Sanguine

by Melpomene

The narrow hall seemed to constrict, as if pulling its walls to embrace its limbs, to deny its heart so possessively. Like blood, sludge oozed through the tiny spaces of the tightly packed black masonry. Like breath, the draft pervaded the halls. The whole structure was sentient with all those emotions and thoughts dissolved in the atmosphere, ghosts of the turbulent past of uncountable millennia, and also of the not so past. Like a helpless prey it was, hanging by the moment, dilapidated by the rigorous hunt, with its frail ribs waiting to be crushed by the hunter’s merciless jaws. Time has been too lenient on these burdened arches.

Koenma Daiou would never have passed under those precariously standing tunnels, would never have found his feet treading on those pathways. He was an administrator, rarely a laborer. He was a judge, never a lawyer needing to visit his client. It was for the first time he was entering this underground world, the place where damned souls had to wait for processing. His job.

Gradually, he slowed his walk, cautious of the slippery moss-covered pavement. Visual perceptions steadily decreased as the torches, attached to the walls by rotting wood, became more spaced apart. The darkness between each circle of dingy yellow light was ominous, and the frequent shifts in lighting prevented the adjustment of his eyes.

Silence permeated this world, battling only once in a while with the drip-drip of the ever-present wetness. Their passage disturbed this limbo, their steady footfalls reverberating throughout that hollowness, omens of alien machinations. Still, that lethargic quietness seeped in again at their wake, seemingly ready to nip at their heels and claim them for this reality, should their pace slacken.

After what seemed like ages, his companion alerted him of their location, though “alert” might prove imprecise and offer misconceptions to the easily befuddled mind. Nudge would be a better word, for nudge him did the sentry. He was informed in a subdued voice, quite a change from the excited chattering of the office oni.

“We’re here, Koenma-sama.”

Simple. And Koenma nodded his approval as he stood before that ancient portal. It was a thick door of near invincible wood and rusty metal twisted to oneness by time. He watched as the hulking form of the oni, very at home in this shadowy recess of the guilty, tugged at the stiff dungeon door with controlled strength.

A nasty whiff of methane-like gases assailed him as the door cracked open. A few moments later, the door creaked its way to open, no matter how the hinges protested, and the olfactory sensation was joined by the occipital pitch-blackness. Another scent touched his nose, the musty scent that told of yellowed pages.

At least she has been placed in a relatively decent cell, he thought, perhaps one once belonging to a man of letters, a highly-esteemed one before his fall from grace.

“Stay here and ensure everything that transpires between us is kept classified,” he instructed.

“But sir,” protested the oni. “My orders were-”

“My orders were for you to escort me to a private questioning of the accused,” Koenma replied sharply. “This is a crucial part of the investigation and I will not have it hampered just because certain individuals insist on providing me a baby-sitter.”

“B-” The oni hesitated as the prince stepped into the darkness.

Irritated, he rubbed at the darkening bruise on his forehead. He managed to resist scratching the stitched wound at the apex of his skull, and instead sighed. “She’s not gonna hurt me,” he assured, this time in a much gentler voice. “And don’t tell George about this please?”

Before the oni could agree, the dungeon doors clang shut, imprisoning the prince with the traitor within.

Koenma stood still, his back to the door. His feet, as can be seen by its projection on the walls of the cell, broke the fine line of light that seeped from under the door. Patiently, he waited for his eyes to adjust partially, enabling to at least make out silhouettes.

“They didn’t even give you light,” he spoke suddenly. “Are your eyes all right now?”

“They’re fine,” replied a soft voice. “You just woke me up, that’s all. I got a bit surprised.”

Koenma snorted. “I should have told him to hold the torch way down the corridor. Now your eyes would have to readjust to the darkness again and you won’t be able to see properly till then.”

“What’s there to see?” she countered quietly. After a pause she added, “Besides, I’m grateful for the light. You know I hate the dark.”

“Funny, that you’re afraid of the dark but not of the Reikai soldiers,” he said levelly. “Or of my father for that matter.”

