Work Text:
The night was too warm for clothes. Gojyo sat on the porch steps in faded boxers, digging his toes into the dust. When he tipped his head back to finish his beer, he could see the full moon, wavery and green, through the bottom of it.
Behind him, the door creaked open. Hakkai sat down one step above him. His skin looked almost silver, despite the tan both of them had picked up this summer working Hakkai's vegetable garden.
"Couldn't sleep?" Gojyo asked.
"You were gone when I woke up."
"Sorry. Just too hot in there."
Hakkai's hands lifted the mass of Gojyo's sleep-tangled hair off the back of his neck and combed through it.
"Well. We're both awake."
"Yep." For the third night in a row. Gojyo wanted to throw out all the food and just sit in the refrigerator.
"It's your turn," Hakkai prompted, twisting Gojyo's hair around his hands.
"My turn for what?"
"Do I need to remind you how many hours I spent devoting myself to your entertainment last night?"
"If you call reciting whole fucking chapters of Journey to the West entertaining. Pregnancy springs? Come on."
"Oh, yes. Our own journey was far more believable, I'm sure."
"At least we had a car."
"Anyway. Please do feel free to tell me a better story."
"Aw, come on. I don't know any stories."
"Only last week at the bar I heard you telling that one about the nun and the elephant and three bowling balls--"
"Okay! Jeez. I'll think of something."
The clouds moved across the moon, creeping and animal-like.
"Okay," Gojyo said, finally. "So there was this kid, right. And after his mom died, and he was all alone, he decided it'd be a good time to find his father. And maybe punch him in the gut or something."
***
Once upon a time, a boy walked into the town of Xiahe. It wasn't much of a town, but he wasn't much of a boy--small for his age, so skinny you could count his ribs through his t-shirt, perpetually bruised and scraped. It wasn't that he was clumsy, just slow to get out of the way.
He'd cut his hair short when he left home, thinking that maybe if there was less red to see, people wouldn't notice it so much. He'd cropped it close to his head with his brother's knife, nicking his ear and his scalp in the process.
He walked past the window of the town's bakery and winced, seeing himself in the window. The haircut really hadn't helped his looks much, and now his ears stuck out.
The baker saw him staring and beckoned him inside. He went, wary, ready to duck. He was learning to be faster.
"You look like a kid who needs something to do with himself," the baker said. "You want to earn some money?"
"Yeah. Yes, please," he added, because grown ups were picky about that kind of thing.
The baker pushed a wooden tray piled high with steamed bread. To the boy it smelled like the best thing in the history of the world. He wanted to stuff an entire loaf in his mouth and run away with it.
"You take these over to the inn," the baker said. "Leiliu will want them for the lunch crowd. She'll pay you what she pays my usual boy, and I hope the little bastard's sorry he took off on me today. Matter of fact, you come back tomorrow, you can have his wages then too."
He took the tray--had to balance it on his head because it was too wide to span with his arms--and nodded. It might be worth sticking around another day for that, if he could keep out of trouble.
There weren't a lot of people willing to give a thirteen-year-old work. He didn't want to steal, because his mom had said it was wrong, but he got so hungry sometimes he couldn't help it, and people shouldn't leave their food on an open windowsill anyway. That was just asking for it.
The baker gave him directions to the inn, and he trotted off, the immense weight of the thick wooden tray and steamed bread pressing down on his neck until it ached.
The air was wet, and even hotter than it had been when he left home. He kept remembering the way his mother's dress had clung to her body in the heat, white cotton almost transparent, the gauze of her winding sheet molding to the curve of her cheek. He kept trying not to remember, but it hadn't worked so far.
The tavern was called the White Tortoise, or at least that was his guess. It had a sign with a white tortoise on it, but the text was too weather-worn to read. He wrapped his fingers tight around the edge of the tray and let go with one hand to shove the door open.
The interior was clean, only a little dimmer than the noon light of outside. There was a long bar along the right-hand wall and tables scattered around the rest of the room. Everyone stopped talking when he walked in.
"Delivery for Leiliu!" he said, and grinned, because grown ups liked that, liked that you were cheerful even when you were hungry, even though he was sure that was totally a lie and no one was really cheerful when they were hungry. He wondered how much he'd get just for carrying this a few blocks.
