Addition and Distraction

It had been a long practice, and only got longer when Hatter decided to tease
Genichirou. Renji sighed.

"Enough," Seiichi intervened, at last. He came between the laughing
demon and a bristling Genichirou, and took Hatter’s shoulders, turning her
to face him. "Enough, Belial," he repeated, "I won’t have
this during practice. And you and I will talk, later, about your habit of
trying to destroy the things you want."

Hatter waved a light hand. "As you wish, of course."

Renji observed Hatter’s parted lips and the quick flutter of her lashes down
over eyes gone dark as Seiichi let her go. That was not entirely surprising;
he had spent years watching one person after another fall to Seiichi’s charisma.
What surprised him more was the fire and sharpness in Seiichi’s gaze. That
was not the kind of look their captain shared with outsiders, other than
the very best of his rivals. And even then, only during a full out match.

Renji waited for Hatter after practice.

"Another talk hm?" Hatter asked, looking him up and down. "One
hopes you’re less volatile than Sanada-kun. Not that it wasn’t entertaining."

"If it isn’t an imposition," Renji said, staying polite and noncommittal.

"So?" Hatter prodded, as they strolled through the school grounds.

"What is between you and Seiichi?"

"One could have sworn he explained that some time ago," Hatter murmured,
trailing her fingers through the leaves overhead.

It was an outside chance, but Renji decided to try shock. If nothing else,
Hatter’s reaction should give him a range for the next shot. "He looked
at you, this afternoon, the way I’ve seen him look down at me when his fingers
are stroking inside me," he said, softly.

Hatter’s step paused, and she directed a half-lidded look up at the sun. "One
can imagine," she said, low and husky. She leaned against a tree and
smiled at Renji from the corner of her eye. "You want to know whether
one has been in bed with him, don’t you?"

"I already know you haven’t," Renji corrected. The faint wistful
edge in her reaction had told him that much. "But I would still like
to know just what’s going on."

Hatter blinked, and then laughed. "You’re very good at this," she
complimented him. "One would have thought, though," she added,
mouth quirking, "that what is going on would be fairly obvious to one
of you."

Renji considered that, and added it to his previous suspicions. "Seiichi
does believe very strongly in reciprocality," he essayed.

"One gathered that, yes," Hatter said, dryly. "Generally, a
mortal soul isn’t strong enough to hold one."

Generally, Renji imagined not. So. Seiichi really had decided to gather
Mad Hatter up into the circle of his own. Which left the question of what
the rest of them were going to do with their newest addition. "Are truth
and honesty the same things, to you?" he asked, another thought coming
to him.

Hatter raised her brows. "No, they are not," she answered, softly,
eyes intent on him.

Renji nodded. Knowing that, he could work with it. Genichirou, on the other
hand, wouldn’t deal with such a division so easily. "Could they be?"

"Are you bargaining with one, Yanagi-kun?" Hatter asked.

Renji smiled. "The bargain has already been made, Hatter. Genichirou says
that you’ve tasted Seiichi’s soul. I doubt you can leave us, now. It would
make things easier, though, if you could moderate your use of the team for
amusement."

Hatter stared at him. "One will take that under consideration," she
murmured. She tilted her head and added, "You… don’t mind it?"

"Seiichi shares his soul very freely, once he chooses to do so at all,"
Renji answered, quietly. "It’s one of the things we love in him."

Pain flickered behind Hatter’s eyes before they became shuttered. "I will
consider what you say," she said, and vanished into the rustling shadows
of the leaves.

 

End

Great Minds

"Ah, there you are."

Shuusuke looked up to see the more flamboyant of Seigaku’s recent visitors
perched on a tree branch that overhung his way home. Mad Hatter, Tezuka had
said this one was called. The ruffled and striped figure leaped lightly down
from the tree.

"One was hoping to speak with you."

Shuusuke took a precautionary step backwards. "Is there any particular
reason I should ignore a friend’s warning in order to talk with you?"

"None at all," Hatter answered cheerfully. "In fact, one was
rather hoping to wind your captain up a bit, by doing this."

"You have some reason to dislike Tezuka?" Shuusuke asked, cooler
now.

Hatter widened his eyes. "Not particularly. One simply likes to watch
people squirm."

Shuusuke smiled for real. "Ah. Well then. It’s a lovely summer this year,
isn’t it?"

It wasn’t that he discounted Tezuka’s cautions, but a kindred soul was a rare
find.

 

End

Belonging

"All right, that should do it for the Nationals lineups."

Seiichi stood and rubbed a hand over his eyes, and felt Genichirou’s hands
close on his shoulders as he swayed a bit.

"Seiichi?" He could hear the incipient panic in Genichirou’s voice,
legacy of the winter, and laid a soothing hand on his chest.

"I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all. Truly." He smiled up at Genichirou,
though he knew the stress he’d been under lately probably made it less convincing
than usual. Genichirou’s chest moved under his palm in a faint sigh.

"Seiichi…" Seiichi blinked; even when they were alone, Genichirou
rarely let his voice soften so much. Genichirou’s arms closed around him,
almost lifting him against Genichirou’s body. Seiichi released a tiny breath
of his own and let himself relax into that support.

"I’m sorry," Genichirou murmured.

"For what?" Seiichi asked, a bit muffled, leaning his head down to
Genichirou’s shoulder.

"Everything." The hint of a laugh in Genichirou’s voice made Seiichi
chuckle. And then he sighed again.

"Genichirou," he whispered, leaning more of his weight against his
lover. He didn’t often ask, but tonight he was very worn out and didn’t want
to think or plan or even speak. Just feel.

Genichirou’s arms tightened. As Seiichi looked up, Genichirou’s mouth found
his in a gentle kiss at odds with the power of that embrace. Or perhaps not.
Seiichi smiled and let his eyes fall closed. Genichirou understood what he
wanted. Perhaps Seiichi should send that little silver haired demon a thank-you
note.

Genichirou moved back long enough to strip off his own clothes before he started
on Seiichi’s. The shirt was lifted off his shoulders, and Genichirou knelt
to slide down Seiichi’s pants and tug off his socks. Seiichi laughed, softly,
and Genichirou looked up at him with a faint smile. Large, warm hands closed
on Seiichi’s hips, and Seiichi gave himself to them, let Genichirou take
his weight and guide him down until they were pressed against each other
and Genichirou’s arms were around him again.

For a while Genichirou only ran his hands over Seiichi’s skin; down his thighs,
spread over Genichirou’s; up his back and across his shoulders; over his
ribs and the bones of his hips; threading through his hair. Soothing and
strong, and Seiichi sighed into their kisses, comforted.

The sound he made when Genichirou’s fingers dipped between his cheeks and stroked
questioningly against his entrance was lower and more hungry. Seiichi leaned
back, trusting Genichirou’s hands to keep him from falling, driving their
hips together harder, and a deep, rough sound in Genichirou’s chest answered
him. Genichirou’s mouth, though, was still soft as it moved over Seiichi’s
chest, and, as Genichirou lowered him to the futon, his stomach, slow licks
followed by open mouthed kisses. Seiichi stretched against the quilt, and
gasped as his lover’s mouth covered Belial’s mark. Protest and acceptance
at the same time; very much Genichirou’s way, with him.

"Genichirou…" When the dark eyes looked up Seiichi held out his
arms and Genichirou moved up to lie over Seiichi. Seiichi made a pleased
sound at that weight on him. There was a solidity to Genichirou that made
it deeply satisfying to be covered by him like this, when Seiichi wanted
another’s strength in addition to his own.

"Seiichi," Genichirou spoke, quietly, against his hair, "will
you let me?"

"Oh, yes," Seiichi answered, laughing just a little. "Please."

From the convulsive way Genichirou’s arms tightened around him, Seiichi thought
Genichirou might need this as much as he did.

Genichirou nudged him until Seiichi was lying on his side and Genichirou could
press up against his back, and he wriggled back a little more snugly against
that solid body. Genichirou nipped lightly at the curve of Seiichi’s neck
as his hand slid down the back of Seiichi’s thigh and urged his knee up,
spreading him out. Seiichi released a harsh breath when Genichirou’s fingers
slid into him. Those fingers felt very good, working his body open, but
it wasn’t until Genichirou’s hard thigh slid up against the back of his
and he felt Genichirou filling him, stretching him open, that Seiichi
finally moaned, breathless, clenching a hand in the worn cotton under his
cheek.

This was what he wanted tonight, to have Genichirou inside him and around him,
holding him and driving in and out of him, slow and close and hard. To have
that weight and warmth against him. To let himself arch and buck, in Genichirou’s
arms, with complete abandon.

Genichirou’s hand between his legs shocked Seiichi out of the slowness, and
he cried out, hearing the sudden strain in his own voice. He jerked into
Genichirou’s tight grip, heard a soft groan against his ear, and fire ran
over him, rippled out from the rasp of calluses against his skin, catching
at the heavy heat of Genichirou moving inside him. The pulse of it spiked
with a deep thrust, and Seiichi lost himself in brightness. The sharp edge
of sensation twisted through him, harsh and then gentler, softer, until it
subsided and he lay, limp. Genichirou was moving faster, now. Seiichi breathed
deeply as Genichirou muffled a moan against his shoulder, and finally stilled.
It took a few moments before Seiichi could gather himself to turn over and
wind his arms around Genichirou. They lay, twined together.

"Forgive me," Genichirou said, almost too quietly to hear. "It
was only that… I don’t like the thought of what might happen to you."

Seiichi chuckled. "And you also don’t like sharing," he added, lifting
his head to press a kiss to Genichirou’s forehead, and another to his lips,
checking an indignant protest. "With outsiders," he added.

"Hmph."

"You know that I’m yours, Genichirou," Seiichi pointed out, lying
back down. "It’s only fair; you gave yourself to me. You know that’s
how I do things."

An even less articulate grumble met this statement, and Seiichi smiled as he
settled down to let himself drift to sleep as well.

Just before he did, the door clicked, and he turned over, yawning, to see Renji
smiling at them. Seiichi held up his arms, and Renji leaned down to gather
him close, careful not to jar the sleeping Genichirou.

"Better?" Renji whispered.

"Yes." Seiichi buried his face against Renji’s neck and breathed
in. "Thank you." Then he tugged, demandingly, on Renji’s shirt,
and Renji smiled as he undressed and lay down to enclose Seiichi in a cradle
of warm bodies.

Seiichi relaxed between them, very pleased.

In a distant room Belial looked up at the ceiling and wondered if se should
look into acquiring Sanada-kun after all. Hir body still throbbed with the
echo of his touch. At last se sighed, deciding that, no, he would probably
die of heart failure at the mere suggestion.

Se did make a note, as se rolled over, not to mention to Seiichi this
particular side effect of the mark.

 

End

Ministers of Grace

When the Lord of Hell and what had to be his strongest supporter appeared
at the courts, Kunimitsu took a prompt and firm hold of Fuji’s arm. Keeping
one eye on his visitors, he escorted the startled Fuji over to Ooishi.

"Ooishi. Don’t let Fuji near those two," he directed. With a glare
to keep Echizen right where he was, as well, Kunimitsu approached the intruders.

Lucifer arched a brow. "Well. It’s been a while since I met one of your
bloodline. Though I do recall it was one of you who last lived long enough
to notice Alexiel and I coming back around. Odd man; very strange sense of
humor. Interesting theory of magic, though."

"What do you want, here?" Kunimitsu asked. It didn’t do to get distracted
from the point when talking to demons.

"Actually, I was looking for Michael." Lucifer eyed Kunimitsu. "I
don’t notice his influence. And Michael is generally about as noticeable
as they come."

"He was here; I declined his offer. I suggested he visit Fudoumine."

Lucifer laughed low in his chest. "And your courts are still unsinged.
Maybe he really is growing up. We’ll be going, then."

"So soon?" Mad Hatter murmured.

Kunimitsu took a step to the side, putting himself squarely between Mad Hatter
and Fuji. Hatter smiled at him in a disturbingly familiar way, and he narrowed
his eyes forbiddingly. No demon was getting its claws into Fuji’s soul.

Fuji was more than enough trouble without that.

"Are you sure you didn’t take on the charge of Greed, as well as Pride?"
Lucifer asked, sounding amused.

Kunimitsu relaxed as they left, relieved. At least until Fuji spoke from behind
his shoulder.

"Tezuka?" He didn’t have to turn around to know there was a glint
in Fuji’s eyes. "What was that about?"

He stifled a sigh. Dealing with demons was so much easier.

 

End

Irony

Ryouma nodded politely to the group that had gathered at his request. Several
hundred years was enough to let someone get used to the same faces and personalities,
he’d found, and so he knew almost every one of the assembled very,
very well. Especially since he’d played tennis with them for several
hundred years. He tugged at his cap, a habit that even death hadn’t
been able to banish, and sighed. “I told you that I have an announcement
to make,” he said. “It’s this. I’m leaving.”

Ryouma noted that understanding was more or less instantaneous on some faces,
less so on others, especially Fuji’s and Tezuka’s. He held a
hand up at the startled exclamations and explained, “The last direct
descendant of any of us died yesterday. Yes, I’ve been keeping track,”
he said, to a questioning look from Inui. He went on, “The world would
probably be fine even if I didn’t go back into the cycle of reincarnation,
but after some time here, I want to make sure that things stay safe.”

Ryouma wasn’t surprised that it was Momoshirou who stepped forward.
“You were the one who dragged half of us here,” Momo snapped.

His answer to that was a lazy smirk. “Which is why I know you’ll
take care of Sampras for me. I’m trusting all of you with it.”
More seriously, he added, “I’m doing this, Momo-san. I’m
just telling you because I didn’t want you to be upset because I disappeared.”

“You’re insane,” said Kirihara flatly.

Ryouma snorted. “I rule a region in a place that’s not heaven
or hell that’s called ‘Sampras.’ Of course I’m insane.
I’m also saying goodbye, until I get back.” He paused thoughtfully.
“I’m hoping that my ambition will be something like politics
this time.”

That, as he had expected it to, made several of the hardier souls laugh.
“Try to be a benign ruler,” Fuji told him serenely.

“I’ll be good,” Ryouma promised. “At least I’ll
try.”

The Direct Approach

“Welcome to Sampras, sir. May I take your bag?”

Tezuka stared at the smiling Grigori for a long moment. It had been disconcerting
enough to become used to Uriel’s home and the rather eccentric idea that
Uriel seemed to feel was “organization.” He hadn’t just been
making excuses when he told Lily that he couldn’t come to Echizen’s
“Hi, I’m Dead Too” party, as the man had called it. Tezuka tried
to avoid the thought that he’d been making excuses at all, but a lifetime
of honesty with himself made that difficult. “I can handle my bag, thank
you,” Tezuka said, nodding to the angel. “I was hoping to see Echizen.”

The Grigori nodded. “He’s been expecting you. You have your own rooms
next to his, connected with a door, of course. I’ll show you the way.”

Tezuka followed the Grigori automatically. Though part of his mind urged him to
contemplate the Grigori’s words, he opted to look at the décor, instead.
He reflected that it was probably lucky that the twelve-year-old Echizen hadn’t
been able to decorate it himself, because he certainly wouldn’t have done
something tasteful in cream and jade. It did, however, make Tezuka recall Atobe’s
remark that after a while the colors made one feel as if one was fading out of
existence.

“We’re here, sir,” the Grigori said, interrupting Tezuka’s
thoughts. “Mr. Ryouma said to tell you that he’s hoping you enjoy
him and your stay.”

Tezuka gave the Grigori the look he gave Fuji when Fuji had spent too much time
with Belial and it was showing. “Could you repeat that please?”

“Of course. Mr. Ryouma said you’d ask. Mr. Ryouma said to tell you
that he’s hoping you enjoy the rooms and being in him.”

Tezuka shook his head. “Being…”

“Being with him.” Tezuka was suddenly reminded of Eriol and Eriol’s
innocent smile as he watched the Grigori’s polite expression. The Grigori
opened the door for Tezuka. “He’s waiting for you inside, sir.”

Tezuka headed in, dumping his bag by the door. A quick inspection of most of the
suite revealed that it was more apartment than anything. However, Echizen was
not in evidence in the kitchenette, or the living room, or what appeared to be
the office. Tezuka sighed and opened the door to the bedroom. “Echizen…”

Echizen gave Tezuka a sharp look from where he lounged on the bed. “I’ve
finally decided to be direct about it.”

“…ah. I doubt I’ll be able to resist, then,” said Tezuka
mildly.

“You’d better not,” Echizen muttered, rising and crossing the
room swiftly to come to Tezuka’s side.

“Did you learn that pose from Atobe?” Tezuka inquired.

Ryouma glowered at Tezuka and prevented any further comment by efficiently stopping
the other man’s mouth.

Compromise

Echizen Ryoma had two loves in his life. (Actually, he had three, though he would
never admit it, at least not until the said third love stopped playing so damned
hard to get.) Anyone from the Seishun Senior High tennis club could tell you the first one: tennis.
Any of them could also tell you the second: his cat. So no one said anything when
Karupin started to tag along on some of their practice days.

It was one of those days, and everyone was changing in the clubhouse. Fuji was
asking how Echizen’s afterlife recruitment plan was going.

"Fine. I think the mansion’s tennis courts will be finished ahead of the
schedule. I’m thinking about adding another tennis center in the south."
Echizen sounded satisfied, and Fuji nodded.

"Are you adding any gardens to Sampras?" Fuji asked, and Karupin suddenly
tensed, letting out a low hiss. A few seconds ticked by, and Karupin remained tense.

"Your cat doesn’t look very happy," Fuji observed mildly.

"He’s been doing that a lot lately," Ryoma replied, irritated.

"Are you going to take him with you to Sampras when – " Fuji started,
only to be stopped by a sharp hiss. Fuji closed his mouth, stared at the cat for
few moments, then continued. "As I was saying, when you go to Sampras – "

Karupin screeched shrilly, every hair raised on his arched back. Fuji’s lips twitched
briefly.

"I think I know what’s wrong with your cat."

"What?" Ryoma sounded exasperated, as he carefully stroked Karupin’s
back, trying to calm him down. It didn’t seem to be working.

"Echizen, I think your cat’s angry because you didn’t name your place after
him."

"Huh?" Ryoma turned to look at Fuji, a dumbfounded expression on his
face.

"He does that every time you mention ‘Sampras,’" Fuji said cheerfully
as Karupin hissed sharply. "See?"

Ryoma turned his attention back to Karupin, who looked ready to bite off his hand,
and considered something briefly.

"How about a compromise?" Ryoma asked. Karupin twitched his tail skeptically.
Ryoma leaned closer to the cat, and started to talk.

Land of Sampras, many years later

"Welcome to Karupin Mansion, sir," the Grigori at the door said.
The man nodded. In his arms, a spotted Himalayan mewed smugly.

Recruiting

Echizen Ryouma fully admitted that he was a simple person with simple wants
and simple ways of getting them. This was probably the reason why he’d
ended up meeting with what he was told was one of the more stable Grigori,
and why he was just going to read the proposal to her and send her off with
a copy. Ryouma smiled slightly at Moonlily and began to read.

“To whom it may concern. Echizen Ryouma proposes for those Grigori who feel
an interest that they claim their own place in the emerging realm of heaven/hell.
Echizen Ryouma has been assured by the Lord of Hell (hereafter referred to as
“Lucifer”) and one of the Great Angels (hereafter referred to as “Raphael”)
that a neutral realm in the midst of the current political chaos could be quite
useful, and because of this support, he feels confident enough to extend an offer
to those previously referred to (ie, the Grigori.) Echizen acknowledges that his
place could not be solidified until his death, but in the interests of protecting
those Grigori who are of a mind to avoid being relegated to uncomfortable positions
in heaven or hell, he chooses to establish his domain before he can properly oversee
it. If any Grigori finds a place in the current administration untenable, that
Grigori is invited to live in the future area to be called Sampras. Echizen offers
a place both to those Grigori who wish to continue domestic service and those
who wish to branch out on their own, provided that they are prepared to work in
community with others. Any Grigori accepting the offer also accepts that he or
she lives under the conditions of Echizen Ryouma’s contract with heaven
and agrees to a pact of nonviolence towards all parties in heaven, hell, and Assiah.
Should there be no interest in such a contract, this offer will extend to non-Grigori
on a case-by-case basis. Sincerely, Echizen Ryouma.”

Moonlily blinked at Ryouma, then smiled. “It’s a nice letter. I’ll
show it to the others and we’ll talk about it.”

Ryouma nodded, smiling slightly. “I hope you decide to help. I do want to
make a neutral place where people can be comfortable in heaven.”

Moonlily nodded and left with the letter as footsteps sounded behind Ryouma. Ryouma
didn’t bother to turn. “You didn’t mention that it also guarantees
you an established base and a staff if they take it up,” Raphael said.

“They’ll figure it out themselves,” Ryouma said dismissively.
“And besides, I will need a staff, and the ones who will be staff will be
the ones who choose to be anyway.”

“Your generosity is stunning,” Raphael said dryly.

“Thanks,” said Ryouma absently.

This Time

"So." Fuji hitched his bag up on his shoulder as he strolled along beside
Kunimitsu. "What do you think of this rumor about the new players?"

Kunimitsu stifled a wince as the every student in hearing started murmuring.
He disliked gossip just about as much as Fuji enjoyed it. Still, he supposed
it could be worse.

At least there weren’t any supernatural beings hanging around this year.

"I heard they played soccer in middle school…"

"I heard they got kicked out of the game, and that’s why they switched over
to tennis for high school!"

"But they can’t be any good, if they just started."

"If they’re third years now," Fuji put in, "they have at least that much experience."

"Yes, but…" Ooishi frowned. "I’ve heard that their play has been… well,
rather strange."

"This is their second straight year as Regulars." Kikumaru shrugged. "Seems
like they make a good team."

"Yes, but this thing they have with Yamabuki—" Ooishi broke off as they all
rounded the last corner and saw the courts.

What he saw was a wheel, Kunimitsu thought. Not in shape but in movement—in
focus. Everyone and everything centered on the tall blond who had to be
the captain. Everything moved around him. Kunimitsu frowned; it wasn’t a
very… Seigaku arrangement. Well, he could tolerate it for a year if he
had to, he supposed. The practice seemed to be running smoothly enough.

