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Mother's Milk	By : sakurazukamori6 Category: +S to Z > Tsubasa Views: 3730 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Tsubasa, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-A Mother's Curse
- 2-Come Home
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He loved his mother. She was the embodiment of all that was pure and good and beautiful and faithful in his world. These words are now all an abstraction. He cannot physically define them, cannot hold them up to light and see their substance, measure their weight and feel their shape.
He cannot do these things, because these words are nothing but words, words that have come to fade with memory and time. He no longer recognizes such words in the times that he has lived through. No longer has a precise definition for such things. No longer has a person who makes these clandestine words solid and immediate where he knows his heart is pounding and he would do anything in the world to keep it that way.

He loves his mother.

She had died in his arms. Her already fragile body made even more fragile as blood seeped through her snow colored robes and flowed onto the black lacquered floors of the prayer room.
The dark hand of the devil slinking back into the recesses and drawing his bloodied weapon with him, until all that was left was the mirror and the reflected image of a corpse.
She had not clung to life like he had clung to her. He wished she would have fought off the paleness in her cheeks, the dimness in her once doe-like brown eyes, tried to gather up all that black, glossy hair, the strands that father had loved so dearly, and held it close and kept the warmth from draining from her body.
But she had not fought, had only selflessly cupped his cheek and whispered words of longing and regret and cried miserable tears.
�I could not protect Suwa�you��
She had been a stubborn woman, who did not understand that she needed the protection of men to survive. She had prayed up to the last stretch, piously and with all the religious, sad zeal of a martyr.

He had watched her die and he had sobbed and cried and he knew, at that moment, deep within the puddles of his heart, that after this, he would not be able to properly mourn her. That this was his last chance to cling to desperate emotion, and so he wailed, and he bawled, and he clutched onto her robes, crusted and dried over with blood, screaming hoarsely until he sounded just as pathetic as how he felt.
It was the last time he had ever cried. Afterwards when he had clutched Ginryu in his hand, watched the silver scales on the hilt reflect the moonlight and somehow make the orb in the sky pale in comparison, he knew that tears would never come to him again.
The muscle in his chest had stopped beating, had lulled to a hollow thrum. And the sound of it had cut his childhood away, frayed his lifespan by the edges and blurred those memories of him running around carelessly throughout his home, weaving in and out of rooms and always somehow ending up in his mother�s arms at the end of the day.
..........
He has come across people that remind him of his mother. He has seen faint traces of her in Tomoyo�s stubborn and defiant nature. In the way she carries herself, her clothing, her hair that matches night and all that encompasses it.
He feels a bond to her. She had been the one to put his mother to final rest, to close her eyes against the ruins of everything she had held dear. Even the gods had not given his mother such ceremony. They had only left her to whither away in the grave of Suwa, with him as the gravedigger and their mocking quiet tilling the cold earth beneath them.
He wonders why the heavenly dragons had abandoned his mother in her time of need?
Why had they let her die like a dog? Why had they taken his father away and turned him into the dust that skirted the winds?
Why had they taken away every single thing that he had held dear in his heart?
He curses Suwa and its existence.

The moon crescent is no longer white with purity, like the body of his mother, but buried underneath layers of dirt and sharp rocks and enough blood to drown in.
He hated his weakness at the time.
He hated his mortality.
He hated his heart.
He hated that sword and the shadow of it that had been carved into his hand, like the dragon tattoo winding up his father�s arm, proud and fiery black. It was the last thing he had seen of his father. Swallowed up by the fiends of his past, crows that had scavenged and turned his village into rubbles and chaos.
..........
When Fai teases him, he�s reminded of his mother. He�s reminded of those times when she would smile at his father, when she would bow her head and gaze at his father through impossibly, dark lashes while he stroked a finger along a black strand of her hair. He�s touched Fai�s hair before, once, accidentally. It�s soft and fine, and the color is like a rebellion of everything that he has stood for in his inconspicuous life. He feels the residual touch of it sometimes on his fingertips, when he�s just laid down for the night, waiting for sleep to take over and he�s rubbing his fingers together and wondering why that action is keeping him wide awake.
He thinks he�s going crazy sometimes.
And then he�s unfairly reminded of a time when he would catch his parents gazing at each from across a room. How they almost seemed like they were having a conversation with each other that no one else was privy to. Even him, their own son had no chance of decrypting such things. He�s seen that stare on Fai�s face before, seen it and wanted it more than he�s wanted anything in his entire life. It�s frightening and he ends up being angered with himself, because after all these years, he�s still clueless as to the meaning behind such a thing.
He remembers how fragile and lovely his mother looked when she would reach her hands out to him, and he�s seen that gesture in Fai. A sweeping, encompassing gesture that almost seems like a hug, without the act of arms wrapping around his back or breath on his neck.
He doesn�t understand it.
He�s reminded of his mother�s cursed fate when he sees Fai out on a balcony one night, gazing up at the stars like his mother used to and looking utterly troubled for all the show he had put on the day before.
Fai�s good at hiding his pain, just like his mother, but he can see it, clearly and defined by the shiver of eyelashes, or the tremble of lips that hadn�t meant to be overwhelmed by a situation that had hit too close to heart and home that day.
Fai�s troubled. He�s cursed, like Suwa. He�s running.
In that respect Fai doesn�t remind him of his mother anymore, because his mother had awaited her death and had done nothing to stop it.
He is glad that Fai runs.
He does not need an answer to the conundrum of Fai�s past. Not right now. Not like this, when they�re both cursed and running, and they feel safe in the fact that no one knows their secrets and they can forget that they�re running in the first place.
He doesn�t ever want to set foot on Suwa soil again.
Fai always says that he wants to keep moving on, that he doesn�t want to stay in the same place for too long a time. But that it is best to run headlong into nothingness than retreat back into darkness.

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A/n: I hope somebody garnered some enjoyment from this and if you did, please leave a review, which is much appreciated.
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Mother's Milk