[Fruits Basket] Haru/Rin, #15

Title: Vigil
Author: Ysabet MacFarlane (ba087@chebucto.ns.ca)
Pairing: Sohma Hatsuharu and Sohma Isuzu (Rin)
Fandom: Fruits Basket
Theme: #15 (perfect blue)
Disclaimer: Fruits Basket belongs to Takaya Natsuki and Hakusensha;
English-language versions by FUNimation (anime) and Tokyopop (manga). This story
is in no way endorsed by or affiliated with any of the copyright holders. Please
support the original work!
Notes: This is set approximately a year and a half after the series ends, but
there are no spoilers past volume 18. It also takes place after a story I
haven't written yet, but should stand on its own. (My post-series fic seems
determined to get written chronologically backwards. >.>)

**********
August 2002
**********

"Are you coming to bed?"

Rin didn't turn around. "I've been to bed." She kept sifting through the
photographs she had spread out on the low table in the center of the room and
pulled one out seemingly at random.

All of the obvious answers--*What about going to sleep?* *Sweetheart, it's three
in the morning.* *Can you even see those with just the lamp on?*--cycled through
Haru's head, each of them leading to a different dead-end conversation they'd
already had more than once. Rin still swore up and down, as she always had, that
she just needed less sleep than he did, that being awake at any given hour of
the night had nothing to do with the nightmares she preferred not to talk about.

He even thought it might be true; nightmares rarely seemed to drive her out of
bed. She was more likely to shake him just awake enough for him to wrap his arms
around her, and then curl close in silence to keep from waking him entirely.

The only thing that had changed in the last several months was that she could
now argue that she was working, and he had to admit that it had been a long time
since he'd found her awake and staring out windows, at walls, at whatever
happened to be on TV if she was really desperate. Instead he found her
sketching, or studying the photos she'd taken as reference (so she said; what
was on the prints rarely bore any resemblance to the final paintings). And it
was true that she never disappeared into the studio during the night, after
she'd shut the door on it for the day.

None of that changed the fact that it hurt to see his wife--even after four
months, _that_ word was still bright and shining when he rolled it around on his
tongue, even silently--sitting awake in the middle of the night, hands shaking
and eyes shadowed with exhaustion while she gradually filled yet another book
with rough drawings that meant nothing to anyone but her.

A year of work. Twelve books. Six paintings that no one had seen but him, except
for the one she'd finished five days before they got married; two weeks later
she'd called Shigure over to take a look, the first time she'd deliberately
contacted him in months, as if it would make up for not calling or not inviting
him to be among the handful of people they'd asked to witness their marriage.

(Not their "wedding". She'd gone steely-eyed and chilly every time anyone used
the word in her hearing, even as she agreed to go through all the motions
required to make the rest of the world recognize the promises they'd first
whispered to each other five years earlier.)

And Shigure, until that moment as unreadable as always, had taken a look at what
Rin had made and fallen silent until she took it back into her studio and locked
it in with the others. He'd smiled when she came back, and told her that there
were people he could call when she felt ready. And he'd looked downright
forgiven, even though Rin still stiffened when she heard his name.

Haru sometimes seriously entertained the idea that all artists were a little
insane.

Especially chronically sleep-deprived ones.

After a few minutes had ticked by without Rin saying anything else, Haru
shrugged and went to kneel beside her. The photographs she'd laid out looked
nothing like the ones she'd been studying that morning; the one in her hand
looked...almost exactly like all the others.

Blue.

Blue skies, blue sea, every shot a different shade. Waves that flirted with
green or were sullenly grayed when clouds gathered overhead. All of them of the
same view of the shore. He remembered her taking them, one every hour or two for
the few days she'd spent staring at that spot simply because it was in the
direct line of sight from the front porch of the house they hadn't been back to
since.

"Sorry," she said abruptly, sweeping them back into a loose stack. There were
other photos lying underneath, the ones he'd expected to see. "I know I said I
didn't want to talk about it."

"Changed your mind?"

