the manga, since this is technically an AU. Things in this chapter will parallel actual plot events, but I'm rearranging them to fit with this scenario and this pairing.

Chapter Sixteen

Syaoran drove his heel into his opponent's jaw hard enough to make the man's head snap back. He collapsed in a heap, his spiked club clattering to the floor. Syaoran turned, seeking out other enemies. As he watched, Fai shredded his opponent's collar, officially removing them from the match. A dreamy, disconnected smile slid across Fai's face as his opponent retreated. It was the sort of smile one might expect on the face of a musician as they coaxed an intricate melody from their instrument. Considering they were in the middle of a battle, the expression was somewhat more . . . unsettling.

Syaoran ran to the center of the chess board, where Kurogane was facing off with the last of their enemies. Their final opponent leaked blood from dozens of shallow cuts, and Kurogane's tournament-approved sword dripped scarlet. As Syaoran approached, the ninja took a final swing at the other man, cutting the fabric of his tournament collar and letting the tip of his sword bite into the man's throat.

If Fai's smile had been eerie for its serenity, Kurogane's was equally disturbing for its savagery.

"Black Team wins!" shouted the announcer, an automaton rabbit built for judging chess matches.

Syaoran relaxed, easing out of his fighting stance. Across the chess board, Sakura disentangled herself from her chains and stood, resting her weight on her good leg. Despite their victory, her face was grim, the corners of her lips slanted downward. There was a coldness in her eyes that made her seem more robotic than the automaton refereeing the match.

She was iron. She was steel. She refused to look at him.

Syaoran pretended to examine his weapons, letting the audience roar their approval from the stands. A few feet away, he heard Fai talking about their sixth consecutive victory, and the advancement of their rank. They'd be fighting higher-profile teams from now on, for larger sums of money, but the risks would only rise as they continued their climb in the city rankings.

"Let's collect our winnings and get out of here," Kurogane said, still radiating satisfaction after their victory. They made their way to the lobby. While Fai spoke to the receptionist, Syaoran took a moment to look at Sakura.

She was facing away from him, her sunset-colored hair unruffled, her posture stiff and perfect. Her hands were clasped in front of her body, her head tilted up slightly as she watched Fai collect their winnings. She was, in that moment, the picture of patience and control.

The image festered inside him. Even if this Sakura was just a clone of his Sakura, she had retained much of her blueprint's personality. Both Sakuras were exceptionally kind, but also outgoing, living every moment with verve and appreciation. To see her standing so calm and empty cut him deeper than he wanted to admit.

She's not yours, he reminded himself. And if she somehow manages to restore the Other's soul, she'll get better. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax. His Sakura was waiting for him somewhere; he would keep looking for her, no matter how isolated he felt.

Kurogane nudged his shoulder, pulling him from his reverie. Syaoran looked up, startled. When he saw the pity on the ninja's face, he flinched.

Kurogane laid a hand on his shoulder as he looked away. Syaoran shrugged it off.

"This should carry us through the rest of the month," Fai said as he held up the check. He turned to Sakura, pasting a smile across his face. "I'll cash this tomorrow, and then we can go shopping."

"Sure," she said, looking at the vampire. Her gaze wasn't quite as cold as usual, but it was still distant.

Syaoran returned his attention to the floor, following the others as they started for the doors. He pulled his coat over his body, zipping it up. It had been three weeks since he'd acquired it, three weeks since he'd been able to forget, however briefly, their dismal situation.

It felt so strange that the relief hadn't come from Sakura's once-sunny disposition. Wrong somehow, as if he was betraying both Sakuras by finding solace in someone else's company. Yet still, he longed for another moment of relief. His coat may have kept the piercing wind at bay, but he couldn't pretend it shielded him from the bitter, cold air rolling down Sakura's back. The desert princess had turned to ice.

