覚める
Sameru—to awaken

Endless depths; an empty abyss.

Knowledge. There was none. It was as though there never had been, nor would there be. It was simply nonexistent. As endless as this sleep.

For so long, this was how she had stayed. For so long, not a thought had crossed her mind, not a dream entertained her imagination. Sure, basic functions pervaded—i.e. a heart still beat, lungs still breathed, skin still felt—but nothing on the surface. Nothing of any substance or substantiality. It was an endless abyss; empty depths.

Time was not of the essence. It didn't even exist. Seconds; minutes; hours; days; weeks; months; years. None of it mattered. Therefore, it did not exist.

How long had it been? Of no importance.

Why was she in this endless sleep? Again, why did it matter?

What was knowledge? How would she know?

What was life? Life? What's that?

How did she come to be? Why even entertain such a thought?

Nothing held a purpose, yet she never felt bored. Boredom was pointless—it was for those who held a sense of time, when this girl did not. Therefore, boredom did not exist.

Surface level thought did not exist.

Nothing existed but steady breathing in perfect synchronization with a slow but staccato heartbeat.

Freddo. A complete lack of emotion, of thought, of feeling. Of no importance.

Had conscious thought dared enter her mind, she might've identified her sense of touch. It was soft. It was cold. There were no seams, only making it seem all the more endless. Discomfort did not matter, for her body only worked to pervade its most basic functions. Everything else was… a waste of precious energy.

Had conscious thought dared enter her mind, she might've identified her sense of smell. Musty and old, dust settled everywhere alongside the stink of humidity. It stuck to her slick body, making it feel even softer against the silky material which contained her. It smelled wet. Then again, it was. It smelled old. Then again, it was.

Had conscious thought dared enter her mind, she might've identified her sense of taste. Saliva parched and dry. The liquid only seemed to suck what little hydration was left in her mouth, leaving it dry and chapped. It tasted stagnant. It tasted sour and sharp, too aged for her taste. Then again, her mind didn't consciously register satisfaction or dissatisfaction towards any senses, so the taste didn't matter. It was simply… there.

Had conscious thought dared enter her mind, she might've identified her sense of hearing. Steady breathing, air moved in and out of her own lips at a predictable rate. These breathes commuted in perfect harmony with a drum-like beat which thumped throughout her entire body. From her toes to her forehead, she could hear it beating, a colony of ants working to feed their brethren. In order to keep everything running smoothly, everything moved in perfect synchronization. These two beats harmonizing with one another—it was like music. Had her mind recalled what music was. But it did not. Nor would it, as far as she was concerned. For it did not matter now, nor did it seem it ever would.

Had conscious thought dared enter her mind, she might've identified her sense of sight. How can one see when there is nothing to see? When eyes are closed, is it only an endless blackness that is seen, or is there something more? Small flashes of color; rainbows swirling in the misty darkness. They formed no definitive shape, instead choosing to remain abstract. She held no imagination to form these colors into shapes, anyways. They were pretty and would have entertained her had she cared.

But she was asleep. She had been for… she had no idea how long. It felt like it had always been. That was good enough for someone whom time did not affect.

Warmth consumed her. This was new… Just as suddenly, the warmth faded, drifting into that familiar cold. Just as quickly as the feeling had faded, so did the thought's registration.

Again, it returned, but with a sharper fervor.

A burning welled up in her throat. Pain. The feeling actually registered as her mind began to enter a semiconscious state. A searing agony broiling up throughout her entire body. Without warning, it retreated into the bush, awaiting the next attack.

She was awake. She was aware. She was alive.

What had happened? Still, her mind did not register the question. She wasn't conscious enough to think on any level deeper than instinct.

Again, the burning returned. A fire roaring up the chimney, it peaked at her mouth which split open in a noiseless scream of anguish. Yet no flames burst out, nor did smoke leak. The blaze was caught in her throat which contracted in a labor pushing her forward.

'Go,' it urged. 'End this pain. Make it stop.'

For the first time in an endless time, she moved consciously.

Upon the burning, her mouth had split open in a scream more akin to a roar, head snapping back with an audible "crack" as incalculable stress was released from the paralyzed bone and muscle. Shoulders had jerked back, spine arching and legs stiffening outward. There wasn't enough room for all this movement and her feet had been halted by the soft material encasing her. Her head had banged against the wall, as well. She'd been trapped not only within the case, but also her own agony.