Though… the burly player with the odd grayish hair, off to one side, was
going to cost the school a new ball machine if his returns kept hitting
it. The casing was badly dented already. Well, he told himself, hanging
onto some optimism, it meant they had an excellent power player in the club.

"Curious combination that pair on the end has," Fuji murmured.

Ooishi looked rather troubled, himself, watching the two players. "You’d almost
think they hated each other."

Kunimitsu had to agree. He had an irresistible impression that both players
were constantly on the edge of grabbing a handful of the other’s long hair
and yanking. The opposing pair, twins by the look of them,
had far more harmony in their formation.

"Tight play, though," Fuji observed. As the red-haired player served he added
more softly, "And a… rather small waist, too."

Kunimitsu raised a brow at Fuji.

"No, it’s nothing." Fuji had a tiny smile, though.

"Ah!" Kikumaru exclaimed, pointing. "Look! He’s even more chibi than Ochibi!"

Then he sidled around behind Ooishi as the "chibi" in question turned to give
him the flattest, coldest, oldest look Kunimitsu had ever seen
on a human face.

Throughout this, the captain had seemed to take no notice of the new first-years’
arrival, but now he called everyone in. Kunimitsu drew a discreet breath
of relief and settled down, as they lined up, to listen to the first day
speech. There were no surprises, which relaxed him more.

Until the end.

"Yamabuki has been working, too. But this year it won’t do them any good.
This year, we’ll take Seishaku and his people down." The captain’s blue
eyes took on a rather unsettling gleam. "This time, we’ll have them."

The Regular players snapped back, in clearly accustomed unison, "Yes, Gi-buchou!"

Kunimitsu was starting to have a very bad feeling about this.

In a Heaven, in a Book…

Suzaku stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at his brother. "Was
that really necessary? I finally thought I’d found a way to make all of
them happy, and now this!"

"It wasn’t my idea." Seiryuu examined his nails. "Talk to my ex-seishi."

Suzaku growled and stalked off across the planes to see what he could do about
this trouble in the way of the souls he’d put so much effort into getting
reincarnated properly. At least, he thought, no one but a mortal would be
interfering with him this time…

 

End

Reconnaissance

Juushirou contemplated the blank page for a long time, marshaling his thoughts, before picking up his pen and beginning to write one of the most improbable reports in the history of Soul Society.

…After being dispatched to the human world, it was agreed that to make most efficient use of our time, the Eighth Division’s captain and I would conduct individual reconnaissance, since the territory to be covered was not so broad that we would be unable to render each other assistance if needed….

Shunsui’s idea, that, and he should have known when Shunsui suggested that they’d make better time by splitting up—“I’ll take the little fiddly bits around the edges, and see what I can ferret out, and you just look in on the big stuff and make sure we haven’t missed anything, how’s that sound?”—but then, no one else had a better knack at noticing small details, either. It was just in keeping with Shunsui’s luck that the territory he’d picked really hadn’t
had any activity worth noting.

…As has been noted in earlier reports, the levels of spiritual activity in the Tokyo and surrounding regions remains at an all-time high. Our survey indicates that the activity is diverse in nature, including entities both celestial and infernal, as well as some influences from our counterparts in the other branch. A detailed list of all activity is appended to this report….

One demon in Kanagawa, very proprietary towards hir team, and tutoring at
least one member of said team in various arcane arts. No less than three
angels in Tokyo, shepherding assorted teams around, although none of them
seemed half as territorial as the demon. At least one other demon and
angel popping in on a regular basis to visit, Antichrist in tow, and that
led one to the fact that the Messiah seemed to be settled in the area
permanently, and took regular visits from Lucifer. Plus the interference
from the shinigami from the other division and the malleability
of the borders between realms at the academy that seemed to be obsessed
with roses.

And that was only the junior high level, for pity’s sake.

What was happening
in the high schools didn’t bear thinking about.

…Hollow activity does not seem to have increased noticeably, yet, but given the rising levels of concentrated spiritual energy, it is our conclusion that it is only a matter of time before it does….

On the other hand, it wasn’t like the motley collection of entities wasn’t
capable of handling the occasional stray hollow, and quite likely had
been since they’d
converged on Kantou. The demon in Kanagawa had done so while he was
in the area, although he rather suspected se had been showing off for
his benefit.

At least, Juushirou thought, grimly, if Aizen decided to
make his move any time soon, there was a fifty-fifty chance that he
would lose.

…It is our recommendation that the situation be monitored closely, and that we prepare ourselves to move swiftly….

Although Shunsui’s inclination to adopt a tennis team of his own was
not precisely the monitoring Juushirou had originally had in mind.
It had taken threats of calling Nanao-chan to dislodge Shunsui from
where he was holding court with the team he’d picked out, trading puns
and pouring sake liberally for the boys he’d elected to adopt, and
Juushirou wasn’t
certain that Shunsui had given up on his scheme, even now.

It wouldn’t be
a bad idea, though, to have someone monitoring things on a more personal
level—and at this juncture, the addition of more spiritual
energy could hardly make a difference in the number of Hollows it attracted.
Juushirou shrugged, and signed the report. As long as Shunsui kept his new
hobby to his afternoons off, he couldn’t
see the harm in it.

The Devil Went Down to Hyoutei

Someone had claimed the practice room ahead of him; the plaintive notes of a violin filtered dimly through the closed door, flaunting his reserved 5:15 to 6:15 slot in Ohtori Choutarou’s face.

He suppressed an irritated sigh—didn’t anyone ever look at the sign-up sheets?—and hoped that he’d be able to evict whoever-it-was with a minimum of fuss. He crossed his fingers, prayed for Minami-kun instead of Arisagawa-kun, and knocked.

Whoever-it-was kept playing.

Choutarou did sigh at that point. Arisagawa-kun, then, who could be counted on to put up a fight for the room. Choutarou set his jaw and steeled himself for battle, and opened the door. “Excuse me, but I have this room—oh.” That wasn’t Minami-kun, or even Arisagawa-kun, perched in the window.

Rikkai’s demon lowered her bow and looked at him. “One wondered whether you had planned to stand out there all afternoon,” she said.

“Erm.” After Nationals had ended, Choutarou had hoped (albeit without much conviction) that the summer’s unusual events might be over. So much for that.

Rikkai’s demon, Kantoku had said, is dangerous, and nothing but trouble. Don’t have any dealings with her if you can help it, and leave her strictly to me.

Choutarou edged himself backwards; the demon smiled, eyes bright and amused. “If you’re looking for Kantoku,” he said, “he’s generally on the tennis courts at this time of day. I can go get him for you.”

Rikkai’s demon laughed. “If one had wanted Israfel, one would have found him already, Ohtori-kun,” she said.

The demon knew his name. Choutarou contemplated the implications of that, and didn’t like them. Shit. “Ah. In that case, I’ll—”

“One hears that you play,” the demon said, and lifted her chin, indicating the case that he carried. “Would you care to play with one for a bit, Ohtori-kun?”

Say no, his common sense whispered, but the oddity of the request tugged at his curiosity. “Why?”

The demon shrugged. “Does there need to be a reason?”

“If it’s you—yes, I think there does.” Choutarou was proud of how level his voice was. “And probably a catch, too.”

The demon tapped her bow against her thigh. “Israfel’s stamp is all over you,” she said. Tap, tap, tap, went the bow, until she came to a decision. “One wishes to play, and one’s own mentioned that you play well, should one wish someone to play with. Which one does.” She tipped her head. “Play with me.”

“I’m not prepared for a duet,” Choutarou hedged, turning her request (command? not quite, not entirely) over and examining it from every angle. There didn’t seem to be a catch.

She smiled like she knew that he was wavering. “Let one worry about that.” She set her bow to the strings of her violin again and played a quick run of notes, light and teasing.

“I’m not warmed up,” he said, and was faintly appalled at himself for giving
in to his curiosity so easily.

Her eyes danced. “So warm up.”

This was possibly the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. Choutarou found himself coming into the room and setting his case down, nonetheless, lifting out his violin and bow, checking them over and making small adjustments to them before tucking the instrument under his chin and beginning his warm-up exercises. He was conscious of the demon watching him all the while, and his fingers were clumsy at first. She didn’t speak, nor did she offer to move from her perch on the windowsill to pounce on him and drag him off to perdition (or whatever it was demons did; Kantoku had been vague on the subject). He relaxed by increments and his fingers unstiffened, and soon he was running through scales in long, effortless ripples.

At first, he thought that the sound of the second violin was an echo, and wondered, puzzled, whether the soundproofing of the practice room had begun to fail, until a flicker of movement caught his eye. She had begun to play again, following his notes easily, until she caught him looking. Then she smiled and was off, fingers dancing over the strings, spilling out notes that were dark and wild and sweeter than he would have expected.

Choutarou found that he was veering away from the familiarity of his scales as the demon’s melody coaxed him away from them, and chasing after the music that she played. The part of him that was standing back keeping a wary eye on the demon was impressed; he would not have thought it of himself, to be able to improvise like this, not with a partner he’d never practiced with (although perhaps that was less his skill and more the demon’s). The rest of him leaned into the music, relaxing into the wildness of it the same way he fell into a good game of tennis, and he swayed with the beat as the demon’s melody drove them on, faster and higher—

“What is the meaning of this?”

The question washed away the spell of the music like an ice-cold wave of water; Choutarou stopped short, mid-note, breathing hard and staring guiltily at Kantoku.

“One wondered when you would arrive, Israfel,” the demon said, lightly, and hopped down from her perch. “One must congratulate you on having such a specimen under your wings.” A hand settled on Choutarou’s shoulder, hot through the fabric of his uniform.

Kantoku rocked on his heels, looking very much like he wanted to knock away that hand, or possibly tear out the demon’s throat. “You have your own team, Hatter,” he grated. “I won’t let you steal from mine.”

The demon (Hatter-san?) laughed. The sharpness of it ran down Choutarou’s spine like ice. “If you say so,” she murmured. “One finds oneself inclined to prove you wrong.” Kantoku growled and took a step forward. Hatter-san laughed again, and held up her hand. “This one isn’t inclined to be stolen, regrettably. One will respect that.”

“See that you do,” Kantoku said, as Hatter-san stepped away from Choutarou.

Hatter-san smiled. “Or else?” she asked, tone deceptively light. “Oh, very well.” She tipped her hat to Choutarou. “Thank you for your time, Ohtori-kun. Do let one know if you ever feel like being borrowed.” With that, she stepped into a shadow and disappeared.

Choutarou shook himself from his daze, and realized that Kantoku was swearing.

“That,” he said, from between gritted teeth, “was a very foolish thing to do, Ohtori-kun.”

“I—ah—yes, Kantoku. I suppose it was.” Choutarou bowed. “Please accept my apologies.”

“Stand up, boy,” Kantoku said impatiently, coming to him and examining him, and frowning. “Did you make any agreements? Sign anything?”

Choutarou shook his head. “No.”

Kantoku’s frown deepened. “No? Nothing?”

“No, sir.” Choutarou paused. “I think she just wanted to play.”

“Belial never ‘just’ wants anything,” Kantoku said, but he seemed to be calming down, and his tone was dry. “You would do well to remember that.”

“Yes, sir,” Choutarou agreed. He bit his lip. “I suppose I can’t let myself be borrowed?”

Kantoku looked at him for a long moment. “Do you have time in your evenings for private lessons?”

Choutarou blinked, and ran through his schedule. “I could,” he said, cautiously.

“Good. We’ll begin tomorrow. Meet me in here at seven.” Kantoku turned on his heel.

“…sir? Why?” Choutarou called after him.

Kantoku’s smile was thin. “Hell doesn’t have all the best musicians,” he said, “but they certainly don’t need any more. And Belial can keep her greedy hands off my team.” With that, he left.

Choutarou took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “That was interesting,” he said, finally, to the silence, and took out his sheet music. He still had the room for fifteen minutes and there was no sense in wasting the time, demonic interruptions or no.

And he told himself, as he lifted his violin again and began to work on the tricky sequence at measure fifty-four, that he was only imagining the purr of Hatter-san’s laughter.

end

Echo

No one had told him that he was signing up for this.

Akaya stared at the ceiling above his bed, panting softly, as the ghosts of Sanada-san’s
touches burned across his skin, and shuddered at the overlapping echo of Yukimura-buchou’s
response.

On his hip, Hatter-san’s mark burned.

Akaya moaned into his fist, trying to muffle the harsh sound, as he felt Sanada-san
stroke Yukimura-buchou open. His free hand snaked down the front of his pajama
pants and closed over his aching cock, and he bit down on a knuckle to keep from
crying out. It was probably wrong to be touching himself like this, but when the
two of them got like this, he just couldn’t help it, and—

A low chuckle rolled out of the darkness above him. "That looks uncomfortable,"
someone purred. "Would you like one to assist you, perhaps?"

Akaya opened horrified eyes to see Hatter-san lounging in the air above his bed,
smiling a wicked little smile. He froze.

Hatter-san’s smile broadened a touch. "Ah," he noted, voice light
and cheerful. "One sees that it has taken care of itself." He tipped
his hat to Akaya, and disappeared as suddenly as he’d arrived.

Akaya groaned, and buried his flaming face in his pillow. He’d hope for the relief
of dying of embarrassment, but that wouldn’t be much help any more, not if he
was going to have to spend eternity with Hatter-san.

At least Hatter-san was right; one problem had taken care of itself, at least
for the night. He didn’t so much as twitch while Yukimura-buchou and Sanada-san
finished what they were doing, and their mutual pleasure vibrated through Hatter-san’s
seal.

Akaya grimaced into his pillow. Enough was enough. He’d have to work up his nerve
to talk to… someone… about this. Surely there was something they could do
about this echo effect.

The Dangers of Boredom

He supposed that he should be doing something more active than walking down
the street, but with all the confusion lately, he didn’t see that he had
many options other than to entertain himself. After all, Ryouma was busy
testing his limits on his own somewhere, and all his other playmates seemed
to be wandering off in the wake of the Nationals.

He noted, suddenly, that he’d walked further than he’d planned, and looked around
to see what kind of place he’d arrived in. Turning his blue eyes to the gate next
to him, he cocked his head thoughtfully at the rose seal on top of it. The place
felt of magic and foreboding.

Which probably meant fun.

Given that the gate resisted a polite touch to it, he had to find a way around
it. If the feel of the place were any indication, it seemed that he’d annoyed
something by bypassing the gate entirely. It was really quite unreasonable, though,
for there to be a barrier that no one meant someone to overcome. He made a pleased
noise to himself and went on, only to discover an interesting tableau.

A girl with pink hair who couldn’t be more human if she tried was talking quickly
to a girl who was a not-human, and attended by a girl who might never have been
human…or alive, for that matter. The third girl turned inquiring, unnatural
green eyes on him, but he simply looked back, waiting for her to make the first
move. She crossed over to him, watching him warily, and reached out a hand to
him. She commented that the barrier had apparently been breeched in two realms,
now.

He answered her that barriers rarely concerned those people whose specialty was
to walk through walls.

The never-human replied that she did not need distractions, particularly at this
time, but that invitations might be issued for a later date.

He shifted, acknowledging her right to ask him to leave, and turned to head back
towards the gate. At the very least, he’d remember where this place was, as it
seemed to be a most interesting development. Perhaps he could bring Ryouma next
time.

The pink haired girl turned to look at the never-human, frowning quizzically.
"Anthy?"

Anthy turned back to Utena with a slight smile. "It was a cat, Utena-sama.
It must have gotten in from the street. It’s going home now."

"A cat?"

"Just a cat." Anthy smiled softly at nothing, and turned back to Utena
and Kurai.

Understanding

Renji, along with the rest of the team, was starting to get used to Mad Hatter’s
elusive, mocking presence among them. He supposed he should have known
that would be the signal for a fresh turn into strangeness.

Today’s strangeness started innocently enough with a voice none of them had
heard before. "So this is where you’ve been, lately." A tall figure
stepped out from under the shadow of the trees by the courts.

Hatter’s face lit up even as she turned. "Indeed, my lord," she answered,
stepping toward the man. The entire team stared as she sank to her knees
at his feet.

"And are you enjoying yourself?" he asked one brow tilting up as
he reached a hand down to pull Hatter back up.

"Immensely," she purred.

The man’s eyes traveled over them all, ending at last with Seiichi. Renji tensed,
suspecting who this must be, but Seiichi met the gaze coolly and only nodded.

"Lucifer, I presume," he said, quietly.

A crooked smile turned up the man’s mouth, and he looked back down at Mad Hatter.
"How calm. Have you finally found one you couldn’t break, butterfly?"

"One hasn’t been trying to break him," Hatter protested, looking
up through her lashes. Genichirou, standing beside Renji, twitched, and Renji
leaned against his shoulder for unobtrusive support and restraint.

"No, only my teammates," Seiichi put in, sharp and not particularly
amused. "I hadn’t realized it was an actual hobby."

"One seeks the truth and shows the truth," Hatter answered, voice
suddenly harsh. Her head dipped almost to Lucifer’s chest. "Few see
it, even then."

This time, Renji noted, it was Niou’s turn to pull Yagyuu back when he stepped
toward Hatter.

"Belial," Seiichi and Lucifer murmured at the same time, in the same
tone of mild exasperation.

Their eyes locked over Hatter’s head for a long moment before Seiichi sighed.
"So," was all he said, though.

Hatter cast a narrow look over her shoulder at Seiichi, but let the exchange
go with a faint shrug. "Are you down here to visit her?"
she asked Lucifer.

His eyes hooded. "Alexiel will be mine when she returns. For now, Setsuna
and Sara belong to each other." His mouth tilted again. "Actually
I was going to see what Michael is doing."

Mad Hatter threw back her head and laughed, eyes sparkling again. "Oh,
can one watch?" she begged, hands clasped under her chin.

Personally, Renji would have been a bit alarmed by her grin, but Lucifer merely
brushed his fingers through her wild hair. "If you like."

It was the first time they had seen Hatter’s wings. The corner of Renji’s mind
that catalogued things observed that they were feathered, albeit black, not
the bat-style wings that seemed traditional for demons in artwork. The rest
of him was gaping at the sky along with his teammates.

Except for Seiichi. Who stood with a hand on his hip, the other raised to press
between his eyes. "Hatter-san, you little idiot," their captain
muttered.

Renji’s brows rose. That was very much the tone Seiichi used about Akaya sometimes.

Interesting.

 

End

The Shine

For once, Genichirou thought he might have spotted Mad Hatter’s arrival beside
the courts before anyone else. A quick glance at Renji, and a nod toward
their captain detailed Renji to distract Seiichi’s attention so Genichirou
could take advantage of this.

They had discussed it days before.

"Hatter. I want to talk to you."

Bright blue eyes widened ingenuously. "Seiichi-san must have a tighter
grip on all of you than one had thought," Hatter mused. "One was
expecting you days ago. Very well, then, come along." When Genichirou
hesitated to follow him, Hatter glanced back with a slow smile. "One
wouldn’t wish to distress Seiichi by doing this out in the open where anyone
could see. Don’t you agree?"

At another time the tone of lascivious suggestion might have made Genichirou
turn around and head back to the court, but today he was far too angry.

"So?" Hatter asked, leaning against a tree.

"What do you want with Seiichi?" Genichirou asked, bluntly.

"His soul," Hatter answered.

Genichirou reminded himself, strenuously, of Renji’s caution that he wouldn’t
get anywhere with Hatter unless he could keep his temper. He told himself
it was just like dealing with Niou in a really bad mood. "What,"
he amplified through gritted teeth, "do you want his soul for?"

"To play with, of course," Hatter said with a bright smile. "It’s
lovely and shiny."

Genichirou knew it was a bad idea, and still couldn’t stop himself. Red clouded
his vision and he lashed out.

When the world stopped spinning he was flat on his back with Hatter kneeling
over him, and his arms pinned under Hatter’s hand and knee. The free hand
was playing very, very sharp nails just under Genichirou’s chin. "Did
you really think one has lived this long without the ability to deal with
people who want to kill one?" Hatter asked, amused.

"At the rate you must make enemies, I’m sure you’ve needed it," Genichirou
shot back.

"You aren’t entirely without interest yourself, you know," Hatter
murmured, cold eyes glinting over a laughing mouth. "Now, one doubts
Seiichi would be pleased if one damaged you too badly, so listen. One contracted
for his soul, in return for some considerations and assistance. The bond
of that contract gives one access to his soul, even now. One can touch it.
Touch it, taste it, know it. And Yukimura Seiichi’s soul is beautiful. One
is really quite smitten."

Genichirou heaved against Hatter’s hold, violently. "His heart belongs
to us," he ground out, glaring.

"Of course it does."

Genichirou paused, staring up.

"One isn’t actually blind, you know," Hatter said, patiently. "His
heart belongs to you. And his soul will not come into one’s keeping for some
time yet. In the meantime, he’s given a significant part of that
to you lot, too. That doesn’t mean one can’t appreciate it in advance. And
that," a nail flicked and Genichirou bit back a hiss, "is more
clarity than you have any right to expect from a demon, let alone from oneself.
Evidence of one’s infatuation, no doubt." He licked Genichirou’s blood,
delicately, off one fingertip.

Genichirou gritted his teeth. "Is that," he enunciated distinctly,
"supposed to make us feel better about Seiichi signing his soul into
eternal torment?"

Hatter blinked. "One begs your pardon?" Then he paused, tapping a
thoughtful finger against his chin. "Well, actually, no one doesn’t,
but in any case who said anything about eternal torment?"

Genichirou gave him a very suspicious look. "That is the general consensus
on what Hell is."

Hatter’s mouth curled in disgustingly smug delight. "There has been,"
he informed Genichirou, "a change of management recently. So there’s
no need to worry."

Judging from Hatter’s grin, Genichirou’s expression said quite clearly what
he thought of that directive. Hatter did let him go, though, sliding away
in a flicker of movement Genichirou couldn’t quite follow. By the time Genichirou
had gained his feet, the infuriating demon was nowhere to be seen.

