Current mood:

tired

FIC: Ashes on the Sand (1/1)
Title: Ashes on the Sand (1/1), part of the Under this Flooded Sky series
Author: Sephy
Series: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Archive: http://fallenicons.winter-born.net/
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13/R-ish
Pairings: None as of yet
Warning: Angst, humor (as in the Seishirou torturing Syaoran variety), shifting tenses in certain places, some language, spoilers for Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle chapter 52.
Status: Complete.

Summary: Syaoran had known that incorporating Seishirou-san into their intrepid little band was not going to be easy...

Disclaimer: I don't own Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle. It's the property of CLAMP and it's respective copyright holders. No infringement is intended. I'm just playing around here, folks.

Thanks: To amet for beta-ing this.

Author's Notes: Another segment of the Under This Flooded Sky series. This one is short and to the point and oddly enough being posted for Seishirou's birthday. For a dead man, he sure gets around. And is still torturing young boys. :P



Ashes on the Sand
A Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle vignette
Sephy

"Nothing will change if you don't do anything. Even if it's just a very small thing, a very small step, it will definitely be connected to the future."
-- Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle, Volume 4, Chapter 24

Then…

It's been raining for so long, so long that he thinks perhaps it always has been.

Huddled in on himself, he can't help but be aware of each sound, each plink of water against the ground and the rasp of the wall through the damp fabric of his shirt. The way his skin feels too warm, shivering as he breathes, the air condensing in front of his face in thin patterns of wisp. His hair is damp against his face, clingy and sticky as it falls into one eye, his only eye, the other covered by a swath of cloth. The cloth is itchy, rough and not a little tight but even that seems removed. His head is aching too, just over that covered eye, tendrils of colored light and dulled pain flashing there.

He should care. But he doesn't. Not about the rain, damp ice stealing into his skin with each drip, soaking into his clothes and bandages. Or the puddles forming around him, arms hugging his knees as he stares into nothing at all, his single eye barely registering anything beyond the storm, sometimes flickering just a little as someone passes by, occasionally stopping but most just averting their eyes as if his presence offends them. Maybe he should care about that. Maybe it should hurt but all he feels is hollow, waiting for a spark, a turn, for something so he can begin. So he can do anything but feel the slow leech of hours passing, day giving way to evening again.

He's not even sure how long he's been sitting here. Maybe he's always been here, always waiting. Maybe that's all he's ever going to be.

And then, the rain cuts out, followed by the rat-a-tat of water on taunt fabric and the sound itself is so new he can't help but move, lifting his head from the cradle of his arms and glancing upward.

It's the smile he remembers now, warm and inviting as the older man leaned over, his blond hair tousled and almost white in the gloom, the glint of glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose as he adjusts them, "Are you lost?"

Is he lost? He knows the word but he's not sure it applies. Lost would imply there was something to be found again and in his case, that doesn't hold true. Lost implies a before and for him, there is no before, no time beyond now. There are no words that have been spoken before this moment and this man with his gentle smile and so he shakes his head.

The older man kneels down, still smiling though there's something else in that expression now, too, "Are you hurt then?"

Hurt? His face spasms a little, a faint echo of pain lancing through his right eye and he covers it, fingers thick and stiff from the bandages around them. That seems to answer the other man's questions, "You are hurt." The other reaches out and takes his hand, looking him over carefully or as carefully as anyone can in this dim gloom. "Are your parents around here? Is--is there anywhere I can take you?"

"Parents?" His voice is cracked, strained and he realizes with a start, this is the first time he can remember using it.

The blond man blinks then places a hand on his head, the weight oddly comforting. "I think you'd better come with me. Until we can get things sorted out," There's a pause, "My name is Fujitaka. What's yours?"

Name? The concept seems so alien he can only blink and lift his head a little more, shrugging, his body seeming to know, even if he doesn't, the right gestures to make. What use would something like him have for a name?

"Oh. Well, that could be a problem. I mean, it seems odd to not have something to call you. Let me see. How about -- how about -- Syaoran? Would that be okay? Until we find out who you really are?"

"Sy-ao-ran?" He tries the word out, the weight of the syllables and the way it rolls before shrugging again. It seems to be enough for the man, his broad face relaxing and even breaking out into a grin, pushing at his glasses.

"That's good. Very good. Well, Syaoran, I think we should get you out of the rain and into some dry clothing. What do you think?"

No one had ever asked him that before but then no one had ever stopped before either. Certainly not long enough to speak and never long enough for a name. He's not sure what to make of it and so he nods, reaching out for the hand that's extended to him, pulling him on unsteady legs. Fujitaka plants a steadying hand on his shoulder then seems to come to some sort of decision, ducking down just long enough to pick him up, shifting and fumbling until at last he's able to carry the umbrella in one hand and Syaoran in his remaining arm, the boy wrapping his arms around the neck and shoulders presented. There's an odd sense of safety in this, the emotion so alien that he finds himself at a loss as to what to do with it and later, he'll realize that beyond the physical sensations, it's the first memory of ever feeling anything he has.

