#painful it refilled and there was bLOOD everywhere and ugh then the refill was like all blood

[doctorwormcore]

not me being like 2 days after my period.......and immediately having two hs boils show up on my tit. bOOOOOO

[ridiasfangirlings]

Title: Still Point (12/12)

Fandom: K Project

External: AO3 / ff.net

Ratings/Warnings: T

Notes: Last chapter, finally! Thanks to everyone who’s still reading this, and sorry it took so long. Please enjoy ^^

XVIII. bullet hole

“Saruhiko!”

Yata's heart was beating fast, adrenaline hot in his veins as he ran through the chaos that was Ashinaka. It looked nothing like what he remembered from when Homra had been here so many years ago – they'd been liberators then, or so they'd thought, driving the Greens out and taking the town back for the people. By contrast, the town they had entered minutes ago had been all but deserted, not a single sign that any of the civilian population remained. In place of what should have been a bustling town there was nothing but a war machine, stores of ammunition scattered everywhere and empty lots filled with landed planes waiting to refill. It had felt like entering a ghost town, somehow, like a corroded memory, and he'd almost lost himself in it when the first Green soldier had spotted them. The enemy had barely raised his gun to fire when there was a flash of blue and the man fell into a heap, a victim of Munakata's sword. Moments later there was smoke in the air and the hum of airplanes above that made Yata's entire body tense, even though he knew that this time that they were on his side – the Silver General's air support, beginning the bombardment that signaled the start of their mission.

Yata had no idea what had taken the Silver Regiment so long to join up with them. He'd heard some of it from the sidelines; Kusanagi had allowed him to sit in on the meeting between Munakata and Silver General Adolf Weismann but most of the conversation had gone over his head, more talk of the jamming device that Yata recalled Saruhiko mentioning in that – final – message, discussion of an apparent attack on Mihashira and the death of the Golden General from what could have been illness or could have been poison. That last had made Yata and Kusanagi exchange a look of shock but Munakata had simply nodded gravely, as if he'd expected it.

That asshole probably did expect it, Yata recalled thinking afterward, as he'd roused the rest of the troops from their momentary break to begin the march anew. They'd stopped only one more time, just out of view of Ashinaka, and Yata had been checking over his weapons and talking with some of the other Homra members when he'd spotted Kusanagi moving to speak with Munakata and the Silver General again. There had been a girl at the Silver General's side who Yata hadn't recognized at all, with long pink hair, mismatched eyes and dark clothes. As he'd gotten closer Yata had managed to overhear some of the conversation – the girl was apparently a stealth operative of the Silver General's who had infiltrated Ashinaka briefly and brought back drawings of the town's defenses and the Green General's war machines, along with one other piece of news: Ashinaka was preparing for a public execution before the beginning of the next attack. The girl hadn't gotten the name of the prisoner, but the description was enough to make Yata's heart stop for a moment, limbs going numb, breath cold on his lips.

Saruhiko was going to be executed by firing squad, for the crime of treason.

“Saruhiko!” Yata yelled the name again, dashing past both enemy and ally soldiers as he ran blindly through the town. The Silver General's operative had reported that the Greens had built a makeshift execution platform near the university and so that was where Yata was headed – most of the enemy soldiers seemed to be coming from that direction as well, no doubt gathered to watch the execution and only just alerted to the beginning of the counterattack by the arrival of the Silver Regiment's planes.

It could be too late already. Yata's fist clenched around the hilt of his gun and he shook his head, rain dripping down his face as he forced himself to focus on his mission. He couldn't let himself think about what would happen if they'd been too late. If he thought that, it would all be over.

And then it came into view, like a fog lifting, and Yata found himself stopping dead as he stared at the scene in front of him.

Saruhiko was lying limply on his side, clearly wounded, his uniform covered in blood. His body was shaking – what the hell, is he laughing – and there was someone standing over him, a gun aimed at Saruhiko's head.

Yata had never been a good shot, even before the loss of his eye. He'd joked with the other guys at Homra about it, that at least he had an excuse now for not hitting his targets in practice. Kusanagi had always just smiled thinly and put a hand on Yata's shoulder, and told him that he had some of the best reflexes in the squad, it was just his aim that needed work.

It was those reflexes that seemed to take hold of him now, vision narrowing dark and thin on the two figures in front of him. A million thoughts were already racing through his head, so fast they blurred together – there was a bullet hole in Saruhiko's thigh and a piece of wood sticking out his side, he was laughing so he was still alive, the guy holding the gun on him was just a kid who looked somehow familiar and would it be a killing shot, could he live with that, killing a kid even f it was a battlefield, even if he'd lost so much already could he really do this, could his shot really hit its mark when his hands were shaking so much from the cold – and Yata raised his gun.

He heard the recoil of his own weapon in his ears and he saw the Green kid's body jerk backwards, another gunshot echoing his own at almost the same moment, and Saruhiko's body convulsed, blood spilling fresh on the ground.

“Saruhiko!” Yata was by Saruhiko's side so fast he couldn't even entirely recall how he'd gotten there, the space between when his legs had begun to move and when he fell to his knees next to Saruhiko's limp body a complete blank in his mind.

“Misaki.” He wasn't entirely certain that he heard the voice, choked with blood, and the light in Saruhiko's eyes seemed to be dimming even as Yata cradled Saruhiko's body in his arms. There was a bloody gash along Saruhiko's temple – the bullet that had been intended to go through his skull having been knocked off course by Yata's own shot, only grazing instead of penetrating. But even a graze might have been more than enough, Yata knew that, when Saruhiko had already lost so much blood.

