Time on Second-hand Wings

- A 'Clover' fanfiction written by RinoaDestiny; all characters and rights are CLAMP's -

Long time ago, if he could weave a thread from faery tales into the story of his life, Gingetsu remembered being like Suu. He held the evidence of it in his hand, heavy and cold and implacable and it reminded him of prison. It was there, waiting for him, right after they branded him with the tattoo that forever marked him as an outsider. As a Clover, dangerous and isolated.

The bed sheets are crisp and fresh, smelling of orchids and rain after dawn. He lay curled on top of them, unmoving and the tight military shirt welded to his spine. He had the week off, asking Wizard Shuu for a boon, and the old man complied, as if knowing the reason why. Closing his eyes, hearing the soft pattering of rain against fogged glass, the Lieutenant Colonel felt himself drifting off. He hadn't slept well the night before or the night before that, even.

Always, the reminder of his existence haunted him.

He'd left the visor on the bed stand, willing its complicity with his demand for reality. There was no reason to hide from anyone now, not even himself. Reopening his eyes, vision focusing on the dull gray pastel squares and rectangles of the walls, Gingetsu slid his gaze over to the ordinary bed stand. Beneath the smooth polished surface were four drawers. Each of the four bore a keyhole and the keys to match, locking their secrets within. He'd locked away a part of himself – a reluctant piece of his history – for years, starting after his enlistment with the military.

It meant nothing: a shallow symbolism.

He still had to face the brutal reality – the awareness – that he had to hide.

So, he did. He did it with long sleeves and cuffs, shrouding his wrist with starched fabrics and synthetic fibers and all the while, he felt the emptiness. The separation. Society moving around him in circles he could never join or attend and silence became him. He spoke less and less, until he spoke only when necessary. His superiors – the Wizards – called him Lieutenant Colonel but his subordinates nicknamed him otherwise. The Iceman. The Statue. Things of that nature and all the while, he lived through the military because the orderliness of it kept him sane.

Then, Kazuhiko Fay Ryuu entered his life.

The younger man was intolerable – a distraction. Court martials left and right, all on breached protocol and Gingetsu remembered how he'd told Ryuu that he was lucky to escape the brig. Ryuu, with his smugness – in the days before Oruha appeared – told him he had luck. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd done anything wrong, right?

Gingetsu, with a great amount of control, had kept from replying to that.

Then, as if Ryuu wasn't enough, Ran entered his life.

Gingetsu closed his eyes again, tighter, feeling the horrible ache arise in him. He hadn't been able to sleep, remembering. It wasn't just the laughter, the lankiness, or the charming way the young man moved; Ran had encompassed all. Had become his life, entwined with it in a way that bound him hostage to life and love.

He was able to forget, if for a brief moment. He had five years.

On the wall, the antiquated clock tick-tocked; smooth numbered face staring at him in absentminded scrutiny. Everything felt hollow. Sitting up, fingers still locked around the object he'd brought from the depths of the drawer, Gingetsu studied his room. The elaborate but square carved headboard, adding a modern and classy touch to the king-sized bed. Behind him was the window, rising high and elegant, etched out in steel and glass. He saw the washed out patterns the rain made, amorphous and ever-changing. Silken water against cold glass and the weak remnants of sunshine casting those particular shadows.

His room. He hadn't been in it since Ran moved in.

The reminder hurt.

Finally, he forced himself to look down. When he did, his fingers closed so tight that it left imprints on his skin for the rest of the day.

Ryuu noticed, of course. He always did. "Everything the matter, Gingetsu?" Opening the window behind him after the rain, letting in the breeze. He noticed it, barely, the cold air circulating around his lightly-clad frame. The mattress squeaked, giving way as the younger man sat beside him, concern on his face. "Are you all right?"

He kept his back straight and his profile unchanged but knowing Ryuu, the other man would be able to figure out something was wrong. He wasn't wearing his visor and even then, Ryuu had that strange way of reading his expressions. More so now, since the pain lingered and he felt that he was going to fall apart if he spoke.

So Gingetsu kept silent.

"You know," the dark-haired ex-soldier glanced around the room, "this was the same place you put me after Fairy Park." Another memory, another loss and it's personal for him as well. Another Clover consigned to the flames, to the early grave. "You had me hooked up on all these IVs and with that infernal monitor with that song..."

