After Shuei

[moonshadows]

            I slip silently through the woods, Hakuryuu drifting back occasionally to tell me how far ahead my target is. Goku is sleeping happily after a big supper; Gojyo is pretending to guard Sanzo’s room. I, in turn, am pretending to be out shopping. “Picking something up” is how I phrased it, and if Gojyo guessed at my meaning, he didn’t let on.

            Hakuryuu glides up and lands on my forearm. An impression of a clearing, and an invisible bubble around it, with me just outside the bubble. I stop. This must be the outer limits of Rikudo’s range for sensing youkai chi. Hakuryuu, being a dragon, is another story. I give her an image of Sanzo and Rikudo in the clearing, then remove Rikudo from the image and add the image/feeling sequence that asks her to come and get me. She chirps and bobs her head, then flies off again. I lean against a tree, and try not to worry obsessively over the shoddy healing job I did on Sanzo. It really was a lousy job; I hadn’t been eating enough and barely had the chi to close the wound. There was almost no reinforcement – any amount of exertion is likely to tear it open again.

            Hakuryuu’s return breaks my train of thought. She chirps in a tone that indicates concern and shifts into jeep form, revving the engine slightly. I quickly climb in and we shoot down the trail. It isn’t more than a minute before I see Sanzo propped up against a tree. We skid to a stop and I leap out, carefully transferring Sanzo into the front seat and holding him up while Hakuryuu picks her way back to town.

            Sanzo stirs as we pull up to the inn, and before I can say anything he’s out of the jeep and inside. The innkeeper says he went to take a bath, so I slip into his room to wait for him. It’s not just the physical wound I’m worried about; Rikudo was once Shuei, and knew Sanzo before . . . before a lot of things happened to wound Sanzo where the bleeding cannot be seen. Silently, in the darkening room, I wait for the better part of an hour before I hear footsteps in the hall.

            Sanzo walks into the darkened room, sighs, and closes the door. He rests his head against it a moment, then turns to face me.

            “I should have known you’d be here.” His words hold none of their usual bite, and he sounds beyond resigned – almost bone-weary. “Didn’t I tell you once not to worry about me?”

            I smile apologetically, but inside I’m cringing. Sanzo’s rhetorical question is a weak protest, a token attempt to push me away, but it’s more than that. It’s a plea for something Sanzo wants, needs, even craves – but can never admit to, even to himself, except by omission. This is the only way he can let himself voice that plea, and that fact that he’s doing so indicates that the fight with Rikudo/Shuei has shaken Sanzo to his core.

            “I apologize for being such a worry-wart,” I say, keeping my voice light to pretend I don’t know how badly this is affecting Sanzo, and keep his façade of grumpiness intact. “Unfortunately, in order for me not to worry about you, I have to be sure there is nothing to worry about.” I gesture to the bed, still smiling apologetically, and Sanzo reluctantly walks over to it and lies down, opening is robe so that I can examine the wound which nearly killed him. I seat myself beside the bed and spread my hands above the wound, which did re-open. I chide myself again for doing such a shoddy job on it, and for not having had the energy to do a better job. Well, I ate like Gojyo after that, so my reserves are completely full. I tease the edges of the tear back together and begin the easier task of thickening the skin.

            “Why do you worry about me so much, anyway?”

            My heart turns to ice and the old, familiar pain tears into me. Between the aftermath of the fight and my reassuring presence, the last of Sanzo’s masks must have fallen away. He is completely open now, more vulnerable than a new-born infant and as fragile as the first shred of hope after years of despair. I lick my lips; he’s not looking at me, as though by looking up at the ceiling he can pretend that he’s asked the question to an empty room.

            “I believe I asked you a similar question, once,” I say, choosing my words carefully and keeping my voice light but not filling it with false cheer. “And I would have to say that my answer – my reasons – would probably be the same as yours.”

            Sanzo turns his head, looking away from me, and my heart cries because that’s the only barrier he has left to put between himself and the rest of the world. “If you save a failure, is it still a success?”

            The words I once threw at him, and filled with bitterness and self-loathing. Sanzo is completely vulnerable, and begging for validation of his entire existence. I gently rest my right hand on his now-healed wound.

            “Sanzo.” He does not turn at my serious tone. With two fingers on his jawbone I turn his head towards me, leaving them there once our eyes have locked so that both hands are touching skin. I continue, voice completely open and serious, willing Sanzo to understand the things that can’t be put into words. “As long as we’re both alive, neither of us is a failure.”

            A long moment of shared pain and things unsaid passes between us, and then with a sigh Sanzo closes his eyes. I let my hands drop, and without saying a word Sanzo opens his robe further to reveal a second, very nasty gash. His eyes are still closed, and a tear escapes one to run down his face and into hair still wet from his bath. Silently, I place both hands on his wound and begin healing it, pouring my entire reserve of strength into the task as though I were healing Sanzo’s fractured soul.

            By the time the wound is closed and healed, my eyes are burning from fatigue and Sanzo has long since fallen into an exhausted sleep. I leave the room as quietly as possible, staggering slightly as I go to my own room and collapse onto my own bed. Tired as I am, however, I am still the first one up in the morning and by the time the others have emerged from their rooms, I have fed myself and prepared breakfast for them. When Sanzo walks into the room, I examine him carefully to gauge his mental state. He meets my eyes for an instant, then looks away. He remembers what passed between us last night, and is grateful for it – but he has bleeding wounds in his heart, where my healing can not reach. It will take time for Sanzo to recover from the emotional aftermath, and for several days he will need to be let alone.

            Gojyo is occupied with breakfast, still drooping a bit from his divine anemia. Goku looks at Sanzo, then turns his golden gaze upon me in what for him is an unusual display of subtlety. I shake my head silently, and Goku resumes eating without pestering Sanzo. Breakfast is unbroken by words until I ask Goku to help me pack Hakuryuu. Once outside, I explain to Goku a simplified version of what’s wrong with Sanzo, and ask him to not bother Sanzo for a few days.

            We’re ready to leave shortly after breakfast. Goku and Gojyo climb into the back seat while I go searching for Sanzo. He is in his room, back to the door and looking out a window. I put my hand on his shoulder and quietly tell him we’re ready to go. Sanzo doesn’t respond, and I turn to leave, but his hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. I turn back to face him, and for a long moment he looks deeply into my eyes as though searching my soul, then –

            “Thank you,” he says, simply.

            A thousand things I can’t say pass through my mind. Instead, I clasp his hand in both of mine, and let that act say all the things that can never be spoken aloud. I smile, one that proclaims all to be right in the world, and release his hand.

            “The others are waiting,” I say, and with a grunt Sanzo stalks out of the room. I follow him out, and we resume our journey west.