Gensomaden Saiyuki Fan Fiction ❯ All That Lingers ❯ Painful Remembrance ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: Gensomaden Saiyuki is property of Minekura Kazuya. Any original characters are property of Twisted Cherry. No harm is intended, nor profit being made, by this piece of fanfiction.

Rating: PG (Angst, language, mentioned violence.)

Author: Twisted Cherry (A collaboration between Blue Ross and Padre Fear.)

Summary: Centuries after the original journey west, the Sanzo-ikkou has been reborn into modern-day Chicago-Sanzo as a detective who's lost his faith, Gojyo as a an alcohol-abusing gambler with no direction, Hakkai as a professor with a violent past, and Goku as a street kid forced into prostitution and crime to survive. When the Merciful Goddess becomes concerned with a madman whose quest for power could destroy the world, and possibly the heavens as well, she knows exactly who to call upon before disaster strikes. Their lives must once again become entwined, but with both friendships and rivalries forgotten, how can she bring them all together before it's too late?

Main Pairings: Sanzo/Goku, Homura/Goku, Gojyo/Hakkai, Shien/Nataku, Kougaiji/Yaone. (Mentioned pairings: Homura/Rinrei, Gonou(Hakkai)/Kanan.)

Warnings: *Yaoi/Shounen-ai.* Individual chapter ratings may vary, but the overall rating of this fic ranges from R to NC-17. Later chapters will feature graphic M/M sex, violence, mild BDSM, language, and numerous other things some people might find objectionable. You've been warned. Should you choose to ignore this warning, the blame lies solely on you. (Our apologies if this sounds a bit straightforward; however, we are working our hardest on this fic, and we wouldn't want to be flamed later because of an ignored, or unclear, warning.)

Notes: A/U. Reincarnation. Possible OOCness. While this fic is set in an alternate universe, the fact that it is also a reincarnation fic (and sometimes parallels the original story fairly closely) means there are bound to be spoilers for the anime series, and possibly Saiyuki Gaiden as well. Given the fact that the Sanzo-ikkou did not have the same personalities in their previous lives, and that they have led different childhoods in our fic, they are not expected to be completely the same. However, we will try to remain as loyal to the characters as possible, since it was our love for them that inspired us to write this in the first place. I think the possible OOCness was worth mentioning, though, because there are bound to be slight variations between their original personalities and the ones in this fic, and I wanted to make this known in advance. I leave the decision of whether or not to continue reading in your hands. As this is our first Saiyuki epic, constructive criticism is more than welcome. However, flames will be ignored.

In regards to the names, we decided that, although unrealistic, it would be least confusing to keep their names as they were in the anime. The name 'Genjo Sanzo' no longer has any connotations to the high priesthood. In this fic, it is simply a first and last name.

Also, the events in this fic mostly take place in an unnamed city within the United States. If pressed, we would say it was supposed to most closely resemble Chicago, but it is in no way supposed to be an accurate representation. Due to the plotline of this fic, setting it within the States seemed the most logical decision. We hope that this fact won't take away from the fic in any way.

And now, onto the fic! Sorry for the length of these notes. They will be much shorter in subsequent chapters.

Much love goes out to our betas, D-chan and Tbear! Thanks for all of your help! ^-^

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'blah blah' indicates thoughts

~~ indicates shifts in time/character perspective

* indicates stress

@@@ indicates start/end of flashback

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~*All That Lingers*~

: :Chapter 1: Painful Remembrance: :

The city looked gray. From his position, staring moodily out of the window of his modest apartment, Detective Genjo Sanzo observed it with detachment. Raindrops were streaking sluggishly down the glass, blurring his view, and beyond it the city looked colorless, sapped of its normal vibrancy by an overcast sky.

He took a deep drag from his cigarette, unperturbed as lightening flashed ominously in the distance.

He'd always hated the rain. It made everything seem so dull; made his chest ache vaguely with an emotion he refused to acknowledge. It brought back memories that were much better left forgotten. It made him…uncomfortable.

Perhaps that wasn't the right word. Nostalgic would be more accurate. But nostalgia implied longing, and yearning for things past was a waste of time. The past could not be changed. How long had it been now? Ten years? Time enough to forget. He smirked humorlessly. If only it were that simple…

Inhaling one last drag from the cigarette, he stubbed out the cherry in a nearby ashtray and leaned his forehead against the cool windowpane. Violet eyes flickered to the street below, watching impassively as a small boy struggled to keep a firm hold on his father's hand without losing the precarious grip he had on his red umbrella. The wind was threatening to tear it from his grasp, and as unremarkable as the scene was, Sanzo found he could not look away.