A large, black-haired woman squeezed out from behind the long bar and squinted at him.
"Who're you?"
"The baker sent me. The other kid ran off or something."
"Fuck, I could eat three of you for breakfast. I'm surprised you made it over here." She snatched the tray away from him and headed off, something between a stalk and a waddle.
He blinked and followed. In front of him, her butt wobbled under her dress like two small pigs. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
She shoved through a heavy door behind the bar, and he only just managed to scoot through before it swung shut again. The room inside smelled like food, and it made his mouth water immediately. At the far end was a fireplace that took up the whole length of the wall, maybe ten feet, and suspended over the fire were four steaming cauldrons.
Leiliu pointed at a tall stool. "Sit," she snapped.
He climbed up the rungs like a ladder, for the top of the stool was nearly an equal height with his shoulders, and and perched on top. He watched as Leiliu scooped out a bowl of something brown and bubbling from the pot on the far right.
She brought it over to him. "Here. Eat up."
He wanted to know if this was in addition to or instead of wages, but he didn't have the guts to ask. It was food, and he hadn't eaten since yesterday's breakfast, and it smelled so good. He burned his tongue with the first bite, but it didn't even slow him down.
Leiliu crossed her massive arms over her chest and watched him. "You like that?"
He nodded almost violently.
She grunted. "Good. You new in town?"
"Just passing through, ma'am."
"Need a place to sleep tonight?"
He paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. He'd gotten a lot of weird offers since he left home, and way too many of them had involved beds. "Uh," he said.
"Don't be stupid, boy. Do I look like that type? You'll work for it, serving tables, washing dishes after. A bed for the night, plus all you can eat tonight and tomorrow. Deal?"
He nodded hesitantly. It was true; she really didn't look like that type, if only because most of that type had a dick.
"One of your waiters ran off like the baker's boy?" he asked, mouth half-full of stew.
"Festival, next town over. Some fool contest to see who's got the biggest melons--watermelons, that is. Half the bloody village is there."
He grinned, feeling actually cheerful this time, for maybe the first time since he left home. "They got a watermelon eating contest? Bet I could win."
"You can find out tomorrow." She scooped out two more bowls of brown stuff--he thought it was beef stew--and one of some kind of clear soup with bits of chicken and hot pepper floating in it. "Meanwhile, you take this out to the table by the window with the ugliest man on Earth sitting at it."
He picked up the tray, and Leiliu slapped a few slices of the baker's bread on it, each one covered with a slab of cheese that immediately began to melt in the heat from the bread. He made a mental note to eat some of that, too, and headed out of the kitchen.
The ugliest man on Earth was in fact the ugliest man on Earth, or at least the ugliest he'd ever seen. The man's face was pock-marked and occasionally interrupted by large warts. His hair was grey and stringy, and his eyes were a squinting, watery blue.
"What's your name, boy?" he asked.
"Gojyo," the boy said. He couldn't remember why or when he'd decided to lie when people asked him his name. It just seemed like the right thing to do, like he was on the run from the law. On the run from something, anyway.
"Huh," the ugliest man said. "Funny. Seems I remember another Gojyo passing through here a while back. Red hair, just like yours."
The boy set out bowls of stew and bread with cheese, suddenly listening very hard. He was trying to think which question to ask first, when another man spoke.
"Your head's wandering," said one of the ugliest man's table companions. "That was years ago."
The boy slumped a little. It was too much to hope for this soon, he supposed. He'd only been looking for two weeks. Still, it was something.
"Maybe. Kid was a good card player, though. You play cards, Gojyo?"
"No, sir. I don't know the rules."
He turned to go, but the ugliest man caught his arm gently and grinned at him with shockingly white and even teeth.
"I'll teach you later. Yeah?"
"Yeah, okay."
Back in the kitchen, Leiliu heaved a sigh. "Yes, yes, you can have a break later. Just what you need to learn at your age too, I'm sure."
"Why not at my age? You don't even know how old I am."
She sniffed. "A little dinner makes the boy bold. I know you're too young to be gambling with that one and don't go asking me for money, because you won't get it."
"Yes, ma'am!" He gave her a little salute and picked up the next tray.
***
"And this was the man who taught you how to play poker?"
"And blackjack."
"All in one night?"
