Saiyuki does not belong to the author of this fic.

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Through the Looking Glass by Mitsima
Part 9 - The Scent of Battle and Revelation

“Nataku. Nataku!” Litouten was vigorously shaking his son’s shoulder. “Wake up!”

“Huh?” The boy dazedly asked as his father pulled him up from the bed and literally dragged him out. His long, black locks fell to his waist and he barely had time to tie them back when he was pushed onto the balcony. “Does Tentei want me again?” He rubbed his eyes.

“No.”

“Then wha-”

“Ssshh.” Litouten hushshed him with a vile grin on his face, a filthy hand on his shoulder. “And watch.”

Nataku did. All he saw was dead blackness and the Western Army housing complex not too far into the distance. “There’s nothing there.”

“Not now. Just wait. Tonight will be...” he trailed off, searching for a word glorious enough to do justice to this sensation of sweet, sadistic victory he was now tasting. “Nataku, wake up!”

The boy had fallen asleep on his feet. “I’m awake, Father. Tonight will be what? You said it’ll be what?”

“Mine.”

He sounded like one of those comic books the Marshal always slipped under his door whenever he knew Litouten isn’t around. Nataku looked grumpily towards his father and shrunk back as the hand on his shoulder tightened into an oppressive grip. He looked to Western Army, then closed his eyes again. He didn’t want to see this.

****

He had never really seen barrenness until now, the charred homes, trampled flower beds, broken fences, and severe emptiness -made more painful by the multitude of footprints in the snow indicating that there were once many more people here- it all tugged at memories that only this body knew. And what this body knew, Tenpou could only guess.

Walking the cold empty streets, that part of him numb to human suffering seemed to die with each step. Whisps of smoke from dying fires rose from various points in the village where several families had decided to stay out of love for homeland. “When it comes right down to it,” a woman had told him. “Total disaster is in the eye of the beholder. Yes, we miss our lost friends...but we still have ourselves. Homes are just sticks and stones, and they can be rebuilt. Besides, the town was starting to look a bit decrepit anyway, wouldn’t you think?”

If Heaven had the opportunity to experience such calamities, maybe it wouldn’t be so intolerable, so untouched. Something so egotistically virgin needed a bit of...non-virgin experiences. Dirt. Snow. Wind. Rain. Fire. Fire.

It was a dim, gray sunrise, giving way to a sickly pale sun that seemed to suck the heat from earth instead of give. He caught a wide frozen splotch of red against a house, blatant and infused with the last scream of the dying, then fought the urge to gag when the scent reached his nose. Tenpou picked up his pace and headed to a wood right outside the town.

Finding him didn’t take too long- a permanent frown etched into perfect white marble that made the snow around him hide in shame. His eyes were closed, painfully so, as if he were forcing himself farther and farther into his meditation like it was some closet to hide in. As he stepped closer, a twig broke beneath Tenpou’s feet. He froze. The other flinched, then stilled himself, a murmur barely audible on his lips. “...come back.”

Tenpou dared to speak. “Sanzo.” One violet eye cracked open to give a well-aimed glare tailored perfectly for the marshal, accompanied by a well aimed gun.

“I thought I said that I wanted to be alone.”

Tenpou didn’t flinch, but held out a meat bun in his right hand. “You’ve been alone for five hours. You’ve been fasting for fifteen. Not smoking for ten. I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

His hand was graciously swatted away. “Don’t try to be my fucking nursemaid.”

But Tenpou wasn’t at all ready to leave. As if he had expected the initial rejection, his left hand offered an opened packet of cigarettes. Sanzo was about to repeat the gesture, accompanying it with more colorful epithets, then reconsidered. So he took a cigarette, evoking a light smile from the other man who tapped the bottom of the pack with the comfort only a well practiced smoker would have until a cigarette popped up neatly from the rest.

Sanzo wasn’t at all surprised as he lit up and threw the lighter at Tenpou’s feet. “My thanks.” the marshal said, as picked it up and brought burning life to end of his cigarette. It felt good, that first drag in a good long time...his mind liked it, but his body began to cough and choke like the beginner it was. It took a few shorter puffs for him to get accustomed, but when it felt more comfortable, Tenpou leaned himself against a tree, closing his eyes. “Just this once, so he won’t get addicted.”