“Saruhiko...” Yata pulled him close, as if he could transfer some of his own warmth to the body that already felt cold and heavy in his arms. Saruhiko was staring at him and through him, eyes not quite in focus, mouth moving but no sound forcing its way past its throat. “You...you better not die, you shitty monkey. You don't tell me anything, you know? I don't care if it's a fucking secret mission. You could have just said it, you stupid fucking moron, and I would've figured it out. I'm not that stupid, you know.” He ran a hand along Saruhiko's cheek, staring down at him through vision that seemed to have suddenly gone watery.

But Saruhiko's eyes were closed, body sagging in Yata's arms, blood staining Yata's own uniform.

Bloody and wounded and unconscious, but still breathing.

He's still breathing.

Yata's hands tightened over Saruhiko's shoulders, holding Saruhiko close as he stood. It was awkward and he knew he was vulnerable, unable to use his weapon properly with Saruhiko cradled in his arms, but it didn't matter. He'd taken this mission, hadn't he? Save Fushimi Saruhiko. Fuck if Yata was going to fail at that, not this time.

“Ugh...” The kid who had shot Saruhiko stirred, groaning in pain, and Yata barely spared him a look. Later he supposed he'd feel relieved, that he hadn't killed a kid, but that didn't matter now. Nothing mattered except getting Saruhiko to safety.

Saruhiko who was still breathing, painfully and stubbornly.

“We're getting out of here,” Yata murmured, readjusting his grip on the unconscious body in his arms. Saruhiko's breath hitched slightly and Yata froze, unable to move until he saw that chest start to rise and fall again. And then Yata was off, running through the chaos that was the Green army's camp, not sure where he was going but only knowing that he had to get Saruhiko out, had to find something like safety where he could get Saruhiko's wounds treated before Saruhiko was beyond the help of even a hospital.

The sound of a gunshot to his right made him whirl, pivoting on one leg and dashing through the nearest alley. He could hear yelling behind him, some of the voices familiar and others not, but there was no time to stop now. Homra and the Blue Division couldn't concern him this time. His mission had been to find Saruhiko and save him, and Yata intended to follow that order to the end.

There was the sharp crack of another shot and Yata skidded to a stop, only able to stare blankly as a man in what looked like priest's robes crumpled to the ground only a few feet in front of him. Munakata stood there near the mouth of the alley, stiff and regal in the middle of the street, sword in one hand and the other bleeding and held close to his chest, his weapon trained on a man in a wheelchair who sat facing him. There was a gun on the ground between them, Munakata's, half-stained with blood.

Hisui Nagare. Yata had heard tales of the head of the Green army, the guy who'd tried to take on the Golden General himself and had reportedly paid the price for it in blood. Hisui's form in the chair was motionless, a weapon in each hand, a gun pointed at Munakata and a sword at the throat of the man Yata recognized as the Silver General, bleeding from a bullet hole in his side and held in an iron-tight grip.

“Munakata Reisi.” Hisui Nagare's voice was calm, conversational, and Munakata didn't even flinch. “Lower your weapon. Your mission has already failed, has it not?”

“Oh?” Munakata raised an eyebrow and Yata realized that there was blood dripping down from a wound just above his forehead as well. “It seems that you are the one backed into a corner now, Hisui Nagare.”

“I have a shield. Will you kill this one as well, knowing what it will cost?” Hisui's grip tightened on the Silver General, who didn't move. The man's eyes were open though, Yata could see that even from where he stood, and they were constantly moving back and forth from Hisui to Munakata, as if gauging the next move. “With both Silver and Gold Generals dead the United Colors will fall apart. Yukari has already escaped your clutches, and my men are scattered far and wide across this country. Your faction cannot live without its figureheads, but my dream has a long reach. As long as one man lives to carry it, it will be realized in time.”

“You speak like a madman,” Munakata said coolly. “For the sake of the order of this country, it is my duty to slay you if you will not surrender. Otherwise you will meet the same fate as the Grey General.”

Hisui's emotionless eyes seemed to flash bright then, a burning anger deep in their core that made even Yata take a step back, holding Saruhiko's body closer even as he wondered if he could reach his pistol without setting Saruhiko down, if he could manage to aim and shoot from this position, avenge Totsuka and Mikoto with one bullet regardless of what could happen next...

“You will not leave this place alive,” Hisui said calmly, holding the sword even closer against the Silver General's throat. “My freedom will not be denied, Munakata. You cannot chain this country to those shackles you call order. In the new country, everyone will be as a King and there will be no wars, only peace, gained under my watch. True freedom can only be found in the offer of a choice.”

“It appears we are at a fundamental disagreement.” Munakata took a step forward and Hisui didn't even flinch, didn't so much as move. “Such freedom is nothing but an illusion. Or do you truly believe you have found it, hiding beneath a conquered city like a rat? That there is freedom in all that you have burned to the ground in pursuit of a place where nothing will burn?”

“You are already corrupted, Munakata.” Hisui shook his head. “Your ideals will destroy you in the end, just as Suoh Mikoto's did.”

Yata tensed, hands trembling where they held Saruhiko close. He could feel Saruhiko's labored breaths against his body, uniform heavy with blood, but his feet refused to move.

“No.” Munakata lowered his sword then, and Yata could only stare at him in confusion. Is he-- don't tell me that bastard's giving up? Now? After all the shit we've been through...after Saruhiko almost died for this...! “Rigid ideals will only snap in two, when pressured too long. I have learned, as they say, to bend in the wind.”