Gojyo grinned. "What can I say? I was a natural. Next day at the watermelon thing, I cleaned out these two guys and had to run for it, all the way to river. They would've got me, too, if I hadn't jumped in."
"My goodness. What an exciting life you used to lead."
"Yeah, it's been so fucking boring since I hooked up with you. What's up with that?"
Hakkai leaned against his side, and Gojyo could feel the silent laughter that shook his body.
***
"No!" The ugliest man, whose name was Shen, thumped the table, and the poker chips jumped. "Are you slow, boy? Do you not know your numbers yet? What's the problem here?"
Shen flashed his monstrously white teeth, and the boy scooted back in his chair a few inches. They looked like they could bite his head right off.
"I do! I just--shut up, this is hard." His mom had always said playing cards was for grown ups, and he hadn't even gotten to play go fish. Just remembering the face card values was giving him a hard time. It made sense that the king was worth the most, but he kept getting the queen and the jack confused.
One of the girls sitting at the bar swayed over, long black hair falling to her hips. She smelled like jasmine flowers. The boy swallowed as she ruffled his hair.
"He's just a kid, Shen. Don't yell." She took the shot of whiskey that had sat untouched in front of him since Shen put it there. "And don't give him booze, what's wrong with you? You'll stunt his growth, and I bet he'll be real pretty when he grows up a little."
She knocked the shot back herself and leaned over his chair, fingers still sliding through his hair. If he looked just a tiny bit to the side he thought he might be able to see down her shirt, but he was too nervous to try.
Her eyes shifted from his cards to his face, and she blinked. "Your eyes are red. Are you eyes red, or have I been drinking too much?"
"No, they're--they're red."
"Same color as your hair." She smiled. "Like the ace of hearts. Yeah, you'll be some kinda ace someday."
She was very close, turned towards him so he almost couldn't help seeing down her shirt. The liquor on her breath overwhelmed her perfume. She patted his cheek, and he could feel heat rising to his face.
"You're drunk, honey," Leiliu called from behind the bar. "Go home."
"I'm not! Anyway, I'm just standing here. I'm not doing anything."
"You're making the kid uncomfortable."
"Am not!"
"You are so. Just look at him."
Shen laughed, and it turned into a dry cough. "The kid doesn't mind your tits in his face, he minds you talking about his hair and eyes. I remember what it means, even if the rest of you don't."
And then there was the moment he'd been avoiding since he left home, the moment of terrible interest where everyone in the room focused on him, and he wasn't just some stupid runaway kid anymore.
"What's it mean then?" the woman asked.
What's wrong with him? Is it some kind of disease? What is he?
"It's nothing," he heard himself say. "It doesn't mean anything." He stared hard at Shen, willing him to just shut up, just don't say it please.
Shen looked at for a few seconds and nodded, more with the droop of his lids than with his chin. He drank the last of his whiskey and shrugged. "Means his daddy was an albino. That's where he got those eyes."
The boy let out a breath and tried not to look relieved. He listened to the woman with the perfume demanding to know what an albino was--and how could she not know that, even he knew that, and he'd only started school three years ago--and told himself he had no reason to feel anything but relieved.
His mom had always told him not to lie. It didn't seem fair that he had to pick between lying and being a freak. Or feeling like a freak, anyway. He was a freak whether he lied or not, but it was so much easier when he could pretend he wasn't.
Leiliu waved him over, and he laid down his cards. When he got close enough, she put a meaty hand on his shoulder and hauled him behind the bar with her.
"Getting tired?" she asked.
He nodded, relieved. He was tired of company, anyway, and definitely tired of sucking at poker.
"Follow me."
She led him back into the kitchen and pointed to a set of narrow stairs. "Goes up to the attic. There's a bed, and you can wash up at the sink in here. There'll be breakfast for you if you wake up early enough."
"Thanks."
"Hey."
"Yeah?"
"I don't blame you for not wanting it talked about, but not everyone around here would crucify you for having youkai blood, even after everything that's happened. Just thought you might want to know."
She walked out before he could think of anything to say in reply.
***
"Air conditioning," Gojyo muttered. "Why the fuck don't we have air conditioning?"
"It's much cooler out now."
"I need a beer."
"It's barely dawn, Gojyo. I don't think you need a beer before breakfast."
