storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2009-10-20 09:22 am
storypaint) wrote2009-10-20 09:22 am
Distant Rain (Clow/Yuuko)
Title: Distant Rain
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 1006 words
Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days: 17 Oct 09 // solemn talk of distant rain
Pairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: n/a
Excerpt: "I didn't tell you because it would have made you angry," he said to her sleeping form, "to think it wouldn't rain until the day after you died. You always have a flair for the dramatic, Yuuko."
"It's going to rain," he said, the first words she heard upon waking. She could taste the rain in the air, her eyes slit against the sudden light. She felt weary, achy, as though she had been asleep or ill for a long time. She lay there, head reeling, and tried to figure out what was going on, but before she could, she drifted back to sleep.
The drops began to patter down. Quietly Clow pulled the screen closed and walked over to her bed, looking down at her.
"I didn't tell you because it would have made you angry," he said to her sleeping form, "to think it wouldn't rain until the day after you died. You always have a flair for the dramatic, Yuuko."
Her brow furrowed in her sleep, and she sighed, but didn't move. He reached down to brush his fingers across her cheek, but then pulled his hand back as if he had been burned. Her fever still hadn't broken, but it had to be a magical one. It would stop eventually, when her body sorted out the spells that were keeping her time paused, her body approximating life. She would adapt to her stasis.
He sighed as well. He'd been working ever since that moment had broken, ever since he heard her last breath shudder free and thought, please, and his wish was granted. He'd put her to bed and listened to her heartbeat, somehow steady again, for an hour, and then he'd started analysis. A notebook full of speculation, theories, scratched-out spell arrays, and hopeless determination lay beside her bed. He hadn't wanted to go away, even for a moment.
He was afraid he would lose her again. And terrified further that she would wake. When she had her wits about her again, she would be so angry.
He sat down and leaned back against the bed, resting his head on the edge of it, and he shut his eyes. The rain fell steadily, drearily, and Clow couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. It had been several days ago that he'd seen her death approaching, and came to see her. He hadn't told her, of course, because that is one thing no seer should know (except himself, but he was always the exception to the rule, wasn't he?).
And he was a good actor. She hadn't guessed that his sudden visit was out of the ordinary. He came and went at odd intervals, stepping into the shop when he looked up at the moon and thought of her, or when he procured some good sake, or when he wanted a consult on something.
Maybe he spoiled her a little more than usual, but she'd never complain about that. He'd thought he would be able to walk away, in the end. Not happily, of course, as she had been one of his favorite pupils, or so he told himself. (She'd been more, and he'd never said, but she knew, and it had always put a certain curve to her smile.) But he had lost his students before, and his family; it was the curse of one as long-lived as he was.
Perhaps he should have told her, he thought. Not that she was going to die, but that he loved her. He didn't think there would be time for that, now. That would only complicate the matter.
The rain became louder, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Clow didn't hear it, succumbing to his exhaustion, falling asleep there with his back pressed up against the bed.
He woke with his face cold against the floor and a discarded page from his notebook pressed to his cheek. And also with her foot on his neck.
"So you're awake," he muttered into the boards.
"You are a total idiot," she countered, her voice hoarse.
"I know," he answered honestly.
There was a sharp flare of magic and he had a moment to think: her power feels the same, before he was deposited unceremoniously into her front yard, just left of the flowers he'd planted earlier that year, into the middle of a big mud puddle.
The rain was a cold shock to his system, though he did feel a certain chill of relief. She hadn't changed, then. That might make this easier. He'd need her sharp brain to work out the possibilities.
He got up, wrung out his tunic, and stepped back up to the porch.
"Yuuko--"
"I hate you," she said through the door.
"I'll make you breakfast."
"That doesn't even begin to fix this."
"That is only the beginning," he promised, and he half-smiled before he could stop himself, immediately thankful that she hadn't opened the door yet.
"That's always the problem with you," she growled, pulling the screen, and he noticed the way she wobbled, just a little, as she stepped back to sit on her bed.
He reached down, picked up his notebook, and handed it to her before going back to the kitchen. He hadn't gotten three steps before she began calling out to him, arguing with his conclusions in its contents. It would have been easier if she'd come into the kitchen, but he just cast a voice-amplifying spell back in her direction, and they had a high-level theory discussion while he made food.
That is, until she yawned and her words slowed. By the time he came back, she was asleep again, her feet dangling off the end of the bed, the notebook loosely grasped at her side. He lifted her gently, tucking her back underneath the covers, leaving the plate and the notebook on her bedside table. The food would be cold when she woke up again, and he would have to make something else, probably, but if he didn't leave it, she would ask.
Then he settled down again to wait. They had time enough, or something resembling it.
