Halcyon/Hell by Eline

Index

Chapter 1: New Halcyon
Chapter 2: Changes
Chapter 3: DragonBlood
Chapter 4: Redux
Chapter 5: Association

Chapter 1: New Halcyon

Halcyon/Hell

By Eline (Kanz' on ff.net)

Warnings: AU fic--the product of the last two months of projects and exams. It's Eline's third year--extra stress produces extra weird fic. Correction: Fourth year and the FYP drove her up the wall and down again.

Notes: Primarily inspired by one particular pic in Saiyuki volume 6 and another in Backgammon 3 . . . And it's from Gojyo's POV because Eline wuvs him (heart). (Argh--I'm turning into a chibi! Too much Yami no Matsuei . . .)

* * * * * * * * * * *

There are times when you know that life was gonna change . . . Like when your brother had to stop Mom from killing you--only she was *really* nuts at that time and it ended with a dead body on the floor and big brother's suddenly on the lam. Or like when you accidentally killed a guy in a bar brawl and got thrown in here for manslaughter, brawling and card-sharping.

The thing was, you never ever saw it coming even though you knew life threw shit at you all the time. You're walking along, minding your own business and THUD! You wind up with a face-full of muck and before you knew it, you were screwed.

Not as fun as it sounds.

So there I was, doing time in New Halcyon, keeping my nose relatively clean and trying to cheat my way into every cigarette stash around. Then, things changed.

It started innocently enough one night. A rainy night where you were glad you had a roof over your head, even if you knew that there was someone else living right above you and someone else above him and so on so forth, compressed into layers and layers made of the dregs of society . . .

"Oi! You've got company!" One of the screws, just outside my little door. "Transfer!"

I stubbed out my cigarette irritably. Yeah, smoking was against the rules, but they closed both eyes to it unless there was some official shit going down. Like when they did prisoner transfers.

"Hey! Isn't it a bit late for doing reallocation?"

"Not reallocation, dummy! It's a new one! The transport got delayed a bit."

"Oh? What's this one in for?"

I just *had* to open my big mouth to ask. The screw grinned unpleasantly. "Oh, I dunno . . . mass murder, was it?"

I didn't know if the moron was lying or not, but just then, someone flipped the switch for my door and there were more guards trooping up the corridor. It was an oddly large number of guards. They brought the new guy--already in his NH greys--right up to my door.

Dark-haired, sort of thin and tall with spectacles. He didn't look like a mass murderer, but I had been around New H long enough to know that appearances counted for nothing.

"This is your new cellmate. Get acquainted or something," the screw told me and then they were gone, off to see about a nice hot cup of coffee and doughnuts once the paperwork was filed. Leaving me here with a guy who could very well be a mass murderer. Gosh. If NH hadn't been a dumping ground for killers and the like, I would've been shocked.

He just stood there, holding his spare standard issue greys and other little amenities they threw for free when you checked in. One minute. Two minutes. No movement.

I flopped back down on my bunk, unsure of how I simply just knew that he was not about to go postal on me. "The other bed's yours. Welcome to Hell. You just keep your hands off my Hi-Lites and we'll be the best of buds, 'kay?"

No answer. The guy had moved to the other bed and sat down. His face was a closed book and I didn't like to read anyway, but something about his silence was just too bloody *loud*.

"Oi," I said, "I'm gonna smoke. Get used to it. Okay? Hey . . . Could you maybe say something so that I know I'm not talking to a wall here?"

"Ah . . . Yes." A mild, soft voice that was just about as readable as his face. He did not say anything else for the rest of the night.

And that was the day that Cho Hakkai walked into my cell and into my life.

* * * * * * * * * * *

So due to the unsurprising overcrowding at NH, I didn't have my cell to myself anymore, but Hakkai, he didn't seem to take up much space . . . In fact, if I didn't look too hard, it was almost as though he was not there at all.

But sometimes, it was impossible to ignore his silence and his sad green eyes. Did you know that he had green eyes? Damn pretty eyes for a guy . . . He was polite, rather quiet and inoffensive. In here, that would've made him an easy target. But everyone steered clear of him because, surprise, surprise, he was doing time for mass murder.

It's always the quiet ones.

Didja know? One month after he came in, I got offered a transfer to another level if I didn't want to stay in the same cell with a guy who killed over fifty people. But in a fit of temporary insanity, I told Mara in the Warden's Office that I didn't mind because he was unobtrusive and compulsively neat. And he didn't even try to snitch my cigarettes. But that was because he was definitely a clean-living non-smoker who kept his hands to himself. Amazing.

Didn't smoke, didn't drink, didn't want any girlie mags. And yet I knew nothing about him after the first month. We talked, sure, but nothing important ever came up. Nothing personal ever came up. So I took it upon myself to find out what everyone else seemed to know about the guy . . .

He was a former med school student and schoolteacher. A *schoolteacher*. Well, I'll be damned . . .

(Oh wait . . .)

A schoolteacher who had methodically murdered all the members of this gang that had raped and killed his girlfriend. Then set fire to the place the gang leader had been holed up in and took a couple of innocent bystanders in the process.

Rumour and hearsay, of course. So I had to find someone in the know. One of the guys I played poker with, Tonpuu, recommended me this guy in my block--just two levels up from where I was--who did paperwork for the Warden's Office sometimes because he could actually read without using a finger to keep his place on the page.

Genjo Sanzo was undeniably the prettiest guy in NH. All pale and blond with hands as slim as a woman's. And he was the aloof sort that rubbed people the wrong way because he was a bastard who thought he was better than the rest of us bastards. I never spoke to the guy before, but I saw him sometimes, always followed by the hyper eighteen-year old kid who was his roomie.

I've seen guys hit on him, but they normally wind up looking for their teeth on the ground because Sanzo hits back--hard. You'd think that people would steer clear of someone who was doing fifty to life for first degree murder, right? Wrong. Sanzo was a little too hot for a lot of guys to resist. And no one took his pint-sized shadow seriously even though it was well known that the judge gave him 500 years for a crime that no one ever spoke about when he was old enough to be tried for it.

Saw the tail end of a fight involving those two and a gang of rowdies once. In the end, the ones who had started it needed stitches and couldn't walk for a month. That pair were a magnet for trouble, but the Warden's Office wised up and Sanzo got his pretty ass posted to doing stuff like sorting mail and filing in an out of the way corner. It saved on the medical costs to be sure . . .

So I approached them one evening with caution and a pack of Marlboros.

Pretty Boy got up my nose almost immediately and I wanted to pound seven different kinds of shit out of him. But that changed when he found out who my new cellmate was.

"Cho Hakkai, eh?" Sanzo said, lighting up a cigarette from my bribe in front of me without even offering me a stick. "Aren't you the lucky one."

"Who is he? Ne, Sanzo?" asked his ever present companion.

"Shut up!" Sanzo snapped, but it was more of a reflex action than anything else. "So how much do you know about him?" he asked. "Asides from the rumours?"

So I told him and he set me straight on a few points. It was his sister and not his girlfriend. And the fire in that building had been accidental. About the fifty people? The exact body count came up to fifty-six including women and children. Oh, and twelve casualties. Innocent--depending on how one defined that word--bystanders: twenty-nine in the fire. The D. A. couldn't do much for him--and he wasn't much help either during the trial because it seemed that he wanted to be found extremely guilty.

By the end of that conversation, I was not particularly shocked, just a little more thoughtful as I walked out of Genjo Sanzo's cell and back to my own.

Back to my own cell, complete with my very own mass murderer. He cooks, he cleans and he knows something's up the moment you walk through the door.

A look. Too brief to be a stare. Then he's looking down at the book he was reading again only he's not reading it anymore.

"You know I killed a lot of people."

"That's life, ne?" I shrugged and dug out my Hi-Lites. "One person, two people, many people. Like any of us in here can bitch at you about it."

"Ah, but what are you in here for?"

"I was unlucky enough to be in a fight with broken bottles involved. And then I was unlucky enough to kill a guy in that fight."

"I don't have any excuses," he said in that soft, polite voice of his. "First degree murder even though most of them were not my intended targets. The D. A. told me to plead insanity. But I don't know what sanity or insanity is anymore."

"Yeah, so?" I blew out a neat little smoke ring--something I had learned to do in the long stretches of boredom that threatened to turn the mind into porridge. "Know the guys next door? Kepple and Ren? Kepple killed his own wife for the insurance money and Ren tattoos himself with a toothbrush whenever he gets one sharpened. And Mooky D. on level five--the one who can't take too much sugar without feeling the need to carve his newest song in the nearest wall, or the nearest person? As you can see, sanity and morality are in short supply here."

"You don't mind then . . . or are you merely pretending to be jaded?"

