Drama

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Ink Burns

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

This is a work of fanfiction, produced according to the principles of transformative fair use as put forward in US copyright law, and abiding by the custom and practice of fan-produced work in Japan, where the source texts were created. No author is in any way affiliated with any of the creators of the source texts, nor with the companies who distribute their products, nor any other rights holder, and these stories were not authorized by either the creators or the producers. Ink Burns is a fan site and the material here is freely provided for the enjoyment of fellow fan-community members; there is no commercial infringement.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 US license at the Ink Burns fanfiction archive (http://www.branchandroot.net/archive/).

"Air Feeds Fire" published on 2004-01-05 13:35:50.

"Gyre" published on 2004-01-10 18:40:40.

"Under Cover" published on 2004-01-13 10:47:03.

"The Upper Hand" published on 2004-01-13 19:04:46.

"Gift" published on 2004-01-14 21:30:21.

"Gone the Sun" published on 2004-01-19 13:35:16.

"Two to be Steady - Part One" published on 2004-01-22 15:34:39.

"Two to be Steady - Part Two" published on 2004-01-22 15:42:06.

"Two to be Steady - Part Three" published on 2004-01-22 15:49:07.

"Two to be Steady - Part Four" published on 2004-01-22 15:56:00.

"Two to be Steady - Part Five" published on 2004-01-22 16:02:19.

"Two to be Steady - Part Six" published on 2004-01-22 16:08:04.

"Ever - Chapter One" published on 2004-02-06 17:46:47.

"Ever - Chapter Two" published on 2004-02-06 17:57:54.

"Ever - Chapter Three" published on 2004-02-07 18:05:38.

"Ever - Chapter Four" published on 2004-02-07 18:23:53.

"Ever - Chapter Five" published on 2004-02-08 18:31:48.

"Ever - Chapter Six" published on 2004-02-08 18:44:19.

"Ever - Chapter Seven" published on 2004-02-08 18:58:03.

"Ever - Chapter Eight" published on 2004-02-09 19:13:48.

"Ever - Chapter Nine" published on 2004-02-09 19:23:34.

"Ever - Chapter Ten" published on 2004-02-09 19:31:44.

"Ever - Chapter Eleven" published on 2004-02-10 19:38:52.

"Ever - Chapter Twelve" published on 2004-02-10 19:55:49.

"Ever - Chapter Thirteen" published on 2004-02-10 20:01:44.

"Ever - Chapter Fourteen" published on 2004-02-10 20:09:10.

"Morning - One" published on 2004-02-12 19:46:34.

"Morning - Two" published on 2004-02-12 19:56:14.

"Morning - Three" published on 2004-02-12 20:06:46.

"At A Cost" published on 2004-02-22 18:35:41.

"Snapshots" published on 2004-03-02 16:38:55.

"Rosin" published on 2004-03-02 21:34:03.

"The Door" published on 2004-03-05 18:45:00.

"The Rain" published on 2004-03-06 21:06:00.

"Glow" published on 2004-03-08 21:08:59.

"Sustained" published on 2004-03-11 21:46:24.

"Fiat Roomate" published on 2004-03-21 18:54:03.

"In Silence" published on 2004-03-21 19:01:08.

"The Road" published on 2004-03-21 19:07:58.

"Chiaroscuro" published on 2004-04-13 17:50:06.

"Long Exposure - One" published on 2004-04-30 18:34:44.

"Wrapped Around My Finger" published on 2004-05-13 11:58:45.

"In the Forest of the Night" published on 2004-05-24 13:39:41.

"Relay" published on 2004-08-09 18:12:30.

"Long Exposure - Two" published on 2004-05-02 18:46:07.

"Fearful Symmetry" published on 2004-05-28 13:42:56.

"Burning" published on 2004-05-28 13:50:46.

"Long Exposure - Three" published on 2004-05-03 19:02:18.

"Tyger" published on 2004-05-29 13:55:51.

"Simple" published on 2004-08-10 18:19:59.

"Twist" published on 2004-08-14 18:25:43.

"Ripple" published on 2004-08-16 18:31:52.

"The Winner Is..." published on 2004-05-15 12:01:35.

"Clove Apple" published on 2004-05-18 12:06:21.

"Fence" published on 2004-08-19 18:40:47.

"Puzzle" published on 2004-08-24 18:45:23.

"Insight" published on 2004-04-22 10:08:05.

"Backstage - Part One" published on 2004-04-23 10:11:15.

"Backstage - Part Two" published on 2004-04-23 10:15:19.

"Backstage - Part Three" published on 2004-04-24 10:21:13.

"Backstage - Part Four" published on 2004-04-25 10:27:17.

"Undertow" published on 2004-04-26 10:36:03.

"Already Are" published on 2004-04-28 17:13:47.

"Color of the Sea" published on 2004-04-29 17:20:11.

"Hashira" published on 2004-05-08 14:12:48.

"Challenge - Chapter One" published on 2004-06-16 13:32:00.

"Challenge - Chapter Two" published on 2004-06-16 15:39:58.

"Challenge - Chapter Three" published on 2004-06-16 15:50:56.

"Challenge - Chapter Four" published on 2004-06-17 15:57:46.

"Challenge - Chapter Five" published on 2004-06-18 18:30:22.

"Challenge - Chapter Six" published on 2004-06-19 18:42:33.

"Challenge - Chapter Seven" published on 2004-06-20 19:23:10.

"Water" published on 2004-06-23 02:38:07.

"Challenge - Chapter Eight" published on 2004-06-20 19:30:55.

"Challenge - Chapter Nine" published on 2004-06-20 19:38:37.

"Challenge - Chapter Ten" published on 2004-06-22 19:53:15.

"Earth Over Thunder" published on 2004-06-23 03:19:11.

"Glory" published on 2004-06-24 12:23:28.

"Water Over Fire" published on 2004-06-25 12:30:11.

"Temper" published on 2004-06-27 12:43:53.

"Earth Over Heaven" published on 2004-07-01 18:33:12.

"Need" published on 2004-07-02 18:52:06.

"The Continuation of War" published on 2004-07-07 18:55:22.

"Dislocated" published on 2004-07-11 19:33:45.

"Fortune" published on 2004-07-19 14:33:22.

"Fly" published on 2004-08-07 19:47:17.

"Circle" published on 2004-08-08 19:54:07.

"Confluence" published on 2004-08-25 18:04:01.

"Sunao" published on 2004-09-15 11:27:57.

"Shinpai" published on 2004-09-19 11:39:19.

"Motto" published on 2004-09-23 11:45:38.

"Kakugo" published on 2004-09-25 11:49:46.

"Yaru, Part One" published on 2004-09-26 12:17:26.

"Yaru, Part Two" published on 2004-09-26 12:28:32.

"Yaru, Epilogue" published on 2004-09-26 13:20:51.

"Delta" published on 2004-10-05 18:21:37.

"Third Watch" published on 2004-10-15 19:59:48.

"Touch" published on 2004-10-17 19:56:45.

"The Name" published on 2004-11-21 16:49:48.

"Mercurial" published on 2004-11-22 16:52:11.

"The Mind is its Own Place - Part One" published on 2004-11-29 17:06:56.

"Detour" published on 2004-12-11 17:57:04.

"The Mind is its Own Place - Part Two" published on 2004-12-15 17:25:20.

"Six" published on 2004-12-16 16:43:03.

"River - Chapter One" published on 2004-12-19 17:32:34.

"Wild" published on 2004-12-26 19:06:22.

"What's in a Name" published on 2005-09-23 17:20:21.

"Sight" published on 2005-01-04 17:49:40.

"Zettai Ni" published on 2005-01-04 20:18:47.

"Unexpected Guests" published on 2005-09-23 20:36:24.

"Visiting Hours" published on 2005-01-04 21:28:53.

"Under the Knife" published on 2005-01-04 21:40:41.

"Offers" published on 2005-01-04 22:01:50.

"Long Story" published on 2005-01-05 13:11:01.

"Unexpected Visitors" published on 2005-01-05 13:21:24.

"Facing the Music" published on 2005-01-05 13:27:27.

"Parallel" published on 2005-01-05 13:34:08.

"The Shine" published on 2005-01-07 14:07:14.

"Talking Sense" published on 2005-01-05 14:12:10.

"Engarde" published on 2005-01-05 14:36:47.

"Understanding" published on 2005-01-07 15:03:41.

"Declarations of War" published on 2005-01-05 15:15:23.

"Profession" published on 2005-01-06 15:21:29.

"Double Entendre" published on 2005-01-05 15:28:34.

"Games Without Frontiers" published on 2005-01-06 16:27:54.

"Such a Kicking" published on 2005-01-05 16:37:16.

"Secondhand Angels" published on 2005-01-05 16:51:26.

"Green Eyed" published on 2005-01-05 17:34:55.

"Relatives" published on 2005-01-05 17:44:33.

"In the Family" published on 2005-01-10 17:53:06.

"Addition and Distraction" published on 2005-01-10 14:11:32.

"Regarding" published on 2005-01-18 14:13:47.

"Marked" published on 2005-01-10 14:34:18.

"Family Reunion" published on 2005-01-06 15:59:44.

"History Lesson" published on 2005-01-12 16:36:54.

"Willing" published on 2005-01-21 17:45:47.

"Over the Bone" published on 2005-01-16 17:50:49.

"Compassion" published on 2005-01-29 18:05:02.

"Sealed With A Kiss" published on 2005-01-10 22:33:35.

"The Morning After" published on 2005-01-06 22:35:17.

"Baiting" published on 2005-01-25 14:18:46.

"Answers" published on 2005-01-29 14:42:26.

"Practicalities" published on 2005-01-30 14:51:47.

"Post-Game" published on 2005-01-12 15:01:15.

"The Dangers of Boredom" published on 2005-01-07 15:19:46.

"Interesting Times" published on 2005-02-02 16:15:29.

"The Devil Went Down to Hyoutei" published on 2005-01-07 16:21:04.

"Logical Conclusion" published on 2005-01-12 17:50:55.

"Home Again, Home Again" published on 2005-09-24 19:33:29.

"Hard to Get" published on 2005-01-19 19:58:04.

"Strategy" published on 2005-02-25 20:06:39.

"Wildflower" published on 2005-02-27 20:12:26.

"The Other Side" published on 2005-02-28 20:19:33.

"Mock Battle" published on 2005-03-03 20:38:48.

"Sunrise" published on 2005-03-09 20:47:56.

"Distance" published on 2005-04-29 18:26:18.

"Given" published on 2005-04-30 20:59:56.

"Warming Up" published on 2005-05-05 21:06:00.

"The Rush" published on 2005-05-10 21:11:10.

"Change" published on 2005-05-19 21:15:58.

"Promise" published on 2005-06-16 12:57:26.

"Patch" published on 2005-07-17 13:00:20.

"Tea" published on 2005-07-28 13:30:48.

"Marks of Time" published on 2005-07-31 14:50:00.

"Only A Story" published on 2005-08-06 19:45:05.

"Stare at the Sun" published on 2005-08-08 19:48:41.

"Chocolate and Flowers" published on 2005-08-11 19:53:56.

"Conspiracy" published on 2005-08-12 19:56:54.

"Easier" published on 2005-08-13 20:01:00.

"Representatives" published on 2005-08-26 20:08:29.

"Extra - Rematch" published on 2005-09-02 21:19:54.

"For the Third Time" published on 2005-09-09 20:13:31.

"Break Down the Door" published on 2005-09-13 20:17:49.

"Extra - The Fairest" published on 2005-09-22 21:30:12.

"Touch And Go" published on 2005-10-11 15:50:12.

"Zoology and Mythology" published on 2005-10-12 15:55:14.

"The Quality of Mercy" published on 2005-10-13 16:00:25.

"Essential" published on 2005-10-14 16:04:48.

"Long Enough - One" published on 2005-12-01 18:20:28.

"Long Enough - Two" published on 2005-12-01 18:21:46.

"Once More...Dear Friends - Prologue" published on 2005-12-06 11:03:29.

"Once More...Dear Friends - One" published on 2005-12-07 11:05:45.

"Counterpoint - Unresigned" published on 2005-12-07 14:14:08.

"Once More...Dear Friends - Two" published on 2005-12-08 14:18:46.

"Counterpoint - Breaking Eggs" published on 2005-12-08 19:51:54.

"The Best" published on 2005-12-08 19:56:03.

"Counterpoint - Deadly Force" published on 2005-12-09 12:46:56.

"Housewarming" published on 2005-12-12 12:49:14.

"Counterpoint - Pick Up Sticks" published on 2005-12-13 12:51:52.

"Once More...Dear Friends - Three" published on 2005-12-13 12:54:03.

"Counterpoint - Trading" published on 2005-12-13 13:02:15.

"Once More...Dear Friends - Four" published on 2005-12-14 13:05:27.

"Once More...Dear Friends - Five" published on 2005-12-16 13:41:06.

"Counterpoint - Home Office" published on 2005-12-17 13:47:54.

"Only Tactics" published on 2005-12-19 13:55:54.

"Research" published on 2005-12-20 13:58:04.

"Another Round" published on 2005-12-22 14:15:17.

"Once More...Dear Friends - Seven" published on 2005-12-22 14:20:30.

"Diamond and Cobalt" published on 2006-01-03 20:55:29.

"Seriously" published on 2006-01-04 21:16:53.

"White" published on 2006-01-07 21:25:50.

"If I Should Wake Before I Die #1" published on 2006-01-16 21:32:46.

"If I Should Wake Before I Die #2" published on 2006-01-17 21:41:52.

"Where Seduction Serves" published on 2006-01-20 20:48:13.

"305 The Way It Should Have Been" published on 2006-03-23 15:53:10.

"The Law of Rikkai" published on 2006-05-28 15:56:32.

"Immanent" published on 2006-05-31 16:22:30.

"At First Sight" published on 2006-05-31 16:25:00.

"Convex" published on 2006-06-01 18:35:22.

"Unnoticed" published on 2006-06-01 18:38:57.

"Tarnished" published on 2006-06-02 18:45:39.

"Need Beyond Want" published on 2006-06-10 18:52:40.

"Pride" published on 2006-06-15 19:00:43.

"Hold" published on 2006-06-16 19:06:26.

"Washed Dry" published on 2006-07-12 19:13:50.

"Closed Circuit" published on 2006-09-26 14:25:28.

"Compression" published on 2006-09-27 16:35:57.

"Luscious" published on 2006-10-14 20:00:12.

"First Day" published on 2006-11-27 23:15:15.

"North of the Sun, Over the Moon" published on 2006-11-27 23:18:17.

"Copper and Candlelight" published on 2007-01-15 14:07:11.

"Iron and Stone" published on 2007-01-18 14:11:19.

"Pollen for Dreams" published on 2007-01-26 22:09:32.

"May We Be Truly Thankful" published on 2007-02-19 12:43:38.

"The Road Not Taken" published on 2007-02-19 12:48:24.

"The Wind Cries" published on 2007-02-20 20:12:27.

"Paper Dust" published on 2007-02-20 20:15:42.

"Peaches and Thorns" published on 2007-02-22 20:18:53.

"Dragon's Whisker" published on 2007-02-22 20:24:11.

"Finding Home" published on 2007-02-22 20:27:19.

"The Color of the Phoenix's Tail - Part One" published on 2007-02-23 20:30:55.

"The Color of the Phoenix's Tail - Part Two" published on 2007-02-23 20:39:11.

"The Color of the Phoenix's Tail - Part Three" published on 2007-02-24 20:51:32.

"The Color of the Phoenix's Tail - Part Four" published on 2007-02-25 20:55:31.

"The Color of the Phoenix's Tail - Part Five" published on 2007-02-25 21:00:14.

"Turning Storm" published on 2007-02-25 21:03:51.

"Feed Them On Your Dreams" published on 2007-02-27 21:11:23.

"Blue and Red" published on 2007-03-09 21:15:40.

"Souvenirs" published on 2007-03-21 14:18:14.

"Three Plus One" published on 2007-03-30 16:11:49.

"New Year in Winter" published on 2007-04-10 21:33:47.

"Property Values" published on 2007-04-13 21:40:20.

"Bitter and Salt" published on 2007-04-13 21:46:15.

"From Old Wood" published on 2007-04-15 21:52:29.

"Degrees of Silver" published on 2007-04-15 21:59:46.

"Drink Deep" published on 2007-04-15 22:02:10.

"Six Examples" published on 2007-04-21 16:14:11.

"After Frost" published on 2007-04-27 22:05:14.

"Polarization - Part One" published on 2007-05-04 12:59:38.

"Highlights on Black" published on 2007-05-07 20:06:14.

"Spiral of Time" published on 2007-05-07 20:08:15.

"Architect" published on 2007-05-12 19:21:49.

"The King is Dead" published on 2007-05-12 20:47:46.

"Foundations and Extensions" published on 2007-05-12 20:52:21.

"Palm to Palm" published on 2007-05-12 20:58:14.

"Ace, King" published on 2007-05-13 13:19:51.

"Approaching Fineness" published on 2007-05-14 13:21:53.

"Heat Imaging" published on 2007-05-14 13:25:15.

"Steel and Cypress" published on 2007-05-14 13:43:44.

"Percentage by Volume" published on 2007-05-14 13:47:45.

"Cold Fingers and Hot Drinks" published on 2007-05-16 13:54:12.

"Polarization - Part Two" published on 2007-05-27 13:04:27.

"Polarization - Part Three" published on 2007-05-27 13:06:58.

"Breadcrumb Trail" published on 2007-06-03 00:09:00.

"See and Raise" published on 2007-06-12 14:13:04.

"The Evening and the Morning" published on 2007-06-25 14:18:41.

"Irrigation" published on 2007-10-15 13:00:30.

"Braid Your Hair With Wind" published on 2007-11-06 14:08:35.

"Lignin" published on 2008-02-01 16:14:31.

"Scattered Beans, Year Passing" published on 2008-02-03 19:09:25.

"Drown in your Blue Sea" published on 2008-02-14 18:10:23.

"Ride Your Wild Horses" published on 2008-02-20 14:14:06.

"Taste Your Salt Water Kisses" published on 2008-02-27 15:09:57.

"Cracked from Side to Side" published on 2008-03-28 16:12:43.

"Homecoming" published on 2008-05-01 19:12:31.

"Through the Sleepless Nights" published on 2008-06-19 14:54:48.

"Overdetermined" published on 2008-06-19 15:41:27.

"Moving Down the Streams of My Lifetime" published on 2008-06-19 16:32:13.

"Brittle Edge" published on 2008-08-01 17:02:11.

"Deeper than Love" published on 2008-10-02 14:28:56.

"Wind is on the Face of the Water" published on 2008-10-30 14:36:41.

"I Will be the One" published on 2008-11-10 16:00:54.

"Nine Years, Eleven Months, Twenty-seven Days" published on 2008-11-18 14:37:59.

"The Beauty of Obligation" published on 2008-11-25 14:47:35.

"Breaking of the Day" published on 2008-12-02 09:47:55.

"A Question for Dusk" published on 2008-12-06 13:34:49.

"Sakura Growing Upside Down" published on 2008-12-09 10:48:11.

"Lighter Than a Feather" published on 2008-12-28 15:00:47.

"Time-lapse" published on 2009-01-08 20:11:09.

"The Nature of You" published on 2009-01-19 14:44:09.

"What's Love Got to Do With It" published on 2009-01-20 15:50:19.

"I Said, You Said" published on 2009-01-21 15:41:08.

"Fire on the Mountain" published on 2009-02-02 11:38:05.

"Light to Walk By" published on 2009-02-02 11:39:33.

"Sartorial Splendor" published on 2009-02-02 11:40:52.

"If You Want to Kiss the Sky" published on 2009-02-02 11:42:25.

"A Brighter Shade of Red" published on 2009-02-04 11:49:53.

"The Family You Choose" published on 2009-07-23 17:37:13.

"Two Hands Make A Pair" published on 2009-07-26 20:33:50.

"An Offer You Can't Refuse" published on 2009-08-18 20:50:30.

"Blood Will Tell" published on 2009-07-27 20:41:34.

"War of Aggression" published on 2009-08-20 11:39:14.

"Give One Heart" published on 2009-03-02 14:46:15.

"Saints of Palermo" published on 2009-03-03 16:32:32.

"She Danced Across the Mountain" published on 2009-03-04 15:14:15.

"A Scratched Record" published on 2009-03-05 14:20:08.

"They Also Serve" published on 2009-03-12 12:01:36.

"Gray Willow Catkins" published on 2009-03-12 14:29:53.

"Body Language" published on 2009-03-13 14:30:18.

"Some Sweet Day" published on 2009-05-12 19:08:00.

"Going Back Someday" published on 2009-03-18 16:10:57.

"Reversal" published on 2009-04-27 19:12:01.

"The Finest Things" published on 2009-05-02 11:09:19.

"Detachment" published on 2009-05-02 11:13:48.

"Watermark" published on 2009-05-19 16:19:48.

"In Joy and In Sorrow" published on 2009-05-21 11:50:59.

"Firebrand" published on 2009-05-27 19:41:09.

"Neither Fish Nor Fowl" published on 2009-05-29 16:32:05.

"Engraved Here" published on 2009-06-04 17:13:00.

"Inquiring Minds" published on 2009-06-15 16:46:41.

"Shadow Return to Shadow" published on 2009-06-18 14:21:28.

"Love on a Budget" published on 2009-06-19 14:30:37.

"Unbound" published on 2009-06-23 14:41:26.

"Revelation" published on 2009-06-25 14:55:17.

"Looking Glass" published on 2009-06-30 13:04:06.

"Interlude" published on 2009-07-06 12:37:19.

"The Queen and All Her Men" published on 2009-07-07 11:43:22.

"Exigencies of Service" published on 2009-07-08 14:27:22.

"Festivity" published on 2009-07-21 15:57:04.

"The Overarching Sky" published on 2009-07-09 13:08:44.

"Enthroned Heart" published on 2009-07-13 14:26:06.

"Over, Under or Around" published on 2009-07-14 14:25:57.

"Transferable" published on 2009-07-15 13:51:53.

"Experienced" published on 2009-07-23 16:07:10.

"Precipitate" published on 2009-07-23 16:19:21.

"Inversion" published on 2009-07-29 13:03:36.

"The Balance of Intention" published on 2009-07-31 12:15:01.

"Five Things That Never Happened to Xanxus" published on 2009-08-03 14:21:10.

"Anger Management" published on 2010-03-26 14:32:14.

"Three Things that Might Have Happened to Xanxus" published on 2009-08-06 18:52:20.

"Notice of Waking" published on 2009-08-17 12:43:04.

"Heat in the Shade" published on 2009-08-19 14:57:07.

"Surprised Into Greatness" published on 2009-12-14 17:56:59.

"Happily Ever After" published on 2009-12-18 16:12:08.

"Nine Tenths of Ma'at" published on 2009-12-22 13:36:12.

"Archimedes' Lever - One" published on 2009-12-22 16:11:30.

"Archimedes' Lever - Two" published on 2009-12-23 15:32:36.

"Archimedes' Lever - Three" published on 2009-12-24 15:12:49.

"Archimedes' Lever - Four" published on 2009-12-25 16:05:10.

"Archimedes' Lever - Five" published on 2009-12-26 14:18:09.

"Archimedes' Lever - Six" published on 2009-12-27 14:10:14.

"Omiai" published on 2010-01-02 14:46:35.

"Keeping Up with the Vongolas" published on 2010-02-25 13:18:52.

"Two Birds" published on 2010-01-04 16:04:24.

"Sweet and Spicy" published on 2010-01-05 13:20:27.

"Six Pomegranate Seeds" published on 2010-01-08 14:19:58.

"A Theme in Pentatonic - One" published on 2010-05-26 16:23:10.

"A Theme in Pentatonic - Interlude One" published on 2010-05-26 16:24:45.

"A Theme in Pentatonic - Two" published on 2010-05-27 11:31:18.

"A Theme in Pentatonic - Interlude Four" published on 2010-06-01 13:17:18.

"A Theme in Pentatonic - Three" published on 2010-06-01 16:11:58.

"A Theme in Pentatonic - Four" published on 2010-06-03 12:29:42.

"Cat's Cradle - Chapter One" published on 2010-06-07 13:29:27.

"Cat's Cradle - Chapter Two" published on 2010-06-08 13:56:03.

"Cat's Cradle - Chapter Three" published on 2010-06-09 15:36:09.

"Cat's Cradle - Chapter Four" published on 2010-06-10 14:55:37.

"Cat's Cradle - Epilogue" published on 2010-06-11 16:01:48.

"Cat's Cradle - Omake Two" published on 2010-06-14 19:39:45.

"Blood and Thunder" published on 2011-04-06 19:55:10.

"Hall of Mirrors" published on 2011-04-08 11:35:12.

"Without Fear or Favor" published on 2011-10-12 16:13:05.

"Life Lessons" published on 2011-07-29 12:56:27.

"A Time and a Place" published on 2011-07-29 13:02:21.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter One" published on 2011-07-29 18:01:58.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Two" published on 2011-08-05 12:04:56.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Five" published on 2011-08-26 11:42:02.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Six" published on 2011-09-02 11:37:42.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Seven" published on 2011-09-09 12:10:14.

"And We'll Laugh About It" published on 2011-09-10 13:30:23.

"Up on the Angel's Shoulders" published on 2011-10-17 19:49:06.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Eight" published on 2011-09-16 11:57:54.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Nine" published on 2011-09-23 13:15:55.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Ten" published on 2011-09-30 11:29:55.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Eleven" published on 2011-10-07 15:14:54.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Twelve" published on 2011-10-14 14:37:42.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Thirteen" published on 2011-10-20 12:51:30.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Fourteen" published on 2011-10-28 12:24:05.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Fifteen" published on 2011-11-04 12:57:41.

"The Blue Lights, The Scent of Water" published on 2011-11-09 13:12:44.

"To the Silver Night Sky" published on 2012-02-22 13:17:24.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Sixteen" published on 2011-11-11 13:14:30.

"Silence That Is Incomprehensible" published on 2011-11-16 13:20:33.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Seventeen" published on 2011-11-18 17:25:38.

"The Word Whose Appearance Is Multiple" published on 2011-11-30 13:13:13.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Eighteen" published on 2011-11-25 10:44:00.

"True as Gold and Iron" published on 2011-11-27 13:01:09.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Nineteen" published on 2011-12-02 12:13:06.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Twenty" published on 2011-12-09 12:16:38.

"It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Twenty-One" published on 2011-12-16 15:21:56.

"Cloud Hands" published on 2011-10-21 13:52:16.

"Old Wine" published on 2011-08-07 15:22:55.

"The Name of the Sound" published on 2012-01-18 11:46:27.

"Seven, Eight, Lay Them Straight" published on 2012-03-14 13:44:42.

"Chrysanthemum Tea" published on 2012-08-22 14:22:51.

"Strong as Freesia" published on 2012-08-24 17:34:38.

"The Shade of Sunflowers" published on 2012-08-29 16:03:15.

"Colored Like Zinnias" published on 2012-08-31 12:10:30.

"Bellflowers Ring Silently" published on 2012-09-05 16:11:10.

"Anemone In Sunlight" published on 2012-09-19 14:08:25.

"Redoubled Peonies" published on 2012-09-23 17:17:39.

"A Good, Free, and Unconstrained Will" published on 2012-11-07 11:52:24.

"This Moment to Arise - Departures and Arrivals" published on 2012-11-21 14:03:57.

"This Moment to Arise - Introductions" published on 2012-11-28 12:03:36.

"This Moment to Arise - Clarifications" published on 2012-12-05 14:39:40.

"This Moment to Arise - Preparations" published on 2012-12-12 13:36:27.

"This Moment to Arise - Revelations" published on 2012-12-19 18:29:10.

"This Moment to Arise - Stumbles" published on 2013-01-30 14:37:16.

"Not the Direction of Gravity" published on 2013-09-06 18:22:51.

"Rotation" published on 2013-09-15 13:04:25.

"The Simple and the Subtle - Chapter One" published on 2014-03-30 12:06:18.

"The Simple and the Subtle - Chapter Two" published on 2014-03-30 12:15:25.

"The Simple and the Subtle - Chapter Three" published on 2014-03-30 12:24:14.

"The Simple and the Subtle - Chapter Four" published on 2014-03-30 12:37:09.

"The Simple and the Subtle - Chapter Five" published on 2014-03-30 12:50:18.

"Long, Like Memory" published on 2015-05-24 17:16:38.

"At Your Fingertips" published on 2015-06-23 14:05:37.

"Under One Sky" published on 2016-02-07 11:38:27.

"The Blood of Kings" published on 2016-03-05 18:17:58.

"And Like A River Continues" published on 2016-05-30 16:05:32.

"Basically Three" published on 2016-06-05 15:57:18.

"Black Turns to Blue" published on 2017-05-21 19:11:53.

"Red Heart and White Sword" published on 2017-06-18 16:22:13.

"Candles Lit at the Doors" published on 2017-08-21 19:26:41.

"Ground Fire" published on 2019-02-03 11:47:17.

"The Wandering Fire" published on 2019-08-16 18:02:05.

"The Advance of the Mountain Wind - One" published on 2019-08-19 18:00:21.

"The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Two" published on 2019-08-21 18:18:42.

"The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Three" published on 2019-08-23 17:16:27.

"The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Four" published on 2019-08-26 20:05:55.

"The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Five" published on 2019-08-28 20:15:08.

"The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Six" published on 2019-08-30 17:12:08.

"The Marriage of Lightning and the Lake" published on 2019-09-04 19:23:34.

Attributions can be made by author's name and a link to the archive.

This ebook edition was published on September 6, 2019 by the Ink Burns fanfiction archive.

Cover illustration is .

Cover design by Branch.

Air Feeds Fire

After Ed has to kill he has to deal with having killed. Divergent Future, Drama With Porn, I-4, faint spoiler ep 25

I

Edward Elric was not crying.

He had not cried standing in the bright winter afternoon with blood freezing on the metal of his hand. He had not cried when Hawkeye drew him back so the soldiers could take away the body. He had not cried when they came back to the headquarters complex, merely asked Al to go up to their rooms without him.

Roy had seen the aftermath of enough days like the one just past to know precisely how much trouble that meant.

That was why he had kept a quiet eye on Ed all day and finally ended up standing on the roof at nearly midnight, watching his protÃ©gÃ© kneel motionless by the rail, still not crying but pressing his clasped hands hard against his mouth.

"Hagane."

There was no response. Roy had not really expected one.

He came softly, and just a bit cautiously, to kneel behind Ed and draw the boy back against him. Ed was shivering, but Roy had little hope that it was from the cold of the night.

"Let go."

That, finally, provoked a reaction, a violent head-shake. Roy tightened his grip.

"Ed, you must."

The shiver was harder, now. Ed's breath was coming uneven, as if he had run a race to the end of his endurance and a bit beyond. When he looked up Roy had to conceal a wince.

Earlier the normally expressive eyes and mouth had been utterly blank. Now the eyes were dull, the gold frosted, and bitter lines caged his mouth.

"I... I'll..."

"It will be all right."

"No! Leave it...!" Ed broke off with a wrench in his voice.

Roy blew out his breath in a white cloud.

"You know," he murmured, "many would say that I only helped you go where you wished to go, and that's true. But it's also true that I knew the path you chose would bring you here some day, and you did not know it. I've been your commander these five years, knowing that someday you would kill. So here you are, and here I am. Let it go, Ed. For this night, I'm here. I promise to catch you."

The shiver had become a wracking shudder, and Ed finally turned into Roy's arms and the golden head pressed into his shoulder. The harsh breathing ran over into sobs.

Roy said nothing more, only held Ed and stroked his hair and waited.

At last Ed quieted. Roy took it as a measure of the boy's exhaustion and pain that he made no protest when Roy gathered him up and carried him inside. After a moment's thought Roy turned toward the rooms he kept here for the, frequent, occasions when he couldn't be bothered to walk home. Al didn't need to be worried by seeing his brother like this, and Ed didn't need the pressure to be the collected big brother. Reaching his room Roy only bothered with a single candle, by whose light he set Ed down on the bed and briskly stripped off his coat, belt, boots and shirt before pulling up the blankets.

Ed looked up at him, neither blank nor frozen but his eyes were hazy and his mouth at a loss. When he spoke his voice was barely there.

"Taisa..."

"Sleep."

Ed's eyes widened and his jaw set, hard.

Roy wadded two of his many pillows up against the headboard, kicked off his own boots, and settled down beside Ed. As an afterthought, Roy drew the tie out of Ed's hair.

"Sleep," he repeated, firmly. "I'll stay with you.

He carded his fingers lightly through Ed's hair, unraveling his braid, until the wide, alarmed eyes began to drift closed.

After perhaps an hour Roy allowed himself to hope that this would be enough. It took people differently. For some, the simple presence of another human being who understood was comfort enough, and Ed was, after all, still quite young. If that failed, alcohol was a common alternative. Roy had seen a few scholarly sorts who got through the night by reading favorite books. It was as good a way to avoid reality for a little as any other, he supposed. His mouth quirked up, recalling how Hughes had gotten him though a night like this, years ago.

