When Soft Voices Die


by Tenshi


China all the way to New York
I can feel the distance getting close
You're right next to me
But I need an airplane
I can feel the distance as you breathe
Sometimes I think you want me to touch you
But how can I when you build the great wall around you?

-tori amos


Drowsy silence drifted over the plane cabin, the strange time-warp of datelines making it seem darker outside than it should be to jet-lagged travelers. One by one they all succumbed to their weariness, a strange and somber hush descending on the partially empty flight. One sleeper gave a great measure of relief to the blue-haired archer watching over him, a headset leaking soft piano music into his unhearing ears.

Sage hadn't wanted to use the earphones at first, a bitter memory of subliminal torture still fresh in his mind. Rowen had convinced him, and then Sage would only so long as it was on Sai's Walkman with a tape he knew. The recovered trooper gave into his exhaustion with surprising speed.

Rowen's fingers reached out gently in the darkness, removing stray strands of gold that had fallen into disarray, smoothing them back into Sage's bangs. He hovered with rare tenderness and trepidation over the slightly parted lips, not touching them, open heartache in eyes that he thought no one else saw.

Ryou wasn't asleep though, one row behind, silently observing the combination of sorrow and relief. It was so rare that Rowen ever showed emotion beyond bravado, the front he put up so easily that probably even he was unaware of it. Ryou found the archer endlessly intriguing at such times, when the real Rowen shone through. He wondered frequently if he might be more than a bit in love with him, but gave it up to simple affection and impossibly strong friendship. Besides, Rowen's moments of unguardedness inevitably centered on Sage.

Ryou's gaze followed the flash of anger in aquamarine irises as long fingers brushed a slowly fading purple bruise on Seiji's cheek, the color softening to sadness as they discovered dark circles lining the dark feathery lashes. At least he's sleeping, Ryou volunteered gently, not wanting to startle Rowen.

Rowen still jerked his hand away from Seiji as though burned, guilt flooding his face. Ryou shook his head, half-smiling.

I know how you care about him, Toma. Ryou reached over the seats to squeeze Rowen's shoulder. We got him back, like I promised you.

Rowen hung his head. We got someone back, he returned, grief weaving through the fabric of his soul like a black silk thread, draping the touch of his mind to Ryou's. He's like a shell. I'm afraid we mighta lost Sage forev'a... he's nevah been so closed ta me. Not even afta the Dynasty. Rowen's accent was even in his mental speech, and the time in America had made it more pronounced.

Rowen looked up and saw that Ryou was not seeing him, instead staring at Mia and Yuli, his expression full of several blended emotions. Yuli had crawled into Mia's lap; both of them now sound asleep.

I'm sorry, Rowen amended. We all got some souvenirs on this trip. Luna's face and name hovered in the empty space between his sent words.

Ryou smiled back at Rowen with only his eyes, nodding at Yuli's empty seat next to him.

Rowen carefully slid past Seiji, making sure not to disturb him, and angled himself into the seat between Mia and Ryou. Ryou frowned thoughtfully at the battered airline magazines and nausea bags in the seat pocket in front of him, dark brows lowered as he thought. I barely knew her, Ryou continued, both of them silent except for their voices within each other's soul. It's just unfair that anyone should have to die for us, just so easily as that. He put his face into his hands, sighing audibly. I would have liked to have known her. To have found out her favorite song or... he leaned back in the faded blue upholstered seat, his eyes weary. If she liked me.

Rowen's snort of laughter was loud enough to make Yuli stir before he caught himself, continuing silently: Wasn't it obvious, man? She was all ov'a you! Mia woulda smeared her flat if she'd been the'a.

Ryou smiled boyishly, a blush creeping on his cheeks. Was she? Really? Mia would, you think?

Rowen grinned, forgetting his own troubles briefly. Even I was gettin a little jealous, Ryou.