The Ephemeral Apartments weren't far from the arena. One of the only good things about the place, really. They walked through the lobby in silence and descended to their basement-level apartment. Everyone took their places, setting aside money, stripping off shoes and other unnecessary accessories, hanging coats on the hooks by the door. Tonight's match had been fairly low-key, so there weren't any injuries grave enough to need treatment.

"I'm going to bed," Sakura announced, finally breaking the strained silence.

Fai tried to smile. Syaoran could tell he was trying. But there was no spark of happiness, no twinkle in his eye. "I'll tuck you in," Fai said.

"I've got it," Sakura said. The words surprised Syaoran. Usually, she had no qualms about talking to the magician. But Fai let it go easily enough, only frowning as Sakura started for her room.

She was almost there when her toe caught on the edge of the rug. She pitched forward, shock flitting across her face. Her arm shot forward, as if seeking something to grab onto.

Syaoran reacted instinctively, throwing himself forward and catching her hand to stabilize her before she could crack her skull on the doorframe. Her head whipped around, her jade eyes wide. For the first time in weeks, her cheeks were flushed, alive, her expression contorted into something besides emptiness.

He could see why his clone had fallen in love with her. Even in a panic, she radiated life.

As soon as she'd steadied herself, she extricated her hand from his and stepped back, flustered. All at once, her startled mask crumbled, the distress and suffering laid bare at last.

She was hurting. Underneath it all, she was hurting just as much as he was.

Her face smoothed over, returning to its impassive mask. She pulled her hand away, and he let it drop. "Thank you," she said slowly, retreating into her bedroom. "But you don't have to worry about me."

Syaoran bit his lip. There were a number of things he wanted to say to that, foremost being the fact that yes, he did have to worry about her, and no, it wasn't out of some misplaced sense of duty. But saying so would benefit neither of them.

"And I want . . ." Her voice was hesitant, as if she wasn't sure she should speak. Syaoran leaned forward, listening intently. "I want you to have your freedom."

Shock jolted through him, sharp and sweet. My freedom?

She closed the door, leaving him standing there, struggling to comprehend her meaning. He stared at a spot on the floor, unable to look back at his traveling companions.

Fai spoke. "I should go to bed, too. I've got shopping to do tomorrow, after all."

Several seconds passed. Fai picked up Mokona and carried her into the room he shared with Kurogane. Syaoran started toward his closet-sized bedroom, only to feel a slight pressure on his shoulder; he glanced back at Kurogane, standing behind him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked. Apart from everything that's normally wrong?

"No. Why don't you stay up a while longer?"

It didn't sound like a request so much as an order. Syaoran shrugged, still unused to the freedom of movement in his healed shoulder. He'd finally been able to remove the brace, and now he could move normally.

Kurogane walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of liquor from the shelf beside the refrigerator. Syaoran stared at the green bottle in surprise, only partially aware of the clink of glassware as Kurogane selected two shot glasses from the cupboard.

"Can you drink?" Kurogane asked, setting the bottle on the coffee table.

"The other me was able to drink, so—"

Kurogane made a noise of annoyance. "I asked if you could drink."

Syaoran froze. The distinction—the ninja's acknowledgment that he was different from his clone—set his heart pounding erratically. Always, he was an afterthought. Always, he was the one who had to seek out human contact. That someone besides Mokona had actually thought about him stirred an unfamiliar rush of emotion in him.

Then again, Kurogane had reached out to him more than any of the others. Perhaps it was wrong to be so surprised—wrong to assume the ninja considered him an afterthought. Perhaps he could rebuild the shattered remnants of his clone's friendships, this time with himself at the center.

Kurogane was still waiting for an answer. Syaoran hurried to the couch and sat down, looking at the ninja for guidance. It shocked him when Kurogane actually smiled and handed him a glass. "Here."

He cradled the tiny shot glass in his hands, like he might hold a bird with broken wings. Kurogane sat down beside him, sprawling across the sofa like a jungle cat, and downed his first shot in a single, swift motion.