Roy rested his head back, starting to doze.

Perhaps it would be enough.

II

The gun was swinging around...

"Ed."

Ten more centimeters and it would level with Ed's chest...

"Ed, wake up."

Not yet! He lunged forward...

"Haaaa!"

Hands were on his shoulders, it was too warm to be outside, his throat hurt. Ed blinked, and the chiaroscuro of the room resolved into Roy Mustang.

He's not wearing his uniform. He always wears his uniform. Ed shook his head sharply at the total irrelevance of that observation. What...?

He remembered the Colonel promising to stay, the roof, the street in the afternoon sun... A shudder ran through him, and he fell back on the bed. The Colonel propped himself beside Ed on one elbow, apparently the better to examine him. He actually seemed... worried.

Ed turned his face away.

Mustang reached out and turned it back.

"You were dreaming about it?" he asked, before Ed could snap at him.

Ed flinched, and turned over to put his back to his commander. A familiar sigh, though less extravagant than usual, brushed past his ear.

"That won't work, Ed."

Mustang leaned over and pulled Ed back around, and looked down at him very seriously.

"Have you ever been drunk?"

Ed blinked at the non sequitur, startled into answering.

"Once. I remember being very upset about absolutely everything. Can't think why people enjoy it."

"Mm. That won't do then."

The Colonel's look had turned thoughtful, as if he were carefully turning over words for some question he wanted to ask. Ed waited, feeling suspended in a bubble of unreality between the horror he was trying not to think about and the normal, daily routines of life that he couldn't quite manage to recall right now. He wanted to do something to drive the horror further away, but couldn't think what would do it. And the tangible warmth of the Colonel's body beside him was comforting when so much else familiar seemed so far away. Under that warmth a little of the tension seeped out of Ed's shoulders.

Mustang nodded, as if Ed had answered whatever question he hadn't yet asked, leaned down and kissed him.

It was a gentle kiss, but it continued for a while. Long enough for Ed's mind to stop being blank. Long enough to notice how pleasant the blankness had been, and to register that the experience was not actually displeasing. Just... startling. When Mustang drew back Ed couldn't quite find anything to say.

"Perhaps, yes," Mustang mused, and added more quietly, "what a memorial for him."

The feeling of unreality clashed with the extreme presence of the moment as Mustang's mouth found Ed's again. Moments of time flashed through Ed's mind. The Colonel smirking at some successful manipulation; the Colonel coldly ordering him to pull himself together; the Colonel smiling evilly at Ed's fury; the soft look that sometimes passed over Mustang's face when he found some new lead or hope for his star subordinate. And a new moment, now, Mustang's fingers threaded into Ed's hair and his lips warm against Ed's ear, and Ed didn't care, now, about the strangeness, because Mustang was making him solid and here and that was enough.

He started to lift his hands, hesitated, and only closed the left on Mustang's arm. Mustang lifted his head.

"Use both hands. I don't want you stopping to think about anything just now."

Ed let those words echo in his head, understanding that Mustang meant to distract him with this, probably quite extensively, and that if he consented he would have to trust Mustang to see him though something he had no experience of.

He hated not knowing what he was doing.

Mustang was waiting for his answer.

Slowly, Ed reached up and wrapped both arms around Mustang's back.

Something flashed in the dark eyes looking down at him, like that sometime softness but hotter. Ed let out his breath and shivered as Mustang scattered a line of butterfly kisses down his chest.

Mustang's gloves were of such rough cloth Ed hadn't expected his hands to be so soft. Soft and cool, in contrast to the warmth of his body, as they mapped paths down Ed's arms, circling his wrists and fingers, across his stomach. And finally, slowly, between his legs.

"Aaaaaahhh..."

Ed's body arched up against Mustang's hand, his lips parting under Mustang's mouth as his legs, half reflexively, opened under Mustang's touch. His own hands closed hard over Mustang's shoulders, trying to brace himself in the tide of sensation. As Mustang paused to unfasten Ed's pants, Ed gathered the wits to note that he seemed quite adept at it; a lot of practice, perhaps. The thought made him laugh, and Mustang drew back a bit.

"I'm sorry; did that tickle?"

"Only in my head." Ed's own reply made him laugh again.

Mustang's brows twitched up, and then he smiled.

"You're much too coherent."

He tipped Ed's head to the side and began to trace the tendons of his neck. Ed's wits departed again. When he felt Mustang's tongue and then teeth on his throat such heat rushed down Ed's spine that he barely noticed the departure of his remaining clothes, too.

The feeling of other cloth against his skin recalled him.

"You're wearing too much," he managed, though his voice was husky.

Mustang didn't joke this time. His mouth lost its usual curl and became grave as he brushed back Ed's loose hair. "I don't want to push you to anything tonight."

Ed shook his head and ran a finger down Mustang's shirt, looking studiously at it to avoid his eyes.

"I..." I want to feel your skin. He couldn't possibly say that! Ed felt himself blushing and damned his fair coloring for the umpteenth time, because Mustang was sure to notice it, even in the low light.

"Hmm."

Mustang's faint smile had returned, Ed could hear it. He saw it, too, when Mustang stood up from the bed and Ed looked up.

Mustang gracefully stripped his clothes off, wholly unembarrassed, and his eyes never left Ed's.

This was not helping the blush to go away.

And it was different, when Mustang returned to the bed. The light slid over his skin and down long, sleek muscles. The heat of his body was shocking, and his weight somehow more solid now. It left Ed gasping as Mustang sank down over him, and he froze at the silk-shivery feeling.

Again, Mustang waited for him. Waited with a question in his eyes. Waited until Ed breathed out an answer.

"Roy..."

Then he moved, and Ed lost track of time and thought, because the world consisted of Roy's skin against his own; of Roy's palms sliding down his ribs, urging his legs apart. Roy's teeth nibbled the inside of Ed's thigh, stealing his voice; Roy's hair brushed, feathery, against him; the burning wet heat of Roy's mouth closed on him, stealing even his breath.

Fire unfurled through Ed's veins, tossed him up like a spark. He felt the curl of Roy's tongue but couldn't feel the bed under him. Everything in him rushed down, down to one point, and then swept out like a shock front, leaving him shaken, trying to remember how to breathe.

Gradually his attention to normal details returned, and he noticed Roy lying against his side tracing random patterns over his collarbones.

"What about you?" Ed asked, as his wits recovered enough to determine what the localized pressure against his leg probably was.

Roy lifted his head. "Aren't you falling asleep?"

Ed, pleased to be contrary, gave him a smug smile. "Nope. What about you?" he repeated.

"I hadn't thought to go quite that far to distract you."

"Whatever works," Ed shrugged, insouciant as he could manage while naked.

Like the flame he commanded, Roy had created a small sphere of light and warmth, but Ed could feel what was outside that sphere waiting for him. He didn't want to leave yet. On the other hand, there were certain stories that he had overheard both among the soldiers and on his travels... He looked up at Roy. "Would it hurt?"

It took Roy a second to follow Ed's train of thought, and then surprise flickered across his face, followed by speculation. At last, he drew himself up with cool dignity. Quite unfairly, Ed thought, he managed it very well despite being naked. "It certainly would not. I have considerably more skill that than, Edward-kun."

The tone was classic Mustang-taisa, but he was grinning. Ed, already on edge, broke down laughing again, but buried his head against Roy's shoulder, shy of the sudden intimacy brought by that look. How much more intimate can we get? he wondered, exasperated with his own silliness. As Roy's arms closed around him, though, Ed knew that somehow this moment was far more intimate than what Roy had just done for him. And compared to this, even that might be lesser.

"Do it, then," he whispered.

Roy put a hand under his chin and tipped Ed's face up to see his eyes. "Ed..."

The question was back, and this time Ed scraped together words to answer it. The man who had stayed by him tonight, who had known and cared what he would be feeling, who had used him and driven him and protected him, who had let him fly free to chase a dream all these years, deserved words now. "If you say you won't hurt me, you won't. I trust you."

Roy's eyes widened with more surprise than Ed had ever seen him show. And then his mouth quirked and he leaned over to rummage in his nightstand, emerging with a small bottle whose cap he removed and set handy. He looked back at Ed, one brow tilting up. Ed, remembering some more of the stories he's heard, blushed again, but didn't look away.

"Do it."

Roy's hand passed down the length of Ed's spine, drawing Ed to him. "I will."

His hand worked its way up again, digging into the muscles, gradually unwinding them. Ed, pressed full length against Roy's body, was hard put to stop himself from purring.

"Sure you're not trying to make me sleep?" he sighed, eyes half closed.

"Not asleep, but I do need you to be relaxed."

"Couldn' get much more r'laxed than that," Ed mumbled against Roy's chest.

The grin edged back into Roy's voice. "We'll see."

Having reduced Ed to suitable pliability, Roy arranged him, spread out, on the bed and set out to discover every particularly sensitive spot on his body. Ed himself hadn't been aware of any of them. The sole of his foot; just behind his ankle; the back of his knee. Roy spent some time on the hollow of Ed's hip, making him squirm. When Roy sucked, hard, on Ed's nipple the sudden spike of sensation brought Ed up off the bed. Roy gave him a smug look through his eyelashes before moving on to Ed's shoulder.

The odyssey ended with Roy lying over Ed, teeth and tongue playing with his ear.

"Thought you... haaaa ah... said... relaxed..."

"Much too coherent," Roy chuckled. His voice, so close and soft, so resonant and deeper than Ed remembered hearing before, swept a shudder through him every time Roy spoke.

"It won't hurt, regardless, but for you to enjoy it I also need your proper... attention."

He moved his hips against Ed's.

"Ah!"

"Mm. Impressive, as always, Hagane."

Ed couldn't manage a proper glare, but the glint in Roy's eyes said he appreciated the effort.

In a rush Roy sat back on his knees and pulled Ed up to straddle him. The irrepressible corner of Ed's mind noted that he was now taller than Roy, but only had a moment to appreciate it before Roy slid a hand up into Ed's hair and drew him down to a kiss. This kiss was deep, demanding that Ed not only receive but return. Ed thought, a bit fuzzily, that Roy seemed to be pursuing Ed's voice with his tongue. Roy's tongue tasted faintly of salt, and something else Ed couldn't place.

Then Roy's other hand returned, slick now, sliding between Ed's cheeks, moving, circling, slowly pressing... in.

Ed made a sharp sound in his throat. Neither his body nor his mind could quite decide how to react. Roy's fingers were still moving, as if seeking something... something... oh...

Tremors raced through Ed. His hips jerked against Roy. His moan was swallowed in the kiss. And Roy's fingers were still moving, pressing, there... there...

Ed broke away from the kiss and tossed his head back, and Roy laughed.

"Now. This wasn't it?"

His teeth closed once again on Ed's throat and Ed lost all control of his movement and thrust hard against Roy.

"Now."

Roy let Ed back down on the bed, and Ed's senses narrowed down to snapshots. Roy's hands spreading him open. That sliding pressure again, but larger this time. Slowly, slowly, moving. Ed's own hands clenched on the sheets; the thought flashed by that his right hand was probably putting holes in it. And something... shifted. The slow movement was smoother. He's... inside me. Ed let out breath he hadn't know he was holding, and for the first time heard an answering sigh from Roy.

Roy was leaning over him on one hand. Sweat gleamed on his skin, his breath came fast through parted lips, his eyes were half-lidded but burning. Because of me... Ed's presence, his body, had broken the reserve of this famously reserved man. The thought curled, hot, in his stomach.

And then Roy shifted, moving inside Ed again, sliding, pressing there, and his other hand came up to surround Ed and stroke him, and the heat surged up, wringing Ed's every nerve. He could hear his voice and Roy's, but both were distant. The fire closed on him, tighter, tighter, and Ed strained with it, spreading his legs and stretching his arms wide into it, seeking the hard movement of Roy's body, until the world shattered into sparks and brilliance.

"Ed!"

When his senses returned to normal order Roy was leaning on both hands and they were both panting.

"Roy... I..." Ed couldn't, for the life of him, think how to finish his sentence.

Roy gave him a faint, gentle smile and stroked back his hair before hauling himself off the bed with a slight groan. "Wait here a moment, Ed."

Roy returned with a damp towel and a glass of water. He handed the glass to Ed and dropped two small pills into his hand. "Take those," he directed, "or you'll feel it in the morning."

Lassitude was too pleasant for Ed to emerge just to ask what Roy was talking about.

"I trust" Roy remarked, as he settled back down, "that you'll be going to sleep now?"

Ed mumbled an affirmative, just aware enough to hear Roy's Good and feel a cool hand rest on his shoulder before he was asleep.

III

Roy woke slowly, slowly enough to remember who was in bed beside him before he started and woke Ed.

He propped his head on his hand and regarded the boy for some minutes. In the approaching dawn, with the sheet cast down around his hips and his hair fanned out over the pillow, Ed looked like an artist's sculpture. Roy was reasonably sure that Ed had, as yet, not the faintest idea how striking he was, but Roy had watched his protÃ©gÃ©'s gold eyes and powerful body attracting admiration and desire for several years now.

That Ed had actually let Roy do this was... unexpected. Roy had been careful not to step beyond the line of teasing, with him. Of course, these were extraordinary circumstances. He didn't regret using something that had drawn Ed back from the edge so well, but he hoped that this night would not disturb the working relationship he had spent so much time fostering...

Ed stirred, stretched, opened his eyes. He blinked, visibly putting his memory in order, and finally reached up a hand to touch, briefly, the center of Roy's chest.

"Thank you. Taisa."

End

Gyre

Ed gets answers and questions about Roy's motives. Drama, I-3.

Do you know anything about falconry, Edward?...It's a fascinating study. You should look into it some time.

Edward Elric spent a good deal of his time in libraries, and when his research was going well he rather liked them. Libraries were quiet places where the information you were looking for held still and waited for you to come get it.

Of course, when research was not going well, that became a source of frustration.

Ed slammed another book shut.

"I don't care what they're called when they're two years old, I don't care how you have to feed a fledgling, and I certainly don't care how they mate!"

He had not intended to rise to Mustang's bait about the falconry. But the man had taken so consistently to calling him "hawk" during the increasingly disjointed interludes when That Author got hold of the storyline that Ed had finally broken down. The Colonel was obviously making some point and Ed wanted to know what it was.

So far he had found five books talking about nothing but passagers and seeling and jesses and casting, complete with line drawings, and he was about to give it up as a bad job. Or, possibly, a bad joke. If there was a point in all this, he wasn't seeing it.

After all, the Nothing Kinky rule was still in effect.

Ed eyed the remaining three book he had pulled off the shelves on his sweep through the library. One more try, and then he was going to go get some food.

"Eenie, meenie, miny, moe," he mumbled to himself. His finger stopped on the middle book, and he pulled it out and opened it with a sigh.

At least it was short.

Half an hour later Al found him, sitting in a pool of lamplight staring at the cover of a closed book as if it were some new transmutation circle and Ed wasn't sure what it would do.

"Nii-san? Dinner is almost gone at the canteen. Were you coming?"

Ed started at his brother's gentle reminder and called up a smile for him. "Yeah, I was just about to leave. Let me put these back."

Snatches of that last book echoed through Ed's mind as they crossed the courtyard.

This is not a hobby to be taken on lightly, nor is it one that can be put in a closet on a rainy day, or if the falconer doesn't feel well that day. For the most part, birds of prey are not capable of "affection" for their handler, and the best one can expect is tolerance and acceptance. Falconers speak of "serving" their bird, and that is very much the case, for this is a partnership in which the bird has the upper hand, and can choose at any time to dissolve the relationship and fly away.

How was he a hawk? A statement on the amount of work Ed's excursions made for the Colonel? That seemed too simple, though. Backhanded flattery? That would be more in Mustang's line. But he had to know Ed wouldn't actually leave. Not while he still needed the edge this position gave him in his search for a way to retrieve Al's and his bodies.

Another passage returned to him.

The falconer must do all of his training himself. Unless, of course, he happens to be so wealthy that like the nobility of old, he can employ a falconer to man "his" birds—though in that case, they will never be "his", for they will truly answer only to the hand that trained them.

Ed stopped dead in the middle of the court, staring up at the one office window still lit.

"Nii-san?"

Ed's gaze didn't budge. "Al, I need to talk to Mustang-taisa about something. I'll be right along."

He turned to find Al looking down at him with an expression more knowing and more patient than a metal helmet should have been capable of.

"All right. Remember to eat something, OK?"

Ed patted Al's arm. "I will."

Roy Mustang liked to work late in the evenings. It was a good time to do paperwork, as he could have some assurance that no one would bring him any more for a little while. Only some sort of emergency generated paperwork this late.

Thus, when a knock sounded at his door, Roy expected it to be Hawkeye, or possibly a courier, with news of an uprising or a car accident that had killed some General.

Well, it's always possible, he thought wistfully.

"Come."

Roy was understandably surprised when the door opened to show Edward leaning on the frame. "Edward-kun. Finished with your research project?"

The reminder that Roy always managed to know what Edward was doing barely got a half-hearted glare. Roy was intrigued.

"We're off-script right now, right?"

Roy sat back a bit. "Yes."

Edward started to say something, checked, and wandered a bit aimlessly around the couch. Roy was now absolutely fascinated. Edward stared blankly out the window for a moment before his mouth firmed. "Taisa. What is it you want to do?"

Roy had been expecting some form of this question for years. Edward was hardly blind, and he'd surely seen enough ulterior motives to recognize them. He regretted, for an instant, that he couldn't tell this brilliant young man everything... but no.

"I want to do the same thing every man wants to do, Edward-kun. I want to make the world something other than what it is."

Edward's eyes turned to him, sharp now, and for a moment Roy thought he might push for more. But Edward settled, straightening and turning back to the window. "All right, then. Tell me something else. Why now?"

Roy quirked an eyebrow.

Edward swung away from the window and stalked back through the room. "If it's been enough, for this long, just to watch me fly, if it's been enough that I strike something you approve of, whatever that is, and come back, why take me to bed now?"

Roy smiled slowly.

He rose to join Edward where he'd fetched up, by the bookshelf. Ed stood firm, looking up at him, focused, demanding.

"My golden hawk. Your soul is brighter than your eyes," Roy murmured on a breath of whimsy.

Edward's look evolved into a full-fledged glare, and he drew in a deep, incensed breath. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

Roy laid his hands on Edward's shoulders. "Edward, listen to me."

Edward paused, narrow-eyed.

"One can be brilliant, one can have the purity of purpose that cuts like a sword edge, one can have power and genius and Fate's undivided attention and still be dark. But you are not. You are not."

Edward stood very still, emotions flashing through his eyes like colors in a kaleidoscope. Confusion, embarrassment, question, startlement. Roy didn't think he would ever tire of watching the clarity and depth of feelings as they showed in Edward's eyes. To anyone who knew him, he was utterly transparent. And that was why Roy couldn't say more. Edward you're too clear, too bright. If I fail, that's what will keep you alive. But only if you don't know. Forgive my silence and let me borrow your brightness a little longer.

Edward lifted a hand, hesitated, laid it lightly on Mustang's wrist.

Then he pulled away and turned his back. "You and your damn games. Can't you ever give a straight answer to anything?" he huffed.

"But Edward-kun," Roy murmured, "then the game would be over."

Edward snorted.

"And, after all, don't I fly you well?"

Edward's spine straightened with a snap. "I am going to dinner. Al will start worrying if I waste any more time here with you," he announced icily, and marched out the door.

When he was gone Roy spoke to the empty air.

"Good night, Edward."

End

Ed: *steams* That's what you call getting more answers?

Branch: Hey, I just do the general outline, you guys are the ones who fill it in.

Ed: *transfers glare to Roy*

Roy: What do you want, Edward-kun, a story or an essay?

Branch: Make yourselves useful, guys, quit arguing and do the credits.

Roy: *urbanely* To be sure. Dear readers, the passages about falconry were quoted from the afterwords of Mercedes Lackey's novels, Winds of Fate and Winds of Change respectively. We, the characters and author, tender all our gratitude and respect to her.

Branch and Ed, in unison: And quit making fun!

Roy: *faint smile*

Under Cover

For the Put Ed In A Dress challenge. Secret missions, entertaining disguises, pissed off Alchemists. Humor, I-2, no spoilers.

- Associated Fanart: Ed and Roy dancing by Moumusu.

"The problem is that they expect you. And I would prefer you didn't destroy half the city getting in."

Ed paced down the hall next to the Colonel, Hawkeye bringing up the rear.

"If they have proscribed alchemical equipment in there, why can't you just search?" Ed grumbled. "Why do I have to go?"

"Ah? You would prefer not to be involved? Giving up your search, then, Hagane?"

Ed fumed at the reminder that he did have an interest in the slightest hint of equipment that could produce an alchemical reaction without equivalent exchange.

"And the point is that we're not sure yet just what Dalzet does have," Mustang continued. "We need someone to check. Quietly. I've secured the services of... a professional... to help with that." He unlocked a door and opened it to reveal a woman seated at a table inside.

Wheat blond hair. Sea blue eyes. A soft, warm smile when she looked up.

Ed's jaw was hanging open and he couldn't quite manage to shut it.

"Psiren...?!"

"Clara, please. I'm glad to meet you again. Edward-kun, I believe?" The rich, throaty voice was certainly hers. Ed returned her friendly nod, a bit stunned.

"We captured her some time ago, actually," Mustang told him, leaning in the doorway.

"How did you keep her?" Ed wanted to know.

"I sent Hawkeye."

Ed had to admit, that would probably do it.

The two women responded, each in her own way, Hawkeye with a sharp smile, Clara with a philosophical shrug.

"This is parole for her," Mustang continued. "She knows a good deal about disguise and concealment, and has agreed to help us."

"Well," Clara rose from the table, "it's difficult for me to refuse anything when a man such as yourself asks it. Mustang-taisa."

Mustang's eyes lit.

"It would have been a great shame for a woman such as yourself to remain confined," he returned, coming away from the door.

Clara laughed and leaned against the table, shoulders back, chin up.

Ed's mouth was hanging open again. He pulled in a deep, incensed breath.

Hawkeye stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. When Ed looked around she put a finger over her lips. He took a second look at Mustang and Clara, and his mouth twisted sardonically. He leaned against the wall next to Hawkeye and watched while Clara cooed and posed in a manner almost guaranteed to shut down any male brain.

If any two people really deserved each other, Ed thought it was probably these two. Clara was in fine form, directing a smoldering look up through her lashes.

"But of course I would keep my parole... for you," she whispered, running a finger down Mustang's chest.

Mustang caught her hand up, kissed it...

...and stepped back.

"Entertaining as it would be to continue," he smiled coolly, "work calls."

Clara stilled, arrested in mid-reach. Her eyes widened. Hawkeye's smile also widened a notch.

"Hawkeye-chuui will stay to keep an eye on things, Hagane," Mustang said, closing the door behind him. Silence reigned in the room for a moment.

"A formidable man, your commander," Clara observed, tone suddenly clinical.

"Yes," Hawkeye agreed.

"Nah. He just likes being evil that way. It's his idea of fun." Ed pushed away from the wall. Clara looked at him sideways.

"Indeed?" and then more briskly, "well, let's get down to business."

Ed took the seat farthest from her.

"I understand the problem is to get you past people who know who you are and that you may well be coming?"

Ed nodded, glumly.

"Well, to be honest, the most effective thing would be..."

From the room behind him Mustang heard an outraged screech echo.

An evil smile curved his lips, as he sauntered on down the hall.

"You want me," pregnant pause, "to dress up," smoking pause, "as a WOMAN?!"

Ed stood at bay, breathing heavily.

"Don't be childish Edward-kun," Clara admonished, sternly. "You've traveled too widely, too many people know what you look like, and the one thing you cannot effectively conceal is your eyes. If a man with gold eyes, no matter who he's supposed to be and what kind of supporting evidence he has, shows up to this open house Dalzet's guards will not hesitate. If he's truly concealing proscribed equipment, they'll shoot to kill." She gave Ed a measuring look. "And while I can believe that you would survive that, it would not get you inside."

After a few extremely uncomplimentary comments directed at the Colonel, Ed gave in.

"Good. Take off your shirt, then."

Ed goggled at her.

"I need to see what your figure looks like to decide how best to disguise it, Edward-kun," Clara chivvied.

Ed cast a look at Hawkeye, but she had her gaze fixed steadfastly out the window. And a hand over her mouth, but Ed did his best to ignore that. He pulled off his jacket and shirt, and attempted not to blush as Clara walked around him.

"Hmm," she mused, tapping a fingertip against her lips, "your shoulders are too broad for something fully fitted. Perhaps on overdrape of some sort." She advanced with a tape measure. "Hold still, now."

In point of fact, Ed froze. For a while, at least.

"Hold still, Edward-kun, I need the hip measurements too."

Hawkeye coughed a few times, not very convincingly.

"There. You can get dressed again."

Ed had never dressed so fast in his life. He glared at Hawkeye, whose shoulders were shaking, and she lost it.

Admittedly, it was the first time Ed had ever heard her giggle.

Clara ignored them both, returning to the table and sketching quickly on a pad of paper, pausing every now and then to chew the end of the pencil. By the time she finished both Ed and Hawkeye had regained some measure of composure.

"How about something like this?" Clara held out the pad.

Ed looked. It was a high necked, fitted dress with a flared skirt. Fabric draped over the body from shoulder to waist. Loose sleeves were swagged to just past the elbow, over long gloves. There were no ruffles, lace or frills anywhere.

"All right. I guess. For a dress," he muttered. "You're absolutely sure this will work?"

"No question of it," Clara declared with confidence. "If you manage to stop scowling that evening you'll make a stunning woman. And if you don't," she paused, smiled, "you'll make a stunning bad-tempered woman."

Ed growled.

"Now, the last thing. How precisely can you re-configure your automail?"

Ed cocked his head. "Fairly. What are you thinking of?"

"Can you smooth the outlines?"

Ed narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "Maybe. I'll work on it and let you know."

Two Weeks Later

Ed paused, pulling the bodice up, and poked at it suspiciously. "This," he remarked very flatly, "is padded."

"Drape or not, you need the proper silhouette," Clara told him.

Ed grumbled, but finished pulling the dress on. The zipper was the next challenge, and after several gyrations trying to tug it up he had to let Hawkeye zip him.

"Good, it fits," Clara said, satisfied. "Now, let's do something about the hair."

Ed suffered having his hair unbraided, brushed and drawn up in a twist at the back of his head.

"I feel like a complete idiot," he informed Clara dourly.

"Nonsense, you look charming. Even with the scowl, just like I said you would. With a touch of makeup everything will be perfect."

Ed paled. "...what?"

Clara set out an array of arcane boxes, tubes and cases, unassisted by Hawkeye who was leaning on the wall again trying to stifle her laughter.

"Makeup," she told him without a hint of sympathy, "only a bit, don't worry."

"Don't worry?" Ed's voice spiraled up.

"A little color for your lips to start with." Clara advanced, remorseless.

After a brief scuffle with his personal fashion Nemesis, which reduced Hawkeye to tears, Ed was trapped against the door and color duly applied.

"This is absolutely ridiculous," Ed sputtered.

And then his attention was caught by a sound from the other side of the wall. A sound that greatly resembled someone laughing into their sleeve. Someone with a low voice.

Ed flung open the door to find Mustang leaning on the wall, eyes sparkling. He straightened and smiled winningly. "Why, Edward-chan, you look most charming."

Mustang had to dodge smartly after that, and Ed's fist made a hole in the wall.

"Edward-kun, do not tear that dress!"

He gave Clara a fulminating look.

"On the other hand," she allowed, "with your color that high you hardly need any other cosmetics. It's really quite striking." She eyed the grinning Mustang thoughtfully. "You know. It would be no bad thing if Edward-kun were to have an escort. A pretty woman alone at these affairs is the center of attention. A pretty woman with an escort is the object of more distant appreciation, and could slip away more easily." She ignored the choking noises coming from Ed. "Are you free this evening, Mustang-taisa?"

Mustang raised his eyebrows at her. "I follow your reasoning, but perhaps Hughes-chuusa would be a better choice? He is more accustomed to covert work of this sort."

Clara shook her head slowly.

"Very few people actually know what you look like. You're remarkably elusive for such a well-known figure. In addition, you value Edward a great deal and will care for his safety in a place where maintaining his disguise may leave him at a disadvantage. Besides," she added, offhand, to Ed, "he thinks you're attractive in that. It can only add veracity."

Ed turned six shades of red in as many seconds, and his head snapped around to look at the expressionless Mustang. Mustang touched two fingers to his chest and bowed to Clara.

"It's nothing to worry about Edward," she finished, "I'm quite sure your trust in him is not misplaced."

Ed retreated precipitately and slammed the door.

Mustang and Clara locked gazes.

"You are a dangerous woman," Mustang said at last, softly, "to steal such truths. Not only from me but from him as well."

Clara smiled a sad smile and shook her head. "No. Not him. Or, at least, I could never really use it to harm him. His heart is too pure for that." Her smile turned sharp as she looked up. "So have a care, Mustang-taisa. I have no doubt that you are an accomplished hunter. But Edward captures people without ever trying to."

Hawkeye stuck her head out the door.

"Clara, I could use some help here. Edward-kun is being difficult about the high heels."

"Evening wear and less obtrusive gloves should do for you," Clara told Mustang, moving back toward the dressing room. "Come back in about two hours."

"Confident, isn't she?" Mustang noted.

Hawkeye shrugged. "It's worked so far. She even taught him to dance earlier this week."

"Very dangerous."

Mustang handed Ed out of the rented car. Ed kicked at the wretched skirt to make it fall straight and tried not to think of how conspicuous he was. Clara had chosen beautiful material, brilliant cobalt figured with white and gold, but, while he could appreciate it in the abstract, it made Ed twitchy to be wearing something so eye catching.

Mustang's hand on his waist wasn't helping the twitchiness any.

"Is that really necessary," he gritted out.

"I'm supposed to be your protective escort, preserving you from unwanted attentions," Mustang murmured.

Part of Clara's intention was working perfectly, as the high color in the cheeks of what appeared to be an elegant young woman drew admiring stares all down the entry hall.

Since Dalzet was throwing an open house to show off for his well-to-do friends and clients there were visitors wandering just about every hallway, but the general movement was toward the ballroom. Ed stiffened as Mustang guided them in that direction, though.

"It will be more reasonable for you to wander off after we establish our presence," Mustang pointed out.

Ed fumed, but went along.

Mustang cast a measuring eye over the roomful of brilliant lights and equally brilliant clothing. Ed relaxed a bit, deciding that he would blend in reasonably after all.

He was almost right, nor was he really to blame that it escaped him that his dramatic coloring and confident bearing eclipsed nearly every woman in the room.

"Hm," Mustang mused, "two dances, a drink, and another dance, and I think you'll be able to slip away without anyone remarking on it. Adele."

Mustang caught him adroitly as Ed tripped and nearly fell.

Ed knew that he was blushing, which only infuriated him more. "What?!" he hissed between clenched teeth.

"You don't like the name? I can hardly call you Edward-kun here." Mustang looked down with his most infuriating half-smile, eyes mocking.

"Fine. Fine, it's fine! Now let go!"

"Of course."

Ed collected himself, grateful that, for whatever reason, most of the stares directed at him seemed to have been withdrawn.

Mustang's smile became satisfied.

A new dance was starting. "Come on, let's get this over with," Ed growled.

Ed's twitchiness grew as Mustang held him closer to dance. It was just possible that the Colonel finally decided to have some uncharacteristic mercy, because the next thing he said was actually reasonably neutral.

"How did you manage to change the line of you right arm so much?"

Ed calmed a bit, focused on professional questions. "Some reconfiguration, some transmutation. It took a little experimenting."

"I'm impressed with your dedication to this assignment." Mustang spun them lightly.

"Try to dip me and I will find some way to make you regret it," Ed promised with something that a person who couldn't see his eyes might mistake for a smile.

"I wouldn't dream of offering such an indignity to a lady."

Ed reminded himself that he did not want to attract attention by, say, screaming with rage.

By the end of two dances he needed a drink very badly. It might, however, have been a mistake to finish it so quickly. For one, that just meant that Mustang drew him back onto the dance floor that much sooner. For another, it went to his head rather fast.

"For someone so capable of forethought and clever plans, you are very given to impulse, aren't you?" Mustang seemed amused.

Ed, having to lean a bit more heavily into Mustang's arms than he would have preferred, didn't answer.

At last Mustang extracted them from the dancing at one of the stairways.

"Will you be all right, climbing stairs in those shoes, and in your current condition?" he wanted to know.

"I'll be fine," Ed declared, tight lipped, and set off with a stiff back. As soon as he reached the top of the stairs he kicked off the shoes.

"Not here. Nothing there. Can't these people put this stuff in a reasonable place?" Ed tip-toed from room to room, muttering.

Finally, in one of the first floor sitting rooms, he found it.

"Arrays, materials, a ton of chalk..." He flipped through the notebooks sitting on the worktable. "Hm. Um-hm. Hm?" He paged more slowly. For a while he simply sat and looked at the notebook in his lap. Then he rose, crawled with some difficulty under the worktable and started tapping on the floor.