They had more than enough time. And that was the problem.
Fandom: xxxHOLiC
Length: 1006 words
Prompt:
31_days: 17 Oct 09 // solemn talk of distant rainPairing: Clow/Yuuko
Other: n/a
Excerpt: "I didn't tell you because it would have made you angry," he said to her sleeping form, "to think it wouldn't rain until the day after you died. You always have a flair for the dramatic, Yuuko."
"It's going to rain," he said, the first words she heard upon waking. She could taste the rain in the air, her eyes slit against the sudden light. She felt weary, achy, as though she had been asleep or ill for a long time. She lay there, head reeling, and tried to figure out what was going on, but before she could, she drifted back to sleep.
The drops began to patter down. Quietly Clow pulled the screen closed and walked over to her bed, looking down at her.
"I didn't tell you because it would have made you angry," he said to her sleeping form, "to think it wouldn't rain until the day after you died. You always have a flair for the dramatic, Yuuko."
Her brow furrowed in her sleep, and she sighed, but didn't move. He reached down to brush his fingers across her cheek, but then pulled his hand back as if he had been burned. Her fever still hadn't broken, but it had to be a magical one. It would stop eventually, when her body sorted out the spells that were keeping her time paused, her body approximating life. She would adapt to her stasis.
He sighed as well. He'd been working ever since that moment had broken, ever since he heard her last breath shudder free and thought, please, and his wish was granted. He'd put her to bed and listened to her heartbeat, somehow steady again, for an hour, and then he'd started analysis. A notebook full of speculation, theories, scratched-out spell arrays, and hopeless determination lay beside her bed. He hadn't wanted to go away, even for a moment.
He was afraid he would lose her again. And terrified further that she would wake. When she had her wits about her again, she would be so angry.
He sat down and leaned back against the bed, resting his head on the edge of it, and he shut his eyes. The rain fell steadily, drearily, and Clow couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. It had been several days ago that he'd seen her death approaching, and came to see her. He hadn't told her, of course, because that is one thing no seer should know (except himself, but he was always the exception to the rule, wasn't he?).
And he was a good actor. She hadn't guessed that his sudden visit was out of the ordinary. He came and went at odd intervals, stepping into the shop when he looked up at the moon and thought of her, or when he procured some good sake, or when he wanted a consult on something.
Maybe he spoiled her a little more than usual, but she'd never complain about that. He'd thought he would be able to walk away, in the end. Not happily, of course, as she had been one of his favorite pupils, or so he told himself. (She'd been more, and he'd never said, but she knew, and it had always put a certain curve to her smile.) But he had lost his students before, and his family; it was the curse of one as long-lived as he was.
Perhaps he should have told her, he thought. Not that she was going to die, but that he loved her. He didn't think there would be time for that, now. That would only complicate the matter.
The rain became louder, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Clow didn't hear it, succumbing to his exhaustion, falling asleep there with his back pressed up against the bed.
He woke with his face cold against the floor and a discarded page from his notebook pressed to his cheek. And also with her foot on his neck.
"So you're awake," he muttered into the boards.
"You are a total idiot," she countered, her voice hoarse.
"I know," he answered honestly.
There was a sharp flare of magic and he had a moment to think: her power feels the same, before he was deposited unceremoniously into her front yard, just left of the flowers he'd planted earlier that year, into the middle of a big mud puddle.
The rain was a cold shock to his system, though he did feel a certain chill of relief. She hadn't changed, then. That might make this easier. He'd need her sharp brain to work out the possibilities.
He got up, wrung out his tunic, and stepped back up to the porch.
"Yuuko--"
"I hate you," she said through the door.
"I'll make you breakfast."
"That doesn't even begin to fix this."
"That is only the beginning," he promised, and he half-smiled before he could stop himself, immediately thankful that she hadn't opened the door yet.
"That's always the problem with you," she growled, pulling the screen, and he noticed the way she wobbled, just a little, as she stepped back to sit on her bed.
He reached down, picked up his notebook, and handed it to her before going back to the kitchen. He hadn't gotten three steps before she began calling out to him, arguing with his conclusions in its contents. It would have been easier if she'd come into the kitchen, but he just cast a voice-amplifying spell back in her direction, and they had a high-level theory discussion while he made food.
That is, until she yawned and her words slowed. By the time he came back, she was asleep again, her feet dangling off the end of the bed, the notebook loosely grasped at her side. He lifted her gently, tucking her back underneath the covers, leaving the plate and the notebook on her bedside table. The food would be cold when she woke up again, and he would have to make something else, probably, but if he didn't leave it, she would ask.
Then he settled down again to wait. They had time enough, or something resembling it.
They had more than enough time. And that was the problem.