Chapter 9: We Are But Flesh and Bone

That night, Hannah dreamed she was drowning in a sea of red. Twenty-six little hands pulling her down, down, down, far below the surface until her lungs gave out and she woke up, heart racing, throat dry, clutching her chest to feel it was still beating. A dream, thank God it was only a dream, she thought. But the crinkling of tatami startled her anew and she froze to catch sight of a dark, slender figure gliding across the walls, silhouetted by the amber glow of the lanterns left burning in the hallway. She watched it stumble over a few times, curse under its breath, then emit a sickly groan followed by a cough. She heard the neighboring shoji slide open and close with a "twack," then the dragging of footsteps, and then finally silence.

Hannah sat there in the dim, attempting to quell her frantically beating heart. She'd made the connection.

Satoru was home from his mission.

The young wife had trouble going back to sleep, tossing and turning on the floor till sunlight filtered through the papered walls. Come morning, Hannah waited for the sound of his footsteps to mosey over to breakfast, but her ears caught only birdsong and clattering dishes. The smell of grilled fish and sesame oil permeated the air. Makoto said breakfast would be ready around eight. It was already a quarter past. Her stomach growling, Hannah rose from her futon to get dressed, wearing her old blouse and jeans folded at the bottom of a drawer. She hardly made a dent in her closet yesterday; trying things on, sorting them in either a "keep" or "storage" pile. All the clothes, even the simple frocks, were too impractical for ordinary life.

Dressed in her usual attire, Hannah plaited a top layer of hair, leaving the remainder to drape down her shoulders, and wordlessly peeped behind her bedroom door, anticipating at any given moment for her obnoxiously handsome neighbor to emerge from the other side. Again, nothing. Perhaps he was already eating without her. Hoping this were true, Hannah parted her door and followed the tantalizing scent of grilled foods to a parlor where Makoto was busy setting fine China on a table. Her kimono was a rejuvenating key-lime green.

"Ohayo," she greeted warmly, placing a pair of chopsticks on the low table. "Please, do sit down. I was just about to serve the beef."

Rubbing the vestiges of sleep from her eyes, Hannah whispered her own "Good Morning" and knelt at the table.

"Orange juice?" Makoto held a pitcher.

"Yes, thank you," Hannah said with a smile, and separated the lid from a steaming rice bowl, tilting it just a smidge so the excess water didn't drip off the rim. Makoto poured her a cup of orange juice and disappeared to bring the meat as promised, while Hannah uncovered one dish after the other. Looking at the meal, one would think the housekeeper was trying to outdo herself. Last night's dinner had been nothing short of delicious; fresh edamame, duck gyoza, and black cod served with miso-yuzu sauce and a slice of raspberry cheesecake for dessert. But for breakfast it was soft-boiled eggs and grilled sweetfish peppered with sansho, along with white rice and cutlets of roast beef. One thing was for certain. Makoto's cooking put the master chefs at Wasserton to shame. Crazy to think Satoru got to eat like this every day.

Speaking of which, he had yet to show. The other side of the table was vacant.

"Is Satoru not joining us?" Hannah asked.

Makoto's face suddenly turned grey as she placed the beef tenderloin on the table. "The young master isn't feeling well this morning."

"Really?" Hannah blinked, wide awake now. "He's sick?"

"No, not exactly," the housekeeper brought a hand to her temple, "It's migraines, ma'am. Nasty ones. Sometimes they confine him to his bed for a few hours or more."

"I see," Hannah replied, turning over her shoulder to peer down the hallway. "Will he be alright?"

"Hmm?" The housekeeper looked up from a teapot. "Oh yes, ma'am. He'll make a complete recovery. It's just..." She removed the steeped tea leaves from the pot and wrung her hands together. "Well, as luck would have it, I forgot to buy Bufferin tablets last week," her cheeks grew red, "there the only thing that helps with the pain, but I hate to leave the young master unattended in case anything were to happen, so…" She was trying to ask for something but was uncomfortable saying it out loud. Hannnah voiced it for her.

"I could watch him for you."

"What?" She shook her head vehemently, wishing she hadn't implied anything. "Oh, no, ma'am. I couldn't possibly expect you to do that."

"It wouldn't be for very long."

"No, no, no, ma'am. You're the lady of the house. I simply couldn't."

This polite banter went on for another two minutes, Hannah offering her services, Makoto kindly refusing them, but the mistress eventually put her foot down and said very plainly, "I'm his wife, aren't I?" and that was the end of it.

When breakfast was finished and dishes washed, Makoto departed for the pharmacy, while Hannah went into the kitchens in search of a small bowl, a tray, and a wash rag. Finding everything rather quickly, she filled the bowl with cool water and folded the cloth in half on the tray. Amidst her pillorying, she stumbled upon Makoto's spice cabinet; cinnamon, saffron, thyme, and countless other seasonings meticulously labeled on glass bottles. A mauve colored spice seized her attention immediately next to the oregano. Aha, there you are. She happily took the jar and poured a tablespoon into an empty tea sachet, tightening the drawstring so it would hold. She gave it a light sniff; The perfect amount.