Something clicked.

"Got it!" Ed whispered, and pushed back a recessed opening in the floor. After taking a long look at what was underneath he closed it again, dusted himself off and strolled back to the ballroom.

It was of a piece with the whole night that he ran into a very drunk guest halfway there.

"Ah, the beautiful lady! And you've gotten rid of that possessive bastard, too, I see!"

Ed didn't waste time wondering about the "possessive" part. "Bastard" was enough to tell him who the drunk meant. "Yyyyees, actually I was just going back to catch up with him..." Ed tried to sidle around the man, who leaned against the wall to block him. Or, possibly, to keep from falling down. The fumes on him were enough to make Ed a bit dizzy. He back-pedaled quickly as the man reached for his shoulder.

"No, no, you don't want a cold bastard like him..."

A sharp shnick came from beyond the man, and he was wrapped in blue-edged flames. He collapsed with a hoarse cry, smoking.

Mustang was standing behind him.

"Cold?" he repeated, very soft.

"Thanks," Ed managed, after a moment.

There was an odd glint in Mustang's eye, but his voice was perfectly calm. "Trouble with your shoes?" he nodded toward the footgear in Ed's hand.

"It was quieter with them off," Ed mumbled, wedging the wretched things back on his feet. He accepted the arm Mustang offered him without thinking. Then he paused. "Wait a minute." Ed turned over Mustang's hand. There was no circle on the glove.

"It's on the inside."

Ed snorted. "And you said Hughes-san would be better at this undercover stuff."

"He would not, at least, have left such a distinct calling card," Mustang returned. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Ed was silent a moment. "I suppose."

"Ah. Then let us go."

Back in the moderate security of the car, Ed flopped over the seat wearily.

"So?"

"It's a scam," Ed told the Colonel dully. "The notebooks are all nonsense. There's all sorts of stuff stored in the basement under the room where he does business, ready to be raised though the trap and slipped onto the table; probably makes some kind of flash to cover it. Lots of gold down there."

Mustang looked out the window. "I thought that might be the case."

"Then why did you get me to do this?" Ed snapped.

Mustang gave him a long look. "Can you really see Havoc in a dress?" he asked, seriously.

Ed blinked once. Twice. Pictured it.

Collapsed laughing.

He was still snickering when they got back to headquarters.

Mustang hauled him back to his office, where he, the rat, could get rid of his gloves and coat and tie, to draw out the location of what Ed had found before letting him go. About to make his escape, Ed considered logistics and paused.

On the one hand, he could head back to his rooms and get Al's help getting out of the damn dress. But then Al would see him in the dress, something Ed had managed to avoid so far. On the other hand, he could ask Mustang for help now and simply have Al hand him his bathrobe through the door when he got back to their rooms. Mustang had, after all, already seen the worst.

"Taisa."

"Hm?" Mustang looked up from the drawings.

"Can you unzip this thing for me?" Ed felt the tiniest bit revenged for the evening by the utterly blank look on Mustang's face.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I can't do the zipper by myself. And, frankly, women are nuts to put up with this kind of thing all the time."

The Colonel's smile was a slight bit unnerving, though Ed couldn't pin down why. "Of course, Edward-kun."

Ed turned his back and let Mustang work the zipper down. Finally, he was almost free!

Mustang's hands slid over his bare shoulders. Ed froze.

"Truly, you were very beautiful tonight, Edward-kun."

One hand started to brush the dress off his left shoulder and Edward Elric saw red. Every frustration of the past two weeks and this crazed night came roaring up. He seized Mustang's wrist, turned, heaved and threw the Colonel over his shoulder and into the floor with a deeply satisfying thump.

Head high, dress falling half off him, wobbling on high heels, Ed stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

Mustang lay on his office floor, laughing breathlessly.

End

The Upper Hand

Roy muses about his personnel management techniques. Drama, I-2.

"You didn't mention that you already knew about the new disturbance down in Lior, Taisa," Havoc observed.

Roy Mustang and his officers strode down the steps of their neighboring country's embassy in East City.

"No, I didn't," Roy agreed, smiling.

Hawkeye sniffed.

"Of course not. You don't gain the upper hand by giving things away, Havoc."

Havoc grunted around his cigarette.

As the party sorted themselves into the two official cars that had brought them from headquarters, Roy contemplated Hawkeye's words.

Normally, they were a truism. But there were times...

Edward Elric was a good example of the rule's reverse. As he was for a good many rules, Roy reflected, a grin tugging at his mouth.

Their liaison was a source of amusement, as well as pleasure and comfort to him. And Roy had noted early on that one of the easiest ways to get the upper hand with Edward was to tell him the absolute truth.

It entertained Roy to no end that he could stop one of Edward's tempers simply by thanking him.

To be sure, part of the effect was probably pure surprise, since Roy rarely dealt so straightforwardly with Edward outside of bed.

There was another level to that, of course, Roy mused watching the city sweep past. Edward placed an extremely high value on truth. Roy often thought that it might be a product of Edward's power. Being so powerful, he had never been tempted to the petty stratagems that those without power resorted to, while also being in a position to see all too much of that pettiness at close range. Edward was the first person Roy had met of whom he might believe that the strength of his spirit was the measure of his power.

The exchange that Roy offered for such intimate knowledge of Edward was to speak the truth to him while they were together.

Which was not to say that the truth was always straightforward, or even that straightforwardness was always straightforward.

Roy smiled.

Edward was not the only example of the rule's reverse, though, he thought, as the cars pulled back up to the military headquarters. The thought lingered, and as they began to part ways at the door of Roy's office he spoke.

"Hawkeye-taii."

His senior aide paused and looked back. "Sir?"

"Sometimes one does, in fact, gain an overwhelming advantage precisely by giving oneself away," he said, slowly.

He waited while surprise, confusion and finally understanding chased each other across her face.

She drew herself up and offered him a salute worthy of the Central parade ground. Her response was low and intense.

"Yes, Taisa."

Roy returned the salute, gravely.

End

Roy: Just for my curiosity, why did you promote Hawkeye but not me?

Branch: Because she rocks my world. She's the kind of muse I can do target practice with.

Roy: *eyes Author thoughtfully* Fair enough.

Branch: *waves, starry-eyed* Hey, Lisa, want to go get a drink?

Lisa: Why not? We're done for the day, right Taisa?

Branch and Lisa: *wander off, arm in arm*

Gift

Ed finds things out about Roy's plans, Roy gets a surprise. Plot With Porn, I-4.

Part One

Roy Mustang's visitor was finally leaving, something for which Ed was profoundly grateful. The man had been underfoot for days, making bad jokes, getting dire glares from Hawkeye, and poking into everything. He didn't seem to be attached to the military. Or to anyone within the military except Mustang. How he had managed to collect the entire command staff, plus Ed, to see him off was a mystery.

"Oh, and I almost forgot, Carl finally got back to me about your request!"

"And?" Mustang inquired.

"He says he doesn't think they have the right food for gyrfalcons in his area, but he'll keep looking."

Mustang nodded.

Ed assuaged his irritation with the reflection that the man had mangled the pronunciation of "gyrfalcon". It didn't help a great deal. Fortunately, they managed to edge him out the door without too much further conversation. Ed heaved a sigh of relief.

Gyrfalcon... Ed wondered, idly, where had he learned how to pronounce that word. He remembered hearing it spoken. Who...?

"... my hawk... my fractious, cross-grained gyrfalcon."

Ed stopped dead in the middle of the hall.

What had the man said?

"...food for gyrfalcons..."

And where he had read the word...

"...the king may fly a gyrfalcon..."

"Taisa," Ed whispered, and then took a breath and almost shouted. "Taisa!"

Mustang turned, brows raised.

Ed strode through the other officers and caught Mustang's arm. His voice was barely audible. "Taisa, what are you doing?"

Mustang's eyes narrowed, and Ed was aware of sharp glances being exchanged around him. His eyes never left the Colonel's. It was a long moment before Mustang spoke, almost as quietly as Ed had whispered.

"Not here."

They were arrayed in Mustang's office before anyone spoke again. Mustang stood at the window, one hand on the glass. "Why do you ask now, Edward-kun?"

Ed, practically vibrating between the need to pace and the need to wring an answer out of his commander, spoke between his teeth. "Gyrfalcon. The bird a king flies."

Mustang bowed his head briefly, smile wry. "I should have known you'd remember that."

"Taisa...!" Edward reached out a hand, useless as that was with three meters of space between them.

Mustang sighed and straightened.

"This nation is broken, Edward-kun," he said, even and cool. "Surely you've noticed it. How many uprisings and civil wars have we had in the past twenty years? No country so troubled over its government should have lasted. Yet we have. Each time there's a rift it's patched over, each time the citizens rise the military puts them down. Successfully. Because of us."

He turned to look full at Ed, and Ed swallowed hard at the coldness in his eyes.

"The military succeeds because of the State Alchemists within its ranks."

Mustang turned away again and Ed found himself shaking from the force of the gaze now withdrawn.

"It cannot continue. It must not continue."

"Then why," Ed hesitated, then forged on, "why do you stay?"

Mustang was silent a moment, and then let out a breath that sounded pained. "Because," he replied, voice low, "only a military officer of the highest rank who is also an alchemist of considerable power could come close enough to Dai-Soutou Bradley to remove him and still hope to control the military through the upheaval afterward."

"...remove...?" Ed whispered.

Mustang leaned his forehead against the glass. "Kill. Most likely."

Ed was shaking again, fighting to breathe past his shock.

"I hadn't intended you to know any of this," Mustang continued, quietly. "You have a long history of doing things your own way without regard for politics of any kind. They would believe your innocence, and your power is too much a prize for them to kill you just as an example. If I fail."

"Then what am I in this?" Ed wanted to know. "Why have you kept me in your command? Everyone else knows about this, don't they?" He waved at Hawkeye and Havoc, who both nodded soberly.

"Long before you arrived," Hawkeye confirmed. "He chose us as his staff because we agree that something needs to be done. Soon."

"Told you that first day," Havoc reminded him. "If it was just ambition for more rank we wouldn't follow him."

Mustang looked over his shoulder, smiling at Ed. For some reason that made the shaking worse.

"Ah, Edward. You are my hunter. Wherever you go you have a remarkable knack for turning up the secrets and breaks, for stirring things up, for setting people in motion. And then, too..." Mustang turned away again. "You are my example. I didn't want to tell you this. I didn't want to darken you."

Ed pressed a hand hard against his mouth, staring sightlessly ahead of him.

"If you don't wish to be involved in such a thing I can transfer you to someone else's command." Hawkeye stirred, and Mustang waved her back. "Even if he leaves us I don't believe Edward-kun will say anything."

Memories returned to Ed, fragmented. The distant look in Ryla's eyes as she attacked unarmed men for raising their hands to a corrupt officer; the matter-of-fact insanity of a man who had lost everything at the hands of a State Alchemist; Gran's eyes; Rose's eyes; Al's eyes, so long ago.

Roy Mustang, urbane and mocking and careless; surrounded in flames; smiling, knowing, as he sent Ed off with another lead; shadowed, troubled, as he turned away from Ed's questions; strange and distant as he spoke of Ed's brightness; laughing as he called Ed his hawk and named himself Ed's falconer.

Standing at the window, straight and calm, waiting.

Ed came to him, stood in front of him looking up intently.

"I will fly for you. Taisa."

Over Mustang's shoulder he saw Hawkeye and Havoc exchanging puzzled looks. It didn't matter. Mustang sighed, laying his hands on Ed's shoulders.

"Thank you, Edward."

Ed nodded, saluted, and walked out of the office and down the hall to one of the spare rooms where he collapsed into a chair and sat, shaking, for a long time.

Part Two

It had been a very long day by the time Roy trudged home, but he couldn't quite face the idea of staying at headquarters tonight. Not with the echoes of his confrontation with Edward lingering there. Home meant peace and quiet, however temporary.

He left a trail of uniform pieces down the upstairs hallway, and was down to shirt and pants by the time he reached his bedroom. He leaned in the doorway to pull off his socks.

When he straightened up, though, he had to stop and blink at the bed a few times.

The image of Edward Elric sitting shirtless and cross legged on his bed did not go away.

Roy crossed the room slowly and looked down at him. "Edward?" It took a moment to dredge up an appropriate remark. "Was there a notice from That Author that I somehow missed?"

Edward's voice was low and clear. "We're off script. You know that. Forget the excuses." He unfolded himself to kneel upright, took Roy's face between his hands, kissed him. There was strangeness in the kiss, utterly focused yet somehow not demanding anything at all.

Edward let him go, caught up his hands, kissed them as well.

"Edward?" Roy was entirely bemused.

Ed took Roy's fingers in his mouth, one by one, tasting them, sucking lightly on the fingertips. He turned Roy's hands over, and Roy felt his tongue moving across the palms. Roy's breath started to get uneven.

When Edward looked up his mouth was very serious, and there was an entreaty in the gold eyes at odds with his evident aggressiveness. He pulled gently on Roy's wrists until Roy sat on the bed beside him.

Edward straddled his legs and undid Roy's shirt, paying great attention to each button, and brushed it off his shoulders. He leaned into Roy, and Roy, now very curious, in a slightly light-headed way, to see where this was going, let Edward press him down.

Edward's head bowed over Roy's chest, and Roy sighed a bit under the open-mouthed kisses and gentle nips that tracked down his body. Edward undid the button at Roy's waist and paused. Roy looked down just in time to catch Ed's wicked smile before he took Roy's zipper in his teeth to pull it down.

The heat of his mouth so close pulled a harsh breath from Roy.

The last of the clothing dispensed with, Edward stroked the inside of Roy's knee, and Roy, after a thoughtful moment, opened his legs for him. Edward bent over him and took Roy's cock in his mouth, toying with him as he had with Roy's hands earlier.

Roy sank down into the heat with a moan.

Before too long, though, Edward drew back and stretched himself beside Roy, pressing more of those strange kisses to his neck. At some point in the proceedings he'd managed to get off the rest of his own clothes. Roy was impressed.

"Taisa."

"Mmm?"

"Roy."

The intensity of Ed's voice pulled Roy's eyes open. Edward's fingers brushed his lips.

"...what do you want?"

Roy knew, looking in Edward's eyes, that whatever he wanted Edward would do tonight. That this was the point of the apparent seduction. That was the strangeness in his kisses. A gift Ed had chosen to give him.

Anything he wanted. What did he want?

Well... the way Edward had been going had a certain appeal. It had been a long time, certainly, but it was something he'd enjoyed in the right mood.

Roy laughed, and pulled Edward into his arms. "I want to feel the touch of another human being. Everywhere."

It took Edward a moment to unravel that, and then he stiffened, staring down at Roy. "You really...?"

Roy smiled lazily up at him. "Yes."

He half expected to see that spark of challenge that sometimes lit Edward's eye around him, but the serious intentness never flickered. Roy's own expression softened. "Edward," he whispered, drawing a thumb over Edward's lower lip. His voice deepened.

"Kiss me."

Ed shivered and came to him.

After a few breathless minutes, he glanced over at the nightstand and then back at Roy. "Where?"

"Second drawer."

"What," Edward muttered, rummaging, "not the first?"

Roy chuckled. "I never expected to have you in this bed, Impatience."

Ed, leaning back over him, offered a sly smile. "Are you now?" he breathed against Roy's mouth.

"Ask me again after," Roy replied, just as soft.

Edward knelt between Roy's legs and reached under him.

"Mmmmm."

Roy lay back as warmth rippled out from Edward's slow fingers. It took a little while for him to relax, but Edward, possibly from his own nervousness, didn't rush. His touch was remarkably gentle, and Roy spread his legs wider to encourage him.

And then he felt something cool, hard. It took a shocked second to identify it.

The fingers of Edward's right hand.

Roy arched up off the bed as they pressed into him, an icy tingle shooting down his nerves. "Ha...! ... Ed..." The heat of Ed's mouth closed over his cock again, and the contrast drowned his senses. "Ed..."

Finally Edward drew back for a moment, laying a hand on Roy's chest. "Taisa?"

Roy's voice came from deep in his chest. "Oh yes."

Ed's eyes burned, and Roy suspected they only reflected his own.

Edward shifted and his cock pressed against Roy, and Roy's hands closed hard on the sheets. Slowly, slowly warmth and hardness pushed in, and he could hear Edward's breath hissing through clenched teeth, and then the strange moment of release and capture, and Edward gasped.

Sliding heat. Roy stretched back with a long breath, disconnected shivers dancing over him. He opened his eyes and smiled, because Edward's expression was that of someone who had just completed a complex calculation to his satisfaction.

The calculation was apparently one of angles and forces, because Edward shifted inside him and fire plunged up Roy's spine. Ed's hand wrapped around him, and Roy shuddered.

Ed's touches were slick and hard, and Roy let himself stretch open into them, let them fire his body, let them drive him beyond himself and release him into surging brilliance.

As he caught his breath again afterward Roy pulled Edward down to him before he collapsed. They lay, legs tangled, pressed against each other.

"Was there any particular reason for this?" Roy asked at last.

Ed shrugged one shoulder, glancing up from Roy's chest. It seemed that however their lovemaking went that was Edward's favored pillow after. "I said that I would fly for you," he answered slowly, "but it wasn't... enough. For what you're doing. For what you've given. It wasn't enough." He tucked his chin down. "You said I might understand later. Maybe it's later."

Roy remembered his words to Edward one especially bad-tempered day in his office. "My hawk..." When Edward looked up Roy kissed him as if he meant to inhale Edward's breath and soul.

"Thank you, Edward, for a magnificent gift," he whispered.

If Edward saw the gleam of wetness in Roy's eyes before he turned his face into Edward's hair he gave no indication of it then or later.

End

Branch: *fans self* Wow! Maybe we should try that another time, hey guys?

Roy: *insufferably smug*

Ed: *panting* You've got to be joking! He's twice as demanding like this!

Branch: *wheedling* Ah, come on, Ed, wasn't it fun?

Ed: *grumpy* Well, yes, I suppose. Maybe.

Roy: So, Edward-kun, what do you think? Did I have you?

Ed: *pointedly not answering*

Gone the Sun

Roy's memories of his friend. Drama with Angst, I-4, spoiler ep 25.

Colonel Roy Mustang stood in the night.

Stood while the chill settled into his bones.

Stood and remembered.

"Roy! About time you got here! Serve you right if I finished your drink."

Roy suppressed the urge to grin. "Oh, well, I was a bit delayed," he said, elaborately casual. "Notice anything different?"

He posed so as to show his new First Lieutenant's insignia to best advantage. He was sure Maas saw it immediately, but he made a great show of squinting at Roy from all angles.

"Hmmm. You got your haircut? No? I know, you put on this month's new shirt! No? Hmm. New perfume?"

Roy swung at him, laughing, and Maas ducked and slapped a drink into his hand. As Roy sat he thumped him on the shoulder.

"So how did you get promoted before me, you rat, and why didn't I know?"

"It just happened now," Roy protested. "As for how, I imagine our worthy superiors judged I better fit their image of a command-track officer." He looked down his nose.

Maas nodded, wisely. "Ah, of course. Ineffectual, easily-manipulated, effete clothes-horse..."

"Effete!?"

"Did I mention the easily-manipulated bit?" Maas forestalled another swing by holding up his glass. "Cheers," he grinned.

Roy growled. "You'll get yours, Hughes. Especially if you, a mere Second Lieutenant keep mouthing off to superior officers."

"As long as the officer is you, there's no problem," Maas pointed out, mildly.

Roy had to admit the justice of this observation. They clinked and drank with enthusiasm.

"Did I mention the congratulations bit yet?"

Roy's mouth quirked. "Not in so many words, but I got the idea."

"Well, congratulations, my worthy superior." Another clink. "If you can just manage to control that temper of yours, you'll go far."

"And what's wrong with my temper?" Roy inquired.

Maas lifted a sardonic brow at him. "What, should we go another couple rounds of hand-to-hand to demonstrate? After the last time?"

Roy's eyes narrowed at the reminder. He's not getting me this time, he swore to himself. "Yes, I think we should do that," he drawled.

Half an hour later Maas swept his legs out from under him for the third time and Roy stayed down when he landed. At least Maas was breathing as hard as he was.

"The point I was making," Maas panted, "is that when something pisses you off you just put your head down and charge. You don't pay attention to anything else."

"Whereas you do?"

"I pay attention to everything, Roy. That's my gift. Yours is to barbecue things that annoy you. Apparently this makes you command-track material."

Roy hauled himself upright and eyed his friend. "Are you really upset about that?" he asked, quietly.

Maas looked at him thoughtfully. "No. You're good with people, you like playing politics, command will suit you. So, no." A slow smile spread over his face. "I'm going to jab you about it until you try to fry me, of course. But I'm not really upset."

Roy fell back with a groan.

The Colonel's hands held the rail in front of him so tightly it would have hurt if he had noticed.

Roy signed off yet another report and threw it onto the stack for his new aide to take away. He was becoming convinced that the only thing higher rank was really good for was making you read more reports.

And it wasn't as if most of them actually came from, say, the field agents in Intelligence, which might have some significant information in them somewhere. No, these were the reports about how many uniform code infractions had taken place in the last month.

Of course, there were other ways to find out what Intelligence was up to...

Right on cue, his aide opened the door to their offices.

"Sir. There's a Hughes-taii here to see you."

"About time," Roy muttered, slapping down the most recent useless report. "Show him in, Shoui."

Maas threw himself into the chair of one of the spare desks and tossed a folder carelessly onto it.

"So?" Roy asked.

"Another new aide?" Maas shook his finger at Roy. "If you keep going through them like this the higher ups won't let you have any more shiny new ones, you know."

"Never mind my staff, Maas, are they sending us or not?" Roy snapped.

Maas eyed him. "Your staff will matter rather a lot, to your command, if they call you up alone in your capacity as the Flame Alchemist, won't it?"

Roy inhaled very deeply and restrained his urge to throttle Maas. "If they're not planning to call me, then the point is moot, isn't it? Do I have an answer to my question already?"

Maas grinned. "There. You are getting better at this."

Roy gave him a sour look. "I'm so glad you approve, sensei. Now will you give me a straight answer?"

A new voice spoke. "Based on this correspondence, Sir, Dai-Soutou Bradley has agreed to start choosing State Alchemists for deployment in the North at some time in the next few years."

Two head snapped around to see the Lieutenant, who had apparently taken Maas' folder and been reading through it the whole time.

"My file!" yelped Maas.

The blond woman looked at him coolly before continuing, to Roy. "No one is named specifically, yet, but as you are one of the most combat effective State Alchemists it seems reasonable to assume that you will be one of those chosen." She handed him the folder, open to the pertinent page.

"Thank you, Shoui," Roy said, a bit bemused.

"Sir." She saluted and strode out of the office, closing the door behind her.

"Who is she?" Maas murmured.

"Lisa Hawkeye," Roy told him, flipping through the pages. "Hers was the best of the personnel files I got to choose from this time. She's very efficient. Expert shot, too. Snipers would have snapped her up for certain if she hadn't chosen officer's training. I admit," he added, thoughtfully, "I hesitate to ask her for tea."

He expected some crack from Maas about having a sense of self-preservation after all, but what he got was an extremely serious look.

"Roy. Keep this one."

Roy raised an eyebrow.

"I mean it. You need her. You need someone who's brass tacks and no nonsense to back you up. You can get so flighty sometimes."

"...flighty?"

"What, you prefer flaky?"

Roy actually paused to think about that, and Maas clapped a hand over his face. Until he saw Roy's sly grin.

"You bastard! You did that on purpose!"

Roy smirked. "You did say I was getting better at this." He tossed the folder back to Maas. "There won't be any trouble over that being gone, will there?"

Maas sniffed. "Of course not. As long as I get it back before they notice."

Roy had the grace to look concerned.

"Don't worry, Roy. This is my field." He smiled lazily. "And the things you want me to do are loads more fun than my actual orders. Mustang-shousa, sir."

Roy came around the desk and closed a hand on Maas' shoulder. "Thanks, Maas."

"Any time."

The air burned in the Colonel's lungs.

If he could stop his breath heaving so much, it might be better.

Champagne had been flowing pretty freely, and Roy figured he could get away with it.

He made sure Maas was in ear-shot before sidling up to Gracia and lifting a hand to brush her hair back from her cheek. "So, may the Best Man claim a kiss from the bride? For good luck?"

"Hey," Maas squawked, gratifyingly, "hands off, Mustang! Find your own!"

"Surely there are no other ladies in the world so enchanting," Roy declared. "Besides, she should have at least one kiss from a good looking man before she spends the rest of her life putting up with your scruffy face."

Gracia's efforts to restrain her new husband were hampered by her own giggles. Finally she resorted to kissing him into submission, though she blushed a bit at the whistles from the guests.

Roy offered Maas a fresh glass in compensation, as Gracia left for another round of mingling with the crowd. "Happy?"

Maas looked at him as if Roy had asked whether it was nice to be able to breathe. "Aside from a few troublemakers who seem to have crashed in by impersonating a member of the wedding party, I've never been happier in my life."

Roy showed his teeth. "I did warn you what would happen if you kept making fun of your superior officers."

Maas grinned back. "You're a bastard." He slung an arm around Roy's shoulders. "So," he continued, "since you can't have Gracia," this backed up with a dire glare, "what about that Hawkeye-shoui of yours?" He gestured with his glass across the room to where Gracia and Hawkeye had their heads together and were laughing.

Roy looked at him as if Maas had asked whether he would like to gargle ground glass. "...Hawkeye? You are joking, right?"

Maas now looked smug. "Thought so."

"You thought what so?" Roy eyed him narrowly.

"She is the one you need. And you know it. I can't imagine any other reason you, of all people, would refrain from making a pass at a woman that impressive."

"The regulations forbidding fraternization within a command?" Roy suggested. "The fact that I really don't want her to shoot me anywhere important?"

Maas laughed uproariously, which Roy thought rather unfeeling of him. After all, Hawkeye clearly liked Gracia and probably wouldn't shoot her friend's husband. A mere commanding officer had no such assurances.

"Just remember what I said, Roy," Maas told him, recovering himself, "keep this one."

"Right, right. You too."

Maas raised his brows. "Hm? How's that?"

A corner of Roy's mouth curled up. "Well, you never know when a wonderful lady like Gracia will wake up and realize how many other, much better looking, men would be happy to..."

Maas chased him around the table, brandishing the champagne bottle.

The Colonel could feel tears starting to freeze on his cheeks. He could feel himself shuddering.

He supposed it was the cold.He sank to the ground and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop the shivering.

It must be shivering. It was cold out.

Roy knelt, shaking, in the broken stones of Ishvar.

The muscles of his stomach hurt from being wrung out so hard. Bitterness filled his throat and mouth. He was contemplating whether he had the strength to stand when hands closed over his shoulders. He started, violently.

"Roy! Roy, calm down. It's me."

"Maas?" Roy coughed. He didn't question how Maas had found him. Couldn't think past the noise and the smell and the memory of fire, the words that wouldn't leave his head... your orders... just following orders...

Maas caught him as he doubled over again. "Here. Drink this."

The water washed away a little of the bitterness. Roy hadn't thought it would leave.

"Now drink this."

The burn made him cough again.

"Finish it. You need it."

Roy didn't argue. He emptied the bottle and slumped back against a shattered wall beside Maas. Whatever had been in it seemed to unlock his voice. It was the first time Roy had spoken in what felt like days. "...can't go on. Like this. Have to stop..."

"You could turn in your license," Maas said, quietly.

Roy shook his head, suddenly wild to make Maas understand what he meant. "Not that! We have to stop. This has to stop!" His voice was harsh, and Maas silently handed him the water again. Roy laughed.

It took a while to stop.

"We can't stop it now," Maas told him softly.

"Maybe." Roy looked over the rubble around them. "But we can stop it again. This can't happen again, Maas."

Maas' voice was impatient, pained. "Do you really think you can stop it?"

Roy didn't know what was in his face, but when he looked at Maas whatever it was made his best friend edge back.

"Roy..."

"If I'm the one making the decisions I can."

It looked as though Maas would protest that statement, but he bit his lip and looked away. "Are you serious?" he asked at last.

Roy clenched his fist, feeling the roughness of his glove against his skin. Not again. "Yes."

Maas looked back at him, grave and measuring. "All right. Whatever I can do to support you, I will."

Roy blinked. "Are you serious?" he found himself echoing.

Maas looked at him more normally, with affectionate derision. "Of course I'm serious."

"Maas... This isn't a joke. This is..."

"Treason. I did get that part, yes." Maas took Roy's shoulders again and shook him a little. "But if anyone can actually pull off an idiotic, suicidal stunt like this, it's you. And you're right that this can't go on and leave anything spared of us. And I will always support you. Always, Roy. Understand?"

Maas' bare statement had the force of anyone else's oath, and Roy bowed his head, bringing his hands up to grip Maas' on his shoulders.

"Understood," he whispered.

"How long is always, Maas?" he whispered now.

Dimly, he felt something warm settle around his shoulders. Looking up he found Hawkeye beside him. She had brought his coat.

He had kept her. Or, perhaps, she had kept him. And she had picked up his plans as easily as she'd picked up the folder that day, given herself to his cause as easily as she'd given her opinion, grounded him and guarded him as efficiently as she did everything else. Maas' advice was almost always good.

Always.

How long?

"Hawkeye."

Her eyes widened. The Colonel very rarely called her by anything but her rank. "Sir?"

His hand closed tight on hers. "Promise me you'll do your best to live through this."

He could see her weighing it, weighing, most likely, his life against her own. That was why he had not asked for more. But finally she nodded.

"I promise." Her grip suddenly rivaled his. "Promise you will too."

That was the exchange, he knew. That was his duty to them. To live. To succeed in what they gave their own lives for. The weight of it bent his head down. "My best," he agreed. "I promise."

She accepted that with a nod of her own and climbed back to her feet. "Are you coming in yet?"

"In a little while." He looked up at her. "Thank you, Chuui."

Her eyes were serene as she saluted him. "Sir."

Roy looked up at the clearing sky, wishing he could think of something to pray to for the peace of his friend's spirit. But, in the end, the only thing he could offer was what he had promised his second.

"My best, Maas. Everything I am. I swear it."

Tears could not even this exchange. But perhaps time would. Roy closed his fist.

Everything.

End

Two to be Steady - Part One

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

I

When Maas Hughes moseyed into the refectory the first sight to meet his eyes was the unpleasant one of First Lieutenant George Cutter and his cronies bullying another new officer.

He could see right away what had drawn them. This one looked pretty young, slightly built, and was huddled just a bit into his overcoat as if trying to keep the whole world from looking at him. Of course it had the opposite effect on all the lowlife.

I can't eat a decent lunch with this going on, Maas decided, and started through the lunch-time crowd toward the scene.

He got there just in time to hear Cutter sneer, "...heard Gran transferred you right off, too. Maybe you aren't as good as he thought you'd be."

The young man finally stirred, unfolding his arms. The coat slipped off as his shoulders straightened and he laid his right hand, palm down, on the table.

There was a circle on the back of his glove.

Silence spread out like ripples in water after a dropped stone. Maas pursed his lips, seeing the blank chill in those dark eyes now focused on Cutter. This man had not just come to the end of his rope, he'd deliberately dropped it. This could just get bad.

And then he looked at Cutter and couldn't help but burst out laughing. Cutter looked like a melting ice cube he was sweating so hard, and white showed all the way around his eyes. Heads turned at the unexpected sound, and Maas strolled the rest of the way to the table, slapping Cutter on the shoulder in passing.

"Looks like you have a real talent for picking the wrong target, there, George." Maas plonked himself down in the chair opposite the young Alchemist. "Why don't you just run along, before I spare our new friend here the bother?" Just to drive the point home, Maas flicked out one of his knives for a moment. Cutter broke and scurried off, his tiny gang of sycophants on his heels. Maas shook his head, still chuckling.

"What a loser." He squinted at the exposed circle. "The Flame Alchemist, hm? Well, no wonder you look like death warmed over."

The Alchemist blinked at him. Maas glanced at the insignia. "And it'll probably be days before it catches up with him that, in addition to frying him, you could have him up for threatening a superior officer. Too bad I won't be there to see his expression." Maas sighed, wistfully.

"Why wouldn't you?"

Maas smiled to have finally gotten some words out of the man, even if they were a bit flat. "He tried that stunt on me when I was first assigned at Central. Like I said, he has a talent for the wrong target. He stays as clear of me as he can these days."

The Alchemist accepted this with a nod. After another moment of silence Maas tried a new approach.

"I know the food isn't the best, but you should probably try to eat a little more than that," he nodded at the untouched tray.

A head shake met this suggestion. "I was actually just about to leave. I have some practice scheduled for myself."

If Maas had ever seen someone who really didn't need to be alone with himself, it was this person. "Practice, huh? Do you mind an audience?" he asked casually.

Finally, the Alchemist actually focused on him. Maas smiled at the question in his look, letting just a hint of challenge slip into the expression. It seemed to do the trick, because the Alchemist's chin came up just a bit.

"No, I don't particularly mind," he answered.

Maas grinned and offered his hand. "Well then, Maas Hughes, pleased to meet you."

