Summary: Almost three months into Infinity and Fay still hasn't broken Kurogane's skin for blood. He'll push it as far as it will go and cope in any way he can. Pre-canon Infinity. Fay-centric with smatterings of the others.

Author's Notes: The ideas explored here germinated right after reading chapter 136 (the first chapter of the Infinity arc) with the details fleshed out to adhere to canon as much as possible as the chapters were being published (I couldn't write fast enough to keep up!), but the integrity of the concepts and scenes maintain its original spirit. This was completed and posted before chapter 146 was published (so I didn't know there was a tower, and who was in it). Be forewarned that this is not a cheerful piece. With that, I hope you enjoy and I look forward to your feedback!

-'-

Breathe, Infinity

-'-

The sterile corridor echoes with the tap and click of boots. A blond with a young girl on his arm, a steely warrior, a solemn boy: they are the rising stars of Infinity's human "chess" tournament. They stop at a door.

"Sakura-chan, will you be all right here by yourself?" Fay asks, breaking the silence. Sakura gingerly rests her weight on her bandaged right leg, pulling herself away from his supportive arm. Kurogane pauses with his hand already on the door knob, listening to the ritual.

"I'm fine. Moko-chan is with me," she answers. A pregnant silence hangs in the stale air. "Five more wins," she announces with a determined fire in her eyes.

"Five more wins," Fay echoes.

-'-

Not long after, the men step into their own room. The walls are painted grey with neglect and cigarette smoke, hung with spider web tapestries. Sparsely furnished and laid with stained, industrial carpeting, the room is at once too small and too empty. Chess masters—a euphemism for gang leaders in the underground's not-so-subtle attempt at masking the not-so-legal tournament—are provided private rooms by the sponsors. Chess pieces, on the other hand, are relegated to the hostel-side of the complex. Only teams that make it to the finals are upgraded to suites. And while that was only a win away for the wayward travelers, for now there's only one bed between three with room for two. Thus, Kurogane laid claim on the floor. Syaoran protested a little, but between the ninja's this-is-final glower and the mage's hollow indifference, the boy relented. It made sense, in terms of practicality, since Kurogane took up the most space and Syaoran figured he wouldn't have shared a bed even if there had been room. Still, it's awkward lying back-to-back, head-to-feet, afraid of accidentally closing the chasm even a little between himself and the mage while they slept.

The fire in the princess' eyes lingers in Fay's mind like an afterimage. Everyone has grown strong he thinks to himself. He feels everything but. His legs are heavy after the last match (the combat boots not helping in the slightest) and the bed in all its lumpy splendor calls invitingly. Oh, to sink into its folds and let the oblivion of sleep melt away his tired flesh. He glances at the loudly ticking clock.

Four o'clock.

He presses his lips together and decides that if he slept now, the others would worry needlessly. Or worse, suspect. He could feel it coming, the slight vertigo, the slight tremor in his limbs.

He heads into the closet as the others dump their gear onto the table, Kurogane carefully resting Souhi against the wall. In the dark, Fay peels off his black competition jacket and pulls a grey civilian overcoat over his sleeveless black shirt and long gloves. He emerges from the dark.

"I'm off to get a bite to eat!" Fay announces with a smile, a little louder than necessary. "I'll bring something back," he adds, not looking at anyone in particular. Syaoran gives a small nod. "Thank you." Kurogane, his arms crossed behind his head, his long legs dangling slightly off the bed, grunts indifferently in acknowledgment. Fay's gaze lingers on them both and disappears out the door.

-'-

Down the streets of Infinity, perpetually cloud-covered grey, Fay walks with his collar up, his shoulders hunched. It hides him from the chill of the wind and the cold, distant eyes of strangers. No one smiles, no one makes eye-contact here, it seems. His feet move itself down side streets and dim alleyways and finally to a hotel marked by a dilapidated sign. It's seedy-looking, but cheap. And anonymous. Fay enters and approaches the barred front desk.

"A room for an hour."

The greasy-looking man behind the desk has a knowing twinkle in his eye.

"Are we alone today? We have some very beautiful girls I can send up to keep you company." Dark, lewd eyes sweep down. Up. "We have men too, if you prefer. We cater to all persuasions here," he adds, his voice slick with oil."

Fay's face is effortlessly blank. "No thanks," he replies simply. He feels the man continue to leer at him as the keys drop into his hand. The metal is cold and heavy. Fay frowns. "Actually, make it two hours."