His voice trailing off, remembering.

"Look," Ryuu faced him, eye to eye and he saw his reflection in the other's glasses, pale and unwell and exhausted, "I know what you're going through. I lost Oruha and Suu, don't forget." The other man hushed him as he opened his mouth, flicking his hand out like a stop beacon. "You're about to say it's not the same, aren't you? That it's different with you and Ran. It's not."

He wanted to protest but the aching increased and he had no words to retort with.

Kazuhiko sighed. Removed his glasses, polished them, and set them back on the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what I can say to you right now. I wouldn't have listened to anything you told me back then, too. But I'm here, at any time, if you need me. You know how to get a hold of me."

It's Ryuu's way of saying good-bye.

"Gingetsu...just because Ran's gone...doesn't mean you should do this to yourself."

Then, he's gone, vacating the premises and Gingetsu sat there, the words turning spirals in his head and turning, turning, turning even as he fell back, awash in the cold amidst the wrinkled white bed sheets.

Kazuhiko's words faded from memory, voluntarily repressed as the days dragged on. He sometimes awoke, uncertain when he fell asleep and the seconds and minutes and hours blurred into a suffocating miasma. Only the consistent tick-tock of the clock told him where the time had gone, announcing the arrival of dawn or the heavy drape of nightfall. He stopped eating and hardly did more than wet his mouth. He learned that his room was safe and that it was where he belonged.

He knew what he was doing to himself but it hardly mattered anymore.

His apartment was once a cage for Ran. A sparse one but a cage with invisible bars nonetheless. It only made sense – it was punishment for himself – that he encaged himself when Ran was gone. He was a Clover, a simple Two-Leaf who wasn't simple at all.

There was a bomb, a kill device, lodged in his head.

It was he who requested it.

Gingetsu watched as half a week passed, slow and inexorable and steady like an executioner's approach. He watched as the lights outside the window flickered to life, bright and welcoming and yet, so cold and distant from where he lay. He kept his uniform in the closet, under wraps and felt his standard-issue shirt becoming a second skin. He became acquainted with the smooth texture of the peaks and valleys of the blankets and sheets beneath him. Watched as the shadows on the walls shifted, paneling his room in an array of contrasts.

He knew what he was doing.

'A' wouldn't have to do anything at all.

Ryuu tried to put a stop to all of it. Hadn't heard from him for four days and then barged in with the key he'd loaned him long time ago. Stopped dead-still in the middle of the room, eyes opening with disbelief and silence cut across all the words that could be said. Kazuhiko took a step forward, carefully, as if treading through a minefield. "Gingetsu?"

He craned his neck, lifting it a scant inch from the blankets and looked Ryuu straight in the eye. Saw the confirmation of Kazuhiko's worst fears emerge before the man closed the distance, one hand on the carved headboard and the other on his shoulder.

"Gingetsu," Ryuu's hand warm against his flesh, "you should've called me."

He sank back into the blankets, aware that the other man awaited a response. He had nothing to say and with Kazuhiko here, his mind went blank. There was nothing to say; what words did he have?

The hand left his shoulder, leaving behind a void of ice. His room was frozen; he no longer had the strength or the will to arise and do ordinary tasks, like turning on the heat. In his scattered, ephemeral dreams, there were colors and sounds like fluttering wings and the warmth of sunshine. The fresh-cut fragrance of grass and a pure utter whiteness like long draped curtains, filmy and translucent, billowing in the gentle breezes.

He was unaware of Ryuu leaving and Ryuu returning, the clinking of silverware and china marking a solemn melody in step with the man's stride. "Here," and the fine bone-white, gilded tray slid across the blankets, flattening cotton terrain. "It's not much but you need it, Gingetsu." Buttered toast and the sharp astringency of coffee. He hadn't eaten and his stomach contracted, painfully.

"Don't do this to yourself."

It took him a modicum of his strength to lift himself but he compromised by propping himself on his elbow. It struck him, immediately, that Ryuu was careful in what he chose. How many cabinets and cupboards did he rummage through, looking for the scarce cache of coffee when everything else was tea? He kept his eyes down, suddenly – almost too quickly – aware of what his expression must've been.