I gave him a long appraising look out of one corner of my eye. "Saaa . . . you're so sharp, you're gonna cut yourself one day. But as far as I can see, it's going to be a paper-cut. Unless you go psycho after drinking coffee or alcohol--which is fine by me because it means more for me in the end."

Was that something approaching a smile?

"No, Gojyo-san, I just don't have a habit of drinking. Catholic upbringing and lack of money, you see."

"Ah-ha!" I crowed triumphantly. "I knew it! Never fear, you'd be corrupted in no time--just stick with me . . . Know how to play poker?"

Catholic guilt--it figures. And then I realised that he had volunteered something about himself for the first time.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Unobtrusive as Hakkai was, the eventual realisation of the change came one fine day about week later.

By "fine", I meant that it wasn't raining. We got loads of rain around here, so a day when we were allowed to go out into the quad when it wasn't raining was fine with us. It wasn't all sunshine and daisies, but it was enough.

Hakkai--that incurable bookworm--was probably at the library trying to find something readable. As for myself, I was prowling for a game of chance. Sometimes, chance needed a little nudge here and there to make it go my way. After all, I had a nicotine habit to feed. What I could buy with my limited hard-earned credit was just enough for me, but not enough if I wanted to trade for stuff.

Out in the quadrangle, I found my first two easy games and pocketed some Lucky Strikes and a new lighter. The day was still young, so I slowed down and watched some guys playing footy in the sad excuse for a field. The grass always gave up after a week or so and it wasn't as if it was being trod on that much--probably drowned because of the rain. There was some shade provided by the high wall separating the inner sanctum of the Warden's Office from the rest of NH.

Beyond the buildings was the outer wall, not to keep any barbarians out but to keep all of us in. Duh. Looking at the walls was a mistake--the damned things loomed up over everything else--a nice, solid reminder of how small the universe was for the likes of us. Maximum security. That was why they could be lax about security behind the walls. Doesn't matter how hard we kicked at each other because none of us were getting out.

"Che . . ." I lit up and glared at the figures running around on the pitch through the smoke. In the next minute, I was nearly run over by a fifty-kilo cannonball.

"Oi--watch where you're going!" I snapped.

"Whoops. Sooo-rry," the other guy said indifferently. "Was in a rush--there's a game on!" And he was off to get a closer view of the pitch.

It was that kid--what's his name again--Son Goku? And wherever he was, Sanzo would not be too far away. Yep, just behind me in the shadow of the East Tower, reading a paper and pointedly ignoring the passes being thrown his way. That was all that most people tried if they valued keeping their teeth in their original positions. He did deign to notice me after a while.

"You should tell your friend to watch his back. Some of his old acquaintances just got transferred in today," Blondie said without looking up from his paper. "And if they find him, it won't be just to pay a courtesy call."

"Oh? I'll pass it on," I said just as casually and slouched against the wall. "Why should you care?"

"I don't. There's always more work to do and tighter security after someone gets knifed in here. I couldn't get any Marlboros for a week after the last time."

Yeah, I remembered the last time that happened. A week without even a dog-end to see me through because someone wanted a piece of another inmate for whatever reason and got busy in the workshop putting an edge on a piece of plastic. They both got a week in the East Tower, if I remember correctly, and the screws started checking for things that could be large enough to be filed down into a weapon.

"Keep me posted." I'd probably have to bribe him with a new packet of coffin nails again, but a direct line into the Warden's Office would be cool.

"See those four over there?"

"The bad hair-cuts at two o'clock?"

"Correct. Those are the ones you should watch out for in case they decide to stop by your place."

"Much obliged. I got only some Lucky Strikes and my Hi-Lites on me now--if you want Marlboros, you gotta give me some time to work the field."

"Ran out of lighter fluid. I'll settle for a lighter."

"Sure." I passed over the recently procured lighter. "You play poker? I know loads of guys who are really bad players just waiting to be set up."

Sanzo lit up and gave me a glare that was in no way diminished by his slightly nerdy reading glasses--plastic frames only here.

I shrugged. "Guess not then."

"I'd play, but the stakes don't usually interest me," he said after a moment.

"It wasn't just for the fags, eh?" I couldn't resist asking.

The look I got for that crack was extremely nasty to say the least.

"Hey, I don't play for that sort of thing . . . You can ask Hakkai. He plays pretty well for a good Catholic boy." Actually, Hakkai could wipe the floor with me in most card games. As a team, we could've sponged off everyone else here--except I had a reputation to maintain and his reputation tended to drive people away. Far away.

"Maybe if I'm bored enough," was Sanzo's reply before he went back to his paper. So much for being friendly . . . I took myself off to do some serious work.

Five games--one of which had been honest--later, it was dinnertime. Let's just say that it was a force of habit that actually brought all of us trooping down to the canteen. The routine in here gets to everyone, no matter how crap the food was. I spotted Hakkai when he wandered in, blank and inoffensive as usual. I elbowed my way over, tray in hand.

"Yo."

"Good evening, Gojyo-san."

There were advantages to sharing a table with Hakkai. For one, no one else would be sitting there. So there was no problem with people with messy table manners either.

And there was that guy . . . "Ikedakemasu" followed by the polite clink of utensils. I think I was kind of fascinated by how he could just sit there, an oasis of obliviousness in a sea of mind-numbing boredom, eating NH rations like it was afternoon tea on a Sunday.

I came to the conclusion that I had a complete weirdo for a cellmate.

"How do you do that?"

"Pardon?"

Argh, that must have slipped out . . . "I mean how do you . . . Ahhh--just forget about it."

He blinks once, then goes back to the methodical sectioning of the vegetables. "You must have won a lot, Gojyo-san. You look like you've had a streak of luck."

"Aa . . . Lots of newcomers to fleece." That reminded me . . .

I propped myself against the railing of the relatively quiet tier we were on for a better view of the canteen. Almost forgot about keeping an eye out for trouble . . . But trouble, in my experience, was never hard to find.

"Oi, Hakkai--over here . . . d'you recognise any of the new guys down there?" I asked, discreetly pointing out the four who had just appeared on the tier below.

"No . . . should I?" His eyes widened slightly in confusion first, but he caught my meaning pretty fast. "That . . . I can't remember much from that time . . . There were so--"

"Never mind. Just you keep your head down and avoid them." I didn't know what I was doing, sharing space with a liability like him. Helping someone like him.

* * * * * * * * * * *

End Part 1.

Back to index

Chapter 2: Changes

Halcyon/Hell

By Eline

Warnings: AU fic. Violence and swearing and blood all over the place.

Notes: This isn't that original . . . as you can tell by now. Just another re-telling of Saiyuki . . .

* * * * * * * * * * *

So I was right. Hate being right sometimes. But it wasn't a paper cut. Hell no.

Hakkai had one more scar after that day. One more to add to the collection. One more really screwed-up memory to add to the scrapbook labelled, probably in shaky crayon, "My Life". Bet he had one of those too. The ones that you made in kindergarten, with pictures, cut-outs and "Mom, Dad and Spot the dog" in green crayon.

Only he had been in an orphanage and he told me later (much later) that it wasn't so much "Mom, Dad and Spot the dog" as "Life's Lessons" with Sister Anne putting salve on his last scrape and telling him that pain was a part of imperfect life in this imperfect world.

So, a collection of scars to mark events of an imperfect life in this imperfect world.

He had this honking huge scar across his abdomen--that one was the worst one. It was a large, slightly rope-like knot of scar tissue that was at least a foot in length. Not a pretty sight.

Hakkai didn't like people to see it, that much I knew. Heck, it was like he was trying to forget about it himself. Somehow, I wound up giving him loads of room when he was changing. He had the showers pretty much to himself too, by the way. Hakkai didn't do his work in the work-gangs because the Warden's Office had learned a thing or two about putting critical cases together with the rest of the population. Shelving books in the library and helping in the stocktaking put him well away from any trouble. Or so they thought.

It was one of those days when I was down for one of work-gangs and Hakkai would be puttering about in the library. He'd get off work earlier than me and still go for a shower despite nothing worse than a bit of dust from the shelves.

But we had been re-turfing that sorry excuse for a football pitch. Sweat, icky work. So I decided to be a little less polite that evening and head straight for the showers.

The whole floor shared the showers and I was eager to get there before the rest of the mob descended on it. Which was probably why I was the first to find Hakkai, bleeding from a fresh gut wound on the floor of the toilet with his assailants still standing by.

There were four of them--the same four whom I had thought were oblivious to Hakkai's presence after two months without any incidents. They were just as surprised as I was, but I think I may have recovered just a moment earlier to catch a glint of light on metal.

A knife. One of them was armed.

As a kid, I was taught that if someone had a knife in a fight, run like heck. As a not-so-innocent drifter, I developed an allergy to metal with sharp edges. I tended to react very defensively. Or offensively if the situation warranted it. In an enclosed space, the latter wasn't a very good idea. But the knife-wielder was already turning towards me, poised to attack. Not good odds.