"Well, it's way too hot for coffee."
"Let's take a walk," Hakkai suggested.
Gojyo would've said it was too hot for that too, but walking would take less energy than arguing. They walked.
The orange-pink of the horizon faded into a deep blue that looked like it went on forever, up past the stars. Gojyo stared up at it, dazed, coffee-deprived, and overheated. He let Hakkai's hand on his shoulder steer him. The longer he stared straight up the dizzier he felt.
"It's like you could fall up into it," he told Hakkai.
"Did you sleep at all last night?"
"Uh. Not really. It was--"
"Hot. Yes. I'm sure you can get some coffee at the festival. Perhaps even iced."
"Oh, iced--hey! What festival?"
"The watermelon festival."
Gojyo stopped staring at the sky and stared at Hakkai instead. "The what?"
Hakkai just smiled, or possibly that was a smirk. It was still hard to tell with Hakkai, even after all these years.
"Look," Gojyo said. "I am not into nostalgia, okay? Did I say anything about feeling a lack of, of watermelons in my life? Because I really don't."
"Watermelons are very cooling."
"Cooling enough to make up for a five mile hike?"
"Three. Four, at most."
Gojyo sighed and kept walking. "We could drive, at least."
"The exercise will help you sleep tonight."
Walking. Less energy than arguing. Yeah.
***
The next morning, the boy woke in time for breakfast. Breakfast, in fact, was what woke him; the smell of frying meat and coffee drifting up from the kitchen below. Well, that and the heat the sun and the stoves were generating, with his attic room sandwiched between them.
Leiliu was out of the kitchen when he stumbled downstairs. He stuck meat and cheese between two slices of yesterday's bread and climbed out a window. Outside, he jogged until he was clear of the town and then kept going, stride widening, moving faster.
The morning air was cooler, the sky clear as blue water. His feet raised puffs of dust as he ran. He didn't stop until he could see the next town, and then only slowed to a walk, eating his breakfast as he went.
About half a mile out of town, he started seeing signs. Some of them had writing and some of them didn't, but all of them had drawings of watermelons on them. Some of them looked more like weird green eggs, but he was pretty sure they were meant to be watermelons.
Market stalls sprawled around the edges of the town, clustered along the road. Canvas awnings in bright reds and blues glared in the sun. An old man offered him a slice of watermelon just as he finished his breakfast, and he stood watching for a moment as the man carved a small dragon head out of a piece of rind.
"There's better carvers than me," the old man said. He tipped his head towards the center of town. "Go on, take a look."
The dragon looked good enough, almost real, with green of the peel stripped away and the white rind underneath scalloped with tiny scales. It was hard to imagine much better, but the boy walked on in the direction indicated.
Around him, people's voices got louder, raised in laughter. Kids his own age and younger ran by with kites or pinwheels or sticky-sweet bean cakes or huge chunks of watermelon dripping down their chins. He remembered running like that, with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Just running, because he could.
He felt a smack on his shoulder, and a little girl ran past him, grinning. "Tag! You're it!" she shouted.
He stood still for a second, and then he was running after her, dropping the rest of his watermelon in the dirt. Her dress flapped behind her, bright red, and the soles of her bare feet flashed at him with every step. The hem of her dress was almost close enough to touch when someone stepped out in front of him. It was impossible to stop.
The man staggered back a step and caught his arms, keeping him upright. "Hey, you all right, kid? Watch where you're going."
He looked up, and up. The man was tall, with long red hair, red eyes, and a face he recognized from his mother's faded photograph. He swallowed.
"Are you Sha Gojyo?" he asked.
The man frowned. "Yeah. Who're you?"
He took a deep breath, a step back, and shot his fist forward into the bastard's stomach as hard as he could.
"Ow! What the fuck!"
Another man slid out of the crowd, quick and silent, and grabbed his wrists before he could get another shot in.
"Gojyo? What's going on here?" he asked.
"The little brat just hauled off and fucking hit me for no reason." Sha Gojyo had a hand over his stomach and a slight frown on his face. He looked more confused than angry.
"I had a reason." But now that it was time to say it out loud, the words wouldn't come. He hadn't been expecting to find him so soon. Honestly, he hadn't expected to find him at all. He looked down and tried to pull away from the man holding him. It was no use.