He was afraid he had tears in his eyes.

"Don't rush yourself." Kazuhiko pulling a chair forward but instead of sitting, remained standing. Had turned to look away, as if realizing what this moment meant for him. Giving him privacy, covering him with his presence but not being brusque about it.

It meant a lot to him.

The coffee scalded his tongue on its way down, burning his parched lips. He hadn't realized he'd gotten so weak and when he placed the cup down, it clattered against the tray. On the verge of crying, Gingetsu covered his face with his hand and waited. Waited for it to pass. One breath and then two, followed by three and four. Silenced himself before the storm in him broke.

"You're not eating the toast, are you?"

He allowed his silence – the pale quiet – to speak for him.

"You know, Gingetsu...I've been thinking." Footfalls – the step and clack of civilian shoes – back and forth, tracking a line from one carved rectangle to another. "I know you're on holiday but does the Council know what you're trying to do?"

So, Ryuu knew as well.

"I've already told you," and he heard the smile drip its sadness, "that you shouldn't die before me. You made that promise to me – swore it to me back when I served under you. Back when I realized that you really didn't care, didn't stop to think that other people could be hurt if you left. That other people will cry if you leave like this."

But that's where Ryuu's wrong. It's the reason why he tried not to care. Because it hurt too much if he did, knowing where it would all lead. Where it was heading like it was now.

"Gingetsu, I can't force you. I know that. It's just...you don't need to be doing this to yourself. Are you really so eager to let all of this go...because of Ran? Because...it's too much?"

He can't answer that.

Ryuu smiled and it's sad, aging the smooth planes of his face. The goldtone cuff on his earlobe gleamed, a brief flash as his former deputy officer turned aside. He saw the telltale slash of white, etched with faded bloodstains. The Four-Leaf. Fairy Park. He was there when the place exploded. When Suu died and with it, the most powerful of them all faded.

Disappeared into obscurity. Into the unknown.

When his door clicked shut, Gingetsu said good-bye.

"Shuu of the Parliamentary Council, please." His voice, weakened by lack of food and water, was faint. It wasn't the same as before, when he stood tall and proud and spoke quietly but was heard. Standing on the last threshold, he had one more favor to ask and only Wizard Shuu could grant him that. If it's given to him at all.

His visor flickered, linking to Shuu's signal and the old man materialized on his screen interface, picture clear. He doesn't say anything, waiting for Shuu to speak. Only then, can he say his part.

"Is everything well, Lieutenant Colonel?"

"Shuu," he wet his lips; throat aching, "I have another favor to ask of you."

The Wizard's weathered brows rose, white as clouds in an iron-gray sky. "Is everything all right with you, my boy? You know you are expected back. We're all waiting for your return."

He doesn't laugh, because he knew he'd give himself away. "Shuu, Kazuhiko Fay Ryuu was my deputy officer. A very good one." He doesn't mention the numerous court martials or all the scrapes he'd gotten into because of Ryuu's antics. "If he comes asking you about the One-Leaf Oruha's death or her killer, please assist him. He doesn't realize yet that he's been among us – that he's knee-deep in the Clover Leaf Project without being one. He needs closure, Shuu."

"Gingetsu, my boy, that's not an easy favor you're asking."

"It's the last one I'll trouble you with."

Wizard Shuu paused on his screen, brows furrowed in thought and Gingetsu waited, heart hammering against his sternum, agitated. If Shuu turned his request down, then all would be for naught. He had to leave Ryuu with something – one last unasked for gift – before everything ended.

Oruha died and Ryuu didn't even know who was responsible for pulling the trigger.

With Ran, at least he knew. The Three-Leaf had died in his sleep, old age claiming him at last and Gingetsu remembered – the image crystalline and sharp through his grief – at how devastated he was when he awoke to find him gone. The shock settling in, knife-like and how it started this...this downward plunge that he continued on, reckless in his pain and despondent with his own helplessness.

The knowledge of both failed to save him.

"Lieutenant Colonel."

Gingetsu's head snapped up, eyes widening with apprehension.