There was blood on the tiles. Blood dripping down the length of sharpened metal.

Somehow or other, I had a grip on the guy's wrist. I was bleeding from the cut the bastard gave me, but I wasted no time in slamming his hand against the wall. With extreme force. I think I might have fractured something. Follow up punch to the gut before he could recover. Then I slung him at his buddies who were coming to help--that slowed them down a bit. Still bad odds.

But hey, I'm a gambler, right?

Fortunately, I was saved the trouble of fighting all of them by the timely arrival of Tonpuu and the rest of the work-gangs from our floor.

The resulting commotion was enough to bring the screws. It wasn't done to invade a floor you didn't belong to like that. After all, how could anyone shower with a guy bleeding to death on the floor?

Speaking of the bleeding guy . . .

I didn't know if it was all right to move him--he was coiled up tight around what must have been a serious gut wound. Something about it reminded me of those nights when it rained and I could catch him clutching at his abdomen as though his scar pained him.

"Oi--Hakkai! Hakkai? You're going to get loads of down-time from this . . ." If he survived. If they patched him up right . . .

He evinced a faint groan that I could still hear despite the shouting going on over my head. Still alive. He lifted his damp head from the tiles to look up at me.

"Bakayaro! Don't move! Cheh . . . You could have yelled for help or something!" I said loudly to cover how relieved I was. Absurdly relieved for some reason--until I saw his eyes.

* * * * * * * * * * *

When the medics towed him away, I found myself standing in a damp uniform with a bandage on my left forearm ("Just a gash--you're lucky.") in the middle of the showers where some people had already begun sluicing away the blood so that everyone could get on with life in general.

"Na, Gojyo--you were lucky you didn't get knifed badly, yah?" Tonpuu's there beside me, towel in hand.

"Yeah, new bit of luck for him there!" someone else called out. "Flying solo again!"

"Oh yeah . . . He was trouble in the end, that weirdo."

And so I realised that at the end of this shower, I would be going back to being single-roomer. It was funny how that thought was suddenly as depressing as hell.

But that was life in NH. People move in, people get knifed, people take showers, people moved on. Just another transition . . . another change. The only thing that remained constant was NH itself. Just four walls, two bunks and the bits and pieces of someone else's life.

Granted, it was a pretty anonymous collection of bits and pieces. He didn't have much on him when he came in. Didn't accumulate much stuff either.

Heard that the perps got transferred out. Weird. But okay by me. Didn't need any more trouble by association. As to how those dicks got a shiv in here . . . that remained a mystery. And there was the clamp-down and weapon-checks, which made everyone antsy and me itching for a much-needed nicotine-fix.

And if you thought it was bad with me, you should see how Sanzo gets without his coffin nails. It was easier to bribe him with a stick now and then for news from the infirmary.

"Anyone would think you were being concerned," Genjo Sanzo said on one of those mornings during which the clamp-down was still affecting everyone's tobacco supply. His side-kick was rubbing his head and bitching about how much being smacked by a newspaper hurt--testament of the shortness of Blondie's temper that day.

Sometimes, it just wasn't worth seeing his grumpy mug for anything.

"Hey, I just want to know if I should keep his side clear. If he ain't coming back . . . I would've busted my knuckles on some numbskull for nothing."

"Aren't you such a hero?" Sanzo sneered before lighting up. "He's still in intensive care. It's hard to keep a guy here if they really want to go."

And I knew that was true, because I had seen something missing in Hakkai's eyes. The will to go on--he didn't have it. I wonder where people went when they were too depressed even for this place. Was it supposed to be worse or something? Because that was what he had wanted. To sink down to the darkest, deepest pit and never come out again.

So I was the most surprised one of all when he popped up at my door again in a replay of that night three months before, sans the overly large contingent of guards. I hadn't gone to get any updates from Sanzo in two weeks, so the smug motherfucker must be laughing his head off--or at least sneering in an amused way--by now.

"Asshole." But I couldn't scowl for very long. "I thought I'd have this place to myself again."

"I'll be needing my bunk back," he said, casting a slightly disapproving look at my appropriation of the other bed. "It's a wonder that you managed to get this place past an inspection."

"Haven't had one since the last time. All they did was weapon-checks."

So I did get my stuff off the bunk--his bunk--and it was as though he had never left.

"Is your arm all right?" he asked in the middle of making up his bunk.

"Oh--yeah, I took the bandage off two weeks ago." I had no idea he had noticed it at that time. Or that he could make out the thin white scar on my forearm.

"That's good. Just don't try that again, Gojyo-san. There's been enough trouble around me as it is."

"Only if you stop that Gojyo-san shit," I countered.

"Hai."

A pause as I kicked most of my stuff under my bunk. "Oi . . . You really wanted to suffer, dint'cha?"

"I suppose so."

I snorted. "Dummy. What made you change your mind?"

He smiled faintly. "Being called an idiot four times a day did that . . . "

"Mara and the counsellor?"

"Yes. And Sanzo when I passed by him in the Warden's Office. Then you."

"Anytime," I said, doing nonchalant for all I was worth. "Glad to be of help."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Other little changes crept up on you when you least expect them to. Like that one morning when I was rudely awakened by an irritating noise.

Rainwater. Dripping down in a steady stream. Just over my bunk. Dripping on me.

Bugger.

It turned out that the roof was leaking. Which had lead to accumulation of water on the top floor. When then leaked downwards. The series of leaks had progressed throughout the night during a particularly heavy downpour and reached our floor by morning. Another shower might just result in the problem spreading all the way to the ground floor at this rate.

The inmates on level six were raising a stink. Not to mention the real physical stink from the accumulated damp. And there was this weird slimy yellow-coloured mould that dripped down like melted candle-wax in places. It looked absolutely disgusting. Not even Hakkai could say anything positive about the current situation.

By noon, we got news that it was reallocation time. There was much grumbling, but it was not as if we had any say in that matter. That particular wing had had it--there would be renovations while we had to double up in the new south wing, a month ahead of its original opening date, if I recall correctly.

The Warden's Office had the reallocation slips out after dinnertime. Totting all our worldly possessions, we moved from the mouldy old block and crossed over to the new wing. It took only one trip and the sight of a new, dry, mould-free cell did wonders for my mood--until the new roomies showed up.

"You!"

"What a coincidence," Hakkai said.

"Cheh . . . as if having to share with another two idiots weren't enough," Sanzo remarked acidly.

"Aw man, couldn't we ask for a transfer?"

"What's *your* problem?"

And so there we were, crammed four to a cell. The monkey with his appetite, Sanzo with his attitude and Hakkai with his way of taking up less space than expected. Me with my big mouth that always set Goku and Sanzo off. Surprisingly enough, no one required medical attention after the first week. Which was more than what could be said for the situation in other cells. It *was* easier to arrange mahjong and bridge games though.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The new regime also included one more thing: roof-repair and renovations of our former old, leaky wing.

It was either brain-numbingly hot or soaking wet when we were up there on the roof, replacing the leads and the busted roofing. That kid--Goku--was on my shift and he was amazingly strong for a guy his size. He was great at the lifting and carrying part of the job--made it look dead easy.

But it's not like we all didn't bitch like crazy on sweltering afternoons. Just hearing the quitting signal was becoming the highlight of my day. And we were only on the third day of repairs, mind you.

So we had just packed it in for the day and were on the way down when I noticed a distinct lack of Goku complaining about how hungry he was.

Eh? The kid was not with me . . . ?

I turned around to check the roof. "Goku?"

Ah there he was . . . He had hopped up on top of the scaffolding along the wall facing the quad.

"Oi, baka! You trying to get yourself killed or something?"

"Shut up . . . I'm okay!" And he shimmied down the scaffolding, as agile as the monkey I had teased him about. It didn't do my heart any good, that sort of thing. It was a six storey drop down to certain *splat*.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting something!" he called up as he wriggled under the overhanging to the eaves. "Won't be a minute!"

And sure enough, he was back up in a flash with a suspicious bulge under his shirt. I hustled him off the roof and past the screws, muttering under my breath about crazy runts who were obviously plotting to give me a heart attack before my time.

"Okay, now what's that all about?" I asked. Goku pulled his prize out from his shirt and displayed it proudly.

"An egg? You aren't thinking of eating it, are you?"

"Of course not! It's kinda pretty . . ." And it was--sort of bluish-white and smooth all over.

"If it's a bird's egg, then what about the bird that laid it?"

"I dunno. I saw the nest when the scaffolding went up a few days ago. No birds ever went back to it. Maybe something happened to the mother-bird?"

And it takes a really hard-hearted bastard to be discouraging when the kid looked like *that*. Sanzo's job--not mine. "Yeah, maybe."