“Funny,” she agreed, equally level.

By then he could make out the spectral figure seated in the shadows, that of whom he came for. It was quite hard to miss since the cell was small. Towards that corner he made his way. He sat down beside her, and jumped slightly as he did. Ice needles shot up his rear end, but, with his teeth set, he sat down on the stone bed.

Despite his height, his feet were almost dangling - hers, definitely were, even if she slid off with only half her butt actually on the seat, as a good lady should be seated. He could not see her well enough to tell for sure, but he knew in his mind’s eye she was slouched. Perhaps, her hands were on her lap, toying with the hem of her kimono, or maybe her obi. Perhaps so, for he soon picked up movements of white, stark and pale. Her hands.

He reached for them without thought, but still gingerly, hesitantly. They were tinier, but as soft and smooth like his, minus the old familiar callous etched by the writing impediments that ruled his life. Those hands he knew well and have touched often, but the cold... They were too cold. Like ice. Like the stone. Like death.

Momentarily, the cold of the room was engulfed by a flash of anger from within him. Like a controlled campfire fed some foreign object, he flared out dangerously, the rush of rage’s heat, pain and gratification both. Tightly leashed, it was pushed aside- for her sake, if not for his. Still, his rational mind fought hard to regain control.

Her hands still...

He slowly released the breath he held , the air trapped in his lungs when he froze in a tight battle for self-control. The thin vapor curled out of his nose, odiously serpentine as it floated into the night. He released her hand, stood up, and wrenched of his cape, with a harshness that betrayed the turmoil beneath his unperturbed exterior. Clumsily, he wrapped her up, overruling her protest with a sharp tug of the cloth, blood red in the scanty light, around her frame. Roughly but tenderly.

Horribly out of character, he thought absently.

Again they sat in silence, with him a few inches closer this time. Their arms and shoulders brushed subtly from time to time as they breathed, hers being always scraggly and ugly, with that slight wheeze at the end. He stared down, instead, at the packed earth beneath his feet, almost seeing hers beside his. Almost.

“Keiko has come,” he said quietly.

Her shoulder stopped its constant shifting, flesh tensing.

Like stone.

Slowly, near carefully, she relaxed, breath shuddering from her lips.

“Fetched?” she asked simply.

“Ayame.”

“Ayame,” she repeated in a voice tinged, perhaps, with bitterness. Perhaps...

He waited for more.

“You were gentle with her?” it came, the question laced with a protective demand that anticipated only one answer.

“Of course.”

“And Yusuke?”

Koenma hesitated. “It couldn’t possibly be allowed,” he replied. “An aberration.”

“I know.” This time, the bitterness was no longer hinted.

“Nonetheless, he still came.”

She chuckled a humorless laugh. “It’s something he would do. So did Enma-sama set the guards on him?”

“No. He just came to see she was treated well. He didn’t interfere with something he had always known would come.”

Silence. Waiting unease.

Shhhhhh...

“He had to,” he added almost defensively. “I had to. You had to.”

“No,” she hissed rather sharply, the tinkling bells suddenly gone. “You didn’t. It was a perfect plan. I could have reached Ningenkai in time to save Keiko. Now, it’s too late. Too. Late.” Her voice died a way into a whisper, regretful and self-flagellating.

“Perfect, yes!” exclaimed Koenma, glaring at her fiercely, breaking his serene facade, like her. “I couldn't have planned it better myself. In fact, I couldn’t believe you did it all on your own. Not only because I didn’t think you’re smart enough but also because I couldn’t imagine anybody foolish enough to double-cross the Prince of Reikai and betray Reikai itself. Yes, Botan, you managed to get the sword despite the heightened security resulting from Hiei and Kurama’s stealing it before. That is something. Nobody suspected or expected it, you. Your plan was flawless but you forgot about one thing.”

“Why did you have to get involved?” She lashed out. Again she tightened, anger also leashed within her. “Everything was perfect, like you said. You shouldn’t have gotten involved!”

