Notes:  Wow, the last chapter.  *whistles*  Huge, huge thanks to everyone who has read this fic, everyone who has encouraged me to write more, and everyone who forgave the less-than-stellar quality of the first few chapters and, instead, focused on the better writing of the later ones. ^_~.  Shockingly, this is only the third large Fushigi Yuugi fanfiction that I've ever finished, and despite how sad it will be not to write in it again, it feels good to finish it.  *nod*  ...as for warnings, this chapter has nothing in it that could be considered offensive--one Tasuki Language moment, I think--although you should be aware that I have rewritten Miaka's final speech to the seishi a tiny bit, just because while what she said makes great spoken dialogue, it doesn't read terribly well. ^_~.  So, anyway . . . arrigato, minna.  It was great fun. ^__^.  ~Ryuen

PS:  A very good point made by Threshie concerning Chiriko in the Chapter 28--all I can say in response is that the point isn't how/why Chiriko was killed, but that he was. *nod*  But excellent point!  *gold star* ^_^.

PPS:  Suggested music for reading this chapter:  Somewhere Out There by Our Lady Peace. *fervent nodding*

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[The Last Wish]

Chapter 29: 

Ready To Go.

~*~

The world grew fuzzy around her, streaks of grey slicing through the solidity of the kitchen, and there was a sound like rushing air, a sound like a train roaring by at a hundred miles an hour.  Trembling, Miaka squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her hands to her face to cover it, and a warm, summery breeze swirled around her. 

Minna . . . I'm sorry.  I couldn't change it.  I'm sorry . . .

She was aware, suddenly, of the inexplicable knowledge of being somewhere else, of her body being straightened into a standing position, and of something hard forming beneath her feet.  There were new sounds, now:  the frantic honking of horns, the distant whine of sirens--the rippling moan of the injured.  Through it all rose the crumbing crash of stone on stone, the crackle of flames, and--from so near that it made her heart ache--the rapid in-out of Tamahome trying to catch his breath.

Miaka opened her eyes.

Tokyo was rubble around her, buildings cracked and broken, debris and twisted lamp posts and crushed-in cars scattered like discarded toys.  The sky was dark and streaked with grey, threatening a storm, and she had the sudden memory of a great dragon, poking its head above the sea of shattered buildings and swimming through the clouds--but, that was over, wasn't it?  She had sealed Seiryuu, had performed her duties as Suzaku no Miko . . .

No.  No, she had performed all her duties but one.

Her friends stood gathered around her, Tamahome looking weary but happy at her side, the other seishi clustered together a few feet away, chattering about what she should use her last wish for--didn't they know?  Didn't they remember?  Didn't they feel that something was different, that so much had changed?

They . . .

She stared at them in silent shock for a moment--Tasuki.  Chichiri.  Mitsukake.  Nuriko.  Hotohori.  Chiriko.  And beside her, smiling out at the world like a proud father, Tamahome.  Their eyes were clear of shadows, their features smoothed into what could only be described as joy.  Relief.

They don't remember any of it, do they?  Nothing.  Why??  Why am I the only one allowed to remember?  What good does it do when none of them knows what happened?

"What the fuck you talkin' about?  She's gonna wish for her 'n Tama to be together!"

Startled from her thoughts by Tasuki's grating baritone, Miaka turned slightly and let her eyes meet Tamahome's.  The dark-haired seishi was still looking bruised and battered, streaks of dried blood visible on his bare chest, and she knew the moment she looked at him that she wanted to be with him forever.  She remembered, suddenly, being just a normal girl with him--going to school together.  Thinking about the Prom.  Had that world been allowed to exist, they might have gotten married, had children, grown old together . . . but, now?  What would become of them now, if she wished for him to be allowed to remain with her in this world?  How long would it be before someone noticed that he had no shadow, that mirrors reflected nothing but the world behind him--could they even have children?

Suzaku, it's not fair.  It's not fair!  We love each other, but . . . but, we can't be together, can we?

