Chobits Fanfic: Amaranth
Title: Amaranth
Authour: Miles/lifelink
Paring/Characters: Minoru/Yuzuki
Rating: PG
Word Count: 638
Summary: Humans are made of cardboard strings and infinite romance. Yuzuki: and may the world die with him, building her boy from the gravel up.
Notes: I just reread Chobits and, like most things by Clamp, it too is awesome. Yuzuki and Minoru are my favourites. A take on what might happen when Minoru lives out his human life-span. A tad farfetched and mostly conjecture.
By the time the worms have gotten to Minoru's face in his steady steel casket (in which they took him away [from her, from her, from her]), Yuzuki thinks she will be done with her dolls and paper chains enough bring him back.
It's simple really. The years of watching her boy's skilled hands and her man's precious movements, the hopelessly innate knowledge that comes with being fake, all this has her hands stalling on screws and polymer skin-grafts in ephemeral glass dishes.
(There is a scalpel in her hand, and Yuzuki wonders if even she, with her self learning and her synaptic spark plugs, has fooled herself into the dream of creating humanity when she herself is not.)
(Humans are not angels, yet she has seen the portraits, seen the falling feathers from those building tops and it makes her mind spin gears of maybe.)
What this will always be, is a set pattern (because she was built never to deviate, even though she is sure she already has) and Yuzuki follows the schematics to the letter with a kind of mechanical certainty in her carefully wired mind. With an exacting needle, her hands delve into the soft plastics, marking areas of hair and skin and bone.
(She could never see her master as anything but a boy. Yuzuki was not built for fallacies of the mind therefore, as she build Minoru to the mold of her memories, she can only understand the logic of filters and replaced images with a retrospective glare. She only saw what he had always wanted her too,)
Yuzuki's creations are sleepless dolls, each more perfectly wrong. She wonder's sometimes why she obeys that subtle ushering of a voice that reminds her of treasure and the end of her means, says that the world is alright and to simply continue trying.
(But that only sharpened the pain of his decline)
Yuzuki blinks open her glass orbs at the breaking of the day or when the sun first bounces off the plastic curls at her neck. The batteries Minoru installed upon her in the last update are a cursed freedom that bids her to rest but once a week. Even still, it is better that the looping chains of cord that remain to her as physical representations of her bonds to machinery.
She fingers a gear saw, hands lightly splayed out over the oft used tools, but selects another instrument instead. Her needle again, to place each hair on what is meant to be a final creation, even though all the knowledge in the world can not make up for her inexperience.
(There is a year, somewhere between the day that she starts and the time in which she is still not finished, that her programing wanders to it's deep recesses and pulls away from reality enough to understand that when Minoru opens his eyes and just smiles, he is telling her that she never should have been left alone.)
And then there is the day she gets it right. Yuzuki stares down human imperfection when their gazes meet and she throws her arms around him, frayed wire fingertips brushing into his hair and drops of oil and saline cascading from her broken pores.
He asks if he's been sleeping long and Yuzuki holds him tighter, this cruel mockery of a boy, until his hands come up to complete the circle of their hold.
“Sorry for being so late, Yuzuki.”
and she is home.
(Minoru, in his final days, left a trembling string of commands etched on Yuzuki's motherboard. To the woman who might live forever, the blueprints of an everlasting companion where engrained upon her circuitry at a subconscious level. This is his final gift to the girl, the sister, the lady who has never been his world, but his galaxy.)