"So the egg's sort of like an orphan. Think it'll ever hatch?"

"You should ask Hakkai--he's the smart one."

And he did later that evening when he smuggled the largish egg back to the cell and showed it to an uninterested Sanzo and a mildly amused Hakkai.

"Here--Hakkai, you can have it! And maybe you can tell what kind of bird it's from."

"Ano . . . thank you." Hakkai looked down at the bluish egg quizzically. "It's a very nice egg. I don't recognise what kind of bird's egg it is though . . . But we could always look it up."

"Cool!"

"We can go to the library now, yes?"

I think Hakkai just likes being a schoolteacher. Especially to Goku--he had been encouraging the kid to read more.

"Oi . . ." I grabbed hold of the back of Goku's jacket before he could go bouncing after Hakkai. There was something I wanted to know . . . "Why'd you give it away after you climbed all the way to get it?" I thought he would keep it, or show it to Sanzo until he got smacked with the newspaper.

"Eh? Oh, I thought he needed some cheering up . . . And he's the one least likely to break it." And he was off, running after Hakkai and fussing over the egg.

Least likely to break it, eh? Well, that was Hakkai, all right . . .

"That kid . . . goofy, but nice. What's the deal with him?" I asked Sanzo.

"He doesn't remember," Sanzo said, not sounding irritated like the other ninety-nine percent of the time. "He's been through so many places--I think all those treatments screwed with his mind."

"Treatments?"

"I think they used electro-shock, drugs--shit like that." Sanzo stubbed out his cigarette and put his paper down for a moment. "Bad stuff, he calls it. He can remember some of the *bad stuff*, though he doesn't want to. And that was even before he turned sixteen."

Ah. Shit like *that*. On a kid. Remind me to be nicer to little runt . . .

"So they don't have anything on his record about what happened?"

Sanzo gave me a level look and turned back to his paper. "I don't know. And I don't care."

And that was five seconds worth of humanity from Sanzo--a new record, ladies and gentlemen.

* * * * * * * * * * *

They never did figure out what kind of bird laid that egg. Hakkai kept it on his shelf the way most schoolteachers would tack up a particularly good piece of work. And so it remained with us, a largely decorative souvenir.

Until it hatched one evening just before lights-out.

Goku noticed the movement first--he was pretty sharp despite all the rumblings from his stomach. "Hey . . . er, Hakkai, it's rocking. The egg's moving!"

"What?"

"No shit, it really is moving!" I exclaimed after taking a look at where the egg sat beside Hakkai's books.

Even Sanzo looked up from his newspaper to see the amazing rocking egg. It must have been an *extremely* boring day for him if he would deign to even look.

"Odd . . ." Hakkai murmured as he took the egg from the shelf and set it down gently on the floor. "It's been a month since Goku found it. And it hasn't been incubated . . ."

"Ahhh! It's cracking!" Goku was hopping up and down excitedly, doing a fairly good impression of the egg's mother.

And so it was. One vertical crack, followed by another. By that time, we were all leaning over for a look.

But it was no bird that stuck its head out of the first hole in the shell.

"A lizard? Oi, saru! You got a lizard's egg!"

"That might explain why it could hatch without much incubation," Hakkai said, bending closer to examine the small whitish head that had poked its way out of the egg. One leg followed, then another, widening the hole in the shell.

"It's still cute!" Goku said, defending his find.

"Come on, just a little more to go," Hakkai said softly to the newborn lizard as it finally fought free of its shell.

"That doesn't look like any lizard I've ever seen," Sanzo said after a very long and surprised silence that followed the triumphant emergence of the pale creature.

"It's got . . . It's got wings," Goku said, stupefied. He was not the only one. Sanzo had forgotten to be sarcastic, which rated this surprise pretty high on the list of thing of note in NH.

Still slick and shiny with whatever fluids the egg had been filled with, the little reptile squeaked at us and stretched its long neck and very noticeable wing membranes.

"A flying lizard," I muttered. "Now, I've seen it all . . . Hey--that *does* explain why the runt found it in the eaves."

"But flying lizards . . . here?" Hakkai, who had been the closest to the--the whatever it was--reached out a hand to touch it.

It shed away for a moment, then stretched out its neck to nose at his hand. Goku eagerly followed suit. Even I tried petting it. It had surprisingly soft scales and some kind of fuzzy stuff on its neck . . .

So it was real. Not a weird dream.

And Goku opened his mouth to ask the question I *knew* he was going to ask.

"Can we keep it?"

* * * * * * * * * * *

End Part 2.

Back to index

Chapter 3: DragonBlood

Halcyon/Hell

By Eline

Warnings: AU fic--cue violence, bad language, mature topics and the like.

Notes: There were beta-readers and kind people who offered corrections when my eyes were going to drop out of my head. This is for them--wherever they are right now.

* * * * * * * * * * *

An hour after the hatching of our new cellmate, Goku was still working the puppy-eyes for all he was worth. Hakkai was carefully listing out the pros (very few of them) and cons of having an animal living in the same room, not to mention hiding it in here with us. Sanzo was trying to find something to plug his ears with.

Then it was lights-out. The kid was still pleading to anyone who would listen.

I stayed out of it. Sanzo hit Goku with the paper for being annoying and said that he didn't care either way. Hakkai was sort of undecided, because the little bugger was actually cute.

See? It's messing with my head too.

"Please . . . I mean, it's all alone," Goku whined in a whisper.

"Shut. Up. Idiot." Sanzo was muttering on automatic now as he shoved his head under the pillow.

I have to confess that I feel asleep halfway through it all. I had a limited attention span for these things after all.

When I got up to the sound of the morning wake-up siren, Goku was saying good-bye to a potential pet. Hakkai would take it out and set it free as soon as possible. I tagged along, intending to have a morning smoke outside before breakfast.

"So you finally convinced Goku that it was better off this way?"

"Hai. It's a wild animal--it doesn't belong here. Not here with us."

Aa. That was the sort of sentiment I could agree with.

"You're all melancholy this morning," I said as we casually strolled out into a rather greyish and windy morning. Hakkai had the lizard secreted under his jacket.

"Oh . . . I guess I don't know if we should leave it here or bring it up to the roof. It's not very safe," Hakkai said worriedly. It could not fly yet, so it was basically a sitting duck--lizard. Knowing the kind of inmates we had here in NH, laving the poor thing down here was not an option anymore.

We snuck back into our old wing via a particularly loose panel in the fencing. While it was still under renovation and construction, it would afford one small lizard a lot of room to run and hide in.

"All right, I’m afraid you have to go now," Hakkai said when we reached the roof. He brought the pale reptile out and set it down. "It's best if you don't hang around here too long--"

But the lizard had other ideas. It clawed its way up Hakkai's leg, squeaking urgently.

"Ano . . ." He shook it off gently. *Tried* to at any rate. The lizard was having none of that--it just kept going despite Hakkai's efforts to the contrary.

"I think it likes you."

"Gojyo--you're not helping at all," he said, attempting to pry it off.

With a determined squeak, it promptly latched onto Hakkai's shirt and crawled under his jacket.

I grinned and blew out a generous mouthful of smoke. "Hakkai . . . It thinks you're its mother."

"Oh dear, it might have imprinted on the first person it saw . . ." Hakkai tried to detach one clingy and overly affectionate reptile from his clothes with little success.

By that time, other inmates were beginning to show up in the quad--we couldn't stay up here any longer without drawing unwanted attention.

For the first time in months, I heard Hakaki swear inelegantly as the lump under his jacket wormed its way in deeper. I think it had crawled up the back of his shirt by then. And all he could do was grin and bear it as we returned to our current wing and found a quiet corner in which to settle his little problem.

"Gojyo--if you would be so kind as to help . . ." Hakkai said, shedding his jacket and hauling up the back of his shirt to reveal the small winged lizard flattened against his back.

"Okay--I'll try . . ."

But it held on tight and squeaked in distress when I tried to get it off.

"Oi, think it'll take some of your skin with it if I pulled really hard?" But I couldn't do it--it just looked too pitiful clinging there. And we were definitely hanging around here too long. So after a few minutes more of futile shooing-noises, Hakkai wound up carrying it down to breakfast on his back.

It was a Saturday. Saturday breakfasts were slightly better than the other days. Goku was already shovelling away at the pile on his tray while Sanzo, no stranger to the ape's appetite, had his head stuck in today's newspaper when we got there.

Goku actually paused in the middle of his meal to look wistfully at us. "So it's gone now?"

"Actually, no."

"It's extremely *attached* to Hakkai," I could not resist adding as we sat down at the table. It had become a habit these days as the numbers of inmates increased--we could tolerate each other quite well already.

"Huh?"

"It doesn't want to let go," Hakkai said, setting down his tray. "We'll figure out how to get it off my back later."