The sound of a gun firing tore through the air and Hisui Nagare's body jerked forward, the Silver King tearing himself from hands gone limp as the Green General toppled from the chair and landed in a pool of his own blood, dead before he hit the ground of a gunshot wound to the back of the head.

“Wha...” Yata felt his own knees give way, still trying to process what he'd just seen, and Munakata raised his head to look at the man who had fired the lethal shot into Hisui Nagare's skull.

“Excellent timing, Lieutenant Kusanagi.” A thin smile played across Munakata's lips. “I had thought you might hesitate, for a moment.”

“Don't be givin' me that face.” Kusanagi stepped forward, gun in his hand and a look of distaste on his face – for Munakata's words or for what he had just done, Yata couldn't be sure.

(But Kusanagi had lost more than even Yata had that cold day in the snow when they'd defeated the Colorless General and with one shot he'd avenged it all, Homra and Homra's pride, and that sad bundle tied to the back of the horse that still appeared in Yata's nightmares even after all this time.)

“Kusanagi-san...” Yata forced the words from a dry throat and Kusanagi turned, surprise and then concern crossing his face as he spotted Yata and the burden he carried.

“Ah. You have completed the mission as assigned.” It was Munakata who stepped forward, knelt beside Yata and pressed a hand to Saruhiko's pale cheek. Everything seemed to rush back into focus, Saruhiko in his arms and the blood that was stained both their uniforms, and it took everything in Yata not to clutch him close away from Munakata's grip.

“Captain Munakata?” The Silver General came up behind them on shaking legs, face pinched with pain but features still narrowing in concern as he spotted Saruhiko in Yata's arms.

“Is the emergency helicopter where I requested?” Munakata turned to look at him and General Weismann nodded.

“I left Kuroh back there to guard it, and to take care of anyone who might try and block our means of escape, if things turned for the worse.” Weismann's eyes darted to Saruhiko and then back to Yata, and his face was grave. “I had hoped we wouldn't have need for the emergency medical evacuation, but...” He shook his head and addressed Yata directly. “It's the only choice, I think. Kuroh can take Fushimi-kun by air while the rest of us finish routing the Green army. It's Fushimi-kun's best chance of making it to a hospital while there's still blood left in his body.”

“While there's still blood left in his body,” and Yata felt a chill run through his veins as he stood on legs that threatened to give way again at any moment. There were still enemies to fight, he knew that, still so much more to do before they could say this battle had been won.

But Saruhiko was still breathing, and for the moment that was all that mattered.

–

Yata sat in a chair next to Saruhiko's hospital bed, and waited.

Everything still felt like a blur in his mind from the moment he'd reluctantly turned Fushimi over to the Silver General's second in command and had been forced to watch the helicopter rise into the sky and disappear, headed for the nearest hospital. He'd remained there on the grass outside Ashinaka staring up at the sky for who knew how long before grabbing his pistol and running back into the town, joining the rest of the force in subduing the remainder of the Green General's army.

He would have liked to think that Hisui Nagare's army would have fallen apart with their General dead but somehow the enemy force had remained cohesive until the very end, taking their share of casualties from the United Colors. It hadn't been until hours later that Yata had been able to confirm that all of Homra was alive and accounted for, albeit in various states of injury. The Silver General's planes had been on hospital duty by then, transporting the most gravely injured to hospital and then returning for more, any soldier who could move recruited to help in the securing of prisoners and administering field medicine to their own wounded. Some members of the force had been dispatched in a futile attempt to find Hisui Nagare's second in command Mishakuji Yukari, who had disappeared in the chaos. Yata had seen the kid who had shot Saruhiko being led into a truck with the other prisoners of war and had turned away almost immediately, not quite trusting that he wouldn't try and cave the kid's face in if anything happened to Saruhiko.

Yata had spotted Munakata a few times from a distance as well, a bandage around his head and a grave look on his face, but Yata hadn't bothered to speak with him. The last thing Yata wanted to hear was praise for his 'successful' mission, not when he didn't know if Saruhiko was alive or dead.

Saruhiko had been lucky, the doctors had told him later, once Yata had finally been allowed to hitch a ride on one of the trucks to the hospital. The wound on his temple, another in his side, the wound in his leg bleeding so badly there had been initially some fears that it had torn an artery and that there would be nothing even the doctors could do.

“You're an idiot, you know,” Yata murmured quietly, one hand reaching out to touch Saruhiko's. There was still no movement from the figure on the bed in front of him, only that steady rise and fall of the chest indicating that there was still life left somewhere in that body.

It had been three days now, since Saruhiko had been brought in. In that time Yata had remained by Saruhiko's side, waiting. Munakata had been by several times, staring down at Saruhiko in thoughtful silence and not answering any of Yata's angry accusations of being the one who had caused all this in the first place. Several of the other Blues had come to check on Saruhiko as well, the lady Lieutenant along with some of the main force, all in various states of injury themselves. Most of them hadn't even so much as looked at him, though the Lieutenant had quietly told him to remember to get some rest and something to eat before he drove Kusanagi to distraction. Kusanagi had come to check on them both, bringing Anna with him, and even a few other members of Homra – they didn't understand, of course, why Yata insisted on staying by Saruhiko's side, but no one suggested he leave.

Saruhiko could wake up at any time, after all, and Yata wanted to be by his side when that happened.