“I already was involved before then!” he retorted hotly. “Still am.”

Acceptance. Penitence. Punishment. It was not a place for such an accusatory confrontation. The air seem to thicken with shock, the faceless dark sternly admonishing their sacrilege.

Hush!

Submit she did to their disembodied audience. “I forgot,” she murmured, still taut, simmering. “I was under you. And you are the Prince of Reikai. It was your duty.”

But he.

No...

“Baka!” he thundered . “Your plan was NOT perfect. How can you be stupid enough not to cover your tail? You could have at least added subtlety to your escape.”

Prudence. Prudence, my lord...

A warning. From the depths of antiquity.

You know as well as us...

“Did subtlety ever sneaked its way around your father, Koenma-sama? Would I have actually gotten to Keiko in time?”

“You would have if you didn’t come back.”

“If you didn’t meddle.”

“I was covering your moronic ass, you bubblehead!” Koenma’s voice cracked sharply like a whip. The lethargy backed from them so. “If you didn’t hesitate, you wouldn’t be in here.”

“And you would?” Botan’s voice was tremulous. She shook her head. “Are you going to add that too? Koenma-sama, you can’t be that cruel. You can’t be...”

Her voice died away into a sob. Finally. And she softened against him, like a child, a remorseful child but still a defiant one.

Again he had to rise, and he knelt before her, barely feeling the earth’s glib touch. Tentatively, he reached for her, finding her face by that barely noticeable glint rolling down her cheek. He raised her chin, his hazel eyes coming to mirror the anguish in hers.

A glib whiff of air touched the cell. Then it was gone.

“Why?” he murmured almost pleadingly. “Why did you do it?”

Liquid glimmered in her eyes for a fraction of a breath, then slowly sidled down. “Why?” she repeated mockingly. “You weren’t able to figure that one out, o my genius prince?”

“Tell me.” His hold on her chin was as firm as voice.

“Yusuke... Keiko... Simply that.”

“Yes. Simply that. It always has been simply that.”

“I can’t bear it.”

“They’ve always known. You’ve always known. Did you ever maintain a shred of hope that nature would deviate it’s course for a trifle cause? I’ve warned you time and time again.”

“Keiko’s too young to die. The least Reikai could do is give them more time together. Is this all thanks he gets for busting his back for you?”

Koenma loosened his hold, but let his hand slide down on her shoulder. For support, perhaps. Finally, he spoke. “Things happen beyond our control, and rewards aren‘t often in forms we can recognize.”

“Fate?” she almost spat out. “I’m sick of being ruled by Fate. Sick of it! I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be pulled from eternal rest and set about to hover between life and death. I didn't ask to live forever.”

Ingratitude, child...

“And yet you wish to bestow this gift on your best friend?”

“Yusuke needs her. And the children-! They need their mother.”

“There are millions of children who lose their mothers. People lose other people. They deal with it.”

“I suppose so.” She hesitated. “Because they all go sooner or later. But you... me...”

Koenma said nothing. Outside, the torch sputtered, perhaps wishing to aid the prince with words. The glow of the thin line dimmed.

“Yusuke, too.”

“Yusuke wouldn’t wish to follow her too soon. He knows what he has to do.”

“But why so soon?” she repeated in anguish. “So soon...”

“It’s a kindness, I think, for her to die this early. Quick and relatively painless. Would you rather she die slowly. her death stretching years, her pain wasting not only her body, but also her spirit?”

“A cancer at her age! Fate-”

“It happens.”

“He would live hundreds more without her. What’s ten years more? I’m sure Fate...”

“Would you like him to watch her? Watch her age and change, diminish under his very eyes? He might not realize it, but it’s much kinder this way. Less painful. A quick severing. Done. Final. Forever. And she’ll never be away from his side. Ever.”

