Chapter Fifty-Two

It was as Kurogane and Fai had come to a unified decision without ever exchanging a word. They both stood at the same moment, glancing at him. Kurogane nodded and slipped out of the room. Fai forced a smile, waved, then followed, leaving Sakura inside with Syaoran.

"So," Syaoran said, trying to stay coherent through the haze of painkillers, "what happened while I was gone?"

Sakura's eyes widened, as if she hadn't expected him to ask about something so mundane. "When Fai-san realized you'd been taken, he tried to follow your scent, but he lost the trail as soon as it reached the road. After that, he came back to the apartment to get Kurogane-san so they could both look for you." Her eyes darted down her her hands, which were folded atop her lap. "They called a few times while they were out. They said someone had to stay in case you came back, but . . ." She lowered her voice. "I think they didn't want me slowing them down. Or maybe they didn't want me to see what condition you were in when they found you. We thought you might be . . ."

"Dead?" Syaoran suggested.

Sakura nodded, eyes downcast. "I know I've acted cold to you since we met in Tokyo. There are reasons why it has to be that way. I think you understand them." Her gaze flicked down to his face, scrutinizing his reaction. Understand what? he wondered, trying to decipher the secrets twinkling in her eyes. What does she know? What does she think I know? His lips slipped into a frown, then a grimace as the possibilities flitted through his mind. Does she know about what's happened between Kurogane-san and me? Is that why she's been so distant? But if that was it, wouldn't she only have started acting like this after she found out? Unless she knew it would turn out that way from the moment she met me. This Sakura has magic, just like the original. Did she see something?

"I'm not sure what you mean," he said, hoping to draw the information out of her.

Disappointment flickered in her eyes. She drew back, glancing over her shoulder. Then, she leaned close and said four words. "I'm not your Sakura."

He flinched, then turned his face so he was staring up at the ceiling. He kept quiet, unsure if he was supposed to admit to knowing about that.

Sakura sighed and weaved her fingers through his. "You miss her."

His teeth buried themselves in his lower lip.

"Someday, you'll meet her again, and everything will be exactly as it should be. That's all I can say about this now. Anything more . . ." She trailed off, then shook her head. Her hand slipped away from his as she stood. "I hope you understand."

"You can't tell me anything more, can you? It would change things."

"That's right."

"You know what you're doing?"

"Yes."

He thought of all the damage he'd done, how much of it had been as a result of impulses, and how much had been planned. Carving out one's own destiny tended to cause misery, but he'd never had the benefit of forewarning as she seemed to. Maybe she worked out some sort of deal with Yuuko. Maybe if she tells anyone, she won't be able to predict the outcome of what she's planning. "Can you promise me something?"

Surprise danced in her eyes. "It depends."

"Don't disappear," he said. Old words. Words he'd said to another soul before, words he'd probably say again if they ever met.

Her lips parted slightly, as if some part of her recognized them. After a long moment, she looked away. "I can't promise that."

"Can you try?"

She hesitated. "If there's any way to avoid disappearing, then that's what I'll do. But I don't know if it's possible."

He nodded, trying to ignore the flutter of unease in his stomach. Is it even possible to defy destiny? he wondered as Sakura retreated into the hallway. Or is everything Hitsuzen?

"You'll be wheelchair-bound for a few weeks," Doctor Yamura told Syaoran as Kurogane signed the necessary paperwork to get him out of the hospital. Syaoran said nothing, keeping his face empty but attentive. A broken knee. Of course he'd be wheelchair-bound. That was only to be expected. When he gave no indication of panicking, his doctor continued. "After that, you'll need crutches. You'll want to start coming in for regular physical therapy once the cast comes off, and we're giving you a list of instructions so you can do some of it at home. You'll still want to come back here regularly, to get the joint checked out. The good news is that your toes will heal much faster, and the lacerations on your upper body will only leave minor scarring, though you will always have a mark on the back of your hand." She glanced up from her clipboard, gauging his reaction.

Syaoran brushed his fingertips over the large rubber wheel attached to his chair. "I see."

"Given the circumstances, it might also be wise to invest in counseling or therapy, in order to deal with any psychological damage you may have sustained in your ordeal."

"I don't need therapy." It's a little late for therapy, anyway.

"My professional opinion is that you should take the opportunity. There are plenty of support groups for those who have been abused as you have."