She had to get out. She had to escape.

Make the pain stop. End this torture!

The thoughts screamed in mind, although less with words than raw, unbridled emotion.

Instinct ran rampant.

Long, sharp nails turned their fury upon that which caged her. They effortlessly tore through the threads, but this succeeded only in entangling her and restraining movement. This would not impede on her. Without even thinking about it, she turned her fangs on that which dared attempt to prevent her escape. Which tried to reign in her instincts in their attempt to dampen her unbridled fury.

Waves of enmity radiated from her every pore, her eyes snapping open as they glowed a bloody color. How dare these threads try stop her! They would suffer. They would pay. They would die.

Sharp fangs bit into the soft material, shredding it even more effortlessly than her claws. Clumps flew through the air, treads catching between her teeth. They tasted rancid and rotted on her tongue, and, even more unpleasant, they absorbed her saliva! The burning only gained more fervor, its intensity increasing tenfold.

Once more, her head jerked back, an echoing "crack" ringing out as the release of pressure traveled from neck to tailbone, bloody eyes widening even more. Her head contacted with the weakened wall, feet slamming into the opposite end of the container. The combined force was enough to break through and with an audible "rip", the cocoon tore open for its precious cargo to tumble through at the mercy of gravity.

She crashed upon the stone floor in an agonized heap. She'd gone through face first and now her entire face was torn and bruised. It was dull in comparison with the burning, yet its being combined with the fire only seemed to intensity its agony. She did not moan. She did not whimper. Such a thing was useless. Instead, she just lied on the ground. Helpless.

Like black angel wings, her obsidian locks were sprawled around her body. They were wetted with sweat and humidity, caked with dust from time and grit from the stone floor, every last strand glued to anything and everything. Her, the floor, it didn't matter, it remained matted down like a corset—strangling her. This deprivation of air intensified the agony even more so.

How could the pain increase? Hadn't that horror but seconds ago been the peak? Hadn't that been the worst it could get? Irony did not matter, only her pain, however. And answers were nonexistent.

Even lost in her agony, she was still very much aware of what occurred around her.

Birds chirping. Bugs buzzing. Leaves and grasses swaying in the wind, the fallen colliding with bark only to indifferently slide around and continue riding upon the breeze. Ocean waves crashed upon sandy beaches, carrying with them shells, seaweed, sand, and rocks. A fish or two, as well, to be beached and steam alongside the jellyfish. The water's spray glided on the breeze, fingers grasping for land, to pull themselves to safety; it receded as the liquid was ripped back to the depths.

Footsteps. They seemed so out of place among the cried of nature. Echoing off the stone and bark, absorbed by the leaves and grasses. Both so contradictory, yet so natural. They grew louder as they approached, closing the gap between footsteps and girl gasping for air caught in her burning throat, cringing and curling up—caught her corset locks.

Only a few feet away, they stopped. Yet noise from their source did not. Steady, slow breathing. Most of all, though, what caught her attention was the thumping… It echoed in her mind, harmonizing with her own allegro beat. So slow and steady, a retard to her beat which was quickly spinning out of control. Glissandro retard to staccato allegro… so contradictory, yet so complimentary. A harmony to her melody, it was like the music she'd lost when the burning invaded her endless paradise. When her breathing had hitched and the soothing tune had ceased, waking her to this agonizing reality.

Blindingly, deafeningly, stone scraped against stone in screechy protest as light flooded the darkness.

Bloody eyes squeezed tight against the blindness. Ever still, though, the light pervaded and invaded her wishful paradise of nothingness. It came in a film of red still evident even through her eyelids. Red like—

A pause. The screeching stopped and her eardrums received grateful salvation, taking great delight in the amplified echo of heart and lungs.

A shadow dimmed the red and she was able to open her deprived pupils to take in the world. Bloody irises widened and narrowed the opening, searching for the right size in order for her to take in this one who has caused her agony and joy at the same time. Two more contradictions so complimentary towards one another.