"So?" Renji asked, as Genichirou joined him at the edge of the courts.

"It’s all a joke to him," Genichirou stated, flatly.

Renji tipped his head. "What makes you think so?"

Genichirou narrowed his eyes, looking out over the practice in progress. "Because
if he isn’t joking then he’s in love and I refuse to believe that."

"Hmm." They both fell silent for a time.

 

End

The Morning After

Yagyuu fell in step with Masaharu’s slouch to school without saying a word; they
walked for five minutes before Masaharu spoke. "So," he said. "That
sealing thing."

"It wasn’t what I was expecting," Yagyuu said, and anyone who didn’t
know him wouldn’t have recognized that tone for what it was.

Masaharu stretched. "Wild," he said, and prodded Yagyuu. "So, where’s
yours?"

Yagyuu gestured, discreetly, towards his hip. "Yours?"

"The same," Masaharu said. "I wonder if that means something?"

"It involves Hatter," Yagyuu said, after a moment, "and you have
to ask?"

"Good grief, Niou, I know I’m good-looking, but didn’t your mother ever teach
you it’s not polite to stare?" Marui demanded, catching Niou staring again.
"You’re creeping me out."

"That’s because Niou-sempai is, by nature, a creep," Kirihara declared,
and dodged the swipe aimed at his head. "Although he is being creepier than
usual."

"He’s just trying to figure out where your seals are," Yagyuu murmured,
bent over his shoes.

"Is that all?" Marui rolled his eyes, and popped a bubble in disgust.
"It’s right here." He pulled down the waistband of his shorts and displayed
Belial’s mark. "Happy now?"

"Mm," Niou said, non-committal, and turned to Kirihara. "What about
you?"

"Same," Kirihara said, "but don’t expect me to go showing it off."

"Prude," Marui said, good-naturedly. He grinned at Jackal, who’d kept
quiet so far. "So, since we’re playing show and tell…"

Jackal rolled his eyes. "Same as the rest of you," he said. "Now
are you happy, Niou?"

"Mostly," he said, and shrugged..

"Mostly?" Jackal echoed, and Marui felt he was right to sound worried.

"If you’re planning on asking the three of them where their seals are, let
me know when you’re doing it," Kirihara said. "I want to make sure I’m
nowhere in sight when Sanada-san goes off."

Niou grinned. "I’m not that crazy," he said, and everyone seemed to
relax after that declaration, only to tense up when he added, "Doesn’t mean
I can’t draw my own conclusions, though," and strolled out of the clubhouse.

Genichirou, Renji noted, seemed unwilling to look anybody in the face—no, that
wasn’t strictly accurate. There were specific people he wasn’t looking in the
face, and all of them had just signed the same contract. So. Post-commitment jitters,
or something else? Renji pondered the question as Seiichi sent the doubles pairs
out to the far tennis courts to practice, which was an excellent decision, given
the gleam in Niou’s eyes.

If he wasn’t looking anybody in the face, Genichirou was definitely avoiding looking
at Seiichi at all. Considering what had just changed… Renji sidled over to Seiichi
while Genichirou was assigning drills to the non-Regulars. "I take it you
didn’t warn him about Hatter’s seal, either?" he asked, quietly.

"No," Seiichi said. He gave a little shrug. "I thought the two
of you wouldn’t need warning," he added, "since you’d already seen one
of hir seals."

"I don’t believe it was the seal so much as the sealing," Renji said.
"The process was…" He stopped, and shrugged. "Intense."

"Yes, it was," Seiichi agreed, but stopped before adding anything else,
looking to Genichirou. "This could be a problem."

Renji was about to ask what he meant when Belial slid out of Genichirou’s own
shadow and spoke.

Renji and Seiichi were discussing him; he didn’t have to turn around and check
to know that much. Genichirou growled and the freshmen he’d been lecturing trembled
and scattered to practice.

"One is curious as to why you are so irritable today," Hatter purred
into his ear.

Genichirou couldn’t quite keep from starting, but he did manage to stop the yelp.
"Hatter-san," he said, and it wasn’t retreating to move away in an effort
to reclaim his personal space.

"Are you perhaps afraid that one will no longer respect you?" Belial
continued in that light, mocking tone that set his teeth on edge, still entirely
too close.

"Belial." There was steel in Seiichi’s voice, and Genichirou’s spine
straightened of its own as he whipped around to see what it was that Seiichi wanted.
Beside him, Belial had responded in much the same fashion, which was oddly reassuring.

Seiichi was—yes, stalking, there was no other way to describe that prowl or that
particular glint in his eyes—toward them, Renji trailing behind. "We’ve
discussed this habit of yours before," he said.

"Have we?" Belial asked, recovering his equanimity and batting his eyes.
"One must have forgotten."

"There’s no need to provoke him so much," Seiichi continued, still with
that inflexible tone. "We are yours now."

"One hasn’t forgotten," Belial murmured, his eyes hooded.

"Hurt yourself on someone else, then," Seiichi said, unmistakably commanding.
He waited a beat, and then relented somewhat. "Why go to so much work to
earn us, only to push us away?"

Seiichi had just spread the rest of the pieces out so neatly that Genichirou felt
a bit of a fool for not having seen them sooner. From the way Belial had just
gone still beside him, he did not care for this exposure. Genichirou considered
what was needful, and chose his response carefully. "Seiichi," he said,
keeping Belial in the corner of his eye, "if I can endure Akaya at his most
insufferable, surely I can handle Hatter-san." It was just as well that their
prickly kouhai was out of earshot; he would not have appreciated the comparison.

"Are you so sure you can handle one?" Belial asked, and trailed a hand
down the side of Genichirou’s neck, over the pulse that was beating fast enough
to betray that Genichirou knew that as teasing as he had intended his comment
to sound, and as detached as Belial sounded, this was serious. His hand came to
rest over the other mark he’d left, pressing into sensitive skin.

Genichirou turned his head to look Belial in the eye. "Are you so sure I
would have agreed to anything this important without being completely certain
of myself?" he asked, and reached up to cover Belial’s hand with his own.

Belial held his gaze for a long moment before stepping back, drawing his hand
away from Genichirou’s shoulder. "One finds oneself inclined to take you
at your word." It must have cost him a great deal to say, because he stepped
immediately into the shadow of a bench and disappeared.

"What do you suppose that is?" Bunta asked, with a nod in the direction
of the Trio and Belial.

Yagyuu looked. After a moment, he said, "Settling frazzled nerves, I expect."

Jackal blinked. "What, Sanada’s?"

Yagyuu pushed his glasses a little further up the bridge of his nose. "Possibly."

"Huh." Masaharu thought this over, and nodded. "I suppose I’ll
have to hold off on teasing him, then."

"How remarkably benevolent of you," Jackal murmured.

Masaharu grinned at him. "Is it? I was just thinking that I’ll have all of
eternity to play with, so a few days now won’t make any difference in the long
run."

Yagyuu huffed in amusement. "That’s one way to look at it," he said,
as Belial stepped away from Sanada and disappeared, whatever confrontation it
was they had been having at an end. He looked at the other four. "Come on,
let’s play."

Seiichi moved up to stand beside Genichirou. "Thank you," he said,
as Renji joined them.

"For what?" Genichirou asked. "Telling the truth?"

Seiichi smiled. "No, for being you."

Genichirou snorted. "If you like," he said. A thought occurred to him.
"Did you even think about warning us?" he asked.

Seiichi’s smile was a touch too innocent. "What, and spoil my fun? Don’t
be silly."

"I thought so." Genichirou couldn’t manage to put any heat into the
glare. "Is there anything else you’ve forgotten to mention?"

Seiichi shrugged. "Nothing that you don’t already know by now."

"Is Hatter-san likely to need special handling?" Renji asked. "More
so than usual?"

"For a bit, possibly," Seiichi said. "Until se gets used to the
thought of having hir own tennis team." Upon reflection, he added, "We’re
getting there, I think."

"Good," Genichirou grunted. "Because enduring it doesn’t mean I
have to like being provoked."

"Don’t worry," Seiichi said. "It shouldn’t take Hatter more than
a decade to work this out of hir system." He kept a straight face for as
long as it took Genichirou to choke, and then chuckled. "Got you."

Genichirou sighed. "I’m doomed, aren’t I?"

"Probably you are," Akaya informed him, "but can we have practice
now and talk about our immortal souls later?" He shifted from foot to foot,
swinging his racquet. "I’ve tried to be patient, but really…"

"Then come play a set with me," Genichirou invited him.

"Glad to," Akaya said, with a dark look. "I heard that insufferable
thing, you know."

Genichirou just laughed, and headed for the court.

Worth

"Headache, Tezuka-kun?" Raphael asked, leaning against one of the empty
desks.

Kunimitsu took his hand from his forehead. "I’m fine," he said, and
that was true, but not likely to deter Raphael’s bored curiosity.

"And here I thought there wasn’t the homework assignment invented that you
couldn’t master," the angel said.

"It’s not homework," Kunimitsu said, and because today was not a good
day, he simply slid the stack of papers towards Raphael, who picked them up after
a moment.

"Lovely penmanship," Raphael noted, which was a reminder Kunimitsu didn’t
particularly need to write out a clean copy for Ryuuzaki-sensei. He handed the
papers back. "What is it?"

Heartbreak, he wanted to say. Disappointment. Exclusion. The last time I have
to decide who stays and who goes—until the next time I have to decide. "The
assignments for the ranking matches."

Kunimitsu took out a fresh sheet of paper and began transcribing the names again,
this time without the cross-outs and scribbling. "Hardly seems worth a headache,"
Raphael said, examining his nails.

Kunimitsu put his pen down. "Raphael-san." When the angel was looking
at him, Kunimitsu spoke carefully. "There are only eight slots for Regulars."

"And a slot for the captain, of course," Raphael said.

"No. Including the captain." Kunimitsu began writing again, filling
in the names for the A Block. His name. Fuji’s. Arai’s. Yoshimura’s. Kuwahara’s.

"I see. Perhaps worth the headache after all." Raphael at least had
the decency to sound respectful of a difficult decision. "Still. It seems
odd to eliminate one of your best players purely for the sake of numbers."

"Are you suggesting I make an exception?" B Block: Oishi. Kawamura.
Ikeda. Nishi. Mikami. Fushimi.

"Of course not," Raphael said. "It’s not like you would listen."

"It would be easy," Kunimitsu said. "Seigaku gives its captains
the power to make these decisions. I could do it." C Block: Kikumaru. Inui.
Nagayama. Saeki. Hiratsuka. Nakahama.

"But you won’t." He could feel Raphael eyeing him. "Why not?"

"Seigaku’s strength lies in the monthly ranking matches." D Block: Echizen.
Momoshiro. Kaidoh. Ninose. Kashiwa. Ogawa. "While I am captain, no one who
wears that jersey will ever need to wonder whether he earned the right to wear
the jersey."

"I’ve heard," Raphael murmured, "that before this year, freshmen
weren’t allowed to compete for a position on the Regulars."

"That’s true," Kunimitsu said, evenly. "Before this year, they
were not." Raphael’s eyebrows drifted up. "Before this year, there wasn’t
a freshman skilled enough to be worth ranking against his sempai."

"There wasn’t?" Raphael smirked. "Sumire-chan tells me stories,
you know."

"Ryuuzaki-sensei has been a coach for years. I’m sure she knows many stories,"
he said.

"Indeed she does." Raphael stood. "A good leader, Tezuka-kun, knows
when to break his rules, and when to follow them." He paused, probably waiting
to be asked whether he thought Kunimitsu was a good leader. When Kunimitsu didn’t
ask, Raphael sighed, expression wry. "You’re one of the good ones,"
he said. "For what it’s worth."

Kunimitsu inclined his head. "For what it’s worth," he said, "thank
you." He stood as well, and went to deliver the paperwork for the ranking
matches to Ryuuzaki-sensei.

Balance

Hiyoshi noticed the stranger first, and decided that he’d regret it for
the rest of his life. This was especially true since the last time a stranger
had appeared on the courts, Jirou had run off with him and there had been
some business about an antichrist, the explanation for which Hiyoshi was
determined to ignore.

The stranger seemed to hover innocently by the side of the courts, but it wasn’t
a hovering Hiyoshi was used to. Fans came and watched Atobe or, occasionally,
one of the others with rapt attention. Scouts came and watched with a measuring
sort of concentration. While the man did seem to be weighing Atobe as the boy
played a rare game with Oshitari, Hiyoshi thought that there seemed to be too
much of an edge of amusement for a scout.

Hiyoshi marched over to the interloper. “Can I help you?” he asked
politely.

The interloper eyed Hiyoshi for a moment, then smiled a bright, unnerving smile.
Hiyoshi backed up a step before he could stop himself, even as the man said, “Oh,
I’m sorry. I’m here to talk with your captain…that boy playing,
correct?” He inclined his head towards Atobe.

Hiyoshi nodded reluctantly. “You’ll have to wait until the set is
over.”

The man strolled over to settle himself on the bleachers. “Then you can
come and talk with me.” He patted the seat beside him.

Hiyoshi settled there uncertainly, painfully conscious of the fact that it would
be rude to leave an elder alone, particularly one who seemed to have business
with his captain. “Talk with you?”

The man smiled brightly. “Oh, yes, of course. You see, I think that you’re
a very observant boy and can therefore answer some of the more pressing questions,
like whether you noticed that your coach is an angel, or that one of your fellow
students is possessed.”

“…well…everyone found out just recently,” Hiyoshi said.
“The person inside Jirou ran off with him.” Hiyoshi twitched at the
sudden gleam of interest in the man’s eyes, and had to suppress another
twitch as the man very deliberately set the interest aside to continue.

“I expect, though, your being brought up in a proper home as you were, you
noticed something beforehand,” the man went on blithely. “Now, I understand
your not coming to me over it, but I still find it terribly disappointing.”

Hiyoshi scowled and eyed the man. “I…you…”

“Exactly,” the man replied. “But I forgive you.” Hiyoshi
listened, more or less, for a few more minutes as the man went on. He was lost
enough, in fact, that he didn’t notice when Atobe came over to glare at
them.

“Excuse me, but I’m afraid we don’t allow visitors during practice,”
Atobe interjected. The man looked up at Atobe with an expression of polite disinterest
that Hiyoshi recalled from Atobe’s own repertoire.

“Of course,” the man said. “You know, I thought you’d
be more entertaining.”

Atobe hmphed and lounged against the air. “I’m eminently entertaining
at all times.”

Hiyoshi felt a spike of terror go through him as the man’s look turned thoughtful.
“Of course, Atobe-kun,” the man said smoothly. The man’s smile
was the brightest Hiyoshi had seen him give yet. “I have a modest proposal
for you.”

Atobe straightened to give the man a hard look. “I especially cannot tolerate
scouts interrupting practice,” he said coolly. “While I sincerely
appreciate your interest and will be willing to talk to you should you come at
another time, my first responsibility is to ensure the well-being of my team,
which means that practice should not be interrupted.”

“Of course, Keigo-san,” the man replied, rising. “I only intended
to offer my assistance in this rather confusing times. I could prevent incidents
like, say, the one that occurred with Akutagawa-kun, but I understand if you’d
rather take the risks that you’ll be facing in the Nationals on your own
power. I certainly admire it.” The man turned to walk away.

“…wait.” Atobe stared hard at the man, and Hiyoshi noted that
his captain’s mouth turned down in a rather sour frown usually associated
with Jirou running off the court to tell Atobe something interesting. “What
risks are you talking about?”

The man waved expansively. “Oh, Archangels backing up Fudoumine and Seishun
Gakuen, and a high level demon adopting Rikkai. You’ll be pleased to know
that Seigaku’s archangel has taken care of ’Mitsu-kun. That’s
Tezuka Kunimitsu.”

Hiyoshi noted that Shishido, who had just walked over with Ohtori, looked as if
he wished he had a camera to catch the appalled look on their captain’s
face. Atobe’s mouth worked silently for a moment before he said, “Do
you know him, then?”

“’mitsu-kun?” the man said. “Of course I know him. He sent me
out of concern that the matches would be unbalanced with the support you have.
Kunimitsu is very concerned with fairness, as I’m sure you know.”
The man returned Atobe’s suspicious look with unbelievable innocence. “In
any case, should you wish for my assistance, you’ll find my card behind
the photograph by your bedside.”

“You’ve been in my room?” Atobe asked, frowning. “You
shouldn’t have been able to get in.”

The man nodded. “I wasn’t able to get in, Keigo. And if you don’t
wish to contact me, my card will not be there. It will only be there if you do
wish to contact me.” The man turned again to walk away.

“What’s your name?” Shishido asked him, as Atobe didn’t
seem inclined to speak to the man again. The man smiled sunnily at Shishido and
inclined his head to him.

“Hiiragizawa Eriol, at your service.” With that, the man disappeared
in a cloud of cherry blossoms. Shishido dashed over to where Eriol had been standing
and looked around, but Hiyoshi was already turning back to Atobe, who suddenly
looked thoughtful.

“Hiiragizawa,” Atobe murmured.

Saintly

Just being an angel didn’t qualify Raphael as a particularly nice person. In fact,
he’d be the first to admit that he wasn’t even a particularly good person. He
was a philanderer—all right, a recently reformed philanderer—and vain, self-centered,
and arrogant to boot. It wasn’t his style to go out of his way for anyone or anything
without some sort of compensation in the offing.

But as far as the Seigaku Regulars were concerned, Raphael was a saint, despite
his many flaws.

It wasn’t because he’d healed Tezuka’s shoulder, or Oishi’s wrist, or assured
Momo that, indeed, his ankle was just fine so-stop-pestering-me-damn-it. It wasn’t
because he’d given Inui advice about training schedules, or that he could make
a homework migraine vanish with a glance.

It was what he didn’t do that qualified him for canonization in their eyes.

Horio waved his banner. I’ve had laryngitis for weeks! it
read. Do something!

Raphael ignored him, and indeed, peace reigned upon the Seigaku tennis courts.

Games Without Frontiers

Seiichi’s expression toward the end of practice had indicated that he wished
to speak with Belial, so Belial had obligingly waited for him in the small
garden behind his house. It didn’t take long for Seiichi to find hir there.

"Belial," Seiichi said, a bit wearily, "I’d appreciated it if
you could stop trying to provoke everyone. Including me."

Belial chuckled low in hir throat. Se had rather suspected that hir human had
caught on to the reason Belial toyed with his team. "But Seiichi-san,
you have such strength in you." Se draped hirself against him and whispered
in his ear, "One likes to feel it." Which was only the truth. When
Seiichi was angry his soul had an edge on it that cut deliciously.

Seiichi was still for a moment before his hand lifted and turned Belial’s face
toward his. Belial breathed in when se saw his eyes—piercing as when he
was angry, but softer. "Stop trying to use me to hurt yourself,"
he told hir. "I’m not pleased with the idea, however much security it
gives you to be hurt when you expect it."

Belial shivered, and absently damned hir own weakness for those who saw clearly
and spoke the truth. It was what interested hir in Seiichi in the first place,
of course, but se hadn’t honestly expected a mortal, however impressive,
to see this clearly.

Seiichi was still looking at hir, gaze turned thoughtful. An edge of mischief
crept into it. "I’ve been thinking that there are other ways to get
what you want," he murmured. "And turnabout is only fair, yes?"
He leaned forward. And kissed Belial, slow and strong. And Belial had to
admit, hir latest acquisition had a point; his mouth was gentle, but the
weight of his soul against hirs was powerful and demanding, and clear as
a lake of glass.

Belial broke off and leaned back in Seiichi’s arms, laughing. Seiichi merely
took the chance to taste the skin of hir throat.

"You know," Belial observed, voice a little husky, "this is
one of the things mortals and celestials really aren’t supposed
to do."

"I’ve already sold my soul to a demon," Seiichi noted, dryly, against
Belial’s collar bone. "Breaking another rule is supposed to concern
me, why?"

"One thinks," Belial told the sky, dreamily, "one may just be
in love."

Seiichi lifted his head and looked at hir, eyes dark and fathomless in the
dusk. "Don’t say that to me too easily, Belial." His voice held
a hint of warning.

A breath of uneasiness blew through Belial, but se dismissed it. Seiichi had
a powerful and fascinating soul, but surely no human could bind hir. "Will
lust do?" se inquired lightly.

Seiichi’s lips curved, though his gaze was level and serious. "For now."

Surely.

 

End

Better

The Juuohcho employees frantically threw themselves out of the way as a blond
shinigami in lab coat stormed down the corridor, muttering a litany of "funds"
and "cut down," with intermittent "Tatsumi," and numerous
repetitions of "kill." The look on the man’s face was enough to
send even Terazuma scurrying for cover.

Watari Yutaka was not a happy man today.

Konoe jumped when the door slammed open and Watari stomped inside. "Where
is Tatsumi?" Watari demanded, and Konoe gulped when Watari’s smoldering gaze
focused on him.

"He left a few minutes ago," Konoe managed to squeak out and Watari
narrowed his eyes; there was only one reason why the workaholic would not be at
his desk during the office hours: a Tsuzuki-related accident. Watari stalked to
Tsuzuki’s desk and examined the mess for clues, until a memo on top of the file
caught his eyes. The slight frown of concentration changed to a look of understanding,
then that of fierce determination, and the next moment, he was gone from the office.
Konoe breathed a sigh of relief. They really weren’t paying him enough for this
job.

Once in Tokyo, it was easy enough to find Tsuzuki — all one had to do was follow
the explosions, really — and by the same route, Tatsumi, currently talking to
Tsuzuki. Watari stopped to compose himself. It would not do to lose his momentum
now. He had a mission to accomplish here! Taking a deep breath, Watari opened
his mouth to call out, and stopped.

"I’m just warding these mortals from any careless demonic or angelic influences,
so the book keeping doesn’t get messed up," Tsuzuki was saying. Watari closed
his mouth and raised an eyebrow.

"On your own time?" Tatsumi asked, and Watari hid a snicker. His thoughts
exactly.