“Where? In thoughts? Dreams? Memories? I’ve known that.” Botan shook her head. “No. Don’t you see? With the sword’s help it could be for real, too. If I had only known what I do now... Hiei’s strike with the sword... I wouldn’t have tried to stop-”

“So that she can die and be reborn again, so that her disease-ravaged body can be renewed? Not her, Botan. She isn’t youkai. She isn’t like Yusuke. Do you remember why you worked so hard to keep that Jagan on her forehead close all those years ago?”

“She would lose herself. Get taken over by an new being.” The self-righteous conviction that radiated from her earlier was gone now, and head slumped in defeat. But his hand returned to her chin, softly this time, lightly, lifting it.

“Yes, we can’t be that cruel. We can’t take her away like that. We can’t get carried away by our disillusions. Let them be... Let it be.”

Her face tightened pugnaciously, and her voice quivered with tears. “We can’t let it be. I can’t let it be...”

“Believe me.” His hand began shaking, too, slipping down as his strength debilitated. “If I could do otherwise...”

“I know,” she murmured, taking hold of his hand lovingly, cradling it against her face. “I know.”

Triumph.

He gazed at her in that darkness, her image well-formed in his mind, the happy-go-lucky girl he had known for so long superimposed on that blurry shadow of a battered convict. But suddenly, like a man gripped with an onslaught of madness, he sprang to his feet.

“But I could!” he declared. “I could do otherwise. They cannot make do something I do not want.”

“Koenma-sama-” Botan stared at him through her wet lashes disbelievingly. “I-”

“Let’s go! Come with me. You said you’d come with me. You hate this predestination business as much as I do, don’t you? Let’s leave!”

He yanked her by the arm, determination, and a thinly-veiled passion, roughening his gesture. But she flinched as his grip hit a tender spot. And pain, that poignant reminder of reality, roused him to his senses. Anger overrode his excitement.

“They’ve hurt you!” he growled. “I swear they’ll-”

“Because I hurt you,” answered Botan calmly. She reached up and touched his forehead, touched that ugly bruise that marred his baby skin.

Again he slipped down on his knees. “Why are you so calm?” he asked almost wonderingly. “This isn’t like you.”

“Koenma-sama.” She gathered him to her lap. Like a child, indulgently. Like a child. “Not like you, either.”

And she stared blankly into the darkness. That emptiness... That void.

We are inescapable...

Oblivion.

Us.

Always that.

Yes.

“Give me this, Koenma,” she whispered, stroking his head gently.

“No.” Stubborn. Always. He set his face heard against her lap. His arms clasped around her waist possessively. “You’re so generous to Yusuke and Keiko,” he said resentfully. “And yet you have no qualms about dumping me.”

Her grip on his hair suddenly tightened, but the pain it caused was deliriously counter effective to the pain inside.

“I’m tired,” she pleaded. “I’m so tired. Please. It can’t be. They will always win. It can never be. And I am so tired.”

“Fate be damned!” shrieked Koenma. “Not once-” He choked into a murmur. “Never have I. Never. And-”

“And you can’t start now,” said Botan. “We can’t be selfish. You said so yourself.”

“And now you’re listening to me?” he said tiredly.

“I am selfish.” Her tone was low, accusatory. And hopeless. It chilled him more than the earth underfoot, or the atmosphere that unexpectedly tensed into that angered iciness. “I’m sorry but I am weak like they say. I’m not strong enough to sacrifice myself. I’m not as great as Yusuke or Kurama or Hiei... Or you, Koenma-sama.”

Fiercely, he pulled her down to him. Only vaguely did he wonder whether or not she had hurt herself as she stumbled unto his lap. Physical pain did not matter. It was nothing.

“Rubbish,” he declared as he clung to her violently. “Trash. I have given them everything I’ve got. And I shall be selfish even for once. For once.”

“I’m not as strong as you are. I can’t bear them like you. I will have to let go of you. I will. That is the will of Fate. But I can’t see through eternity, Koenma-sama. I am tired. Give me this, please. I will let go.”

