*****
"Breaking Point"
a Fruits Basket fragment by Ysabet MacFarlane (ba087@chebucto.ns.ca)

Written for KawaiiAyu
Contains spoilers for ch. 106.
*****

The last closed door is almost too much.

After waiting at the hospital for hours and being sent home; after waiting for
the call to see her; after hunting the area for her; after almost a year of her
eyes turning icy and distant when she sees him, the door between them makes his
head pound as he grits his teeth and tries not to snap beneath the weight of
misery and guilt that he can't allow himself to collapse under as long as she
might need him.

He sits just outside, back pressed against the thin wall that separates them,
and listens to the painful sounds of her vomiting up the tiny amount of food she
forced herself to eat at supper.  There is nothing left to do but listen, to be
_aware_, to be as close as possible in case she calls for him--to bring her
water, to hold her hair back, to carry her, anything.

She is sick for a very long time, past the point when her stomach must be
scraped bare by the violent spasms wracking her.  He waits, head bowed into his
hands, while the sounds become less frequent, occasionally broken by a smothered
sob of pain; he waits through the brief silence that finally falls.

When she finally calls to him through the door, the exhaustion in her voice
doesn't quite hide the anger at her weakness.  She doesn't look up when he comes
in and kneels beside her, and he quashes his reaction to the coppery tang of
blood in the air.  She says nothing while he touches her face, wiping the sweat
from her skin with his sleeve, but her eyes are shadowed with shame.

"Want some water?"  She hesitates, and he touches her throat with gentle
fingers.  "If you have to throw up again it'll feel better if your stomach's not
so empty."

"I know."  Her head sags, and he eases a supportive arm under her.  "Will you
leave?"

"No."  He doesn't know if it's the answer she wants or not, but the idea of
sliding the door closed between them again is unbearable.  She trembles against
him when she tries to move, fresh sweat dampening her face and hair, and he
lifts her carefully.  They stare into the mirror together, and he remembers
other shared reflections, her amused smiles on days when their clothes
complemented each other a little too well.  Now she tries to turn away from the
pale gauntness of her face.  He pretends not to see the fear in her eyes while
he runs cool water onto a cloth and presses it against the back of her neck.

"Drink something," he whispers, and she nods slowly, taking the cup from beside
the sink in shaking fingers and filling it.  She drinks half of it in tiny sips
before her body rebells; she twists away from him, pressing one hand over her
mouth as if she can hold it in.  The water comes back up warm and faintly pink
from the blood and rawness in her stomach; it stands out against the white of
the sink and her fingers, and she cries in earnest from the pain and
embarrassment.

"It's ok."  He holds her while she tries to hide her face.  "I _know_ you're
sick, it's ok.  It's not like I haven't been with you before."  He doesn't
remind her that he'd lost count over the years of the number of times he sat
beside her during bouts of sickness, both as a child and as her lover.  She
wipes the back of her hand over her lips and says nothing as she washes her
hands and rinses her mouth.

"I think I'll be all right now," she says finally, and he nods, lifting her
before she can decide whether to ask for help, needing the feel of her alive and
warm in his arms.  A moment of electric tension stiffens her spine before she
relaxes against him with a sigh.  He looks at their reflection again before
leaving the confines of the bathroom; her slight body makes him look taller and
stronger than he feels.  As if he's capable of protecting her after all.

He holds her closer, trying to believe the mirror's lie.

[fin]

*****


Fruits Basket is the creation of Takaya Natsuki, and is licensed in North
America by FUNimation (anime) and Tokyopop (manga).  Used without permission or
the intention of making a profit.  Please support the original work!

"Breaking Point" © 2005 by Ysabet MacFarlane (ba087@chebucto.ns.ca).

Comments and criticism welcomed at the above address.

This story may be reproduced and archived so long as the original text is
preserved and the author's name and contact information remain attached. 
Notifying the author of any such use is an appreciated courtesy.  NO CHANGES OF
ANY KIND ARE PERMITTED.