Title: The Heart of the Stone
Rating: PG-13 for blood
Warning: Spoilers through Acid Tokyo arc.
Summary: If the flower could shed tears, then as they fell upon the stone its heart would be healed of the imperfection; but it is impossible for a flower to weep, so how can a flower shed tears?

Author's Notes: This fic was done as a Secret Santa request, the recipient requested "gemstone/flower" symbolism so I did the best I could. This is a little more abstract than what I would usually write, but I hope you like it anyway.

The legend of the stone and the flower is adapted from The Story of the Stone by Barry Hughart, which was in turn paraphrased from the Chinese classic The Dream of the Red Chamber.

There was a priestess, a princess of Heaven, to whom it was given the task to build and maintain the walls of Heaven. There is no task more important, for the walls between Heaven and Hell are necessary to keep demons from spilling out into the world, and she was diligent. The hand of the priestess came upon one stone, which was black and hard and strong; but in the heart of the stone she perceived a flaw, and so she threw it away. The stone was cast from Heaven and fell through the worlds to land upon the Riverbank of Souls.

Upon the Riverbank there grew a flower of great beauty, a delicate creation of gold and white, marvelous to look upon. But it was every bit as poisonous as it was beautiful, and as it grew, so grew the strength of its poison. One by one, all other living things on the riverbank withered and died, until the flower was left to sprout alone, in a barren wasteland of gravel.

On this barren wasteland between worlds the deadly flower and the fallen stone became companions. Twice a day the stone would fly to the river and bring back water to nourish the flower. The flower was grateful for the service of the stone, and vowed that one day it would return the favor; if the flower could shed tears, then as they fell upon the stone its heart would be healed of the imperfection.

But that day will never be, for it is impossible for a flower to weep, so how can a flower shed tears?

Despite himself, Kurogane was beginning to grow reconciled to this journey.

He still didn't think he'd been wrong -- Tomoyo had been wrong, to chide him, to send him away. Defending her had been his job, and if people came to threaten her then their lives were forfeit, that was all there was to it. There was nothing wrong with him.

But as much as he'd hated to admit it, she'd been right about some other things; in Nihon, there had been no one left who could challenge him, no one strong enough to really give him a run for his money. At least traveling the worlds this way he had the chance to meet some really strong opponents, and become the stronger for fighting them. Not being able to kill was a pain and a half, and he still didn't care about the worthless lives of his enemies -- but it did require him to hone his discipline, develop a new awareness of how far he could push and when he had to hold back his strength.

He didn't mind helping the kids. He liked the kids, and if he was going to be stuck traveling the worlds like this anyway, he might as well help them out. It didn't cost him anything to stand beside the brat in fights he would have jumped into anyway; it didn't cost him anything to defend the princess from enemies he would have trounced anyway. It didn't weaken him to travel with them, live with them, learn about them, it didn't cost him anything to like them. Not even the wizard.

The mage, more than anyone else, kept him on his toes; there was danger there, wrapped up behind a charming smile and a false innocence. That damned mage was no more innocent than he was, he was sure of it. He looked as delicate as a flower but like everything else about him that was deceptive; there was steel underneath, he was sure. And as little as he liked it they'd become partners; they worked together. Fought together. Even if they shared nothing else, they'd forged that bond almost right away, when they'd fought back-to-back in Koryo, when they'd faced battle side-by-side in Yama.

There were some things you couldn't do together without developing a certain bond, and he'd come to rely on the man in a purely physical sense, to be there, to help him keep the children safe. Even if he couldn't rely on him for anything else, there was that.

But that didn't weaken him, either. It wasn't like he hadn't forged those battle-bonds before, and broken them, when the time came that one of them fell in battle, or the battle ended and they had to part ways. It didn't cost him anything to make it, wouldn't cost him anything to break it when the time came. He'd get home someday, and show Tomoyo all that he'd learned, and he'd prove her wrong.

If the flower could shed tears, then as they fell upon the stone its heart would be healed of the imperfection; but it is impossible for a flower to weep, so how can a flower shed tears...?

Despite himself, Fai was beginning to relax about this journey.

He spent a good deal of effort not thinking about its end, instead concentrating on the journey itself, taking each day, each world, each situation as it came. He could at last begin to ease up, drift lightly from one moment to the next without being dragged down by either the past or the future. It was best after all that he move from world to world, never settling down long in one place long enough to poison the ground he touched.