Ryou glanced away, the crimson bleeding up onto his ears. Rowen let himself run his fingers through the cobweb fine black hair. It was so much easier to touch Ryou than it was to touch Seiji. Ryou was real and reachable, and there was no fear of him turning to ice.

Rowen- Ryou's sending was laced with caution. Do you... do you still remember when- when we-

Rowen's lip quirked up in a smile. Didja think I f'got, Ryou? His hand came down to work at the knot of tension at the base of Ryou's neck.

Ryou shrugged, glancing through bangs at the archer. It was just... you never said anything after. Not once. Not a word.

Rowen's hand stopped moving, lifting Ryou's chin. I don't regret it, Ryou, Rowen answered the unsent question. I think about it a lot, really.

But with Seiji. Ryou did not make it a question.

No. With you. But... I have promises to myself and- he ran his palm over Ryou's cheek, watching as his leader leaned so hungrily into the touch, realizing suddenly that he was the only person to have ever touched this lovely creature. Only once, a year ago, and in his usual idiot academic fashion, he had never told him anything. Too many opportunities had died on this trip, might have been lay sleeping in the locked citadel of Seiji's soul, and Rowen despaired of ever knowing them. But some things should be known. Those promises have to be kept, for as long as I can. But you, Rowen smiled, distantly, as if remembering the time from fifty years instead of one, nostalgia warming his words in Ryou's mind.

You were the first kiss. The first touch... and there when I needed ya the most. Nothin can ev'a change that, an I don't want it ta be changed. If you ev'a need me, Ryou... as much of me as I'm sworn not ta give... it's yours.

Ryou's cheek glistened with tears in the weird dark of the drowsing airplane, cradling Rowen's hand in his and kissing his knuckles. My heart hurts, Rowen. I'm worried about you and Sage and myself and even Sai and Kento, about never being able to say what I need to... about more people... dying... He folded in on himself, shoulders shaking. His sending reverted to the pure emotion form they'd first learned to use and never managed to control.

Guilt and responsiblility and grief all washed over Rowen, along with Ryou's apologies for inflicting it on his already burdened second. What are we going to do, Rowen? They all have questions in their eyes and I can't answer any of them, Sai most of all... I feel so hollow... as if I had died back there instead... gods, how old am I, Rowen?

Rowen wrapped his arms around Ryou's shoulders, pulling him in close, shoving up the armrest between them so he could soothe Ryou like he was too afraid to try and soothe Seiji, just to hold and nothing more. Ryou's pain he understood... Sage's impenetrable distance overwhelmed him. "Ryou."

He murmured. Ryou shook slightly in his arms, letting it go as they all had to eventualy, alone or together. Rowen had found that Ryou's was rarely less than the 'distant' of his name, his soul ached with the echo of Ryou's crying.

A stewardess drifted by like a phantom, her gaze understanding. Her job was the kind that often saw the sorrows or joys of others. She pulled a blanket from the overhead hatch and draped it over them, then vanished silently down the aisle on her rounds. Rowen managed a thanking smile; Ryou, cuddled into the archer's shoulder, did not seem to notice.

"When soft voices die..." Rowen said suddenly.

Ryou sniffled. "Nani?" he whispered.

"It's a poem," Rowen answered, running his hands through Ryou's hair. "About things that remain."

Ryou clung tightly to Rowen's soft t-shirt, his tears dampening the Legend of Zelda logo. "You have promises for Seiji that he doesn't even know... give one to me."

"What?"

"Always remain for me."

Rowen's arms slid around Ryou, holding tightly. "Ask me somethin' hard next time," he smiled seriously.

"Don't worry, I will."

Ryou's liquid smile was like a shimering unexpected gift, and for the first time in a long while Rowen thought everything might be okay after all.

The plane sped on through the span of medians and abbreviated night, into the future with oblivious, open arms.

"Music, when soft voices die
Vibrates in the memory.
Odours, when sweet violets sicken
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves when the rose is dead
Are heaped for the beloved's bed
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone
Love itself shall slumber on. "
-Percy Shelly-

~o~





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