Her eyes traveled, again, to the rubble that surrounded her, to what remained of downtown Tokyo.  What about the people who had been injured here?  What about the people who lived and worked here, who belonged here as she belonged here?  What about them?  Were they to be left to suffer and silently rebuild, always remembering the day when the sky was darkened by the form of a giant dragon, while she lived happily with her wish? 

Last time.  Last time . . . I was selfish.  I thought I was doing what was best for everyone, but I wasn't.  I was being selfish, and because of me, my friends had to suffer.  I . . . I won't let anyone suffer because of me again.  I can't.

Drawing a deep, steady breath, Miaka turned, placed one hand on Tamahome's shoulder, and rose on tip-toe to whisper into his ear.  After glancing at her in shock, his eyes large and questioning, he nonetheless nodded, and with his hand clasped tightly in hers, she spoke the word that had been waiting on her tongue for what seemed a lifetime.

"Kaijin."

Tendrils of black swirled around her, circling her in dark ribbons, drawing her upwards; moments later, she found herself in a mist of empty, endless darkness, her only company a warm, round red light that pulsed like a beacon in the distance.  She wasn't sure how she knew how, but somehow, she propelled her body forwards, floating through the darkness like a ghost.  As that sphere of crimson grew larger, a warmth began to travel through her body, and she knew that finally, finally, she was where she was supposed to be.

Suzaku whispered into being in front of her, floating from the red sphere like a scarlet mist; his body was that of a beautiful, slender young man with fiery hair, and a crimson glow rippled over his flesh like flame.

"Suzaku," Miaka whispered.  The mere sight of him brought tears stinging to her eyes, but she forced them back with all of her willpower.  Anger was clenching in her muscles and trembling through her limbs, and if she didn't focus on it, if she didn't cling to it, she would never be able to find the courage to say what she had to say. 

When she finally spoke, she was shocked that her voice didn't quaver.  "Why?" she demanded, fists balling at her sides.  "Why did things turn out like this?  Why didn't my last wish come true?"

Suzaku stared at her levelly.  His eyes seemed to bore deep into her soul, but rather than a violation, it was a sensation as of being wrapped in warm, loving arms and held close.  "You last wish did come true," he rumbled, in a voice somehow soft and deafening at the same moment.  "I allowed it to happen, knowing that the only way you would realize the error in it was to experience it.  The fates of the shichiseishi were altered by your presence in their world, as the entire world was altered by it--why were you so quick to undo that alteration, when the end was good?"  Suzaku smiled, and again, hot tears stung at Miaka's eyes.  "You wished to save your friends.  You wished to give them another chance at life--another chance to survive.  But merely changing their surroundings could not change their fates.  You cannot change their fates.  But, do not fear; they will have another chance.  They will have infinite chances, in their next lives and the ones beyond it, and they will find happiness, they will live to old age--they will guard you as they have guarded you now, and cherish you for all you have done for them.

"But, Miaka . . . "  The god shook his head.  "To undo all that you have done in this world is to cheapen your own purpose.  It is to cheapen my purpose.  Victories are not so plentiful that you can risk throwing them away in search of a better one.  It was a lesson you needed to learn, and now that you have, the reality you and your companions experienced has become much like a dream, a reality that occurred within all of you, but which now has no bearing on the past or future.  I have brought you back to this moment, Miaka, because in the reality of your wish, I, too, was in existence in that world, watching you . . . waiting.  It was in your hands all along.  You could accept the world your wish had created, the world where nothing was altered and your friends suffered the same pain and death they did the first time . . ."  His smile grew gentle, and as Miaka watched, inexplicable tears warming her cheeks, Suzaku reached forward and cradled her face gently with his palm.  "Or you could change it," he said softly.  "You could realize that you have no control over the fates of your friends, no more than they have control over yours, and that the only way to alter their lives is to let them go.  You must move forward, Miaka.  If your eyes stay eternally-focused on what lies behind you, on the lives you failed to save rather than those you did . . . then, what will anything you accomplish be worth?