“I'm not gonna forgive you if you die on me.” It made him feel better somehow, saying it out loud. It made the room feel a little less hollow anyway, words echoing off the sterile walls. “Dammit, Saruhiko...what am I supposed to do if you die?”

Saruhiko didn't answer, and Yata's hand tightened over his.

“You don't tell me anything,” Yata continued. “Even after all this...you know I won't get it if you don't say it, right? But you still don't say anything. If you'd just asked me to come after you the first time I would've done it. I would've gone after you a hundred times, you idiot. Look what happens when I leave you alone.”

Yata's face felt wet and he rubbed irritably at it with his fist.

“That's why you lose things, again and again.” The hole where his left eye should be suddenly burned and Yata hunched his shoulders.

“I don't get you, you know,” Yata murmured. “You say shit like that all the time, telling me to hold tighter when you're the one who doesn't hold onto anything. Didn't we mean anything to you? Didn't I? After all the shit we've been through, are you really going to give up on me now?”

“...Noisy.” The word was soft and hoarse but enough to make Yata sit up straight. The hand underneath his twitched slightly.

“Saruhiko?” Yata felt a lump in his throat and couldn't even bother to hide it. “H-hey, are you awake? Saruhiko?”

“How could I sleep with you being so pathetic, Misaki.” The words were harsh but the tone was not – he sounded tired, Yata thought, as though even the effort of mocking Yata was too much for Saruhiko to manage. Saruhiko's eyes were still half-closed and his head lolled wearily to one side as if he wasn't quite sure where he was.

“Don't call me pathetic.” Yata tightened his hand over Saruhiko's, gripped it tight as if Saruhiko would disappear out from under him if he let go. “You're the one in the hospital bed here, monkey.”

“Tch.” Saruhiko gave a quiet click of his tongue and shifted as if to sit up, then fell back with a wince of pain. Yata touched his shoulder lightly, keeping him down.

“You lost a lot of blood.” His voice was growing steadier the more he talked and Yata forced himself to stay calm. Saruhiko was awake, at least. That was something. “Do you remember what happened?”

Saruhiko stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, blinking slowly as if trying to remember.

“You were shot by the Greens,” Yata supplied. “We just got to you in time. You...you could have died. The doctor said you were lucky to keep your leg.” Yata paused, wondering if he should say anything more, and then nodded to himself as he continued. He'd wanted to know too, after all, at that time. “The—the wound was pretty bad. You're probably gonna walk with a limp now.”

“Mmm.” Saruhiko accepted that without much visible surprise, but one hand reached up as if to touch the patch over Yata's eye. “Pointless.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Yata said hoarsely. “You saved everyone, you stupid self-sacrificing idiot! You could have--”

“I carried out my mission, nothing more,” Saruhiko said coldly. “Don't lump me in with a sentimental idiot like you, Misaki. I'm not a person who can save anyone. I just did what I was ordered to.” His hand brushed Yata's face this time, just below his left eye, tracing the bottom edge of the scar there. “I'm not an idiot who sacrifices himself for the sake of his comrades.”

“I didn't do this for my comrades,” Yata said, grabbing onto his wrist. “I did it for you, dumbass. And—and I don't regret doing it either. Not even now.”

“You should,” Saruhiko said flatly. His voice sounded a little foggy still, as if he wasn't quite fully awake. “You shouldn't have ever done that for me. I didn't ask you to do it.”

“Do you have to ask for someone to care about you?” Yata said. “What the hell, Saruhiko? Weren't we in this together from the start? Who the hell else would I give an eye for, if it wasn't gonna be you?”

“That's what you say now,” Saruhiko murmured. “Don't think I don't know better, Misaki. This hand of yours--” He pulled his wrist out of Yata's grip as roughly as he could manage. “You're always trying to make up for it, right? For those people you couldn't save. I'm not going to be your little sister for you, so you can feel better about yourself.”

“Is that all you think you were to me?” Yata demanded. “I—I mean...yeah, I regret it. I regret that I couldn't save any of the people I cared about...Mom, Minoru, Megumi...Totsuka-san and Mikoto-san. But you're not – you weren't ever a replacement for them, Saruhiko! You were more than that to me, you were always--”

“That's why you don't understand anything, Misaki,” Saruhiko said. “'More than that?' That's exactly why I left. Do you want me to thank you, for getting yourself mutilated for my sake? You're an idiot if that's what you think.”

“I'm not mutilated, Saruhiko,” Yata said quietly. “It's just an eye. I'd give it up a hundred times for you, if that's what it took.”

“You're so stupid, Misaki.” Saruhiko's voice was far away again, almost lost. “Just another dark tunnel I can't get out of. I had to leave before any more of that light went out.”

“Wait...did you think I was gonna die or something?” Yata asked. Saruhiko inclined his head just a bit to look at him but his eyes were unfocused.

“It doesn't matter if I give my life up.” Saruhiko seemed to be looking at something far away, even as his eyes were fixed on Yata. “This is a war zone, right? So it doesn't matter if it's me. But it was dark here until you came. It was dark, and you were like the moon, the stars. If the only way I could keep that was to keep you away, I would take it. If it was the only way to move forward and keep you from always reaching for things with those pathetic hands, from tearing yourself apart to save people who couldn't be saved...I would do whatever I could. I'd break us both apart, if that was what it took.”

“The fuck it doesn't matter if it's you!” Yata's fingers dug into the palms of his hands. “What the hell makes you think your life is worth less than mine, huh?”