The Alchemist reached out his right hand automatically, pulled up sharply like a stumble, but completed the gesture after all and clasped Maas hand. "Roy Mustang. Likewise."

And you really sound it, Maas reflected wryly. But, what the hell, it was about time for his monthly act of charity.

Practice, in this case, took place outside. A reasonable precaution, considering that Mustang seemed bound and determined to see how many different ways he could blow things up. And, indeed, it seemed an audience didn't matter to him. He focused on his targets as if he were completing the last step in creating the Philosopher's Stone. Maas might as well not have been there, except that Mustang never actually aimed through him.

Twelve hay bales later, Maas was moved to a question. "Wouldn't a wider range of materials be more useful?"

"If I was working on my range it would," Mustang replied, a bit distracted. "But this is for precision."

Maas surveyed the blizzard of charred straw around them. "Precision. Of course." As he'd half hoped, that pricked Mustang into a more detailed response.

"How much of the straw has actually been burned?" the Alchemist asked, dark eyes snapping but tone cool.

Maas took a longer look, estimating the scattered straw against the intact bales Mustang hadn't gotten to yet. "Between half and a third," he guessed.

"Precisely," a tight smile, "and straw is considerably more flammable than... other things."

People or buildings, Maas filled in that sudden catch. "Huh. So how can you burn something lightly? Fire is there or not, isn't it?" he probed, hoping that his subject wasn't about to clam up again.

Apparently technical details were safe, because Mustang's mouth relaxed from its hard line and he actually smiled a bit. "What I transmute is actually air, increasing certain elements to make a path for the fire to move along from the initial spark." He waggled his fingers indicatively. "Oxygen is easiest, but different elements react differently. By adjusting them one way or another, at one remove from the target or another, I can change the properties of the fire also. I'm pretty sure that I can evacuate the air from around a target, too, without ever burning it, but that's taking longer to do in practice." Mustang actually grinned. "If I want to do something like simply incinerating..." he looked at one of the remaining bales and snapped his fingers.

The explosion that rocked the yard left only a smear of ash in its wake.

"...then that's a lot easier."

Maas grinned, too. Ah, if he can still show off he'll be fine, he decided. He was a bit relieved, because he had been seriously considering whether he should bundle Mustang off to a doctor before he lost it. He'd seen a couple people returning from Ishvar who were broken, and the idea of an Alchemist in that situation was not a comfortable one. But Mustang was probably just a little torn around the edges.

"Impressive," he admitted cheerfully. "With your dedication I can see why Colonel Gran promoted you straight up to Captain."

Maas started back at the look the flashed over Mustang's face. Rage, disgust, contempt, horror, all tangled together and were gone. He sucked in a breath. "Or not. You really don't like Gran, I take it?"

Mustang pursed his lips.

"I mean, you looked like you wanted him standing where that hay bale used to be," Maas continued before shutting up in recognition that the shock was about to start him babbling. That look had been worlds beyond the one Mustang had given Cutter, and that one had been bad enough.

Come to think of it...

"That's why you finally lost it with Cutter, isn't it?" Maas hazarded. "When he mentioned Gran."

Mustang gave him a long look, eyed the Intelligence tabs on Maas uniform, and raised a sardonic brow.

"Oh, come on, you don't really think I'm investigating you?" Maas was indignant. "I'm a lot smoother than that, thanks so much! Besides, from what I hear Gran can be enough of a bastard to excuse anyone hating him."

The brow stayed up.

"And on top of that," Maas huffed, "if you really want to keep a lid on it just being quiet isn't enough. You should have immediately come out with some harmless reason to be pissed off, like he took the last helping of spinach or something."

Mustang tilted his head, suddenly thoughtful. "Really?"

Maas put a hand over his face and started laughing. "Yes, really," he managed. "Good grief, is that what it takes to open you up? I show you how to be successfully insubordinate and you're fine being friendly?" He lowered his hand just in time to catch the next interesting expression. Irony, this one, shuttered quickly. Mustang said nothing.

"Well," Maas sighed, "if that's the case, I should probably mention at this point that you're doing it again."

Mustang's head came up, eyes a little wide. Way too expressive for his own good, this one. Maas was familiar with the problem, since he had the same one, but he'd learned how to keep his expression from matching his thoughts too closely. Mustang obviously hadn't. Maas tried for a casual tone.

"So, what insubordination did you already successfully get away with?"

Mustang pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"Look, I swear I'm not investigating!" Maas protested.

"I believe you."

The quiet statement shut Maas up, even while the inward look that went with it made him wild to find out what was going on.

"It isn't my secret. That's all." Mustang smiled, a much more fragile look than the grin. "Thanks for the tip, though."

I was right the first time! Maas groused to himself as Mustang turned back to his hay. He really needs to talk to someone before whatever he won't talk about sends him 'round the bend. Maas knew perfectly well, though, that his silent complaints were merely a last ditch effort to keep "someone" from being him.

Because now he was curious.

II

Roy had no idea just what had caused First Lieutenant Maas Hughes to decide that he, Roy, needed a friend. Or, possibly, an overseer, because Roy swore that Hughes had his schedule clocked and mapped.

Maybe it was just reflex. Hughes was in Intelligence, after all, and practically drooling for field assignments. Anyone with eyes could see that Headquarters life bored Hughes to tears. Roy couldn't imagine what the man's superiors thought they were about, keeping him cooped up here.

So maybe it was just boredom.

Whatever the cause, Hughes popped up in the damndest places, dragging Roy out of his rooms, out of the library, out of his office and off to get food in the city, or a drink, or just a walk. The only place he left Roy alone was when he was practicing, and that only after Roy had threatened to make Hughes a target.

It had been the first time in months he'd even been able to think something like that as a joke.

Today, it was the library.

"Yo, Mustang!"

Hughes cringed, theatrically, in the cross-fire of the librarian's glare and Roy's. He tiptoed over to Roy's table. "What's on your menu today, O Great Scholar?" he whispered.

Roy favored him with a resigned look. "I was reading history," he murmured.

"Darts will be much more fun," Hughes declared, hauling Roy unceremoniously out of his chair. "Think of it as target practice."

Roy couldn't help a smile as he was towed out of the library. The more he got his head back in some kind of order, the clearer it was to him that Hughes and his interruptions had done a lot to keep him from crawling into a hole and brooding himself into useless oblivion.

Even if it was a little unnerving that Hughes always seemed to know where he was.

"So, what's so interesting about reading history, which is all about the stupid mistakes of dead people, when there are live people all around you making brand new stupid mistakes right where you can watch?" Hughes wanted to know.

"Are they new?" Roy asked back.

Hughes eyed him and clearly decided to skip straight to the end of this debate. "If people really could avoid mistakes by learning from history, would we be where we are now?"

A grin stretched Roy's mouth. This was one of the things he liked about talking with Hughes; the man could think and argue. "Yes, we would, because everyone learns not to make some mistakes, and then doesn't listen to other people explaining about the other mistakes that they learned not to make."

"What, you want a steering committee for the world? Or are you just bucking for the General Staff, personally?"

Roy smoothed his expression and, following Hughes' advice from the day they met, said lightly, "Something like that."

From the gleam in Hughes' eye Roy didn't think he'd escaped all notice, but Hughes didn't push it.

And that was the other thing hanging around with Hughes was good for. Practice.

It was a good evening, though, and Roy didn't mind too badly that Hughes beat him at darts; Roy was, slowly, getting better. The act of aiming didn't make his hand shake any longer.

It was closing on midnight when one of the other patrons challenged Hughes to a match.

Roy was used to seeing the long lines of Hughes' face relaxed in a lazy grin. Sardonic, at the most. He'd never seen the cold, focused look that flickered there now, before Hughes turned a wide smile on the challenger.

"Sure thing! My frien' here just isn' a challenge, you know?"

Hughes speech hadn't been slurred like that five seconds ago, either. Roy sat back, making sure his own face was blank and watched.

Hughes lost two rounds, narrowly, with what looked a great deal like drunken distress. By that time Roy was expecting the offer of a "friendly wager" to make the last round "interesting". He had to keep his beer in front of his face to conceal his amused disgust at the stock dialogue. Hughes agreed. The challenger threw carefully, making a very good score, and turned to Hughes with a triumphant smirk.

Hughes smiled back, narrow eyed, and his speech was clear as glass. "For the end of this, you know, I think I want to use my own." One of his small, evil looking knives appeared between his fingers. He barely looked at the dartboard as he threw it, to land dead center.

After a moment of frozen silence, the challenger slid the money they had bet toward Hughes and left without a word.

"That wasn't very nice," Roy chuckled as Hughes sat back down.

Hughes sniffed. "When someone's planning to cheat you, nice doesn't come into it."

"Point," Roy admitted. "But how did you know so fast?"

A bit of the hardness returned. "Are you kidding? They've been watching us almost since we got here. And anyone who doesn't know me would expect me to be pretty drunk by now."

Roy considered his friend for a moment. He hadn't really thought Hughes had that twisty of a mind, but taking into account tonight's performance... "Were you playing under your game this whole time?" he asked evenly.

Hughes gave him a pained look. "Give me some credit, Mustang. You'd be ticked off if I did, and you're a lot more dangerous than them."

Roy looked away. "No, I'm not. You know I wouldn't do something like that."

Hughes was silent for a few moments, looking like he was weighing something. Then the cold expression returned full force and he leaned forward. "Yes, you are. Not to me, no, but I've seen it a few times. That look you get. And let me tell you, Mustang, if you don't do something with that much rage you will lose it some day."

Roy let his own cold come to the surface, the cold that had begun to grow the day he closed his mouth on the news of Dr. Marco's desertion. Truth for truth. "What makes you think I'm not doing something with it?" he asked softly.

Hughes' eyes narrowed, and his mouth tilted. "I did wonder about that," he admitted.

"I thought you might have," Roy agreed.

Hughes sat back, laughing. "You're a stubborn one, all right. All this time just to confirm what I knew the day we met."

"I should give everything away without seeing a return?" Mustang asked. "Not what you should expect of any alchemist."

"Fair enough. Oh, and about the whole keeping up a cover thing?"

Roy raised an eyebrow.

"Just cultivate the face you've got on now," Hughes recommended.

"Hughes..."

"Maas, already," Hughes cut in.

Roy was too intent to argue, which, when he thought about it later, was probably the idea. "Maas, then, this is exactly what I don't want known."

Hughes... Maas squinted at him. "You've never looked in the mirror when you're like this, have you?" he asked.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Didn't think so. Look, it doesn't make you look harmless, but you aren't harmless and very few people will think you are no matter how sweet you look."

Roy glared.

"That one's good, too," Maas grinned. "The point is, when you look like that you're a lot less readable."

Roy rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. "Maas. Why are you coaching me in how to be unreadable and as good as telling me that you'll help me do whatever I'm doing?"

Maas propped his chin on his fist. "You want the truth?"

"Always." Roy's voice was sharp.

Maas teeth gleamed briefly. "I'm curious. And you're doing something covert, which is my specialty. And having known you for a few months I think whatever you're doing will be something I would appreciate."

Roy thought about that. Maas was, in his own phrase, laid back and, in Roy's estimate, cynical. On the one hand, that would probably keep him from being horrified by what Roy wanted to see done. On the other, it would also probably make him skeptical about the scope of Roy's plans.

And then he thought of that cold, hard focus he'd seen on Maas' face tonight. It seemed he wasn't the only one at the table who cultivated a mask, because that look had overwhelming drive and power behind it.

"I suppose you might appreciate it at that," Roy said slowly.

"Of course! Now, don't feel you have to tell me anything, Roy," Maas assured him expansively, "after all, it'll be much more fun to figure it out myself."

"Indeed?" Roy couldn't stop a wicked smile at the thought. If Maas thought he had all the upper hand... "Well, then, perhaps I'll see if I can make it more... interesting for you."

Everyone else in the bar probably thought that the two laughing young officers were just drunk.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Two

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

I

Maas was having the time of his life.

Figuring out Roy Mustang was providing more fun than any two field assignments put together. Tracking Roy's movements was easy enough; figuring out why he went certain places and did certain things was the challenge.

Some things were already clear. Promotion seemed to be step one of whatever Roy's project was. He was efficient with his paperwork; he was meticulously respectful of senior officers; he was courteous to those who worked under him, and they said good things about him to the grapevine; he took initiative, but carefully.

Maas favorite instance of that last, the one he would have pressed in a scrapbook if he could have, was when Hakuro's aide arrived one rainy afternoon, muddy from head to toe, with the news that his superior was stranded outside the city in a broken down car and would be late for a rather important meeting. By the time Hakuro's own superior made it to the front doors, still arguing viciously with the Colonel in charge of the motorpool over whose fault this was, Roy had arranged for another car, a mechanic and a change of uniform just in case, and handed them off with a salute.

The looks on the faces of the arguing officers had been treasures, and Maas was very glad he'd been in a position to see them.

What Maas didn't know yet was what Roy wanted to do with more rank. Part of Roy's obscurity, he had to admit, was really his own fault. Roy had taken to heart his advice on how to conceal his thoughts. Day by day, nearly, Maas could see him honing that terrifying coldness that Maas had seen in him the day they met. It was like watching ice crystalize, and an unguarded smile was coming to be a rare thing from Roy.

In his own contrary fashion, Roy was also rapidly acquiring a reputation as a bit of a playboy, which Maas had found odd considering how reticent Roy seemed to be most of the time. Then he'd made up a list of all the women and the few men Roy flirted with most, and another list of who else those people associated with regularly. He'd laughed until his neighbor pounded on the wall for him to shut up. It was such a Roy way to do things—straightforward and roundabout at the same time.

Maas was still unsure what to make of Roy's relentless drive to refine his alchemical skills. Of course, any State Alchemist was expected to show results for the resources they took up, but the ones who were serving officers had a bit of latitude. Roy's dedication went far beyond what was expected of him on that score, and Maas was fairly sure that Roy was concealing the extent of his ability from everyone but Maas.

It helped, of course, that Maas was the only one who would come anywhere near Roy while he was practicing.

Maas was sure he was getting somewhere, though. Given Roy's reading material during his retreats to the library, what he wanted clearly had something to do with politics. Maas stopped short of trying to get Roy drunk enough to talk freely about his political views, because this was, after all, a friend he was trying to unravel.

But he was still getting somewhere, and thus he was first annoyed and then amused at himself for being annoyed when he got an assignment to go South looking for some Alchemist who had disappeared.

Still, he'd only be gone a few weeks.

II

It's only a few weeks, Roy told himself sternly. Stop moping.

Contrary to all his expectations, Roy had found himself enjoying the dodging about with Maas. The man was unendingly tenacious, and kept Roy on his toes; he was even good company while they sparred back and forth. Roy was sure he knew the location of every bar and theatre in Central City by now, dragged there in the name of "relaxing for once, Mustang!" So when Maas departed on an assignment Roy was left with a feeling of let-down.

He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn't stop himself from finding excuses to stroll past the Intelligence offices with increasing frequency, hoping to hear that Maas was back.

This is silly. It isn't like I don't have other things to pay attention to. There's no reason to wander around looking like...

"Well, don't you look like a wet week," observed an amused voice behind him.

Roy spun around with what he was sure was a foolishly wide smile before he managed to compress it into a grin. "I was starting to wonder if you'd gotten yourself transmuted into a frog down there, Hughes."

"Ha!" Maas' expression changed to one of disgust. "Didn't see hide nor hair of any alchemist. Well, at least it was a chance to get out of uniform, since no one would give me the time of day if I was wearing it."

Indeed, Maas looked scruffier than usual, which, Roy considered, took a little doing.

And then he actually heard what Maas had said.

"Sounds rough," he said casually. "Come have a drink and I'll let you bend my ear about it."

They swung by Roy's room to pick up the bottle, but wound up in Maas' so he could unpack.

"So, boring couple weeks?" Roy probed, pouring for them both.

Maas snorted. "Waste of time, as far as my actual assignment went. Now, if I'd been sent to investigate civilian attitudes toward the military I could have written a report as long as my arm."

"Not good?" Roy took a mouth-concealing sip.

"Only what anyone with a brain might expect, really." Maas sprawled over his bed and took a long swallow. "They recruited pretty heavily from that area for that mess out East. A lot of people didn't come back. A lot of families are wondering what all those lives went to accomplish."

"Did anyone... take it out on you?" This time, Roy had no qualms with letting his investment in the question show.

Maas' mouth tilted up at one corner. If he meant it as a smile it didn't reach his eyes. "Not beyond a little shouting."

"Mmm."

Maas' look was suddenly sharp as it raked over Roy's face. After a few rather unnerving minutes his mouth twisted into a more genuine smirk. "So," he said softly, "do you want to staunch a rebellion single-handedly to impress Bradley, or do you want to see them all succeed in breaking away?"

Roy laughed, relief and alcohol combining to make him just a bit light-headed. "Neither."

"Interesting." Maas leaned back on one arm, hazel eyes hooded. "Well, I'll keep an ear out for you in any case. If you like."

Roy had to pause to admire the artistry of that offer.

Maas offered his, not insignificant, help in ferreting out information Roy wanted. But by knowing what Roy wanted and seeing what interested him, Maas would come that much closer to identifying Roy's final goals. So now Roy had to ask himself again, did he want Maas Hughes to find that out?

"That would be helpful," he said, at last, "Thank you."

It wasn't until Maas' shoulders relaxed a fraction that Roy understood his friend had also been asking how much Roy trusted him.

They both covered the moment by pouring new glasses.

When did it come to trust? Roy wondered. When did that start?

III

It was two days after his return that Maas discovered how a certain portion of the headquarters personnel had seen his little welcome-home bash with Roy. It was First Lieutenant Harding who sniggered loud enough for Maas to hear.

"...should have seen it. And they went straight back to Hughes' room, locked the door and didn't come out until nearly dawn. Guy next door said they were laughing an awful lot."

"I'm amazed Mustang could walk that morning," another of the small group chipped in.

"Well, maybe Hughes went easy on him..."

The group dissolved into snickers and crude suggestions.

Maas reacted without thinking, and two knives buried themselves in the wall a centimeter from Harding's nose. The little group cowered back as Maas stalked toward them, but he merely retrieved his knives. In the silence, the noise they made coming clear was quite audible.

"Excuse me."

thu

"My hand slipped."

thu

Harding lifted both hands, cautiously. "No offense, Hughes, he's all yours, I mean..."

Maas gave him the kind of look reserved for the terminally stupid, right after their stupidity has terminated them.

"Are you really brainless enough to believe that the Flame Alchemist, one of the most dangerous men in this city, belongs to anyone? This is a friendly warning, right?" Maas tapped the point of one knife against Harding's chin. "If he ever hears you say something like that I'm going to stand back and laugh while he fries your balls for breakfast."

He strode away, leaving a couple very pale men behind.

Complete idiots... He highly doubted that Roy Mustang would let himself sleep with an actual friend. Roy was downright allergic to vulnerability of any kind. Maas was positive his trust had been betrayed at some point. Besides which, he was pretty sure they had it the wrong way around. There was an intensity in Roy that overwhelmed whatever it was focused on and would not give way to anything. It was what fueled his remarkable efficiency and drove his unremitting practice of alchemy as a combat skill. Maas would bet money that that intensity would show up in bed. It was actually a good part of what made Roy so attractive.

Maas stopped dead in the hall and ran that last thought through his mind again.

Oh, I'm not... Well, yes, obviously Roy was a good looking man, and could be charming when he wanted to, as his string of bedazzled secretaries demonstrated. But...

Maas took himself off to his office and proceeded to get no work done at all.

All right, all right, Maas admitted at last, refraining valiantly from beating his head against his desk, I do think he's attractive, as well as an interesting puzzle, and amusingly muzzy when he's drunk, and a darn good drama critic, and... oh, hell.

He sighed. Not as though it was really news that he liked to play with fire.

If Maas could now just keep from adding to the gossip by, oh, say, overreacting, it wouldn't likely be any problem. He spent a few moments hoping fervently that, best case, Roy would never hear of the grapevine's latest sexual estimation of him or that, next best case, he wouldn't take it out on Maas.

Ah well. Life had been too boring before.

IV

The last hay bale ripped apart with a concussive shock. Roy sighed. Maas jumped down from his perch behind Roy and strolled over to examine it.

"Don't think you'd better count on that one to just disable," he remarked, judiciously.

"Do you know, I had that thought myself?"

Maas grinned over his shoulder. "And still sarcastic. Your endurance must be increasing."

Roy lidded his eyes and smirked. "We could test it out," he suggested, rasing his hand.

Maas' eye glinted, and his own hand flickered. Roy melted the knife half way.

"Thanks," Roy said as they made their way back inside.

Maas lifted a brow. "What for?"

"Ah." Roy shook himself. "Nothing. Never mind."

The thing was, he thought as they parted ways, Maas was the only person he knew who looked at Roy's alchemy as perfectly normal. Some people wanted to use its power, some were afraid of it, but only Maas treated it as a handy tool that Roy happened to be good with. Something a lot like his own knives.

Roy had known, intellectually, that as his skill increased and as he displayed more of it, the fear of those around him would likely increase also. But to actually see that fear, to have people step out of his way in the hall...

He didn't like it.

Yet... wasn't that the point? Wasn't that what he had set out to accomplish by condensing his rage and disgust into ice and focus?

Even the ones he charmed had that distance at the back of their eyes, that wariness.

Roy closed the door of his room behind himself, curled up on his bed and finally looked at the thought that had been creeping around the edges of his mind for weeks.

That was how people looked at Basque Gran.

Roy shuddered and curled up tighter.

But Maas didn't look at him like that.

He held onto that thought very, very hard.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Three

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

Captain Roy Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, had been stalking around Central City headquarters all day like a panther with a thorn in its paw.

A young panther, to be sure, but that didn't make the people around him feel significantly more secure.

After the sixth time Maas was accosted in the hall with a more or less subtle inquiry of whether he could please do something about his friend, he decided it might actually be serious and not just Roy practicing his intimidation techniques.

A few questions revealed that Roy had met with Colonel Gran that morning to discuss his promotion prospects.

Definitely serious. Wonder why he didn't mention it? Unless, of course, the meeting had come as a surprise to Roy himself. In which case, the question was whether it would be better to get Roy out of headquarters to somewhere he could blow things up until he calmed down, or to distract him somehow.

A quick look out the window showed clouds piling up as evening drew on. Not outside, then.

Maas tracked Roy down to his room. His knock on the door was greeted by a groan.

"Maas, since I know that's you, you are not dragging me out tonight, not anywhere, I don't care how good the beer is at the latest bar you found!"

Maas breezed in anyway. "Nor even how beautiful the girls are?" he inquired.

Roy removed the arm he had thrown over his eyes so that he could glare. "Nor that either. I'm surprised you haven't figured that one out for yourself..." he trailed off in a grumble.

"What," Maas asked, pulling up a chair across from Roy's bedside table, "that you only flirt with the ladies who are girlfriends or secretaries or whatnot to the officers with their fingers in politics?"

Roy didn't even bother to sigh. "Yes, that."

"Weeks and weeks ago. Not to worry, Maas is here with the perfect thing to help you unwind after a long day," Maas declared.

The look of some trepidation on Roy's face changed to blankness as Maas pulled out a deck of cards and bridged them between his hands.

"Cards?"

"Poker, to be specific," Maas corrected, starting to shuffle.

Roy's lips twitched a few times before he broke down laughing. "Poker? Us?" He curled up on his side, holding his stomach. "I could have sworn you said relax," he managed at last.

Maas eyed his friend tolerantly. "Oh, come on Roy, how many secrets do you think you're still actually keeping from me? Surely it won't make that much difference whether you work at fooling me or not."

Roy gave him an opaque look. "I'm pretty sure there's at least one," he replied.

Maas was pretty sure there were more than that, but he certainly wasn't going to say so. "Well then you could still use the practice on something that doesn't matter, right?"

Roy hauled himself upright. "Since I doubt I'm getting out of this, you might as well just deal."

Once they were playing Roy's lackluster attitude disappeared like snow in the spring, as Maas had rather expected it would. Roy really was insanely competitive about anything he paid attention to.

And he was getting a lot better at controlling his expression, too.

"Raise."

"Call." He can't really have...

An evil smirk appeared. "Royal flush," Roy declared, laying the cards out with a flourish.

"All right, all right, you got me this time," Maas laughed. "I still carry the night."

"Well," Roy allowed, "since I am more relaxed than I was three hours ago, I suppose you do."

Maas leaned back in his chair, smiling. Roy always remembered all the stakes. "I certainly do. And you're just lucky we weren't playing strip poker, my friend."

Roy gave him a Look, and then leaned back himself. Maas realized that he had just managed to hit another competitive trigger.

"Why Maas," Roy purred, "I had no idea you walked that side."

After a moment of fast calculation on the odds, Maas decided he'd better alter his ground. An innuendo war was just as likely to wind Roy up again. He shrugged. "Once or twice. You?"

It was his personal discovery, and one he was rather proud of, that Roy would almost always respond to a direct revelation and then a request for one in return. It seemed to be a reflex. It worked this time, too.

"On occasion." And then the ground changed again. "Is there a reason you ask?"

Maas scrunched up his mouth. Roy was looking at him narrowly. Maas knew his friend was perceptive when he was paying attention. To hedge or not to hedge? Maas' common sense was telling him to stop and think about this. His love of challenges and puzzles, backed up by the hormones that had lately been taking notice of Roy, were telling him to go for it. Ah, screw it.

"Could be," he allowed, letting his eyes travel down Roy in a very clear once-over.

"Hm." Roy's posture shifted subtly, more open, more sinuous. "Well, then," he said softly.

It was becoming increasingly hard to tell, with Roy, whether this kind of invitation was shyness or a trap. Maas decided that it would be interesting either way. He moved across to the bed and brushed his hand along Roy's jaw.

Roy tipped his head back, his eyes half closed.

Maas leaned down over him and brushed his lips across Roy's. He felt them curve under his, and then Roy twisted, quick as a cat, and Maas hit the bed hard, on his back, with Roy's weight over him.

A trap, he decided, as Roy's mouth closed on his for a hard, searching kiss.

Maas laughed up at his friend as Roy drew back. "Well, aren't we feeling dominant?" he teased.

"Yes," Roy agreed, very quietly, "we are."

"Why does that not surprise me in the least?" That wildness that Maas occasionally saw in Roy was clear and present, burning in his eyes, and Maas found that he had, in fact, more than half expected it—the other side of Roy's coldness, most likely springing from the same source, the intensity Roy brought to all areas of his project, but uncontained here and now.

"Does it bother you?" Roy asked

Maas also found that the idea of being touched by that intensity was very attractive indeed. "I don't mind one way or the other, as long as you're considerate about it."

Roy's teeth gleamed. "Always," he breathed before leaning down again. One of Roy's hands curled around the back of Maas' neck and Maas let Roy's mouth open his own. He was curious to see how far that wildness would go. Curiosity really will be the death of me one of these days, he decided, a bit hazily as Roy slid a leg between his thighs.

Roy's body, moving against his, was demanding, but his hands were gentle, fingers tracing light paths down Maas' arms, chest, over his ribs.

He was not particularly gentle with their clothing, and Maas was fairly sure he'd have a few buttons missing after this.

On the other hand, the heat of skin against skin was worth it, and Roy's skin felt almost fever-hot under Maas' hands. He missed it when Roy whispered to wait and rose to make a whirlwind rummage through his dresser. When he returned, he lay down beside Maas.

"Here, bend you leg."

Maas thought that Roy must be watching his face very carefully, because he was not slow and his fingers never stopped, but he never quite went faster than Maas could handle. When Maas released a low sigh Roy leaned down and kissed him long and deep.

"Now?"

Roy's dark eyes were hot, but his mouth was calm and still. Maas could see that if he wanted longer Roy would hold the wildness back, and he smiled. It was good to know.

"Yeah," he agreed.

Roy moved down the bed and ran his hands up the backs of Maas' legs. Maas arched against the bed, gasping, as Roy pressed into him, hard inside him. It was a controlled movement, but still not a slow one. Roy pushed him to the edge, overwhelmed with raw sensation.

From the sound of Roy's voice, Maas wasn't the only one.

In fact, Roy was the first to fall over the edge, which Maas felt quite smug about in the corner of his brain that still functioned.

And then Roy's hands were on his knees, pushing his legs down and apart, and Roy's mouth closed over him, hot and wet, and Maas' hips tried to flex up into it. He shuddered as Roy's hands held him down and open, and groaned as Roy's tongue pulled him hard into brilliance.

They lay, sprawled next to each other, catching their breaths, and when he had, Maas couldn't stop laughing. "That was so very you, Roy."

"Mmmm," Roy mumbled before opening his eyes. "How so?"

"I can't imagine anyone else who could be that forceful without ever actually being rough about it." Maas smiled affectionately at his friend.

Roy propped himself up on his elbows. "You don't mind that I was... forceful?"

Maas grinned. "Nah. It was fun."

Roy returned it. "Good."

Maas stretched, paused, stretched more carefully. "Of course, if you've got a few aspirin hanging around I wouldn't say no to them."

Roy scrambled out of bed with a penitent expression and returned with aspirin, water and a towel. Having applied each appropriately, Maas pulled Roy down and kissed away the concerned line of his mouth.

"I wouldn't mind doing that again some time," he murmured.

Roy ran a hand through Maas' hair. "You're sure?"

Maas decided it was time for desperate measures, before Roy managed to make himself feel guilty. "You make love like a windstorm, never stopping, taking everyone's breath away, lifting everything off the ground, wild enough to scare people."

Roy was a bit wide-eyed.

"Like I said," Maas continued, with less poetry and more pragmatism, "it's you. And I know you. I knew it would be a wild ride. And I enjoyed it."

Now Roy was actually blushing. Maas' mouth quirked. "Besides, now I bet you're really relaxed," he finished. "I carry the night."

Roy's mouth twitched once. Twice.

And then he snatched a pillow to pummel Maas with.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Four

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

I

When Maas Hughes was promoted from First Lieutenant to Captain he bragged about it rather a lot to his best friend, Captain Roy Mustang.

Roy bore with him fairly patiently, only an occasional twitch of his fingers giving him away.

Exactly one week later, Roy was promoted to Major.

Maas found out from the bulletin board.

He stalked down the halls to Roy's office and slammed back the door.

"Mustang!"

Roy leaned his chin on his fist and gave Maas a glittering smile. "Yes? Hughes-taii?"

Maas opened his mouth, shut it with a snap, and glared.

Roy smiled wider.

"You're an evil bastard," Maas told him, almost calmly. "I thought you should know."

"Thank you for your input," Roy murmured.

Maas slammed the door again on his way out.

He hauled Roy out to the bar that night to celebrate.

"You do remember we have a dress review tomorrow morning, don't you?" Roy asked, not as though he thought it would alter Maas' plans.

Maas waved this off. "I'm not the one who gets hung over, now spill! How long have you known it was coming?"

"For sure? Only a few days."

Maas was faintly appeased. "I suppose that's all right then."

Roy laughed at him, and they toasted both their new ranks.

Maas felt somewhat revenged the next morning, when he noticed that Roy was squinting a bit in the sunlight as the staff of Central City headquarters all turned out for review.

He didn't have a great deal of time to appreciate it, though.

Intelligence had been scrambling for almost two months over death threats to Dai-Soutou Bradley, so it was not actually a shock to Maas when gunfire came from the roofs around the parade ground. He didn't even waste time cursing today's security for their failure.

He had time to fire twice, time to be sure that at least two of the bodies hurtling toward Bradley would get through, and then the air exploded. Fire whipped out, coiled around the attackers, snapped and burst. It left collapsed bodies smoking in its wake.

The crowd, frozen in the midst of panic, drew back slowly, leaving Roy Mustang standing alone, hand raised.

Of course, Maas had mentioned his office's upset to Roy.

Bradley picked himself up and nodded to Roy. "Thank you, Major."

Roy saluted him, crisply. "Excellency."

Bradley returned it, and waved to his security detail to take care of the bodies.

"Excellency," one of them exclaimed, "they're not dead!"

Bradley turned back to favor Roy with a long look. Roy's expression was cold and still, and Maas thought he might be the only person there who understood how much pain was compressed behind it, how many hours of practice to refine his skills until he could injure without killing.

He'd pried the story of Ishvar out of Roy a while back. Was this what it all came down to, after all? The determination to be something more than a gun in someone else's hands?

"Excellent forethought," Bradley remarked at last.

Maas watched Roy's eyes, focused on Bradley as he turned away, and decided that there was still more he hadn't found. He made his way to Roy and laid an unobtrusive hand on his shoulder.

"Can you walk?" he asked, having seen Roy occasionally collapse in a heap after a particularly impressive effort.

"Yes," Roy returned quietly. "I'll be fine."

Looking up, Maas found Gran staring at them. Measuring his erstwhile subordinate's power? Or perhaps his ambition? The latter, it seemed, since he paused on his way past them.

"Going straight to the top, Flame Alchemist?" he grated.

Roy didn't look at him. "I merely acted as my duty demands. Sir."