"I'm fine. Really." And who would believe me if I told them what led up to this? They'd think I'm crazy. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

"No." The doctor's voice softened. "Take care of yourself, Syaoran. It's okay to ask for help." Suddenly, her head snapped up, and she stood straighter as she focused in on Kurogane. "He's free to go, but he's going to need a lot of care. Take this pamphlet. It'll help you know what to expect during his recovery." She glanced between them, frowning, then sighed and walked away.

"Ready to head back?" Kurogane asked, grabbing the handles on the back of the wheelchair.

"Yes. I'd like to get things back to normal as soon as possible."

The ninja nodded and pushed his chair toward the hospital's main exit. Syaoran shifted in his seat, leaning forward and glancing around for potential threats even as the winter breeze bit at his cheeks. Resolutely, he turned his face into the teeth of the wind. The cold pierced his skin like little needles, but at least it wasn't the stagnant air of the ICU or the musty scent of his tormentors' basement.

His hands tightened around the arm of his chair at the thought, and he closed his eyes, wishing he could somehow block out the images playing across his eyelids. Cassie lifting a glowing blade just before she cut him. Roret slamming a pipe against the side of his head in the alleyway. Jet breaking his knee like a branch for a campfire. Worse than the images were the smells—the iron tang of blood, the subtler metallic scent that hung over the basement, the acrid scent of bleach. Another minute, and it could've been so much worse, he thought, shuddering.

"Cold?"

His eyes flashed open. "Huh?"

Kurogane leaned forward, so Syaoran could see his looming over the back of his wheelchair. "You're shivering. If that jacket's too thin, I'll lend you mine."

"No, I'm fine."

They reached an intersection, and Kurogane paused, waiting for the signal to change. The ninja's fingers wove through his hair. The touch was so unexpected, Syaoran went rigid. When Kurogane didn't withdraw, he relaxed. It doesn't mean anything. He used to do this all the time when he was training my clone. Still, he bowed his head, accepting the comfort, restricted though it was. After a moment, the light changed, and pedestrians filled the crosswalk. Syaoran folded his hands in his lap as they started moving again, ashamed at his reaction. The ninja had made it clear that they couldn't be together that way anymore. I have to respect that, he told himself, closing his eyes. I can't keep reacting like this every time he comes near me. I can't keep hoping that things will go back to what they used to be.

"What are you thinking about?" Kurogane asked as they turned onto the sidewalk that passed in front of their apartment building.

"Nothing important."

"Kid."

"Just thinking about the practicalities." He gestured to the cast on his leg. "Even with the chair, I won't be able to move around much, so . . ."

"So we'll move you to the living room, where we can take care of you."

He shook his head. "No, I mean . . ." A sigh escaped his throat. "I don't want to be a burden to anyone, but—"

"But there's no changing the fact that you will be."

He winced at the bluntness of that statement. Kurogane continued. "We'd take care of you even if you asked us not to, so don't bother apologizing for it." They reached the glass doors of the apartment building. Kurogane opened one door and held it in place with the side of his boot, pushing the wheelchair through the opening. Warm air escaped from the lobby into the entryway. The ninja steered him toward the steps and paused at the top, and without a word, Kurogane walked over to the side of the chair and scooped him up as if he weighed less than a toddler. Automatically, his hand reached out to grab the nearest stable object, which happened to be the ninja's arm. Half a second passed as he regained his bearings, and then he realized he'd latched onto the red-eyed man's bicep. Awkwardly, he let his hand fall onto his torso, his gaze straying to the wall in an effort to avoid meeting Kurogane's eyes.

"Hold still," the ninja grumbled. "And close your eyes."

He obeyed, accustomed to following orders, and felt his weight shift as Kurogane carried him down the steps leading to their subterranean apartment. When they reached the bottom, the ninja tapped the bottom of the door with his foot several times. "We're back. Open up."

A few seconds later, Syaoran heard the door swing open and opened his eyes. "Welcome back," Fai said, stepping around them and heading up the steps, probably to retrieve the wheelchair they'd abandoned there. "Everything go all right at the hospital?"

"Yeah. And here?"

"Great. Sakura-chan and I are making soup."

Am I that easy to replace? Syaoran wondered, thinking of the few days he'd spent baking with Fai. Then he shook his head, unwilling to believe he'd actually thought that.

There was a lot more to the world than baking cakes and making soup, after all.