Syaoran looked back at his own glass, watching the ice circle in the pale liquid. After a moment of indecision, he lifted the glass to his lips and let the liquor burn down his throat. Maybe I could forget, he thought. Maybe, for one night, I could forget everything that's happened.

Kurogane poured each of them another shot. Syaoran downed this one much the same as he had the first, wishing the alcohol would hit his system faster, wishing everything could go away except for the refreshing burn of liquor.

"Pace yourself, kid. You haven't built up a tolerance yet."

He set his glass on the coffee table, hanging his head between his knees. "I'm fine."

"You'd say you were fine even if someone lit you on fire."

Syaoran smiled at that. Kurogane poured them each another shot, watching him as he did so. His red eyes were intent, focused. Not hazy with the effects of the alcohol, at least not yet.

Syaoran took the glass. Kurogane nudged his arm; he glanced over, confused. "Don't worry too much about the princess right now," Kurogane said. "She'll learn to deal with it."

Syaoran looked at his feet. His socks, like the rest of his wardrobe, were black. "I know."

Kurogane moved his hand to his drink. Syaoran followed suit, downing his third glass of liquor in under five minutes. This time, he let the alcohol settle for a minute before setting his glass down for a refill. I'm going to be very drunk in a few minutes, he thought. In fact, he already felt a little hazy, like the corners of the room weren't quite lining up the way they were supposed to.

"Thanks for this," he murmured. "It's been a long time . . . since anyone cared."

Kurogane rested a hand on his back, right between his shoulder blades. The touch said more than any words could have.

"I don't remember much of my life before I was imprisoned," Syaoran said after a time. The hand on his back tensed. "The important stuff, I guess. My name, my sharpest memories. But mostly I remember what I saw through the Other's eyes." He frowned. "Is it wrong to feel jealous? That he got to spend time with his princess, or that he never had to worry about her until the day she lost her memories?" His frown deepened. "I know I shouldn't resent him for that, but . . . It hurts sometimes." I knew her seven days before she was marked for death. The Other knew her seven years before he ever had to worry about her.

"You'll be all right. You're strong."

No. It won't be all right. Nothing will be all right. "What if I don't want to be?"

Kurogane stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What if I don't want to be strong?" he asked, forgetting the glass in front of him. "I can't allow myself even a moment of weakness. But sometimes, I feel so brittle, like it would only take the smallest pressure to shatter me. I want . . ."

"Want what?" Kurogane asked when he didn't finished.

I want someone to take care of me. He didn't say it; it was too shameful. Instead, he turned away, swiping his drink from the table and bringing it to his lips. Fire bloomed in the back of his throat, stretching into his stomach. He tilted his head back, letting the warmth snake its way through him.

"Kid. Hey."

"Sometimes, I wish I could forget her," he admitted, closing his eyes. "Sometimes, I wish I didn't have a duty to uphold, or anyone to look after. I just . . . I wish I could forget, even for a moment."

"Kid . . ."

Syaoran said nothing, just letting his body go limp as the liquor worked its way into his bloodstream.

"Kid. Don't . . . You don't have to . . ." Kurogane trailed off, seeming at a loss. He sighed and moved his hand to Syaoran's back again. "All right."

Syaoran opened his eyes. "All right?" What does that mean?

"Forget then," Kurogane said. There was no malice in his voice, no disapproval. Syaoran wondered if the alcohol was affecting the ninja more than usual. Kurogane was the last person he would've expected to accept the weakness inside him. "Just lie back and forget for a while."

Syaoran almost asked him why—why would the ninja allow such a blatant lapse on his part? But the words slurred in his mind, and within seconds, the question and its potential answers were meaningless to him. He relaxed into the cushions, closing his eyes against the uneven lilt in his thoughts. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, kid."

"Will you . . ." He tried to focus, so the words wouldn't come out slurred. "Will you take care of me? I don't think anyone else will."

There was a beat of silence. Kurogane sighed again. "Sure, kid. Now relax."

Syaoran leaned his head against the ninja's shoulder, aching for comfort. It was only minutes before he fell asleep.