“Because it is.” Saruhiko said it as if it was an unimpeachable truth. “But you're a moron who can't see further than what's in front of you. I had to break it, for both our sakes.”

“Who said you got to decide that on your own?” Yata's shoulders shook, hands clenched tight and Saruhiko turned away from him. “Who the hell told you to decide that for the both of us?”

“Someone had to,” Saruhiko said darkly. His eyes were slightly glassy and Yata wondered if he had a fever, if that was the thing that had finally been able to tear all those hidden words from Saruhiko's throat. “You don't see anything at all, do you Misaki? Even when you had both eyes. You look forward all the time but you never see what's at your back. Did you really think I'd stay there forever watching you run yourself straight to an early death?”

“Why didn't you just say something?” Yata leaned forward, tried to make Saruhiko look at him. Saruhiko's breathing was heavy and labored, thick with pain, and Yata almost wanted to fall back and let him rest, wait for another day to do this. But somehow he knew that if they didn't get it all out into the open air now they never would – that Saruhiko would sink back into his own silence and they'd go back to the way things had been before, and Yata didn't intend to lose him a third time. “I'm not trying to get myself killed, Saruhiko. I just--”

“You're so pathetic, Misaki.” It wasn't Saruhiko's voice that stopped him but Saruhiko's hands, shaking as they brushed the eyepatch on Yata's face. It fell away and Yata felt Saruhiko's fingers press against the scar over his closed eye, moving slowly as if to memorize every contour of his face. “You keep yelling about heroes all the time, about saving people. You never even noticed I was still there, in the dark. Maybe if I left, you finally would.”

“I always knew where you were, Saruhiko.” Yata's hands pressed against Saruhiko's forehead, gently. There was a little heat there, as expected, and Yata brushed a bit of sweat off Saruhiko's skin. “Maybe—maybe it took me a while to know what I was looking at, but I was always watching you. Remember when we used to sit there in that warehouse and you would draw all that stuff on the floors, the star maps? I thought that was really cool. When I couldn't see the stars I thought about the ones you wrote on the floors. It—it made me feel a little better. Stupid, right? But it made me feel better.”

“You are stupid,” Saruhiko murmured. “You never did manage to hate me properly, did you Misaki?”

“No,” Yata said quietly. “Did you really want me to?”

“I don't know.” Saruhiko closed his eyes, breathing deep as his fingers continued to trace the line of Yata's scars. “There wasn't any exit, in that place, no way out except climbing over your body and I wanted--” He gave another shuddering breath, sounding almost lost, as if he couldn't find the way in his own mind. “I wanted you to stop being such an idiot and think about yourself instead of everyone around you. I wanted to hang on to you, and I wanted you to let go of me.”

“How the hell am I supposed to let go of you?” Yata said. “You're—you're the one guy can't let go of, you know? Even if I can't hold on to anyone else I figured you'd at least always be there and then you left.”

“That's how you get hurt.” Saruhiko's lip curled. “I'm not going to be the one whose hand you hold because it's the only one left, Misaki. That's how you always are, isn't it – you don't want anyone to leave, but do you really care if they stay?”

“The fuck does that mean?” Yata snapped. “Of course I cared, you idiot! You were supposed to be by my side. Weren't we partners?”

“And that's all,” Saruhiko murmured. “You and your flimsy words, Misaki. 'Partners.' 'Comrades.' I won't be just that, just another hand for you to hold until it's torn from your grasp. I'd rather be 'traitor' than all of that. At least then I was something different in your world.”

“But that's not what you are, Saruhiko,” Yata said quietly. “You're the asshole who couldn't just say when you were unhappy. You're the idiot who thought going on a suicide mission for everyone else made you a traitor. You're not any of that, Saruhiko. You're more than that, to me.”

“Am I?” Saruhiko said. Yata could see his chest rising and falling in short shallow motions and Yata's hands pressed down against Saruhiko's skin. He could feel the pulse fluttering there again, that heartbeat moving rapidly even though Saruhiko's movements seemed slow and sluggish.

“You are.” Yata's voice was firm, unshakeable. “We aren't gonna break, Saruhiko. We never were. You're not just a hand for me to hold, you moron. You're....you're stars. Patterns on the floor that I can still see. I can't remember half the battle formations no matter how many times you read them to me, but I remember the patterns you painted, you know? Because it was you, and I can't...no matter what, you're the one thing I'm not ever gonna let go of. When it's dark, I can look down and there you are, showing me the way home. Even if you let go of me again and again, I'm not letting go of your fucking hand. Not again, or ever.”

He could feel Saruhiko's heartbeat still and Yata suddenly remembered it again, running through an alley while planes flew overhead. Remembered Saruhiko pressing him up against a brick wall and telling him to stay silent, and that small breath of space between them that Yata hadn't dared to cross.

An expanse of space, unseen but always there, a wide dark stretch like a map of the universe scrawled into the floor. Yata could remember Saruhiko's smile when they'd talked about taking on the world, and the hollow cast to his face the day Yata had awakened in an infirmary with only one eye.

(And somewhere, hidden in the fog of memory, a haze of pain broken by the feeling of lips closing over his.)

“Misaki...” Saruhiko breathed low, mouth shaking on the syllables of the word, and there were constellations written in his eyes that Yata couldn't map even if he had a thousand years to plot them.

This is a battle line.

Cross it.

Closing space bit by bit, and Yata leaned down to press his lips against Saruhiko's.

