storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2009-07-20 09:53 am
storypaint) wrote2009-07-20 09:53 am
Never to Heaven Go (Clow/Yuuko)
Title: Never to Heaven Go
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 729 words
Prompt: none
Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: vague spoilers for recent xH/TRC
Excerpt: She'd never seen one of his bad visions, though she had the impression that they were infrequent. Even knowing of them, she was still rather shocked to step into his office one day and find him sprawled across the floor.
Yuuko walked through dreams with the same ease that she walked through life. They were another country to most, but she had honorary citizenship, and she'd been striding the edges of the world ever since she could remember.
Sometimes she saw the future in dreams, sometimes the past, sometimes the nevers, the could-have-beens, the cannot-bes. She always woke with the vision slipping away, like a real dream, forgotten unless she concentrated.
The way that a vision took Clow was different. He didn't have to be sleeping, for one. He'd told her once, his tone distant, that they came to him in a blink, in a pause, a blip in consciousness, except for the bad ones.
She'd never seen one of his bad ones, though she had the impression that they were infrequent. Even knowing of them, she was still rather shocked to step into his office one day and find him sprawled across the floor.
No smoke hung in the air, no alcohol left its tang. This wasn't a coma of inebriation, then. His eyes were open but he wasn't seeing her, and he was whispering, a constant flow of words blurring through all the languages he knew. She couldn't identify some of the older ones.
At first, she wasn't sure whether she should move him. She wondered how Cerberus and Yue dealt with this; realized, in a sharp moment, that there was a reason that ugly Chair of his had such a high back to it. And after that thought she leaned down and grabbed his shoulders, dragging him away so that his legs weren't tangled in the chair.
There was a couch in the corner for those nights he worked late and forgot to go to bed, but she didn't think she could get him up onto it herself, at least, not without employing some power, and she didn't know how his trance would react to that. Having nothing else to offer, she cradled his head in her lap and listened, fingers skimming his cheek.
He was not handsome like this; he looked beaten and weary and his face contorted in anger and fear and loss. It was like a fever, but his face was cool, though sweat poured off his forehead.
She understood perhaps one word in ten from the constant stream he was muttering. She wasn't even sure if his words were an observation of his vision or simply swearing in as many dialects as he could produce. It was, therefore, a complete shock when he became coherent.
"Yuuko, Yuuko, Yuuko, Yuuko," he whispered, his voice keening loss. He sobbed once, dryly, and then blinked, and actually looked up at her. The vision was over.
Disoriented, he stared up into her upside-down face, smelling her sweet scent of opium dreams, feeling the brush of her hair against his shoulder as she leaned down and looked at him. She said nothing, brushing her fingers against his cheek again.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice cracking. He blinked and sat up carefully, turning to brush her lips with a dry kiss.
She pulled him back into an embrace, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"Why?" she asked, betraying nothing by her tone. She could still hear his desperate plea in the back of her mind.
"Because I won't be able to apologize enough then," he replied.
She sighed. That night, when she had the dream and understood the rest of it, the parts he had refused to say, she awoke in a cold sweat of her own, clutching the covers like a lifeline. The bed was empty save for herself; he hadn't chosen to come back to the shop with her that night. They'd hardly spoken after his vision, though they'd split a bottle of wine before she'd left. They'd drank in near-silence, Yuuko's hand on his knee, his arm draped around her shoulder.
She gasped, she breathed, and then she sat up and rested her head on her arms.
"I'm sorry too," she said after a moment, into the dark. She rose from her bed and found some paper, beginning to draw nearly the same sketches he would present to her when he arrived on her doorstep not long after dawn (pretending to be shocked that she was awake).
She never caught him in one of his bad visions after that.
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 729 words
Prompt: none
Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: vague spoilers for recent xH/TRC
Excerpt: She'd never seen one of his bad visions, though she had the impression that they were infrequent. Even knowing of them, she was still rather shocked to step into his office one day and find him sprawled across the floor.
Yuuko walked through dreams with the same ease that she walked through life. They were another country to most, but she had honorary citizenship, and she'd been striding the edges of the world ever since she could remember.
Sometimes she saw the future in dreams, sometimes the past, sometimes the nevers, the could-have-beens, the cannot-bes. She always woke with the vision slipping away, like a real dream, forgotten unless she concentrated.
The way that a vision took Clow was different. He didn't have to be sleeping, for one. He'd told her once, his tone distant, that they came to him in a blink, in a pause, a blip in consciousness, except for the bad ones.
She'd never seen one of his bad ones, though she had the impression that they were infrequent. Even knowing of them, she was still rather shocked to step into his office one day and find him sprawled across the floor.
No smoke hung in the air, no alcohol left its tang. This wasn't a coma of inebriation, then. His eyes were open but he wasn't seeing her, and he was whispering, a constant flow of words blurring through all the languages he knew. She couldn't identify some of the older ones.
At first, she wasn't sure whether she should move him. She wondered how Cerberus and Yue dealt with this; realized, in a sharp moment, that there was a reason that ugly Chair of his had such a high back to it. And after that thought she leaned down and grabbed his shoulders, dragging him away so that his legs weren't tangled in the chair.
There was a couch in the corner for those nights he worked late and forgot to go to bed, but she didn't think she could get him up onto it herself, at least, not without employing some power, and she didn't know how his trance would react to that. Having nothing else to offer, she cradled his head in her lap and listened, fingers skimming his cheek.
He was not handsome like this; he looked beaten and weary and his face contorted in anger and fear and loss. It was like a fever, but his face was cool, though sweat poured off his forehead.
She understood perhaps one word in ten from the constant stream he was muttering. She wasn't even sure if his words were an observation of his vision or simply swearing in as many dialects as he could produce. It was, therefore, a complete shock when he became coherent.
"Yuuko, Yuuko, Yuuko, Yuuko," he whispered, his voice keening loss. He sobbed once, dryly, and then blinked, and actually looked up at her. The vision was over.
Disoriented, he stared up into her upside-down face, smelling her sweet scent of opium dreams, feeling the brush of her hair against his shoulder as she leaned down and looked at him. She said nothing, brushing her fingers against his cheek again.
"I'm sorry," he said, voice cracking. He blinked and sat up carefully, turning to brush her lips with a dry kiss.
She pulled him back into an embrace, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"Why?" she asked, betraying nothing by her tone. She could still hear his desperate plea in the back of her mind.
"Because I won't be able to apologize enough then," he replied.
She sighed. That night, when she had the dream and understood the rest of it, the parts he had refused to say, she awoke in a cold sweat of her own, clutching the covers like a lifeline. The bed was empty save for herself; he hadn't chosen to come back to the shop with her that night. They'd hardly spoken after his vision, though they'd split a bottle of wine before she'd left. They'd drank in near-silence, Yuuko's hand on his knee, his arm draped around her shoulder.
She gasped, she breathed, and then she sat up and rested her head on her arms.
"I'm sorry too," she said after a moment, into the dark. She rose from her bed and found some paper, beginning to draw nearly the same sketches he would present to her when he arrived on her doorstep not long after dawn (pretending to be shocked that she was awake).
She never caught him in one of his bad visions after that.
no subject
...I still can't help wondering how Yuuko really died...or did CLAMP already mention that? If they did I must have missed it, XP.
Great job on this fic!! <3
no subject
They haven't said yet from what I can see. If it turns out that tentacles were actually involved I'm going to stab someone.
Thanks again<3