"It seemed like a good thing to do. Preemptive action, and all that,"
Tsuzuki explained, and Watari frowned, wondering why he hadn’t heard anything
about this before (though admittedly he had been rather distracted lately, what
with the breakthrough in his potions research…). Watari pursed his lips, the
gears turning in his head. Now, he was sure there was some way he could use this
situation, once he found out more about what was actually going on.

Very quietly, Watari backed up and teleported to the Juuohcho library, grabbing
both Gushoshin on his way and locking the door. Some time later, Watari emerged
from the library with an unholy gleam in his eyes, and strode down the corridor
back to his lab. For the second time in the same day, the Juuohcho employees frantically
scrambled out of Watari’s way, fearing for their afterlife.

Three days later…

"Watari-san, are you sure this isn’t against the rules?" Wakaba asked,
nervously looking around to make sure no one was watching.

Watari gestured her closer, smiling widely. "Of course! Now, Wakaba-chan,
I have a special today for my favorite girl."

Against her better judgment, Wakaba drew closer, and peered. Half an hour later,
Wakaba carefully snuck out of the lab, flushed and smiling. She couldn’t wait
to talk to Hajime-chan about this!

Back in the lab, Watari, in his intense concentration, did not notice a presence
looming behind him until his shadow began to tremble.

"Watari-san."

Watari, recognizing the voice, promptly whirled around to face him. "Tatsumi.
Hi."

"Good afternoon. Might I ask what you are doing here?" Tatsumi’s voice
was pleasantly icy, and Watari swallowed. Ah well, the cat was out of the bag
and all. Watari gave him a sunny smile.

"Writing down all the bets. Do you want to place one?"

Tatsumi was silent for a while. "That," Tatsumi said finally, "is
definitely against the office protocol."

"But not against the rules," Watari said winningly. "I checked."

"Watari-san."

"I’ll give you a sure winner," Watari said brightly. Seeing Tatsumi’s
cool glare, Watari tried again. "Okay, wanna split the profit 70-30?"

"50-50," Tatsumi said coolly, pushing up his glasses.

"60-40," Watari countered, not giving an inch.

"Deal." Tatsumi shook Watari’s hand once, firmly. "Now that’s been
settled, we have a meeting in five minutes."

"Sure, just give me a minute," Watari said distractedly as he put away
the white board.

"Could I ask why?" Tatsumi asked curiously as they walked out of the
lab. Watari shrugged, locking the door.

"I need more funds for my research."

Note: "Better" is the accepted alternate spelling for "bettor."

Family Reunion

The Adversary stared at the Messiah, frowning. The Messiah stared right back,
also frowning.

"You’re not what I was expecting," Adam said, at last, feeling that
a Messiah ought to be wearing a white bathrobe, or have a halo, or somehow demonstrate
his difference from ordinary humans (perhaps funny-colored eyes?). A Messiah most
assuredly should not have looked like any other teenaged boy.

"Funny, I could say the same about you," the Messiah said, and grinned.
He stuck out his hand. "The name’s Setsuna."

"Adam." He took the proffered hand and shook it. "Nice to meet
you."

"Yeah, nice to meet you, too, I guess." Setsuna looked thoughtful. "…Wanna
go get a burger?"

"Will it have fish in it?" Adam asked, suspiciously. He’d heard things
about Japanese cuisine.

Setsuna chuckled. "No, no fish."

"Well, that’s all right, then," Adam decided.

"Great. Hold on a minute, willya? I’ll be right back." Setsuna headed
over to the two girls and the guy with the really neat tattoo, who had been watching
them from a distance. The guy was giving Adam some funny looks, but the girls
waved Setsuna off after he spoke to them. The guy just looked more puzzled than
before.

Setsuna jogged back over. "All right, just wanted to let my girlfriend know
I was going," he said. "Let’s go."

"You mean you never noticed that Mad Hatter was in Japan, too?" Aziraphale
demanded. "Or Michael? Or Raphael? Or Lucifer?"

"Oh, come off it," Crowley grumbled, trudging along after the angel.
"I was hiding, remember?" He gestured at his host’s body. "Jirou’s
pretty oblivious, okay?" He stopped short. "Wait a minute. Lucifer?
I thought he’d disappeared."

Aziraphale stopped too, and grumbled something under his breath. "Honestly,
do you even try to keep up with current events?"

"Hiding," Crowley reminded him. "A person can miss an awful lot
of gossip that way." They began walking again. "So… Lucifer?"

"Emerged about the same time as the Messiah," Aziraphale said, briefly.

"And who’s the Messiah?" Crowley prompted, when irritation seemed to
have gotten the better of Aziraphale.

"The reincarnation of Alexiel," Aziraphale said. "You really are
out of the loop these days."

"It happens when you get into the napping thing," Crowley admitted.
"So… how did you manage to lose the Antichrist?"

"He’s gotten adventurous," Aziraphale explained, with a sigh. "I
try to keep an eye on what he’s doing, but…" He shrugged. "He’s getting
good. And without someone to help…"

"Look, you deal with Hastur for me, and I’ll come back," Crowley said.
"That’s easy enough, right?"

"So easy that you’d rather hide in a teenager than do it yourself?"
Aziraphale inquired. "Never mind, we’re here."

"Fudoumine?" Crowley asked. "Why here?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "Michael will know where to find the Messiah."

Crowley paled. "Michael? …Aziraphale, he kills demons, you know."

Aziraphale smiled. "Then it’s just as well that you’ve had so much practice
pretending to be human, isn’t it?"

It was, Michael decided, shaping up to be a really weird afternoon. First Setsuna
and that kid—who looked familiar, even if he couldn’t quite place the face—and
now this.

"Lord Michael." Aziraphale was bowing, and the demon lurking behind
him pretending to be one of Hyoutei’s elitist bastards was trying to bow and be
inconspicuous all at the same time. It was pretty funny, actually.

"Yeah?" Michael had to admit, he was damn curious about what was going
on. Last he’d heard, this guy’d helped stop Armageddon, which wouldn’t normally
qualify him for an entry in Michael’s good book (He’d had his sword all sharp
and ready to go, and they called the whole thing off? Bastards.), but it did qualify
him for entry under the "Interesting People Whose Asses I Might Need To Kick"
heading. "Whaddya want?"

"I was hoping you could tell me where I might find the Messiah," Aziraphale
said, speaking in an undertone after a quick look over at Ann, who was watching
the proceedings with avid curiosity.

"Who, Setsuna? He left here a while ago with some kid," Michael said.

The demon’s head came up. "Oh, fuck," he said, obviously forgetting
that he was pretending to be inconspicuous. Michael gave him a look, and the demon
gulped. "Um. Hello?" he said, with a little wave. "You’re looking
well, Michael-sama."

"So much for that," Aziraphale muttered. "The, uh, child the Messiah
was with—"

"Who is he?" Michael asked, but if this was Aziraphale and his pet demon,
then there was really only one answer. "No way. No fucking way."

"He is," Crowley sighed.

Michael growled. "That bastard Setsuna never said a word."

"So," Setsuna said, halfway through his hamburger. "What brings
you to Tokyo?"

"Godzilla," Adam said promptly.

"…okay." Setsuna waited.

"Well, mostly Godzilla," Adam said, thoughtful. "It was a really
neat movie."

"It’s not bad," Setsuna allowed, and waited some more.

"I thought I’d come over and see if I could find Godzilla for myself."

Setsuna raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

"Well, it could happen," Adam said, his tone indicating that he’d seen
stranger things happen before.

"I suppose it could," Setsuna conceded. "This is Tokyo."

"Exactly." Adam grinned. "And then, since I was over here anyway,
I thought we should meet."

"And here we are," Setsuna finished, and waited.

Adam held out for most of the rest of another hamburger before caving. "Actually,"
he said, fidgeting with the wrapper, "I was wondering…"

"Yes?" Setsuna asked.

"Um." Adam looked distinctly embarrassed. "D’you, uh, know much
about… girls?"

Setsuna grinned and sat back. "Well," he said, "I might know something."

"Well, they don’t seem to be fighting," Crowley reported, ducking back
into the alley where Aziraphale was waiting. "If anything, they’re bonding."

"Bonding," Aziraphale repeated.

Crowley shrugged. "I call them like I see them."

Aziraphale snorted, and shook his head. "The Messiah and the Adversary, bonding
over hamburgers. Perhaps this isn’t going to be a complete disaster after all—"

And then Lucifer showed up.

"So I shouldn’t be trying to impress her." Adam said.

"Nope." Setsuna shrugged. "I find that it usually doesn’t work,
and ends up making you look stupid, too."

"And I should be myself."

"Yup," Setsuna nodded.

"But still be nice and pay attention to her," Adam finished, wondering
how he was supposed to be himself and be nice, both.

"Sounds like you’ve got the idea," Setsuna said.

Adam mulled it over. "Well, I can give it a shot," he said, still harboring
some doubts, although not trying to impress Pepper—who could do a better "I’ve
seen it all, and it all bores me" than anyone he’d ever seen—sounded like
it would make his life infinitely easier. "Thanks."

"No problem—oh, crap." Setsuna dropped the french fry he’d been about
to bite into. "What’s he doing here?"

Adam sat up as the sense of that presence washed over him. "Oh, God,"
he said.

Setsuna’s grin was crooked. "Not exactly," he said, "and I wouldn’t
make that comparison to his face, if I were you." He slid out of the booth.
"C’mon, let’s go see what he wants."

Aziraphale was doing his best to merge with the wall at his back, since an out-and-out
retreat would have involved stepping past Lucifer, and he wasn’t crazy.

Beside him, Crowley exhaled softly. "It’s true. He really is back."

"You didn’t believe me?" Aziraphale snapped, all-too-conscious that
the odds were not the least bit in his favor, and wishing Michael had decided
to come along after all.

"And what have we here?" Lucifer asked, sweeping an amused gaze over
them.

"My lord." Crowley bowed, deeply. It had been a good run, at least,
Aziraphale decided.

"Crowley." Lucifer inclined his head slightly. "I trust there’s
a reason for you to be possessing that human?"

"Professional friction between Hastur and me, my lord," Crowley said,
and there was nothing but respect in his tone. Even if he hadn’t fallen so much
as sauntered downwards, this was an alarming development.

"Well, looks like quite a meeting to be having out here by the dumpsters,"
someone said cheerfully. "Didn’t expect to see you again so soon, Lucifer."

Lucifer shrugged. "I merely thought that it was high time I met my son,"
he said, mildly.

Jirou was having the most fascinating day he’d had since, well, ever, and he hadn’t
even played any tennis yet. He’d had no idea Crowley-san knew such interesting
people, and that he’d get to meet them (albeit only as a spectator).

"Your son?" the new guy said, sounding surprised. He turned to the boy
who was lurking behind him. "You never mentioned that."

"You never asked," the other boy retorted. He looked at Lucifer. "So,
you’re him, huh?"

"I am," Lucifer said. "What’s your name, boy?"

"Adam," he said, and Jirou had the oddest feeling that the boy was assessing
Lucifer, and not the other way around. "And you’re not my father."

Since he was essentially doomed anyway, even with the Messiah standing right there
(and the Messiah had helped kill God anyway, so his allegiances were questionable,
and Alexiel had a history with Lucifer), Aziraphale spoke up. "What I believe
Adam is trying to say," he said, meekly, "is that his father is the
one he grew up with, not the one biology assigned him."

"Exactly," Adam said, crossing his arms and sounding satisfied. "That’s
what I meant, only with smaller words. So I guess you came up here for nothing."

"Hardly," Lucifer said, after barely sparing a glance for Aziraphale.
"If I am given to understand the events of Armageddon correctly, you are
a formidable young man."

Adam blinked. "What, you didn’t know what happened?"

"Of course he didn’t," the Messiah said, ruffling Adam’s hair. "He
was kinda lock—"

"I was indisposed," Lucifer interrupted, firmly.

The Messiah grinned. "Whatever you wanna call it, he wasn’t around. My guess
is that the old bastard rigged it."

"Possibly," Lucifer agreed. "Beelzebub is more malleable than he
thinks."

Adam looked to Aziraphale. "Who are they talking about?"

"God," Aziraphale said.

"Old Ineffable Himself?" Crowley said. "So he does have a hand
in all this?"

"Had," Lucifer corrected him, absently. "He’s dead now."

"And good riddance, too," the Messiah muttered. Aziraphale winced a
little. Definitely no help from that quarter.

"And I missed it?" Crowley sounded outraged.

"What rock have you been hiding under?" the Messiah asked.

"A pretty big one, I’d say," Crowley said, "if I missed a deicide."

"And at no small cost to your responsibilities in hell," Lucifer added,
"or have you forgotten that the rank of duke carries duties?"

"Yes, lord. Um. I mean, no. Um—I didn’t kill Ligur for his job." Crowley
waved his hands. "Mostly I was just trying to survive."

"Indeed, and stopping Armageddon while you were at it, and consorting with
an angel." Aziraphale gulped as Lucifer made a complicated gesture, but there
was just a soft pop, and then some swearing, as Jirou and Crowley’s bodies tried
to occupy the same space and failed miserably.

Jirou scrambled to his feet. "That was so awesome!" he enthused, and
if Aziraphale hadn’t reached out and held the boy back, he might have actually
managed to seize Lucifer’s hand. "What else can you—"

Aziraphale eased the boy to the ground as he fell asleep mid-sentence (with only
a bare hint of Aziraphale’s encouragement), and the Messiah laughed at Lucifer’s
face. "He’s excitable, isn’t he?" he noted.

"Very," Crowley grunted, climbing to his feet and manifesting a suit.
"You should see him when he’s playing Atobe." He bowed to Lucifer again.
"Thank you, my lord, for the new body," he sighed. "I’ll return
to Hell immediately to see to my duties."

"Don’t," Lucifer said. "You’re being reassigned."

"I am?" Crowley looked at him blankly.

"Yes. You will be serving as bodyguard to my—to Adam," Lucifer said.
"Do try not to lose him again."

Adam protested. "I don’t need a bodyguard!"

"Of course you do," the Messiah said. "You’ve already got one."
He nodded at Aziraphale.

"What, really?" Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale.

"Not officially. Officially, I’m watching him," Aziraphale admitted,
shifting under the weight of Lucifer’s gaze. "But unofficially… I’m watching
over him."

"And I’m certain Crowley will be a great deal of help to you," Lucifer
said.

"I don’t want bodyguards!"

"Tough," Crowley said, sidling around Lucifer and snapping a pair of
sunglasses into existence. He perched them on his nose. "Because there is
no way I’m disobeying a direct order from him."

"This isn’t fair," Adam grumbled, leveling a glare at them all. He looked
at the Messiah. "Do you have a bodyguard?" he demanded.

"Nope, but then, I’m in control of my own powers," the Messiah said
cheerfully, "and that tends to deter most would-be assassins."

"Besides, life doesn’t tend to be fair, or so I’ve noticed," Aziraphale
murmured, deciding that perhaps he was going to live after all. He placed his
hands on his hips. "And do you have any idea how worried I was when you disappeared?"

"Had things to do," Adam mumbled. He waved a hand. "People to see."

"And it never occurred to you that it might be dangerous to traipse across
the globe to meet the Messiah, who by definition has every right to try to kill
you on sight?" Crowley asked. Adam shook his head, sullenly. "Damn.
You don’t need bodyguards. You need babysitters."

Aziraphale stared as Lucifer began to chuckle, and even the Messiah looked impressed.
"I’ve chosen well, I think," Lucifer murmured, finally.

"They’ll do," the Messiah agreed, and then he checked his watch. "Crap,
it’s getting late. I’ve got to get going. Nice meeting you, Adam."

"Yeah, you too," Adam said.

The Messiah looked at Lucifer. "Will we be seeing you at Nationals?"
he asked.

"I wouldn’t dream of missing it," Lucifer said.

"Thought so," the Messiah said. "Remember what I told you, Adam.
See you around." He waved and headed off.

"Should the Messiah be giving advice to the Antichrist?" Crowley asked
Aziraphale.

"Are you going to be the one to stop him," Aziraphale asked.

"Well… no."

"Then the Messiah can give the Antichrist all the advice he wants,"
Aziraphale said. "It’s up to Adam whether he takes it."

"Gentlemen," Lucifer said, politely. "If I may have a word with
Adam?"

Adam glared. "Don’t wanna talk to you," he grumbled.

"You don’t have a choice," Crowley said, as Aziraphale woke Jirou up
and dragged him out of the alley. "We’ll just be out there," he said,
and followed Aziraphale.

"So… you must be Aziraphale," Jirou said, apparently perfectly at
ease with his narcoleptic fit.

"Yes," Aziraphale said.

"So you’re an angel like Kantoku?" Jirou pursued.

"I should hope," Aziraphale said, slowly, "that I’m not very much
like Sakaki at all."

"Fair enough," Jirou said. He looked back into the alley. "So that’s
really the devil?"

"And the Antichrist," Crowley said, helpfully.

"He’s really cool," Jirou said, eyes shining.

"A lot of people think so," Aziraphale grumbled.

"A lot of people are right," Crowley said sharply.

"Hmph." Aziraphale shut up.

Adam crossed his arms and sulked against an alley wall. "Well?"

At least, Lucifer decided, he could be grateful that he’d had experience dealing
with prickly teenagers. "Why not destroy the world?" he asked.

"Because I like it," Adam said, with an eye roll for emphasis.

"And why not rule it for yourself?"

Adam frowned. "Too much work, for one thing." He shrugged. "Sure,
I could rule it myself and fix everything, but then people would be coming to
me all the time and asking me to fix stuff for them. It’s better that they learn
to fix things themselves."

Lucifer nodded. "Very good," he said.

Adam rolled his eyes. "My turn for a question," he said. "Are you
really my father?"

"That’s what they tell me," Lucifer said, frowning. "I wasn’t exactly
consulted beforehand."

Adam’s eyebrows went up. "Then how…?" He flushed.

"Demon magic and a laboratory, I believe." Lucifer looked him in the
eye. "It was a shock to return home to find I’d been gifted a son in my absence."

Adam frowned. "Then who was it who nearly showed up back then?"

"One of the higher-ranking demon lords," Lucifer said. He examined his
nails. "He has since been relieved of his duties."

"Good," Adam said. He made a face. "You aren’t really going to
make me put up with them, are you?" he said, jerking his head in Crowley
and Aziraphale’s direction.

"So… I guess this means you’re leaving, huh?" Jirou asked, when it
seemed like neither Crowley-san nor Aziraphale-san was going to speak.

"Yeah. Duty calls, and all that." Crowley-san waved a hand. "Kid
belongs in England."

"That means you’ll miss Nationals, though!" Jirou protested, horrified.

"Uh… yeah, I guess I will," Crowley-san said, looking uncomfortable.
"Hyoutei’s sure to win, though," he added.

"But don’t the other schools have angels? Or demons?" Jirou asked.

Crowley-san blinked. "Oh, no," he said, firmly. "No chance. Your
coach does not want my help, trust me… though he might not turn down Aziraphale."

"Absolutely not," Aziraphale-san said, and sniffed. "I can’t work
with him."

Jirou didn’t really see a problem, but since one apparently existed, he went back
to a less touchy subject. "You really think we’ll be okay on our own?"

Crowley-san grinned. "You’ll be fine. There’s more to Hyoutei than meets
the eye. Promise."

"I still wish you were going to be there for Nationals," Jirou said,
a trifle wistfully.

Crowley-san coughed. "Well, um. Oh, looks like they’re done," he said,
quickly, as Adam-kun slouched out of the alley, followed by the devil.

"Gracefully done," Aziraphale-san murmured.

"Oh, shut up."

"Gentlemen," the devil said, "I believe I’ll leave things in your—"
and Jirou wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard an infinitesimal pause there "—capable
hands."

"Yes, lord," Crowley said, and bowed.

"Still don’t think this is fair," Adam-kun muttered.

"Duly noted," the devil said, sounding the faintest bit exasperated,
and vanished.

"Cooooooooool," Jirou sighed.

The boy spent the entire trip back to Hyoutei expounding upon the wonders of tennis
to the Adversary, and if Aziraphale wasn’t mistaken, there were a lot of tennis
courts pending in his near future—assuming, of course, that Adam didn’t just
bounce on to a new interest once they were safely home again. Judging from the
way Adam was hanging onto every word Jirou had to say (currently, something about
a player who could make the tennis ball roll along the net, which surely wasn’t
possible, right?) though, it looked like tennis could hold his attention for at
least a week.

At least tennis was wholesome.

"Looks like we’re even returning him before the end of practice," Crowley
said, with some satisfaction, as they strolled into sight of Hyoutei’s tennis
courts. "So, is it as much fun for you as it is for me to see Sakaki this
baffled?"

"Well…" Aziraphale paused, "one does wonder how he managed to
last so long without being demoted."

Crowley snickered, and waved to Hyoutei’s coach. "See, here he is, safe and
sound! World didn’t need saving after all!"

"For a change," Aziraphale added, under his breath. "Adam! Time
to go."

Adam-kun made a face at Aziraphale-san. "This completely sucks," he
complained to Jirou.

"It does," Jirou sympathized. "You really have to talk them into
letting you come back for Nationals. I mean, if the devil is going to show up,
you should too, right?"

Adam-kun considered it. "Practically a family obligation, when you look at
it that way," he said. He grinned.

"Adam!"

He rolled his eyes. "I’ll see what I can do," he said, with a grin.
"Nice meeting you, Jirou."

"You too. See you around." Jirou waved him off, and turned to find his
teammates eyeing him curiously. "So, did I miss anything while I was gone?"

Profession

Sakaki Tarou paused on his way across the grounds of Rikkai Dai to visit his
contemporaries on staff, and watched the junior high tennis team practicing.
This team was always worth watching, but this time something specific caught
his attention. Something about them had changed, since the last time he’d
observed these players. It was most notable in Yukimura-kun, and Tarou sighed
faintly as he contemplated the inherent disorder of what he was seeing.

"Taken," a light voice stated next to his ear.

"Belial," Tarou greeted his ex-associate. He didn’t move at all as
a very sharp edge scraped against his throat.