“So you decided to cut the crap.”

“Yes, well, we both have eyes for bad acting, hm?” He grinned again then flicked his ashes onto the snow, blown cold by the northern winds before it even reached the ground. The winds haven’t stopped since that first attack. They both knew it. “That’s them, you know, and they’re still hungry.”

“There’s no food here.”

“Some villagers have decided to stay.”

“Then that’s their problem, not ours.” Sanzo said tersely, not looking at the stranger in front of him. “And definitely not yours. All you do is cause us trouble with your selfish little wants...not caring who gets trampled along the way. You and the rest of you, all the same- whether its for this heaven or that heaven, all the crap got thrown down here.”

“Like Goku, perhaps?” Tenpou said, wryly prodding the monk to defend his ward.

Sanzo only snarled, putting out his cigarette with more violence then necessary, the quiet hissing adding a greater dimension of irritation to his mood. “And I should hope that you weren’t responsible for chaining him up in that fucking cave, alone, for five hundred fucking years so that five hundred fucking years after he got put there, *I* had to fucking take care of him.”

Tenpou opened his mouth to disagree, then silenced himself, his face growing still and his eyes narrowing in subtle contempt- more for himself than anything else. Why was Goku...he didn’t know this. Nobody had told him, but it was a glance into an inevitable fate he didn’t want to accept...still couldn’t accept...but he had to now: he was going to lose everything regardless of what he did. And everything he had so wished for Heaven would never...and it would be nothing glorious. No Renaissance. That’s what he wanted, a true renaissance, like the ones he’d read about- a golden age of true change instead of a rotting, tepid one...he had so wished...

But it was a human desire incompatible with a nonhuman world- like trying to light a match in the vacuum of space...

Looking past the end of his cigarette, he saw the image of Konzen at his desk, superimposed on this unruly, smoking monk. Had Tenpou been in Konzen’s office this very minute instead of some freezing wood with Sanzo, he absently and futilly mused, Konzen would have said something like, “Go back to your books and quit distracting me.” if he really didn’t want to be disturbed. But if he really didn’t mind Tenpou’s presence, it would be something in the range of, “You’re still here.”

“You’re still here.” Sanzo said, dully.

“Yes I am.” he agreed, a better mood returning to him. “The youkai...”

“It’s not your problem.”

But motivated by a growing sense of vanity, Tenpou decided not to scuttle away with his tail between his legs like a kicked dog on some dirty sidestreet. Nobody had the right...no, not even a Sanzo because he was...and *he* was...is...

“It’s not for you to decide which problems are mine, Genjo Sanzo, emissary of the *gods*. ” Tenpou retorted, rubbing it in, delighting in that look of abject shock that flashed across Sanzo’s apathetic face just then, and feeling more like himself and deciding that he was himself, only in different skin- human, youkai, or not- and that he was still marshal.

Matters which concerned rampaging youkai were, arbitrarily, his problem. “Now listen, I’ve instructed the people to put out their fires and hide out in the valley west of here taking minimal belongings. They should be all cleared out in about two hours or so. The town will then be deserted and the youkai will most likely go for the slower caravan moving southwards which left around the time you started meditating. They cannot get there without passing first through the town. I think we can handle them, don’t you think?”

But Sanzo was busy grinding his teeth. “Fuck you.”

“Now, now. You should start to be nicer to me. I may not be Hakkai, but that doesn’t mean I’m worth any less.” Tenpou chided as he went over and put a patronizing hand over Sanzo’s head, petting him as if he were some student of his. “You know that Three Aspects debit Card you have?” He stopped. Sanzo glared. “When I go back, I can cut the Sanzo’s account with just a simple order and you and your predecessors will have a good five hundred years to learn how to earn your wages right. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Tenpou’s hand tightened at the hair that brushed against Sanzo’s neck as if pulling an imaginary ponytail.

“Or...” the marshal continued, pretending to ponder.

“Or.” said Sanzo through a clenched jaw, his trigger finger twitching like mad.

“Or, maybe I won’t. I could also have a word with the Three Aspects about guaranteeing vacations to the men in your line of work. After all, you need your rest...humans are so...so frail...”