Whether Gran liked it or not, it seemed that Roy had indeed caught Bradley's eye, because he was reassigned to the command of one of the Headquarters General Staff. It was because of this that Maas finally realized just how great a secret he'd been chasing for over a year.

He'd been called in to give a report in person. A waste of time, in his estimation, since he couldn't exactly add more facts than he'd put in his written version. Still, it afforded him some mild entertainment to watch Roy not paying any attention at all because he'd heard it already.

But, no, Maas realized slowly, Roy was paying attention to something else. His eyes stayed on his notes or on Maas, but his attention was focused on Bradley like sunlight concentrated in a magnifying glass, brilliant and burning. After a while Maas started to be amazed that everyone in the room didn't notice it.He's focused on Bradley like he looks at those hay bales of his...

Maas stiffened.

It was all he could do to keep answering questions coherently while that thought reverberated in his head.

He can't... really...

Politics. Ambition. Reports of unrest. Power.

Fury.

He gratefully accepted his dismissal at last, and collapsed against the wall outside to try and catch his breath.

Roy...

II

When Maas showed up at Roy's door looking grim and just a bit wild around the eyes, Roy was sure that something momentous had happened in his office that day some time after his rather bored report-in-person. "Maas, what happened?"

Maas scrubbed his hands over his face and gave Roy a long look. "Roy. Are you really planning to kill Bradley?"

Roy thought his heart might have stopped, but no, it was just his breath. The question he had been hoping, fearing, anticipating took him completely unawares. After a frozen second he nodded.

"And what? Replace him?"

"Not... exactly," Roy whispered. He collapsed to the edge of his bed.

Maas, not looking in much better shape, just slid down the wall to the floor. He rested his head on his knees and laughed helplessly. "And I spent all this time wondering what the big deal could be."

Roy really didn't want to ask, but he had to know, and he had to know now. "What will you do about it?"

"I'm not going to turn you in," Maas said without lifting his head.

Now it was Roy's turn to have to put his head down on his knees, as the room went dark for a moment. He could feel his heart again.

"And I'm not going to ask something stupid like why, because I really do remember all the conversations we've had this year," Maas continued conversationally. "Or at least I did while I was wandering around after that damn meeting."

Roy was recovering enough to be curious. "How did you know?"

Maas finally looked up, frowning a little. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and squinted at Roy. "You know, I think it might just be that I know you. I could see the way you were focused on him, and the thing it said to me was target. After that... it was just adding the bits up. But no one else seems to see it."

Roy could feel his attempt at a smile wavering a bit. "No one else knows me like that."

"I guess not." Maas let his head fall back against the wall. "You're crazy, you realize that."

"No, Maas, I'm not." Roy's voice was suddenly clear and cold.

Maas blinked up at him.

"The ones who are crazy are the ones who throw thousands of lives away like a handful of sand in the desert. The ones who exalt destruction and the means of it. The ones who can think that the destruction of a city full of people only trying to keep their lives and homes can be justified in the name of defense. To stop them? That's sanity."

Maas looked at him silently for a dozen heartbeats, and then closed his eyes and bowed his head. "You're right."

It was Roy's turn to blink.

Maas fetched up a sigh that sounded like it started at his toes and looked up again. "What do you need?"

"What...?"

Maas came to Roy and took his shoulders. "What do you need to make this work, Roy?"

Thoughts flickered through Roy's head. People I can trust... To know what's going on... To stir things up... But in the end it was none of those he voiced to Maas' steady gaze.

"I need to not become one of them."

Maas nodded firmly. "Then you won't."

A shudder ripped through Roy, and he reached out to Maas to keep his balance. They ended up on the floor by the bed, leaning into each other's arms.

"Thank you," Roy whispered, trying to still himself.

Maas held him tighter.

Eventually Roy calmed enough to start thinking again. Maas had just decided to help him with something that could end in a very unpleasant death. However much comfort his help would give Roy, Roy felt impelled to double check. "Are you sure?"

Maas chuckled. "Do you remember what I said the last time you asked me that?"

It took Roy a minute, but when he recalled he laughed too. "If I'm not mistaken you said that you enjoy wild rides."

"A long time ago you agreed that I might appreciate what you want to do," Maas said, more seriously. "You were right."

"Not," he added, "that you should get a swelled head about being right so often, mind you."

Roy suppressed the urge to ask why not? He would save it up for later.

"Thank you," he repeated instead.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Five

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

Today it was Maas' turn to wander aimlessly around the offices while he waited for Roy to get back. He supposed it was only fair for the boredom to be shared both ways, and he had to admit that his fidgeting was less volatile than Roy's was these days, but that didn't make the wait any less annoying.

Of course, it was probably just as well for the rest of the world that he and Roy had only ever been sent on the same assignment once. It had been great fun; Roy loosened up considerably once away from Central, and Maas had the pictures to prove it. But the incident with the case of beer, the General's boots, the mess tent and the two cans of red paint had apparently convinced their superiors that Hughes and Mustang should be assigned separately in the future.

At least he could be reasonably well assured that his friend had good back up while he was away. Roy had been given command of a unit for his assignment, and accordingly had also attached an aide. A quick chat with her last Sergeant had assured Maas that Second Lieutenant Lisa Hawkeye was as competent as they came. Sergeant Morrow, whose kindest term for Second Lieutenants was usually "baggage", had nearly gushed over her.

Fortunately, before Maas' fidgeting devolved into writing graffiti on the bulletin boards, his ear detected the return of Roy and his new aide both.

"...see that the liaison gets a copy of the report, too."

"Yes, Sir."

Maas narrowed his eyes when he actually saw Roy's face. It was absolutely expressionless. Roy passed him and continued into his office with a nod and a brief, "Hughes."

What the hell happened out there? Maas shot a glance at Hawkeye, who was frowning faintly.

"I'll copy it and pass it along to you, then," Roy said to the air, his back to them.

"I can take care of that, Sir."

Roy shook his head. "No, I'll do it."

This seemed to be some kind of last straw for Hawkeye and she turned to Maas. "Hughes-taii, Mustang-junsa needs to stop and get some rest. Do something about this, if you please," she told him crisply.

Now Roy had an expression. Astonished. Maas had a feeling his wasn't far behind.

Hawkeye gestured sharply, as if to brush the surprise away. "You're the only one in this city he actually listens to. Now."

Maas shook off his amazement and grinned at Roy. "You heard the lady."

Hawkeye held out a hand for the folders Roy still carried. "I'll take care of it, sir," she repeated more softly.

A tiny, wry smile crossed Roy's face. "Of course, Shoui." He passed over the paperwork and turned for the door.

Maas, following him out, offered Hawkeye a casual salute behind his back. "Observant, that one," he remarked to Roy as they made their way to the officers' dormitory.

"Very."

Maas was frowning himself, now, but didn't press yet. Instead he kept up a one-sided stream of the latest headquarters gossip until they reached Roy's room.

"All right, Roy, what happened?" he demanded as soon as the door was shut.

"Nothing."

Roy stood in the middle of his room, staring at empty air. Maas' mouth tightened. Something had struck one of Roy's fault lines, and he didn't have many that would cause a reaction like this. Killing the unarmed was one. Dealing with Gran was the other. To the best of Maas' knowledge Gran had been completely uninvolved with this assignment, but maybe...

And then he took Roy's arm to turn him around and revised his opinion.

Tremors were running through the whole of Roy's body, sharp, uneven. His expression was edgy, brittle. He looked as if one blow would shatter him. Maas hadn't seen him like this since the night they'd finally had all the secrets out. This was stress, not guilt.

"When they looked at me... they were so afraid... I could taste it..." Roy's voice was thin, and Maas wasn't sure his eyes saw what was in front of him.

"You can't avoid it," Maas told him as gently as he could. "When civilians see..."

"My own men!"

Oh, damn. Maas had actually been tracking the increasing alarm among the soldiers regarding Roy and his power, but it was holding fairly steady for now at the "cross him and you're toast" level. He hadn't expected that to have such a severe effect on Roy, but looking back on it he realized he should have. Roy took a certain savage enjoyment in making the senior officers scared of him, but this, Maas finally understood, must be included in Roy's motto and first law.

I need to not become one of them.

And he'd been away from headquarters, with no one to say this to or get reassurance from. The first sting had obviously festered for his brooding on it. Fortunately, it didn't take all that much to bring Roy out of these moments; logic was usually enough.

"Roy, it will be all right," he soothed. "You can change this if you need to."

Well, at least that had gotten Roy to focus on him. Maas tugged him down to sit on the edge of the bed, a little afraid that his friend was going to fall if that shaking kept up. "Listen," he said reasonably, "You've spent well over a year cultivating the appearance of a really dangerous bastard. So it had some side effects you didn't expect. But not everywhere. That second of yours sure isn't afraid of you, is she?"

That actually got a short laugh. "No," Roy agreed.

"So there's your starting point. She's your aide. The longer she's with you, the more the men under your command will take their cue from her. You worry too much."

That got a longer laugh, albeit faintly tinged with what Maas pegged as slightly hysterical relief. At least the shaking had stopped, though it seemed to have left Roy a bit wrung out by the way he flopped back across the bed.

Yet another crisis averted, Maas congratulated himself. Really, Roy was way too high strung to be allowed to run around without a keeper. Nice that Maas seemed to have been gifted with an ally who thought the same thing; he'd really have to have a chat over coffee with that Hawkeye-shoui sometime soon. Roy was taking so much on himself that the only real surprise was that he hadn't completely snapped long since. At least he had unwound for now, even if he did do it more abruptly than seemed advisable.

"Maas, can I ask you for a favor?"

Maas snorted. "That depends entirely on the favor."

Roy's smile was languid, his eyes just a touch hazy.

"Make love to me?"

Maas felt a smile curve his own lips. He very much enjoyed Roy in this mood. When he truly relaxed, all of Roy's incredible focus spread out into a tangible appreciation of his senses and surroundings. It didn't happen often, which was a shame because Roy was clearly a born sensualist.

Maas leaned over Roy on one arm, trailing his fingers along Roy's jaw. Roy sighed, tilted his head back, and Maas kissed down his throat before searching out his mouth.

Roy stretched and shivered under his hands as they slid over Roy's increasingly bared skin, arching into each touch. His complete responsiveness when he was like this, his total abandon, affected Maas strangely. The soft, breathless sounds Roy made when Maas kissed the hollow of his shoulder or lightly bit the inside of his thigh called up in Maas protectiveness to match his desire.

When he finally settled between Roy's legs Roy was panting, trembling again though with a very different tension now. Roy's body opened for him, and the heat of it cut Maas' breath into quick gasps. They moved against each other hard, wild, moans and soft pleas twining around each other as tightly as their bodies until the tightness broke and exploded outward.

Even as they lay and recovered Maas found himself still tracing his fingers over Roy's shoulders and cheekbones, kissing him slowly. Roy turned into him, answering with equal leisure, flushed and undone, all but purring.

"You know, don't you," Maas murmured to him, "that you're going to addict whatever poor lovers you let see you like this."

Roy's eyes darkened just a bit. "There isn't anyone but you I trust like this," he pointed out.

Maas kissed him again. "There will be." And again when it looked like Roy would protest. "They won't be me, no. But they will be themselves."

Roy's eyes were unreadable now, but he seemed to accept that and settled against Maas' shoulder.

TBC

Two to be Steady - Part Six

How Roy and Hughes might have met and become friends. The starting thought was How did Roy get to be like that? Hughes seemed a reasonable answer. Drama With Occasional Porn, I-3, spoilers eps 3 and 15.

I

Normally Maas liked to visit Roy's office. Since his promotion to Lieutenant Colonel he had started to collect a permanent staff of his own and they were entertaining people.

Today, though, he couldn't quite settle down to provoking Hawkeye, who Maas thought was much too serious, or sparring with Roy, or even gossiping with Havoc, who Maas swore inhaled the latest juicy fruits of the grapevine through his cigarettes without bothering to do anything as energy intensive as listen.

At last Roy dragged him off, allegedly to have company with his coffee but more probably to prevent Hawkeye from expressing her frustration with Maas' restlessness too directly. He'd already collected three, increasingly irritated "Junsa"s.

"So what's up today?" Roy asked as they sat down. "Gracia break a date?"

Maas fiddled with his cup. "No. Kind of... the opposite."

Roy was looking more amused by the moment. "Gracia demanded a date?"

"She wants..." Maas took a deep breath. "She wants to get married."

"I'm not surprised at all. Congratulations." Roy sipped his coffee with, Maas felt, completely insupportable calm.

"Married, Roy! She wants to get married! To me!"

"Well, I didn't assume she wanted to marry me," Roy murmured. "No accounting for taste I suppose."

Maas growled, and Roy finally broke down laughing. "Maas, stop jittering for a minute."

He glared, but did settle a bit if only because Roy so rarely addressed him that informally in public.

"You've been courting Gracia for months. You love her, I know you do because you mention it several times a week. She loves you, or at least Hawkeye says she does. Surely you've been thinking about this?"

"Well, yes, but not seriously," Maas protested. "I mean, not this fast."

Roy shrugged callously. "Gracia is a determined woman. When she decides what she wants it's a reasonably foregone conclusion that she'll get it."

If anyone should know, Maas had to admit, it was Roy. Kindred spirits. "All right, all right, I'm resigned, I'm resigned. In a very good and happy way!"

"Probably just as well," Roy noted.

It wasn't until they were leaving that Maas collected himself to ask about the other thing that had been making him a bit nervous.

"Roy. When Gracia and I are married... will you stand up with me?"

Roy stunned him with the open smile that almost no one ever saw on him anymore. "Of course I will, Maas. Thank you for asking me."

"Who else would I ask?" Maas wanted to know, relaxing.

"Armstrong?"

Maas attempted to chase Roy down the hall but was laughing too hard to catch him.

II

"Hey, Roy, you're still trying to find that Elric guy, aren't you?"

Roy looked up from his interminable stack of paperwork. Maas was leaning in the door. "Not that it seems to be doing much good, but yes."

"Well, this letter came for Herbert, with his name on in. Herbert happens to be in the field, so I thought you might like to see."

Roy found that the envelope had already been opened, seal carefully left intact. Maas was nothing if not good at his job. When he'd read the letter he simply sat for a while, gazing out the window, until Maas finally prodded him.

"So? What's it say? And why would a man who took that much trouble to disappear write openly like this?"

"It isn't from Hohenheim. It's from his sons. They also seem to be looking for him."

Maas made a face. Roy's mouth quirked, he having already heard extensively from his friend on the subject of the responsibilities entailed by having children. He rather thought Gracia had decided to have one soon.

"I think," Roy said slowly, "that I'll pay a visit to the Elric family. There might be... possibilities."

End

Ever - Chapter One

After a year staying with Winry and Pinako Rockbell, Ed and Al return to Central with Winry to settle for a while. Roy pays them a visit... Drama, I-3

Roy Mustang stood in the street and looked up at a large, though unpretentious, brick house. He had hoped he might not have to come here. But after a year of listening to rumors and whispers, of fielding more and less subtle inquiries, he had finally decided there was no choice after all.

Edward and Alphonse Elric had returned to Central City.

No choice, he reminded himself, and knocked briskly on the door. He heard an unfamiliar voice approaching.

"...don't be ridiculous, Nii-san, there are plenty of reasons why it could be... Mustang-junsho?"

Roy couldn't stop a smile, and didn't really want to. In the door stood a rather lanky boy, blond hair cropped short, honey colored eyes dark with surprise, hand frozen on the doorknob. His voice sounded very different without the overlying echo the armor had given it, and it was lower now than it had been.

"Alphonse. You're looking well."

Considerably better than the last time he had seen Fullmetal's brother, two days after the transmutation, when Alphonse had been indulging in some well-deserved hysterics. Alphonse blinked at him.

"Ah, I'm sorry, come in, please!"

Roy stepped inside and found Edward... Fullmetal leaning in the entry of the vestibule. He looked very much his usual self.

"Plenty of reasons, huh?" he muttered. "Well, at least it means I don't have to hike to headquarters to give you back the damn watch."

"Indeed, that was what I came to discuss," Roy told him agreeably.

"Well, come in, come in," Alphonse shooed them all into an airy living room.

Roy was entertained to note that his time as a large suit of armor had apparently left Alphonse with an ingrained assumption that people would go where he directed them, which, of course, nearly everyone then did. Fullmetal, however, was not looking so welcoming. He caught it, then. Sharp as always.

"There's nothing to discuss," Fullmetal bit out, confirming Roy's guess. "I've gotten what I need, and you've gotten your money's worth out of us. Enough is enough."

"Hm. That's too bad," Roy mused, leaning against a high-backed couch. "It will be a terrible shame for such a dedicated scholar to work without the resources of the National Library."

A corner of Roy's mouth twitched as longing flashed over Fullmetal's face. Now to see if that would be enough...

"Mustang-junsho." Alphonse's voice sliced through the developing confrontation.

Roy suppressed a start. In the past Alphonse had rarely interrupted his brother's arguments with Roy, and never in such a cold voice. A single look showed that Alphonse was not amused by the way the conversation had turned. That wasn't a source of interference Roy had expected. Ah, well.

"Alphonse, have I offered my congratulations yet? You must be very relieved to be returned to your proper body," he noted casually.

Fullmetal wasn't the only Elric who was fast on the uptake. Alphonse's eyes narrowed, and he suddenly resembled his brother far more strongly.

"Al," Fullmetal cut in, voice low.

The brothers locked eyes in a moment of silent communication, and Alphonse nodded. "I'll be upstairs helping Winry unpack, then," he said, throwing a last warning look over his shoulder at Roy as he left.

Fullmetal turned to Roy, face still.

"Was that a threat?"

"No, actually, it wasn't." Roy passed a hand through his hair and heaved a silent sigh. Alphonse had broken his rhythm, now how to retrieve it?

"Junsho, just tell me why you're here," Fullmetal snapped.

Roy regarded him thoughtfully. It wasn't an approach he had really considered, but Fullmetal was getting old enough that it might work. The fact that he hadn't completely lost his temper yet was an encouraging sign.

"Very well. I'm here because you will not be able to leave."

Fullmetal froze. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know how much you thought about what might happen afterward, if you succeeded in returning Alphonse's body, but in the course of your search you've become very well known. The military will not be particularly willing to let an alchemist of your power out of its control. Even if they were, other interests would be quick to close in on you."

Roy shook his head at Fullmetal's wide eyes. He had been right; this was coming as a surprise.

"They can't force me," Fullmetal whispered.

Roy quashed his mild disgust at such naivete. It was probably just denial, because he knew Fullmetal was more intelligent than that.

"Many would probably use the fastest method and threaten your brother to win your compliance. While that would be a foolish thing," he continued over Fullmetal's snarl, "there are a great many fools in this world, and I assure you they will all be drawn to you like iron to a magnet."

Roy wondered, with an academic sort of interest, whether Fullmetal would let go of the chair before he broke the back off. The grip of his right hand was making the wood creak.

"So," Fullmetal finally ground out, "you're saying that since I'm going to be manipulated by someone I might as well keep being manipulated by you?"

Roy tilted his head. "Effectively, yes."

Wood splintered.

Roy let his own expression cool and cut across Fullmetal's incensed inhalation. "Power like yours, once known, will not be let to lie."

"So I should just resign myself to being a tool?!" Fullmetal spat.

"You are a tool," Roy told him, bluntly. "For the last four years you've been my tool. You knew it. That was the bargain we made, the condition I set against the one you set. That bargain is done, though. Now it's time to choose again how you will be used."

Absolute rage filled Fullmetal's eyes, and Roy had a moment's doubt whether he was really ready for this much truth. Well, nothing for it now but to go on. He kept an eye on Fullmetal's hands, which were flexing a bit ominously. Time for a suggestion, perhaps.

"If you don't wish to be the tool of another, become your own."

Puzzlement slowed the momentum of Fullmetal's anger. "What do you mean?"

"You had a purpose all this time, and you let me use your power only in service of it," Roy pointed out. "Fine. You succeeded; choose a new purpose."

"And let whoever I need to make it happen manipulate me in service of that one?" Fullmetal asked, rather skeptically. "Why?"

One side of Roy's mouth curled up as he contemplated the boy in front of him. He was impressed that Fullmetal had realized just how vulnerable his obsession had made him. "If you don't want to be manipulated, then learn the steps of this dance, Fullmetal. Until you do someone else will always be calling your measures. In the meantime, would it be so terrible to continue lending yourself to my ends? You haven't found them distasteful so far, and I have the influence to keep others away from you for a while."

Fullmetal paced two turns around the room before he stopped and looked sidelong at Roy. "Your ends? What are your ends? You've used me blind long enough. Tell me what it is you want me for."

Roy was pleased. He hadn't actually expected Fullmetal to make that leap. "Youswell, Aquroya, Zenotime," he recited quietly. "Lior. Do you remember Lior, Fullmetal?"

Fullmetal flinched and looked away.

"That wasn't what I meant," Roy told him. "Do you remember everything that happened there?"

Fullmetal frowned at him. "Yes," he answered slowly.

"You can say as often as you wish that you only interfered because that Priest had a Stone," Roy's mouth quirked, "to others. But don't think you can lie to me. You would have interfered in any case, because you saw something happening that was wrong."

Fullmetal opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again. Roy smiled thinly.

"The notable thing, Fullmetal, is that you interfered successfully. You left chaos behind you, yes, but if it had not been for... other interference Lior would have sorted out its own affairs. That's what I value. Your potential for creating useful chaos."

Fullmetal leaned against a window while he processed this. "Stir up the mud so you can shape it the way you want it?" he summarized at last.

"I shape very little outside of the military itself, Fullmetal. I just want you to stir up the water so it flows downhill."

Roy waited with practiced patience for Fullmetal to make up his mind about all this. He had better make up his mind now, because that was all the information Roy intended to part with at the moment. After another couple turns around the room Fullmetal slowed and stood still, staring at nothing.

"Learn the steps, huh?" he murmured at length.

When Fullmetal looked around at him Roy had to lift a brow. The gold eyes were gleaming, focused, as determined as Roy had ever seen them. Something had obviously been decided on.

"Show me."

The other brow joined the first.

"A new bargain? That's it. You know the steps. So show me. And I'll run your damn errands for you."

A slow smile tugged at Roy's mouth. That had... potential. "A worthy bargain," he agreed softly, and held out his hand.

Fullmetal's closed around it and they both nodded.

And then Fullmetal broke away to shove a hand through his hair. "Al's going to kill me," he muttered.

"He looked more like he wanted to kill me, something I hope you will now be willing to dissuade him from," Roy remarked.

Fullmetal shot him an unfriendly look. "That'll be easier if you're not here. I'll come in tomorrow."

Roy allowed himself to be escorted out and didn't laugh until the door closed behind him.

TBC

Ever - Chapter Two

Ed makes the decision to continue protecting his brother. Drama, I-3

Ed looked with dislike at the innocent wooden door in front of him. On the other side of it waited the beginning of the rest of his life, for what he was glumly sure would be years.

At least he had managed to persuade Al to stay home and help Winry calibrate her drill-press.

Unable to find a reason to delay any longer, Ed pushed open the door.

"Good morning, Fullmetal," the General said without looking up from his papers.

Ed kicked the door shut behind him and slumped into the couch. The General's mouth quirked.

"Starting my new collection of scuff marks already?"

Ed sniffed. "So? Where do you want me to go rake things up? I'm sure you have an itemized list."

The General tented his hands. "Loose ends first. An exercise for you. What are you going to do about Alphonse?"

Cryptic and obscure as always, Ed reflected with irritation. Sometimes he really thought Mustang had been reading alchemical manuscripts for too long.

The General waved as it to brush Ed's annoyance aside. "If you really don't understand I'll explain, but I need to know how much you see on your own."

What will I do about Al? I'll keep him out of this! Ed voiced these sentiments. "As long as I'm being visible, everyone will pay less attention to Al. There was no reason for him to become the military's dog then, and there's less now."

"And your shadow over him will be his protection." The General nodded. "A good start. Now, what will you tell people about his appearance?"

Ed blinked.

"His appearance has changed rather drastically," Mustang pointed out with exaggerated patience. "You will need to have a reason for those who ask, if you don't want anyone to start putting pieces together and suspecting the real reason. If you become seriously suspected of having performed human transmutation and reversed it nothing will keep the two of you out of a locked room somewhere in this building for the rest of your lives."

Ed, who had bridled at the sarcasm, stopped and thought. This was why he was here, to learn how to think of and prevent these things. And it was a familiar consideration, after all; just in a different form now. If Al really had been wearing armor why would he have stopped?

Well, there was always...

Ed started snickering. Before long he was leaning on the arm of the couch, clutching his stomach and chortling.

"Share the joke?" the General requested mildly.

"Oh, Al really would kill me," Ed gasped.

The General waited.

"Winry!" Ed squeaked, and lost it again.

The General tapped his fingers on his desk and narrowed his eyes. Ed pulled himself together. "If Winry thought he looked better without the armor, and Al liked Winry..." Ed trailed off suggestively. He was positive that his brother did, in fact, like Winry, though he wasn't sure Al had sorted that out for himself yet. And he really wasn't sure that Winry, mechanical geek that she was, would have any objection at all to a well-crafted suit of armor. She could be so weird.

"The only problem," he continued, "besides the killing-me part when Al found out I started the rumor, is that both of them would be utterly clueless if anyone mentioned it to them. Or else utterly embarrassed. And then we're back to Al killing me."

"That would actually be very much in character if it were true," the General observed. "You have a natural talent for more than alchemy, I see."

Ed stared. "You're not serious."

The General returned his look evenly. "Do you disagree with my evaluation?"

"No," Ed said slowly, "it would be... in character. But..."

But to use their reactions like that, to look at something so sweet and see it as nothing but another bit of verisimilitude... He swallowed against a sudden bitterness in his throat. "Do you think like this all the time?" he asked, strangled.

"Very nearly," Mustang replied, cool and matter-of-fact. When Ed shuddered he relented somewhat. "The path you've chosen this time isn't an easy or bright one, Fullmetal, any more than the last one. It's no shame if you refuse to walk it. Quite the reverse, much of the time."

Ed shut his eyes and thought back on the last four years. Al had protected his heart, he knew that, knew it was the only reason the pettiness and greed and horror he had stumbled through hadn't made him crazier than that mad Ishvarite they had crossed paths with. Could Al protect him from this? Could he protect Al?

How else could he protect Al, than this?

"I won't be used," he managed, finally. "And I will not let Al be used."

"Then your first lesson is concluded, Fullmetal."

Ed looked at the General, feeling sick. The man's voice gentled a bit.

"Visit the library on your way home; there are some additions to the Main branch I think you'll enjoy."

Ed scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling a wry smile take hold. Mustang knew him very well, he had to admit. Few things soothed him more than a few hours in a library. And he needed some peace badly enough not to kick over the source of the suggestion.

"Yeah."

Ed closed the door silently behind him as he left.

"I'm home," Ed called as he closed the front door.

"Welcome back, Nii-san, you're just in time for lunch," Al called from the direction of the kitchen.

With luck, Ed reflected, that meant that Winry was still taken up with hanging her wrenches in the fourth bedroom that had quickly become her workshop, or re-wiring the lighting in the sitting room they had chosen as her new operating room. Anywhere but near the food.

Sure enough, Al was alone in the kitchen, putting the finishing touch on sandwiches and a plate of sliced fruit. Ed leaned in the doorway, smiling, relaxing. Even after a year to get used to it the sight of Al in his proper body was enough to wipe away his darkest thoughts.

"How was your meeting with Mustang-junsho?"

Ed's mouth twisted for a moment. Almost enough. But he had done this once, and the results had justified every second of pain and effort as far as he was concerned. It would be worth it this time, too. He would make sure of it.

He started to set the table so that Al might not see his expression. "Pretty well, I suppose."

"Will you tell me, now, why you're doing this, Nii-san?" Al asked quietly, as he handed over the napkins.

Ed winced. So much for concealing things. Al always managed to know what he was thinking. He sighed and leaned on the counter. "Because I think he told me the truth."

Al waited him out.

"He said we're too well known and won't be left alone if we don't have a strong sponsor."

"You think he can see to it we're left alone?"

Ed saw the sharp edge of his expression reflected in Al's concerned eyes. "Yes," he answered, low and definite. "He can."

I can.

Al looked at him silently for a long moment. "All right," he said finally. He came to lay a hand on Ed's shoulder. "Be careful, all right?"

Gratitude lightened Ed's mood, that Al would let him have his not-a-secret. He grinned and grabbed his little brother in a bear hug. He was stronger, even if Al was two inches taller.

"Ack! Nii-san!" Al laughed, and hugged back.

"You two are so cute," Winry commented from the doorway.

"Winry!" Ed exclaimed, fighting down a blush. "I am not cute!"

Al cut off whatever comment Winry's evil grin had been about to transform into. "Lunch is ready."

Distracted, Winry made for the table.

"Ah, this looks wonderful, Al, you're such a good cook!" She bit into her sandwich and looked blissful.

Ed snorted. "You're going to gain even more weight eating like that," he prodded.

Winry's eyes flashed.

"Nii-san," Al sighed. "Stop teasing Winry and eat."

Winry settled a bit and sniffed. "Yes, Ed, do what Al says; he's the sensible one, after all. It's really no wonder everyone takes him for the older brother."

Ed growled around his sandwich, not appreciating the reminder that that still happened.

"So, is it only going to be your name up on the sign, Al?" Winry asked around a slice of apple.

Initially, of course, both brothers had planned to advertise for clients.

"Looks like it," Al agreed. "Alphonse Elric, Alchemist, and Winry Rockbell, Automail Mechanic."

Winry's starry eyes made it clear that she was momentarily distracted from teasing by thoughts of the small nest-egg her grandmother had given her, and the vote of confidence implied by it when Winry had said she wanted to come to Central City with the Elric brothers. Happy memories contemplated, though, she turned back to Ed. "I don't know why you're doing this, Ed, I know for a fact the money doesn't mean a thing to you."

Ed heaved an extravagant sigh and ran through his reasoning for a second time. Fortunately, Winry didn't know him quite as well as Al and didn't question him, though her eyes darkened a bit when Mustang's name came up.

"That bites," she opined bluntly. "But if that's the way it is, I suppose there's no help for it. At least there are two of us to look after you, now."

Al smiled at this declaration of alliance.

Ed groaned.

TBC

Ever - Chapter Three

Everyone starts to see the shape of the future. Drama, I-3

The Elrics had often been welcome guests at the Hughes residence, and since they had moved to Central their visits had come more frequently.

Often around dinner time.

It was not unusual for them to encounter Roy there, much to Gracia's amusement. Their current visit was no exception on either of those counts. This particular weekend, though, Hughes and Gracia played host to a full-fledged party held for three reasons.

One, It was the middle of summer and the best time to cook and eat all kinds of messy foods outside.

Two, Fullmetal had returned from a three week trip to a small mountain town which had featured a nasty feud, the participants of which were now all hospitalized much to the merriment of their neighbors.

And three, Roy Mustang had been promoted.

He and Hughes leaned on the porch rail, taking a break from the activity out in the yard. Havok and Gracia were beside the firepit, probably debating whether the marinade needed another dash of vinegar to be perfect. Fury and Farman were cornered by Armstrong, and starting to look desperate. Hawkeye and Ross were leaning against an old maple tree comparing the merits of ale versus porter; the ice chest was sitting in the shade beside them to facilitate their discussion and no one had been fool enough to challenge them for possession of it yet. Elysia had teamed up with Black Hayate to chase the Elric brothers and their housemate in energetic circles.

Elysia squealed with glee as Fullmetal turned at bay to scoop her up and toss her in the air.

"Winry-neechan! Help, help!"

Winry Rockbell had a decidedly evil smile when she was bent on mischief, Roy thought. She and Fullmetal were a good match for each other.

She obviously knew where he was ticklish, for one thing.

The entire lot of them went down in a tangle of arms and legs, and barking as Black Hayate jumped in. Fullmetal eventually extracted himself and collapsed in the shadow of the porch to catch his breath while Elysia dragged his brother and the girl off to see her new slide.

"How do you keep up with her?" Roy asked his friend.

"Most of the time I don't," Hughes admitted, smiling.

Elysia came galloping back to try to reclaim her errant playmate. Fullmetal staged an elaborate mock death to convince her how much she'd worn him out.

"Give me a few minutes, and I'll be along," he promised when she pouted mightily at him.

"Ok. Hurry, though, Ed-niisan! We're by the flowers; here, so you remember." She deposited a sloppy circlet of flowers on Fullmetal's head and ran off.

Slowly, Edward lifted the flowers down and held them in his hands. His eyes darkened, stilled. Roy had seen that look often enough to know that it meant he was thinking of Nina Tucker. Those particular flowers always seemed to do it, the same ones Roy remembered from the remarkable transmutation Fullmetal had performed at his exam.

Hughes apparently knew it too, which didn't surprise Roy at all.

"Ed-kun," Hughes called quietly. "It's summer. And Elysia is my daughter. There's no need to worry."

A little of the tension left Edward's shoulders as he turned, and he managed a small, self-deprecating smile. "Sorry. Am I that obvious?"

"Yes," Roy answered him.

Fullmetal turned further to look at him, focusing. Roy nodded. "Be careful of that expression when you aren't among friends."