Adding the bag to her loot, she wiped her hands on her jeans and with a silent prayer lifted the silver platter off the countertop and walked down the hall towards Satoru's bedroom. The distance felt like a mile. Quietly as possible, she placed the tray on the straw matting and rapped her knuckles on his door three times.

"What is it?" came a groggy voice.

Hannah took a deep breath.

"It's me," she bit her lip, afraid of saying the wrong thing. "Can I come in?"

There was a pause before she received an answer.

"Enter," the voice said.

Hannah slid open the shoji and picked up the tray, noticing her ears pop as she walked through. Must have something to do with the incantation Makoto mentioned yesterday, she thought. His room was sealed in the same magic.

The layout was similar to hers, clean and sparse, not too many furnishings, but rather than purple paulownia trees, the bedroom walls were forested in green pines and sloping mountainscapes with quaint Buddhist temples tucked away in the clouds; a heavenly realm. However, the cardboard cutouts of voluptuous bikini models, winking and blowing invisible kisses, distracted from this sacred space. Apparently marriage hadn't encouraged Satoru to get rid of them. A bit flustered at never having ventured inside a man's bedroom, Hannah's eyes sought the wide screen TV hooked to a gaming console, and two large bookshelves stored with volumes of manga she would later learn were Fullmetal Alchemist and One Piece(and strangely enough, C'mon Digimon), plus gobs and gobs of movies and video games. And then finally there was Satoru himself, looking worse for wear on a lone king-sized mattress.

He craned his neck. "Where's Makoto?"

Hannah balanced the tray, ignoring the fact that he was shirtless underneath those bedsheets. "She left to fetch you some medicine." Her eyes scanned the room for a spot. "Is it alright if I set this down?

Noticing the tray, Satoru draped a bare arm over his eyes and lazily motioned with his other hand to come closer. Hannah approached and landed the tray on his nightstand. The Six Eyes wielder expected her at that point to say her goodbyes and leave. Instead his ears detected the sound of water being squeezed from a washcloth. His side of the bed dipped. He raised his elbow to see Hannah, holding the wet rag for him.

"May I?"

He wanted to tell her to get out, that he didn't need to be babied, but his head throbbed as though shrapnel was lodged somewhere deep inside his cerebellum and eye sockets, hitting a jackpot of nerves. The mission had been successful, a semi-grade 1 curse reported in Daisen, but he'd gone a full 72 hours without sufficient rest and was now paying the price. His eyes ached like sore muscles. Everything was too fucking bright, too colorful. And his stomach. His stomach felt worse than it'd been in years, like someone had sawed it in half. So without further protest, Satoru's elbow fell to his side, granting Hannah silent permission to press the damp cloth to his forehead. Then he felt fingers comb through his hair and immediately jerked away.

"What're you — "

"Where does it hurt most?" she said gently.

The newlyweds stared into each other for a tense moment, turquoise blue colliding with moss brown. Once more, she had him trapped in a corner. He lowered his defenses.

"At the back, around my neck."

Carefully and stealthily, Hannah wedged her dainty fingers between the pillow to cradle his skull and began working circles into the skin, massaging the area where his neck and head connected. He closed his eyes and exhaled an alleviated sigh, her hands parting back his hair. If he were a cat, he'd be purring like a kitten right then.

"It's the Six Eyes, isn't it?" he heard her say as she stroked. "That's what causes them?"

Blood warmed his cheeks. "Yeah."

"Are they always this bad?"

"No." He tipped his head so she could get the left side. "Haven't been for a while."

Hannah nodded in understanding. His hair was soft to touch. "I get migraines too," she said. "On days when I don't get enough sleep." He let out a short grunt, keeping his eyes closed. She reached for the sachet on the tray. "Here, try this."

He opened one eye. "What is it? Another olive twig?"

She smiled. Almost got her to laugh.

Almost.

"Not quite. It's lavender. If you hold it to your nose, it can help relieve headaches." He gave the bag a whiff, dubious of the claim. Satoru liked incense, but wasn't fond of essential oils or aromatherapy, believing the fad a hoax. Although, the throbbing dissipated somewhat as he breathed in the dried lavender buds. She continued massaging his head. "I need to thank you again," she added, feeling her way towards the edges of his scalp. "For the clothes, the room, everything. Your home is beautiful."

Satoru couldn't help but snort. "You mean it's old," He brought the lavender to his chest. "There's no air conditioning or furnace. It gets hot as hell come August, and in winter it's fucking freezing."

Hannah's fingers reached his neck. "I can imagine."

