Shitan, more commonly known to the public as Doctor Uzuki or “Doc” removed his old clockmaker’s glasses and rubbed his eyes. Sometimes, it was easier to be the Doctor. The Doctor didn’t have feelings, everyone looked up to the Doctor, everyone admired the Doctor. He didn’t have to worry when he was the Doctor—he was in a protective barrier, he could work and work and work on his precious inventions and not care about a thing else.

Shitan was harder. Shitan had a past, people often whispered about Shitan, Shitan was a man. Shitan had Yui, Shitan had Midori, Shitan wasn’t always a perfect family man. Sometimes he was a perfectly rotten one, and though the berating never came from Yui or Midori, it would come from him. Then he would slip back into the roll of Doctor Uzuki, simply because things were often easier to deal with then. A fallen form a few feet away from him moaned and twitched, and he looked over hollowly. Without his glasses, he saw nothing more than a blue-grey haze and a few dark blurs, the most prominent blur Weltall.

Another fault about Shitan the man. His sight had always been less than perfect.

/Alright, so I can’t see three feet in front of me without my glasses./

The form moaned again, and tried to move, eliciting a loud cry. A number of people who were mobile and well looked up from tending their fallen forms and began to rush towards the new one. A chorus of murmuring voices went up, and Shitan had trouble making out what everyone was saying. For some odd reason, he didn’t feel like putting his glasses back on, he didn’t want to see the horrific field of fallen before him.

It was better this way—no sight—at least then he could pretend he was somewhere else.

But the smell would not be ignored; not quelled. It was persistent, wretchedly persistent, leaving Shitan’s stomach to turn flips again. /Burn, burn yourself out…I can’t take the smell any more…/

He began to breathe out of his mouth, and tried to zone out the voices, but one thing leapt out at him suddenly.

A low, slightly rough female voice.

“Yui, love. You can’t do anything else…you haven’t sat down since it all began.”

“But—look at this man,” came the soft protest. “I’m not even hurt and this man is dying.”

Another voice joined in the gentle chiding. “Go and sleep, dear. Midori’s with the other children…the ones who would sleep, anyhow.”

“It’s not fair that I should relax when people need help,” Yui’s voice protested softly but firmly. “I’m not leaving.”

“Dear girl—“ the first voice began.

Shitan supposed why the first statement had jumped out at him at all was because it began with ‘Yui’ but nonetheless even without his glasses he adjusted and could almost /feel/ Yui’s presence near him.

“Yui,” he called out, dryly. It sounded too loud and it pierced the early morning, cutting through the still, cold air much like the bullets had ripped through Timothy—

/Stop stop stop stop oh Yui won’t you stop that for a minute and help me/

He barely heard the faint crunching of feet on leaves and earth, but he somehow knew it was her, and he thanked his God. He slipped on his glasses hurriedly to see the familiar figure of his young wife sitting down next to him.

Yui was another aspect of his life that made the Shitan roll harder. Yui was the kind of woman everyone always loved and rallied around, which made it dually hard for him when he would unwittingly ignore her and tend to his work instead. Yui wasn’t a stunningly beautiful woman, in fact, she was more like humble.

She was thin, waif-like in appearance, and she was more on the plain side. Yui wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t something many men would go nuts for. Yui had a sort of long, plain face and a pair of lovely slate grey eyes. The length of her face had always been sort of a joke between her and her husband in happier times, he would often ask her about it and why it was so unhappy looking. She usually wore some sort of long, mild coloured dress, hiding what little of a figure she may have had. Her hair was long and the colour of late summer maize, halfway pinned back by two plain little clips.

What she lacked in looks she made up for in personality. She was kind, sweet, smart, and loyal, faithfully sticking right by Shitan’s side whenever he decided to do something. She never got angry at him, and in fact, Shitan had never seen her say a mean thing to anyone. She was, in Shitan’s eyes, the perfect woman. He didn’t care that she wasn’t striking or shapely, her attitude made her 20 times lovelier than the most beautiful woman alive. At least Shitan thought so.

“Not really that tired,” he said finally. Yui didn’t say anything more on that particular subject and Shitan knew she didn’t believe him but was too docile to confront him about it.

“I would have had all these people brought back to the house last night,” she said after the silence. “Except you ordered everyone to stay here.” Quickly, as an afterthought, she said, “It’s fine this way though. There wouldn’t have been enough room at the house.” Shitan nodded.

“Indeed. And many of these people are already dead. There’s nothing we can do for them.”

There was another silence as this fact was brought up again, it was like they had both forgotten that they were sitting in the middle of a number of dead bodies. Some were so disfigured from the fire it was hard to tell that they were human. Some were almost in two pieces after being shot through with Gear ammunition.

And yet here among this grim field of death and suffering—this dimly lit plain of despair, like some sort of war field after the battle, littered with the bodies of the fallen—among this, Shitan took a little heart when he felt Yui’s tiny, thin fingers wind through his much larger ones.

There was yet another thick silence, Shitan felt plainly within him that if he were to throw a rock in front of him the silence would collapse on either side, and rush back towards him like an unsupported wall of water. His hand was slightly clammy and sweaty in Yui’s and he couldn’t quite tell if hers was too, but in any case he was silently grateful she didn’t pull away.

“Thank you,” he whispered almost inaudibly after a moment. She gave his hand an extra little squeeze.