-'-

Fay fumbles with the keys, his hands trembling from anticipation despite his mind's protests. Finally the door swings open, shut, the coat and gloves drop to the floor, and Fay stumbles into the bathroom. Bracing one hand on the sink, he brings his heel and fingers together and slides out a razor blade from a makeshift compartment in the thick sole of his boot. Under the flickering fluorescent light the metal glints sickly green where it isn't stained brown. Cold touches the sensitive skin on the underside of his forearm.

Only then does he pause, brought back to reality with the sensation. But it was brief. Furrowing his brow, he presses a little harder, braces himself for the sting and with a breath, pulls across. Quickly and a little awkwardly, Fay presses his mouth to the cut and captures the blood before it could drip into the sink, a dribble tracing around his arm and clinging to his chin. He swallows the blood and spit hungrily, even as he grimaces at the burning and bitterness.

Ugh! The taste is worse than last time. It was the third time in so many weeks that Fay had stolen away to drink. The tang of copper and fire overwhelms the barely perceptible hint of silk lining his throat. There is still a little of Kurogane's blood mingled in his, but the traces are diluted and weak. No matter, the recycled blood would sustain him for a little longer. None of the gang knew when a turned vampire needed blood and damned if he's going to ask Kurogane for it. It was that man's responsibility anyway, not his. He'll hold out for as long as he can.

Fay presses his tongue against the wound and holds it there, resisting the urge to lap at it. Let it heal. He could feel the warmth of the blood in his stomach but he knew from experience it would be a little while before he would feel better. Suddenly his knees buckle beneath him and he finds himself on the floor, his back against the wall, his gangly legs bent against the base of the sink.

He opens his tiger-yellow eye, his head throbbing where it hit the wall, and glances at his wrist. The wound is red and raw, but closing up. Two tell-tale scars from before are, thankfully, almost invisible.

His tired mind idly wonders what would have happened if he had pressed just a little harder. Just a little. Made the cut just a little bit longer...wider...deeper...

Fay chokes out a scoff. You know you're too much of a coward. He laughs weakly at himself, past, present, and monochrome future, and welcomes the darkness.

-'-

Sunset washes Infinity orange, throwing blue shadows onto the broken pavement and Fay's profile into sharp relief. He trudges down the street gripping a paper bag and forces himself to swallow the bread in his mouth.

It tastes of ash and sawdust.

His appetite for anything has waned but he forces it down, knowing that he needs the nourishment. He needs to stay strong for the team while he still has some use for the princess. For that, he needs it to keep up the ruse—

Acid nearly chokes him on the way up. He swallows down blood and bile, dust and ash.

But only just enough, he decides.

Disgusted, he throws away the half-eaten roll.

-'-

"Food?" Fay asks as he opens the door and holds up the bag.

"Welcome back," Syaoran greets politely. Kurogane had relocated, now leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "Took you long enough," he accuses, eying the wizard.

"Well, I took a walk and before I knew it, the sun was setting. Don't worry though, food's still warm," Fay explains without missing a beat. He hopes it's true, about the food being fresh; still adjusting to his altered sensibilities, Fay was never quite sure if it was just him, or if the food really was vile. The ninja turns his eyes back to studying the ceiling. "Che, troublesome."

Leaving the bag on the table, Fay disappears into the closet. Syaoran was already rummaging through the bag, the crinkling sound a mockery of laughter, when Fay came back out tugging at the sleeves of his over-sized sweatshirt. "You should eat, Kurogane, if you want to keep up your strength."

"You too," the ninja replies pointedly. Fay stretches mock-happily and plops onto the bed. The laughter dies as Syaoran pauses to watch the men warily through his bangs. "I already ate," Fay returns lightly. Then he turns his back on Kurogane and addresses the wall. "But you do what you want. It's got nothing to do with me."

-'-

The intercom blares over the din of the arena: "Ladies and Gentlemen, please enjoy today's 'chess.'"

In the center is a fighting ring atop an elaborately adorned stone pedestal. On either corner, black and white. The crowd buzzes, doubled since the previously unknown rookie black team started their winning streak. The challengers in white study their opponent from across the ring: The team's mistress is aloft on an egg-shaped throne, chillingly beautiful and determined. That intense determination is mirrored with equal fervor on the youngest member of the team, lips tight and knuckles white on his double blades. The fiery eyes of the powerhouse to his right positively glittered as he grins in anticipation. The third stood with his gloved arm hooked snugly around the polearm of his fan-shaped blade, an enigmatic smile on his lips. The calm and near indifference of the blond would have been slightly unnerving to less experienced competitors. The challengers' white porcelain-doll masks smile back eerily.