There was a moment of hesitation, of counterattack as though Saruhiko was about to push him away. Yata pressed his hand against Saruhiko's, held tight, and suddenly Saruhiko was kissing him back almost desperately, as though he couldn't breathe except to take the air from Yata's mouth.

“I'll protect you,” Yata found himself whispering between the workings of his mouth. “If you leave I'll go after you, okay? If you let go, I'll grab your other hand. So stop letting go of me all the time. Let me hold onto you.”

Saruhiko didn't reply but his hands tightened around Yata's, and his heartbeat echoed strong in Yata's ears, each beat a promise.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

XIX. scars

He did have a limp, in the end.

Fushimi supposed he should regret it, the loss of something he couldn't get back, but somehow he couldn't quite bring himself to care. Munakata had conveyed his sincerest apologies for the injury – along his praise for the completion of the mission, and some kind of medal of valor that Fushimi had thrown against the wall the moment Munakata placed it in his hands. Munakata hadn't complained about that either, just smiled inscrutably and noted that Fushimi was healing well. They'd talked about other things too, the words Munakata had spoken that night in the emergency outpost, and something that hadn't been exactly an apology but which Fushimi suspected was meant to be seen as one. Fushimi had accepted it either way, with a nod of his head and a click of his tongue, because he was beginning to realize that with all the weights he'd allowed himself to carry that was the one he was most eager to be rid of.

He hadn't been discharged from the army, only sent to light duty for now. There was still work to do, after all – Hisui Nagare was dead but his army was vast and still active, and Yukari's whereabouts unknown as well. Munakata seemed unconcerned about the limp, only noting that Fushimi should remain on leave until his head wound had healed.

It was an irritant, though, a reminder he didn't particularly want. He wasn't a child learning to walk again and he didn't need the pitying stares he knew would be thrown his way.

Misaki hadn't pitied him, though. Misaki had found him a cane with a hidden knife in the hilt. Misaki had looked at his leg and shrugged, unconcerned.

“Well, how about I just be your right leg and you can be my left eye?”

It was a stupid compromise, just the sort of thing he'd expect an idiot like Misaki to say. But he'd nodded at the time and reached for Misaki's hand, and Misaki's fingers had curled around his.

They'd protect each other, somehow. He didn't quite believe it, but he was trying to.

“I'll protect you,” Misaki had whispered between kisses, that day in the hospital and then again and again later on, no matter how often Fushimi told him to stop protecting people, and Misaki would look a bit sad and laugh and promise to work on that if Fushimi worked on saying what he actually meant instead of the opposite.

Fushimi didn't need words of protection, because he knew they couldn't always promise to protect each other in this world – knew it every time he remembered a cold day in the snow and the look on Munakata's face as he saluted a coffin draped in red – but he curved his body against Misaki's anyway, entwined their fingers together, and counted the marks on Misaki's body.

Misaki's wounds were a back full of burns, a tattoo on his chest, a broken up heart and the stitches that held it together, a scar on his palm and a lost left eye, and above it all the marks of Fushimi's hands on his own as they held each other.

And Fushimi's own wounds, a dark cellar in his mind and a torn apart mark of red flames on his chest, an injured thigh and a scattering of powder burns on his forehead and sometimes he found himself thinking that when he died they'd find Misaki's name carved on his bones. He would take that, would take all of it, the blood and the burns and the scattering of scars, all for the press of Misaki's lips against his own.

Not a scar, not this time, but still: permanent.

[ladydracarysao3]

In Love, Serenity  

Chapter Fourteen: In That Void Shall They Wander

Chapter Summary Aurora is having a hard time dealing with the past days' events. Unable to stop the surfaced memories and feelings, she sits in the tavern and lonely, wanders into the void - with the aid of copious amounts of cheap wine.

Note Title is from Threnodies 12:5

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[Read Chapter 14 on AO3]  or [Start from the Beginning]

-Aurora-

Alone, Aurora sits in the dark corner of an enclave in the tavern, slowly sipping a glass of the awful, cheap wine available for her purchase. She usually has higher standards when it comes to the consumption of wine, but Aurora felt she needed something stronger than mead to calm her mind. The fact that she is working on her second bottle, only mildly enhances the perceived flavor to her palate. She mainly finds she just cares less and less that it stinks.

Staring silently across the table, not looking at anything in particular, her attention is solely in her mind. The events of the past few days weigh on her. She has spent close to a year with the Inquisition, and until recently, she has managed a fairly uneventful experience. Aside from the day that Corypheus attacked Haven, of course. Since reaching the keep, Aurora has felt relatively safe. She researched and helped where she could, she managed to make a few friends, and she was happy… she thought… as happy as she has ever been capable of being.

Content.

Aurora had surely been content. Satisfied with quietly doing her small part to bring change to Thedas, while keeping herself safe.

But now, everything has been turned upside down. Memories Aurora had long since repressed are bubbling to the surface. She refuses to believe that spirit could have found them, when her subconscious had worked so hard in locking them away. Where had he found the key? Could he truly be a benevolent spirit trying to help, if all that he accomplished was unraveling so much hurt. Hurt Aurora has ignored… or rather, no… hurt that she refused to even acknowledge at all. Ignoring would imply she knew it was there.

Aurora had become so skilled at locking it away that she did it automatically, without thought. Anything else would give it too much power… but it certainly has power now. The pain feels like a storm raging through her body, ripping apart everything it comes in contact with, and refusing to leave or subside.

“I know you will do well. The mages will respect you, but please be careful, my darling.” Aurora reaches out, pulling him into a worried embrace.