The red of the umbrella was stark against the drabness of its surroundings. It reminded him of another time the color had stood out so vividly. Warm, flowing crimson over pale white skin. Life ebbing away with every drip of that sanguine fluid.

He closed his eyes. He didn't want this. He didn't want to remember. But, sighing softly, he found that the memories had already begun…

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It was five o'clock in the evening, rush hour, and the sun shone radiantly against a cloudless, blue sky. Kouryuu sat on a bench outside the temple's entrance, and watched as a variety of different people passed him. But they were all in a hurry to get somewhere, and try as he might, Kouryuu could never conceive of a life like that. Although located in the city, the temple where he lived was slow moving and peaceful.

"Kouryuu," a gentle voice called to him.

"Yes, Father?" he answered.

Koumyou, the boy's master and adoptive father, sat down beside him. Lighting a cigarette, the delicately handsome priest began to speak. "How are you doing, son?"

"I'm doing well. It's a beautiful day, and tomorrow is my birthday." Despite his eagerness, Kouryuu's voice and expression remained flat.

"Yes, you'll be sixteen years old." Koumyou took another drag of his cigarette, and stared inquisitively at the impassive blonde-haired boy.

Kouryuu looked down at his hands. Sixteen? He always wondered how they came up with that age.

It was as if Koumyou had read his mind. "I remember the day we found you by the river," he said, as he stared at the traffic ahead. "It was a brilliant day, just like this."

Kouryuu could barely remember that afternoon when Koumyou and some other monks had discovered him wandering aimlessly about the riverbank. From what he was told, he had been confused and drenched from head to toe. After they took him in they realized he had suffered from amnesia. They nursed him back to health, and hoped he would eventually regain his memory. Although he never had, Kouryuu was thankful for the life he had here. For Koumyou, his father, and the temple, his home.

"You cried for me, and collapsed at my feet." Koumyou's mild voice rose above the city noise. "Now that was the most obvious example of fate, wouldn't you say?"

Kouryuu nodded, and although his face remained neutral his violet eyes bared a great appreciation for Koumyou's affection. It didn't matter where he came from. It was his fate to be sitting here, talking to his beloved father. Koumyou rested his hand on Kouryuu's shoulder, and smiled warmly at him. "Son, you are the temple's most promising student. But more than that, you have grown into an extraordinary young man. I am very proud of you."