Gojyo squatted down in front of him. "Okay. What's the reason?" He glanced up. "I think you can let him go, Hakkai."
The steel grip on his wrists released, though the man didn't step away. He guessed if he tried to run, he wouldn't get far. The noise of the festival went on around them. He saw the little girl who had tagged him look back for a second. She shrugged and turned away.
He reached slowly into his pocket and handed over the crumpled photograph, almost exactly as old as he was.
Gojyo's face changed when he saw it. He touched it with one finger.
"Are you all right?" Gojyo's friend asked him.
"Yeah. Yeah, sure. I'm fine." He looked up from the photograph. "What's your name, kid?" he asked.
"Jiang. Hua Jiang."
"And this," Gojyo said slowly. "Hua Muning. This is your mother."
"Yes."
"Is she--how is she?"
"What do you care? You left."
Gojyo rubbed a hand over his face and back through his hair. He looked at the picture again. "Look, I'm not--whatever you're thinking, whatever she thought--you're wrong. I'm sorry."
***
Gojyo felt Hakkai's steadying hand on his back and leaned into the touch.
"Perhaps," Hakkai said, "we should all sit down."
Gojyo felt more like running all the way back home, but he didn't argue. It wouldn't be fair to the boy anyway.
Hakkai got them all sitting down at a small cafe, shaded by an oak tree. Beer appeared in front of Gojyo, and he took a drink. It was cold, thank god. He held the can against his neck and looked across the table. Right. He could do this.
"I'm not your father, Jiang. I'm sorry."
Jiang's mouth tightened. "You slept with her, didn't you?"
Of course Jiang didn't believe him. He wouldn't have believed it either. He wondered if this was how the conversation would've gone if he'd ever found his own father.
"We had a good time for a while," he said carefully. "But whatever we did, I can't--" He stopped, and swallowed. His throat felt too dry, and for some reason the beer wasn't helping. "I'm shooting blanks, okay?"
Fuck. Was Jiang even old enough to know what that meant? From the blank (hah) look on his face, apparently not.
Hakkai, silent since they ordered, set down his tea cup.
"I believe what Gojyo is trying to say is that it's biologically improbable, if not impossible, for him to father a child."
Jiang's eyes widened, but he recovered quickly. "Improbable's not the same as impossible," he said.
"No, but your hair and eye color are the result of a direct cross between human and youkai. It's extremely unlikely that even a fertile hybrid could pass on these characteristics. In the rare cases--and I'm speaking now of animals, I don't know of any such cases in human-youkai hybrids--of fertility, the hybrid's offspring almost always defaults back to one of the original species."
Gojyo had understood approximately half of that, but of course the kid locked onto the one part that mattered.
"Almost always."
Hakkai sighed and sipped his tea. "I'm afraid the odds are much better that your mother simply lied."
"Hey, wait--" Gojyo said, but Jiang had already shot up out of his chair with enough force to tip it over.
"You take that back!" He grabbed the front of Hakkai's shirt. "She wouldn't do that!"
And Hakkai--Hakkai actually looked kind of pissed off.
Quiet little Oh, shit alarms started going off in Gojyo's head. He rounded the table, detached the boy from Hakkai forcibly, picked him up, and sat him on the edge of the table.
"Look, nobody's saying she lied, okay? Or--or if she did--"
"She didn't!"
"If she did, I'm sure she had really good reasons, okay? But I'm not saying she did." He couldn't. Not with Jiang's mouth so tight like that, like he was trying not to let his lower lip tremble.
"You're not?"
"No. But. If it's true, I had no idea. She didn't tell me."
"She couldn't! You were already gone!"
"I didn't sneak off in the middle of the fucking night, kid! Everyone was happy enough to see me go. Your mom included."
Jiang was quiet after that, and Gojyo turned away, arms folded across his chest. No one seemed to have noticed their little scene. A few feet away, two boys and a girl were competing to see who could spit watermelon seeds the farthest.
He felt like the biggest asshole in the world.
"Perhaps--" Hakkai started.
Gojyo turned. "No. We're going home." He pointed a finger at Jiang. "You're coming too."
He expected arguments from both of them, but he got none. They followed him silently out of town, just like he knew what he was doing. Hakkai, at least, had to know that he didn't.