Fullmetal's mouth tightened a fraction and he nodded back. When he stood, though, he paused, staring down at the flowers again. At last he turned back to bend a thoughtful eye on Roy.

"Jun... Shousho." He was silent for a long moment, and Roy could see one question after another flickering behind his eyes. Then resolution sharpened them.

"If there were another war, a civil war, what would you do? Shousho."

Roy didn't know which memory of his own unguarded expressions had started Fullmetal's train of thought, but he'd certainly hit on the source of just about all of them—that very first deployment in war. Impressive.

"I would stop it."

Fullmetal met his even gaze with a searching one. Roy wasn't sure how many of the answers inside that answer Edward found—I've killed innocents, Yes I know that guilt, I'm sorry, I hate it, Whatever I have to do—but he seemed to accept whatever he did find. He hesitated, and then tossed the flowers up to Roy before turning to go. An ambiguous gesture, Roy reflected.

"Roy," Hughes hissed, "what are you doing?"

Roy raised a brow. Hughes frowned at him.

"For a second there he looked just like you!"

"Mm." Roy pushed away from the rail. "I think it's about time for another drink. What about you?"

Hazel eyes speared him before his friend agreed. Their path past the ice chest ended by the apple tree where no one would overhear them.

"So?"

Roy took a long drink and sighed. "This was his own choice, Maas, the exchange he asked for."

"What was, Roy?"

"To learn how to play the game; to keep himself from being played."

Maas looked sidelong at him. "To learn to be like you?" he asked softly.

"Not exactly, I wouldn't think," Roy smiled, but Maas shook his head.

"He's always worked to meet you on even terms, and now he's asked you to teach him how to do it and you agreed." Maas took a long pull of his beer and looked out over the yard to where Winry was showing an entranced Elysia how to take apart the feet of her slide and reset them more securely. The brothers had been drafted as lifters for the effort and Edward, at least, was looking put-upon.

"You agreed," Maas repeated, "so you must think this is the best thing for them. Why?"

Roy didn't argue with his friend's perception; it was invariably a lost cause. "Do you really think it would serve Edward to always rely on my protection? To not have the knowledge to protect himself? Do you think that would serve Alphonse?" He paused. "Or the Rockbell girl?"

"I wondered when she would come into this," Maas muttered.

Roy reached up to hang the flowers on a low branch. "Edward's guilt is for omission. Mine is somewhat more direct. I have a responsibility there." Roy turned the bottle in his hands. "And while Fullmetal has always made his own choices, I accepted a certain responsibility there as well when I took a twelve year old child into my command."

"He isn't twelve any more," Maas observed.

"Precisely."

A slow and slightly crooked smile took over Maas' mouth. He leaned against Roy's shoulder for a second. "You're too soft hearted for this business, Roy."

"So are you," Roy returned, allowing himself a brief, affectionate glance. "But that's why we're doing it, after all."

As Hughes wandered off to distract Gracia from cooking Roy chose a path that took him past the group of youngsters now sitting by the flowerbeds and watching Elysia burn yet more of her infinite store of energy by pestering Hawkeye to show her the right way to climb trees.

"You should get out of the house more, Ed," Winry was saying, "I know you want to spend as much time with Al as you can since you're traveling so much, but you can be together without burying yourselves in your library."

"I do go out," Fullmetal pointed out carelessly, "Al and I went to the city library just yesterday."

Roy's mouth quirked at the fulminating look she gave him. In passing he wondered just how many books the Elrics had acquired in the half year or so since they had moved into a house with room to store them. Fullmetal had been drawing on his research fund more heavily than usual.

"You said you found a nice park the other day, Winry," Alphonse broke in, ever the peacemaker, "we could take a walk to it tomorrow, since we don't know when Nii-san will have to leave again."

"Not for some time," Roy put in, behind them.

Winry jumped, and both Fullmetal and Alphonse spun around.

"Why, because you're going to give me a heart attack and make it all beside the point?" Fullmetal snapped.

Roy gave such an unsubtle rejoinder the faint smirk it deserved. "The most meaningful trouble spots have all been... stirred. Your tasks will be here in the city for a while."

Fullmetal snorted. "I knew you had an itemized list."

"I never claimed otherwise."

"Yeah, yeah. When do you want me to come in?"

"The beginning of next week will do."

Fullmetal nodded agreement and waved a hand as if to shoo his commander away. A corner of Roy's mouth twitched. He offered a short bow to Winry who still looked a bit wide-eyed with surprise and turned to go.

"Shousho."

Roy looked over his shoulder to find Fullmetal's eyes fixed on him sharply.

"Would you really?"

Roy heard the rest of the question: would he really stop another civil war. Another Winry. And because it was important for Fullmetal to understand just how much the game he was learning demanded Roy let his smooth expression slip just a bit.

"I would." Whatever it took, whatever was necessary, even if it cost whatever was left of his soul. And the deeper answer.

I can.

Fullmetal relaxed again and wiggled his fingers to hurry Roy off. Roy chuckled and obliged, though he stopped in the shadow of Gracia's lilac hedge to make sure all his edges were tucked in again.

Thus, he heard Alphonse, faintly.

"Nii-san, what's going on?"

"Hm? What do you mean, Al?"

"For a second he looked... he looked just like you do sometimes..."

Dire silence.

"Excuse me?"

While Alphonse hedged a bit at the flat tone in his brother's voice, Winry chipped in.

"Yeah, actually the two of you are a pretty good match, the way you argue."

Fullmetal's outrage turned heads all over the yard. Roy slipped away, shaking his head.

Some things really never did change.

TBC

Ever - Chapter Four

Ed gets a closer look at Roy's job. Drama, I-3

Ed rapped briskly on the door of the General's office as he entered. "So, what's up for today?" he asked, perching on the arm of the couch.

"Keeping tabs on everyone's research," the General responded without looking up. "Particularly the civilian Alchemists like yourself. I'll start on serving Alchemists tomorrow." He gathered up a folder and stood, gesturing Ed to come along. "The reason I'm bringing you with me is so that you can observe," he continued.

Fair enough, Ed thought. "What am I looking for?"

The General's faint smile roused his wariness. "The keys."

Ed could really do without all the cryptic word-games, but they seemed to be one of the General's favorite past-times. The man had bad hobbies. "The keys to what?" he asked with strained patience.

"At each place we visit there will be one individual at the center of the efforts there. Not always the one who controls them, but the center nevertheless. Sometimes it's the Alchemist. Sometimes a family member. Sometimes their military sponsor. Sometimes someone else entirely. See if you can tell who it is."

Ed grunted an acknowledgement. He had to admit, when the General finally did break down and explain he did it very well.

"Apart from that, try to be unobtrusive." He paused to eye Ed up and down before continuing, "Well, as unobtrusive as possible."

"It isn't my fault I'm well known," Ed pointed out a bit acidly, "you're the one who sent me off on so many high-profile assignments."

The General gave him a tolerant look. The only way he could have been any more obvious was if he had patted Ed on the head. Ed seethed.

"Not your fault, perhaps, but certainly your own doing, Fullmetal."

Puzzling out the distinction occupied Ed all the way to the waiting car.

Ed spent the day observing, as directed. Among other things, he observed that most civilian State Alchemists deserved their bad reputation. He had never met so many money-grubbing, recognition-obsessed, amoral flakes in such a short span of time before.

His assigned observation did go reasonably well, however.

He spotted immediately that the man researching metal fusions was working to the direction of his research assistant, who was not himself an alchemist. He correctly guessed that the woman dealing with genetic alterations that might breed true actually answered to no one but herself, and also that the way to handle her would be to play on her pride.

He even got the one he thought must have been a trick question, a suspicion more or less confirmed by the General's gleaming smile when he admitted that he was, himself, the key for the very old man who researched nothing but how to refine the shapes of alchemical arrays.

"He disliked the former head of Research quite a bit," was the General's comment.

Considering how Ed had felt about Gran, he found it hard to blame the man, or be surprised by his enthusiasm for the new officer in charge.

Ed was running about eighty percent accurate, by his calculations, when they arrived at one workshop to find another officer present. The General nodded to the dark man sorting nervously through a stack of papers and returned the officer's salute.

"Worthing-san, Marsh-shousa, I trust you are both well?"

Ed hung back as pleasentries were exchanged and generalities discussed, trying to pin down the sneaking feeling that he knew this Marsh person from somewhere. Judging from the covert glances Marsh kept giving him, the feeling was mutual.

A passing reference to Gran made it click. Almost five years ago, outside Tucker's house, Gran had been taking the Alchemist away to some anonymous fate and Ed had argued. One of Gran's soldiers had restrained him, long enough for the gallant Brigadier General to slug Ed. A rather nondescript soldier—medium complexion, brown hair, brown eyes, square face.

It was him.

And, by the way Worthing kept glancing at Marsh before he answered any question put by Mustang-shousho, Ed would bet Marsh was the key here.

The day just got better and better, he thought, disgusted.

Finally, Marsh looked at Ed directly and essayed a probe. "A new assistant, Mustang-shousho?"

A sudden, evil thought flashed into Ed's mind. He put on his brightest expression and stepped quickly forward before the General could answer. "Oh, it's so fascinating to see the range of expertise and research that State Alchemists encompass, Marsh-shousa! It really makes me feel the honor of being part of such an august body."

The General coughed behind him.

"But, really, Shousa, I'm sure yours must be the hardest job of all," Ed burbled on, "making sure the results are delivered effectively." Ed let an edge creep into his voice on that last bit, though he kept his bright expression innocent.

Marsh blinked.

Satisfied, Ed let the General shepherd him out the door, only looking back at the last to offer Marsh a one-sided smile.

"What," the General wanted to know once they were back in the car, "was that about?"

"Marsh and I have met before." Ed rubbed a hand over his stomach reminiscently. "He's the key here, isn't he?"

The General nodded, still giving Ed a narrow look.

"He was one of Gran's goons when I first came to Central. Was he put to work with Worthing by Gran, before he was killed?"

The General leaned back and crossed his arms, nodding again.

"Worthing's the one who took over work on chimera, isn't he?" Ed sniffed. "No wonder he's nervous, I bet he's getting few results if any."

"I did say you had a talent for this," the General remarked. "Now answer my question."

Oh well, it was worth a try, Ed thought resignedly.

"He was the one who held me while Gran punched me," Ed stated baldly. "I wanted to wind him up."

The General looked at him for a thoughtful moment before his mouth twitched.

"You want him to wonder and worry whether the now-well-connected Fullmetal Alchemist remembers and holds a grudge."

"Yep."

"I'm beginning to think that what you need to work on is less your technique and more your self-control," the General sighed.

Ed made a non-commital sound as they pulled up to the next destination.

By the time they finally returned to headquarters Ed could barely put one foot in front of the other.

"How often do you do this?" he asked thinly, leaning on the wall while the General unlocked his office.

"Once a month."

"And again for the serving Alchemists?" Ed resisted an urge to beat his head against the wall.

"You needn't come along tomorrow," the General told him, decoding the silent protest. "It would be just as well for that side not to see you with me too often."

Ed heaved a sigh of relief, and watched, disbelieving, as the General went straight to his desk and started sorting out yet more work. He had an urge to tap on the man to make sure he wasn't some sort of golem or simulacrum.

And then he saw the General sway just a bit, and put a quick hand out to support himself.

"Shousho."

Ed looked around, startled, to see Hawkeye standing at the door beside him.

"Yes?" The General looked his normal self again as he turned, but now that Ed was looking for it he could see the tightness around Mustang's eyes and suspect that he left his hands on the desk because they might not be completely steady.

He did all the talking today, Ed reflected, uneasy, plus a post mortem of every interview in the car afterward.

Hawkeye handed over a sheaf of paper. "His Excellency wishes to speak with you, Sir."

"Of course." The General took the papers and walked quite steadily out of the office he'd just returned to.

Hawkeye and Ed both watched him go, Hawkeye with concern plain in her face. Ed didn't know what his own face might say, but Hawkeye patted his shoulder as she turned to go.

"It will be all right, Edward-kun. You can trust him to allow for having had a long day."

As Ed left headquarters the General's words came back to him.

" ...more your self-control."

It wasn't a game Mustang was playing, for all he called it that, not if he drove himself like this to succeed in it. Ed knew the face of life and death, and he'd seen it today in that momentary loss and retrieval of control.

Not a game.

Edward flushed a bit, and hunched into his coat as he stalked home.

TBC

Ever - Chapter Five

Ed starts to learn to play the game. Drama, I-3

Roy folded his hands and examined Fullmetal across them. "This errand is for my benefit, but you should find it to yours as well. I want you to accompany the civilian State Alchemist Dunning on a trip he's making to Faufend."

Fullmetal groaned. "Not him, he was one of the crazy ones!"

Roy ignored him. "Dunning-san has already agreed to this, as you are considerably more able to defend yourself and any companions than he is. I would appreciate it if he returned in one piece."

Fullmetal eyed him sourly. "And?"

"And what, Fullmetal? Those are straightforward enough directions aren't they?"

"Shousho," Fullmetal growled. "Will you just tell me why you want me to go along with him?"

Roy smiled and picked up a folder, tapping it absently against his desktop. "Two or three years ago I would have simply sent you off and trusted nature to take its course. The comparison of then and now may shed some light, for you, on the preference many players show for pawns. Pawns are much less trouble than informed juniors, and infinitely simpler than allies or partners of any kind."

Fullmetal's mouth twisted very expressively.

"I'm not suggesting that you acquire such a preference, Fullmetal. Only that you remember it, and always ask the point of an action or request."

Fullmetal thought that over and nodded. Roy handed over the folder. "I already know that Dunning is interested in the most delicate and chaotic stages of the transmutation process. This is what I have on his research thus far. It doesn't seem to have a purpose. I want to know the purpose."

Fullmetal leafed through the folder, frowning occasionally.

"In addition," Roy continued, "this will make a good exercise in control for you. I have no doubt Dunning suspects that I know he's concealing information. See if you can keep him from realizing what you're doing as you try to extract that information."

Roy half expected a protest at the implied slur on Fullmetal's temper, but Fullmetal merely paused, mouth tightening, and nodded silently.

Interesting. Roy had seen such flickers of poise and self-awareness a couple times in the recent past. He was coming to the conclusion that Fullmetal's legendary temper was less ungovernable than it was something Fullmetal had just never bothered to govern.

The young man on the other side of the desk closed the folder and regarded it for a minute without speaking. Roy waited for the calculations behind that far-away look to finish. At last Fullmetal nodded, halted, narrowed his eyes and looked up at Roy.

"So, Shousho, what's the point of this?"

Roy smiled, slowly. "Very good, Edward-kun," he murmured. Edward merely raised a brow, but Roy could see the pleased gleam in his eye.

Roy stood and came around the desk to lean against it while he explained. "What I'm afraid of is that Dunning is trying to develop, not some destructive alchemy, but something that will unpredictably alter whatever it's used on." He tilted his head at Fullmetal, inviting him to speculate on the results of such a thing.

"For the military," Fullmetal said hesitantly, eyes troubled, "that could only be something to... cause fear."

"Precisely," Roy agreed. "I'm already watching who Dunning deals with so I know who's interested in the possibility. What I need to know now is whether Dunning can actually do it. And," he added, "whether that's actually the goal of his research."

Fullmetal tossed the folder back to Roy and stood. "I'll go pack, then."

At the door he turned back and offered Roy one of his rare salutes in parting. Roy returned it soberly, not chuckling until the door closed. It had always amused him just how pointedly Fullmetal kept to civilian courtesy with him. Both Hawkeye, who was only recently promoted to the rank that even civilian State Alchemists held de facto, and Hughes, who was not and never had been part of Fullmetal's chain of command, had received more salutes than he had. When Edward did offer a salute to his commander it meant something.

Of course, at times what it meant was a deadly insult, but still.

Roy turned back to his work with a faint grin.

Three weeks later, Fullmetal was back in Roy's office looking disgusted.

"Dunning is a complete airhead," he declared. "He can't tell solid sources from fairy tales."

"The whole story, if you please," Roy prompted.

"What," Fullmetal's tone turned silky, "the great Mustang-shousho doesn't know already?"

Roy gave him a quelling look. "I stopped wasting resources keeping track of you when I acquired the leverage to get the whole story out of you myself. Now report."

Fullmetal grinned, but settled back on the couch and started outlining Dunning's activities.

"...so not only is he trying to do something morally bankrupt," he summed up, "but he's too incompetent to succeed. Two of the researchers he talked to are equally fixated on false leads, the only one you need to worry about is Farley. Fortunately he's only concerned with the destructive stage and couldn't care less about making unstable phases permanent. He's scavenging the results of the others' failures."

Roy reflected, not for the first time, that Fullmetal not only had the detailed observational skills that any advanced alchemist needed, but also the rather rare ability to expand his observation to humans as well as chemicals.

"I wanted to rip his lungs out when he started going on about the beauty of pure chaos and how it could elevate humans to apply it to us," Fullmetal added, "but you said this was an exercise in control so I didn't."

Edward also had a cast iron ethical code, which, combined with his perspicacity, had gotten him into trouble on many occasions. It was one of the things Roy had relied on most heavily when calculating Fullmetal's most likely course of action. He found it an appealing irony that he was now in the process of teaching Edward to be less predictable.

Roy steepled his hands and considered. He wanted to suggest something that would almost certainly be a severe distraction to his student. Unshakable ethics or not, Fullmetal was still a scholar to the bone, possessed of an obsessive drive to discovery.

Perhaps it was time, though. Edward would certainly have to learn at some point to keep his political wits about him while working on his own projects. Roy leaned forward again. "Could you do it?"

"Make the mutable phase permanent?" Fullmetal filled in.

"Yes."

"Why?" Edward asked so promptly that Roy had to smile.

"So that I know how it works, and what to look for if and when other researchers have the same idea." Roy tapped a finger on his desk. "You're the only alchemist I know with both the ability to do something like this and no interest whatsoever in applying it, Fullmetal."

Fullmetal's gaze unfocused. When he finally spoke it was not an immediate acceptance. "Can you keep the results secure?"

Roy nodded approval of this forethought. "Yes. There are other things like this I've had to sequester over the years."

"All right. I'll do it."

"Excellent. Let me know directly if there's anything you need."

Fullmetal agreed in a distracted manner and wandered out of the office as if he didn't quite see the walls around him. A complete alteration of focus, Roy gauged. Well, if Fullmetal hadn't recovered by tomorrow Roy would remind him then.

TBA

Ever - Chapter Six

Ed learns the price that playing can cost. Drama, I-4

Ed chewed on the end of his pen and reached without looking for a book he'd set aside earlier. His hand patted empty air, empty table, a larger book...

"Here, Nii-san."

The book dropped into Ed's hand and he looked up to see Al standing beside their library table, bought when they couldn't find a desk big enough, and looking at him with affectionate amusement.

"Thanks, Al," Ed mumbled around the pen.

"You've nearly lived in here for days, Nii-san," Al pointed out, concern shading his eyes. "Do you... want some help?"

The glow of gratitude made Ed feel like clouds had lifted after a rainy day. Al's methodical approach always helped him ground his own more scattershot intuition.

"I didn't want to take you away from your work, but if you have some spare time..."

"Don't be silly," Al admonished him, pulling up a chair. "I don't have very many clients yet, and I'll always have time to help you."

Ed softened and reached over to lay his left hand on Al's arm. "Thanks."

For all the difference in their appearances, their smiles were identical.

"So," Al settled to business, "what are you working on?"

Ed leaned back with a sigh.

"It isn't pretty," he warned. "And the explanation will sound really strange, too," he added after due consideration.

"Anything else would worry me," Al assured him, straight-faced.

Ed ignored that and gave his brother a quick synopsis of how he had come by his new project. Al nodded and frowned, and finally just sat with his chin in his hands looking inward and contemplative. Ed had quickly learned, or perhaps relearned, that this was Al's version of deep concentration, the parallel of what he'd been told was his own hazy and far-away look when caught up in a thought.

"Do you trust Mustang-shousho to keep this hidden?" Al asked eventually.

"Yes," Ed answered at once, and then had to stop and think how to explain that trust to his brother. "It isn't that I don't think he'll use any advantage to hand, because I know he will. And I know I'm one of those advantages, and he probably counts you as a part of that. But the promotions he's working for have a point. I don't know what it is yet, but I know it includes the power to keep things like this out of military hands without all of this shuffling around."

Al was looking at him with the disconcerting sharpness his brother rarely showed openly. "He's teaching you to do that, isn't he?" he asked quietly.

Ed blinked, genuinely nonplused. "Do what?"

"To see things like that and use them. I mean, you've always seen, Nii-san, but..." Al trailed off, looked down at the table.

"Hm," Ed half laughed. "You too, little brother."

Al glanced back up with a sudden, rueful smile. Ed clasped his hand tight.

"You said to be careful, Al, and I am. I promise."

Al accepted that, relaxing and reaching his free hand for Ed's notes. "Let me see what you've got so far."

A few hours later Ed was about ready to take their bookshelves apart plank by plank.

"I know I had it here just the other month, where did it go?" he growled, sprawled on the floor to look under the shelves.

"What are you looking for, Nii-san?" Al called.

"Ruland's lexicon. There's some nomenclature I want to check." Ed peered under another shelf.

"Wasn't that one we got from the National library?"

Ed froze and then lowered his head to the floor with a thump. "I'm an idiot," he muttered. He hauled himself upright and stretched. "We also wanted some of the Vaughn texts, didn't we? I may as well go get them all now."

"All right. Try not to get too distracted browsing, Nii-san," Al told him with a smile.

Ed ruffled his brother's hair in an attempt not to look shifty. "Of course. Be right back."

He could hear Al laughing as he fetched his boots.

It might, Ed reflected later, have been better if he had done as Al said and come right back with the books. But he didn't, and Major Morland found him while he was wondering whether Hollandus would be of any use.

"Ah, Elric-san, I've been hoping I might run into you."

"Hm?" It took a moment for Ed's mind to return from Hollandus' accounts of Taste and recognize the man in front of him as one of the officers he sometimes saw in the General's orbit. "Ah, Morland-shousa, was there something you needed?"

"Actually, it was about something I was just looking for," Morland gestured to the shelves around them. "I was looking for the report on your visit to Zenotime, what, two years ago? But only about a third of it seems to be archived. I don't suppose you have a spare copy tucked away?"

"I don't," Ed answered indifferently. As far as he was concerned reports were only good for hamster bedding. "I'm sure Mustang-shousho has a full copy, though."

Morland gave him a tight smile. "I'm sure. Mustang-shousho is very thorough about such things. But he's out of his office today and I had hoped to take a look at the report before I'm overwhelmed with my own paperwork again."

For one echoing moment of time Ed only thought it odd that Morland would not know that the General was, in fact, in; Ed had gotten a note that he would be in all week and Ed should just drop by if he got any promising results.

And then something in Morland's expression clicked.

He remembered the General saying it would be better if the military personnel didn't see them in company too often. Morland didn't know how much more aware of the General's movements Ed was these days. He didn't know Ed had any way of catching the lie.

He wanted the report from Zenotime without the General's knowledge.

The full report.

"Is he out today?" Ed asked, trying to look only surprised instead of in shock. "Well, then I guess there's no point in my stopping at the office. Thanks for telling me. Sorry I couldn't help you."

"Oh, it's not a big deal," Morland waved it off. "Good luck with your research, Elric-san."

After Morland left him Ed leaned against the shelves for a few minutes, trying to breathe evenly.

And then he bundled up his books and walked as quickly and quietly as he could to Mustang's office.

Ed closed the office door behind him and leaned against it. "Shousho?"

"Results already?" the General asked, surprised. "That's impressive even for you."

Ed swallowed twice before he managed to speak. "Different results."

The General frowned, taking in his expression, which Ed had finally allowed to go blank and frozen. He stood up and came to steer Ed away from the door to the couch.

"Sit down." And, when Ed was seated, "Now, what happened?"

Haltingly, Ed recounted his conversation with Morland. "The full report, the details of the process Magwar wanted to use," Ed said softly to his clasped hands. "Shousho..."

"I see."

Ed looked up to see Mustang standing with his head lowered.

"I will take care of it, Fullmetal."

"How?" Ed asked, his brain starting to work again. "Morland's immediate superior is Lake-chuujo, if he asks for the report..."

Ed broke off sharply as Mustang raised his head. He had never seen such a cold look in the General's eyes.

"If Lake has not yet heard of the possibility, then it need only involve Morland." The words seemed to be pulled out of the General on barbs.

"Morland has supported you," Ed whispered, starting to see the shape of something terrifying.

"He has. And while that allowed him to learn the edges of the secrets he wants to know the whole of, it also involved him in things no loyal officer should have done."

"Treason...?" He read the answer in those chill black eyes. Ed felt as though he was suffocating. "How... can you... "

"Do you truly want to know the answer to that, Fullmetal?" the General asked, deathly quiet.

The General had deliberately allowed Ed to see what he intended to do, Ed realized, in order to present this choice with the most brutal possible clarity. He had educated Ed more gently than Ed had realized until this moment, letting Ed see the manipulation as an intricate puzzle and sheltering him from most of the consequences of solving it.

"I don't... I...," he stammered.

"Think about it," the General directed, looking away.

Released, Ed fled the office.

Ed closed the book he had been reading and checked the clock. "I need to get going."

"Nii-san," Al looked up with a frown.

Ed shook his head. "I need to go, Al."

Al looked extremely un-sanguine. Still, that was an improvement over what he'd looked like a little over two weeks ago when Ed had come home and curled up in a ball in his room for hours, shaking. Al had discerned, quickly enough, at least one part of the cause and Ed had had to rouse himself in order to prevent Al storming the General's office to demand an accounting.

Ed wasn't at all sure he'd succeeded in communicating just what had shaken him so badly. He suspected that Al thought his current errand was needless self-flagellation, just Ed being oversensitive to his part in something that was really the General's doing.

He thought Winry might have understood a little better. At any rate, she had refrained from death threats against his commander, and hadn't argued when Hughes brought Ed the results of the court martial and Ed insisted on seeing the sentence carried out.

She was waiting for him by the door.

"Ed," she told him, low, as he reached for the doorknob, "it's all right if you can't do everything."

Yes, he rather thought she did understand. "I need to know whether I can or not, though."

She accepted that with only a slight darkening of her eyes from sky to steel blue. But she seized him for an unexpected hug before striding off toward her workshop, back straight.

Hughes, after a single sharp look, had told Ed where to go, so he didn't have to speak to anyone as he made his way through the headquarters complex to a small courtyard out of the way of anything. He was grateful for that.

Could he do this part of what the General did? Did he want Mustang to teach him this? Ed hoped to know soon. Sixteen days of wondering had done things to his appetite and sleep patterns that Al didn't approve of at all.

He stopped in the shadows of the courtyard, next to the General. Neither of them looked at the other.

A line of soldiers filed out into the sunshine, followed by two more escorting Morland between them. Ed felt a twinge of shame at how relieved he was when they blindfolded him, and Ed knew Morland couldn't see either Ed or the General standing witness.

When the guns fired Ed jerked and spun around to lean his head against the cool brick behind him, choking.

Is it better than pregnant women killed and their babies turned into inferior Stones? he asked himself, desperately.

And, as if all it had taken was that one trick of phrasing, he knew his answer.

Yes.

He turned back to watch the body being carried away, and still had to support himself against the wall as he shuddered, but the answer in his heart didn't change.

"Are you going to be all right?"

The General did not ask, Ed noted, whether he was all right just at the moment.

"Yes," he answered, still a little strangled. "I'll... I'll be in tomorrow."

For the last two and some weeks, Ed hadn't set foot in headquarters. Al had fetched books they needed from the National library.

The General's hand closed on his shoulder. "Look at me."

Ed turned and looked Mustang in the eye. What he saw there stopped his breath like a punch to the stomach. Pain. Guilt. Helpless rage. It tore a response from Ed. "Necessary," he got out. "It was better than what would have been."

"It was," Mustang agreed, in a voice like broken glass. "But that never makes it easier or less terrible, or lessens the responsibility."

"I... I see that." And Ed did see it, in Mustang's face.

"As long as you do. It's your choice." Mustang let him go and turned away.

How long has he been doing this, Ed wondered as he made his slightly unsteady way home. How many times?

Al and Winry were waiting for him when he got back. They took one look and tucked him up on the couch with a cup of tea and one of them to each side. Ed let the weight of the mug steady his hands.

Remembering Al's fury with Mustang, the first words out of Ed's mouth were, "He's been doing this for us all along."

"What do you mean, Ed?" Winry asked.

"He's been making these decisions all this time, making these choices so we wouldn't have to."

"He's been using you all this time to give him the power to make the decisions," Al said, voice harsh as even his brother rarely heard it.

"Yes," Ed agreed. "And it would be easy to keep on that way; to let him keep sheltering us. But he agreed to show me the way to stop being used. And... someone has to choose. And I want it to be me."

"Why?" Winry wanted to know. "If you have to make choices like this..."

Ed was silent for a moment. "What do alchemists do?" he asked at last.

Winry blinked at this apparent non sequitur, but Al understood. "Alchemists work for the good of all," he recited, eyes shadowed.

Ed nodded, straightening just a bit.

"Can you do it?" Winry's question recalled what she had said as he left.

Ed looked at her soberly. "Yes."

Winry read his eyes for a long moment before nodding and putting her arms around him. Ed turned to Al, who already wore a tiny smile, and knew his brother had accepted Winry's judgment on this. Al also wrapped an arm around Ed's shoulders.

"Let us know if we can help, Nii-san. All right?"

Ed leaned his head against Al's. "I promised, little brother. I will."

TBC

Ever - Chapter Seven

Ed's lessons turn to manipulation. Drama, Humor, I-3

Roy sipped his cooling coffee, reaching absently for the next report on his desk.

Most of his thoughts this morning were taken up with Edward.

He had half expected Edward not to return after Morland's execution, but he had. And, while he had often seemed troubled or hesitant about the machinations and politics that Roy showed him and dissected with him, he had insisted that he wanted to know everything. So Roy had taken him to meetings and reviews, given him reports to read, told him what people weren't saying or talked around until Edward started to see it for himself.

Initially Edward's hesitance to use what he saw had concerned Roy, but as time went on and Edward threw himself into his "studies", he had started to swing the other way. For the most part Roy was not terribly alarmed; he had seen Edward spar with his brother, and knew that he could enjoy the form of something whose full expression he used only rarely and with care. Still. It would be good to be sure.

Roy paused, with his cup halfway to his mouth, as a sentence in the report he was scanning sprang out at him.

Hm. Not, of course, that anyone would be foolish enough to...

A slow smile crept over Roy's face. He reached for a sheet of paper and an envelope, the latter of which he addressed to Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist.

Roy was, very deliberately, seated on the corner of Hawkeye's desk when Edward came storming into the office, presumably having just failed to find Roy in his own office. An audience would be helpful for today's exercise.

"What is this?" Edward demanded, brandishing a letter.

"It appears to be a letter, Fullmetal. Have your reading skills deserted you?" Roy inquired solicitously.

His staff, taking warning from the opening salvo, edged back.

Edward bared his teeth. Roy could almost see the howl of Quit trying to piss me off! trying to beat through them, but Edward never, ever asked Roy to go any easier on him. Today was no exception, and Roy mentally saluted the woman who had taught the Elric brothers alchemy. If nothing else, she had left Edward with an appreciation of how a hard training regimen could benefit him if he applied himself.

"You want me," Edward growled, "to go chasing after her?" he waved the letter.

"Do you wish to debate the orders of your commander, Fullmetal?" Roy asked coolly.

This was the easy part. Edward knew a challenge when he saw one, no matter the context. Roy watched the first reflex straightening of his spine, saw his eyes widen as he took in the actual wording of Roy's challenge, saw them narrow and watched Edward's mouth curve up in a scimitar smile.

"It's a waste of resources," Edward declared.

Roy nodded approval for a good opening position.

"It's obviously possible to capture her with less than my abilities, since it's been done once already. Surely you don't want me to be tied up with something trivial when a more serious matter comes up."

Roy liked that when; far stronger than if.

"It's been done before, to be sure," he returned, "but not anywhere near as efficiently. A genuinely thoughtful distribution of resources arrives at you as the best solution."

"Besides," he added, examining his nails, "the note she left in her cell mentioned you by name."

Edward, mouth open for the next volley, made a small erk! and looked at Roy wide-eyed. She didn't really? his expression asked.

Roy shrugged and smirked faintly: I'm not telling.

Edward gave him a dirty look before collecting himself. "If she's expecting me, it isn't very good tactics to send me after her. All her preparations will be geared toward me. A different pursuer would throw her off enough to have a substantial advantage."

"Are you saying you need an advantage to capture one woman whose alchemy is allegedly no match for yours?" Roy asked in an insulting drawl.

Edward ignored the tone admirably. Of course, confidence in his power was never one of his weak points.

"I thought you were concerned with efficiency," he shot back, "but maybe you're just interested in a showy stunt that will look good on your record."

Roy smiled—a very good return. His staff was now flat to the walls, with the exception of Hawkeye who was attempting to do her paperwork, only an occasional twitch giving away her irritation. And, since they were well into the insult stage...