"I will grant you this request if you can fulfill one of mine." Over the visor, the old wizened man smiled but Gingetsu read it and blinked. "I will ensure that your former officer, Kazuhiko Fay Ryuu is given access to all available records regarding the One-Leaf Oruha. However, you must make arrangements for your replacement. You will be missed, my boy. Finding a military man worth your value is difficult to come by, nowadays."

He found it hard to speak. Forced back the lump in his throat, the welling of tears. "Will he be harmed for what he knows? Will you ensure his safety, Shuu?"

Laying down the groundwork for Ryuu. Guarding his life even as he lost his own.

"He will not be harmed. I guarantee it."

"Thank you."

It is only when the links are severed and his visor discarded, a tumble of silver-blue plastic on the floor that Gingetsu laid down and cried. Above him, keeping pace and alignment with the world, the clock ticked down its seconds.

Ryuu visited him for the last time; one last remembrance before the end. Sat down in the neglected chair, pulled it close, and held him tight, strong hands encircling his shoulders. Resignation and disbelief and sadness and Gingetsu felt them emanate from the man as he responded in turn, clasping Ryuu's wrist with his frail grasp.

Beside him, on the bed, was the cuff with all its intricate metalwork and screws.

Ryuu knew now.

"You should've told me, Gingetsu."

He closed his eyes, aware of his slight and of Kazuhiko's patience. Of Ryuu's fingers on his wrist, feeling the bones that forged the framework and circuitry beneath the inked tattoo.

"You know," Kazuhiko said, voice catching, "Suu used to wear something like this. She didn't let me know until it was her time. Until she was ready to be gone."

He kept his eyes shut. It wasn't like they had a choice, the few of them who had to hide or be feared. Mocked. Only a scant number, those like Oruha, were able to transform them into something else. He admired her courage, her audacity but realized that she, like the rest of them, still kept it secret. If even the One-Leafs did that, how could he, a Two-Leaf dare to do more? How could the Four-Leaf do less?

"I would've listened."

So much to that but it's too late for him now.

"You already knew, didn't you, Gingetsu?" A lonely ache in Kazuhiko's voice, tone low enough so that it was almost inaudible. "You already knew what was going to happen to you...when Ran died."

He didn't. He was aware of the possibilities but he'd never expected it to undermine him like this. By then, when he realized it, he was too far gone to turn those hands back, to return him to normalcy. To before.

"Ryuu," he said and his own voice shocked him, even now, at how fragile it sounds. "When Suu died...how did you..."

The other man's gaze softened, melting deeper into melancholy.

"I didn't. Not at first. But I had to, Gingetsu. I had to. There was no point otherwise in returning."

There was the difference. The former Lieutenant Colonel bowed his head, seeing the chasm and Ryuu's heat and solidity stayed until night sheeted the windows black and the lights came on, one by one burning, temporal and finite and illusory.

Above him spun the slow circles of an antique fan, wooden blades slicing through turgid air and reflected in patina bronze, distorted and strange. Gingetsu lost track of time; only the constant reassurance of the clock marked its passage with strident persistence. It was raining again, silken and glassy and moiré patterns glided, unceasing and shifting, across the expanse of where he lay.

He wasn't a One-Leaf but he knew.

It was too late to go back now. Too late to return.

Halfway through one of those dreams – the curtains again, white and drifting and beautiful – there was a sound in the distance. It unraveled, a thin and small spinning and then reversed, converging in the step-fall step-fall of tiny footsteps. The footsteps made their way towards his room, ended where the door began.

The door opened, a panel of white, and the footsteps came through.

Small sounds, curious ones and Gingetsu couldn't muster any strength to resist as pearl-white fingers took a hold of his wrist. A tiny sound, almost a chirp, like a bird calling. "Why?"

He knew the voice, could place it but this was unexpected. He wondered if he was still dreaming, because by now, he should be dead.

"Why?"

He doesn't have much of a voice left to reply. "Because..." and he left it like that.

It was enough. Fingers loosed his wrist, letting it fall back onto the dusty bed sheets and the footsteps pattered back, away from him. The door doesn't open again but the sound – the sound of near-silent ribbons unfolding, unraveling and unknotting was as the sound of light, of nothing and everything, and what the sound white would've made if it had such a voice.