The road wound ahead of them, red and dusty, through the green grass. Hakkai moved up to walk beside him, their shoulders touching, hands brushing now and then. After a few minutes, Jiang caught up and walked on his other side.
Gojyo could feel his curious glances. He wondered what the kid had guessed about him and Hakkai already and if he cared or not. Not that it was any of his business.
Storm clouds gathered in front of them, the first they'd seen in weeks, despite the constant wet haze in the air. Grey and dangerous, they tumbled over one another, piling higher and falling down to meet the rising hills. They filled the sky, and thunder rumbled.
They crested a hill, and a cool breeze lifted Gojyo's hair away from his neck.
"I liked your mother," he said quietly. "A lot."
"She liked you too," Jiang said, after a pause. "She talked about you. A lot. She told me about your brother and all the places you traveled and stuff."
That made him smile a little. He'd made up most of his travel stories to impress her, but everything he'd said about Jien was true. He was glad she'd remembered.
"I was only sixteen when I met her. Did she tell you that?"
Jiang shook his head.
"She was twenty. She met me on the road and said I could stay in her parents' barn if I didn't have anywhere else to sleep. I worked for her dad for a few days, and he started inviting me to eat with the family. It was hard work, cutting hay and hauling it in. But I guess farm work's always hard."
It was also the last honest work he'd ever done, unless working for Sanzo counted. Given the kind of jobs those had been, he was pretty sure it didn't.
"Yeah. Mucking out stalls is the worst part."
Gojyo nodded. "Yeah. I did that too. But I didn't mind much. I'd been on my own since--for a while. It was nice to have a place to sleep every night and three meals a day. Your mom and your grandma cooked some of the best food I've ever had."
Jiang looked down. "She was a really good cook. Everyone said so."
Was. Damn.
Rain started to fall; big, fat, cold drops that hit the dusty road like bombs.
"She was," Gojyo said quietly. "And she was nice to me."
He felt Hakkai's hand on his back briefly. There was silence for a few minutes as rain soaked into their hair and clothes.
"Why'd you leave?" Jiang asked.
"Her dad--your grandfather--threw me out. When he found out. Uh. You know."
He wanted to ask how she died, but Jiang already sounded close to tears. His shoulders were hunched over, hands stuffed deep in his pockets.
"You didn't try to come back or anything?"
"No. I wasn't... We weren't in love. It was just a thing. I'm sorry."
Jiang didn't reply.
Maybe he should've lied. He'd always sort of hoped that his father had loved his mother. But then, if he had, why the hell had he left her? No, the truth had to be better, almost always, even when it hurt. Sanzo had pounded that much into him over the years.
The rain fell harder and colder, and Gojyo was glad to see the outline of their small house a few minutes later. He stomped up onto the porch, wringing water out of his hair.
Hakkai caught him and Jiang both by their collars before he could get the door open.
"Shoes off, please," Hakkai said. "I've already mopped the floors this week."
Inside, in stocking feet, they changed into dry clothes. Hakkai found some of Goku's clothes, brought over to be mended, for Jiang. They were still big on him, and Gojyo was reminded of himself trying to wear Jien's hand-me-downs.
Hakkai served them cocoa with a thick layer of marshmallows bobbing on the top. Gojyo slurped at them as they melted and examined Hakkai's face. He looked perfectly calm now. Gojyo hoped it wasn't the kind of calm that came before a storm.
He was used to the silence between him and Hakkai, comfortable silence because they didn't always need to talk. The silence now, with someone else in the house, was different, but he didn't know how to break it.
He slurped his cocoa more loudly and got an eerily similar look of disapproval from both Jiang and Hakkai.
The storm outside seemed to be passing. The patter of rain on the roof grew less and less, and by the time they were done with their cocoa, sun was shining in the windows.
Jiang picked up their mugs unasked and rinsed them out at the sink. His mom had probably taught him to be polite, to make himself useful. Not just to keep out of the way.
Gojyo pushed his chair back, scraping it too loudly against the wood floor. "I'm going out for a smoke," he announced. He could tell Hakkai was trying to catch his eye and turned away quickly, grabbing his cigarettes as he stepped out the door.
***
"Is he okay?" Jiang asked, as the door slammed shut.