"What's this 'we' thing? It's your lizard!"

"Can we keep it now?" Goku asked eagerly.

"Not *that* again," Sanzo could be heard to mutter from behind his paper.

"We shall see," Hakkai said levelly before starting on his own meal.

And a minute later, a white, snake-like head darted out from under Hakkai's arm to snatch the bit of slightly overdone bacon off his fork and retreated back in again. It happened so fast, I wasn't sure I saw it. And then it happened again. This time, the other two caught on.

Goku had one hand clapped over his mouth as his shoulders started to shake. Sanzo looked as though he was about to spit out his current mouthful of coffee. I concentrated on chewing and keeping a straight face. Chewing . . . chewing . . . la-di-dah . . . Just not thinking anything and how bloody hilarious the whole situation was . . .

Hakkai went on as though it was absolutely normal to have a flying lizard in his shirt nicking his breakfast.

The ending of that little episode was sort of inevitable. Hakkai took it back to the cell after breakfast and it crawled out voluntarily to perch on his shoulder.

"You like the little guy too," I stated.

"Aa." He reached up to pet the scaly head and it cooed appreciatively. The stuff that Kodak moments were made of. "I guess it couldn't hurt to keep it until it can fly and fend for itself. Then it won't have to steal food. I think it needs a little house-training . . . You're going to behave right?" The last he addressed to the reptile. It was the beginning of a habit that would last for as long as I knew them both.

It merely chirruped smugly before coiling around the neck of its chosen keeper. Who *just* happened to be the best choice for lizard-sitting. In retrospect, that was one of the many signs that it was not, in fact, a dumb animal.

Goku was over the moon. Sanzo couldn't give a fuck as long as it didn't annoy him too much.

Due to the circumstances and a large dose of irony, Hakkai wound up taking care of the lizard twenty-four-seven. *I* couldn't be bothered to and neither could Sanzo, no surprises there. Goku was good for an hour's play before he got bored. Hakkai took to dragon-care like a fish to water. It probably did him a world of good because took his mind off a lot of things.

To everyone else, the only noticeable change in him was the sudden development of a larger appetite. The lizard kept close to Hakkai during the first few weeks. Most of the time, if you wanted to see it, all you had to do was find Hakkai and look under his jacket to see a pair of beady red eyes looking right back at you.

Oh, and it wasn't a lizard. That was too common for our little guest anyway. Hakkai and Goku declared that it was a dragon--probably a male dragon if it didn't start laying any eggs. After Goku bugged him about it, Hakkai named the dragon Hakuryuu from something he read in a book. It meant "white dragon"--very appropriate and simple.

That little re-classification probably came from that time when Hakuryuu got into my latest cache of scotch. It hadn't been easy to win, I'll tell you. But when I shooed the little bugger off, it took a few wobbly steps and hiccuped, producing a miniature fireball that missed singeing my eyebrows by a hair.

"Actually, that was rather cute," Hakkai said after that particular incident.

"That wasn't cute!" I had protested. "That's a fire hazard! Who ever heard of lizards that spout fire?"

So we had a fire-breathing miniature flying dragon of our very own. It had started out as a small lizard no larger than Hakkai's cupped hands, and five months later, it was mostly a pair of wings spanning three feet across, plus one long neck and tail.

When he started using those wings to fly, there were rumours of an albino bat in our block. Hakuryuu learned to make himself scarce when any company was around. I kept waiting for someone spot him and blow the whistle, but the little guy was fantastic at hiding and keeping out of trouble.

"Aww, isn't that cute?" I just *had* to say it when Hakuryuu started hunting rats and bringing them back to Hakkai.

"At least it wouldn't be a problem for him to find food," Hakkai sighed before chucking the rat out discretely.

Yep, you had to envy Hakuryuu--he didn't have to put up with the leftovers around here when there were nice, fat and juicy rats to be had.

* * * * * * * * * * *

About three long months after the reallocation, all that wretched repair work finally got done and we were reshuffled back to the south wing in pairs again. Each standard wing had four blocks--we were still in block D, but two floors up. Which was a good thing because Hakuryuu had just started to fly around that time and we didn't have to worry about him being seen winging his way up to the roof.

The ensuing lull could not last, but we tried to bum around for as long as possible before the plans for the next wing to be built was green-lighted by the Powers-That-Be. NH just keep getting more and more packed.

But that meant more fresh pickings for me, right?

"Gojyo . . . that's the fifth time you've won today!"

"Tonpuu, luck is a fickle lady . . . "

"And you're supposedly good with the ladies--yes, I *know* . . ."

It was wet outside that day, so it was a good time to break out the cards and set up a game or two--or five--in one of the quieter hallways. With the numbers on the rise in NH, there were always new guys to scalp. This was no exception. The other three besides Tonpuu were newbies.

"Oi, another game?" one of them asked. Some people didn't know when to quit even after they had been cleaned out of coffin nails, three credit stubs and one candy bar.

"Nah, got something else scheduled." Hakkai and the other two had just popped up in my field of vision. I waved them over. It was funny how Sanzo and Goku had suddenly became "the other two" after basically squabbling and bitching at each other in the same cell for a while. But they were the only ones whom I played with without any stakes.

"Hey, at least let us win something back!"

"Another day . . . Got a mahjong appointment." No one liked sore losers. "Oi Hakkai! I'm almost done here!"

One of the guys, Shiro or something, seemed to be thinking hard. He had been looking at me in a weird way since the game had begun. "Hey, I know you!"

"Did I know you?" I asked, gathering up the cards.

"Gojyo--Sha Gojyo from Rivertown," the guy continued. "I'd remember that hair and eyes anywhere."

"So?"

"Fancy you winding up here. Not surprising though . . . After you disappeared--"

Oh. I see. I knew the guy. I remember this guy. One of the kids from my old neighbourhood. You could say we used to play together--he was one of those who were always up for a spirited game of stone-the-half-breed-bastard. Ah, the joys of childhood . . .

"--we wondered if your brother killed you after he did your mom. Sorry, wasn't that your psycho-bitch of a step-mom?"

It was suddenly very quiet as I stubbed out my cigarette and stood up. "I said I'm going. Hakkai--you got the board set up right?"

"Aa." Hakkai looked slightly worried. But I could've told him that it was useless to fuss over things like that. There were dickheads in this world, much like the ones who had came after him for revenge, but whatever their reasons for--

"Oi--and I heard your brother fucked your mom."

"Hey! That's going too far! You lookin' for a fight?" Goku demanded.

But I was already there, instinct and something else driving my fist home. "Never mind, saru. Let's go before this idiot's stupidity starts getting contagious," I said, rubbing at my knuckles. It had been a while since I punched someone, after all. And I wanted out of here now--that guy had hit a nerve . . .

"True. A wise man would know when to shut up," Sanzo said, picking his way fastidiously over Shiro's prone body.

"Hakkai--did the sky just fall down or something?"

"Eh?"

"I think I just heard Sanzo-sama agree with me on something."

"Cheh . . ."

But that had not been the last of it. Rubbing at his cheek gingerly, Shiro/Dickhead sat up and sneered at us, determined to have the last word. "So I heard your brother screwed your mom . . . Did you two take turns?"

Things went a little blurry after that.

There was a lot of yelling. But I couldn't care less. The screws came along to check out the commotion. But I couldn't care less. My knuckles were getting bloody. But I couldn't care less.

I think someone was calling my name just before I blacked out.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Fact One: Tasers hurt when you get zapped by one or two of them.

Fact Two: Waking up from getting zapped hurts as well.

The peacekeeping screws carried tasers--it was safer than carting guns around this place. Perimeter guards were the ones packing heat, but as no one is likely to make it out beyond the inner perimeter, that's a moot point.

I woke up in a pretty high-level security lock-up in the infirmary with a headache and rubbery muscles. It was easy to tell when you're strapped down to the bed in a room with padded walls and there's a med officer checking your eyes with a penlight.

No pretty female nurses. Bah--my luck sucks today.

"Relatively sane again?"

"Ggh . . ." *Everything* felt numb. I had to try several times before anything coherent came out. "Yeah . . . Maybe. W-what happened?"

"Well, other than going completely postal on another inmate, you've busted your knuckles and they had to zap you twice . . . We've patched you up and put in the stitches." The med officer leafed through his clipboard. "The other guy, he wasn't so lucky though. Broken nose, skull fracture from when his head hit the floor . . . he's still out of it."

"Shit." This had *not* been in my plan for surviving NH in one piece.

The med officer looked down neutrally. "Oh definitely. Provocation or no provocation, the rules are still the rules. They're not big on second chances in here."

No kidding. I had been keeping a low profile until this mess blew up in my face.

"I fucked up big."

"Probably. You're scheduled for a meeting with the Head once you can walk."