"There are, at this time, exactly two people permitted to call one by
one’s old name, and neither of them is you. You may call one Mad Hatter."
The sharp edge vanished, and Tarou turned his head far enough to see Belial…
Hatter, lounging against the fence, from the corner of his eye. "As
one was saying, Yukimura Seiichi is taken. Signed and sealed, though a significant
delay in delivery was part of the deal. And, as the rest of them belong to
him, you can just keep your hands to yourself where they’re concerned, too."

Tarou knew better than to cross a Demon Lord without better backup, and Hatter
was clearly serious despite the teasing tone. His silence gave his answer.

"Delightful." Hatter pushed off the fence. "After all, it wouldn’t
do to have your boys notice anything odd about their dear mentor’s associates
and pastimes, would it?"

Tarou didn’t even bother to glare at the implied threat of revelation. "They
don’t ask," he said, levelly, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I’m
simply their tennis coach. And music teacher."

Tarou waited, with scant patience, for Hatter to stop snickering and go back
to her humans.

 

End

A Small Problem

It was a beautiful day: the sunlight was warm and the bleachers reasonably comfortable,
and his host didn’t have a match with Atobe for at least another half hour. Crowley
stretched and yawned, supremely content with just how good life was.

It really was a pity that things were about to get so complicated.

The man had been peering at passing students and his surroundings with such confusion
that it was obvious that he was wildly out of place. Choutarou pegged him as a
tourist immediately, and felt obliged to offer his assistance (in his most careful
English, since this man seemed to be about as non-Japanese as they came) in the
form of directions, or perhaps a map.

However, the offer of directions had turned into a playing tour guide, with Choutarou
dredging up vocabulary words he didn’t remember learning and wondering how he’d
agreed to this. The man was very polite and very curious, and somehow Choutarou
just couldn’t bring himself to be rude enough to excuse himself from his newfound
role. Their walking tour of the Hyoutei campus dragged on, until they fetched
up at the tennis courts.

The expression on Atobe’s face promised that he would be especially cutting in
regards to Choutarou’s lateness, and there was no telling what Kantoku would have
to say—

Except that Kantoku seemed more concerned with his befuddled tourist than with
Choutarou’s late arrival to practice.

"What do you want?" Kantoku demanded of the stranger.

"It’s lovely to see you again, too, Sakaki-san," the man said, in flawless
Japanese, suddenly standing much straighter and looking much more comfortable
than he’d been a moment ago. "I trust you’ve been well?" Choutarou wanted
very badly to let his manners slip so that he could make a face at his formerly
clueless tourist, especially after the man slid his eyes sidewise and gave him
a small smile.

"Well enough. Ohtori, go warm up," Kantoku said, crisply, and wasn’t
it funny that he seemed ill-at-ease?

There was no chance now to find out what was going on, so Choutarou bowed and
headed for the clubhouse, shrugging at Shishido along the way to indicate that
he didn’t have any clue.

"What do you want?" Sakaki asked again, once the boy had left the range
of earshot.

"Really, there’s no need to be rude," Aziraphale said, chidingly. "I
merely happened to be in the neighborhood, and thought I’d stop by and say hello."
He glanced around. "So… tennis? How fascinating."

"Yes, tennis," Sakaki said, and really, his chin couldn’t jut out much
further. "And music."

"Delightful," Aziraphale murmured.

"If you’re here because of the demon, I assure you, I have it under control,"
Sakaki said.

"You do?" Aziraphale blinked.

"Of course I do," Sakaki said. "Belial is completely focused
on Rikkaidai at the moment." He sniffed. "I believe she’s
only interested in tennis at the moment."

"How shortsighted of her," Aziraphale said, torn between laughter
and gibbering. Belial was on Earth? Up to something? On top of everything
else? The more he thought about it, the more attractive gibbering began to
seem. "How good to know you have things under control here."

That mollified Sakaki a bit. "Thank you."

"If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to like to observe your tennis practice
for a while. It seems to be quite the fashion lately," Aziraphale said, casually.

"As you like," Sakaki said, tilting his head towards the bleachers.

"Thank you kindly," Aziraphale said, and walked over to the bleachers.
He sat in the row up from the napping boy, and once Sakaki had turned his attention
back to his team, leaned over. "Crowley," he hissed, "wake up!
We’ve got problems."

One sleepy eye cracked open to stare at him. "What, are you trying to blow
my cover?" Crowley replied in a whisper.

"There’s no time for that," Aziraphale said, urgently.

"Like hell there’s not," Crowley retorted. "Hastur’s still out
for my blood, you know. And my rank."

"Worry about that later," Aziraphale said. He looked around. "Did
you know that Belial is active? Here on Earth?" he asked.

Crowley winced. "She doesn’t like people to use that name," he said.
"Use Mad Hatter instead."

"Whatever," Aziraphale said. "Crowley, Michael and Raphael
are down here, too, and so is the Messiah; Lucifer’s been lurking around,
and I’ve misplaced the Adversary."

"What the hell?" Shishido was staring when Choutarou came out of
the clubhouse. "Choutarou, who is that guy?"

"What?" Choutarou followed the stares of his teammates to the bleachers,
where Jirou was sitting bolt-upright, talking with his tourist. "I don’t
know. What did he do?"

"Just leaned over and started talking to him, far as I could tell,"
Mukahi said, sounding as awed as Choutarou felt.

Jirou stood, grabbing the stranger by the wrist, and turned to call over his shoulder,
"Sorry, gotta run, things to do, world to save, I’ll bring Jirou back in
time for Nationals, ‘bye!" and the two of them ran.

Kantoku was staring, eyes bugged out, and even Atobe seemed to be having difficulties
keeping his composure.

Finally, Choutarou broke the silence. "What did he mean, ‘I’ll have Jirou
back in time for Nationals’?" he asked.

Nobody could give him an answer.

Tickets to Zimbabwe

Tezuka could have predicted that Eriol would walk right up to Fuji. He also
could have predicted the sweet smile that would grace Eriol’s face
when said meeting occurred. He had not, however, predicted that Fuji would
smile and greet Eriol as if the man were an old friend. Eriol didn’t
turn around to look at Tezuka as he explained, “One recognizes one’s
own nature in others. It’s what allows one to survive in the world,
Mitsu-chan.”

As the rest of the boys had already drifted over to see who the interloper was,
Tezuka was quite aware that they were all giving him nervous or questioning looks
at the nickname. Tezuka crossed his arms. “This is my uncle, Hiiragizawa
Eriol. He insisted that he meet all of you.”

Echizen walked right up to Eriol and eyed him openly. Eriol returned the look
with a sweet smile so reminiscent of Fuji’s that Momo and Kaidou both backed
up hurriedly. Echizen, seemingly undisturbed by this, nodded decisively and said,
“Echizen Ryoma. It’s nice to meet you.” With that, he headed
off towards the courts, leaving most of the group staring after him.

Eriol frowned slightly as he watched Echizen’s back, then began snickering
quietly. By the time Fuji managed to give him a questioning look, he schooled
his expression back to a polite smile. “Oh,” responded to Fuji’s
look, “Someone in his family knew an angel, that’s all.” Eriol
refused to say more on the subject, even when Tezuka asked, later.

Tezuka didn’t actively begin to worry until Eriol pulled Oishi away from
the group and sat him down on a bench. Everyone else had returned to normal practice,
on threat of laps, so Tezuka couldn’t watch what was going on between his
relative and his friend. It was only when he noticed the odd looks Oishi was giving
him upon his return to the courts that Tezuka decided that he never wanted to
know.

After practice, Eriol appeared to have magically vanished, because Tezuka refused
to believe that Eriol was hiding up in the tree that Echizen habitually napped
underneath. When Echizen walked up to pat Tezuka comfortingly on the back, Tezuka
was unnerved enough to mutter something under his breath.

“What did he say?” he heard Fuji ask Echizen as they went to change.

“I’m not sure. Something about plane tickets to Zimbabwe.”

“Ah.”

Relatives

Tezuka looked around the mansion he’d been ushered into, a sinking feeling
in his stomach indicating that this was a horribly bad idea and he should
just go home. He wondered where his better judgment had gone, and decided
that it had probably left in disgust the moment he spoke with an angel. He
noted the rather prominent chair at the other end of the room, which was
made all the more notable for the fact that the tea table a few feet away
from it had a motif of peach and cherry blossoms.

“Nakuru calls it the Throne of Evil,” an amused voice informed him
from the shadows. “I would move it out of the room, but everyone’s
terribly fond of it, especially little Nadeshiko.” There was a pause. “I
had no idea I had another cute relative in Tokyo.”

Tezuka’s expression didn’t change. “I was under the impression
that you kept track of the Li family and where they went.”

A man emerged from the shadows. Tezuka quirked an eyebrow at the man’s apron,
which had a pink heart on it, and his blue head kerchief. The man smiled brightly
at Tezuka. “Well, I kept track of Ayana until I was sure she was happily
married, but I couldn’t possibly track all of the children that married
out of the Li family through the years, now can I?”

“I suppose not,” said Tezuka stiffly. “I apologize for my rudeness.
I’m Tezuka Kunimitsu. It’s an honor to meet you, ancestor.”

“Pfft. You make me feel old. I’m Hiiragizawa Eriol, though you’re
free to call me ‘uncle’ if you like.” Something about Eriol’s
purely friendly smile made Tezuka uneasy. He wasn’t sure precisely why he
wanted to have a wall at his back at the moment, but he forced himself to ignore
the urge and go on.

“…Uncle,” Tezuka began. He was mystified when Eriol snickered,
but Eriol waved at him to go on. “I don’t want to take up much of
your time…”

“Oh, but you must stay for tea,” Eriol said firmly. “Indulge
a poor old man like myself and sit,” Eriol said, waving to the table. “I
already made enough for both of us, and if Nakuru and Spinel stop being so eerily
quiet, I’m sure they’ll enjoy the tea too.”

As if on cue, there was a crash from upstairs, accompanied by a series of thuds.
Eriol walked over to poke his head out the door. “Is everyone alright?”
he called.

“I DIDN’T DO IT SUPPI DID!”

Eriol sighed faintly. “I suppose I’ll find out later,” he said,
waving at Tezuka to sit down, again.

Tezuka hesitantly moved to take a seat and Eriol poured the tea. Upon trying one
of the scones, he remarked, “This is very good. Where did you get it?”

“Oh, I like to cook,” Eriol said offhandedly. He shrugged at Tezuka’s
mystified look. “If I couldn’t make proper scones myself, I’d
have to give back my English heritage, and that would be very difficult at this
point. But you said you have a problem,” he added, just as Tezuka took another
bite of the scone.

Tezuka attempted not to give Eriol a dark look, and succeeded only from a life
of training. It took Tezuka a few minutes to finish the piece of scone, and he
said, “I’ve been visited by members of the heavenly host. And people
from hell. Currently, the archangel Raphael has healed my shoulder…”

“I noticed that you’d been touched by an angel,” Eriol remarked
into his teacup. Tezuka decided that he never, ever wanted Eriol to meet Fuji.
He knew that inflection, and given that Fuji might have already spoken with that
demon, Tezuka did not need any more headaches.

“…Yes. Michael offered, but I refused. Lucifer and the Mad Hatter
have also visited.” Tezuka looked down at his teacup. “I’m concerned
for the well-being of my team…”

“You’re looking at the Nationals, aren’t you?” At Tezuka’s
glance, Eriol added, “I’m psychic. Also, your mother sends me regular
letters.” Tezuka scowled at Eriol, whose smile only brightened. “Got
to keep up on the children who are close by, wot?”

Tezuka knew better than to point out that Eriol had said the opposite earlier
and forged on. “I just wanted your assurance that, in the interests of looking
after your family, you would be willing to help me if any of mine trapped themselves
in a mistake.”

Eriol nodded. “Of course. I’m always willing to help out family. I’ll
have to meet your team, now, to make sure there isn’t undue influence already…”

Tezuka twitched, and nearly did so again when he realized that Eriol’s smile
didn’t have to change to look cheerfully evil. “I’m sure that
Raphael…”

Eriol took a sip of tea. “Yes, yes, he’s very good at what he does,
but I should see my nephew’s friends, and besides, the last time I saw a
good game of tennis was at Wimbledon.”

“Thank you,” Tezuka managed. “…though,” he added,
suddenly thoughtful, “I might need your help in making a fair balance.”

Eriol set down his cup as his smile shifted to one of polite interest. “Oh?
Keeping the balance in what way?”

“It would require too much participation, really,” Tezuka added. He
shook his head. “I’d hate to impose on you, since I know that they
have a minor angel taking care of them already…” Tezuka kept his gaze
firmly on his teacup.

“Do tell,” Eriol urged, sitting back and steepling his fingers. “You’ve
intrigued me.”

“Hyoutei seems to be the only school in serious contention in the Nationals
without special backing,” Tezuka explained. “They have an angel, but
not one on the level of the others, and I’d be disappointed if they were
put at a disadvantage by no fault of their own.”

Eriol looked thoughtful. “I have been looking for something to do with my
free time.” When the smile returned, Tezuka found himself wondering if he
felt sorrier for Hyoutei or for the other teams. “I’ll help you out.
Now, let’s finish our tea, and then I’ll go meet your lovely boys.”

It was at that point that Tezuka began to wonder who had manipulated whom. He
pushed the thought aside, deciding that in this case, he really didn’t
want to know.

Green Eyed

"Oh, for pity’s sake," Barbiel said, slamming the folder down
on Raphael’s desk. "If you miss him that badly, go find him already!"
She scowled. "I cannot stand another minute of this moping!"

Raphael blinked, and settled on a response. "I’m not moping," he said.

"Like hell you’re not moping," Barbiel grumbled. She pointed at the
door. "Out. And don’t come back until you two have made up."

"You can’t kick me out of my own office," Raphael protested.

Barbiel planted her hands on the desk and leaned over it, until they were nose-to-nose.
"Watch me. Out."

Discretion seemed the better part of valor at this point, so he went, and had
to admit he was glad for the excuse to go find out what had been keeping Michael
out of his hair lately. Not that he had been moping over not having his offices
blown up on a regular basis, of course. Where did the woman come up with her ideas?
But it wasn’t a bad idea to look in on the angel of fire and see what he was up
to.

"Not here?" Well, judging from the progress the work crews were making
on Michael’s palace, it was obvious that Camael wasn’t lying, and that Michael
hadn’t been around for some time. "Where is he?"

Camael seemed as puzzled by Michael’s absence as Raphael was, but distinctly grateful
for the chance to get some much-needed structural work taken care of. He shrugged.
"We think he’s been spending his time in Assiah. Shall I let him know you’ve
been looking for him?"

"No need," Raphael said. "I’m sure I’ll bump into him sooner or
later."

Considering that there were no active wars on at the moment, and no prophecies
coming due, there was an insane amount of divine and diabolic activity happening
in Assiah, more than could logically be accounted for by the Messiah’s presence.
Raphael wrinkled his nose and avoided Kanagawa Prefecture entirely—it stank of
Belial, and he had no desire to tangle with that one—and settled for tracking
Michael’s movements across Tokyo.

He very nearly bypassed the first school, figuring it for a fluke, until the boy
with glasses looked directly at him, sighed, and inquired, "We’re not interested,
but thank you anyway." He eyed Raphael. "You might try Hyoutei."

So, not a fluke after all. Raphael studied the boy, who was obviously a seer of
some sort—well, the old bloodlines still ran true, sometimes. "I’m not here
on business," he said. "I’m looking for an associate."

"I sent Michael to Fudoumine," the boy said promptly. "If you’re
looking for Lucifer, he was looking for Michael."

Raphael willed his blood not to drain from his face (Tokyo, after all, hadn’t
gone up in flames yet, so he still had time). "Thank you," he said,
and hurried off.

The tennis courts at Fudoumine were tranquil—much more so than he had expected—and
when he landed next to Michael with a thump, Raphael wasn’t sure whether to be
relieved or annoyed by the absence of any cataclysms.

"Raphael." Michael eyed him. "What lit a fire under your ass?"

Raphael shook his wings out, irritably, and furled them away. "Nothing,"
he said, looking around. "So this is where you’ve been."

"Yup," Michael said, looking embarrassed.

"Yo, Michael, who’s this one?" one of the humans called out.

"Just a guy I work with," Michael said, lazily, waving them back to
their game. "Nothing to worry about."

"Ah, so Lucifer has been here after all," Raphael murmured. "And
the place is still standing?"

"Why wouldn’t it be?"

Raphael turned to see a young human female watching them. "Mika-chan isn’t
known for his restraint," he murmured, "and Lucifer has a way of bringing
out the worst in him."

"Does he?" She cocked her head. "Michael-kun, are you going to
introduce me?"

"You don’t wanna know this guy," Michael warned her. She gave him a
look. "Fine, fine. This is Raphael, angel of wind and all-around pervert.
Raphael, Tachibana Ann."

"A pleasure to meet you," he said, bowing over her hand.

"…Right." Ann didn’t seem particularly impressed. "What brings
you to Fudoumine, Raphael-san?"

"Curiosity," he said, and looked back to Michael. "Care to explain
to me why you’re supporting a junior high tennis team?"

Michael opened his mouth, and then closed it. Raphael raised an eyebrow, waiting,
and Ann looked back and forth between them, openly curious. Finally Michael lifted
his chin and glared at Raphael. "’Cause these guys are cool," he said.
"I like them." His expression dared Raphael to say something about it.

Raphael held his peace, out of consideration for the humans present, and pursued
a slightly different subject. "Yes, but… tennis?"

Michael shrugged. "Hatter started it, with Rikkai. Seemed like a good idea
to counter her."

The logic behind that was purest Michael: Belial was Lucifer’s creature, so anything
se did was at least tacitly approved by the Lord of Hell. Therefore, countering
Belial was really countering Lucifer. "You really are a simple creature,"
Raphael sighed.

"Never claimed to be anything but," Michael said, calmly. He looked
past Raphael, to the tennis courts. "They’re looking good today," he
observed.

"They are," Ann agreed, sounding pleased. "Demons or not, we’re
going to give Rikkai hell at Nationals."

And as neatly as that, he had been dismissed. Raphael sniffed, but Michael ignored
him in favor of a discussion of a training regimen, and eventually he gave up
and left.

"I said we weren’t interested." Tezuka looked at Raphael over the
rims of his glasses, and it wasn’t quite a glare, but it was close.

"I know you did," Raphael said, calmly, "but consider this: Your
shoulder, while recovered, is still vulnerable, and in conjunction with the fact
that all of your closest rivals now have angelic or demonic support of various
kinds, Seishun Gakuen is at a considerable disadvantage. You can try to do this
on your own, but there comes a point where pride must give way to practicalities."

"Tezuka, your shoulder—" Oishi began.

"My shoulder is fine," Tezuka snapped.

"It is not." Raphael crossed his arms. "Trust me, I should know.
I am Heaven’s most renowned physician."

Fuji opened his eyes. "Tezuka." They locked eyes. "None of us will
think any less of you for accepting his aid."

Tezuka’s mouth thinned to an angry slash, but Echizen spoke before he could. "Buchou.
You didn’t have a problem sending an angel to Tachibana," he said. "And
I know you’re looking forward to meeting Yukimura. Why is what’s okay for them
wrong for you?" He paused for a beat, to let that soak in. "Besides,
they deserve to meet you at your best."

Tezuka sucked in a breath, but when he let it out, his mouth had softened. "Well
done, Echizen," he murmured. The boy grinned, and adjusted his cap. Tezuka
looked back to Raphael, who had observed this byplay with interest. "We accept
your offer," he said, slowly, "but only for as much aid as is strictly
necessary." His team let out its collective breath in relief, and Tezuka
swept his gaze over them. "Back to practice, all of you."

They grinned at him and dispersed, Momoshiro lifting Echizen’s cap in order to
ruffle his hair as they went.

"I have to admit," Raphael said, after they had gone, "I didn’t
think you would accept my offer."

Tezuka was quiet for a long moment before replying. "I would rather not have,"
he said, finally. "But… to be able to play, all-out, against Yukimura,
and Tachibana, and Atobe, without lingering fears…" His smile was quick,
gone as quickly as it had come. "It is very compelling."

"So I see," Raphael said. He reached out, probing Tezuka’s shoulder,
and made a face. "If you had gone ahead without me, you would have ruined
this. It’s just as well that I came back here."

Tezuka snorted. "I had wondered about that. You seem more Hyoutei’s type."

"Quite possibly I am, but I detest Sakaki Tarou and his artistic pretensions,"
Raphael explained, sending a bit of power through the joint. "There."

Tezuka rotated his shoulder. "Ah. Better. Thank you." He picked up his
racquet, ready to head to practice, but stopped. "Raphael-san. A question?"
Raphael inclined his head. "Why are your people getting involved?"

"I can’t speak for the demons, but as far as the angels…" Raphael
shrugged. "Would you believe me if I told you it goes back to sibling rivalry?"

"I might, but that still doesn’t explain your presence," Tezuka murmured.

Raphael smiled, and gave the most honest reason he was willing own up to having.
"I’m trying to piss Mika-chan off."

Tezuka raised an eyebrow, but let the matter drop, and moved off to join his teammates
at practice.

Raphael laced his hands behind his head and contemplated the summer sky. It was,
he decided, a beautiful day.

Headaches

Tezuka Kunimitsu decided that he was having a bad day when Echizen walked
up to him with that look in his eye; the one that Echizen had picked up from
Fuji. Tezuka had seriously begun wondering whether he should go to his mother’s
cousin…or even his mother’s old relative, for that matter. However,
his recollections of his mother’s old relative included the fact that
Hiiragizawa-san had a sense of humor about on a level with Fuji’s,
and more than enough power to make things complicated for the rest of the
world. Tezuka therefore resigned himself to dealing with Echizen now and
worrying later.

“I spoke with one of them,” said Echizen obliquely. “Not
about a deal, though. I wanted to see what was going on in heaven and hell,”
Echizen added virtuously.

Tezuka gave him a Look, and hoped that the information Echizen gave him wouldn’t
be that unnerving, this time.

Echizen shrugged. “Well, I’ve heard that there’s political
instability. And there’s fighting. And even with the people who have
stable groups, there’s a lot of rivalry between them. And, well, there
might be temporary alliances against common enemies, but it’s still
really tense.”