And yet, she did not, gripping him with a strength hardly possible coming from her slender arms. In turn, he returned the strength from spindly arms never noted for limber or might, testing their very bones, teasing breakage. Tears, and sweat, drool and mucus, mixed together in a wild mess. Neither cared. Panting and sobbing and sniveling, they were a mass of limbs and hair jumbled together. It didn’t feel cold anymore.

“I will be selfish even once,” he swore through gritted teeth. “ I will be.”

“Koenma-” His name rolled on her tongue. Wonderful his name sounded in his hear. Most loved, most hated at the same time, said in her voice,

He lifted his head from the nest of her beautiful blue hair, as if challenging . He glared, daring, taunting the heavens to tremble, waiting for Fate’s hands to crush the words in his throat.

“Ai shiteru.”

And the darkness swallowed them both.

ai ai ai ai ai ai ai ai ai ai ai ai

The darkness certainly took its time to shrug off its stodgy solidness. It gave way at once, like a silk curtain, parting smoothly when he finally willed it so. The sudden light was harsh to his eyes, as if to deliver an admonishment for his being so timid of consciousness.

I have reasons for being so, he thought. I can’t remember. Voices...

Sheer cloth draped from the canopy overhead. The wood paneling of his bed was partially open now, through which the sun shot through. Usually it enclosed him in his slumber, a protection for the heir.

Like a coffin. Solid walls all around and round and round and round...

His eyes focused gradually, and he was able to make out the figure at his bedside. That man he had known for so little time, if set against all his years in existence. But also, he was the man he had known the longest, considering the seconds he had given to millions of others that barely passed his way. He wasn’t noticeably old, outwardly still the same from when Koenma first saw him. But there was much change, too. Much of it markedly recent.

Ai, ai, ai... That was the song. Why did they chant so? Maybe it report from Ningenkai that caused the dream. Why was it written in Greek anyway?

“Sleep well?” Yusuke asked almost wistfully.

Koenma nodded hesitantly. “Good morning.”

“’Morning.”

“You’ve-” Koenma stopped. “You didn’t need to watch over me.” He sat up gingerly, propped against the pillows.

Yusuke shrugged. “No.”

“You might be needed back home.”

“I’ve taken care of the earthly arrangements. They need time alone, too.”

They drifted into a quietness. Naturally, willingly.

A red cloth... Bloody red in that darkness... he thought. Vaguely, he could still remember his dream. It slipped from her shoulders, flowing gracefully down the wet pavement. Yes, that rusty smell. And the clash and clash of metal. Like the gush of blood... That red shroud. Ominous. A smile. Sadness. And his dream faded into non-remembrance...

“They’ve reprocessed her.”

Reprocessing was the stripping of duties and the accompanying privileges of an entity working for Reikai, allowing the individual to resume its journey of death interrupted so long ago.

So it was all a dream?

Koenma gazed back at the man who felt it his duty to tell him something he had already known before knowing. The dark brown eyes were not seeing him totally, it seemed, focused on something- someone- bodily absent.

You have no idea how much I envy you...

“Perhaps, she’s accompanying Keiko the rest of the way,” murmured Yusuke nonchalantly.

He nodded. Perhaps so. And he gazed out his intricately barred window, into the vast velvetiness of the taiga down below. The sun dancing in the expensive crystal stained the lush green suffused with gray fog. Perhaps, that single shaft retained its original warmth despite the frigid winter air. Perhaps...

Ai, ai, ai...

End

Comments: -.-; That was cheerful, all right. ~.~ ;;;; Arg. Too much gothic romance novels.
This thing was inspired by the earlier YYH episodes about the three objects stolen from Reikai: the sword, mirror, and gem. The sword apparently turned people into youkai. In that specific episode, Hiei kidnapped Keiko to lure Yusuke into bringing the two other objects he regained from Kurama and ... forgot the other’s name. ^^; Anyway, Hiei wounded Keiko with it, and a Jagan began to open in her forehead, through which, Hiei could control her. Botan used her power to keep it from opening totally, until Kurama came to help Yusuke, Hiei was defeated, the antidote was administered and so on...
*sigh*
^^;
Thank you for your time. =)