Instincts drove her towards him, but, caught in this tangle of hair and weak from starvation, she was unable to rise. Desperately, she raked her fingers across the stone, breaking nails and leaving a bloodied claw mark digging through the carbon. It hurt, but hardly even registered in comparison with the burning. Still, she could not get up. She could not go to him. Her instincts raged her at her, screaming to get up and go. Go to this one who is full of contradictions all so complimentary. Yet no matter how much they raged, even her instincts could not get her up off the floor.

She pounded her fists in frustration, breaking the skin once more with the force to create gruesome splats. Not even a flinch.

Next thing she knew, he was kneeling before her, steely blue orbs gazing into her enraged, bloody ones. Blue and blood. They both started with "b", yet meant such different things. Another contradiction, yet she could not help but be caught in his gaze. Fists stopped pounding upon the stone and for a moment, time truly stood still.

Clouded. They were so clouded, he couldn't help but think. Once so clear and marked with passion, her eyes were clouded with instinct. It was vividly reminiscent of her awakening in Vietnam. No matter how hard he tried, even though he'd vowed to himself he would not think of that night upon her new awakening, his mind still crept back to it. That night when she was ruled entirely by her instincts, unbridled and set loose upon the unprepared world. They were always clouded when she awoke, for she held no memories, only instinct. Like a newborn. Most definitely like a newborn. Like Vietnam. How such innocence could also result in rage was unfathomable to him—when he rejected the truth. When he rejected his own Chiropteran nature as he so often did. Now, though, was the time to give in, just like his Queen. While her instincts ran rampant, his own screamed to be released.

This was one of the few times he would ever allow it, and even then, they still remained highly restrained and under close scrutiny all throughout.

Her balls of fire stared straight into his orbs of ice. Drool thoughtlessly dripped from her lips, sliding down her chin to dangle above the stone. Saliva which had only moments ago been nonexistent was overflowing her mouth with an insatiable hunger. Yes, she'd finally identified the burning. It was hunger. And it screamed at her to feed.

This being—he'd come here just to satiate this hunger, and she knew it. It was her blood flowing through his veins which made him know this by instinct alone. Just as she knew he was the one to fulfill it.

Very slowly, she felt an emotion slip through his icy exterior as his eyes began to alight. The ice softened. They misted over in that cloudiness that could portray none other than the Chiropteran instinct.

Without any real conscious thought, he grasped the locks which chained her down and the moment she was free, she pounced. Pushing off the ground using strength untapped until that very moment, she tackled him; he did not resist. Finally, she could breathe, but it was all but pointless faced with the burning hunger welling up throughout her entire body. Her chest heaved as she stared down at him like a predator to its prey, head tilted slightly as she considered how to strike. He wasn't resisting—of course he wasn't—so she had time to contemplate such a thing, and she wanted to end this hunger as efficiently as possible. To make it stop, but not waste time with an inefficient strike which only prolonged her suffering.

She knew he was the answer to the burning. That he could quell this hunger. She did not know why, but then again, it didn't matter. Just so long as the agony ceased and she could breathe without the dragon's breath searing her throat.

Decided and without warning, she dropped, legs straddling his torso as one hand pushed his chin up while the other pushed aside his coat. Without a moment's delay, her fangs pierced his skin. Since he was currently under the influence of instinct, at first he jerked, almost as though about to finally resist. It was the most basic instinct of every animal in the kingdom. The neck was one of a creature's most vulnerable spots and to be attacked right there would unleash fervent instincts to fight back and get the threat away in order to survive. But, he was still sane and kept control over this primal urge. After half a second, the jerking stopped and his wide eyes returned to their normal slits, if not slightly narrower in a sleepy manner.

She gulped down mouthful after mouthful of warm blood. It soothed her burning throat and filled her empty stomach. The taste was also rich in comparison with the dust inside the cocoon. She felt like she could drink forever… But, with the blood came something else. Something she had been void of all before her awakening. Awareness. Not of simply her surroundings, but emotions. Her own emotions.

At first, he had twitched and she'd peripherally watched as his fists had curled up and risen slightly as though to strike before they suddenly slacked and dropped back down to the floor. That had been true strength—the strength of good prey. A good meal. Rich blood. He didn't fight back, making her spoils seem like they'd simply been handed to her. What an unsatisfying hunt… It was just as well, though, because whether or not he struggled, this blood was quenching her hunger and quelling the fire broiling up from her stomach. Like ice to an ember, it sizzled and steamed before fading away. Only, a Chiropteran's hunger wasn't so simple. Even if it was full, it still hungered like a dog.