"He will be. Those mugs need to be washed. We don't have a dishwasher."
"We didn't have one at the farm either."
Jiang looked for the soap and found it under the sink. Everything under there was lined up in rows. The rows were ordered alphabetically. He blinked. Okay.
With the plug in, the sink started to fill with hot water and suds. He wet the sponge and ran it over the cartoon dragon on the mug.
"How did your mother die?"
Jiang dropped the dragon mug in the sink. It bounced and chipped at the rim. "Sorry," he said. "Sorry, I'll..."
Hakkai took the damaged mug from his hands and looked at him.
"She just got sick," Jiang said. He swallowed and looked down at his shoes. "She had a fever for a long time, and then it looked like she was getting better, and then one morning I went to bring her breakfast, and--" He stopped.
There was no comforting had on his shoulder, no sympathetic words. After a minute, he pulled himself together enough to look up.
Hakkai was smiling a very little bit. "Such an ordinary death," he said. "I can think of many people who would envy her."
Jiang just stared. He couldn't even work out whether he should be mad or not.
"Well," Hakkai said briskly. "We need something for lunch and perhaps extra for dinner. If I make you a list, do you think you could take it into town for me?"
"So you can get rid of me while you two talk about me behind my back?"
"Yes," Hakkai said. "But we need fish, also."
"Okay."
***
Gojyo lit up as he walked around to the back of the house, the only wall with no windows. The bricks were damp with rain and still warm from the earlier heat, chasing away the new chill in the air. On the other side of the wall was their kitchen, with Hakkai and Jiang probably sitting in awkward silence and not looking at each other. Wonderful.
He didn't know what he'd been thinking, dragging Jiang back here like that. It was Hakkai's house, too, Hakkai's more than his, really. And it would be Hakkai cooking for the kid, Hakkai cleaning up after him, Hakkai seeing he got to school every morning. Fuck, Hakkai would be his teacher, probably. The village only had two.
Gojyo wasn't even sure he wanted Jiang to stay. Even if he was the kid's father, he was no kind of father.
His cigarette was only half-gone when Hakkai rounded the corner of the house and stopped next to him.
"Where is he?" Gojyo asked.
"I sent him to the village to get some fish for lunch."
"Hoping he won't come back?" There was a second of silence. "Sorry. Shit, I shouldn't have--"
"No. It's all right. The thought did cross my mind." Hakkai gave him a level look. "I suspect it crossed yours as well, if for different reasons."
"Yeah. Maybe."
"But you will ask him to say."
"Not if you don't want me to."
Hakkai smiled. "Even if I don't want you to, I think."
He dropped his cigarette into the wet grass and reached for Hakkai's hand, pulling him closer. He opened his mouth, but there was no good reply to that. No true one, anyway.
"Sorry," he said, at last.
"It's all right. I understand. And I do think he'll come back. If he doesn't, I imagine we can find him without too much trouble."
Gojyo leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Thanks," he whispered.
There was silence for a moment.
"He is very like you in some ways," Hakkai said, at last.
Gojyo relaxed slightly. That was as much acceptance as any stranger was likely to get from Hakkai.
"Any chance he's really--you know?" Gojyo asked.
"I don't think I can sufficiently express how unlikely it is. Less than one chance in a billion. Considerably less."
"Yeah. I figured."
Gojyo sighed. He probably had about the same odds of being anything but a bad influence on the kid.
Then again, what were the odds of the four of them saving the world? Not too high, he'd guess. But they'd done it.
***
Jiang slopped through mud puddles on the way to town. The money Hakkai had given him jingled in his pocket, and it was tempting just to take off with it. It was a lot of money just for fish.
He wondered if he'd get asked to stay for more than lunch if he went back. He thought he might. He wasn't sure he wanted to, but it couldn't hurt to try. He could always take off again if things didn't work out.
The fishmonger's stall was right where Hakkai had said it would be, and he handed over Hakkai's list, which seemed to have an awful lot of fish on it for just three people. Maybe Hakkai was expecting company for dinner.
The fishmonger peered down at him. "You Gojyo's nephew or something? You look just like him."
He couldn't help smiling, even if it wasn't true, even if he didn't know what was true anymore. It felt good to have his looks mean family instead of freak.
"Yeah," he said. "That's me."