With the Head Corrections Officer. Wonderful--just wonderful.

"So you just sit tight for a few hours and don't move about too much."

I twitched one hand feebly against the straps. "Aa. Infirmary humour, doc?"

"Hardly. Be careful of the stitches, okay?" And he bustled out, leaving me alone in the spartan little room.

The stitches were the least I had to worry about. I was still woozy from the 625, 000 volts (twice), but I knew enough to gather that I was *so* screwed now.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Getting to see the HCO was a rare honour that nobody relished. You got to enter the sanctity of the Warden's Office, which wasn't all grey like the rest of NH and didn't reek slightly of mould. And you had to be a little worried because knew that your judge, jury and executioner was somewhere behind the door with "D. Mara" on the nameplate.

Then you got to meet the Head Corrections Officer after her secretary waves you in. She's the first one everyone sees when they get transferred here and the last one when they got transferred out. Apparently her brother or cousin--Theo or Thaddus ----- something--was some bigwig in the bureaucracy but she hadn't got the job because of nepotism.

Damn--I've been hanging around Hakkai too much. I just used the word "nepotism".

The first time I saw the HCO was when I transferred in. Nothing of note there. A nice smile. Kinda friendly. For a moment there, you were almost convinced that you had a friend on this side.

Lady in a power suit wants to be my friend--I got no problems with that, but this was D. Mara of the Warden's Office. She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed herself. I heard that some hard-cases pissed themselves during one of her infamous interviews. It was the second meeting that counted--most people didn't *want* the second meeting. To warrant the attentions of the HCO herself meant that you were in deep shit.

Head Corrections Officer Mara had what was probably my file on her desk when I came in. No BS this time, just business--she came straight to the point. "Shiro Yasunori hasn't come to yet."

"He's . . ."

"Not dead. Comatose."

"Is there a difference?"

"No, not really. The problem is with you losing it like that. The psyche tests and everything else indicates that you're not a hard case and you're relatively sane."

"By *what* standards?"

"Don't get uppity--this is serious. We don't need any more hotheads in the population," Mara said. "A pity. And you were doing so well too . . . You did keep your cellmate in line after he transferred in."

Hakkai didn't need me to keep him in line. I had been waiting for the hammer to drop--and now it all depended on whether or not Shiro lived.

"So now what?"

"One last thing. So it was just you in this brawl? It's hard to get honest eyewitness accounts . . ."

I *so* did not like where this was going. "Yeah. I lost my temper. I wanted to hit him. So I did." And I dared her to make something more out of that.

She went back to the file on her desk instead. "You know what this is going to do to your record, right?"

Yeah. And this place had its own rules concerning crime on the inside. An instant extended stay in NH. It was a place for the hard cases, after all.

"If that guy doesn't wake up . . . that's going to be classified as involuntary manslaughter number two."

And saying "Sorry, it won't happen again" doesn't cut any ice here or anywhere else for that matter.

"I got that."

Mara closed the file. "Right then. For this infraction . . . the East Tower. One week, this time. Sorry--rules are rules."

* * * * * * * * * * *

End Part 3.

Back to index

Chapter 4: Redux

Halcyon/Hell

By Eline (Kanz' on ff.net)

Warnings: AU fic--this is when the angst comes in . . .

* * * * * * * * * * *

Into the infirmary, out of the infirmary and to Mara's office. Out of Mara's office and into the East Tower, NH's personal little purgatory.

It was where they attempted to bore you into seeing the error of your ways. Dark little cell with nothing in it--absolutely nothing. They checked you pretty thoroughly when you went in. As if I could hide a lighter and a whole box of cigarettes up my ass . . .

So the result is boredom. Bored. Very boring. I underestimated the depths of boredom one could sink to.

Dying for a smoke. Spent a while thinking about possible places to conceal coffin nails. Not much help.

I see why it is so effective. After one day in there, I was ready to go nuts.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Day three. Or was it two? It felt like an eternity and more. Have exhausted recounting all of all my not-so-legal moves with anything involving cards. Am now rolling a cup across the floor. It hits the wall, then it rolls back. I find it somewhere in the darkness with my foot and roll it at the wall again.

My mind was liquefying, I'm sure of it.

I considered wanking off and remembering all the girls who just wanted to have fun. But I probably I couldn't remember all their names . . . Only a smile, a flash of cleavage with a lot cigarettes and alcohol. They were always beautiful--I always said so.

They liked to hang over your shoulder, because everyone loves a winner. Everyone wants to sleep with a winner. They liked playing with the hair, but if they said anything about the scars, I was out of there. The same when they got a little too clingy--when they started to find excuses to come over and tell me that my place was a mess

Leaving . . . it's like a habit.

After that day Mom died, I just left before someone could remember that red-haired kid and ship me off to an orphanage. Now that I think about it, I was probably trying to disappear.

I think I wandered for a day or so before passing out. Some old lady found me--I forgot her name, or maybe I never knew her name--and brought me to a doctor. I remembered that I didn't speak for a week after I woke up. The old lady kept me fed and gave me shoes. Probably one of the most comfortable periods in my life, if only I was actually *there* to appreciate it.

Blank patches, scattered here and there. And black and white replays of that day, with a silent soundtrack of screams that were lodged up my throat.

When I finally spoke, it was to thank the old lady before I left.

Running . . . is habit-forming. Because it's pretty easy to just flee and not look back.

And you run and you run until there's nowhere else to run. When you're alone with your own thoughts and you're kicking the damned door for them to let you out because you don't want to think anymore--because all thoughts eventually led to *that* day and everything else associated with it--

I cut my knuckles while bashing at the door. In a move that was mostly instinct and habit, I sucked at them, tasting blood. Just like a kid who scraped his arm, or skinned his knees, only you learned not to go running to Mom about them because the sight of blood does funny things to her mind.

Practically everything about me did that to her.

And the whole neighbourhood knew that Mom was not right in the head. Imagine that . . . Couldn't pretend that bruises were from bumping into the door. Couldn't pretend that you weren't a half-breed bastard who didn't have a dad.

But your brother--who was the one you learned to run to when you got picked on--always told you to ignore them because they were all assholes.

So life carried on. It wasn't too bad, when Mom was actually stable and Jien had a job. You could forget the bad patches. But the stable times got fewer and shorter . . .

And she's always there in front of you. And you're always twelve years old. Scrawny-assed little brat. Haven't had a haircut in ages and for a very good reason too. Can't let Mom near your hair and a pair of scissors. Very, *very* bad idea. Jien had to stop her the last time she got it into her head to cut your hair. You were scared out of your wits then.

But in the end . . . in the end, you weren't afraid anymore because all you wanted was for it to end. You were so ready to die for her. Because she used to hold you, didn't she? She had brought you up even though you couldn't tell from the way she was towards the end. You'd like to think that she used to carry you and maybe smile at you when you were very small . . .

So maybe you wanted out of your life. Wanted to go back to a time when Mom loved you. Believed so hard that she must have--otherwise how could she have put up with you for twelve years? Believed that she went mad slowly. It's okay--just another one of her fits. It's okay--she'll get over this. It's okay--maybe she'll smile at you tomorrow . . .

And in one of those many tomorrows, she's standing in front of you, about to put you out of your misery. There's blood on you now. Blood from the scars on your face, trickling down in place of the tears that should, by right, be flowing.

* * * * * * * * * * *

I woke up from that nightmare, wondering if I had been screaming out loud because it sure felt like I had. My knuckles hurt like a bitch and I figured that I must have dozed off a while ago.

And I can't fall asleep again. Because she'd be there again. In this place. That guy I knocked out--he touched more than just a nerve. I had been doing just fine, merrily forgetting about the past--until someone who knew about the shit in my life showed up to remind me about it.

You can't run away from everything. Stuff like that. Like the blood in your veins. Like Mom's blood.

It used to be common to find her sitting on the floor, crying her eyes out. Once, I found her sitting in the middle of the leftovers of one of her destructive rampages. There had been blood on her dress and I was at my wits' end, not to mention scared to death that she had really injured herself this time.

Then Jien had to explain a few more facts of life to me. Like about the blood and why Mom was slightly more unstable than usual at certain times. That had been more than just a little embarrassing to say the least . . .

And in the end, I wasn't disgusted or anything. Just sad . . . because she was already at the point where she couldn't take care of herself anymore. So I couldn't blame Jien for doing . . . for doing what he had to do to get her somewhere near lucid--

I'm not thinking of that. Not thinking of *that*--

So I'm kicking lethargically at the door again. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thumpity thumpity thump-- To my surprise, it actually opened this time--

"Keep it down!"

And then I was stumbling backwards, drenched by the cold spray from a hose. The door slammed shut, leaving me sitting in a puddle, spluttering and soaked to the skin.