“Always, kitten.” He smiles lovingly, cups her cheek in his hand, kisses her forehead, and leaves.

~~~

“My lady…”

“No. No, recruit. You’re wrong. He can’t be. Where is he?”

“So many were lost. Thousands…”

“No. This isn’t right. We were supposed to find peace! He was going to negotiate peace!”

“I’m sorry my lady.”

“No. Get out… get out of my sight, Templar.”

~~~

“Aurora, where are we going? I’m scared.”

“I don’t know, but we have to hide.”

“Can’t we find a town?”

“No. We are apostates now. They will kill us.”

~~~

“I’ve found some! They are in the cave!”

“Leave us. We have done nothing to you.”

“Your wicked ways destroyed the conclave, mage!”

“No, we want peace. Please, we just want to live.”

…Screaming ...

“Hey there, Blaze. You okay?”

…Fire ... so much fire…

“Rory… hello? Can you hear us?”

…Blood… Everywhere… Boiling Blood…

“She doesn’t look good…”

…Deafening Silence… the smell of burnt flesh…

A hand touches Aurora’s. She gazes at it, emotionless, and then slowly lifts her eyes to the faces looking at her from across the table. A young elven woman with pale, freckled skin, grey eyes, and blonde hair, fringe cut into haphazard chunks. Sera. That is her friend Sera. She turns her gaze to the figure touching her hand. Short, stout… dwarf. Strawberry blonde hair pulled back, hazel eyes, shirt open, chest hair. Varric. Varric Tethras and Sera. Worry stretched and shared across their faces.

“Oh, hey,” Aurora says flatly. She lifts her wine to her lips and drinks.

“Oh, hey? Seriously? Are you okay? You look… weird,” Sera scrunches her face, distorting it into a grimace.

“I know that look… if you ever want to get whatever it is off your chest, all you need to do is talk.” Varric pats the hand not busy bringing her goblet to her face.

“Oi, right. If she wants all her shite in some filthy book later,” Sera says dryly.

“You know, some things are sacred, Sera. Like friendships, for example.”

Sera snorts in disgust, “Yeah, just tell that to the twats in Kirkwall…”

“Just stop. I’m fine. I was just remembering…” Aurora pauses to take another drink, “remembering why I am here.” She reaches for the bottle sitting at the table and refills her goblet. “I’m fine.”

They sit in silence for a moment, when Aurora asks, “Say, you guys ever meet a kid named Cole?”

Sera immediately makes a noise and gesture as if something thoroughly repulsed her. Like an intense shiver invaded her body, she convulses, creates retching sounds, and sticks out her tongue. “Ugh, yeah. Right creeper, that is. Ain’t right. Just wrong.”

Varric knocks his elbow into Sera and shakes his head. “Don’t listen to her, the kid is harmless. Rusty brings him out with us on missions sometimes. He is really skilled in a fight, can get a little… poetic at times when he talks to people, though.” Sera groans and rolls her eyes, disagreeing with Varric’s assessment.

“He said some weird shit,” Aurora sighs – another drink.

“Ah, yeah well, it is important to know that his heart is in the right place. If he talks to you enough, you start to understand him.” Varric dips his head and smiles with friendly, raised brows, hopeful that his words will calm his friend from whatever is on her mind.

Aurora slumps over the table, elbows propping her up. “I don’t want him to talk to me,” she says. Another drink.

“Good luck with that. That thing’s got its sights on you, gonna keep poppin’ up now,” Sera says, unhelpfully.

Another – longer – drink, and then a refill.

“Ah, there you are! Oh good, you’re a wine drinker. Well, I won’t comment on your poor taste, but I will delight you with mine. I bring my own, you see, Cabot never has anything decent,” A smug, lofty voice rings to her left.

Great, Dorian has found her, this is all she needs. Aurora begins to rise from her seat only to realize just how inebriated she actually is. She wobbles trying to keep her balance, but ultimately gives up and plops back down.

“Oh, having a bit of a party, I see. Wonderful.” Dorian slides into the seat next to her, effectively pinning her into the corner. There will be no escape, now.

“Did you fellows know that our dear Aurora is pining for someone? I had my suspicions, but our little spirit friend confirmed it. There is just the matter of for whom she is pining. I think it could be our dear Commander, but I’m unsure. She certainly had quite the reaction when I brought up his name.” Dorian fills his goblet. The Tevinter Altus leans back in a three-quarter turn towards Aurora. Draping an arm over the back of his chair, he brings his wine to his lips while looking down at her as if she is a puzzle to be solved.

“Nah, Cullywully is in it bad for Izzy,” Sera smirks mischievously.

Dorian grins ear to ear at the elf, “Oh really? Izzy and the commander? That’s marvelous!” He looks back at Aurora and frowns, “That would explain why Aurora is so down about the whole thing. A case of unrequited love, my dear?”

“I’m not pining for the commander, Dorian,” Aurora snarls into her goblet, the shape of which is starting to blur in her vision.

“Not that commander… anyway,” Sera giggles. Aurora darts a glaring look across the table at her, all two of her. Varric noticeably suppresses a laugh. Appearing as if he is biting his tongue, he looks down at his ale.

“Oh you two know something don’t you?” the Tevinter mage coos.

Dorian continues to pry for a while - as he generally tends to do - but her friends give him nothing more. Which Aurora appreciates, or she would, if she were to pay them any attention. She is far more interested in the numbness within her body. The violent storm inside her squelched by the toxicity of her blood. She feels more at peace than she has in days, the fact that she cannot focus on anything is a gratifying side effect.