"Ready? Begin!"

The bell sounds and the pieces charge, swinging, ducking, dodging, attacking. Fay jumps back to avoid a spear and takes a measured swing at his opponent's face, hoping instincts will knock the man off balance. A little too close—the blade nicks the porcelain mask and a crack dances down the center. Sound fades away as the pieces fall away in stolen time…

Fay feels his heart in his throat.

He knows that face. A sadistic chuckle, the taunting jangle of keys, the sick grin beyond cold metal bars…

…Fay's eye glazes inward for a breath and his opponent adjusts his grip, grinning victorious…

…The mask halves hit the floor and shatter into glittering shards.

Jerked out of the past, the mage dodges the lunging spear, but is caught off-balance and falls to the floor gracelessly. Light glints off the metal as it comes down again. Fay rolls sideways, but registers a sharp sting at his side. Then fire. On his hands and knees, Fay clutches the wound.

There is shouting.

In the air, a roar from the man-who-is-not-the man-he-knew throwing his weight into the attack. Behind, vaguely familiar voices under water. In his ears, a loud rushing as his body freezes, his eye wide.

Clang!

Fay doesn't remember shutting his eyes, but when he opens them again, he finds Kurogane towering over him, shaking slightly under his sword from the pressure of the blocked attack. Red eyes risks a glance down at the mage. "Get up."

Fay tries to stand, but the ripping pain in his side and a sudden wave of sapping weakness forces him to double-over on his knees again.

Sakura-chan, now is not the time to waver!

With a surge of confidence from the opposition, Kurogane is knocked back and nicked on the upper arm. Rivulets of blood runs down his flesh; the metallic stings Fay's nose painfully and a suffocating, rushing sensation wells up inside, everywhere. He watches, paralyzed, as his teammate fall several feet away and two players make to strike the ninja together. Still struggling from the master's hesitation, Kurogane grits his teeth and grips his sword in preparation for the onslaught. Metal, blade, yelling, spear, sword shouts chains shackles masks dollskeyslaughingbarsdarkcoldfleshbloodpulseredHEAT.

Light.

-'-

When Kurogane could see beyond the spots in his eyes he finds the opposition picking themselves up unsteadily clear across the ring. The crowd buzzes nervously as the stadium lights sputtered and sparked. Glancing behind, Kurogane finds the kid in a momentary truce with his opponent. Syaoran looks pointedly away and back at Kurogane, who follows the gaze to their third…

Fay is sitting with a trembling hand over his face, muttering to himself.

Kurogane imagines the mage's remaining eye is bright and wide beneath the splay of blond bangs and narrows his own red ones in kind, but a shrill, heart-stopping whistle pierces the air before he could move.

"Black. Foul. Use of illegal weaponry."

Two burly men from the sidelines roughly half-haul, half-drag, an unresisting Fay off the ring. His teammates watch grimly, the black mistress biting her lips slightly as her knight grits his teeth at his tearing wound.

Syaoran catches Sakura's eyes for a moment. Stay strong. We'll win. She tears away her gaze only to be caught in Kurogane's. He gives a slight nod to reaffirm Syaoran's message. She nods back.

From the penalty bench, Fay distractedly watches his estranged companions win three against four. An attendant hurries over with first aid, but he hardly notices. All he could feel are the after-effects of the rush, the lingering terror, and the warmth of life bleeding out around his fingers as he presses against the wound.

-'-

Fay was already in the locker room when the team arrives, his bandages visible through the rip of his sleeveless top, his arms uncomfortably clean and naked of his bloody gloves. The princess nearly trips in her haste and leans heavily against Kurogane.

"Fay-san! Are you okay?" she fusses.

Syaoran stands off a little behind in silence. The princess looks ready to collapse herself, but Syaoran wills his arms still at his side. Don't touch. You're not him.He settles for studying Fay, his jaw set tight.

Kurogane's keen eyes shift from the kid to the princess as her grip tightens around his arm. This girl won't show weakness until the team is alone. And even then...

She looks upset. "Fay-san..."