"You will find each other again.  I swear it.  But the world you created with your wish is a world that was never meant to exist, and now . . . now, it lives only in you."

She stood there for a moment, weeping silently, one hand pressed to her heart as if trying to feel the warmth of that world within her.

"For awhile, we were happy," she whispered, and in her mind's eye, she couldn't help glimpsing the day she and Nuriko had shared shopping for her prom dress--the day she had managed to forget the terrors of her friends dying, of history repeating itself, and just exist.  Just be.  It had been beautiful.  "He'll . . . he'll never remember that, will he?" she asked shakily.  "None of them . . . none of them will remember any of it."

Suzaku shook his head.  "They need not know of it.  It was your wish, Miaka.  It lived in you all along." 

And just like that, she knew that her conversation with the Phoenix God was over, and it was time to decide.  With a rumbling like the shifting of the earth, Suzaku rose to his full height and gazed down at her with narrow, waiting eyes.  His voice seemed not to be something she heard, but rather something she felt, something that rumbled in her chest like thunder.  "Are you ready to make your last wish, Suzaku no Miko?" he boomed.

Wiping at her eyes, Miaka nodded. 

I'll let you go, minna.  I love you all . . . I love you all so much.  But I'll let you go, because if I don't, how will you come back to me?

"Suzaku," she said firmly, feeling that warm summer breeze rustling around her again, ruffling her clothes and whipping her long auburn hair around her shoulders.  "Make this world normal again!"

Suzaku inclined his head, a light of pride gleaming from his eyes, and said simply, "It will be done."

~*~

As the buildings mended, as the sky cleared, as the debris smoothed into sidewalk and pavement and patches of grass, Miaka gripped Tamahome's hand and squeezed it hard.  Her friends stood staring at her in shock, their mouths working without sound; it was Chiriko, finally, his tiny form pale and indistinct without a Nyan-Nyan within him, who broke the silence.

"What are you going to do about Tamahome-san?" the boy asked.  His large green eyes glittered in the new streaks of sunlight from above, and Miaka promised herself silently that someday, in whatever life, however long it took, she would see him married and old and grey. 

"Minna," she said, smiling tearfully out at her friends, "thank you for everything--and for caring about us.  But . . . "  She swallowed, and it seemed in that moment that she could feel  Suzaku's palm against her cheek, warm and reassuring.  "But, it's hardly an appropriate wish to make to Suzaku."  She cleared her throat.  "You all taught me that I'm not worthless.  I've always thought I was a nobody, and you all taught me . . . you taught me to believe in myself, and to believe in what I've accomplished."  Her voice grew soft.  "We fought to help your world, and to help mine.  It would be selfish to wish for Tamahome and me to be together if it meant not helping this world.  But . . ."  She closed her eyes briefly, a mist of tears pricking against her eyelids.  Tamahome's arm circled her shoulders, giving her strength, and after a deep breath, she was able to continue.  "But, I'll see all of you again, ne?  Someday, I know we'll all be together again!  And . . . and happy.  I know we will."

Her friends glanced at one another, warm and tearful smiles on their faces; Nuriko took a small step forward.  "Nyan-Nyan," he murmured.  "Can I borrow your body again?"  He smiled.  "I wanna hug this girl one more time."

With a grin, one of the Nyan-Nyans took a flying leap at Nuriko; seconds later, his pale form deepened and darkened, until finally he stood there solid and smiling and breathing.  After a quick glance at Tamahome, who removed his arm from her shoulder and released her hand, Miaka took a few halting steps forward and collapsed into Nuriko's arms. 

Nuriko held her close, his body warm and solid against her, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend that they stood in the house that had been his in the dream.  She remembered it all so clearly, how everything looked, how it smelled--she remembered in particular the lilac shampoo that Nuriko had used, a subtle fragrance that brought to mind a field of blossoms baking in summer sunlight.  She remembered the mulberry potpourri in the living room, the spotless white cushions of the couch that she and Nuriko had laid on, the daffodils he'd kept in a vase in the kitchen.

