Title: The Abstract Noun (Chapter 7)
Rating: T for language, violence, and alcohol/tobacco use
Pairing: GojyoxSanzo
A/N: The final chapter! Finally! Well, considering the length, it's more of an epilogue than a chapter, but here's where this journey ends. This was originally longer, but I lost the notebook I wrote it in and didn't want to rewrite everything, considering I'm pretty much completely out of the Saiyuki fandom now. But here's some closure. Thank you to everyone who followed this story along all this time. Thank you for your patience and your support, without which this never would've been finished.
"Did you hear?"
"About what?" "That demon massacre down in Shandia."
"Oh yeah. Didn't they say that one bloke took them all down?"
"Yeah, some priest with blonde hai-"
The conversation was cut short as Gojyo slammed his hands down on the table. The two seated men tumbled backwards from their hunched positions, their chairs clattering. They looked, frightened, at Gojyo who turned a desperate eye in their direction.
"A blonde priest."
"Y-y-yes."
"Where?"
"S-Shandia."
"How do I get there?"
"About h-half a day's r-r-ride downriver."
Gojyo abruptly turned and sped out the door, leaving the two patrons shaken in his wake
A square patch of sunlight danced across Sanzo's closed eyelids. He cursed groggily, palming his face for some relief. Unable to return to sleep, he opened his eyes. A familiar ceiling greeted him. The old man and his daughter must've carried him in yesterday. Sanzo reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips and chewing absentmindedly.
"I have to stop passing out."
He rose off the bed stiffly. The world spun for a moment, but Sanzo chased the black edges from his vision with a quick shake of the head. He placed a careful hand on his wound. The bandages were fresh, and the flesh, sore. He probably opened it again during the fight. He glanced at the table to make sure of the presence of his belongings and noticed, just beyond, that the door was slightly ajar. Sanzo walked towards it, and pushing it open revealed no-one else in the house. He assumed that they were off at some neighbor's funeral. There had been some losses from the demon raid.
Sanzo headed into the small kitchen, picking up a match from the box by the stove. He lit his cigarette first, then, spotting a teapot on the drying rack, lit the stove as well. He put some water on to boil before stepping outside, the tip of his Marlboro glowing a dim red.
The weather was mild – blue skies with the slightest breeze picking up clouds of dust from the road. Sanzo leaned against the wall of the house in the shade of the small canopy.
It had been roughly a month since he had left the group to retrieve the Maten sutra, and he figured that it was about time to start heading back. Their journey west had been put on hold long enough. But-
Sanzo exhaled. The cloud of smoke drifted up to blend in with the clouds in the sky.
Gojyo. He couldn't just go back now. Not when things were so fucked up. Sanzo hated not having utter control of a situation, so to enter into a situation with his dichotomy – love and reluctance to love – was like entering a battle unsure of which side he was on. He inhaled angrily, getting too big a lungful of smoke for his efforts. Violent coughs racked Sanzo's body, and he clenched his stomach with one hand, willing the flesh to stay closed.
Still coughing, he barely heard the crunch of dirt from around the corner.
Sanzo froze, his hand automatically reaching for the familiar handle of his Smith & Wesson. He thumbed the worn grip, pulling it silently from his robes. The dirt crunched again, and a shadow began to creep from the corner of the house. Sanzo flattened himself against the wall with bated breath, suspicion clearly written across his face. One more step…
A man rounded the corner as Sanzo lifted his gun to face level. And promptly dropped it.
Gojyo's eyes widened, first at the barrel of the handgun, then at the sight of the owner. The weapon clattered solidly to the ground. The two stared, silent, hardly daring to breathe, both torn between greeting the other and running the hell away. It was too soon, and neither had known what to do.
Gojyo made the first move. His hand twitched.
"Sanzo."
"Che. Who said you should come looking for me?"
Gojyo paused again, taken aback by Sanzo's venomous reply before launching into an equally malicious retort.
"You disappeared for a fucking month, asshat!"
"It was my own conviction!"
"You could've at least told us!"
"That's not my responsibility! I don't need anyone looking after me!"
"Well obviously you do, Mr. High-and-mighty! You keep getting' your ass handed to you!"
"The fuck are you talking about?!"
"You can't do that to us! Do you have any idea what we went through?! Hakkai and Goku and…"
They stopped, tensing, quiet settling on them like a cloak. The teapot whistled. Sanzo turned to oblige.
"The water's done."
He began to walk back to the door. Gojyo took a hesitant breath, and in a barely audible voice, so small that it was probably only meant for himself, whispered,
"I missed you."
Sanzo stopped, his back still turned. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder at Gojyo. Those red eyes were all he needed to see, all he needed to hear. As loud as speakers, they glimmered every word the both of them needed. I miss you. I need you. I love you. And Sanzo was sure that those very words were swimming in his own eyes as well. He turned back to Gojyo.
"I-"
The teapot whistled incessantly, and without looking up, Sanzo once again began to hurry back to the doorway. He stopped as Gojyo grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face him.
The first kiss was clumsy, desperate. Their lips met, fumbled, worked out their confusion right on the spot. And there was really nothing to be confused about. That kiss was the surest thing they'd had in the past month, and it was all they could do to break apart and stare, burning with certainty, at each other.
Gojyo quirked a foolish grin. Sanzo nodded. It was time.
The old man and his daughter returned home to find Sanzo gone and the kettle gone cold on the stove.
Rain thudded against the windowpanes. Normally a dampener for the Sanzo-ikkou, it was no surprise to see Hakkai down in the bar, nursing a drink. What was surprising, however, was a mysterious little smile curving on his lips as he glanced at the empty barstools around him. He then turned his gaze to the staircase and up to the second floor landing. The door to their room for the night was slightly ajar, and if he strained his ears, Hakkai could just imagine the low murmurs of conversation between the blonde and the redhead floating from within. He raised his glass of brandy.
"Memories, looks like there's an abstract noun greater than you."
It rained all evening. No-one really cared.
end.