Fay smiles in an effort to comfort her. "It'll heal quickly." He freezes suddenly, then looks away biting his lower lip in self-reprimand. There is an awkward, heavy silence: as oblique as the reference was, it was the first time Fay had acknowledged his new condition.

"Your shirt's torn," Sakura says to break the tension. Her hand reaches out towards the bandaged wound, already dying red. Fay catches her hand in his before she could dirty it. A tingling sensation passes between them.

"I'll wear my jacket for the remaining matches," he smiles, carefully keeping the underside of his arms hidden.

Their hands linger. His new purpose. Her new knight. Their paper-thin illusion that the hole in their chest is patched with a beating heart instead of one made of straw.

"Are you sure that's all right?"

"It's fine."

Sakura's eyes are hidden under her bangs. I won't slip up again.

Had it been like before, Kurogane would have said it was troublesome that the mage was so unreliable in battle as to make the princess worry. Had it been like before, the mage would have grinned and brushed it off with some annoying compliment for him and the boy. But it wasn't like before, so Kurogane swallows the retort.

Watching the magician and the princess, Syaoran finds it hard to swallow, period.

"Congratulations."

A member of the Vision family greets the team. Having earned a place in the finals, they are to move into new quarters tomorrow: a suite with rooms for each of them, with a common room with a view and a minibar. Kurogane makes a mental note of the minibar.

The news is sweet to Fay as well. The princess needs him. He has a sneaking suspicion that the princess has an ulterior goal for this tournament, so she'll need an ally, a confidant. He can finally be near her.

And away from the man who denies him peace and the shadow of the boy he couldn't save.

-'-

Syaoran packs his scant belongings. A change of clothes, extra collars and belts: the usual accouterments of this hard-edged world. He turns at the sound of air pulling through clenched teeth.

He watches Fay unwind the last of the bandages, molasses blood pulling at his skin. The mage stares fascinated as his spindly fingers brush the tender welt where a gaping wound should be. Light, spider-leg touch. Syaoran notes that Fay's former glow is tinted dull-sallow, his skin pulled taut at the cheek bones. Perhaps it was the trick of the poor lighting, but Fay's visible blue eye burned feverishly bright against the dark shadows that hugged the depressions of his face. With his own eyes, Syaoran studies the mage confusedly, a question hanging on his tongue.

Bang!

Both magic users start at the sound of Kurogane dumping their collection of weapons onto the floor. Fay pulls his shirt back down and fixes his attention on the bloody wrap around Kurogane's arm. He shifts uncomfortably.

"You...you should change those bandages."

Kurogane narrows his eyes suspiciously.

"It's fine."

For a split second Fay's eye grew dark. Or was it brighter? Syaoran isn't sure, but there was something desperate and hungry in the way his eye gleamed.

"I insist." The mage pushes himself off the bed and pulls out a roll of clean, colored, cloth bandages from a small dresser. He walks over to the ninja. "We can't have that infected now that we're entering the finals."

The two find themselves uncomfortably close. An arm's length away, but still as close as they've been outside the battle arena since Kurogane carried the unconscious wizard out into the acidic Tokyo air. Fay's breath becomes shallow.

"Do...do you want me to...?" Fay starts when Kurogane didn't move to take the offered bandages. He avoids Kurogane's eyes. In truth, the ninja is studying the mage with a practiced steadiness, not daring to entertain the idea that the interest in healing his arm meant any interest in healing the trust broken when he denied the blond's wish for his own.

Kurogane's large hand plucks the bandages out of Fay's fingers. "I'll take care of it myself."

Before he could stop himself, Fay makes eye contact. His Adam's apple bobs and he gives a slight nod. Backing away, he watches the man rip off the bloody gauze bandages with his teeth—the sound of tearing, a spray of rust—and drop them into the waste basket. Fay eases himself back into his dent in the mattress. A rusty squeak.

Syaoran reaches his limit.

"You used magic."

His two companions turn to him, surprised - Fay with a prickle of fear: echoes of the other boy just after the seal broke and everything went to hell.

"Why? Wasn't it a promise?"

It was almost an accusation. Or maybe it was; neither men knew how to read this Syaoran quite yet. The corner of Kurogane's lips quirks up and he makes a mental note. Where the mage and the girl only saw painful similarities, Kurogane is discovering a depth and complex, quiet strength in this conflicted boy. And he deserves better. As for that mage, Kurogane expects the idiot to spew crap about self-preservation like he did when that manjuu called him out or something equally stupid and evasive. But there is only an annoyingly pressing silence...