"All comfortable? Good. We've got quite a walk ahead of us, I'm afraid but there's food and blankets at the end of it. And after we've gotten you dried off and you've had some sleep, we'll see what we can do about finding out who you are and where you come from, all right?"

***

Now…

Syaoran had known that incorporating Seishirou-san into their intrepid little band was not going to be easy. Given the circumstances and the way the man had dogged and interfered with their quest in the past, that was to be expected and were he on the other side of things, not able to see their position from all angles, Syaoran would be the first to admit that he too, would have reacted as badly as he knew the others would. Kurogane, in particular, had his own beef as Fai liked to call it, with the man who had once taught Syaoran how to fight, to survive in the dusty streets of Clow and given the chance, would probably like nothing better than the opportunity to wrap his fingers around Seishirou-san's neck. What he'd hoped -- hoped, was that he'd be given the time to explain. Hoped but didn't expect it. He had all ideas that Kurogane was likely to attack before he could even get the words out.

In actuality, it had taken a lot less time than that. Say, oh about five point zero seconds. Enter Seishirou-san. See Seishirou-san drape an arm around him and watch Sakura's face crumble in confusion. See Kurogane go completely and utterly nuts and charge the both of them, reaching for Seishirou before Syaoran had time to do much more than blink and wondering exactly how fast Kurogane really was because damn, that sword he was carrying had appeared out of nowhere and --

He was lucky. Seishirou-san believed in keeping his bargains and as such yanked him by the collar out of the enraged ninja's path, whirling around quickly and using the larger man's momentum to pivot into a more defensive position. Still grinning. God dammit.

Syaoran picked himself up out of the dirt, dusting his knees off, "Kurogane!"

The ninja ignored him, wholly intent on the other man, Seishirou smiling like an indulgent father, pushing at his glasses and more than relaxed as Kurogane stopped himself short, turning again and preparing to make another lunge at him. Syaoran glanced at Fai who was watching the proceedings with a certain amount of dispassion but there was a dark glint in those cerulean eyes, particularly when they fell on Li that told him the former magician was not amused and he'd better do something now before he decided to step in and help Kurogane. And then they'd have a real mess on their hands.

Sakura… Well, Syaoran couldn't bring himself to glance at her, not yet ready to destroy himself a little more this morning.

"Kurogane, stop it," Syaoran shouted, getting in the taller man's path, right up in his face and trying to put a hand on his arm, knowing that it was probably a mistake.

He was not disappointed.

"Are you out of your goddamn, rotted mind?" Kurogane yelled, all but grabbing his shoulders and shaking him, "You've done some pretty damn hare-brained stunts but this --" The older man blinked, glancing over his shoulder, "What the fu--"

There was an explosion of movement, the hands latched onto his shoulders suddenly gone and the ninja went flying a good few feet before rolling to a halt, dust kicking up around him as Syaoran tried to figure out what just happened. As it turned out, he didn't have to, another set of arms dropping around him protectively, drawing him back against a warm body as he flushed.

"I'll thank you to keep your hands off my Syaoran-kun if you can't be more respectful," Seishirou-san sounded mild. Sounded. With this man though he'd learned that how things sounded and how they actually were could be two very different matters. He turned Li around, tilting his face upward with gentle care and examining him closely, making a faint noise of displeasure as he used his thumb to rub at Syaoran's cheek.

"Stop it," Syaoran muttered.

"Now, now. I'm not trying to embarrass you in front of your … friends, Syaoran-kun," Seishirou-san clucked his tongue at him, "But when was the last time you bathed? When you were more than half asleep? You look as though you've been grubbing in the dirt."

The older boy paused, giving him an almost fond smile and squeezing his shoulder, "Just like you were when we met. Do you remember?"

'Oh I remember, you arrogant, overbearing son of a --' He didn't finish the thought, turning away quickly and tugging at his cloak. And he was supposed to find a way to make this man fall in love with him? 'Nothing like setting yourself up for the impossible,' he berated himself. Seishirou-san was just as likely to make fun of him as to make love to him and he reddened even further at that thought.

He didn't need this right now. He really didn't but this was what he'd let himself in for and he'd made this so-called bed and now he was just going to have to lay in it and hope he got the chance to wake up the morning after. Which given his choice of partners, was also unlikely.

Great. This morning was just getting better and better.

"S-syaoran-kun?" It was Sakura now, her voice quavery and there was no way to steel himself as he turned his attention towards her, the Princess almost drawn in on herself, gray-green eyes large and far too shiny, lower lip trembling in apparent confusion and -- hurt. Hurt he'd inflicted on her whether he meant it or no. And the longer this dragged out, the worse it was going to get. 'Get your head together. Find the feathers and get the Princess home.'