At least I was wide-awake now.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Not moving anywhere. I think I was just lying there, one cheek pressed against the floor.

I've lost track of time. Lose track of how many times I had woken up and how many times I had dozed off. Forgot if this was reality or the dream.

I had picked at the scabs on my knuckles for the umpteenth time--they only ached a little now and then.

Noise. It's easy to keep track of in here. But instead of the slot in the door opening, the entire door slid open. Imagine that . . .

A shadow fell over me. "Oi--it's time to go."

It took several tries to get up. In the end, I was half-dragged out and chucked under a cold shower by the screws.

"Hurry up and make yourself presentable--you've got to see the counsellor next!"

Ah--the humanitarian touch. I heard that that was one of the clauses that they put in before they allowed the Corrections Unit to put people in the East Tower. There was even a brief check-up so no one could accuse them of human rights violations.

"I said to watch the stitches," the same med officer from before said, radiating professional irritation.

"They've healed up. And I couldn't help it."

"I suppose you couldn't . . ." he sighed. "Okay--you're cleared."

And then I was shunted to the counsellor on duty, who ran through the standard questions and a few more. The HCO popped in somewhere in the middle of the session and I could have sworn that the temperature dropped by a few degrees when the counsellor noticed her.

"What is it? Your presence isn't needed in here," the counsellor said. In many ways, she was like HCO Mara--blunt and to the point when the situation warranted it.

"In case you didn't notice, inmates under correction are under my jurisdiction."

They sounded like they had had this conversation before.

Ignoring the HCO, the counsellor looked at me appraisingly. "Still hanging in there?"

"I think so . . ."

"Happy?" Mara asked the counsellor. "There's nothing amiss with this case."

Somehow, I got the impression that the HCO and the counsellor did not get along. It was something about the way they circled around each other . . . Bitchiness factor ten. A wise man stayed out of that sort of shit.

I didn't feel very wise right there and then.

"Can I go now?"

And the look they gave me brought me right back to the time in school--one of the few years in which I actually *went* to school--when I had been subjected to a similar kind of glare by the teacher. But their expressions softened in an instant and I got dismissed before I could witness anymore interesting fireworks.

My first glimpse of the sun that week . . . it was setting by the time I got out. It was already evening. Funny how the air out here seemed so much fresher now. Guess you don't appreciate most things until you've had to go without them . . .

I stayed out until it was dark before heading back in. Somewhere, a bunk was calling me back for a good--

"Yo," I said to the lone figure standing in the hallway.

"Sanzo said you would be out today."

The very fact that he asked blond-and-grumpy about me was worthy of note.

"Yep. I'm out. I look like shit, right?"

Hakkai looked as though he would have denied it at first, but the smile faded away into seriousness. "Yes. I heard it was bad in there."

"It wasn't the week where they shoved bamboo splinters under your nails--they just used the thumbscrews this time." It had been cruddy, but it had only been a week. What's a week compared to life in here?

"Ah," he said, the barest hint of a smile creasing the corners of his mouth. "I thought you might want these . . ."

"I'm eternally in your debt!" I babbled and grabbed the box of cigarettes and the lighter from his hand hastily. Lighting up felt good. Really, really good after one week of deprivation.

I guess I looked like an absolute dope, just standing there inhaling the smoke with my eyes closed. But I couldn't care less at that moment. I was out. I had coffin nails. Hakkai's such a nice guy--someone nominate him for sainthood . . .

In an infinitely better mood, I started walking back with Hakkai to our block. A shower, a shave and I'll be okay soon enough. After a week in the East Tower, even the cell was beginning to look like home, sweet home--

"Oi, half-breed! You've got the nerve to come back here!" A pair of Shiro's pals. Great. Just great. "Fucking bastard! You're gonna--"

There's nothing like a fresh reminder of bad shit to bring a guy crashing back to earth. Trouble. It never lets up. I could have take them easily a week ago--

"--an accident, I'm sure. We would appreciate it very much if you would leave." That was Hakkai all right, all nice and polite . . . Twisting the guy's arm up behind him in a way that looked like it hurt a lot--

Ummm--rewind that? Had I missed the guy's fist coming for me? Very probably. I must have been getting sluggish . . .

"Hey--let go! Oy--"

Hakkai had neatly manoeuvred the guy out of the door and let him go abruptly, causing him to sprawl out flat on the floor in front of his friend. "I hope we won't see you again. Good-bye."

And they backed off. Just like that.

Eh? There had been something distinctively un-Hakkai-like in his expression just now, but it was gone now, replaced by his usual mild smile.

"Now who's being a hero?" I wondered after a pause.

"I'm sorry. When you are fit enough to handle them, I will sit back and watch."

Was he making a joke? You could never tell with him.

"You'll get a ringside seat." Those guys wouldn't be the only ones. Not the only ones to heckle me at any rate. With this hair and eyes . . . I was a walking target for anyone.

And Hakkai knew it too. "Back when I was teaching, there was a boy in my class like that. They used to pick on him when they thought I wasn't looking. Interracial marriages aren't usually looked upon with favour."

Only Hakkai could couch something like that so nicely. "They weren't married. My real mother was the other woman. She left my Dad holding the baby." And Dad left Mom holding me, thus cementing her descent into madness.

"I see."

"What does your religion say about adultery?" I asked, digging out the old mug that served as an ashtray of sorts from under my bunk.

"They used to stone them, a long time ago. And there's the social stigma in this day and age," he said quietly. "But then someone said something that effectively translates into 'those who judge would be judged in turn'. And it's not my religion, Gojyo. Not any more. I prefer to think of it as a philosophy for living."

"Philosophy for living, eh?" I sucked at my cigarette, not really thinking of much right there and then except how nice it was to be lying down in my own bunk, inhaling, exhaling . . .

I blew out a long stream of smoke. "Know something?"

Hakkai looked up. "Um, yes?"

"That wasn't the second time . . . Not the second time I killed someone."

* * * * * * * * * * *

You could say that this is the story of two guys:

Hakkai fell in love with his own sister and killed 56 people for her--only to find out that she had committed suicide. And for incest and murder, they generally don't let you off with ten Hail Marys and three Our Fathers.

But to generalise it all like that . . . that was just bullshit.

"Are you expecting me to say something about that?" I had asked after Hakkai had spilled about his sister--it had been an interesting sharing session, to be sure. He had looked at me expectantly--like I was about to cringe away and scream or something.

"Ano . . ."

"Well, you can wait for it as long as you like." I stubbed out the pitiful remnant of my third cigarette inside the makeshift ashtray. "'Cos I'm going to sleep."

He hadn't said anything when I had told him about my past either. There was nothing judgmental in his expression--nothing to indicate the general distrust of half-breeds and all that other rubbish that usually came with the revelation of my origins.

Hakkai was just so good at hiding everything. *Nothingness* was his forte--but it was a patient kind of vacuum, just sitting there and listening . . . And occasionally surprising you with the side that no one was supposed to see.

"Aa. Good night then."

And yeah, you could say we were friends.

* * * * * * * * * * *

End Part 4.

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Chapter 5: Association

Halcyon/Hell

By Eline

Warnings: AU fic.

Notes: This is where the second plotline starts branching out. It's non-yaoi, but there's still *Gojyo* in it, so innocent ears beware . . .

* * * * * * * * * * *

Life just went on. Crawled on, rather.

FYI, Shiro did not wake up. A fragment of his skull that they couldn't spot or take out in time did him in, according to the Warden's Office. And that did it for me in the end too. Officially screwed-up, paperwork filed.

It was . . . almost as boring as the East Tower after that. A slump period in which my luck sucked and I found myself drifting off more and more. Because it was easy to lose yourself in a humdrum routine--day in, day out . . .

It's easier that way. Just remember to breathe and brush your teeth and everything will go like clockwork.

Tick tock--it's safe when there's no change, right?

And you can just sink down into the here-and-now while avoiding the past like the plague.

It's been that long. I could hardly remember the last girl I was with and I was wanking off in the shower to memories that were fast slipping away on those evenings whenever the window of opportunity presented itself.

You're supposed to remember the first time. But her face wasn't there anymore--just an empty space. That's the funny thing about this place--your brain turns into a sieve after a while.

Try to remember the last time I kissed a girl, or found my way under her dress, between her legs and the sweetness therein. And those were *supposed* to be the better parts of my misspent youth too.

Try to remember something--anything--good or interesting . . . (Which was, all things considered, a very short list.) Eventually, you'd give up on that too and just wank off for wanking off's sake.

Everyone wanks off here. At least 99%, I'm sure. It's a matter of finding someplace and time that was convenient and discreet. Ever since that incident with Hakkai getting knifed and that mess with Shiro, discretion was not a problem. We had the showers all to ourselves most of the time--and damned if I was going to let him get jumped again, or hog all the lukewarm water that ran out in approximately two minutes. On Thursdays, there was a slightly larger window of opportunity to get things done. And so I had my wanking off sessions scheduled neatly.