It was enough provocation to send a bullet buzzing past his ear and into the air. Before he had time to think any second thoughts, Tenpou was grabbed by his collar in a brutal hold.

“Listen you...”

A bloodcurdling screech filled the air, cutting off the monk’s impending threat.

“So now they know we’re here. It’s all quite convenient really. I’m doing my job, and you’re getting your friend back. There won’t be any more need for you to meditate yourself over to his side. Isn’t that fair? ” Tenpou commented, oblivious to how close to death he was at that moment. He paused. “Isn’t it what you want, Genjo Sanzo?”

Sanzo released him, his eyes strewn with scornful disbelief as if he’d just been violated. Tenpou could have burst out laughing. “You...”

They were so alike. So the same. They were both allergic to the F-word.

“Why must both of you make friendship so complicated?” Tenpou teased. “Anyway, just come back before noon. Goku’s starting to miss you and we should prepare ourselves for the attack. It’ll be around dusk, if my knowledge of that type of youkai is correct.”

“Who put you in charge?” said Sanzo sulkily, grabbing the cigarette pack from Tenpou and lighting himself up another one. He breathed deeply, relaxed a little, only to have the cigarette plucked from his lips as the other man leaned down close and whispered in his ear, words both silky and terrifying, giving him enough proof that Tenpou Gensui was truly a fatal menace.

“I am -always- in charge. Remember that.”

And with those words, Tenpou walked past the stricken priest, his eyes glowing with satisfaction as he contemplated his newly acquired cigarette.

And with those words, Sanzo started to pity the marshal’s celestial enemies.

****

At the corner of the wood, out of sight, but not out of earshot, stood Gojyo digesting the conversation as the faint smell of cigarette smoke- not Sanzo’s brand at all - drifted towards him.

****

Tenpou felt especially soft right now- melting in his arms like cold fluffy soap scented feather down...

Wait a second.

Kenren’s eyes flew open and he found himself in a passionate embrace with an extremely dispassionate pillow. Burying his face in frustration, he mumbled to the memory, “Dammiiiitttt Tenpou.” The memory didn’t respond. “Who’re you running off to?”

“No one in particular.” replied Hakkai cheerily as the general shot up in bed. “Here and there, but mostly to the bathroom to bathe and such.” Which had proven to be quite difficult given the injury, but he wasn’t about to wake this man just so that he would help him bathe...not that Kenren would have minded one bit.

He felt like...bathing? It just wasn’t done. “Who-”

“Am I and what have I done with your Tenpou, right?” Hakkai waved a nonchalant hand dismissing the idea as if it were simply preposterous that Tenpou was not Tenpou. “Don’t bother Taishou.”

“Yes sir, not bothering sir.”

From his desk, Hakkai silently stood up with the ease of someone who had been awake for quite some time, Kenren noted, then resettled himself at the other man’s side, careful not to jolt his own shoulder.

“But in full uniform?” Kenren pursued, scooting over to make room.

“Mmh.” Hakkai agreed. “For here and there.”

“Ah.”

The desk was messed up with papers, a blemish in a strangely pristine room illuminated by soft candlelight. Dancing shadows were cast about, the wood marred here and there by splotches of black ink. Tenpou had been writing- or attempting to write- had gotten some ink smudges on his cheek and this was the messiest Kenren’s seen him in four days.

And it was suddenly like he stood in a room with a masked stranger who smiled out of mechanical habit and not bland amusement, whose eyes were not Tenpou eyes because Tenpou eyes were lusty when it came to being alone in dim candlelit rooms with less than two feet between him and Kenren. The way Tenpou looked at him now- as analytic as ever- quietly with his eyes whispering and not ravaging over exposed skin...it was as if Kenren were a torn picture he had tried to piece back together with the help only of a previous memory of his true image. The memory would superimpose itself upon the picture...

And then Tenpou kissed him, ticking his senses with soap and cologne that seemed to take on a different scent now- as if it were on different skin. Soft. Soft. And not demanding more than a simple touch but it felt like so much more than that because as innocent as it was, it made him warmer warmer and so Kenren being Kenren, took it past innocence and forced Hakkai’s mouth open with a probing tongue, tasting something slightly of cinnamon, maybe of vanilla, maybe of mint. The absence of tobacco was curious, and he pressed further to take in more.