Even though she had already taken what she needed, still, her mouth remained latched on his neck. Already, he'd been pale, but she watched as his skin paled even more before her very eyes. Still, she did not release him. Still, he did not resist.

If this continued, Chevalier or not, he could die. And without a Chevalier, a Queen was all but helpless, especially come her next hibernation period. But this was no ordinary Chevalier. This was a man who did not disobey his Queen's wishes, no matter the danger they posed to himself. He'd die if it gave her only a moment of happiness he'd be unable to give her otherwise. Whatever she wanted, he would give. If she wanted his blood, she could have it. If she wanted his life, she could have it.

So, even as his instincts screamed to make her let go, even as they hounded him to pull her off, he resisted. The cloudiness had faded. His eyes were crystal clear, although more heavy lidded than usual. She was sucking him dry, and therefore depleting him of his energy. Just a couple more seconds and he'd go unconscious—

Without warning, her vacuum-like suction halted. And, hesitantly, she removed her fangs, pulling away.

The bloody hue had finally faded from her gaze and she blinked, staring down at him in bewilderment.

She knew this man… Yes, she definitely recognized him. That face. That hair. Those heavy lidded steely blue eyes. Pale skin. Rail-thin body. Always garbed in black. Yes, she most definitely knew him. But why? Painfully slow, the recollections came. A shadowy figure—then it was a silhouette. The silhouette fit his form perfectly, as did the long hair blowing in the wind. From the black framed in white came a blob of white. A… a hand? Yes, a pale hand. It reached out to her, palm up. Another pale blob with two darker shadows at about the center. Two swirls of blue. Eyes, that's what they were. It was a face! Emerging from the dark silhouette to appear before the backdrop of a sea-blue sky, he emerged. A small played at his lips as he reached out to help her rise.

'Saya, what are you doing on the ground?'

'I was sleeping.'

'Oh? You know Joel said it's improper to sleep in the gardens…'

'Yeah, yeah.'

…

'How long have you been waiting for me to wake up?'

'…'

Yes! She remembered!

'Haji…?'

'…'

'You can wake me up, you know… Did Joel send you to find me?'

'… Yes.'

'How long ago?'

'Couple hours…'

'Oh…'

Such an old memory. She wore a Victorian dress, he a fine suit. That was… at the Zoo. Yes, that was it. It was slowly coming back to her.

Eyes cleared as instinct finally began to face and her mind returned to reality.

First thing she saw was Haji's pale face gazing up at her with his entrancing steel blue eyes. He seemed more tired than usual… The garish red dripping from his neck answered that question, though. How much had she drained him? She knew he'd never complain. How long had this been going on, though? Since he'd been a child, it seemed. It had simply always been…

Like time and nothingness. Like cold and warmth.

"Saya."

It was a magical incantation. She jerked her gaze from his bloodied neck.

Just like in the memory, he didn't look at her with disdain nor annoyance nor anything else, really. It was something entirely different. Something she'd failed to ever truly register by fault of her own ignorance towards anything other than herself. All those years pursuing Diva. It hadn't truly been about anything other than her own self loathing. Her, her, her. It had always been about her. She was the one who let Diva out. She was the one who didn't want to be alone. She was the one who her father figure, Joel. She was the who drained others of blood to fuel herself. It had always been about her.

Haji was in every memory she could recall at that point. She recalled him smiling as a child. Then a teenager. Then a young man. Although they had been rare, even then, they had always been genuine and filled with a warmth unmistakable for an emotion she'd been ignorant towards. After a while, she held fewer memories of his smile. And as the memorial years went by, her stock grew smaller… and smaller… The warmth was often replaced instead by agony as she repeated again and again, "Remember our promise," even knowing how much it hurt him. Yet, she'd never considered why it agonized him so to hear her reminder over and over about their "promise". That overwhelming anguish in his eyes when she'd first requested it—why had she never considered the reasoning behind its intensity? What had it done to him over the years with her reminding him nonstop of that which only tore him up? As the years went by, he'd gradually opened up less. Stopped joking entirely. He'd stopped smiling. He'd grown up, but it felt like it had occurred too fast. Too harsh. For even the most hardened soldiers smiled every now and then. Haji, however… War was not the sort of thing to break him. Nor was death. Nor poverty. Nor murder. Nothing of the conventional sense could do it. Only one thing could: her.