 . . . she remembered the thick, rusty scent of blood, filling her nostrils as she and Hotohori stepped into the house.  She remembered Nuriko sitting weakly on the floor, breathing shallowly, waiting to die.  She remembered clinging to her friends and sobbing, beginning to understand, finally, that she could not change it, that the world was not hers to control.

You knew it all along, didn't you, Nuriko?  On some level, you knew it all along.

"Nuriko," she whispered, clutching him closer.

She would have to let go in a moment, she knew, but just another few seconds . . . just another few breaths . . .

She felt Nuriko shift slightly in her embrace and thought he was trying to break away, but he didn't pull back; instead, he leaned closer and, smoothing one slender-fingered hand through her hair, whispered into her ear:

"It was a beautiful dream . . . ne, Miaka?"

She pulled back, shocked, and searched his face for some sign of recognition--did he really remember??  And if he did, how??  When she opened her mouth to ask him, however, the words didn't seem to want to come.  She tried again, mouth working silently, but Tamahome had come forward to slip his arm around her shoulder, and Nuriko--who was smiling at her knowingly, his eyes bright and almost playful--was taking small, careful steps backwards towards the others. 

The others . . .

They were fading.

Their images were growing fuzzy, fading and returning, fading and returning, and she knew with a clench of anguish that they were leaving her, now.  For good.  Fighting back tears and gripping Tamahome's hand so tightly that she was sure she was cutting off blood-flow, Miaka raised her free hand in farewell.

"Arrigato, minna," she managed.  There was so much she wanted to say, but she couldn't seem to find any other words but these.  "Minna . . . minna . . . "  Her voice broke, cracking beneath the weight of the sobs in her throat.  "Arrigato!"

The air shimmered once . . . and then they were gone.

~*~

He stared up into the whispers of clouds, the crystal of the sky--so blue.  It was like calm water, spreading out before him, so clear and smooth that he could almost catch a ghost of his reflection playing against the waves.  The blood was cooling on his skin, now, succumbing to the chill of the air and the flutters of snow that rained softly from above.  A bitter smile touched his lips, bending them upwards.  He was going to die. 

He . . . was going . . . to die. 

He sank to his knees in the snow, trying to focus on breathing, living, surviving--but he was drowning.  The blood gurgled in his lungs, oozing against his breath like honey; each new inhalation was a struggle, each new exhalation a wheeze of fading life. 

Abruptly, he remembered the boulder--only he could lift it . . . and, he was dying anyway, ne?  Wincing, clutching at his side as if trying to stem the flow of blood, Nuriko rose to his feet and staggered to the boulder.  His limbs felt weak, and although the Willow still burned like flame on his chest, although the cool steel of the gauntlets still clung to his forearms, he knew he wasn't strong enough to lift this.  Not now.  Not when half of his blood lay splattered on the snow, when he could feel the chill of the wind INSIDE of him.  Gods, it was a strange, otherworldly feeling, to know that a part of him lay open and exposed like this--to feel the cool air sweeping on his flesh and within it.

Demo, Miaka . . .

He stepped forward, carefully, and planted his feet in the shifting snow.  Then, drawing in as deep a breath as his flooding lungs would allow, Nuriko stretched out his arms, lifted them with some effort, and hugged the boulder tightly.

"Onegai," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut against the glare of the snow.  "Onegai.  Give me strength."

He tensed his muscles, sucking in a broken, gaspy breath, and heaved upwards until it felt like his arms were ripping from their sockets--but, gods . . . gods, it wasn't enough!  It wasn't enough. 

Please, he begged silently, pulling again, harder, fueling all his life into this one last act, all his blood and sweat and love into moving this damned boulder so Miaka could get the Shinzaho and be with Tamahome forever...  Please, Suzaku.  Please.  PLEASE!