Tezuka crossed his arms and quirked an eyebrow at Echizen.

Echizen shifted and actually looked slightly guilty. “So I made a suggestion,
since Rikkai is going to be there and maybe Fudoumine. And since they’re
grabbing other human souls.” Echizen paused. “Because competition
is good for getting out impulses that might turn to violence, and as long
as a lot of souls would be hanging out in heaven anyway…”

“Echizen.” Tezuka pressed a hand to his face.

“He didn’t say ‘no,’” Echizen added, grinning.

Tezuka decided that he just might need to go talk to his relatives after
all.

Persuasion

Ryoma was sitting on the porch at home when a tall man strolled into the yard
and stood in front of him. He decided that the man was probably someone that
he could get along with…or, rather, someone that he wished played tennis.
Ryoma tugged the brim of his hat and gave the man a grin that he saved for
when he was having a great amount of fun, such as playing a hard game, or
teasing Tezuka-buchou. “You came,” he commented.

“It’s unusual enough that someone would request an audience,
particularly in such a way that causes Kurai to arrive in my court spitting
like a cat,” said the man dryly.

Ryoma gave a half-shrug. “I thought you’d be better,” he
said offhandedly. “I wanted to ask if Rikkai and Fudoumine are going
to hell and heaven.”

Lucifer gave Ryoma what Ryoma hoped was a thoughtful look. “Belial
is planning to sign that entire group of humans, but Michael doesn’t
appear to have created a binding contract with his associates.”

Ryoma nodded. “And heaven and hell…they’re at war or something?”

The moment of silence that followed that question sounded more amused than
anything. “Heaven and hell are currently in the process of reorganization.
There’s fighting going on, but there is not a war. There are factions
that hold various areas.”

“Well,” said Ryoma slowly, “If you’re recruiting
mortals…even for the far future…there are ways to keep factions
that don’t like each other from war. I mean, you know that humans compete
and work things out that way. Since humans are used to it, getting humans
would help, too.”

Lucifer smirked. “Are you suggesting that I challenge Michael to a
tennis match?”

“He might say yes, after he tried to kill you,” Ryoma pointed
out. “And the look on his face would be worth it, wouldn’t it?”

Ryoma grinned as Lucifer, the lord of Hell, began to laugh.

Secondhand Angels

He should have known Ann was going to come after him at some point the minute
his bastard of an older brother had shown up. Well, he had known, to be honest,
though he had been avoiding thinking about it.

She gave him a couple of days of space before cornering him while the guys practiced
singles (except for Kamio and Ibu, who were double-teaming Tachibana). "So,"
she said, settling the box of water bottles down on the ground. "’Mika-chan’?"
Her grin was sly as she stood.

"I fucking hate being called that," Michael growled.

"I could tell," she said, sounding just like her brother at his driest.
"He really pisses you off, huh?"

"Been doing that since we were born," Michael admitted, after a moment.
"The bastard." He waited for the inevitable round of questions—and
waited, and waited. She didn’t ask.

Instead, Ann chuckled. "I think that must be the natural function of older
brothers," she said. "Kippei can piss me off just by breathing."

Michael blinked. "He can?"

Ann rolled her eyes at him. "Of course he can. We’re siblings, y’know? If
we didn’t fight like cats and dogs, we wouldn’t be normal."

"But—" Michael was having trouble processing the notion, and this was
an excellent digression from the topic of his own brother. "You and Tachibana
fight?"

"Oh, yeah. Not as much these days, since I think he’s growing up on me or
something, and it’s like trying to pick a fight with the wall, but we manage."
Ann waved a hand. "He spends way too much time in the bathroom, fussing with
his hair, for one thing."

"He does?" Michael boggled.

"Uh-huh. He’s really vain." Ann grinned. "You don’t have to tell
him I told you that."

"Of course not," Michael managed, still trying to process these revelations.

"And according to him, I spend way too much time on the phone." Ann
tossed her head. "Which is silly, but what can you expect from a guy?"
There was no way Michael was crazy enough to answer, but Ann fixed him with a
piercing stare. "What do you and Lucifer-san fight about, Michael-kun?"

"Everything," he said, automatically.

Ann cast her eyes heavenwards. "Obviously," she said. "So tell
me about it."

"We’re twins," Michael said, and waited for the usual round of questions.
Ann just nodded, so he went on. "And there was this prophecy about us, that
one of us was gonna go bad someday. Everyone… thought it was gonna be me."

"That’s a nice sort of thing to saddle someone with," Ann muttered.
"Why you, and not him?"

Michael snorted. "Look, if you’d known him, you wouldn’t have to ask. The
bastard was born knowing how to do everything right. Me, I was the fuck-up. It
made sense that I’d be the rebel." In any case, it made more sense than the
way things had actually turned out.

Ann shook her head. "Mm-mm-mm."

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, still shaking her head back and forth.

"What?" he demanded.

"It’s just… That’s a really shitty thing to do to a kid," she said.
She paused. "I’m not going to get hit by a lightning bolt for saying that,
am I?"

Michael had to laugh. "No," he said. "No lightning."

"Then I’ll blaspheme to my heart’s content." She cocked her head to
the side. "You don’t really think you’re a fuck-up, right?"

Ann had a gift for catching him off-guard, that’s for damn sure. "Umm."

"Thought so," she murmured, fixing him with a look—the same look Tachibana
tended to give the guys when the goofing off got out of hand. "Don’t be such
an idiot."

"Fuck, you’re bossy," Michael grumbled.

Ann grinned at him. "Dealing with all them, you kinda have to be," she
said, and looked out over the tennis courts. "I was kinda mad, at first."

"What?" Michael blinked at this latest change of direction.

"About getting a secondhand angel," she clarified, still studying the
guys.

Michael bristled. "Secondhand—"

Ann held up a hand. "Hear me out," she said, and he subsided. "Look,
when you came down here, you didn’t come to us in order to counter Hatter. You
went to Seigaku. They’re clearly the favorites to win Nationals, right?"

"They’d already defeated Rikkai," Michael admitted, and left the corollary—that
Rikkai had defeated Fudoumine—unspoken.

"Exactly my point," Ann said. "Everyone expects them to go on to
win Nationals, I think—in spite of Rikkai’s demon." She snorted. "And
they had the nerve to turn down angelic assistance and pass it off to us? That’s
pretty damn insulting, if you ask me."

"Um." Michael was at a loss. "Sorry?"

Ann shrugged. "It’s not your fault. It’s Seigaku’s captain who needs the
lesson about not underestimating his opponents." Her grin was sudden, and
fierce. "They don’t expect us to win. No one expected us to make it out of
district preliminaries, even. This being in Nationals thing? Just a fluke, as
far as everyone else is concerned."

"That’s a lot of hard work, just for a fluke," Michael said, jerking
his head at the fierce battles taking place in the practice matches.

"Exactly." Ann’s smile turned thin. "If we," she said, her
gaze sweeping over the boys and Michael, too, "had any intention of following
people’s expectations of us… we’d never have gotten anywhere. You know why we
don’t have a coach, Michael-kun?"

He’d wondered, but hadn’t pursued the topic. "No?"

"The boys ran him off," she said, tone dripping with satisfaction. "Used
to be that only upperclassmen played tennis around here. Didn’t matter how good
you were; if you were a freshman, all you did was pick up balls."

"That sucks," Michael said.

"Doesn’t it? The guys thought so, too," Ann said. "So they split
off, and formed their own team, and when their sempai hassled them, the guys fought
back. Now we have the tennis club, and their sempai play other sports."

"…So what happened to the coach?"

"Kippei beat him up," Ann said, matter-of-fact.

"He did?" Michael studied Tachibana. Yeah, okay. He could see that,
actually. "Cool."

Ann wasn’t done yet. "So when Seigaku gave us a hand-me-down angel, I was
pissed off. For one thing, I’d thought Tezuka had more respect for us."

"I think he does respect you," Michael offered.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Ann’s smile was rueful. "I cooled off eventually.
But that’s not the point. I was pissed off that he thought we couldn’t hack it
in Nationals without help."

"Like I’ve been that much help," Michael scoffed. "You guys were
just fine without me."

"Maybe we were," Ann agreed. "But I think we’re even better now."
She stretched, lacing her hands behind her head. "No one expects anything
of us. We’re the school no one’s ever heard of, the school that’s an accident.
It’s just a matter of time before we drop out of the play-offs, right?"

Michael snorted. "Yeah, right."

"We’re going to win." Ann’s voice was quiet, and dead serious. "Screw
what everybody else thinks of us. To hell with their expectations. Just because
they think it doesn’t make it true, right?"

"Absolutely," he agreed, grinning.

Ann leaned over and flicked his forehead. "So apply that to yourself, idiot,"
she said. "Same standards apply to you, as long as you’re one of ours."

"One of yours?" Michael repeated, rubbing at the sore spot.

"Aren’t you?" Ann’s smile was sweet, and utterly devious.

"I thought you didn’t want a secondhand angel," he said.

Ann grinned. "What would we do with anything else?" She looked at the
courts, where the matches were starting to wrap up. "Looks like they’re about
done. Here, make yourself useful." She kicked at the box of water bottles,
scooting it toward him, scooped up an armload of towels for herself, and trotted
off to the guys.

Michael picked up the box and followed after.

… Damn, but he liked these kids.

Such a Kicking

He was used to days like these. Days when London said “keep your head down, boy, or I’ll give you such a kicking.” Days when the sky spit rain, the lorries never fucking stopped, and some feathered rat decided to shit on your favorite (only) trenchcoat. Days like these a man’s only option was to get thoroughly pissed and stay that way until London’s mood changed for something less homicidal.

At least that was John Constantine’s plan until Mad Hettie grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into her alley. On better days he knew to avoid Old Compton Street for just these reasons, but today was not one of his days.

“She’s been trying to reach you Herself, she has,” Mad Hettie said in lieu
of a greeting. John had a bad feeling that he knew the ‘Herself” Hettie
was refering to. “She’s been tryn’ but you’ve been shuttin’ her out the
way you shut out everything so I’m here to tell you and you’re here to listen,
Johnny-lad.”

When Mad Hettie said ‘listen,’ particularly in that tone, Constantine felt a chill go straight through him. Things never went well for him when Mad Hettie came around to chat. It was never the friendly chats, only the ‘some supernatural ‘s come around callin for you’ sorts of chats.

“Hettie…” he tried. Sometimes the Constantine charm worked on the old bat. She gave him a beady-eyed glare. This was not one of those times.

“No. You listen here, you scallwag, you scamp, I’m 267 years old and I know these things. She got a need for you, so I’m to tell you and you’re to listen.” Hettie had a vise grip on his arm, so shaking her off and dashing off down the lane was out.

The thing was, Mad Hettie really was 267 years old. She was also a prophet, a witch of little talent, and completely buggering nuts.

“Who is trying to talk to me, Hettie?” He tried with what little patience God saw fit to grace him with.

Hettie fixed him with a look that was surprisingly reminiscent of his nan’s. “You know who. John Constantine. Witch. She’s been trying to reach you, but you’ve got yourself locked up tight, haven’t you?”

Ah sweet buggered Jesus, that was the answer right there that he didn’t want to hear. “I know a lot of witches, Hettie. Yourself for an example.”

“Not any old witch, old sorceress,” Hettie said, shaking his arm for good measure. “The Witch.”

Shit.

“Well, she could bloody well pick up the phone and call, like anyone else, couldn’t she?” He said. When in doubt, sheer bastardness tended to see the day through.

Wind found it’s way into the alley, knocking over rubbish bins and rattling
about empty bottles. John hunched his shoulders instinctively. At the mouth
of the alley stood a girl with wild hair and inhuman eyes. John hunched
his shoulders more, if it was possible, and started a stream of profanity
that only threatened to get louder and more blasphemous as it went on. The
girl locked eyes with him and the words went to ash in his mouth. She held
out one slender hand—her dainty wrist encircled by a heavy gold band that
he was pretty sure was no ordinary trinket—and beckoned him.

Then she was gone as if she had never been. Didn’t even have the decency to vanish with a sound or a bit of theatric dust. Straight unnerving, that was.

“Well,” Hettie said with immense satisfaction. “She’s come Herself to give you an invitation.”

“Great,” said John “now if she’d only said where to.”

Well I am going down to nowhere
Its not too far from here
The Rain’ll be running rings
Around this tinpot cavalier
and there are skeletons and wastrels
As far as the eye can see
So if you want me baby
The Nowhere’s where I’ll be

Yeah I am going down to nowhere
Oh its childsplay
We are turning up our collars
We are hijacking the day
And you can tell me about your journeys
You can tell me all your dreams
But nothing comes close
To the nowhere that I’ve seen

And all you people heading somewhere
Well you don’t know what you’re missing
Cos there’s nothing like the freedom
Of a place where no one listens

So I am going down to nowhere
It is steeped in history
This is high-rise living for a
Joke Like me
We are such pretty little failures
On streets paved with fools gold
And no-one will think twice about
The nothing that they’ve sold

And all you people heading somewhere
Well you don’t know what you’re missing
Cos there’s nothing like the freedom
Of a place where no one listens

So I am going down to nowhere
With the drop-outs and the bums
I’m a soldier of the vacuum
When the darkness comes
I’m a vaudeville comedian
In a theatre of bones
And Its a laugh a minute
When nowhere is your home

Arrangements

Ryoma caught the demon girl looking around after Fudoumine practice. He estimated
that he’d end up running about forty laps for this, but decided that
it was probably worth it. “Hey, you,” he called.

The girl blinked and looked over at him. “Who are you?”

Ryoma shoved his hands in his pockets and wandered over to her. “Echizen
Ryoma. I was wondering who I could talk to about the management in heaven
and hell.”

The girl drew herself up. “I’m Queen Kurai,” she said.
“I can help you, if you have any questions.” Ryoma noted that
she reminded him of that loud girl who seemed to head up his fanclub, in
an odd way.

“Nn,” said Ryoma. “I wanted to talk to Lucifer.”

Kurai glowered at Ryoma for a long moment, her hands twitching into fists.
“Sure. I’ll tell him for you.”

Double Entendre

Kurai was surprisingly uninterested and unconcerned by the announcement that Heaven and Hell had started competing for souls again. The tennis thing was a little odd, but otherwise it was business as usual. She did rather hope that it didn’t lead to another war. She’d be obligated to get involved—on whose side would be a little convoluted, considering—and she was busy right now.

“Here they are,” Noise said as she dropped several large volumes onto Kurai’s desk. “All the records of the Triumvirate of the Dragons.”

Kurai made a purring sound in the back of her throat that could only be described as both appreciative and pleased. Noise watched suspiciously as Kurai dived into the materials with an expression that meant scheming was definitely on her master’s mind. And Kurai never schemed. Ever. Not even when that suspicious, smug demon was slinking around Gehenna. Noise did not like it when life got weird. Especially when it was her master who was getting weird.

“No one has done the triumvirate ceremony since before the first wars,”Noise said. Kurai made small sound of agreement. “You don’t have to do this,” Noise said, rather plaintively. “Besides, you have to be a triumvirate and you’re just you.”

Kurai looked up, eyes very dark—and for a moment Noise thought she saw eternity
flicker queerly within them—and stared at her retainer in away that made
Noise feel as if Kurai were lining up all Noise’s loyalties and all her
little betrayals and weighing them. It was uncomfortable feeling. And not
a thing she was used to. Not from her master.

“I am not yet Triumvirate, but I will be.”

Noise did not like that statement. She liked the narrow, determined look even less.

And in the darkness of the recessed window that looked over Gehenna’s forever twilight realm, Belial frowned in slightly troubled thought.

And in a plain where eternity echoed a young not-yet-woman looked up into the fractured sky and began to smile.

Declarations of War

Mere humans shouldn’t be so damned perceptive, Michael had decided, even
if they did have some funny bloodlines going for them. It was distressing how
well he fit in with the guys of Fudoumine’s tennis team, who didn’t
take shit from anyone, and the way Ann had taken to mothering him—well, Raphael
would never let him hear the end of it, so Michael had decided that there was
no way he was letting word of this get around back home.

He still didn’t see much appeal in the tennis thing itself, though.

It was a real pity that his brother had to have gone and shown up at the Fudoumine
courts, though, and spoiled an otherwise pleasant afternoon of hanging out with
the guys.

“What do you want?” Michael demanded, glaring. If there had been any
justice in the universe, Lucifer would have combusted on the spot, and Belial
would’ve gone up right along with him.

“Can’t a man want to visit his own brother?” Lucifer inquired,
and if a person squinted, and maybe was half-blind, he might have said Lucifer
was smiling pleasantly. “It’s been a while.”

“Not long enough,” Michael growled. He crossed his arms. “What
do you really want?”

But they were interrupted before Lucifer had a chance to answer. The guys had
stopped practice to look, and Tachibana was headed in their direction—and fuck,
Ann was with him. “Michael-kun, who are your guests?” she caroled,
looking Lucifer and Belial over.

Lucifer, in turn, was examining Tachibana. “This must be the one,”
he remarked to Belial, who nodded, looking speculative.

Tachibana took a position at Michael’s shoulder. “Won’t you
introduce us, Michael-kun?” he asked, voice deep and even and very, very
territorial.

Belial grinned, and Michael glared at hir. “This,” he said, reluctantly,
“is Lucifer, the Lord of Hell.” Well, there was no real use in not
acknowledging it. “My brother.”

“You never said you had a brother,” Ann said, with a grin.

“He tries to avoid the topic,” Belial said, smoothly. “You may
call one Mad Hatter.” Se looked at Tachibana. “You must be Tachibana-kun.”

“I suppose I must be.” At least Tachibana had the good sense to sound
wary. “You have the advantage of me.”

“Seiichi has told me a great deal about you,” Belial purred. “It’s
such a pity Mika-chan got to you first.”

Ann shot Michael a look, and mouthed “Mika-chan?” at him. Michael
ground his teeth. His brother was going to pay for this, if only he could figure
out how.

Then inspiration struck. “Actually,” Michael drawled, trying to match
Lucifer’s bored tones, “if you wanna get right down to it, I didn’t
get to them first.” When he was sure he had Lucifer’s attention, he
grinned. “Setsuna did.”

The effect was every bit as gratifying as Michael could have hoped, and he etched
the sight of Lucifer’s face into his memory to treasure. Of course, it did
mean that Belial stepped closer to hir master and the atmosphere turned about
ten degrees more dangerous, but then, Michael was a dangerous sort of guy himself.
“Setsuna,” Lucifer said, finally.

“Mmmmhm,” Michael agreed, savoring the moment. “Really, I’m
here as a favor to him.”

Then Tachibana’s hand dropped on his shoulder, the way he did sometimes
when Kamio started getting excitable. “I take it you know Setsuna too,”
Tachibana said, and immediately the atmosphere lightened somewhat.

Lucifer’s lips quirked. “I have found that Setsuna has a way of getting
around.”

“No kidding,” Ann agreed, and Michael blinked, wondering when she
had gotten herself part of the way between Belial and himself. “That guy
knows everybody.”

Belial laughed. “That is possibly truer than you know.” Se surveyed
the courts, where the rest of the guys had given up the pretense of practicing,
and were ambling over. “One can see how he would be happy here.”

“Yes,” Lucifer agreed, and he had gone back to smooth and untouchable.
Well, it had been fun while it had lasted, anyway. “Things seem to be well
in hand here.”

“We’re so glad you approve,” Ann said, and while she wasn’t
being ungracious about it, she definitely didn’t sound as friendly as she
had. She was pretty cool, for a girl, Michael decided.

“One will be looking forward to seeing Fudoumine at Nationals,” Belial
murmured, eyes sharp.

Michael stuck his chin out. “Don’t be in too much of a hurry,”
he warned. “We’re gonna kick your asses.”

“One looks forward to seeing you try,” Belial said, amiably. “But
one trusts you won’t destroy the stadium in a fit of rage when you lose.”

Michael hissed, but Tachibana squeezed his shoulder in warning, and Michael checked
his temper somewhat. “Fudoumine looks forward to meeting Rikkai Dai at Nationals,”
he said, calmly, and the guys had ranged themselves behind them in support. “Until
then, however, we have a great deal of work to do.”

Belial looked to be impressed in spite of hirself, and Lucifer’s laugh rumbled
low in his throat. “Our presence is keeping you from that work,” he
said. “We’ll be going.”

“And good riddance,” Michael growled.

“And goodbye to you, too, Michael,” Lucifer said, and he and Belial
vanished.

Ann let out a long breath. “That,” she said, “was interesting.”

Michael shrugged off Tachibana’s hand. “I fucking hate him,”
he complained, to no one in particular.

“Those are Rikkai’s pet demons, huh?” Kamio asked, and when
Michael looked over his shoulder at the guys, most of them were wearing thoughtful
expressions. “What did they want with us?”

Michael shrugged. “To piss me off,” he said, trying for nonchalant
and not quite making it. “Same as always. Sorry he interrupted your practice.”

“Things are certainly more interesting with you around,” Shinji observed,
and nudged Kamio. “Come play a set with me.”

Kamio looked to Tachibana, who nodded, and followed Shinji to the courts. After
a moment, the doubles pairs followed them, and began their own practice set. Tachibana
watched them go and smiled. He glanced at Michael. “We’re strong,”
he said. “We’ll definitely win.”

Michael grinned back. “Of course we will.”

Engarde

Kurai was used to walking her realm with Noise’s steady presence at her back
like a tether that kept her from flying apart from all the different directions
in which her land, her people, her responsibilities pulled her. But today
she walked the length and breadth of it alone. She did it to reminder herself
that she, and her land, and her people, were not part of Assiah though they
were so achingly close to it. Close enough that it rubbed against the softest
skin until it broke and bled. She did it to remember that they were not angels,
or demons—no matter how individual members might theorize or debate; that
they were their own, a people apart. The forgotten and despised children
of God.

It was the Witch’s shattered realm that eventually drew her—with all its psychic
pain and loneliness like a blackened mirror for her own.