“Mmh!” Hakkai violently pushed him away and clutched his stomach. It burned so much-as if it were being ripped open. Again. Because the mind’s memories were strong. It caused his shoulder to burn. It made him think of rain. And blood. And then he knew...that scent of youkai was so strong now...that they were ready to feast. “Hurts.” was all he said, but it was enough for the Taishou to understand and he went to cradle the other man if he weren’t pushed away. Again.

And he was going to protest, again, if a gentle hand hadn’t cupped his cheek and shaking, stroked it gently. “Get dressed, Taishou. Full uniform. We have no time for any of that now.” Hakkai said apologetically, though a sense of numbess had taken over him, and slowly, steadily, he got up and worked his way to the desk.

Kenren just couldn’t place Tenpou’s expression- one of solemn rumination on dark thoughts that implied more than the general ever thought his marshal had experienced.

“Taishou.” Hakkai insisted to the general who hadn’t yet moved and pointed to the pile of black clothes- now neatly folded- sitting at the foot of the bed. “Your uniform. I will not have my general stark naked in the middle of an attack.

Kenren sighed. This was pure madness; paranoia. “You’re insane, Tenpou.” But he complied anyway, frivolously tossing away the covering sheet and noticing Tenpou turn away in embarrassment, a blush creeping into his cheeks.

Tenpou never blushed. Or turned away.

A brusque knock on the door of Tenpou’s study broke their momentary silence. They looked at each other, then the marshal walked into the next room, closing the separating door behind him before answering the one hiding the visitor.

“Oh, it’s you...” Kenren heard Tenpou say in the other room, tacking “sir” hastily at the end of his greeting. It must be Goujun.

Silence and the general could just imagine his commanding officer taking a still-eyed perusal of the study. And he could imagine Tenpou twiddling his thumbs as he kept the dragon king outside of his little sanctuary.

“Won’t you come in?”

A ruffle of clothing, the stepping of boots that even *sounded* polished pierced the air- as a dragon’s presence would, whether he be in this form or that. Goujun looked to the Marshal, who stood as erect as he could, given his sling-cradled injury.

“You keep clean quarters, Tenpou Gensui.”

“It’s not usually like this, sir.”

Deep, blood red eyes bored into Hakkai’s relentlessly until turning away abruptly towards the ink stained desk, and his ink stained face and fingers. “No, I’d imagine not.” With one look alone, Hakkai felt violated, as if the dragon king had merely used his claws to effortlessly rip away into his mind and, with cunning deliberation, pick out a certain thought he deemed useful to keep in mind.

It made him uncomfortable, to say the least. “What can I do for you, sir?” he all but stuttered.

“Nothing. I was just checking that it was really you, issuing those foolish orders and not your foolish general.”

“It was me, sir.”

“Yes, I’d imagine it would be. Kenren Taishou would be too dense to even-” He paused. “But given that you are a kami as well, you should have been unable to perceive it also.”

“Perceive what, sir?” The eyes came to him again, narrowed as his white scaly body stilled, waiting to feel the direction of some invisible wind. One slender ear moved- ever so slightly- the look in his eyes changed, and before Hakkai knew it, sharp claws grasped his uniform and Goujun pulled him closer, the other hand forcing his chin up as the dragon king lowered his face to a vulnerable neck.

“Um...sir?”

Oblivious to Tenpou’s squirming, Goujun brought his nose close to the sweat sheened skin and worked his way through the different scents that invaded him. Soap was the most obvious sensation, then cologne, then a different musk -Kenren’s, the dragon thought wryly- , but after that he found it confusing. Traces of something earthly beneath heaven’s toiletries seemed to linger. Like dirt. Like humans...humans?...like youkai...like blood.

Goujun released him like a rag doll, toyed with and tossed.

“Sir, that was most inappropriate for Heaven.” Hakkai breathed out with slight indignation, but Goujun was unfazed as he stepped back, nodded a goodbye then headed out, calling over his shoulder as he left.

“I am not of heaven either.” the dragon king said, heavy with knowledge. “I do not totally approve of your form of intervention in this matter, but I trust that you will handle the situation to the best of your abilities. I do not approve, but good luck.”

- TBC -

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