Kouryuu blushed at such thoughtful words. Although he wasn't used to being a man physically, there was something in his soul that made him feel older than sixteen, or whatever age he was. At times he felt jaded, even. He often wondered if it was his forgotten past that caused his heart to be so wearied. But during moments like these, moments with the only person he had ever grown to love, his spirit felt relieved. "Everything you have shown me, Father, has shaped the person I am. Thank you." While there were many things in the world that puzzled him, he was sure that this was his life as it was meant to be.

~~~

That night, Kouryuu slept peacefully, and dreamt of an enormous mountain. It was a recurring dream he had had since he was a child. In fact, it was the only thing he could remember about his life before the temple.

The sun's rays beat down upon his back. Kouryuu shielded his eyes from the cerulean sky, and began to walk towards the lone mountain. It was strange how there were no others around it, and how it reached a near-perfect peak- almost like the Gods had carved it, themselves. 'What am I doing here?'

A soft breeze passed him, and with it came a familiar voice. It urged him to find a way up, and although he was suspicious, he could do nothing but obey. The voice had called out to him for so long, and not through his ears. As sealed as it was, it was his heart the voice had managed to creep into. And although faint, it echoed throughout his soul. Kouryuu closed his eyes…

A sound like thunder shattered his thoughts. Kouryuu's eyes opened; his entire body strained. It took a moment for him to breathe again, for the awakening had left his nerves in disarray. However, his heart jumped again as he heard the sound two more times.

'Gunshots?' Kouryuu leapt immediately from his bed and into the unlit hallway. Adrenaline surged through his veins and all he could think about was where the shots had come from. A few other monks had awakened, and they stood helplessly in their doorways.

"Kouryuu, stay here! It's dangerous!" one of them shouted.

Kouryuu neglected the monk's advice, and sped down the stairs that lead to the main floor. Nauseating fear rose up in his throat. Fear that something had happened to…

'Father, please be all right,' he thought, panicking. It was Friday evening, and Koumyou would be in the temple office doing paperwork. He leapt off the last few steps, and burst into the first room on his right.

"Father!"Kouryuu shouted as he opened the door. "Father, are you…" His face froze in horror, and he dropped to his knees as he beheld Koumyou lying face first on the floor, a puddle of blood forming around his body.

At first, Kouryuu believed it to be a dream. This was a continuation of the dream with the mountain, nothing more. This man here, being drained of blood, wasn't his father. It couldn't be. How could it be? Why?

Koumyou lifted his head up and reached for his son.

"No!" Kouryuu screamed, his eyes deluged with tears as he rushed to embrace him. "Please, hold on… I'll…I'll go get some help." His voice was trembling and his heart felt frantic.

"No, Kouryuu… please, stay." Koumyou struggled to speak, and his eyes began to glaze. He took his son's hand, and squeezed it.

Kouryuu sobbed as he draped himself over his father's helpless body, over the crimson seeping from his wounds.

"Please… don't go…" he choked. The grief of holding his dying father jumbled his thoughts. "I can't… why?" 'Someone, wake me up.'

Koumyou's breathing was shallow, and he used all his strength to speak. "Listen… to me…"

Kouryuu's bottom lip quivered as he struggled not to weep. Watching his father utter his final words engulfed him in despair. He shook his head slowly, as if it would stop Koumyou from leaving him. He couldn't- who would sit on the bench with him, and have profound conversations about life and destiny? Who would guide him throughout life's slings and arrows? Who would watch, in admiration, as he became a priest of Buddha? Who would be his father, the only person he ever loved? "No…" he mouthed, his expression paralyzed with sorrow.

"You will make me… very proud." Koumyou smiled weakly. The pain in his eyes drifted, and was replaced with a familiar tenderness. "You… my son…" His arm fell slowly to his side, and the light in his eyes disappeared, leaving Kouryuu crying in agony, as he buried his face in his father's shoulder.

Everything after that seemed to move in slow motion. The other monks rushing to the scene, shouting and wailing. Kouryuu, stained with blood, being dragged from his father's lifeless body. Even his legs felt slow and heavy as he ran through the sidewalks and into an alley far from the temple. Exhausted, he collapsed onto the filthy street and spent the rest of the night there, his back against a cement building and his head in his hands- his only company being the cold rain.

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Sanzo snapped out of his reverie with a shake of his head. A glance at the street below confirmed that the father and son pair had long-since disappeared down the block. Frowning slightly, he fished in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. How long had he been standing there like an idiot, lost in memories of the past?

It had been months since he'd last remembered that night.

No one had called him Kouryuu since his father's death. The nickname, which had been given to him by the monks at the temple, had vanished along with what little childish innocence he'd had left.

Two days after the incident, he left the temple. He never looked back.

To this day, the events surrounding Koumyou's death remained a mystery. The case went unsolved for months, before it was eventually closed and conveniently forgotten. The police had suspected an attempted burglary gone awry, but as was often the case in large cities, there were more pressing matters to attend to than investigating the death of a lowly Buddhist monk, particularly when there were no witnesses or clues to point them in the right direction. Whether by luck or destiny, his father's murderer remained free, and it was then that he decided he would one day have his revenge.

Life, however, seemed to have other plans.

He'd finished high school, graduated from college with a bachelor's degree in criminal justice, and entered the police academy at the age of twenty-one. Due to his shrewd mind, his undeniable skill with a gun, and his pitiless attitude, he'd been promoted frequently, and by the age of twenty-five had become one of the city's most valuable homicide detectives.

Within the department, there were those who saw him as something of a loose cannon. His attitude, which was commended by some, was criticized by others. However, since his record remained flawless and untainted by the corruption that sometimes ran rampant through police departments nationwide, no one would dare speak against him. Whatever flaws he had temper-wise, Sanzo was an exceptional detective.

Yet, despite having spent four years as a police officer, he was no closer to solving Koumyou's murder than he had been as an uninformed boy at the age of sixteen. As much as he hated to admit it, the case was cold. Too many years had passed, and without so much as a witness, solving the case would be next to impossible. But even knowing this, he couldn't stomach the thought of giving up. Koumyou-his adoptive father, and the only man he'd ever respected-deserved better than that.