She stood where she had stood that first time, the first time she had fallen through
its silver borders. The first time she had seen Anthy as she really was, or was
meant to be. Kurai knew the Great Angels, lords of Hell, Lucifer and the Messiah,
and knew a fair number of their psychic reflections, but she had not—at least
not yet—meet anything like Witch. Or like Utena.

Kurai placed her hands against the smooth dome of silver and leaned her forehead
against it, careful to avoid thinking about going through the silvered
glass-like stuff.

And it wasn’t fair that she would fall in love, with one or both of them, when
she couldn’t have one or both of them. Just like last time—just like Setsuna.

It just wasn’t fair. She wanted to know when she would find someone
who loved her the way Setsuna loved Sara or Utena loved Anthy. Because she
was tired of being in love, when no one loved her back.

"One thinks that one’s lord’s Royal Wife is somewhat … distressed,"
Mad Hatter commented, hir voice sliding through the darkness like whiskey through
rich coffee.

Kurai looked up to where se sat, lounged insolently really, on a twisted tree
branch that she was fairly positive had not existed there moments before. "Hatter-san,"
she sighed resignedly. "What do you want?"

"Is it not enough that perhaps one wished to look upon Her Majesty’s beauty
and spend pleasant moments in her company?" Hatter asked sweetly. Cocking
hir head to one side she managed to look both coquettish, innocent, and sly.

Kurai made a face. "I’m not beautiful."

"Oh, there you are very wrong." Hatter appeared before her. Clasping
her chin with two fingers, se stared into Kurai’s black and silver-blue eyes.
"Her Majesty is quite lovely, and will only grow to be more beautiful with
time."

"Stop it!" Kurai smacked hir fingers away. "Stop it…"

Hatter might have been angered and offended had it not been for the naked pain
and distress on Kurai’s face. So se dropped hir hand without further comment as
se waited for the inevitable explination. Kurai wrapped thin arms about herself
and looked away.

"You don’t love me, or think me lovely, Hatter-san. You never have,"
she said without looking at her shadowed companion. Hatter’s face was unreadable.
"It was only ever a pretty lie to get the promise that you got." Kurai
turned to lock eyes with Hatter, and despite the tears her face was hard. "You
can stop lying to me now."

"This one does not always lie, Kurai. This one is honest and tells the truth
when it needs to be said—and you are lovely…" Hatter stopped as Kurai
shook her head violently, denying all se said. Se was not, perhaps, entirely sure
what se would have said to Kurai, to make her believe. But it did not matter.
Still shaking her head, and not looking at the demon, Kurai turned and plunged
into the swirling silver mists.

Hatter placed one hand upon the border of the other realm thoughtfully. It
hardened underneath hir fingers, and se got the very clear sense of no.
Se could probably force hir way in, but it was not hir way to do so. Se cocked
hir head to one side.

"What are you then, and what is our little Queen to you?" Se asked.

For a moment se saw the image of a girl with wild purple hair and emerald, inhuman
eyes in a dirty and torn smock. Hir eyebrow arched. The girl mouthed only one
word to hir.

