4.  Discovered.

~*~

He had been seated at his throne, listening dully to the request of some minor lord for funding, when suddenly the double doors had burst open and Miaka was standing there.  She'd stood there for only an instant, nothing but a silhouette against the brightness of the afternoon, and then had sprinted down the red carpet and stopped just before the dais.  The lord, sputtering and blinking rapidly, had started to say something, but Hotohori held up his hand before he could.

"Miaka?" 

 Her eyes were wide and panic-stricken, her breath coming in harsh gasps.  "Hotohori, it's...it's Nuriko," she'd panted.  "I-I found...  Something's wrong, please, you have to come with me!"

He had done so without question, dismissing the audience session and leaving his advisers to handle the angry lordlings, and had hurried out onto the walkway.  Along the way, ripples of panic had twisted maddeningly through his brain, and he'd wanted so badly to just ask Miaka what was wrong, to ask her what she'd found...but, something inside of him was too afraid to ask.  And so he'd just followed, imperial stoicism held before him like a shield, and had prayed to Suzaku that somehow, somehow, everything was all right.

Now, standing before the door with Nuriko's eyes on his, he could see very clearly that it was not.

Nuriko's face was pallid and worn, his lips trembling and his eyes wide with panic.  Fine green silk hung from his shoulders, and the very presence of it made the young emperor frown--I thought that was behind him now.  I thought he was done with dressing up, done with pretending...

Why is he so afraid to open the door?

He risked a glance at Miaka and found her with jaw clenched tightly, tears welling at the corners of her eyes.  Seeming to sense his gaze, the girl swallowed and glanced back at him.  "He's...he's bleeding," she whispered.  "He came to lunch and when he left, I...I found blood on the walkway."

As Hotohori spun back to Nuriko, stunned and afraid, he was just in time to watch the older man's expression change; one moment, it was drawn and blank, no emotion visible but for his eyes...and then, suddenly, it was a mask of panic.  "No," he said, much too quickly.  "I-I'm okay; I just cut myself on a broken piece of glass but I'm fine, really; I'm fine."

"Nuriko," Hotohori repeated, "open the door."

The man gave a high, false laugh, shaking his head.  "I'm fine, really; thanks for worrying about me, but--"

"Open.  The door."  He swallowed.  "Please."

Nuriko closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the door and shaking his head.  "I-I can't."

Suddenly very afraid of what he was about to see, Hotohori stepped forward, slipped past Miaka, and stopped just before the door.  His hand raised to cover Nuriko's own, and he was surprised to find it ice-cold.  "Why?" he murmured.  "Why can't you open the door?"

There was a long, trembling pause.  And then Nuriko opened his eyes, lifted his head, and stared at Hotohori with a face so consumed with self-hatred that it made him shiver.  "Because I don't deserve to be saved," he whispered.

It came together for him, then--the blood, the solitude, the desire to be left alone to sleep.  Oh, God, to sleep...!  Still clasping Nuriko's hand tightly within his own, Hotohori pushed on the door, and watched the small seishi step out of its path.  And then he saw the man's right arm, hanging limply at his side with thick splotches of crimson soaking into the sleeve, bandages circling that small hand, and something inside of him broke.  Behind Nuriko, he could see dozens of pins scattered over the carpet, and as his eyes drifted forward, he couldn't help but notice the places where the carpet had been darkened with blood.

Nuriko's blood.  Oh, dear Suzaku, Nuriko...  Why would you do this?

Behind him, Miaka had given a choked cry at the sight of all the blood; her breath came in high-pitched gasps, shaky and ragged, only partially muffled by her hands.  But, Nuriko...  Nuriko only stood there, looking sad and defeated, and stared at him as if waiting for some sort of punishment. 

For some reason, as he stared into those eyes and saw the sorrow and utter hopelessness that filled them, he felt all rage and panic and grief drain from his body.  It seeped out of him slowly, loosening his muscles and soothing his anguished heart, and when it was gone, nothing was left behind but the deep love he felt for this man.  When he moved forward and into the room, his steps were steady.

He didn't say anything; he was too afraid that, if he did, he would start to cry, and he had to be strong.  For Nuriko, he had to be strong.  So, he slipped his arm gently around the smaller man's back, bent down, and lifted Nuriko off the ground, pulling him to his chest with left arm supporting his knees.  The bloodied right arm dangled lifelessly as he moved, staining his robes when it brushed them, but he tried not to pay any attention.  With Miaka hurrying along behind him, the young emperor started down the walkway towards the palace doctor's quarters, and ignored all stares and murmurs along the way. 

~*~

He hadn't been entirely sure as to how to work the mirror when Chichiri gave it to him; now, sitting at his desk with it propped up before him, he was still uncertain.  It seemed little more than a normal--albeit rather plain--mirror, a simple ring of wood circling a piece of reflective glass.  He had propped it up on his desk, balancing it against a stack of parchments in need of signing, and now that he sat before it, he couldn't help but study his own reflection within it. 