[You will die.]

The words were like a warm hand against his cheek, soothing and soft; a part of him trembled at actually speaking with a god, of communicating so casually with the one he had been born to serve, but urgency quickly drove away such thoughts.

I know.  I...I know, but this is more important.  Please.  I'm going to die, anyway, ne?

[You don't know that.  Perhaps you will cling to life just long enough for Mitsukake to arrive.  You would be healed.  You could move the boulder then.]

I won't last that long.  I . . . I can feel it in me.

[Feel what?]

Death.  Even Mitsukake can't battle that.  So, please.  Please.  Give me this one last strength.  Let me do this.

[If you do this, you might not get a chance to say goodbye.  This kind of strength comes from throwing all of your chi into your actions, using ALL of the life force you have to use.  That's all that's keeping you alive right now, Nuriko--the life force that belongs to every Suzaku seishi.  If you use it all, now, when you most need it, there will be no goodbyes.  There is a good chance that as the boulder falls, so will you.]

His mind twisted more deeply into anguish.  Miaka...

[Yes.  You may not be able to see her again.]

But...but, if I don't do this...

[You'll die with her face above you, her tears on your cheeks.  You will get to say goodbye.  And, whatever you may think, there's a good chance Mitsukake will arrive in time.]

He won't.

[You sound very certain.]

I am.  Let me move the boulder.  Onegai.  I don't think it's too much to ask, ne?  I...I probably won't get to see her again, but it'll be all right.  I need to do this, now, while I still have the strength.

There was a long pause.  And then, abruptly, a fiery breeze washed over him, setting his muscles aflame.  He could feel the power building within him, the strength returning to his limbs--his heart began to thud wildly in his chest again, strong and sturdy.

[Very well.]  Suzaku's voice boomed within him, and Nuriko suddenly found himself consumed in darkness, a sensation of being drawn out of himself coursing over him; upon opening his eyes, he found himself flying headlong into a dark fog.   [But, first, there is something she wished to give to you.  You may not see her face again in this life, but here is a glimpse of her, in the life you haven't been allowed to remember until now.]

~*~

They arrived at the shop around noon, and to Miaka's dismay, there seemed to be nowhere to park. 

"Mouuuu," she growled, glaring at the line of cars as Nuriko slowed the yellow convertible to a crawl.  "We'll never find a place to park!  By the time we walk back, they'll be all out of dresses, I bet."

The eighteen-year-old studied her for a moment, noticing the jut of her jaw and how truly disappointed she seemed, and then made a quick decision.  Jamming the car into park, he flicked on the four-way flashers, rolled up his sleeves, and climbed out of the car.  He was still wearing the rib belt beneath his bluish-purple dress shirt and tie, but he hadn't experienced any pain for quite some time.  Mitsukake had been astonished by how quickly he rebounded from the injury, and had had no explanation for it other than, "I suppose you're just a fast healer."

Halting before a black Acura which had been stretched unfairly over two spaces, Nuriko hoped the doctor had been correct; if he was less than fully healed . . . 

Well, no use thinking about that.  I'll find out soon enough, I guess.

Jaw clenching, he pushed the worries away and, trusting in the newfound strength that had surged into him last when he saved Suboshi from falling from that window, fitted his hands beneath the back bumper of the Acura.  Then, drawing in a deep breath and focusing all his energy on the task at hand, he heaved the bumper upwards with a groan of effort . . .

There was a quick, searing heat at his collar, and suddenly, he realized that he was lifting the back end of the car off the ground.  He felt like marveling over that for a few moments, standing there in the middle of the street--5'5, 110 pounds, lifting an Acura with his bare hands--but something told him not to press his luck.  Tossing Miaka a wry grin, he pushed the car upwards until it rested on its end, balanced on the front bumper, and leaned carefully it against a nearby lamp post.  Once satisfied that it was properly balanced, he jogged back to the convertible, shoved the gearshift into drive, and slid the car into the space he had created, just one door down from the dress shop.