Eventually, his fingers closed around the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his pocket and found it to be empty.

"Shit," he muttered, glancing at the window again. It was growing darker by the minute and the rain showed no signs of letting up, but knowing that he'd probably be up for the rest of the night, and that he'd definitely need some come morning, he had no choice but to go out to buy another carton.

Grumbling under his breath, he slipped into his black trench-coat and left the apartment.

It was only when he was halfway down the block that he realized he'd forgotten his umbrella. A string of curses fell from his lips, but he knew it would be pointless to go back. His hair was already soaked, jagged bangs plastered wetly to his forehead, but beneath the water-resistant material of the coat, his clothing was mostly protected.

Absently brushing the hair out of his eyes with a gloved hand, he continued down the street. The small convenience store he frequented was only a few buildings down. Once he got back home, he'd strip, shower, and settle down with a cigarette, the newspaper, and some hot tea. It was a nightly routine he rarely strayed from unless a high-priority case kept him at the station.

He was only a few steps from the door when it jerked open suddenly, the jangle of bells sounding loud despite the incessant pitter-patter of raindrops striking the pavement. As he had walked, he'd mostly tuned the sound out, observing his surroundings in the usual, methodical fashion of a police officer. Although it seemed a bit unnecessary under these circumstances, it was a hard habit to break, and one of the first things he'd learned upon entering the world of law enforcement was that it never hurt to be too cautious.

It was because of this that his reflexes immediately sprang into action, and before he had completely registered what he was doing, his hand had gone to his revolver and his eyes had narrowed dangerously.

After a moment, they widened slightly as they collided with a startled golden gaze. A boy who looked about sixteen had frozen in the act of leaving the store, seemingly as surprised to see Sanzo as the detective had been by how quickly the door had flown open. Their eyes held for an eternal moment, and then Sanzo was left blinking in consternation as he watched the boy's back disappear down the street.

He shook himself slightly, brows drawing together in a frown. 'Snap out of it. You're getting soaked while you stand here like a moron.'

Still frowning in puzzlement, he entered the store, only to be halted by the sight of the cashier's terrified face. The girl was trembling visibly, her face as white as parchment.

"D-Detective S-Sanzo!" she stammered, immediately bursting into tears. "He r-robbed us!! He t-took some food and all the cash in the r-register…" Trailing off, she made a pathetic noise that made Sanzo's mouth curl in disgust. "I was *so* s-scared!"

"Call the police!" he commanded, and wasted no more time on the girl. Despite the fear on her face, she appeared to be physically unharmed. In the time it would take to calm her, the boy would be gone.

He was back outside in seconds, the rubber soles of his shoes thudding against the cement as he started in the direction in which the boy had gone. How ridiculous. The reason for his defenses prickling earlier was apparent now. He should have gone with his instincts immediately, instead of letting himself be surprised into stillness. How strange that he had only been able to stare at the boy, trapped by the familiarity of those golden eyes, when he normally never hesitated. In his business, that sort of hesitation could cost lives.

Repulsed by his own stupidity, he pressed on, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he pursued his target.

After twenty minutes, he was leaning against a building, eyes closed, breath coming in rapid, exerted pants. He gave a humorless chuckle, reaching up to brush sopping wet bangs away from his eyes. Some detective he was. He'd been outrun by some stupid, little street rat. And the fact that he'd actually been able to catch sight of him before he lost him again brought him no comfort. If anything, it served to irritate him even more.

"I need a fucking cigarette."

Pushing away from the wall, he started back in the direction of the convenience store. He was a witness, so he really should be there to speak to any officers who showed up on the scene.

Tomorrow he would renew his search for the golden-eyed runt. In truth, it wouldn't be overly difficult. He had a variety of street contacts, and finding one punk kid would be child's play to most of them. But for some reason, the very idea of the boy still pissed him off. Perhaps he was simply angry at himself, and was projecting that anger onto one of the few suspects to have ever escaped his grasp.

As he continued down the street, however, his irritation grew, and he knew it had nothing to do with the rain pouring down around him, or the fact that the boy had managed to get away. It was those eyes that made his chest tighten, and his fingers curl into fists of displeasure. Why the hell did they seem so damn familiar? He was certain he had never seen eyes that color before. If he had, he would definitely remember.

Whatever the reason behind his growing rage, he knew it wasn't something he could cast aside lightly.

Eventually, he made it back to the store, pausing only long enough to buy a pack of cigarettes and take a few leisurely puffs from one before he doubled his efforts to get back. The nicotine had served to calm his nerves, and by the time he joined the officers inside the store, he had himself completely under control again.

That night, for the first time in years, he was able to sleep during a rainfall. He'd almost expected dreams of Koumyou and his life at the temple to plague him. Instead, he was both confused and surprised by an odd dream that consisted more of sensations than anything else.

He awoke in the morning feeling feverishly hot, his skin sensitized to the cool air in the room. Reaching for a cigarette, he lit it with quivering fingers, and buried his hands under the blankets afterwards in an attempt to hide their weakness.

The dream came back to him as smoke from the cigarette wound lazily toward the ceiling. Calloused fingertips had moved over his skin, both rough and playful as they teased. A whisper of lips brushed across his throat, feathering lightly, as a leanly muscled thigh pressed between his own. The sound of a boyish giggle rang through his ears. And golden eyes had loomed above him, gleaming in the darkness.

The golden eyes were explainable-his brief encounter with that little thief could account for their presence in the dream-but what he'd seen in them was not. He had seen trust…and friendship…and adoration.

Ashes from the cigarette drifted down onto his face, stinging slightly. He ignored them, inhaling a shaky drag as his eyelids slid shut.

It defied all logical explanation…but in them he had also seen…love.

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