Beginnings: Recovery

from the Wayside series
by scribblemoose

When I blinked out of the blood haze of murder and first saw Gojyo, I saw something other than death for the first time since I'd watched Kanan's life drain away in her cold stone prison.

It was like the first time the limiters were put on. Not quite a return to humanity, but a glimpse, fleeting and unreal, of a life I'd lived once. Before I wallowed and bathed in blood.

His hair brushed my face, a reminder. A link to who I really was. This may be an ordinary bed in an ordinary room, but this man was not ordinary. His smile might be generous and warm; his voice might be friendly and reassuring, but his hair and eyes bound me to my true nature, to what I had become.

If not for the blood-red silk of Gojyo's hair, I would have thought I was in a dream. It kept the guilt fresh and alive, and made me suffer. I truly wanted to suffer. To let the suffering go would be to forgive, and Cho Gonou would never, ever forgive.

I was grateful to Gojyo, not for saving my life, but for giving me the time I needed to find Kanan, and die at her side. That was all my future held.

I never lost that conviction, although I grew sadder about my fate as the days passed. Gojyo was comforting, not just in the way he cared for me - and I still feel a hot flush of shame and gratitude to think of what he must have had to do - but because he was so honest. His life was simple, in a way mine had never been. He made living look easy, when it really wasn't, even for him.

He never, ever judged me.

I'd learned to control the nightmares, to let them play in my mind without troubling my conscious self. I fed off them, using the echos of remembered pain to fuel my recovery, in order to die at Kanan's side. I don't know what happened that one night, except that I fell asleep thinking about Gojyo, and how he moved like water, effortless and graceful, and how I wanted to know more about him, and was sad that I didn't have time to find out.

I woke in terror; not the steady-burning flame of loathing that had fuelled my every breath for months, but real, gut-deep fear that tore at my breath and made me scream and writhe to escape my own sordid, agonized skin.

All of a sudden there were strong arms about me, and soft words being whispered in my ear. There were kisses. He was warm and strong, and he cared for me. I didn't think anyone would care for me again, not after what I'd become.

Of course, he didn't know what I'd become. Not then.

It was selfish of me, horribly selfish, but to feel that close to another body, to taste the comfort I thought had died in that cell with Kanan... I had to ask him.

"I want to make love to you," I said. I was shaking. Terrified and hungry and desparate, and waiting for him to say no. But he didn't.

"Make love?" he said, as if he couldn't believe his own ears.

I thought for a moment that I'd read the signs wrong, until I looked into his blood-red eyes and saw the passion there. He really did want me. But at the same time it was obvious he'd never been with a man before, and he looked to me as if I knew what I was doing.

I suppose I did have more experience, but only barely. Confused fumblings while I tried to convince myself that loving Kanan was wrong. Fleeting, foolish liaisons, nothing like this. Whatever this was, that had happened between me and Gojyo.

But Gojyo was as honest and open and willing as he always is. He didn't flinch or hold back, he was as generous and kind with his body as he'd been with the rest of himself.

It became an escape, before I realised what was happening. The days went past and I found comfort in him more and more; we could talk about anything together; he made me laugh more than was good for my stitches, and he seduced me regularly with as little as a single look or touch. I came to crave the quiet moments under the sheets when I could give him pleasure; watch the soft flutter of his eyelids as he came, his taut skin flushed with excitement. I surrendered to his hand and lips and skillful tongue as some men surrender to drink. His affection was boundless and he was keen to learn whatever I could teach him. It was a shock for him, to find that he could love men. Boundaries are difficult for Gojyo; he likes the world to be in black and white, while all the time his very nature shows him it cannot be. I watched him as he grew and changed, like a long-nurtured plant springing into bloom. As he realised there were no rules, no walls except those put there by men and youkai in bigotry.

Like a child with a new toy, he couldn't wait to experiment, and it would be hypocritical of me to mind. You can't contain a man like Gojyo: sex and loyalty are different things to him. It's his loyalty that I value, above all else. Loyalty and the spirit of the man who saved a bloodsoaked stranger he tripped over in the woods.

I loved him, as much as I was capable then. But Cho Gonou could not forgive, so could not love completely, and besides, he had no future. He was destined to end his life in blood and suffering. The day came when Sanzo knocked at the door and it was time to die.

Cho Gonou took a last look at the man that had saved his life, and let him go.

Sha Gojyo showed me the ordinary life I'd lost, blended with a pain I shared. Without him, how would I have cared that Sanzo wished to save me? Without a taste of life, what interest would I have had in remaining in this world, in redemption and a second chance?

When Cho Hakkai picked up the life that Cho Gonou had so painfully left behind, there was no question in my mind as to who I wanted to share it with.

Some people might see what we have as a friendship, of sorts, or a love affair. I suppose it is both those things.

But more than that, to me it is a binding stronger than life itself.

And it will last forever.