Miaka grinned and hugged his arm, and they climbed out of the car together.

Their shopping trip lasted longer than they'd intended--Miaka had a lot of trouble finding a dress that didn't make her look, as she put it, "pale and icky," and Nuriko himself was mistaken for a girl so often that he finally gave up and started helping Miaka out by trying on dresses himself.  In the end, Miaka decided on one of the dresses Nuriko had modeled, a ruffled burgundy gown that matched nicely with her hair and left her shoulders bare, and once it was bought and paid for, they set off to find shoes, a necklace, and a suit for Nuriko.  By the time all this was accomplished, it was leaning into evening, and Miaka was devastatingly hungry; they stopped at a nice sit-down restaurant, where the girl downed eighteen bowls of soup as they waited for their meals.  Nuriko could only watch her, stirring his iced tea and smiling, and think on how much Kourin would have liked this silly, lovable girl if she had lived long enough to get to know her.

After dinner, they hiked back to the car, feeling full and sleepy, and started the drive home, the night wind fluttering at their hair; along the way, however, the scent of fresh, clean river salt filtered temptingly into their nostrils, and Nuriko pulled into a scenic overlook of the river.  The place was empty for a change, so he and Miaka wandered over to the edge of the water and sat down on a pile of boxes; they stayed there for almost an hour, gazing out at the river in comfortable silence.  Lights from the city glittered on the surface of the water, mingling with the reflection of the night sky, and it seemed almost as if colorful bursts of flame swam amid the stars.

Occasionally, Nuriko cast glances at Miaka, sitting there beside him with auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders, eyes large and sparkling in the starlight.  Despite their recent realizations of friendship, he couldn't help but think that she had never looked so beautiful. 

Finally, just as he was tensing his muscles to get up and stretch, something warm slid into his palm; he turned to find Miaka gazing up at him, her lips bending into a warm, sweet smile, her fingers wrapped tightly around his own. 

"Arrigato, Nuriko," she murmured.  "Today was . . . perfect."

The warmth of her hand in his, the cool, salty night breeze on his cheeks, Nuriko could only nod.  Overhead, the stars gleamed like silvery spots of sunlight, and he had a crazy thought that maybe, if he wished on them hard enough, time would stand still, and he would be able to live in this moment forever.  He would always have the warmth of his best friend's hand in his own, would always have the beautiful star-flecked river whispering by--he would always have the weary happiness of a long, perfect day weighing at his limbs, making him feel warm and heavy and sleepy. 

All too soon, however, Miaka climbed to her feet and stretched her arms high above her head. 

"Ready to go?" she asked.

He stared at her for a long moment, pondering all the possible answers--he wanted nothing more than to sit here for the rest of his life, still and warm and happy, and watch the river drift by.  But, that . . . that wasn't much of a life, was it? 

A slow, genuine smile crept onto his lips, and with a creak of stiff joints, he stood up. 

"I am," he said, and to his surprise, he meant it.  "I'm ready."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Somewhere Out There"

by Our Lady Peace

Last time I talked to you
You were lonely and out of place
You were looking down on me
Lost out in space
We laid underneath the stars
Strung out and feeling brave
I watched the red orange glow
I watched you float away

Down here in the atmosphere
Garbage and city lights
You've gone to save your tired soul
You've gone to save our lives
I turned on the radio
To find you on satellite
I'm waiting for this sky to fall
I'm waiting for a sign
All we are
Is all so far

You're falling back to me
You're a star that I can see
I know you're out there
Somewhere out there
You're falling out of reach
Defying gravity
I know you're out there
Somewhere out there
Hope you remember me
When you're homesick
and need a change
I miss your purple hair...

I know you'll come back someday
On a bed of nails I'll wait
I'm praying that you don't burn out
Or fade away.

All we are
Is all so far

You're falling back to me
You're a star that I can see
I know you're out there
Somewhere out there...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

~Owari.~