Blood & Chocolate

Chapter 2: Wait For The Dawn

Kiss the rain
And wait for the dawn
Keep in mind
We're under the same sky
And the night's
As empty for me as for you
If you feel you can't wait till morning
Kiss the rain
Kiss the Rain – Billie Myers


The rain didn't stop for three days.

The first day, Gojyo left Sanzo in his room. “I don't think he's really given himself the chance to grieve, Gojyo. Give him some space. He'll come around on his own terms; he always does,” Hakkai had cautioned him. The hanyou reluctantly agreed.

------

The second day, Gojyo came home to four empty beer cans on his counter and a pile of dirty clothes on his bathroom floor. At least the monk had moved from his room while he was out. He grabbed his own laundry out of his room, along with the pile in the bathroom and threw them in the washing machine. He stood and thought a moment before starting the cycle and climbed upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. He paused at the monk's door and peeked in. Sanzo was what seemed like a fitful sleep, so he left him to his dreams.

He quietly pulled the rucksack from the hook behind the door and retreated back into the basement. Unceremoniously, he dumped the contents across his folding table, wincing at the stench of wear and slight mildew. He separated out two pairs of jeans and a few button down shirts, tossing them into the washer. He spin the dial to Heavy Wash and dumped a capful of detergent under the warm water. Rifling through the remaining contents, he set aside Sanzo's robes and black undergarments for handwashing. There were also a few crumpled packs of ruined Marlboros, an eyeglass case, the banishing gun, a few stray bullets, the monk's crown and veil, and the two Sutras that Sanzo had inherited. He tossed the sack into the laundry basket for the next cycle, tossed the smokes into the trash bin, then gathered the rest of the items in his arms.

As quietly as he could, he entered Sanzo's room, placing the monk's effects in safe places around the room. Gojyo noted the even breathing, thankful that the priest was seeing some needed rest. He made sure to close the door behind him as silently as possible as he left the room.

------

The third day, Gojyo came back from Hakkai's apartment with takeout. He plated up rice, vegetables and two small pork dumplings and set it carefully on a tray with a cup of hot green tea and carefully made his way to Sanzo's room.

Gojyo found the monk sitting on the window sill, staring out into the stormy evening, a cigarette rolling between his fingers. The laundry he had washed and neatly folded lay in a hap hazard pile across the room, the victims of a temper tantrum while Gojyo was out. He left the tray on the bed, made a slight bow and left Sanzo to his thoughts.

------

Gojyo opened an eye to bright sunlight peering through the blinds of his bedroom window. He stretched and yawned, sitting up in his bed. He rose and padded to the window and opened the blinds to allow the warm glow of the sun to wash his room in light. The rain had subsided, the sky a clear azure blue on the horizon. He let out a breath of relief and let the warmth embrace his skin.

He busied himself with a few household chores, finishing the remainder of the laundry, cleaning the bathroom, to get his mind off of the last few days. He softly knocked on Sanzo's door to retrieve the tray left the night before.

“Sanzo?” he asked quietly as he opened the door, in case the priest was asleep.

It was almost a mirror of the portrait painted the previous night. Upon first glance, it appeared that the blond hadn't moved from the windowsill, but there were subtle differences. The shirt he had been wearing was abandoned to the floor below him and his knee was propped to rest his arm on. He glanced to Gojyo briefly before resuming his glare at the dying sakura tree outside.

Gojyo sighed and regarded the tray on the bed. It was still in the same spot he had left it, but the rice was half gone, the vegetables pushed around slightly and there were a few sips missing from the tea. The dumplings were left untouched. At least he ate a bit of it, the hanyou thought to himself as he picked up the tray to leave. He stopped at the door and turned.

“Sanzo,” he began carefully, not wanting to set off a bomb within the monk, “you can't keep this up forever, man.”

“'Tch,” Sanzo grunted indifferently. “What's it to you?”

“Come on, man,” he said. “You're wasting away like this.”

“Who died and made you Hakkai?” Sanzo retorted flatly.

“Hey now,” Gojyo snapped, his temper beginning to rise. “If you wanted a mother so fucking badly, you should have gone to Hakkai. I'm more than willing to help you out and give you a place to crash, but I'm not about to coddle you.”

“I don't need this shit,” Sanzo muttered under his breath. He narrowed his eyes as he pushed himself from his perch. Quick as a flash, he moved to the door, but Gojyo side-stepped to block his way, finding himself nose to nose with the priest. “Move, Fucker,” he snarled through gritted teeth.

“You're fucking killing yourself, Asshole!” Gojyo yelled. Something in the back of his brain told him he was walking a very thin and dangerous tightrope with the outraged blond, but he shoved it away. Sanzo needed to hear it. He barely registered the tray being knocked out of his hands, the dishes breaking against the hardwood flooring, before Sanzo was throwing punches against his chest, backing him into the hallway and against the wall, his hands raised in surrender.

“Don't you dare tell me what I am or am not doing, you stupid faggot bastard son of a bitch!” Sanzo screamed as he rained hit after hit against Gojyo. “I hate you! I hate you, you fucking kappa!”

Gojyo closed his eyes and took it. When his back hit the smooth surface of the wall, he had noted that the blows were not painful. He heard Sanzo's voice break in his tirade and the punches turned into grabbing, clawing at Gojyo's shirt like someone drowning, the shouts turned into sobs. He took a deep breath, lightly wrapped his arms around the priest and slid down the wall, taking the priest with him.

Sanzo sobbed hard into Gojyo's chest. Grief, anger, pain, suffering, mourning, exhaustion, desperation, four months of repressed emotion poured off him in waves as he finally broke down in Gojyo's arms. Gojyo closed his eyes, allowing his head to fall back against the wall as he lightly stroked the other man's back.

“It should have been me,” Sanzo quietly cried against the hanyou's shirt. “It should have been me,” a soft chant, a fervent prayer.

“Shhh,” Gojyo soothed. “I know, I know.”


We're strange allies
With warring hearts
What wild-eyed beast you be
The Space Between
The wicked lies we tell
And hope to keep safe from the pain
The Space Between – Dave Matthews Band