He looked haggard and pale, as if he had spent several nights without sleep; his hair was just as silky and fine as usual, flooding down over his shoulders, but his eyes...  His eyes were dark and haunted, still glistening with the sheen of unshed tears, and a permanent line seemed to have formed itself in his brow. 

Before he'd had much chance to ponder this, however, the glass of the mirror suddenly began to shimmer, and as he watched, it resolved itself into a face--Miaka's face.  Stunned, he leaned closer to the mirror, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, and was just trying to figure out why he would see her face, when all of a sudden she smiled.

"Gomen ne no da, Hotohori-sama," she said, in a voice that was Miaka's, but also was not.  One finger pressed to her chin, and she tilted her head a bit to the side; her eyes had scrunched up into slits, leaving little doubt as to her identity.  "I'll explain about this later no da.  Did you want something?"

Behind her--or, rather, him--he could see a backdrop of snowy trees and mountains, and thought he heard Tasuki muttering something a few feet away.  Turning his attention back to the smiling image in the mirror, the young emperor sighed.  "I'm sorry to bother you, Chichiri," he said quietly, "but I need to talk to you...about Nuriko."

The slitted eyes opened, and for a moment, despite the auburn hair, despite the freckled features, Chichiri resembled no one but himself.  When he spoke, his voice was low and serious.  "How is he?"

Hotohori shook his head, struggling against the sudden desire to cry--but, no.  Not now.  Not in these robes, not in front of Chichiri.  "He...he's not doing well," he managed.  "He cut himself, Chichiri.  I'm afraid he was going to try to...to kill himself."

A sudden silence fell; only a instant later, Tasuki had leaped into view behind Chichiri, his eyes wide and panicked, fiery hair hanging low over his forehead.  "What the fuck did you just say?" he demanded.  "Where is he?  I'll fuckin' talk some sense into him!"

Turning, Chichiri put a hand on the bandit's arm.  "Calm down, no da."  Then, eyes returning to Hotohori's face, the monk shook his head.  "I was afraid of this happening.  I thought that Nuriko might be strong enough to fight it, but--"  He shook his head again, this time almost sadly; behind him, Tasuki seemed to be trembling with rage.  "--I guess he couldn't no da."

"What can I do to help him, Chichiri?  How can I...how can I stop him if he truly wants to die?"

"You better fuckin' stop him!" Tasuki shouted angrily.  He jaw was clenched tightly, his hands balled into fists.  "If anything fuckin' happens to him, I swear to Suzaku I'll--"

"Tasuki," Chichiri said sharply, and the bandit broke off mid-sentence.  "It isn't Hotohori-sama's fault no da."  His attention again shifted back to the mirror.  "Hotohori-sama, there is very little information available on resurrection magic and its after-effects, but what is availabe, Chiriko would have read.  He's the one who brought Nuriko back no da--he's the one you should ask about this.  If Nuriko can't remember his time in the Sky, then I don't know why he would be feeling this way.  You'll have to ask Chiriko.  I'm sorry I can't be any more help than that no da."

A dark, churning sensation began in his stomach; he had to swallow a few times before he could speak.  "He...he remembers now," he managed.  "He remembered a few days ago, when I--"  His shoulders went rigid.  "When I kissed him.  This is my fault, isn't it?"

Tasuki stared at him blankly over Chichiri's shoulder.  "You fuckin' kissed him?"

"Daijobu no da, Hotohori-sama," the monk said calmly, but his eyebrows had pressed together on his forehead.  "Anything could have triggered Nuriko's memory; it would probably have happened sooner or later no da.  And that, at least, explains what must be going through his mind no da."

Hotohori swallowed.  "What?"

"He remembers the Sky, Hotohori-sama.  He remembers being in a place where there was no pain, no grief, and probably a place where he was reunited with his sister no da."

"He--"  The young emperor closed his eyes in anguish, fingers clenching together in his lap.  "He wants to go back."

"No," Chichiri said firmly.  "He thinks that he wants to go back.  He died, Hotohori-sama, and rather than being rewarded with a peaceful afterlife, he was brought back to earth no da, where there is pain, heartache, and anguish.  That would be hard for anyone to suffer through no da, but Nuriko...  Nuriko has always been fragile no da.  When he was only a child, he destroyed himself to live his sister's life.  What does that say about how much he values himself no da?  Hotohori-sama, I believe that this desire to return to the Sky will pass once enough time has gone by.  It's an adjustment, no da, but once it's made, once Nuriko realizes that he has more to live for than death, I think he'll be fine."  The monk swallowed; Miaka's eyes were ancient in his face.  "You just have to make sure that he lives that long no da."

~*~