It had always been his goal before, that and her safety but never before now had he felt anything other than resolve towards it. Never had he felt his own determination falter, worn and flagging and wanting little more than to just be done with this so he didn't have to see that look anymore. So he didn't have to listen to anymore recovered memories, torn between being so happy that he could do even that little thing for her and agonized because with each one regained, he felt more and more alone. Sakura would never remember him, his bargain had seen to that, but she would live. She would live and maybe one day be happy again.

But he couldn't be part of that happiness, except in the most peripheral sense of it. The only thing he could do for her was to be -- her friend. Always her friend. Because it was killing him to want anything else.

Hope could feed a starving man, but it could also choke him a thousand times over.

"All of you," Syaoran stepped into the middle of their impromptu circle, Kurogane just now sitting up as Fai stayed close to Sakura and Mokona hopped uncertainly from the girl's arms to the ground, bouncing up and then down again like a child's ball, ears flopping over it's eyes. He could sense Seishirou-san behind him and it probably said more than enough that he was trusting the man by not turning around to keep a wary eye on him. "Enough. Please. There's no need for any of this."

"No need?" Fai smoothed a hand over his hair, glancing around before his gaze settled on Syaoran, crossing his arms, "Syaoran, forgive me but this man has tried to kill us before."

"In the past," Seishirou-san spoke up, "Of course I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing now."

"Really? And why is that?"

The smile was in his voice, Seishirou coming to stand beside him again, reaching down to squeeze Syaoran's shoulder, "Because it would upset my darling Syaoran-kun, of course."

This really was going about as well as he expected. Even Fai was starting to look vaguely murderous -- in that grinning, Fai sort of way. Kurogane was positively apoplectic, nearly as red as that headband he'd been wearing when they'd first met, veins popping out in his forehead and neck in a way that looked almost painful as he clenched his fists. That he hadn't charged again was more than likely due to Fai's not so subtle slap of his hand on the larger man's shoulder, almost the exact mirror of Seishirou's actions. Sakura meanwhile was searching his face, eyes dark and lost as she hugged her cloak tighter around her body, trembling as if having caught a sudden chill. There was no way to meet that expression with anything less than feeling as if someone had kicked him in the chest. Syaoran didn't even bother.

"Seishirou-san," Syaoran squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his hand against his forehead and the very real ache he felt starting up behind his false eye, "Don't help. Please. "

"Now, now, I think it's important we clear up these things right away and your friend did ask," Seishirou's hand slid to his other arm, around his back and pulling him closer and it was all Syaoran could do not to flinch. "And if we're all to be together on this quest, I think it's best to be completely honest and open about these things. Why should we have to hide our love?"

Maybe it was him but all the sound seemed to switch off, the sound of his heart thrumming exceptionally loud in his own ears. 'He did not just say that. He didn't. I'm going to look at the others and they're going to -- Oh shit, he did just say that. If Mokona can manage that expression then he really did just say that.'

"Seishirou-san--" He felt himself twitch just a touch as another arm joined the first, Seishirou's chin resting against his shoulder.

"There's no need to be so shy, Syaoran-kun. It was bound to come out anyway. Would you rather I was less --"

"Contrived?" He interrupted him dryly.

Seishirou sounded hurt, "I was going to say straightforward. I can be more circumspect if you like though I've heard it's best for lovers to be on equal footing. "

Syaoran winced, glancing up at Seishirou-san and keep his voice down as he hissed, "Lovers? Don't you think you're rushing things a bit?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

"Your darling … " Kurogane spoke, diverting both of their attention, his face tightened in obvious disgust though Syaoran couldn't tell which one of them it was aimed at.

"Syaoran-kun," Seishirou supplied helpfully, adjusting his glasses and straightening, careful to leave an arm around Syaoran's shoulders. "For future reference, I would prefer you not to treat him so rudely off the training field. I realize that comrades tend to forget these sort of things but I myself am somewhat possessive. Jealous really. And when I feel threatened -- "

Seishirou shrugged lightly, "Well, I guess I can be terribly -- uncivilized."

The threat in that was clear and Kurogane bristled further if that was possible, his gaze more than accusatory as it slid to Syaoran which he supposed was more than fair under the circumstances.

"Are you done?" Syaoran muttered, keeping his voice low enough that only Seishirou-san could hear him, face flaming and trying very hard not to take his clenched fists and bury them in the older man's stomach. "Can we be done wrecking my life now? Please?"

"Done? I'm being perfectly serious."

He gave the older boy a withering glare, "Right. You know, maybe you should have made that bet if you could make me fall in love with you in a year.

Seishirou pushed at his glasses again, peering at him out of the corner of his eye and clasping his hands behind his back as he tilted his head, "How do you know I didn't?"

***End