Mine

~~~

It had not been one of her wiser ideas, Kurai determined in retrospect, plunging
into the silvered mists that were steadily encroaching into her territory.
But she had to get away from the Mad Hatter and all the pretty lies that
simply were not true, no matter how much she wanted them to be. Ever since
Setsuna had gone back to Assiah the weight of those lies—the ones she had
told herself, the ones other people like Akane had told her—pressed against
her until parts of her cracked from the strain.

Witch’s realm was one of psychic eminenations. A maelstrom of seething emotions
that shivered and changed, nearly physically tangible things that could rip
and tear. It was an unsettling place to be even when Kurai was able to control
herself, but when she was feeling shattered and beyond all protection it
was unbareable. Emotions like shining lances, like glistening swords, speared
her. Cut her open and left her to bleed.

She was rocking on the barren ground, hands pressed so hard against the sides
of her head that her ears rang, trying to block out all the endless screaming
that was as much her own as it was the the centuries of bottled emotions
left in this place to howl. Kurai had the disconcerting feeling of falling
and the sound of rushing wings. Then gentle fingers that were cold to the
touch pried her hands from her head. Witch knelt next to her, emerald eyes
bemused.

"You should have run from the swords."

Kurai resisted the urge to check herself for wounds. Somehow she knew that
nothing here could hurt her body unless she believed it could. Rather than
being reassured by the thought, she was terrified. She gripped Witch’s slender
arms. "Where are we?"

Witch shook her head. Pulling away from Kurai’s grasp she walked a little
ways away from the kneeling Dragon Queen and stared out at the endless horizons.
"We are in the place inside my head that is larger than the place outside
of it."

It was the same answer that she had been given before, but now it made more
sense—and less. Kurai stood up slowly, as if pushing through heavy water.
As she stood the decision she had start to make when she first stared into
Anthy’s strangely hopeful eyes clarified and solidified. "Come away
from here."

Witch turned back to her. They were so close that whispers sounds like ringing
bells, too loud, too likely to be heard. "Would you lead me from here?"

The air shivered around them, hinting at the return of the maelstrom. "We’ll
lead each other."

Witch’s smile bloomed, blazing and fierce. It was the last thing that Kurai
saw before the darkness claimed her and the rushing wind. When she awoke
Noise was peering down at her with anxious concern. Past her worried retainer
she spotted Mad Hatter who was staring not at her, but at the opalescent
dome of Witch’s domain. Kurai sat up, everything in her body screamed in
protest, but her head felt strangely clear. As if she had been cleansed of
the paralyzing depression. In its place was a hard determination.

She went to stand next to Mad Hatter, who glanced inquiring down at her.
Without saying a word Kurai placed her hand against the silvered surface
and thought: "Soon." It was enough.

Nine Tenths

Niou’s eyes narrowed. “So,” he drawled, “it’s
one of yours that makes him do that thing with the red eyes and the violence?”

“One never said that,” Belial demurred. “One said
that it was not an unreasonable hypothesis.”

“So it could be one of yours.”

Belial sniffed. “One of mine would demonstrate more subtlety,”
se said, leaving no doubt that hir retainers would possess the utmost in
delicacy, or else.

“So it could be some other—individual—who’s responsible for
his, ah, episodes?” Yagyuu suggested.

Belial shrugged. “One does not care to speculate, but yes, it is possible.”

Kirihara broke into the discussion. “You do realize I’m standing
right here, don’t you?”

“You say that like it’s supposed to bother us, brat.” Niou
cocked his head. “If an opposing team shows up to a match with a priest,
will that be a problem?”

Belial threw hir head back and laughed.

Talking Sense

“They are interesting; I’ll give them that,” Kurai said, after
an afternoon of observation. “I can see what would attract Hatter.”

“They’re very strong-willed, for children,” Noise agreed.

“One would not let them catch one referring to them as children,”
Belial observed, sliding out of a patch of shadow. “Have you considered
one’s request, lovely Queen?”

Before Kurai could answer, Noise said, “This seems like an awful lot of
effort just for a soul that’s already been signed away.”

Belial flattened a hand over hir heart. “One is a great believer in quality
and thoroughness in one’s work.”

“I’ll just bet,” Noise grumbled. “…Kurai-sama?”

“I’ll do it,” Kurai decided. “Which one’s Sanada
again?”

Belial indicated one of the humans. “That one.” Se paused. “One
would mention that he is touchy.”

“And you have nothing at all to do with that,” Kurai said, absently,
studying the boy in question.

“Perish the thought,” Belial murmured, as the boys began clearing
the tennis courts. “Ah. It would appear that one has been noticed.”
Se moved off to speak to the boy in question; Kurai and Noise trailed after hir.

“More friends?” the boy asked, with an assessing glance at Kurai and
Noise. Kurai looked back at him just as critically, beginning to understand the
attraction of this particular soul.

“Kurai, queen of Gehenna, and Noise, her retainer,” Belial said, with
a sweeping gesture. “Your Majesty, Yukimura Seiichi.”

“And what brings you to my tennis courts?” Yukimura inquired, politely
enough, despite the hint of steel in his voice.

“Hatter’s invitation,” Noise said.

Yukimura looked at Belial. “And are my tennis courts going to be a social
clearing house for all sorts of demons now, Belial?”

Kurai felt her eyebrows hit her hairline, while Noise’s jaw dropped.

Belial waved a hand. “Not at all,” se said. “Her Majesty is
here to relieve certain misapprehensions regarding her husband’s domain.”
Se glanced pointedly in the direction of the boy se had indicated previously,
who was standing a little ways off and obviously trying not to look too much like
he was hovering.

Yukimura followed the glance. “Ah,” he said. “I see.”
He looked back at Kurai. “In that case, welcome.”

“Thank you kindly,” Kurai said, drily. “We’ll try not
to trouble you too much.”

“I appreciate it,” Yukimura said. He paused. “Your husband?”

“Hmph. We’re separated,” Kurai said, sparing a mild glare for
Belial. “Hatter-san can explain, if you’re curious. Noise?”

“Ready, Kurai-sama.”

“Then we’re off,” Kurai said. She stuck her hands in her pockets
and sauntered towards Sanada, Noise following close behind. “Hello.”

“And just who are you?” he asked.

Kurai hid a grimace, as Noise stiffened. Touchy didn’t begin to cover it.
“This,” Noise said, “is Her Majesty, Queen Kurai of Gehenna.”

“Kurai’s fine,” she added hastily, placing a hand on Noise’s
arm. “You’re Sanada, right?” He nodded. “Good. Now, it’s
a lovely afternoon for a walk, don’t you think?” Without waiting for
an answer, she linked her other arm in his. “Why don’t you walk with
me for a ways?”

“What—” Sanada began to protest, but Noise seized his other arm,
and the two of them managed to propel him forward while Yukimura and Belial laughed
behind them and the rest of the boys stared in open curiosity. He struggled to
free himself, and was remarkably strong for a human, but Kurai and Noise were
demons and managed to keep their grips on him easily enough. “Let me go!”
he hissed, as they pushed him away from the tennis courts.

“In a bit,” Kurai said, cheerfully. “First we need to talk.”

“I’m not interested,” he said, instantly. “I don’t
want anything to do with your bargains.”

“Bargains?” Noise laughed. “You think we’re crazy enough
to try and bargain with you after Hatter-sama’s declared you off-limits?”

Kurai silently applauded Noise. That had piqued Sanada’s curiosity enough
to make him stop struggling for a moment. “Off-limits?” he repeated.

“Absolutely,” Kurai said. “And even if Hatter-san hadn’t,
Yukimura-san’s expression when we arrived would have made it look like a
bad idea. He seems very protective of what’s his.”

Sanada didn’t seem inclined to argue this. “If you’re not here
to buy my soul, then what are you here for?”

“To talk,” Noise grunted. “At no small inconvenience to Her
Majesty, I might add.”

“Not that much,” Kurai shrugged. “So, tell me, Sanada-kun—what
do you know about Hell?”

“It’s where damned souls go when they die,” he said, promptly.
“To be punished for their sins by demons.”

“Okay. And heaven?” Kurai said, encouragingly.

“Where good people go after they die,” Sanada said. “To be rewarded
by angels.”

“Uh-huh.” Noise made a rude sound. “Those angelic bastards definitely
have the better propaganda machine.”

“Like that’s news,” Kurai retorted. “But then, they’ve
been playing a game rigged in their favor.”

“Who could forget?” Noise released her grip on Sanada, who had followed
this exchange with a faintly confused expression. “Damned souls. Punishments.
Rewards. Hah! Do humans ever get anything right?”

“Not often,” Kurai said, mildly. “I do hope you don’t
have your heart set on that particular vision of Heaven and Hell, Sanada-kun.
If you do, I’m afraid you’re going to be terribly disappointed when
you die.”

“I will?”

“Oh yeah, especially if you’re planning on going to Heaven,”
Noise muttered. “They’d soon kill you as look at you up there.”

Sanada blinked. “But… angels are good?” he ventured.

Kurai really couldn’t help the laughter, especially when he drew himself
up, looking offended. “There’s no more saying that all angels are
good and all demons are evil than there is saying all humans are good or all humans
are evil,” she said, finally. “It’s a mix, just like it is with
humans. Sure, the Host likes to pretend they have the moral high ground, but when
it comes right down to it, all of us, angels and demons alike, tend to be bastards,
really. Demons are just more straightforward about it.”

Sanada frowned. “He sent you here, didn’t he?”

“He?” Kurai echoed. Sanada jerked his head in the direction of the
tennis courts. “Oh, you mean Hatter-san. He asked me to come, yes.”

“Then how can I believe a single word you’ve said?” he demanded.
“Even if I were inclined to take the word of a demon?”

“I suppose you don’t have to believe us,” Kurai said, calmly
enough. “It’s your decision, after all. Hatter-san is notoriously
tricky.” Noise snorted, and muttered something under her breath. “But
it seems to me that Hatter-san is going to extraordinary lengths to be reassuring.”

“Seiichi doesn’t need reassuring,” Sanada muttered. “He
thinks everything is fine.”

“Not him, silly.” Kurai smacked him upside the head, but gently. “You.
Hatter called us here on your account. She’d like to add you to her collection,
but she’s abiding by Yukimura-san’s wishes, so she’s doing the
next best thing and trying to make you see that it’s not as bad for him
as you think. You don’t need to worry so much.”

“You’re a fascinating group of souls,” Noise observed, while
Sanada looked flabbergasted. “Anyone in Hell—or in Heaven, to be fair—with
an ounce of taste would be overjoyed to have you.”

“Have us?” Sanada managed.

“It’s fairly standard exchange—services rendered after death for
favors received during life.” Kurai waved a hand. “Of course, I don’t
know what terms Yukimura-san and Hatter-san have agreed to, but I doubt it’s
anything exotic.”

“I still don’t know that I can trust a word you’re saying,”
Sanada said, after a moment.

“Stubborn,” Noise muttered.

“I expect we should consider it part of his charm,” Kurai said. She
unhooked her arm from his and stepped away. “In any case, I don’t
believe we can say or do anything else to change his mind.”

“That’s probably true,” Noise agreed.

“Look, Sanada-kun. You trust Yukimura-san, right?” Kurai said. He
nodded. “Am I right in saying that he has impeccable judgment?” Sanada
nodded again. “Then trust that he knows what he’s doing. You’ll
both be happier that way.”

Sanada considered this. “A question,” he said, finally.

“Yes?” Kurai waited.

“When you die, if you don’t go to heaven or hell, what happens?”

“Reincarnation, usually,” Noise said, promptly.

“In Yukimura-san’s case, he’ll probably serve in Lucifer-sama’s
court, as retainer to Hatter-san,” Kurai added.

Sanada’s frown at this was less angry than thoughtful. “I see,”
he murmured.

Kurai smiled. “I think we’re done here, Noise,” she said. “It
was interesting talking to you, Sanada-kun. I do hope we meet again.”

He snorted. “I’m not sure I can honestly say the same yet, but—I
do thank you.”

Kurai chuckled. “To be fair, that’s more than I really expected. Take
care, Sanada-kun. See you around.” She gave him a little wave, and walked
away.

Noise caught up with her after just a moment. “Think it worked?”

“Dunno, but we gave him plenty to think over,” Kurai said, with a
little shrug. “Hatter-san can’t ask for more.”

“You never know,” Noise said, shivering. “So, home?”

“Well, we could go home,” Kurai conceded, “but since we’re
in Assiah anyway, it couldn’t hurt to pop over and visit Setsuna, right?”

“And the real reason you agreed to this comes out,” Noise said.

“I prefer to think of it as being efficient,” Kurai said airily. “Come
on, let’s see if we can find the Messiah.”

As they headed off, Sanada turned around and headed back toward the tennis courts,
where Yukimura was waiting.

Interlude

Seiichi knew the moment Genichirou noticed Mad Hatter’s seal, low on one
hip and inconspicuous except to a thorough lover.

Genichirou went still. “What is this?”

“The Hatter’s mark,” Seiichi said, and there was no point in
telling him how it had come to be there. “A seal for the contract.”

As he had half-expected him to, Genichirou pulled away and sat, back to Seiichi.
“His mark,” he said, voice flat.

Seiichi sat up as well, and placed his hands on Genichirou’s shoulders.
“Part and parcel of the deal, I’m afraid.” He kneaded the muscles
that were already beginning to knot up again.

“Every time I have myself convinced that this has all been something Niou
cooked up, something happens to prove me wrong.” He shook his head, and
began gathering his scattered clothes.

“You’re going?” Seiichi asked.

“I—yes. I am.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I need to think.
Sorry.”

Seiichi inclined his head. “I’ll be waiting when you’re done.”

“Will you?” Genichirou asked, doing up his last button.

“Of course.”

Parallel

“Are they allowed to do that?” the redhead wondered, after Michael
had explained himself to the group of boys.

Michael shrugged. “No rules against demons and humans making contracts,”
he said. “Kind of a long tradition behind it, really.”

The guy he was here to visit, Tachibana, seemed as pleased by the news as anything
else. “So,” he said. “Yukimura will be playing at Nationals.”
He practically glowed with anticipation.

“Yep,” Michael said.

“And you’re here because…?” the girl asked, eyes sharp.

“It’s hardly fair for Hell to go poking their noses into things without
one of us investigating,” Michael said. He shrugged. “I’ve been
given to understand that Fudoumine might be interested in some help.”

“We aren’t in the habit of looking for help outside our ranks,”
Tachibana said, quietly. “Especially when help comes with strings attached.”

Geez, he sounded like Tezuka. Maybe it was something in the water. “I didn’t
say there were strings, did I?” Michael retorted. “As it is, I’d
be doing the favor for Setsuna as much as for you.”

The guys relaxed somewhat. “You know Setsuna?” the tall one with the
bandanna asked.

“Oh yeah. Good guy to have at your back in a fight,” Michael said,
grinning. “Look, if you don’t want my help, it’s cool.”

“Nii-san,” the girl said, quietly. “You’re still not fully
recovered.” Her smile was sharp. “If Rikkai’s being helped by
a demon, it’s only fair that you get a little help from an angel, don’t
you think?”

That bit of logic coincided so neatly enough with his own that Michael had to
grin. The boy with longish hair had something to say, too. “If we’re
going to meet Rikkai at Nationals, you’ll want to be at your full strength,”
he murmured, “especially if Yukimura is going to be there…”

The redhead grinned. “It’s almost like poetic justice,” he said,
“don’t you think?”

Tachibana considered it. “It does seem appropriate,” he agreed, at
length. “Very well; I accept your offer.”

Michael grinned. “You won’t regret it,” he promised, cracking
his knuckles. “I’ll make sure of that.”

Facing the Music

Saying that Genichirou and Renji were not happy simply did not address the
magnitude of their feelings on the subject.

Seiichi found that he couldn’t really blame them; his own feelings upon seeing
Mad Hatter’s hunger for Niou were comparable enough that chiding them would
have made him a hypocrite.

“What’s in it for him?” Genichirou demanded, after his explanation,
in simple terms, of the nature of his deal with Mad Hatter.

“That,” Seiichi said, coolly, with the weight of his team’s
eyes upon him, “is a private matter between me and Hatter-san.”

His team allowed the matter to drop, for the time being, but Genichirou and
Renji fell in at his side as he locked the clubhouse after practice. They
followed him home, making small talk about the club and the team’s
preparations for Nationals, and lingered in the kitchen to make small talk
with his mother while she prepared a tray of snacks for them before Seiichi
led them upstairs to his room.

Seiichi took the bed, Renji chose his normal seat at Seiichi’s desk,
and Genichirou paced back and forth. The pacing lasted for some time before
Genichirou whirled, crossing his arms and glaring at Seiichi. “Were
you going to at least tell us?”

“If the need arose,” Seiichi said calmly, sipping his tea. “Which
it did, today.”

That set Genichirou to pacing again, while Renji took a cake and asked, “A
deal with the devil?”

“Not the devil,” Seiichi corrected him. “Hatter-san is a
lieutenant of the devil’s, if I understand correctly.”

“And what does the devil’s lieutenant want with a junior high
student’s soul?” Renji asked.

“I haven’t asked. Hatter-san is not the type to give away unnecessary
information.”

“And knowing what he wants with your soul isn’t necessary information,
Seiichi?” Genichirou was verging on an explosion.

“Not particularly,” Seiichi said. “When you’re not
certain whether your body is going to be able to draw its next breath, and
you can’t lift your hand to scratch your nose, and the tennis courts
seem so far away that they might as well be on another planet, you find that
the concept of hell loses a great deal of its terror.”

Genichirou stopped mid-stride, and when Renji spoke, he sounded stricken.
“It was that bad?”

“Worse,” Seiichi said.

Genichirou turned back to him. “I don’t like it,” he said.

“I’m not asking you to,” Seiichi said, “but it was
my choice to make, and I have no regrets.” He met Genichirou’s
gaze and held it.

Genichirou nodded, satisfied, or at least placated, before grabbing his bag
and leaving abruptly.

Seiichi laughed, soft and wry. “He took that rather well, don’t
you think?”

“Well enough, although I suspect he’s heading off to disembowel
straw dummies,” Renji said, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t
suppose you’d care to tell me what the terms of your contract are?”

“That’s really a rather personal question, Renji,” Seiichi
told him.

“If you tell me, perhaps I can find a way around it,” Renji countered.

Seiichi blinked, and then smiled honestly for the first time since Mad Hatter
had revealed hirself to his team. “I doubt you’ll find one.”

“It’ll make me feel better to try,” Renji insisted.

“All right,” Seiichi relented. “I’ll see about getting
you a copy of the contract, such as it is.”

“Thank you.” Renji stood. “I need to be going. See you in
the morning?”

“Of course.” Seiichi stood as well, and saw him downstairs. After
Renji had put on his shoes, he said, “Thank you.”

Renji looked back at him, and smiled. “You’re welcome,”
he said, and left.

Unexpected Visitors

The search for Tachibana led Michael to another set of tennis courts. Michael
didn’t really see the attraction in this particular sport, though he
understood the need to compete as the underlying principle of sports in general.
He was about to walk over to the player called Tachibana when a familiar
voice rang out behind him. “Oh, it’s you. Hey, what are you doing
here?” Michael turned to eye Setsuna, not without a little surprise.

“I thought all of you left,” Setsuna continued. Despite his words,
he was smiling easily, standing in his favorite slouched position. “So what’s
up with you being here?”

“Belial is playing with souls, and I don’t want him to get a lot,”
Michael replied shortly. He didn’t continue to say that he didn’t
want Belial doing anything to benefit his brother in the long run, since Setsuna
would assume it, anyway.

“Oh,” said Setsuna. “I’m just here to meet this guy I
know, Tachibana Kippei. He’s kind of rough, but an okay guy. Good about
protecting his friends.” Setsuna nodded over at Tachibana, who seemed to
have noticed them and then dismissed the thought of them to continue practice.
“We probably can’t catch him right now – they’re busy
working for the nationals.”

Michael frowned. “So you’re friends with the guy Tachibana? Someone
suggested that he might need some help.”

“Pfft. Not for his playing,” Setsuna declared, grinning. “Guy’s
incredible on the courts. I love to see him kicking ass out there.” Setsuna
frowned and shifted. “But yeah, if anything goes wrong with the shot he
took to the head, he might need help.”

“Well, I could…” Michael paused, remembering his second’s
warning about offering angelic assistance without considering the phrasing. “I
could help him out, if that happens. If you really want me to.”

“Sure,” said Setsuna easily. “If you wanna help out a friend.”
Setsuna waved to Tachibana again and turned to jog off. “Anyway, catch you
later.”

Michael settled on the edge of the courts to wait for practice to end.

On Playing with the Angelic Host

Tezuka adjusted his glasses and gave Ryoma the quiet, grave look that meant
that the boy had done something that was not, as it were, directly forbidden,
but that Ryoma certainly should have known better, given his buchou, the
world, and the heavenly host. "Echizen," said Tezuka calmly, "What
have I told you about dealing with the heavenly host?"

"…don’t take computer games from them." Ryoma paused. "Oh, and
ask how things are going in heaven and hell, because it’s always good to be informed
about one’s allies and opponents." Ryoma’s expression was decidedly sulky.
"It’s not as if I asked for anything like wings."

Tezuka chose to ignore this and simply murmured, "Who was it?"

Echizen blinked. "…uh, shortish, red hair, talked like a punk…"

"Michael, then," Tezuka said. He fell silent, his brow furrowed only
to the point that people who knew him very well would notice. "He came to
me."

Ryoma snorted. "Stupid of him to ask you…"

Tezuka’s expression cleared. "He asked about you, actually."

"…..I hope, whatever it was, you said no."

"I pointed him in Tachibana’s direction." Ryoma could have sworn that
Tezuka’s eyes were smiling behind his glasses, but he decided that he didn’t want
to know what had just been inflicted on the Fudoumine captain.

"So, buchou," said Ryoma brightly, brushing angelic concerns away for
the moment, "You’re up for a game, right?"

Long Story

Masaharu nudged his partner. "Who’s that?" he asked, nodding at the
slight, lean figure in black lounging against the fence. Yagyuu finished
a swallow of much needed water and raised a brow.

"I think that’s Yukimura-san’s visitor. The one from the hospital that
no one ever quite managed to meet."

They both glanced over at Yukimura, who was laughing up at Yanagi. Masaharu
smiled. He wasn’t precisely pleased that he and Yagyuu had just been swept
6-2 by those two, but it was good to see Yukimura back in top form. Back
to the question at hand, though.

"Oh, glorious leader," Masaharu drawled. "Did you invite the
extra audience, today?"

For one heartbeat, Yukimura froze. "You noticed, then," he murmured.

Masaharu eyed their visitor’s flamboyantly tailored tail coat and top hat.
"A little hard not to."

Yukimura turned to face the watcher, eyes narrow. "Belial," he said,
low and cold.

"Don’t you think it’s time one introduced oneself to your people?"
the… man? Masaharu squinted… asked. Masaharu had to admit, he was impressed.
He’d never seen anyone stand firm in face of an angry Yukimura, let alone
stay so nonchalant.

"My people," Yukimura repeated, softly. "Yes."

"Of course, dear Seiichi-san, one wouldn’t dream of interfering. Much."
The man (?) brushed a rose in front of smiling lips, and Masaharu shared
a startled glance with his partner. Where had that come from? Their visitor
sauntered closer, running hooded eyes over all of them as the rest of the
team drew closer to see what had caught their captain’s attention. They received
an extravagant bow. "So. Greetings. One is called Mad Hatter."

A frisson danced down Masaharu’s spine as his gaze was caught by eyes blue
as fire, and laughing. Laughing the way someone standing, somehow untouched,
in the middle of catastrophe might laugh. His breath shivered in his chest,
and he only realized that he’d taken a step forward when Yagyuu’s hand on
his shoulder jerked him to a stop.

"And under other circumstances," Mad Hatter murmured with a note
of longing caress, "one would be delighted to have you for oneself.
Ah well." He blew Masaharu a kiss, winked at Yagyuu, and turned back
just in time to meet Yukimura’s purposeful stride toward him with hands spread
against their captain’s chest. "One is most pleased to see you so fully
recovered, Seiichi. One is sure the results will be well worth it."

And he was gone. Leaving Yukimura looking at the place he had been with a tangled
mix of amusement and anger in his face.

"Who," Akaya asked, wide eyed, "was that?"

Yukimura passed a hand over his forehead and sighed. "Do all of you remember
how my condition took a sudden turn for the better, a few months back?"

Everyone glanced at each other and nodded. Sanada and Yanagi, Masaharu noted,
were hovering.

"Well, that was the deal I made…"

End

Offers

Tezuka was taking a break and drinking some water when he noticed the angel
approaching. He was actually somewhat intrigued – this particular angel
wasn’t doing anything to hide what he was, and had a look on his face
that Tezuka recalled from constant dealings with Ryoma. He found himself
somewhat surprised when the angel settled on the bench next to him.

“This is gonna be a weird question,” the angel said, “But do
you believe in angels?”

Tezuka considered this question gravely, looking out towards the courts. He felt
rather than saw the angel turn towards him and look at his profile. “I don’t
disbelieve the possibility,” Tezuka said gravely, “But I’m not
religious.”

The angel snorted. “Right. Well, hell and heaven exist, even though it’s
not like most people say. Actually, and don’t ever tell anyone this, hell
isn’t a bad place, with the management the way it is. But we have to keep
some sort of standards, and that means that we all want the best souls, like you.”

Tezuka turned to look at the angel. “So you’re claiming to be an angel.”

The angel scowled. “Of course I’m an angel! What’d you think
I was, a demon?”

Tezuka said with perfect serenity, “I wouldn’t think that most angels
would be so enthusiastic about being under Lucifer.” He watched with interest
as flames sparked around the angel’s head, and continued to watch as the
angel got up to pace back and forth.

“I’m NOT interested in being…in being ruled by that bastard,”
the angel snapped. “He has no business doing what he’s doing, and…Look,
that’s not the point.” The angel brought his wings out. “See?
Angel.”

Tezuka nodded. “I’m Tezuka Kunimitsu. It’s a pleasure to meet
you.”

“…I’m Michael,” muttered the angel. He began to pace back
and forth. “I’m not one of those people who schemes and does all that
behind the scenes shit,” said Michael. “So I just want to ask you
if I can fix your arm for you, get your team back on track…”

“No, thank you,” said Tezuka politely. “I rely on myself.”

Michael scowled and crossed his arms. “…fine, I can respect that.
What about the rest of your team? Making sure that they’re not hurt? You
know, like that kid, with the gold eyes and the cat.”

“Echizen is well the way he is,” said Tezuka sharply. “If you’d
like to help someone else in need, Tachibana Kippei has had an injury recently.”

Michael nodded. “Fine, I won’t make an offer about Echizen. Good luck
on the courts.” With that, the angel strolled off. Tezuka watched him leave,
making a note to watch the other teams closely, once he returned.

On the Other Side of Town

Ryoma looked at the boy across from him skeptically. "Not that I think
you’re lying, but remind me why you’re doing this again?"

"Call it sibling rivalry," Michael replied shortly. "Anyway,
I can guarantee you that your captain’s shoulder will be as good as if it
were never hurt, once my people are done."

Ryoma raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "You remind me a lot of
someone I know. I’d bet your brother would remind me of someone, too."
Seeing Michael’s dark look, Ryoma shrugged. "Thanks for the help, anyway.
Why not just go to Tezuka-buchou?"

"Would he have agreed to let us help him?" Michael replied.

"…right. Thanks," said Ryoma.

Under the Knife

Seiichi was never sure what, exactly, alerted him to Mad Hatter’s presence.
Se moved like a shadow. He always knew when se arrived, though, as though
the air pressure had suddenly dropped and painted the breeze with a hint
of coming clouds.

"Experimental surgery, hm?" he asked without turning away from the
window.

"One could just snap one’s fingers." Hatter’s breath was warm against
the back of his neck. "One gets the impression from your other visitors
that a miraculous recovery would be only what’s expected from you."

"Miraculous?" Seiichi repeated in dry question.

"That was one’s business, as a Virtue. His Majesty would probably forgive
one moonlighting, just this once." Seiichi could hear Hatter’s smile,
and the darkness in it, delicate and raw. Dangerous. Which was fine as long
as it didn’t go beyond the two of them.

"And have you had much to say to my other visitors?" Seiichi inquired,
turning slowly around and trying not to grit his teeth too visibly over the
clumsy way his feet answered him.

Belial gave him a bright and charming curve of lips that didn’t match hir
eyes. "They are delightful boys, aren’t they? But one finds you by far
the most interesting." Mad Hatter ran a fingertip down Seiichi’s cheek
to trace his lower lip before falling away.

Seiichi sharpened his gaze to the edge that would hold Hatter. "Good."

 

End

Visiting Hours

An individual of duller perception might have assumed se was seeking younger patients
to entertain. A fool might have lashed out in a misguided effort to drive hir
away.

It was not Seiichi’s judgment that was numb, and no one could call him a
fool. “May I help you?” he rasped, and it galled him to find himself
grateful for the ability to speak. Moving a hand to the call button, just in case,
would have given away his weakness, and gained nothing, so he kept his hands folded
and seethed at his body’s betrayal.

Belial smiled. “One,” se said, “was inclined to ask you the
same.”

There were a multitude of possible responses to that. Seiichi considered hir smile,
and tilted his head oh-so-carefully to the side. “I’m listening,”
he murmured. “Go on.”

Belial sat, and made hir offer.

In the end, neither was surprised that he accepted it.

Camoflage

As far as cover went, it was nearly perfect. Sure, there were dangers, like the
gimlet eye of the angel, who certainly suspected that something was not right,
but couldn’t put his finger on what that something might be. Crowley could deal
with that in his sleep, and frequently did.

Dealing with his host body, on the other hand, presented certain inconveniences.
Since he was only subletting, as it were, he could only lurk within his host’s
subconscious, rather than taking outright control, and that meant dealing with
his host’s little freaks and foibles.

All this meant was that he was not presently napping, but was bouncing on a tennis
court, as his host fan-boyed over his buchou’s latest cool new move. In the back
of Jirou’s head, Crowley rolled his eyes.

He was going to be very glad when the tournament season was over, and they
could go back to napping their way through Jirou’s adolescence.

Zettai Ni

"Are you sure?"

Kurai sparred Noise a quick glance over her shoulder. Noise’s one wing drooped
noticeably, her eyes were dark with worry, and she chewed—cutely—on her bottom
lip. She knew that she was asking a lot of her retainer, but she had a feeling
that it would be best to investigate this newest anomaly within her realm on her
own. Even if it did make Noise deeply and obviously unhappy.

"I’m sure."

"I don’t like this."

Kurai laughed before she thought better of it. "I know. I’m sorry."

Noise sighed with great feeling and ran her hands through her hair, making it
stand on end. "No, you’re not. But could you at least avoid getting too damaged
as I do not want to explain to those who care about you exactly what happened
and why."

She put her forehead against her best friend and companions. "I can’t make
promises I can’t keep. But I’ll try." Without moving her head she locked
eyes with Noise and grinned, "I wouldn’t want you to deal with an unhappy
Setsuna."

Noise tilted her head up and pressed a kiss against Kurai’s head. "Be quick.
Be safe."

Kurai could only nod. Anything else would have been too much and unnecessary.
She turned away from Noise’s worried eyes to contemplate the perfect silver
bubble that had manifested on the out edges of her realm. The bubble touched
Assiah, butting up against so closely that it seemed to rub raw the psychic
skin keeping the planes apart. Staring at it she thought she saw flickering
images of a castle, a forest, a cathedral, and for a moment, and endless
plain of horizons. She didn’t really know how she was going to get from the
here of Gehenna to the there of the not quite real place
inside that bubble. Not knowing what else to do she placed her hands against
the silver, misty edge and pushed forward.

She heard Noise’s yell and then a roar like the rushing of a thousand wings and
then there was nothing.

"Why are you here?"

She looked up into eyes too dark a shade of green to be quite human and the way
eternity echoed was definitely not human. The girl, on the edge of womanhood with
the subtle swell of breast and hip just beginning, wore a short red shift and gold
bracelets that looked more like shackles than jewelry watched with perfect neutrality.
Kurai picked herself up off the gray, dusty ground as she considered her answer.
The emptiness of the place, and the knowledge in her companion’s eyes, makes her
nervous.

"Because this place is in my realm."

The woman-girl cocked her head to the side, purple hair falling along the side
of her face, half obscuring those inhuman eyes. "The place inside my head
is much bigger than the place outside it."

Kurai did not know what to make of that comment, so she went around it. "Who
are you?"

That seemed to give the woman-girl a pause. She fiddled with the gold bracelets—shakles—awkwardly
as she thought about it. "I am the Witch."

"Witch?" Kurai repeated, tasting the term and the power inherent within
it.

"Because I have no prince to save me, because I want no prince to save me,
I am the Witch." The woman-girl said plainly. There was no sorrow in this
statement, only simple fact. "My world is fractured," the woman-girl
locked eyes with Kurai and she felt as if she were drowning in all the years of
this creature’s life on the endless plain of horizons, "I am fractured."

"Why?" Kurai managed to gasp out, because she could not stand under
the weight of that self-knowledge. A distint rumble of what might be thunder rolled
around inside the emptiness. The woman-girl turned so fast her hair spun out in
tangled arch around her. The look of naked fear made Kurai reach to touch her,
but she froze when the girl snapped back around with a movement so fast it could
not have been mortal, maybe not even immortal.

"What are you?" she whispered.

The woman-girl grabbed her by the shoulders, staring down in Kurai’s eyes with
an intensity that chilled her to the bone, and said with fierce desperateness.
"The swords are coming, you have to run."

"Swords?" Kurai echoed dumbly. She was so confused. Even when Alexial
came back as Setsuna and the world turned inside out, and Heaven and Hell were
in chaos, she had not been this confused.

The woman-girl shoved her away so hard she stumbled, nearly twisting her ankle.
"RUN!" She screamed. The woman-girl couched down, hair falling over
her face, obscuring those wild, inhuman eyes. "You have to run. The swords…"
the woman-girl’s voice broke.

Kurai turned to start to run as the ground under her feet began to fracture. Cracks
forming underneath her faster than she could move, the constant shaking nearly
throwing her to the fragmenting ground. She tried to scream as the ground vanished
and she was falling into nothing, and then there was darkness that wasn’t so much
the abscence of light, but the abscence of everything.

"Oi! Are you alright?"

Bright blue eyes and bangs the colour of easter basket grass filled her vision,
and Kurai could only gape.

She was flat on her back in the middle of a grass hill. The birds sang sweetly
in the summer air and she smelled honeysuckle and roses. The girl leaning over
her smelled of roses, tea, and something sharp and tangy. And the desolate, endless
plain was gone. Kurai sat up and rubbed her head. "I … I think I am alright."

The girl smiled brilliantly, "Good! I was worried for a moment. You started
falling down the stairs and would have gotten hurt, but I caught you and brought
you here."

Kurai stared at her. There was something around the edges of the girl. Something
that shone like starlight. Like the woman-girl in the endless plain this one was
not quite … normal. There was a quality of eternity etched into her being like
the runes etched into Alexial’s sword. The girl’s smile faultered for a moment
and Kurai realized that she had been staring a little too long. "I’m …
I’m sorry. Where am I?"

The girl frowned, and Kurai realized that was a very odd thing to say. She forced
herself to smile apologetically. "I’m new." She said by way of explination.

That seemed to clear up everything. "Yeah, the Academy can be confusing for
new students." She stuck out her hand in what struck Kurai as a singularly
straight-forward gesture. As if everything this girl did was direct, honest, and
so innocent it hurt. "I’m Tenjou Utena."

"I’m Kurai." She reached out to take Utena’s hand when the other girl
was tackled by what appeared at first glance to be a low flying missile of some
sort.

"UUUUUTTTEEEEEEENNNNNNNNAAAAA!" the missile sort itself out as a giggle
girl with dark brown hair and the sweetest smile Kurai had seen since Setsuna.
The girl nuzzled Utena, practically purring her head off. "MMmmmmm found
you!" she giggled.

"Utena-sama," Kurai looked up to see the woman-girl of the endless plain.
Except she was wrong. The echoing power, and the knowledge, and the intensity
of person was gone—even if the decided otherness was still there. Her hair was
contained in tightly bound crown around her head, and those inhuman eyes were
hidden by glasses. But it was the girl, or at least part of her. Kurai chewed
on her bottom lip.

Utena held the brown haired girl at arms length, but smiled gently at her. "Wakaba,
I meet someone new."

That got the attention of both the not-woman-girl and the brown haired missile.
"This is Kurai. And she’s new to Ohtori Academy."

Kurai couldn’t focus on the introductions that happened afterward. She felt too
disassociated and confused and completely and totally out of her depth to take
in any more information. Her mind was spinning. She found herself arm in arm with
the bouncy, giggling brown haired girl and the sweetness of her soul overwhelmed
everything. Being near the girl was like … hot chocolate in winter or strawberries
in the middle of summer. She could feel herself relax bit by bit, as the girl—Wakaba?—giggle
up at Utena, tried to draw Anthy into conversation, and showed Kurai the landmarks
of this place.

She could feel power underneath her feet, could feel the different flavours of
it as she walked the campus. And she could feel a very subtle, very familiar taint
to everything. A feeling of unspeakable foulness that lurked on the edges of everything
and made her shudder.

It wasn’t until the sky began to change colour into the first hints of dusk that
Kurai realized that she should probably leave, go back to Noise, and the relative
safety of her own realm. She gently disentangled herself from Wakaba, and politely
thanked Utena. Who smiled, shook her head, and said that no, no she was glad to
have been there to help. Utena helped her to her feet and Kurai felt for a moment
the flicker of a thousand wings and the shine of starlight.

And she was unnerved.

But it was Anthy, with her dark eyes and quiet manner that unnerved her the most.
And when she turned to leave, it was Anthy who caught her eyes, even behind the
shadowed rescesses of her glass. It was in those dark green eyes that she saw
that woman-girl, that she saw Witch.

The Swords

And then she was standing in her own realm, next to Noise, shivering as if she
had walked into the dead of winter naked.

Sight

In one of the few speeches Kunimitsu’s father made that Kunimitsu’s grandfather
approved of, the man declared, "Everything is about connections – who
you know, you notices you, and especially who you can rely on." His
grandfather had declared the rest of the speech to be garbage, but that was
hardly unexpected.

Tezuka had been eight at the time, and had therefore not felt that going
to his mother to ask about what types of people he should know was inappropriate.

Tezuka Ayana gave her son a particularly bright smile and queried, "Why
ask me rather than your father or grandfather?"

Kunimitsu looked at his mother gravely and replied, "I’ll meet all their
associates because I’m the only son. You have other friends." He stood
and waited politely as Ayana nodded consideringly.

"Go and get your coat on," Ayana said decisively. "You can
come with me on my errands and meet my friends, and some family." She
shooed Kunimitsu off to get his coat.

Five hours later, Kunimitsu decided that his mother knew some very strange
people. Especially the loud drunken lady who lived in the disappearing house.
Though he had to admit that the toymaker with the tiny dolls was interesting,
if insane, and the archeology professor seemed to be a man that even his
grandfather would consider upstanding. He wasn’t sure why they had visited
a willow tree. His questions were mostly answered when they arrived at an
apartment, where his mother knocked on the door.

"This is my younger cousin’s home," she explained. "He just
got back from China, so I wanted to give him a few hours to move in before
saying hello." She smiled brightly as the door opened a crack, and didn’t
flinch when the person on the other side reacted to her presence with what
could not be called a screech only for politeness’s sake.

"Xiao Lang," Ayana said brightly, "It’s wonderful to see you.
I’m your cousin, Tezuka Ayana, remember?"

Kunimitsu noted that the boy didn’t seem to be past his teens, certainly,
and that the words seemed to calm him down. "You look like my oldest
sister," he managed, taking in a deep breath. "…Uh, so why are
you over here?"

Ayana gestured to Kunimitsu. "I wanted my son to be able to see like
most of the family does. He has enough latent power for it, and he really
needs to be on his guard for that sort of thing, especially now, doesn’t
he?"

Xiao Lang eyed Kunimitsu. "Is he…?"

"He belongs to his father’s family," Ayana reassured him. "Don’t
worry about interference from me – I think you and that girl are adorable."
She smiled brightly as this caused Xiao Lang to blush and sputter. "Can
you help me?" she asked finally.

"…bring him in," the boy sighed. "I’ll see what I can do."

Afterwards, Kunimitsu found that he did understand why they went to see the
willow tree. He noticed many other things as well, and his mother explained,
as they walked, that what Kunimitsu saw had been there already, but most
people just didn’t notice it. Most of her friends were people who could and
did see those things, she went on.

Kunimitsu nodded, turning to catch a glimpse of a boy a year or two older
than himself, who was running after a girl who had to be his sister. "That
boy has wings," he commented.

"Probably an angel," Ayana said. "There have been a lot of
them around, recently. No one knows why."

"An angel," Kunimitsu murmured. "I’ll remember."