He volunteered to keep a lookout the first time he happened upon me and my private-time. Just like that. No blushing or anything. Just the usual Hakkai-smile and acceptance of What-Gojyo-Does-In-Private. Was masturbation a sin in his religion or something? Probably, but Hakkai never said a thing. He just showered away calmly, unflappable as anything. And he knew everyone else's schedules too--like he had some kind of internal clock inside him . . .

"Ano, Gojyo--I think the rest may be coming in quite soon."

Right, right, shower time is limited and it's only polite to spare everyone else the sight of your private-time when they do the same for you.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Like I mentioned once, life jumps you when you least expect it to. It's a sneaky little fucker, pretending everything's fine and dull before tripping you up. And so everything got turned upside down one evening because it wouldn't do to have things all peaceful and quiet here, right? Not our style, not at all . . .

Collective boredom. It made the slightest ruckus the talk of the block. It made a lot of grown men gossip like fishwives at the market.

That particular evening, there was a certain buzz in the air when we headed in for what passed for dinner. The kind of sensation that said look, something's happening! Some people were hurrying rapidly in the direction of the canteen.

En route, I nudged a guy I knew from the poker circuit. "Oi, Larry--what's the fuss about?"

"Some fight up there, I think . . ."

Oh. One of the more lively forms of entertainment around here. A year or two ago, I would have gone to watch. Now it just seemed . . . pointless. And an invitation for trouble when the screws clamped down on the action. I was about to suggest turning back to save time before the inevitable lock-down came when Larry threw in the kicker.

"It's that blond guy and the kid you hang out with--"

Crap. So much for a nice boring evening.

I exchanged a look with Hakkai and we took off at a run, outstripping some of the stragglers who were heading for the scene.

"I suppose it was too good to hope that Sanzo would stop offending people," Hakkai murmured.

"What, you mean when he stops breathing?" I asked as we paused at the entryway. "Now where are they?"

"Over there!"

It wasn't hard to spot the telltale signs of a standard scene at a fight in NH. You'd see everyone exhibiting a lot more enthusiasm than usual, accompanied by assorted catcalls, cheers and jeers. And if there was time, someone would be keeping a book on it.

It didn't take much to offend the average NH inmate no matter how dense they were, or which planet they were on mentally. Knowing Sanzo, all he had to do was open his mouth. And then maybe egg them on with one of those condescending sneers.

To be fair, they *had* been keeping their slates clean for quite a while but maybe this time the other party had a much shorter fuse and a harder punch than usual.

Some relatively reliable--we're talking about the inmates here in NH after all--sources told me that the other guy had thrown the first punch. Somewhere in the fracas, the other guys had got in a lucky blow at Sanzo. En route on the way to the floor, Sanzo had met the solid, durable edge of an NH-issue canteen table. You could club a bear into unconsciousness with one of those if they weren't bolted to the floor, immovable as stone slabs and almost as hard. A most embarrassing way to drop out a fight, but it was better than being pounded into a pulp, or going to the East Tower for infringing the rules again.

So we got there in time to see Sanzo out for the count and Goku losing it. Really losing it.

And there was blood again. Bloodied noses, blood from the gash on Sanzo's forehead, blood erupting from the mouth of the guy who just got punched in the gut.

They say that the sight or smell of blood can do things to animals . . . Whatever god or gods that created humans ought to know that little morsel as well. I knew. The inmates at NH knew--on that same primitive level where animals sensed fear, they knew.

Blood and danger went hand-in-hand, like it did that day when Goku went postal in the canteen in front of hundreds of witnesses. Completely ape-shit, no pun intended.

Bloodlust on a face that was usually either goofy or clueless was more frightening than anything else I had ever seen here at NH.

Somewhat belatedly, the others realised that intervention was due. Then Jean-Paul and Maken from our floor tried to restrain him but he shrugged them off like they were flies.

And Jean-Paul and Maken were hardly lightweights, mind you--they were more like the class of people you wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley. So what to do, what to do . . . Eh, well, it couldn't get any worse, right? So we had to pitch in before the kid hurt himself or something.

The screws had to tranq him in the end.

"Oi . . . you okay?" I asked, not even trying to get up from the floor when it was finally over. The medics would be here soon. I hoped that they would at any rate . . . Shit--I was beginning to fully appreciate the term "a world of hurts". Should've trusted my gut feel about that blankly homicidal look in the kid's eyes . . . Now my gut was paying for it.

"I think . . . I think my arm could be broken," Hakkai said calmly from somewhere over to my left. "And you?"

"My ribs . . . banged them up pretty good."

"That didn't go very well, did it?"

"The understatement of the century, my friend . . ."

A white-clad figure loomed up above me. "Not again," it sighed in a relatively familiar voice. "Don't move while I check you."

"Hello, doc. Nice to see you too." It hurt to talk and I held extremely still as efficient hands prodded at my ribs. Fuck, it hurt to breathe, but that wasn't a real option anyway . . .

"Two fractured ribs. You'll live," the medic said briskly and signalled for a stretcher. From the corner of one eye, I could see other medics doing the same for Jean-Paul, Maken and a few others who had been unfortunate enough to be in the way.

"Shit . . . That . . . that wasn't natural . . ." I heard Maken mutter as we were loaded onto stretchers.

Yeah, another understatement. When things were clearer . . . when it didn't hurt so damn much, I'm going to . . . going to pound that little brat all the way into next Friday--

And I'm so glad they finally administered the painkillers before they got around to wrapping my ribs. It was hard, thinking with your ribs yelling bloody murder. The medics were merciful enough to offer sedatives as well. No way was I going to watch them patch me up--I'm not masochistic *that* way.

Honestly, I didn't mind fading out of it . . . The day had taken a disturbing turn and I suppose we all wished that when we woke up, everything would be the way it used to be.

Nah, knowing out luck, we would wake up in the infirmary, bruises yellowing and cuts scabbed over. Fortunately, we got shoved into the same ward and when I did wake up, the brown and beige blur opposite me resolved itself slowly into Hakkai with a cast on his left arm.

Nothing like a familiar face when you're all stiff and sore and vaguely disorientated. To the left and right of me were some other faces that had been involved in or unwillingly hauled into the fracas yesterday. Was it *only* yesterday?

"How long've I been out?" I mumbled at the ceiling. The medic on duty noticed that I was finally up and hurried over to tell me not to move until he got someone to help him crank the bed up, presumably so that I would be in a position to eat or swallow.

Still no pretty nurses. Bah. My luck sucks.

"So, we've been here for . . . almost a day?"

"Aa," Hakkai replied, using his good arm to spoon up whatever stuff they let invalids have for lunch in this place. It must suck to keep getting injured in here. "Don't move--you'll only jostle your ribs."

"I'm not even going to try," I said, looking over at Hakkai's cast. "They fixed us up and we get to loaf around in bed for a while. Hey, I don't mind . . ."

But it wasn't exactly the right time to crack jokes. Not with what had happened back in the canteen. "You're thinking about Goku and Sanzo. What happened to them?"

"Aa." Even from where I was propped up, his green eyes appeared to be clouded with worry. Hakkai had always liked the kid. Sort of like a big brother or an uncle looking out for the runt--even if he did eat too much and whine too much. "I don't know exactly. Sanzo could be just next door for all we know . . . Goku--he's another matter altogether."

Oh yeah. Another friggin' class above what you'd normally get here in NH.

"That was . . . freaky."

More than a little freaky. It's like the cute hamster you bought at the pet store suddenly went rabid and started chewing up the neighbourhood.

"It's like he went totally berserk . . ."

Hakkai sounded both haunted and strained. For a moment there, I saw the mask slip slightly. He was back *there* again--to that place where a mild-mannered schoolteacher had done the unthinkable and almost impossible.

If anything, NH was home to heaps of cases like that. Where generally ordinary people lose it one day and end up here, knowing that they would never be quite so normal or ordinary anymore.

Hakkai did not look like berserker material. Neither did the kid for that matter. Berserkers were supposed to be from those stories with Vikings in it that I used to hear from my brother. They came with war axes and helmets with horns.

It was so easy to forget why we were all here in NH. Just a pair of big amber-brown eyes and the face of a child and everyone conveniently forgets the danger. Goku had been locked up for as long as he could remember, so there had to be a reason for--

But it couldn't be that straightforward. I had a prime example of that just opposite me and sharing the same cell. If Goku's mental history was an even bigger mess than Hakkai's was, then we were really asking for trouble.

Whatever the reasons, we could deal with it, right? Assuming that we actually saw the runt again . . . NH was already one of the deepest places you could fall into, much less fall *from*.

* * * * * * * * * * *

End Part 5.

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