The first tears flooded her eyes, dripping down her cheeks.

Haji's eyes widened slightly as he struggled to sit up—which was difficult to do not only with the blood loss, but also her sitting on his stomach. Propped up on one arm, his bandaged hand brushed across her face, wiping away the tears which ran through. They only came faster.

His hand… Yes, that had been a real turning point. Before Vietnam—before the Christmas Bombing—even if it had been a rare commodity, she'd at least see him smile every now and then. A good memory resurfaced, an inside joke… At least he'd opened up a bit. After Vietnam, that had stopped completely. All jokes—it was like he didn't get them. Like he'd forgotten how to laugh. And how can one laugh without smiling? He'd forgotten how to smile, as well… It was only understandable, though. After all those years, she'd finally broken him. It had started the night of the Bordeaux Massacre and fulfilled upon the Christmas Bombing. She knew it was impossible for her to imagine what he must've felt after leaving Vietnam with nowhere to go. His Queen lost. Her cutting off his hand had truly been the ultimate punishment. Death would've been merciful in comparison. But she'd made him live with it. To go on believing he'd failed, for she knew that only two things could get him to transform any part of his body to its true form: to protect her and fear. Protection was the one he made by choice. However, it's impossible to govern your own fear. While you may be able to face them, they're still there. When she'd turned her blade on him, he hadn't had to protect her, but himself. Haji, possibly the most selfless being on the planet, had been forced to stop giving. To instead turn against the only person he'd felt he could ever trust after everything he'd been through—from the life of a gypsy on the streets to a servant discriminated against and beaten at every turn to a soldier given seething glares by his own comrades and debased at every opportunity. Through it all, she'd pretty much been the only one who didn't join in on debasing him. The only one who didn't taunt or throw rocks at even with her knowledge of who and what he was. And then she'd turned on him. Turned her blade against him when all he'd done was try and protect a helpless child. That had been one of his own morals, for Haji had always had something of a soft spot towards children. Saya had always known this and even used to make fun of him for it. That was back at the Zoo, though. Those teasing days had ended that night… when she had swung her katana with intent to kill, eyes blazing with madness. It had radiated out so strongly, so irrationally, so powerfully, that even the most hardened soldier might've had trouble holding their dinner. Haji's own reflexes kicked in—reflexes he'd been suppressing for nearly a century. His hand had transformed with the stress of her blade against his and the fear coursing through his veins. Even still, he'd stood his ground and tried to reason with her. To no avail. She'd just kicked him in the stomach and swung for his head. Another block. 'Saya, don't you recognize me?' Recognize him? The man who'd been by her side since the eighteen seventies. The man who'd taken blow after blow for her own protection. She'd clearly seen the agony in his eyes and taken advantage of it. His dagger broke and she sliced through his arm, limb flying through the air as blood sprayed. For the first moment, he'd stared up at her in horror, in shock, in betrayal, before lowering his head and turning away. He'd feared his own faster. He'd feared Saya just like everyone else. He was no better than those who called her a "monster" or a "witch". He'd deserved to die… And she'd been prepared to deliver it. Until the Chiropterans distracted her and she raced off to kill them, leaving Haji all alone…

When she'd first begun recalling that time, amnesiac Saya had actually felt betrayed herself. From her point of view, he'd turned his blade against her! When she ran off after those Chiropterans, he hadn't followed and she'd been left to fight entirely on her own. She'd felt abandoned and betrayed.

How selfish she was… She'd felt abandoned and betrayed? How deep did her self-centeredness go!?

And here she was crying. She was only hurting him more! Haji's only wish was to see her smile and crying was on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. Then add the fact that she was crying over him. Should he know, he'd blame himself for causing her this anguish. He'd done nothing wrong! Why did he have to be so good!?

Saya was bad. She was a bad seed; pure evil. She'd caused him all this agony and only now, after all this, after making him suffer through all that, could she finally decipher that warm emotion that had always pervaded in his gaze, even after Vietnam—although it'd been harder to identify.