"If I'm concerned with efficiency, perhaps I shouldn't be sending you after all. She has managed to enchant every man she encounters into witlessness." Roy paused, artfully. "Ah, but I wouldn't be sending a man, would I? I'd be sending a little boy."

Ed had clearly been expecting this at some point, and only scored a desk clenching his right hand rather than exploding. It would do for now.

"You'd send someone you really consider a child after a wanted criminal?" he spat back. "Bravo, Mustang-shousho, I'm sure that's just the sort of thing sure to find favor with Dai-Soutou Bradley. Are you so sure you want to be associated with what a child might do in a dangerous situation?"

Edward had been angling for something gratifyingly subtle, there, a threat to turn the slander around and make a perfectly deliberate fiasco appear to be his commander's fault for sending an inexperienced agent. But what he hit on the way was a far richer target. Roy knew his eyes flickered, and knew Edward saw it.

Their eyes locked, and he saw memories come together into speculation. Speculation hardened into a weapon, an accusation. You would be that willing to have a child's death on your hands? Edward took in a breath...

Caught it.

Conflict showed in his tense mouth and narrowed eyes. One breath. Two.

Roy raised a hand. "Enough."

Edward relaxed, shaking himself, and slumped back against the file cabinets behind him.

"You saw it," Roy stated. "Could you have used it?"

"I... it would depend," Edward said haltingly. "This... this wasn't important enough to use something like that."

And now Roy relaxed, too. He knew the exhilaration of fencing like this could betray people into going further than was wise, or than they intended. But Edward had stopped himself.

"Excellent." He laid a hand on Edward's shoulder. "This is a form of combat like any other. Never doubt that it can be deadly, Fullmetal."

"Yeah." Edward swiped a hand through his hair, and looked up at Roy, eyes suddenly dancing. "So, is Psiren really on the loose again?"

"I'm afraid so, actually."

Edward's eyes widened. "She didn't really leave a note...?"

"Oh, yes," Roy said, serenely. "But, for several of the reasons mentioned, one of the female State Alchemists is being dispatched to recover her."

Edward sagged against the cabinets muttering. The only words Roy could pick out were "...heart attack...". He patted Edward's shoulder and stepped back before his student started to consider the merits of physical retaliation. There were far too many flammables in the room for Roy to deal with that as expeditiously as he normally might.

A stack of folders nearly hit him in the chest.

"These will require your signature, Shousho," Hawkeye informed him rather darkly.

In other words, Stop making trouble and be useful! Roy grinned.

"Of course, Shousa." As he strolled out he heard Hawkeye speaking to Edward.

"You look like you could use a drink."

"I'm underage, Shousa," Edward pointed out, with a hint of longing in his voice all the same.

"You look like you could use one anyway," Hawkeye said, and more quietly, "I know I could."

Roy barely managed to make it back to his office before he burst out laughing.

TBC

Ever - Chapter Eight

Ed's family want him to pay attention to the rest of his life. Drama, I-2

It was a bright morning, incongruously bright in Ed's opinion, since he was facing a dire trial today and having to muster all his endurance to withstand it.

He was shopping.

With Winry.

She had declared that he was spending too much time indoors and was about to turn into a mushroom. When Ed pointed out very reasonably that that was one of her grandmother's lines, she had punched his shoulder hard enough to send his chair over backwards. Realizing that his friend and housemate was in an unstable frame of mind, Ed had chosen to humor her in hopes her sanity might return before too long.

Forlorn hope.

When she dragged him out the door he had thought they might at least go shop for reasonable things, like a supply of screws in thirty-one sizes or a new lathe. But no.

They were shopping for clothes.

Ed was deeply disappointed in Winry; she had always seemed so sensible.

Of course, they weren't shopping for clothes for her.

"Oh, Ed, here, try this one on!"

Ed looked at the brilliant blue pull-over in silent horror. "You're joking, right?" he asked at last.

Winry put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "What? It doesn't have puffy sleeves, it doesn't have anything glittery, and it doesn't have dancing animals on it anywhere, what are you complaining about now?" Her eyes softened in reminiscence. "Those rats were cute; it would have looked good."

Ed buried his face in his hands with a pitiful moan. He was sure he heard a muffled snicker from the hovering attendant.

"Winry, I'll say this one last time, and track me this time, I am not wearing anything like that. I'll look like a complete twit! I am not making a spectacle of myself just because you miss dressing up dolls!"

"No, you like making a spectacle of yourself by acts of 'secret' altruism so obvious you might as well hang out a flashing sign," Winry riposted with the devastating accuracy of someone who'd known him since he was one.

"The point," Ed gritted through his teeth, "is that I like what I usually wear."

"You only ever wear black," Winry complained, "it's boring. The only way anyone can tell whether you even changed since yesterday is to sniff you."

Ed attempted to ignore the choking noises now coming from the attendant. "I like black," he said firmly. "It's simple and easy and I don't have to think about it."

"Excuse me, Madam, Sir," the attendant intervened tactfully, "but if you prefer a classic look perhaps you would care for the selection over here." She led them through an archway and into a different room.

Ed looked around, a bit reassured. At least there weren't any colors that made his eyes ache in here. He muttered thanks to the attendant, who faded discretely back, only her sparkling eyes giving away her amusement.

"I don't know why you dragged me on this trip, anyway," Ed grumbled as Winry started browsing. "Al likes variety in his wardrobe, you should take him along."

"Al doesn't need any help with his wardrobe. And besides," Winry seemed fascinated with a pile of sweaters, "he has better dress sense than I do."

About to get some of his own back with an admission like that, Ed paused and took a second look at Winry's expression. Hm. Maybe Ed wasn't so much a torture victim here as a practice run? He concealed a smile.

"Tell you what, Winry," he offered casually, glancing around, "I'll agree to try some of this on if you will too. There are women's styles in here, right?" he called to the attendant, cutting across whatever Winry had opened her mouth to say.

"Oh, yes, Sir. Just over here. I'm sure we have something that would suit Madam very well." Anna, according to the small badge that Ed finally got a look at, led them a few racks over, clearly enjoying the little drama immensely.

"Oh, but..." Winry half protested.

"Exchange," Ed pronounced with great finality.

Anna, if no one else, had a wonderful afternoon. Ed was glad someone did. After extensive negotiation he ended up with several button-down shirts (black); one pair of tailored pants, and only one because he refused to stand still for two fittings (also black); and a handful of sleeveless pull-overs (black!). Winry carried off a long-sleeved dress (blue); two snug, low-necked cotton shirts (different blue); and a jumpsuit that looked a lot like a classier version of her work overalls (dark rose, very pretty, actually).

About to escape at last, Ed paused by a stack of coats. "Now there's something I actually kind of need," he murmured, fingering a sleeve.

"New coat?" Winry asked, trying to keep her bags from knocking anything down. "The old one is getting pretty worn out; you've had it longer than most haven't you?"

"Headquarters life is easier on the clothes."

"Oh, Ed," Winry breathed.

He winced, wary of that tone after the day he'd had.

"Look at this one." Winry pulled a long coat away from the others and held it out.

Ed's first thought was It isn't red, but it did look comfortable and that was a major point. He pulled it on and shrugged to settle it.

"It suits you very well, Sir," Anna told him.

Ed glanced at one of the mirrors lining the shop walls. This coat seemed to have more fabric than his old one, but it also looked like it hung closer to his body. Clearly, tailoring was some kind of arcane art that defied the laws of modern science.

He brushed his hand down the white fabric. It'll do.

He and Winry carted their haul home.

"Now will you let me back in the library?" Ed asked as they maneuvered the bags through the front door.

"I guess so," Winry allowed in a lofty tone. "Until dinner, at least."

Ed glared.

"I'll take all the bags upstairs and put them away if you come out for dinner," Winry offered.

Ed figured that was the best deal he was going to get. He had his doubts about whether anything actually got put away, though, because when he went to look for the new coat it was nowhere to be found. He figured it had ended up in Winry's bags, probably stuffed in the back of her closet.

He thought that for three days.

On the third day, Winry walked into his room with an armful of white.

"Um. Here. It's something... Well, here." She handed him the coat.

As it unfolded Ed saw a flash of red. Shaking it out he found, appliqued on the back, his favorite symbol.

"There was a lot of good material left to the old coat, and it seemed a shame to waste it," Winry said, sounding nervous. "Um. It'll be easy to take off, if you don't like it. It just seemed..." She trailed off, chewing her lip.

"Are you sure you haven't been reading the alchemy books?" Ed asked softly, tracing his fingers over the cross, the serpent, the crown. Still the red, still the perfection; that's always what we're seeking. But not so that it completely encompasses my life any more. Now... I'm learning how to move through all the potentialities.

"What?" Winry blinked.

"It's perfect." Ed looked up at her. "Thank you."

She relaxed and smiled back. "Good. Well, then, I made these too, while I was at it." She held out a handful of red cloth ribbons. "You go through hair-ties faster than anyone else I know."

Accepting them Ed noticed the symbol again, in black this time, stitched into the ends. He grinned up at Winry. "So, you'll do fancy work for the fun of it, but won't patch your own overalls..."

Winry swatted at him.

What was it about women and changing the way a person looked?

Al had decided that they should have the Hughes family over for dinner. Well and good, Ed was perfectly happy for his brother to show off his cooking skills. It was even a rather nice and cozy feeling to have guests in their house.

Elysia had begged for Winry to show her the workshop. Winry had let her use the second-best wrenches to disassemble a dead motor. Even better. It meant that the small perpetual motion machine was completely occupied, a rare thing.

But Ed had forgotten that he had been in a hurry this morning and had simply scraped his hair back rather than braid it properly. Hughes noticed. Of course. Hughes noticed everything.

He also drew Gracia-san's attention to it.

Less good. Moderately embarrassing, in fact.

"New hairstyle, Ed-kun?" Hughes ribbed him. "Going for the distracted-scholar look so the girls will chase after you and save you the trouble? Good plan, good plan! I bet you'll get any girl you set your sights on. Except my daughter, of course."

Ed didn't touch that last bit. There was nothing remotely safe that he could possibly say. "It's just easier," he muttered.

Gracia-san looked thoughtful. "It is very becoming, though, Edward-kun. Of course, it would be more so if it were a little smoother."

Ed bit back a protest as she produced a comb from her purse and started combing his hair back and up. If it had been anyone else he would have pulled away, but Gracia-san's hands were... motherly. Gentle and brisk at the same time.

He remembered his mother brushing his hair like this.

He sat quiet until he felt the tug as she re-tied the ribbon snuggly and patted his head. "There." She turned him to face her. "Yes, that looks very handsome."

Ed fought down a blush, and glanced sidelong at Al and Winry half expecting them to be muffling laughter. Instead they had nearly identical expressions of soft-eyed memory. He had a feeling he'd looked much the same while his hair was being fixed. They didn't say anything, though.

They didn't say anything the next morning, either, when Ed came to breakfast with his hair drawn back in a high tail.

TBA

The idea of Ed wearing his hair up like this as he gets older originated with Sakki's drawings of an adult Ed with a very long high pony-tail. Glorious image.

Ever - Chapter Nine

Roy starts to notice Ed growing up. Drama with Romance, I-3

Edward Elric had invaded Roy's house.

More precisely, Roy's library.

Roy supposed he should have expected it. Edward's argument that, since Roy was the one who wanted the current research project, he had a responsibility to contribute his own materials to its success was a cogent one.

Edward really was getting quite good at that.

And, since he had no intention of allowing Ed free run of his library without him present, he found himself spending several long evenings in his favorite armchair watching while Edward buried the small couch under piles of books.

It was actually fascinating to watch. It had been years since Roy had been able to concentrate on research for any extended period; he had almost forgotten what it felt like to devote that intense focus to books instead of people. The completeness with which Edward immersed himself in study reminded Roy forcibly of his first few years as an officer, when his books had been a familiar shelter that could soothe away the stress and frustration of dealing with intractable humans. Ed was intensely businesslike about this project, and yet far more relaxed than Roy usually saw him.

The first thing he did upon arriving was kick off his boots into a corner, and it wasn't long before any overshirt or sweater he might start out with followed, tossed over the back of the couch. Edward also had a habit of whole-body fidgeting as he read, sprawling on his stomach, throwing his feet over the couch back, changing position every ten minutes at least.

When Roy had pointed this out to him, Ed claimed that it was because Roy didn't have a proper desk or table in his library, and that Edward only did this when stuck with inferior furniture to organize his books and findings on.

Roy replied that it was the sign of an insufficiently organized mind to require such a crutch.

Edward threw a pen at him and buried himself in Forman again. Five minutes later he patted the cushions looking for his pen and merely thanked Roy, distractedly, when Roy handed it back.

It was, in other ways, extremely painful to watch, a reminder of what Roy had given up when he chose to keep his commission rather than work as a civilian Alchemist. He had put it out of his mind, fairly successfully, how much he missed the pure research. Now he tasted that again, knowing it could only be a fleeting return, and the cutting edge of that thought stopped his breath if he didn't push it back down fast enough.

He resolved, once again, to dissuade Edward from following Roy's own path too closely, should Edward ever lose his mind sufficiently to consider it. Roy didn't think he would, but then he hadn't expected the exchange that Edward had asked in return for continuing to serve Roy's ends either.

If it hadn't been for those ends, for the faint hope that he could succeed in them, these three days might have convinced Roy to resign his commission and return to work he truly loved.

He rather thought Edward would throw a fit of epic proportions if he ever realized the extent to which the same three days engaged Roy's protective instincts on his behalf. Roy had never met anyone quite so fiercely independent.

Watching Ed work also clarified for Roy just why Edward had been able to rein in his temper so fast once he had a reason to do so. While he worked, Edward's fire and flamboyance were channeled, honed to an edge that would shame a razor. When they had occasion to debate interpretations, which happened frequently, Edward did so with a ferocity and speed and focused force that delighted Roy, sometimes even provoked him to open laughter.

Edward's life had given him an emotional maturity beyond his years in some ways, while stunting him in others, Roy was very sure. It was only these last two years, with his brother restored and their friend, the Rockbell girl, to help, that Ed was gaining any experience of the stability that might let him survive a normal life. Should he ever stumble across one.

His mind, though, had always leaped beyond. Roy had counted on Edward's power, ever since he had first found the boy, but he had always regarded it as something a little apart from the person Edward was. He had considered Ed's mind sharp but unformed; his intuition accurate and valuable, but not entirely reliable. Now, watching the driving brilliance of Edward's understanding, Roy found admiration stirring in him.

Maas was right, Roy reflected. Edward wasn't that boy anymore.

TBC

Ever - Chapter Ten

Ed has his first real-life exercise. Drama, I-3

"I have clients today, Nii-san, so I can't help with the project report until afternoon. I'm sorry," Al told Ed at breakfast.

Ed waved away the apology. "Don't worry," he said a bit indistinctly around his toast, "I'm just putting the last touches on it before I drop it off." He chewed and thought. "Clients, hm? Do you mind if I drop in, then? It's been a while since I had a good chance to watch your work."

Al gave him a bright smile. "Not at all! Though I doubt I'll have anything very impressive to do today."

"Not very impressive. Hmp," Ed muttered to himself as they all parted ways to their respective work. He never could convince Al that his technical acumen far exceeded Ed's own, or that his precision was impressive in and of itself. Watching Al's work always gave Ed a proud-big-brother glow.

So, once he had made all the revisions to his report that he could stand, he tossed it in a folder to take to Mustang later and took himself off to the sun porch that had become Al's office.

The room was neat and full of light, tastefully furnished and decorated in soft colors, and very much like his brother.

"...no, it's better to transmute the metal before the parts are assembled," Al was saying to his client, a somewhat befuddled looking man in a brown suit. "Sometimes fusion does occur, if there are unpredictable elements, which your alloy has a few of. As long as the parts are all machined properly, the greater density after transmutation shouldn't be a problem for assembly."

My brother is a genius, Ed thought, fondly. At moments like this he had a bit more sympathy for Hughes and his constant burbling over his daughter.

"I see. I think. Yes, that makes sense, Elric-san," the client said.

"Good." Al jotted something down before looking up to spy Ed leaning in the doorway. "Nii-san! You came down at a good time. Bower-san's metallurgy projects are just fascinating, and he was mentioning that he'd like to see if you were interested in some of it."

Bower turned, and stood quickly. "Edward Elric-san? So pleased, so pleased! I've been wanting to meet you for some time, actually."

Ed shook hands briefly and raised a brow at his brother. Al ducked his head just a little and grinned. Which meant this Bower person had probably been enthusing about the famous Edward Elric and Al had decided to kill two birds with one stone: boost his brother's morale while he was bogged down in report revision, and make his client more malleable for having met Ed.

Ed rather hoped that Mustang never managed to completely win over Al, because if those two joined forces the world would be doomed.

"Really?" Ed answered Bower, smile only a bit toothy.

"Oh, yes," Bower said, earnestly. "I truly admire your courage of convictions, Elric-san, the way you act for the common people even while bound to the military."

Eh? It had been a while since Ed had done anything... flashy in that way, and he'd thought the rumor mill had calmed down a bit.

"It must be very frustrating for someone like yourself, having to deal with such an autocratic system," Bower continued. "I know there are other people in my company who appreciate what it must take to work counter to the military's orders."

Ed was getting a bad feeling about this.

"So, yes, we were wondering if you would be interested in taking a bit of work for us..." Bower trailed off suggestively.

Ed froze. That didn't take long at all, did it?

And then his eyes narrowed and he advanced on Bower.

"Take a bit of work for you?" he repeated, voice low and cold. "For people who would use my brother as a lever to get to me? Who would use me as their tool to defy the State and then throw me away when it all came down on my head?"

Bower's mouth flapped. Ed leaned towards him and Bower leaned back.

"The only kind of work I would take in relation to you is destruction," he stated, toneless. "Now get out."

Bower fled.

"Nii-san?" Al whispered.

"Al, I'm sorry," Ed said without looking up.

"Was that really...?"

Ed nodded. A rather horrible thought occurred to him, and he whirled to grab his brother's shoulders. "Al, have there been any other clients who asked about me like that?"

Al, wide-eyed, thought for a moment. "No. Just him."

Ed breathed a sigh of relief. Just Bower.

"Nii-san, you really think he was working for someone trying to... to suborn you?"

"I don't know. But I can find out. I'll be back in an hour or so, I think." Ed hesitated. Al looked... stricken. "Al, are you all right?"

His brother summoned a smile for him and patted his hands. "Of course."

Ed barely bothered to knock on his way through Mustang's office door. "Shousho. You know what you said about there being a great many fools in this world? Well the first one just arrived."

Mustang gestured for him to shut the door and sat, hands folded, listening while Ed paced the office and recounted the conversation with Bower. When Ed was done he rested his chin on his hands, looking calculating.

"A good beginning," he pronounced.

Ed, used by now to Mustang's patterns of thought, understood that this was a comment on his own performance. He stopped pacing and slumped down on the arm of the couch.

"You can damn with faint praise better than anyone else I know," he remarked, raking a hand through his hair.

"I didn't entirely mean it that way, Edward-kun."

And again. Ed gave Mustang a jaundiced look, and Mustang's mouth quirked. "Just tell me," Ed sighed.

"You are always most... extreme in defense of your brother," Mustang noted. "I'm somewhat impressed you didn't throw the man bodily off the roof. Greater subtlety in these affairs is never misplaced, however. The most important thing to remember is never to show all of your strength and knowledge until it's absolutely necessary."

Ed thought about the confrontation. "I don't think I did," he said, slowly.

"Indeed you didn't," Mustang agreed, "which is why I said it was a good beginning. However, as you did not already know whether Bower was working alone or as part of a larger group, there is the possibility that you left yourself open to retaliation or more direct things, like blackmail, from parties you have no easy way of tracing now that they're warned."

Ed winced.

"Relax, Edward-kun. I'm familiar with Bower, and can assure you he's currently working alone on his various seditious little projects. And, dealing with a single scavenger like that, it is, in fact, the best policy to chase them off with a quick show of strength if there's nothing you need from them."

"So I got it right by luck," Ed grumbled.

"I have noticed before that your luck, both good and bad, is generally stupendous," Mustang allowed, dryly.

Ed leaned an elbow on the back of the couch and pursed his lips. "So, if I don't know one way or the other, I suppose the best thing would be to string them along, drop a few hints that I might be interested if I could talk to the person in charge, ask what would be in it for me, find out what they know."

"Precisely." Mustang lowered his hands and gave Ed a faint smile. "You show a great deal of promise in this field, Edward-kun."

"Mm." Ed glanced aside ordering himself to not blush, damn it.

Three or four years ago he would rather have died, or at least would rather have eaten Winry's cooking, than admit that Roy's approval mattered in any way to him. Now...

He would admit it to himself, he supposed.

Sometimes.

"I'd better get back before Al starts worrying," Ed said, rising. "I'll bring the research report by tomorrow, it's finished."

"Excellent," Roy told him. "Then you can start reading the reports Hughes gives me about the sort of people who may have an interest in you or your brother. I'll trade you the first volume for your report."

"Thrilling," Ed groaned, and trudged out of the office in a far lighter frame of mind than the one he'd entered with.

TBC

Ever - Chapter Eleven

Ed and Roy continue on their way to a partnership. Drama, I-3

Long experience kept the pain behind Roy's eyes from showing as anything more than a small tenseness in hands and mouth. He was grateful that Edward seemed to have his own reasons for staying quiet as they made their way back from the office block Marsh worked in.

He'd been willing enough to leave the man in place, to start with. Few people knew better than Roy the futility of reproducing Tucker's results without using his means, which both Marsh and Worthing fortunately knew better than to contemplate. It kept Marsh out of the way without any appearance of a grudge against an officer of the former head of Research. He was starting to get out of hand, though, making the first steps toward a power-network of his own among some of the civilian State Alchemists, and Roy couldn't afford the interference.

He would have to move Marsh out of the way somehow.

Particularly since he seemed to have decided that Edward must hold a grudge after all and that preemptive action was called for. Roy sighed soundlessly as they returned to his office and deposited the various paperwork and notes they had collected over the day.

"Shousho? Are you all right?"

Roy raised a brow at his protege. "Of course."

Edward looked less than convinced and... concerned?

"You look considerably worse for the wear, Edward-kun, I should be asking you that question," Roy added to distract him.

It was certainly true that Ed showed his tiredness and tension more clearly. While he dissembled very well, he was less skilled at flat concealment like that. At Roy's remark, however, he straightened.

"I'm fine."

It was possible that neither of them was fooling the other, though Roy hadn't thought that Edward could read him that well. As far as he knew, only Hughes and Hawkeye could.

Though that thought suggested something. Edward was fast approaching a point where he might, if he chose, become a partner rather than a student. If Roy wished to keep Ed's abilities in his service, which he very much did, then it was time to start expanding their working relationship into the social. With a little luck, Edward would be prepared to accept that new context when the old wore out.

"Perhaps," Roy mused, "it would be a good time to follow Hawkeye-shousa's example. I could certainly use a drink, Edward-kun. You?"

"I notice you waited until I was legal to ask that, Shousho," Edward observed, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"Of course," Roy answered, loftily, "I would never dream of encouraging any of my command to do anything illegal."

Ed snorted.

Roy was not particularly surprised that Hughes found them. He and Edward were both surprised, though, that Hughes had Alphonse in tow.

"Al?" Edward blinked.

"Nii-san. I met Hughes-taisa at the city library, and he said you might be home late today. Winry is having dinner with one of her clients, so I thought I would just join you here."

The look Ed directed at his brother was so warm that Roy felt impelled to look away so as not to invade their privacy. Hughes caught his eye and laid a hand on his shoulder under the pretext of drawing out a chair.

"Mustang-shousho," Alphonse greeted Roy rather coolly as he also sat.

Ed's brother still regarded Roy as a threat that Edward should be guarded against, Roy noted. He smiled at Alphonse with approval. That was just the way it should be.

"No more trouble with your clients, I hope, Alphonse-kun?" he inquired.

Alphonse's mouth tightened. "No, fortunately it just seems to have happened the once."

Roy nodded, satisfied. Hughes glanced at Alphonse's expression and eyed Roy, his own look rather sharp. "Yes," he drawled, leaning back, "that's only to be expected, surely, when word has it that the Flame Alchemist is looking out for you."

Roy met Maas' gaze with a mixture of warmth and exasperation. He didn't need Alphonse to know that. "I rather expect the more effective point is the surety that the Fullmetal Alchemist will take exception to anyone approaching his brother like that," Roy pointed out, parrying the compliment aside.

Edward's eyes widened slightly as the onus fell on him, which told Roy that, while Edward might have informed him of the two such approaches he had fended off, he had not told his brother. Ed flicked a faintly betrayed look at Roy.

"Yes. I know," Alphonse replied.

Edward looked as though he were trying to work out just how much Alphonse might know.

Alphonse laid a hand on Ed's left wrist. "Nii-san. It's all right."

The two fell silent in another moment of the unspoken communication that was so characteristic of them. Since Edward relaxed, Roy assumed that Alphonse must have conveyed his acceptance of his brother's campaign to protect their household by whatever means necessary.

The conversation went more easily after that.

Two hours later, however, Roy was debating the wisdom of the outing, as Hughes had taken it into his head to challenge Alphonse to a game of darts. Why, Roy couldn't imagine. Alphonse was not, after all, the competitive one.

"Come on, Alphonse-kun, I know you have wonderful hand-eye coordination! And I promise to go easy on you," Hughes added expansively.

Alphonse paused and turned to look at Edward. One side of Ed's mouth curled up, and he nodded. Alphonse's eye took on a sparkle that Roy recognized as a lighter version of the gleam that lit Edward's when he had some mischief in mind.

Maas might just have taken on more of a challenge than he expected.

Roy glanced across at his friend and tilted an eyebrow. The quirk at the corners of Maas' smile said that he had caught it too. Roy flashed him a grin.

"This should be entertaining," he remarked, as the contenders headed for the dartboard.

"Al has very good aim," was all Edward replied, but he was smirking into his drink.

"I'm very sure he does." Roy looked after their companions. "You have an excellent friend and defender in your brother, Edward-kun."

Edward looked up, eyes serious and direct. "Yes," he agreed softly.

And perhaps Roy had had too much to drink, because he spoke his next thought aloud. "I've often thought it would be... pleasant to have a brother."

Edward began to say something, bit his lip, and then answered slowly. "But you do."

Roy blinked at him. "Not to the best of my knowledge, Edward-kun," he said, a bit startled.

Ed shook his head. "What else is Hughes-san, then?"

Roy sat back and simply looked at Edward for several long moments. He really must have drunk too much, his head was spinning. "I must congratulate you, Edward-kun. I do believe you have graduated," he said at last.

It was Edward's turn to blink.

"You've surely learned everything I can teach you if you can see a truth I hadn't considered."

Edward lowered his head; Roy rather thought he was blushing. When Ed looked up again the young man's eyes were bright. "Thank you very much, Sensei," he said, half joking and half serious.

"Ah, not that any longer if you're graduating," Roy returned.

"O deeply respected very much Senior?" Edward suggested with a wicked grin.

Roy narrowed his eyes. "You never were particularly respectful, Edward-kun, and lately you've gotten even more insolent, which I hadn't thought would be possible."

"Never while we're at work," Ed pointed out, completely unrepentant.

"I suppose I'll have to be grateful for that much," Roy sighed.

They finished their drinks in comfortable silence.

TBC

Since this was written before I had enough hints to twig to Amestris as alter-Germany, I decided to go with the English drinking age, which is eighteen.

Ever - Chapter Twelve

Ed talks to Hughes about his changing relationship with Roy. Drama with Romance, I-3

When Hughes arrived at their house, mid-morning, with a gleam in his eye, Ed was positive he'd been targeted for something.

"Ed-kun," Hughes caroled, "how would you like to go on a little outing today?"

Sure enough.

"That depends on where," Ed answered warily.

"To get glasses."

Silence.

"I beg your pardon?" Ed said finally.

"Don't be difficult, Ed-kun, several people have noticed you squinting over your books lately, so I have been dispatched to see that the problem is fixed."

Ed opened his mouth to deny that there was a problem, but Al cut him off.

"He's right, Nii-san, and you've been getting more headaches lately." Al gifted Hughes with a pleased and grateful look. "It's very kind of you to do this, Hughes-taisa."

Ed shut his mouth. There were times when he could argue with Al, but this didn't look like one of them. With an obligatory grumble about who was the older brother, here, anyway, Ed went to fetch his coat.

"So whose idea was this?" he asked as he and Hughes strolled along. "Gracia-san's?"

Hughes chuckled. "Good guess, but no. It was Roy's. I suppose he sees more of you reading than she does."

"Ah."

Hughes waited a beat, but Ed said nothing more. Predictably, Hughes decided to needle him a bit, fishing for a reaction. Ed braced himself.

"You have been spending a lot of time with Mustang. Hm. I suppose he is the only man you know that you might someday manage to grow taller than," Hughes commented, not looking at Ed.

He did look around, rather quickly, when Ed laughed. "I almost have already," he pointed out.

Hughes examined him for a moment and gave him a slow smile. "I believe you will, at that, Ed-kun," he said, and Ed knew he was not just speaking of physical height.

And then Hughes tugged on Ed's pony-tail, earning himself a growl.

After what Ed was positive was an unnecessarily long and tedious visit, they escaped the oculist with Ed's glasses. By that time Ed had decided that Hughes might be the best person to talk to about something that had been bothering him for a while. With that in mind he steered them toward a hot pie stand and suggested eating their purchases out in the sun in the usefully deserted little park nearby.

He was sure he wasn't fooling Hughes for one second.

He couldn't, for the life of him, think of a way to broach the subject, though, so they ate their pies in silence. At last Hughes stretched out on the sun-warm grass with his hands behind his head.

"So, Ed-kun, what's on your mind?"

"Well..." Ed fidgeted with the hem of his coat. "It's kind of... Roy."

Hughes examined a passing cloud intently. "Roy, hm?"

"I think," Ed broke off, pulled up a few blades of grass, "I like him."

"Happens to the best of us," Hughes allowed, smiling. "He may be the most likable bastard I've ever known."

"That's not... it's... I mean..." Ed made a stern effort to cut off his own floundering. "I mean like... the other way." He let his head thump down on his knees with a sigh. Oh, yes, that was coherent. He looked sidelong at Hughes as the man sat up.

"You're... drawn to him?" Hughes translated.

Ed nodded silently.

"Hm. Well, yes," Hughes said judiciously, "I can see where finding yourself drawn to a ruthless political player with a reputation as an unspeakable flirt, who happens to be your commander, and never ever lets anyone know what he's thinking if he can possibly help it would be a bit... troubling."

"Thanks so much," Ed said sourly, hunching down a little further.

The strangest thing was that that breezy description of Roy Mustang didn't ring true to him any longer. Well, except the ruthless part. And he did flirt a lot, but he obviously wasn't serious about it; half the time, Ed swore, he just did it to get a rise out of Hawkeye. And... Ed did usually know what he was thinking these days. Ed sighed.

"You worry too much, Ed."

"Excuse me?" Ed straightened up to stare at Hughes.

Hughes made calm-down gestures. "Let's think about this. It could just be a crush, which really does happen to the best of us. If that's the case, it'll pass off in time with no one the worse for it."

Ed considered this, trying to decide whether the idea made him feel better or not.

"And, then, you have seemed to deal with him much better as a teacher than as a..." Hughes fished for a good word.

"Puppet-master?" Ed supplied, baring his teeth. "That's certainly true."

"So. And, really," Hughes flopped back down with a sigh, "the fact of the matter is that Roy is a very charismatic man. He does draw people to him. His staff is a good example." Hughes chuckled. "Did you ever hear what happened the last time Personnel tried to transfer Hawkeye away from him?"

"I thought they'd stopped trying that."

"Oh, they did, after this! I don't think she even noticed that they'd thrown in a promotion to sweeten the deal. As soon as she got the papers she marched down to Personnel and held a gun to the head of the officer who signed the transfer until he wrote up a cancellation."

They both laughed.

"That sounds like Hawkeye-shousa, all right," Ed chortled.

Hughes stood, and offered a hand to pull Ed up. "I wouldn't worry, Ed-kun. If it lasts... well, time to do something about it then."

Ed nodded, accepting the advice.

"Good! So when are you and Al, and Winry too, going to come out to the bar with me again?"

"Are you that eager to lose to Al at darts again, Hughes-taisa?" Ed asked archly.

"That was a draw!"

Ed lay, that night, staring at his ceiling and considering.

A crush. A bit embarrassing, but passing. He could deal with that.

And if it was something else?

Ed ignored the tightness in his chest at that thought, and rolled over.

TBC

Ed in glasses is also thanks to Sakki's art.

Ever - Chapter Thirteen

Roy tries to deal with his changing relationship with Ed. Drama with Romance, I-3

"Shousho?"

Roy looked up to see Ed leaning in the doorway of his office. "Still here, Edward-kun?" he asked, surprised.

"Hawkeye-shousa mentioned you were still in here, and didn't seem to be coming out any time soon. I said I'd check." Edward sauntered in, kicking the door shut behind him.