After some time has passed, Aurora has trouble keeping her eyes open, yet the rest of the table is lively. Sera and Dorian play a game of insults to each other. Aurora has to hand it to the man. Even though most people are rude to him, he takes it all in stride. Maybe he isn’t so bad after all. Maybe he truly is different from his famed countrymen. Aurora grins, deciding to enjoy herself, instead of wallowing in numb misery, and join in their fun.

--

Aurora opens her eyes and flinches at the pain the light brings. Her mouth feels like a desert. A foul tasting desert. She starts to lift her head and immediately regrets it, nausea threatening to take over. She groans in discomfort, slowly raising herself to an elbow.

“Yer awake!” Sera yells gleefully, grinning wickedly at Aurora. The mage takes in her surroundings. It appears she spent the night on the cushioned bench in Sera’s room.

Voice soft and hoarse, Aurora asks, “What am I doing here?”

“You don’t remember? Of course you don’t.” She starts giggling and grabs her belly, “You were lit!”

“Shit… what did I do?” Aurora asks, but Sera just keeps laughing and doesn’t answer.

Aurora peers out the window.  Seeing that it is still morning, she notices a low grumble in her stomach. “I’m going to go to the mess for water and some food. Thanks for letting me sleep here, I guess,” she says, but Sera  continues to giggle maniacally.

“Right, well… see you later.” Aurora slowly lifts herself up, scowling at the sharp pain in her head, and gently walks to the mess hall.

She acquires a bowl of gruel, a tankard of water, and sits in the quietest area of the mess that she can find. Aurora notices that a few Templars eating together smile cruelly while looking at her. They mumble things to each other as they snicker.

Great. I wonder what that is all about.

Gradually, she eats and drinks with her head hanging in pain. Varric silently approaches and slides in across from her, “Hey, Blaze. How ya feelin’?”

“Varric. Did something happen last night? All I remember is sitting in the corner and drinking. Why is everyone laughing?” She strains to lift her gaze to his.

“You don’t remember. I guess that makes sense.” He scratches the back of his head and hands her a foul smelling tankard. “Here, I figured you would have a nasty hangover, so I brought you this. It tastes awful, but it will do the trick.”

“What… what is it?” Aurora smells the contents and almost loses her gruel.

“Kirkwall secret, something we created at the Hanging Man.” Varric chuckles bashfully, “When you live in a rowdy tavern, it’s good to have a strong hangover remedy.” He pushes the tankard closer to her mouth, urging Aurora to drink it. “Trust me, you don’t want to know what’s in it. Just drink,” he says.

She holds her breath and gulps it down. Awful is an understatement, but as she finishes the last few drops she can already feel the curtain of pain being lifted from her head. “Why is no one telling me what happened last night?” she asks as she places the tankard on the table.

“I think you should feel better before you hear,” he says.

“Well, that’s troubling,” Aurora says flatly. “Out with it.”

Varric scratches the back of his head again, “You had a great time.” He hesitates with a worried look on his face, “Everyone had a great time, remember that, okay?”

“Varric,” she frowns at him, “tell me.”

Varric exhales slowly before answering her. “Ser Barris was there.”

“Ohhhhshit.”

“No, no, it was fine. You were having fun!” Varric’s raspy, friendly voice desperately tries to sound hopeful.

“What did I do, Varric?”

“You… danced.”

“I… what?” Aurora doesn’t dance, she never dances.

He laughs quietly, “Barris came to our table and you were… I could barely believe you could stand, honestly. But you crawled over the top of the table to get to him, and you told him… no, you ordered him to dance with you.”

“Oh Maker…” Aurora hangs her head in shame. This explains why Templars are laughing at her today.

“You told him, albeit jokingly, that if he did not dance with you, you would throw him from the battlements with your force,” Varric continues. Aurora feels her face turn green. She might really lose her gruel.

“No don’t freak out! He just laughed and agreed.” Of course he did, was there no line she could cross with this man before he finally demands her branded?

“What else, Varric?”

“Ha, well… you just kind of draped your body on him. I don’t think you could really stand on your own. He twirled you around for a bit. It was cute, all things considered,” Varric grins.

“Cute?” she glares at him, “I highly doubt it was cute. This is mortifying!” Aurora tries to imagine the scene, but all it does is make her want to dig a pit under the table and hide there. Forever.

“Then you’re probably not going to like what you said to him.” Her frown intensifies at his words. “You told him that he makes you feel things, and that the spirit says you can love again.”

This is too much, what the fuck does that even mean? She didn’t understand what the spirit was saying to her, and what does Varric mean, ‘again’?

You know exactly what that means. Stop being stubborn and stop lying. You loved him and you could love this one.

Shut. Up. Don’t make me drown you in wine, again.

“I need to go,” she says to Varric. Aurora’s eyes search of the fastest path to the door. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Aurora, it’s okay. He might have been a little shocked, but he knew you were drunk. He took care of you, when you…”

“What? When I what?” She snaps her eyes back to the dwarf.

“You were ill… but it’s okay! He cared for you. Sera helped. They took you to her room to sleep it off.”

“Maker’s breath, it just gets better and better.” She shakes her head and rises from her seat. “Thank you for telling me… and for the hangover remedy,” she says with a forlorn sigh.

Aurora makes her way to the exit. Walking past snickering voices, she contemplates flinging herself from the battlements, but perhaps just a long nap will help this all go away.

Unlikely.