“I was afraid you weren’t quite all here,” she replied, the ever-persistent cold wind blowing a few strands of her faded maize hair in her face. He didn’t reply.

“You can’t go to pieces now,” she continued, tucking at her hair with her free hand. “Not when there are so many who need you.” Shitan looked over at her.

“And I’m not just speaking of myself,” she said faintly. Shitan noticed she was pointing at someone and he followed the invisible line drawn by her index finger. At the end of the line was the crumpled form of Fei Fong Wong.

“I don’t think he meant to do it,” she continued again. “And I know you think the same.”

Shitan shook his head faintly, his long ponytail of hair falling back onto his back. “He wouldn’t destroy the town he loved.”

“You have to make the others see that,” Yui said to him, reaching over and placing his ponytail back over his shoulder. “They trust you.”

Shitan didn’t reply, but his mind silently contradicted her. /They trust Doctor Uzuki. Not Shitan. Doctor Uzuki always knows exactly what to do, of course./

Shitan looked over at Yui again and her face looked plainer and paler than ever in the pre-dawn grey light. Her hair rested around her face limply and she smiled faintly at him.

“I trust you at least,” she said after a moment of staring. “Perhaps that’s enough.”

He gazed at her still, his face in the same neutral, non-committal mask.

A few feet away, out of both Shitan and Yui’s hearing range, a village woman stood above her wounded charge, casting a glance upon the Doctor and his young wife. She nudged the woman next to her and she looked up also.

“Behind every great man there’s an even greater woman, eh?” the first said approvingly.

“Couldn’t find a better case,” the second agreed, once again bending over the young boy who had large burns on his legs.

Back in Shitan and Yui’s world, Shitan closed his eyes and sighed. “Thank you again, Yui,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “I should most likely stop wasting time on myself and start helping the wounded.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust, having come back to reality he picked up on the horrid scent in the air again. Yui reached into the pocket of her waist apron and pulled out a small tin. Shitan didn’t notice her as she pulled the lid off and got a bit of balm-looking material on her finger.

“Look here for a moment, Shitan,” she said, drawing his attention to her once again. She wiped some of the balm material underneath both of his nostrils and drew back, wiping her finger on her apron. Shitan sniffed curiously and found that instead of the burning scent a medicine-like one had taken it's place. “Ugh.”

She smiled, popping the lid back on the container and placing it within her apron again. “Better than burning-wood smell,” she said with soft joviality. “It’s a balm you made for Midori when she was getting that odd rash on her arms.”

Shitan felt a tiny tug at his pant leg and he jumped, looking over, half expecting to be staring at Weltall. He knew that wasn’t possible but the Gear set him on edge nonetheless.

“Speaking of,” Yui said, taking the opportunity to lean her head against Shitan’s shoulder, yawning.

Shitan looked down at his daughter, who for her part was the near mirror image of her mother. Shitan felt even more set on edge by Midori for some reason than he did Weltall, and he suspected it was dealing with her appearance.

Midori’s tiny dress was still perfect and unrumpled, not a smudge or speck of dirt or ash upon it. Her face was the same round, white, cherubic mask it always was, but her eyes told a much different story. Her eyes were stoically unreadable as usual, and sometimes the way they darted about taking everything in reminded Shitan of a nervous animal in a cage. Her own faded-gold hair was still perfectly in place, pinned back, with the picturesque curls framing the cherub mask.

Shitan managed a weak smile at her even though she unsettled him. Midori appeared as if she were some sort of ghost or angel walking among the dead, much like Yui. But somehow Yui’s presence didn’t bother him.

“Hello darling,” he said to her affectionately, placing his almost enormous hand over her tiny one that rested on his leg. She looked up at him in her trademark silence, her glossy grey eyes darting over him as she took in information.

Usually Midori didn’t bother him at all, but Shitan found himself wanting more and more to stand up and walk away. Her silent gaze was almost accusing and he was quite sure he was sweating. /Say something, damnit all to hell. Why do you stare at me like that?/

“Up, love. I have to move.” Yui made no protests but slowly lifted her head up and stood, stretching like a cat does after a nap. Midori walked to her mother and simply held her arms up. Yui smiled wanly and lifted her mirror image daughter up, supporting her on one hip.

“It smells funny, mother,” Midori said plainly, looking into Yui’s eyes. Yui frowned and began to walk away, towards the other children, many of who were beginning to rouse.

“I know it does, darling,” Shitan heard Yui explaining as she walked into the distance. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

Shitan tore himself away from the conversation before he could heard Yui’s painful recount of the previous evening’s events. He turned and gazed into the light pink light that came from the sun, which was beginning to peek above the mountains. Weltall gleamed menacingly in the fresh pink light and the rosy light cast a blood-like illumination on the bodies that lay scattered.

Shitan stared unflinching into the sun’s increasing light, not really feeling the cold wind blowing at him fiercely.

/Life goes on. And so will I./

He looked around, seeing the first few people beginning to awake, and people yelling for help.

/So will they. We all will./

“Doctor Uzuki, this boy--! His arm’s burned badly and he can’t move it--!”

“Doctor Uzuki, I can’t find my husband…”

“Hey, Doc! Have you seen Alice anywhere…, I can’t find her…”

“Doctor, would you tell your wife to take a break…”

Shitan smiled faintly at this last and headed towards the boy with the burned arm.