Her smile made the pulsing abade. She was nice to look at. However, just as she removed the wet compress to resoak it, the throbbing nerves came back with avengement, twisting and clamping around his head like iron jaws, closing tighter and tighter, until he registered a sharp, shooting pain emanating behind his retinas and a flash of white. He hissed loudly, feeling the jaws sink into his teeth, his neck, on his shoulders. The contents in his stomach lurched and Satoru abruptly sat upright, hand over mouth, alarm in his eyes. Fuckin' hell.

Hannah saw he was scrambling for a basin at the foot of the bed, but it was too far away for him to reach. He wasn't going to make it. Quickly, she sprung into action and seized the bowl, holding it in front of him as he forfeited whatever little food he ate that morning and possibly last night. She rested him on his side, making it easier for him to vomit and hold the porcelain at the same time.

"Shh, you're alright," she soothed, leaning beside him while rubbing his back. "Easy now."

Satoru groaned and spat into the bowl, conscientious of the fact that he hadn't showered since his return. She was too close. He probably reeked of sweat and curse fodder. Acid burned the back of his throat, coating his breath. The nausea lingered in his stomach. He felt like complete and utter shit. Weak. Pathetic. Perhaps this was fate demanding retribution.

Sorcerers like to convince themselves that because they're gifted, it means they're invincible, and certainly Satoru had bought into the lie a couple times; The first wielder born with the Six Eyes in 400 years, able to pulverize his enemies with the flick of a finger, but Satoru wasn't blind to power. Deep down he knew the truth. He was human, not a god. And never had he felt more human than lying on that bed, puking his guts out.

He shut his eyes, waiting for the nausea to pass, and was gently eased into the mattress. The damp cloth reappeared on his forehead and he cranked an eye open to see Hannah rise from the bed, "I'll be right back," she promised and walked out of the room with the basin in her arms. Satoru wasn't sure how much time elapsed, but when she reentered she was carrying the (clean) basin, a glass of fresh water, some stomach tablets, and a new washcloth. Leaving the shoji ajar, she returned to his bedside and offered him the water and tablets. "Would you like to brush your teeth or anything?" He shook his head no, and didn't fight her when she began wiping his mouth. It then occurred to him that she's done this before. She had sat at someone else's side, wiping vomit off their mouths, handing out water and medicine, but where? How? Who?

He felt ill again, though not from the headache. Here he was, sick as a dog, fantasizing about all the ways he wanted to fuck her the other night and not once taking into account her feelings, driven only by his ulterior motives, his desires, his burdens. Satoru told himself she wasn't a prisoner, that he only married her for the teaching job, but now the birds were coming home to roost and so too was the guilt. Hannah wasn't merely an innocent. She was also a genuinely good person and he, a selfish person, had trapped her here like a helpless animal with no way out. For a lump sum of four and a half billion yen. He wanted to hide himself, but couldn't. She was too close.

Hannah wore her hair half-down. Six Eyes could distinguish between the gold, brown, and red strands fanned across her shoulders, lush and shiny, a natural curl accentuating the tips. It helped capture her foreign features; the minuscule freckles dotting her nose. Her Cupid's bow mouth and fair cheeks, flushing prettily in the light. Man, she was gorgeous. What was the phrase they used in her home country? Ah yes, an "English rose." That's it. She was an English rose. Satoru had to remind himself to keep his eyes fixated somewhere else, otherwise he'd have "bigger" things to worry about. Fabric was the easiest matierial to see through and she was literally sitting over him, her chest front and center. Could've also been the mind splitting headache, or the fact she just spared Makoto from having to clean vomit off his bedsheets, but he chose that moment to extend his own olive branch. She deserved that much.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, wincing in pain from the sound of his voice. "I know I've been a dumbass these last few days. Probably makes you regret changing your name and stuff, huh?"

Her hand returned to his head. "Shh, don't speak. Talking will only make it worse."

"It's okay," He ignored her advice. "You can hate me for it. I won't blame you. After all, it's my fault for getting you involved in this Ponzi scheme. If I could do things over again, know that I would."

The English rose tilted her head. "I wouldn't necessarily call it a Ponzi scheme," she whispered, corners of her mouth twitching. "In fact, from a purely objective standpoint, I'd say I've made quite the return on investment."

Satoru scowled at the joke. "Except for your freedom, which I've single handedly stolen from you."

Hannah shared with him a broken smile. It was his turn to be naive. "You can't steal something that was never there, Satoru," she said. "Accidents like me aren't meant to have freedoms." She pulled the covers up over him. "Now, get some rest. Makoto will be back soon with the Bufferin."

"But I – "

"Shh." Her fingers ran through his gossamer hair, enticing him to close his eyes. "Go to sleep, Satoru."

She sat there with him, massaging his head until his eyelids drooped and his steady breathing lulled into soft snores, out like a light. After checking to see he was asleep, Hannah gathered the tray and whatever else she brought and quietly left the world's strongest sorcerer to dream. He would not wake for the remainder of the day.

AUTHOR'S NOTES

For this chapter's notes, please visit AO3 (Same name).

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