"No." The faintest hint of relaxation in her shoulders invited a hand on the
back of her neck; it was still a novelty to have to brush her hair aside to do
it, to feel it tickling his knuckles. She'd been through more haircuts in the
last year than in her entire life, until she'd had it aggressively layered after
they'd been married a month, and then left it to grow out.

"D'you think you might paint--"

"No," she said again, instantly. She reached for his other hand, hesitated, and
leaned against him instead, kissing his shoulder. "Did...do you want to? Talk
about it?"

"Not as much as you don't want to."

Rin didn't have to lift her head; he could picture her expression perfectly.
"It's too late at night for you to be talking in circles."

"Then it's too late for you to be awake."

"I'm sure that sounds reasonable in your head."

"Yeah, kind of." A small yawn tried to escape. "If you're not coming back to
bed, mind if I wait up with you?"

"You'll be exhausted tomorrow." Her protest was immediate, sincere, and devoid
of any sign that she recognized the irony.

"I'll sleep in."

"...all right." She sat up slowly, moving as if her muscles ached. Haru touched
the nape of her neck again, going from caressing to kneading when she sighed in
appreciation. "This won't take too much longer."

He was sure she meant it, but after half-nodding off watching her examine one
image after another, the colors muted by lamplight, he folded his arms on the
table and finally rested his head on them. Rin said his name somewhere above
him, in a tone that didn't demand a response, and he replied without opening his
eyes. "'sokay. Just want to be with you tonight."

Stillness, and then her arms slipped around him. "I'm sor-"

*Don't apologize* made it as far as conscious thought, but no further. He fell
asleep with her cheek resting on the back of his head and her body warm and
awkward against his.

***

When he woke again a few hours later, Rin was sound asleep beside him, wedged
half between him and the table in a way that made him think--not for the first
time--that she'd won a knock-down drag-out fight with the laws of physics. The
pre-dawn air was cooler than the dead of night had been, almost making his teeth
chatter with the contrast. It was that as much as the uncomfortable angle of
Rin's neck--he'd seen her sleep with no ill effect in positions that made him
ache just from looking at her--that made him reach out and shake her gently.

"Hey, love," he murmured when she stirred, brow furrowing in protest. "I'm gonna
take you to bed, okay? You don't need to wake up."

"mm...'kay."

Carrying her without waking her was the easy part; getting her to let go after
he'd lowered her to the futon was much more difficult, and necessary if he
didn't want to wake her by falling back to sleep on top of her. He wasn't seeing
straight through the burning in his eyes by the time he'd loosened her arms from
around his neck enough that he could lie down beside her and get the light
summer blanket over them.

***

She was gone the next time he opened his eyes--no surprise, given the
late-morning sunlight pouring into the room. What was surprising was finding her
in the living room instead of holed up in the studio, lying on the floor reading
as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"There's breakfast," she greeted him, not looking up until she'd finished her
page. "I'm taking the day off."

"Oh?" The miso and rice were still warm; a lone egg waited on the counter, still
in its shell. Haru cracked it into a pan to fry, noticing the lack of evidence
that she'd eaten an egg of her own. "Are you going to take pictures?"

"I think you should." Rin moved from the floor to the table, waiting while he
finished cooking his egg and scooped it onto the rice to save a plate. "Take
pictures." She leaned across the table and kissed him as he made himself
comfortable. "Show me what you're seeing."

"You might get bored." He started eating to keep the egg from getting cold. "I
think you're all I feel like seeing today."

She didn't quite smile. "That sounds fair. I draw you all the time."

"Do I get to keep the photos?"

"Can I borrow them?"

"Sure."

"All right."

Rin put her head down on the table and watched him eat, tracing the path of a
sunbeam with a fingertip. Conversation over, Haru watched her watching him, and
wondered if any camera could capture what he saw, if she could transmute herself
onto canvas if he could only show her.

There were no pictures of her watching the sea, only his memory of her eyes
drinking in the endless blue as if she wanted to drown in it.

"I love you," he started to say, and she reached over to squeeze his hand before
he could find his voice.

[fin.]