"The kid asked y—"

"—There are more important things."

The words fell on top of one another. Kurogane and Syaoran are still, as if the slightest breath would frighten away any measure of insight.

Fay addresses the floor. "We need to do whatever necessary to win…so Sakura-chan can achieve her wish. It was a promise."

Kurogane didn't think it was a lie, though, he didn't think the mage answered the question either. He really hadn't been expecting much to be disappointed. Much. "There is also strength, and honor, in keeping the promises you make to yourself."

It was hard to tell whether the wizard glanced over under his messy bangs as he reaches down to pick up his discarded bandages. He stands and approaches the ninja. Once again Kurogane finds himself holding his breath.

Fay walks pass and bends down to pick up the waste bin by Kurogane's feet.

Kurogane keeps his eyes forward, even when the blond straightens up next to him. Facing opposite ways, Fay smiles, an ugly taste on his tongue.

"I wouldn't know anything about those things, Kurogane."

He turns to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?" the ninja says a little more gruffly than intended. Fay is already halfway out the door.

"Taking out the trash," he replies without looking back.

-'-

There's a light on in the kitchenette at the end of the dark hall. It's silent there. Not even the crickets sing.

Bob. Bob. Swish.

Fay bobs his tea bags up and down, stirring them around in his paper cup absentmindedly. It didn't taste like he thought it would (to his relief and disappointment) and had gotten use to it by the fifth cup. It quelled his hunger a bit, though, if anything, the hunger only intensified. The room tilts slightly and suddenly he feels wretchedly dirty. It's as if he could smell him. Fay leans against the counter for support, closes his eyes and concentrates. Hard. When he opens them, both glassy blue-grey, Kurogane is already at the entryway.

"A matching headband and wrist guard? My, I didn't think you were a man of fashion," Fay notes lightly, hoping to distract the man's attention.

Kurogane pulls open the refrigerator door. "It's to disguise the cut," he explains, somewhat irritated. "No point drawing attention to a vulnerability." Fay suddenly feels irrationally exposed, as if those molten eyes could see through his over-sized sweatshirt and at his slightly emaciated body. He fights a sudden need to tug his sleeves down.

"Point taken," Fay replies emptily and sloshes around the contents of his cup. Kurogane wrinkles his nose. "What is that? Smells off."

"Tea. It's good for my health," Fay says, a little too quick to smile. "You wouldn't like it."

"What I'd like is my hand on some decent alcohol and not this crap," Kurogane says, gesturing with a beer in his hand as he shuts the refrigerator door.

"You're a lost cause, you know?"

Kurogane only dignifies the rhetorical question with a humph, cracks open the can, and leans against the counter next to Fay. He takes a swig.

Bob.

Bob.

Swish.

"You lost a lot of blood today," Kurogane states without preamble. Fay has a feeling it was completely premeditated. "If you need—"

"That's very kind of you," Fay cuts in, a slight smile still on his lips. The ninja's eyebrow twitched. "But blood in the stomach doesn't do much for replenishing the bloodstream." Fay steals a glance and sees the man stiffen, his expression of one realizing the argument was valid. The corner of Fay's mouth stretches imperceptibly in triumph.

"It's not a matter of being kind," Kurogane responds, salvaging his dignity, "It's a matter of responsibility." Fay nearly scoffs out loud. Kurogane tosses the can away, still full, on his way out. "I know you won't take it yourself," he continues, "so I won't ask next time."

Alone again, Fay gazes distractedly at his cup and muses that his E must feel pressured since starting tomorrow they'd have separate rooms and Fay could avoid him more easily. Secretly, he is relieved Kurogane wouldn't ask anymore, whatever that meant. Because then, he wouldn't have to say no.

Fay pulls out the tea bags, wrapped in bits of pink-stained gauze, and drops them into the garbage disposal. The evidence is devoured in the dark to the sound of gnashing teeth.

-'-

The stadium buzzes with the fare of the quarter-finals. Infinity's winning favorites wait in the wings to be announced.

A magician who avoids fate, a boy who contests fate, and a ninja who fights fate. All behind a girl who looks to the future.

The mistress stands tall, determinedly trying to ignore her weak heel.

"Four more wins," she says.

Fay tugs uselessly at his collar where the chain's attached.

"Four more wins," he echoes.

-'-