He enjoyed his companions; the simple direct joy of Mokona, the earnest determination of Syaoran. He enjoyed watching Sakura grow in health and mindfulness as each of her feathers was returned, took pleasure in the unfurling kindness of her heart. Enjoyed the shyly budding romance between the children, fresh in their innocence, despite the lingering pain in Syaoran's heart from what had been lost.

He'd told Kurogane once, that it took a certain strength to cry, and that he admired Syaoran for that. He envied him, too; that was something he hadn't been able to do in a long, long time. When the cold wind whipped across the valley and drove grains of snow and grit into his face, and tears froze in salt crystals into his eyes, he'd stopped feeling the need to cry very early. Anyway for a child to cry presupposes that someone will come to comfort them; presupposes that someone will care.

Fai knew it wasn't really normal, for a human being to be incapable of tears; but it was pretty far down on the list of things he knew were wrong about himself, so it didn't bother him much. Still, he admired Syaoran that he felt such pure emotion, envied Syaoran that he could crack open his heart that way. Not that this was something that he could explain to Kurogane.

There were many things that Fai admired about Kurogane, envied about Kurogane. Kurogane was strong and solid as a stone and (sane) steady in a way that Fai could never be, and Fai envied him that. Kurogane was sharp as the sword he carried, observant and intelligent (and beautiful, never forget beautiful) and Kurogane didn't trust him. Unlike the children, Kurogane paid enough attention to him to be wary, and that thrilled Fai more than anything, took his breath away more than anything.

He knew well that he was cursed, death to those around him; finding oneself the last survivor in a world of madness and corpses could be ill fortune once, but by the second time around, it formed a message that was hard to ignore. But Kurogane was smart and fast and strong and dangerous; he was a survivor, he didn't let anything take him down. Nothing Fai did or said could crack the rock face that surrounded him, and for the first time in a long time that gave Fai hope that Kurogane might even survive contact with him.

How can a flower shed tears...?

Kurogane had carried Fai from the reservoir room, out to this barren swept chamber that was all there was for an infirmary, medical room, hospital in this world. The bleeding had finally slowed, but the mage's skin and clothes were stained with bright gore. His own black pants hid the blood much better, but his hands were still sticky with it; they couldn't spare the water for him to wash his hands.

Kurogane watched Fai intently, as the medical student that was all there was for a doctor, nurse, surgeon in this world worked over him, watched the shiver and twitch of his hands and limbs as her long fingers and instruments dove into the raw, empty socket. Beads of blood coursed slowly down over his cheek, like tears; running into a matted red and black mess in his bright blond hair.

Kurogane stood with his shoulders to the wall, arms folded and jaw clamped tight, not daring to speak, pent-up emotions seething like molten metal in his chest. This was wrong. This was wrong. Kurogane knew violence, had seen it and dealt it and had it dealt to him more times than he could count; but this was like a savage attack on a child, or the senseless vandalism of a priceless work of art. It infuriated him, offended him beyond reason, beyond even the betrayal they'd suffered; not just that the boy would turn on them, but that he would do this to Fai.

It certainly wasn't that he thought of Fai as some delicate flower to be protected. He more than anyone else knew how annoying the mage could be, when it suited him; he more than anyone else here knew how strong a fighter he was, when he really let himself go. But he had a kind and gentle heart underneath that, despite that, and he was suffering now and dying now because he had tried, tried so hard and lost everything to save the boy's cracking soul.

"It's no good," the girl said; her voice flat, her eyes tight. "In his condition, he's likely to die from the shock alone."

"It's for the best," the mage's voice came unexpectedly, weakly. "As long I live... he has... half my magic. You won't... be able to..." The voice ran out on breath, and breath hitch as Fai's face squeezed in pain, his whole body wilting.

Kurogane barely felt the impact of his hand against the wall; the shocked expressions of the people turning to him was the first thing to penetrate through the red haze. He was hardly aware of moving, grabbing the mage's shirt in his hands and half lifting him off the bed, yelling in his face; staring death in the face and shouting it down as he always had, but that wouldn't work now, because this wasn't his death he was facing. It was the first time in a long time, that he feared someone else's death more than his own.

Fai just smiled at him; an oddly sweet smile, for all that it wasbroken, and more real now than the ones he had worn every day. He closed his eyes and turned his face away, and a drop of blood slipped from his ruined eye like a tear, and poured over Kurogane's hand.

Kurogane felt something in his chest snap.

Out of place, or into place, he wasn't sure. But he was sure of one thing, now.

"Witch!" he snarled, turning to face the illusion on the wall, looking her straight in the eye. "I have a wish."

How can a flower shed tears...?

~end.