At the Met… he'd said… 'Anata wa ai shite imasu.' He'd finally put that warmth into words, and she'd never even given him a reply!

Thirty years wait, after sacrificing himself once more for her, to hear her reply. She was so cruel… so evil…

Through her tears, Saya managed a meek smile. "Haji…"

"Saya?"

Could she say it? Could she really admit it, too? For she so desperately felt that same emotion. She always had, but her own selfishness had blinded her of it. Blinded her of everything.

She had to say this. He'd waited all these years for her reply, apprehensive as to whether or not she'd say," Me, too," or a simple," I don't feel the same."

Saya was poison. She was poison to him, only harming him with her every toxic breath. Whenever she was with him, she only caused him further harm.

But… Saya knew Haji. She knew him well, when she truly opened herself to topics other than her own self loathing or depression. And she knew that if she did not give him a reply, he'd never ask for one. He'd pretend he'd never said anything and continue his behavior as nothing more than a lowly servant—a slave to her wishes. He'd be content as long as he was by her, she knew he'd say, but she didn't want him to be 'content'. She wanted him to be 'happy'. To see him smile once more.

Finally, they could see eye-to-eye. His only wish had been to see her smile, and in her selfishness, she'd stopped smiling for him. The one thing he wished for had been stolen by the very person who gave it. Even Haji must've felt jealous when he saw how the Miyagusuku made her smile without even trying when, even with his best efforts, he'd been unable. Even if he'd never admit to it, she knew he'd be hurt by that. His own inability to make her happy, or so he saw it. He wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, though, so she knew he's also taken a bit of joy in every upward curve of her lips they had given her. Even if he wasn't the one to give it to her… Haji was simply that selfless. An impossible level, for most.

So she knew, even if it caused him more pain, he'd at least suffer less than if she just went on and said nothing.

One might be wondering whether or not she feared if he still felt the same… but she could tell. He did. Nothing had changed. That warmth was still clearly evident in his eyes as he worriedly awaited her reply.

They were such an odd pair, but—

"Haji, I love you, too."

—they do always say opposites attract…

A/N
Whew! Finally done!! I suddenly had the urge to write this after reading "The Next Awakening" by nicluvly, so the idea of writing about Saya's awakening after the end of the show with Haji and the love and all that is not originally mine… And I suggest you read "The next Awakening". It's really short, but very well written and quite good ^^

*snicker* Ah, I used a Japanese name for the story and only even had one line in Japanese… I think those of you who didn't totally obsesses over the dub *cough, cough* me! *cough, cough* should be able to catch the hint based on Saya's reply—plus all those other not so subtle clues ^^

Anyways—good? Bad? I'll admit it got a but mopey towards the end… I was actually crying as I wrote it ^^' And I don't usually cry in real life… just in my head… I don't know if it had that sort of impact one anyone else! I've always sucked at explaining things and have an amazingly difficult time getting points across. I mean, in preschool, I used to get sent out into the hall 'cause I'd throw tantrums all the time. Know what for? I was frustrated 'cause I couldn't communicate with anyone no matter how hard I tried! I went to preschool from 3-5 and now I'm 15 have a drastically wider vocabulary and still can't communicate! I don't throw tantrums anymore, but sometimes I'll get so frustrated I actually start tearing up… It's really embarrassing 'cause they always think I'm just crying, but I'm not! They're tears of frustration!! So, if my point got across, I say "Thank God!! Maybe I'm learning!" If not… I'll just go emo corner for a minute or so before recovering. I'm actually quite used to no one understanding what the hell I'm trying to say now… just like how I'm used to everyone calling me my twin's name -_- Annoying, but it's amazing what you can get used to…

Hm, I ranted on for nearly a thousand words on "Turbulence and Tribulations" and I want to avoid another rant that long, so I guess I'll just cut off 'round here

Now, before I leave, I'm going to make a sharp point! I want to know what you guys thought of this!! Was her hibernation described well?? Did everything make sense? Did I manage to tie up all the loose ends or 'd I leave something unanswered to collect dust? Did you cry? Either way!! Feedback 'd be awesome~!!

Thoughts? Comments?? Confusion??? Just press that pretty little button down there and review, 'kay?? I'd love to hear what you have to say and am always looking to improve my writing ^^