Roy reflected on the immutable nature of certain things, one of them apparently being his door's collection of scuff-marks, courtesy of Edward Elric.

"So, what's all this?" Edward wanted to know, flinging himself onto the couch and nodding at the volumes on Roy's desk.

Roy sighed, leaning back. "I'm starting to think Marsh wasn't acting of his own initiative when he interfered with some of the State Alchemists' work. Since I managed to transfer him he's been spending more time than I like with Forsythe, who would dearly love to take over Research himself. I'm looking through the reports of the Alchemists in question to see if I can find what might have interested him."

Ed made a face. "Well, hand one over then." He held out a hand.

Roy raised a brow. He'd hardly expected a volunteer. "There's no need for that, Edward-kun, I'm more than half-way through already. Though I appreciate the offer."

Edward snorted. "If you're only half-way through, you'll probably be here another five or six hours with the rest of it. And then you won't get enough sleep, and Hughes-san will worry about you."

Roy glared. Ed smirked.

"Even Hughes doesn't have quite the concern for me, or hold on me, that Alphonse has on you, Edward-kun. Speaking of which, surely Alphonse will be still more worried if you don't come home on time."

Edward's smile turned even more smug. "I called already. They know I'll be home late." He wiggled the fingers of his outstretched hand, imperatively.

Roy was torn between annoyance at conceding and a strong desire to finish quickly. Expedience won. "On your own head be it," he proclaimed, and tossed over one of the reports.

Ed pulled out his reading glasses and promptly stretched out full length on the couch, until all that Roy could see of him were his boots, propped on the far arm, and a tail of gold hair trailing off the seat and almost to the floor. Roy shook his head.

No lover of his will ever be able to keep their fingers out of that hair.

He stomped hard on the thought, as he'd quashed the several similar thoughts he'd surprised himself with recently. His awareness of Edward's physical presence was really getting just a bit disconcerting. He blamed it on the growing extent to which he was able to relax his perpetual wariness when he was with Edward. After all, Ed already knew a great many of the things Roy had to be careful to keep from nearly everyone around him.

Not that that was any excuse.

Though it would be wonderful to have a lover he could relax with, as he couldn't with any of his little flings.

Stop this foolishness, he admonished himself sternly. There was no way he could betray the trust of someone who followed him, knowingly and willingly followed him at that, just because it would be nice to sleep with someone who actually knew him.

Ed had become a good partner in his work, and unless Roy was very much mistaken he was becoming a friend as well. That was more than enough.

Roy turned his eyes firmly away from the gleaming fall of gold and back to the report he was supposed to be reading.

TBC

Ever - Chapter Fourteen

Roy and Ed finally admit how close they've gotten. Drama with Porn, I-3

It had been a harder day than most, and Roy was showing it, at least to Ed's eyes. When they got back to his office he went to lean his head against the window and didn't move.

He didn't often show this kind of stress even to Ed, and Ed was worried.

"We're done for the day, Edward-kun. You should go home." The flat tone of Roy's voice didn't make Ed any less worried, and he made a snap decision. He'd thought it over for long enough. He was sure of himself. He knew he would have to speak some time. For both of their sakes, let it be now.

"No."

After a pause Roy lifted his head and turned to look at Ed with an expression somewhere between bemused and displeased. "Excuse me?"

"I said, no." Before Roy's expression could decide which way to go Ed gathered his courage and crossed the room to lay his hands on Roy's shoulders.

"I'm getting tired of watching this, Shousho. Watching you do this to yourself and hold everyone at arm's length, except Hughes, and pay with a little more of your self every damn day." Roy's eyes darkened, and Ed tightened his grip as if that could make Roy listen to him. "Let me help."

"Edward-kun," Roy began, only to break off as Ed lifted his left hand to touch Roy's face. At that his eyes widened slightly.

"Did you really think I could watch you do this, see what it costs you, and not—not start to care?" Ed lowered his hand to Roy's shoulder again and rested his forehead on the back of it. "If you say anything like 'It's only a crush'," he added, "I am going to hurt you."

Roy's shoulders twitched as if with a stifled snort of laughter.

"I've considered the possibility that it's just a crush, except that I've had crushes and they weren't like this. I've considered that it might just be hormones, but I'm not looking at anyone else this way. I've thought whether it could just be admiration for my teacher, except that you've already said I know just about all you can teach me." Ed took a deep breath. "And I've certainly considered the fact that you're fourteen years older than me, and my sponsor and commander here, and I don't care."

Roy's hands came up to settle lightly on his back. "Edward, do you know what you're offering?"

That induced Ed to look up with a glare. "Oh, tea and cookies, of course, what else could I possibly mean?" he snapped.

A laugh fought its way past Roy's exhaustion and tension. "Ah, I'm relieved to see that it really is you after all. I'd thought for a moment that I must have a changeling in my office."

Ed made a grumpy sound and ignored Roy as much as he could without letting go.

"Are you sure?" Roy asked.

Ed turned back to him. There was the pain he'd gotten better at seeing in the dark eyes, and something that might be hope if Roy let it.

"I'm sure."

Roy's arms closed tight around him, pulling him hard against Roy, and the heat of his body, of his breath against Ed's ear was a shock.

"Are you sure, Ed?" Roy asked again, very softly.

Ed had to try twice before he managed to reply. "Yes..."

Roy lowered his head to rest against Ed's. Brief shudders had started to run through him, and his arms tightened further around Ed. It took Ed a moment to gather his wits sufficiently to wind his own arms around Roy and hold him. It took longer for the shudders to stop, while Ed hesitantly smoothed Roy's hair.

"I will never doubt Maas' judgment in personal matters again," Roy said at last, a bit muffled.

Ed opened and closed his mouth a few times. "He told you?" he rasped.

Roy raised his head and looked down at Ed with a faint smile. "Some time ago."

"That... that... snake!" Ed's indignant sputtering was preempted when Roy ran a finger down his jaw, set it under his chin and lifted Ed's head the inch necessary for Roy to kiss him.

Roy's lips on his were soft and slow, the brush of his tongue electric. Ed opened his mouth under Roy's, catching his breath at the sinuous heat as Roy wound the fingers of one hand into Ed's hair and deepened the kiss.

Ed had no idea how long it was before Roy drew back, sucking lightly on Ed's lower lip before letting him go. "Roy," he breathed, and opened his eyes.

Roy stroked Ed's hair back. "Will Alphonse and Winry worry if you aren't home this evening?" he asked.

"No. It's happened often enough. If I'm not back for lunch tomorrow Al will start asking at the libraries for me."

Roy smiled. "That's my scholar. That being the case... will you come home with me tonight?"

Ed shivered at the heat in Roy's eyes. "Yes."

It wasn't a long walk to Roy's house. They both made it with their hands tucked into their pockets, though they walked close enough that their shoulders brushed. Once inside, coats and gloves shed, Roy offered Ed his hand to lead him upstairs.

Ed felt a bit shy as they undressed each other, and concentrated on his hands. When they finally stood together with nothing between them Roy took Ed's face in his hands and coaxed him to look up.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asked gently.

"No," Ed smiled a bit. "I always had too many other things to be doing."

Roy's thumb stroked his cheekbone. "I am honored," he said, voice low.

His sincerity affected Ed more severely than his kiss had earlier. They were only a hand span apart, and it was too far. Ed reached out and spread his hands against Roy's chest. Roy breathed in quickly before running his own hands down Ed's back, drawing him closer. Roy tugged loose Ed's hair tie and his fingers combed Ed's hair down. Shivers rippled over Ed, simple sensation rapidly becoming overwhelming.

"Roy," Ed whispered

He was glad when Roy responded to his unspoken request and caught him close, because he didn't think he could be any more coherent just now and he really needed something to lean on. He was more pleased when Roy drew him down to the bed; with a solid surface under him and Roy leaning over him he felt far more secure.

Secure enough to tug Roy down for a kiss.

Things became disjointed from that point.

Roy's mouth seemed to be the only thing holding him down to the bed, as he arched up seeking the heat of Roy's body above him. The touch of Roy's hands lingered on his skin until he wasn't entirely sure where Roy was touching him at any one moment.

At least until Roy's hand moved between his legs.

Every sense he had narrowed down to Roy's mouth against his, Roy's tongue curling against his, beckoning, Roy's fingers stroking him, circling, Roy's palm closing around him.

And then Roy's mouth left his and Roy's hand slid further back, and heat surrounded Ed. He strained up, into that heat, sliding against him like fire made liquid, and it flooded him completely.

Ed lay, after, panting for breath as Roy stretched out beside him. He turned and buried his head against Roy's chest, and Roy held him, rocking him just a bit. Ed was glad that Roy seemed to have expected him to be overwhelmed and non-verbal for a while.

After he'd collected himself somewhat he raised his head to look inquiringly at Roy.

"Roy? Are you..." his vocabulary failed him, but Roy seemed to catch his meaning.

"Just fine," he assured Ed.

"You're... sure?" Ed was trying very hard not to blush.

A glint of mischief entered Roy's eye as he took one of Ed's hands and guided it down.

"Ah." Ed was sure he was blushing now. Roy had, however, unmistakably taken his pleasure from the evening too.

On reflection, Ed wasn't really surprised he hadn't noticed. He wasn't sure he'd have noticed a brass band on the back of a waltzing hippo for most of the time Roy had been touching him. He settled back down on Roy's shoulder.

"Thank you, Ed," Roy murmured in his ear.

"Mmm," Ed said without moving. "...you too."

Roy's fingers carded through his hair, and Ed wasn't sure when he drifted off to sleep.

End

Morning - One

How Roy and Ed deal with the way Ever ended. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-3.

Ed.

Ed woke up wondering why his pillow was such a strange shape.

Waking further up, however, he remembered where he had spent the night and why, and opened his eyes to stare at the expanse of Roy's chest in front of his nose. Finally stirring, he raised his head to find Roy already awake and watching him. As Ed did nothing but blink at him, a smile tugged at Roy's mouth.

"I think this is the first time I've ever rendered anyone speechless for quite this long," he commented.

Ed opened his mouth, closed it, and let his head fall back down, onto the real pillow this time. "It's just kind of... hard to believe this is real," he said at last.

Roy laughed, low in his throat, and leaned over Ed. "Shall I convince you it is?" he teased, running a finger down the center of Ed's chest.

Ed glanced aside, afraid he was blushing. "Would you think it was really silly if I said yes?" he asked softly.

"Not at all," Roy murmured in his ear before nibbling on it.

Ed sighed as Roy's lips traced the line of his throat, and let his eyes fall closed again.

Roy.

"Coffee?" Roy offered as Ed came into the kitchen.

"Thanks." Ed sipped and paused in the act of sitting down at the table. He eyed the mug and then Roy. "You make the coffee at the office, don't you?" he asked, faintly accusing.

Roy sighed dramatically. "Ah, one of my darkest secrets, revealed! Yes, in fact I do. Hawkeye prefers tea, and no one else can make coffee that doesn't taste acidic."

Ed smiled into his mug and settled onto the chair, one leg drawn up under him. Roy contemplated his body language and hid a smile of his own. He was unexpectedly charmed this morning. He had never, in all the time he'd known Ed, seen him act shy. Even last night. He'd been hesitant at times, yes, but this morning he was acting downright bashful. Accepting a towel for his shower, a cup of coffee, it seemed to be these small things rather than actually going to bed with Roy that made Edward unsure.

Of course, Roy reflected, if he had stayed the night at Ed's house instead of the other way around it would certainly have taken all the face he could muster to stroll blithely down to breakfast in the morning. Not least because Ed's extremely protective brother and near-sister would likely have colluded to draw and quarter him.

Speaking of which...

Roy came to lean against the table. "Edward?"

Gold eyes looked quickly up at him.

"Does your family know where you are? Or, more precisely, what you're doing here?"

Ed's expression shifted to one of affectionate exasperation. "No and not exactly," he answered. "I think Winry might have guessed, but I haven't told them..." he broke off, and looked down again.

"That you planned to seduce me?" Roy supplied, wryly.

After a moment of blank silence Ed folded up on the table laughing until he was breathless. "Can you imagine," he gasped, "their expressions," another gasp, "at the very idea..."

Roy had to laugh himself at the image.

Ed.

"Nii-san... you... he... you..." Al sat down rather abruptly on the couch.

Ed rubbed a hand over his forehead.

Roy had seen him off, with a light kiss, before leaving for headquarters, and Ed had made his way home torn between contentment and anxiety. One of the causes of anxiety was the question of how Al and Winry, who each had their own reasons for not entirely liking Roy, would react to the news that Ed was sleeping with him.

So far, Al was stunned and Winry was quiet.

Winry sat and took one of Al's hands without taking her eyes off Ed. "Why?" she asked.

Ed was silent for a long time trying to organize dozens of half-thoughts into a reasonable response. "Because being with him makes me feel like I'm more alive," he said at last.

"You're happy with him?" Al pressed.

Ed threw himself back in his armchair and stared at the ceiling.

"Happy," he agreed. "And infuriated. And like I want to protect him. And like I want to spend a week arguing theory with him. And scared. And like I can lean on him. And he'll hold me up."

Al and Winry had both softened somewhat during this recitation. Ed had a sudden urge to add And like I want to run my hands over every inch of his skin and let him kiss me senseless, but stepped on it.

Clearly, Roy was rubbing off on him.

Winry looked at Al, who was looking at Ed with a reluctant smile, and nodded briskly. "Right. Just as long as he understands that if he hurts you I'm going to disassemble him, flame or no flame."

Ed grinned for the first time since he'd gotten back. "I'll be sure to pass that on."

Roy.

Hughes, stopping by Roy's office, took one look at him and burst out laughing.

"You did it! Didn't you? Didn't I tell you?"

"Do I have it printed on my forehead or something?" Roy wanted to know, irritably. "Hawkeye asked me if my evening went well, and she almost smirked."

"Just about." Hughes leaned on his desk, chuckling. "You have that extra smug glow that says what happened, and an underlying hint of panic that tells the informed who it happened with."

"Panic?" Roy asked frostily.

"Quite justified, of course," Hughes breezed on. "It's been a long time since you had a serious lover instead of an affair."

"You should know," Roy grumbled.

"Yes, I should." Maas looked sidelong at him with a crooked smile. "And that's why I can tell that this is serious. So be careful with yourself, Roy. I know how deeply you can dig yourself in."

Roy set a hand over Maas' to make his friend look at him straight on. "Do you think there's some reason I shouldn't?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, no. In fact I think this is just about the best thing that could happen to both of you. But he's still young, Roy. It might take time before he's ready to settle down, even if he spends all that time with you."

Maas turned his hand over and gripped Roy's tightly. Roy looked up at him, warmed by the concern in those hazel eyes.

"Thank you, Maas."

Ed.

"Shousho?" Ed tapped on the office door.

Roy turned away from the windows. "Come in, Edward-kun."

Ed entered and hesitated just inside the door. The sunlight falling across Roy made him glow and picked out the elegance of his bones. Ed wanted very much to touch him, but reminded himself that they were at work and should be reasonably discreet...

Roy smiled and held out his hand.

Well, never mind, then.

Ed came to him and settled against him with a sigh, resting his head on Roy's shoulder. Roy stroked the nape of his neck with soothing fingers.

"Is everything all right, Ed?" he asked eventually.

"Yeah. It's just... I didn't think it would be so different. After." And, much lower, "I want to touch..."

"It's usual with new lovers," Roy reassured him, smoothing his hair. "It gets less intense after a while."

"How much of a while?"

"It varies," Roy said thoughtfully. "With Ariana it lasted about four days. Hughes and Gracia were mutually entranced for nearly two years."

Ed lifted his head and stared, eyes wide. "Two years? How did they manage for two years like this? It's incredibly distracting!"

"I couldn't agree more," Roy purred.

He traced his fingertips over Ed's face and then down his neck. Ed drew in an uneven breath.

"Especially when you do that," he whispered.

"Do you want me to stop?" Roy asked just as softly.

"Hell no."

He met Roy's kiss open mouthed, let Roy's tongue twine around his and draw out his breath. Roy leaned back against his desk and pulled Ed between his legs to lean against him. Ed wound his arms comfortably around Roy's shoulders, pleased with the solidity of Roy's body supporting his.

"Are there any rules against this kind of thing?" he asked, struck by a sudden thought.

"Specifically or generally?" Roy inquired.

Ed glared. "Be difficult for the fun of it later; answer my question now."

Roy smirked. "Being a civilian, most of the military regulations don't apply to you. A liaison between a civilian State Alchemist and his military commander is not specifically forbidden. It would probably be wise to be discreet, though."

"Thought so," Ed sighed.

A gleam entered Roy's eye. He bent his head and Ed felt teeth close on his throat. His body snapped taut as those teeth nipped a path up to his ear.

"So," Roy breathed, "is it later?"

Roy.

"What are these?"

Roy looked around to where Edward was holding out the sleeve of a burgundy suit-jacket.

After two weeks, during which Ed had spent over half his nights with Roy, Ed had gotten tired of not having clean clothes in the morning and asked a bit diffidently whether Roy would mind if he kept a change tucked in a drawer somewhere. Familiar with this particular annoyance, Roy had cleared out several drawers and a section of the wardrobe, and invited Ed to fill up as much of the space as he liked.

He had yet to resolve the matter of Edward stealing his bathrobe in the mornings, but one problem at a time.

They were now putting things away, and Ed was discovering that Roy did, in fact, own more than uniforms.

"Well, that one in particular is what I wear when Hughes insists on hauling me along to a concert."

"And the black suit?" Ed wanted to know.

Roy sighed, and came to kneel on the floor behind Ed with an arm around his waist. "The black is for funerals, the green shirt is for going out in the summer, this" he plucked at a brilliant scarlet sleeve, "is for being obtrusive..." He paged through his clothes, naming them as he went, ending with a stack of blue cotton pants and white shirts. "...and those are for just wearing. Satisfied?"

Ed was quiet for a bit, contemplating the clothes as if they were some new diagram. "Costumes." He looked over his shoulder at Roy. "Except for those last. They're costumes aren't they?"

Roy was taken aback for a moment, until he remembered exactly who he was speaking to. This was the person he had taught to see these things, not infrequently using himself as an example. He rested his chin on Ed's shoulder, reflecting on the pitfalls of habit. The physical intimacy was easy enough, but he kept forgetting that it was paired with a much deeper intimacy this time.

Ed, probably sensing his mood, half turned in his hold to snuggle against his chest.

Roy was discovering that, despite his standoffishness with just about everyone, Edward was actually an extremely tactile person with those few he trusted. Roy still had to conceal his crogglement that he was, apparently, someone Ed trusted.

Ed seemed to decide Roy was still thinking too much, because he shoved against him, tumbling them both over onto the floor. He planted an elbow on either side of Roy's head and propped his chin on his hands, grinning down.

"So you've caught me, have you?" Roy asked, amused.

"Pretty sure, yeah." If Ed's voice had been a little lighter and his eyes hadn't become shuttered, it would have been a joke, and likely led to a wrestling match that Roy would have lost until he managed to... distract Ed. But it wasn't quite.

Roy thought it might be a question.

Had Edward caught him? Well, yes, Roy didn't usually sprawl on the floor with casual friends lying on top of him. Roy supposed the real question was how thoroughly Ed had caught him.

How thoroughly did he want to?

"Come here," he whispered.

Ed let himself slide the rest of the way down, laying his head on Roy's shoulder. Roy stroked his hair aside, arranging the long tail of it in an aesthetic curve on the floor, and ran a hand gently up and down Edward's back. Ed relaxed against him, fitting his body more comfortably to Roy's.

It took a while for Roy to really notice that Ed was still making tiny movements, and a little longer to realize that Ed was adjusting himself in relation to Roy's hand on his back.

Hm.

Roy slid his hand under Ed's shirt and scratched between his shoulderblades. Ed made a small happy noise and arched up a bit. That was definitely it. Roy obligingly continued scratching. Ed squirmed against him.

"Mmm. To the right... little further... down some. Oo, there. Ah. Mmmmm."

Roy couldn't contain his chuckles as Ed collapsed bonelessly over him, making little humming sounds in his ear, as close as a human could come to purring.

Edward, he reflected, might just be able to capture him completely.

TBC

The coffee in particular, and in fact significant parts of this whole arc, are largely thanks to Sleeps with Coyotes' influence. She keeps writing stories that raise questions that won't leave me alone, not to mention images that sneak into my own stories when my back is turned.

Morning - Two

How Roy and Ed deal with the way Ever ended. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-3.

Roy.

"So, what..."

Ed had to stop for a jawcracking yawn before trying again.

"What possessed you to use the east facing bedroom anyway?"

Roy looked on in amusement as his bedmate squirmed yet further into the covers in a vain attempt to escape the morning sun. "It's the largest, and the one with an attached bath," he explained, very reasonably, for the nth time.

Ed made a grumpy noise and huddled against Roy's side.

Roy suppressed a laugh as he stroked Ed's back, coaxing him out again. Ed had some very set morning routines, and, on weekends when they had time for it, grumbling about the early sunlight was one of them. Ed was perfectly cheerful once he was up and awake, but he seemed to enjoy being persuaded.

Finally, Ed uncurled and stretched from toes to fingertips. If Roy was in the mood for it, he could start a morning tussle by trailing a finger down Ed's stomach at just this moment, which would make him squeak and curl up in a ball before assaulting the source of the indignity. This morning, though, he had a different surprise in mind.

Ed rolled out of bed, shaking his hair into a semblance of order, and snatched up the plush black robe that hung just inside the wardrobe. As he was turning away, though, something seemed to catch his eye.

Roy allowed himself a tiny grin.

"What's that?" Ed asked, glancing back at him.

Roy had told Ed some time ago just how fetching a sight he made with his hair down and the robe hanging open from his shoulders. He hadn't mentioned that this was why he had put up with Ed's theft of his robe. He had, however, taken it into account when he decided what to do about the matter. He came to stand behind Ed, and lifted the blue plush robe down off its hook.

"This," he said, pulling it on, "is for me to wear while you steal mine."

A faint flush rose in Edward's face before he turned and leaned into Roy. "Thank you," he said, very low.

"You're welcome," Roy replied, winding an arm around Edward's waist. "Shower?"

Edward nodded. Roy lifted his chin. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"No. That would be... fine." The blush was more distinct now. Well, it was the first time Roy had asked this.

Ed let Roy lead the way, and draw him under the water. Ed naked with his head tipped back and water running down him was even more fetching than Ed in Roy's robe. They washed each other leisurely, trading the sponge back and forth.

"Shall I do your hair?" Roy asked.

"If you want," Ed agreed, surprised.

Every now and then his lover's innocence about his own beauty made Roy shake his head.

He was slow, careful not to tangle or pull, and Ed relaxed into him. "You'll put me back to sleep," he murmured.

"If you need the extra sleep that badly, perhaps I should," Roy told him, rinsing the soap out.

"No. You just... relax me that much." Ed opened his eyes, looking up through lashes beaded with water drops.

Roy didn't know whether Ed understood how great a compliment he'd just paid Roy; he thought not. So he simply smiled and kissed away the water on Ed's lips.

Ed.

"No, that can't be it!"

Thursday's breakfast was long gone, and the kitchen table had been taken over by paper and pencils. Ed had been arguing cheerfully with Roy for nearly an hour over how and whether a team of alchemists in the South might be transmuting a fantastically unstable compound whose import was forbidden. Well, cheerfully for them, anyway.

Ed narrowed his eyes at Roy and flourished a piece of paper from the pile on the table between them. "It's obvious that they would need a seven point diagram if they're trying to transmute this stuff out of sapphire!"

"Only," Roy pointed out with a cutting edge, "if they have someone familiar with the Saturnine manuscripts, which are rare enough to make that unlikely."

"You're going to trust the incompetence of your opponent?"

"It's often a reliable approach," Roy returned.

"Yeah, well, not this time," Ed growled.

Before Ed could continue to the evidence of knowledgebility Roy unfolded his hands and leaned across the table.

"No," he agreed, silkily, "not this time." He slid his palm down Ed's jaw line, brushing his thumb over Ed's lips.

Ed's hand rose to push Roy's away before he thought about it. "Don't do that!"

They both pulled back and Ed tried to think why he had objected so strongly. Roy had touched him before when they were arguing. In fact, just a few weeks ago they had had a wonderful debate over the use of leopards versus lions in alchemical codes while lying naked in bed.

But this was different. Roy's manner was different. Slowly, Ed realized that he'd seen Roy look like that before... when he was maneuvering some political target into doing what he wanted. Ed swallowed and looked up at Roy just in time to see his eyes widen and his mouth flinch.

He... didn't realize either? Ed thought about that for a moment. And shuddered. "You've used sex that way, too?" he asked, a bit choked. "Just another lever?"

"For a long time," Roy admitted quietly, staring straight ahead.

Ed was torn right down the middle between the urge to comfort Roy and the urge to run screaming.

"Edward. I'm sorry."

Ed looked up, wide eyed. He could not, off hand, remember Roy ever apologizing for anything before. He bit his lip and reached a hand over the table. After a beat, Roy slowly lifted a hand to meet him. Ed laced their fingers together.

He couldn't say it was all right, because it damn well wasn't. But he tried to show in his grip, in his face he hoped, that the apology was accepted. It seemed to work, because some of the bleakness left Roy's eyes.

Then he went around the table and burrowed into Roy's arms, stroking his hair while Roy buried his face in Ed's shoulder.

Roy.

"Good afternoon, Shousho. You look like you're in a good mood today."

Roy made an agreeable sound as Hawkeye set the day's reports on his desk.

"In fact," she continued, "you've been looking better in general lately."

Roy eyed his aide. "I'm pleased that my personal life provides so much entertainment to my staff," he drawled.

Hawkeye stared him down. Roy couldn't remember a single moment she'd ever been intimidated by him in any way.

"I don't know why the others are so happy, but I'm happy that you've stopped abusing yourself."

Roy raised a brow. "I beg your pardon, Shousa?"

"You know what I mean, Sir," she told him firmly. "The ones for political reasons were bad enough, but the throw-away affairs with people you could never trust were worse. I'm just glad it's over."

"You make it sound like I've gotten engaged," Roy remarked, amused. Hawkeye had always kept an eye on his personal affairs, he knew, but she rarely commented on them. "I would remind you that Edward is only nineteen. He could well choose to move on."

Hawkeye looked like she had something she very much wanted to say but didn't think she should say it. "I doubt Edward-kun is going to let you go that easily," was all she tossed over her shoulder in parting.

Roy blinked after her, contemplating her choice of words.

Ed won't let me go? Has she seen something I haven't?

Ed.

"Morning, Shousho."

Ed knocked on the office door as he opened it and booted it shut again behind him. Roy made a distracted sound of acknowledgement. Ed tucked the volume of research results he'd been wading through back into its place on a shelf and went to see what Roy was occupied with, leaning on the back of Roy's chair. "Still with Forsythe?"

"Unfortunately." Roy tossed the flow chart he'd been scribbling on back onto the desk. "Any luck with your end?"

"Not yet," Ed sighed. "I hate it when work stalls like this."

A sudden, impish smile curled Roy's mouth. "Well, how about a break, then?" he suggested, turning the chair to face Ed.

"Such as?" Ed asked, a bit suspicious of that expression.

"Something... relaxing," Roy assured him, hands coming to settle on Ed's hips.

Ed blinked down at him. "You're kidding."

Roy pulled him gently forward until Ed was kneeling over him on the chair, grinning the whole while.

"You are serious!" Ed was laughing as he caught Roy's shoulders for balance. "Roy, we're at work!"

"The door's closed. That's discreet enough," Roy declared, running his hands up the back of Ed's legs.

On the one hand, the door was merely closed, not locked, and Ed had no intention of sharing this part of his life with anyone else, thank you.

On the other hand... well at the moment the other hand was Roy's, and it was tracing patterns up his back in a very tempting manner.

Oh, what the hell.

Ed concentrated, which wasn't easy just at that moment, and sent the crackle of transmutation through the wood of the desk, of the floor, of the doorframe, which temporarily became a single piece with the door.

"Delightful," Roy murmured, as his hands trailed down Ed's front, undoing things as they went.

Ed took in a wicked glance from dark eyes, and then he was lost in the heat of Roy's mouth on him. He let his head fall back, let himself melt into the heat, trusting Roy's hands to hold him up. The slide of Roy's tongue pulled a long moan from him.

When Roy drew back, Ed sank down, wrapped his hand around Roy's chin and kissed him deep and slow.

"You're completely crazy," he announced against Roy's mouth, hands busy with the clasps and buttons of his uniform.

"Without a doubt," Roy agreed easily.

Their clothes went to decorate the desk, but they themselves finally wound up on the couch.

Or, at least, Ed was on the couch, arms spread across the back, with Roy kneeling on the floor between his legs. At this time of day the sunlight fell directly across them, and Ed closed his eyes against the brightness even as he luxuriated in the feel of the warmth on his skin.

Roy's hands swept up his back, pressing Ed tight against him, and Ed made a soft, inarticulate noise as Roy's teeth closed on his bared throat.

Roy's hands drew him to the edge of the cushions. He felt Roy's cock sliding against his rear and arched back, breathless, anticipating.

"Ed?" Roy asked against Ed's shoulder.

"Yes," Ed said, definitely.

Roy went very slowly, as he always did when they made love like this, and Ed appreciated it. It let him feel every millimeter of Roy that was inside him bit... by... bit...

And then Roy's hand closed around him, teasing, knowing, and Ed lost track of individual senses in the tide of heat and tension and pleasure. When he opened his eyes to brilliant light it seemed only appropriate.

He slid limply off the edge of the couch and into Roy's lap, where they leaned on each other and exchanged small, slow kisses.

"We just had sex... on your office couch... in the middle of the morning," Ed commented between kisses.

"Nice thick walls," Roy replied, "I doubt anyone noticed."

Ed laughed. "Completely crazy," he reiterated. "I love you."

Then he blinked. Did I just say that?

Roy caught Ed's face in his hands and kissed him far harder and hotter than before. And then he simply held Ed and gazed at him for a long moment before his mouth quirked.

"I believe I love you as well, Edward Elric," he said softly, tone somewhat rueful.

Ed ducked his head against Roy's shoulder, as Roy's arms closed around him, and stayed there for a long time.

TBC

Morning - Three

How Roy and Ed deal with the way Ever ended. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-3.

Ed.

Ed sprawled on the living room floor, watching as Al and Winry debated whether they needed new armchairs or could just get the old ones reupholstered.

"What do you think, Nii-san?"

Ed shrugged, lazily. "I like the ones we have pretty well."

Winry gave him a sharp look. "And how much longer are you going to be around to have an opinion on them?"

Ed flopped back, groaning. He'd known that was coming, sooner or later. "I don't know."

He could feel the look Al and Winry exchanged, even without seeing it.

"Nii-san? Do you... not think he's serious?" Al's voice was concerned.

Ed supposed there was some reason for the concern. Ed spent at least half his time at Roy's house instead of his own. His conversation had become peppered with Roy's comments even in the man's absence. And now Al was wondering whether his big brother was about to get his heart broken for him. Al thought that way.

And by serious Al most likely meant lifelong. That, after all, was the way he was serious about Winry. But when Ed tried to compare what was between he and Roy with what was between Al and Winry, somehow the terms just didn't seem to translate very well.

"I do think he's serious," Ed tried to explain, "we just haven't talked about things like that yet."

"Ah." Al still sounded concerned.

Winry took pity on Ed in a very typical fashion, and turned the conversation. "So, is he any good in bed?"

Both brothers choked. Winry attempted to look innocent and failed miserably. After wasting a few moments glaring, Ed decided on a subtle revenge. He let his expression go a bit dreamy.

"It's like falling into the sun without getting burned," he told her with complete truthfulness.

He checked Winry's expression, and found it approaching doting. All right, never mind subtlety. "Why, are you looking for tips?" he asked, and let his gaze slide from her to Al.

Winry turned the color of a ripe raspberry, and Ed grinned. Victory was his. Not even a high velocity couch pillow could take it away.

Roy.

Roy liked the fact that he almost always woke before Ed. It gave him a chance to watch Ed without being observed. Ed did not, contrary to popular wisdom, look more innocent while he was asleep. He sometimes looked just as innocent awake. Nor did he precisely look unguarded; even asleep his body held the hint of motion, of readiness. Roy supposed that what Ed looked asleep was more himself, without calculation or care.

Of course, in a purely physical sense, most of the time a sleeping Ed looked like a fallen angel after a good party. Roy took the strand of silky hair that slipped over Ed's shoulder in his fingers and lifted it to his lips.

He looked down again to find Edward awake and gazing up at him, eyes wide, lips parted.

"Good morning, Ed," Roy said, softly, over the strand of gold he still held.

Ed's eyes softened, and Roy shivered, brushing a hand over his cheek. "Edward," he breathed, only half aware he was speaking out loud. "Do you really mean what that look says...?"

"What does it say?" Ed asked, voice husky.

Roy was silent a moment before he answered. "That you would give me anything I asked you for."

Ed tilted his head considering. "Yes," he said at last, and laid his hand flat on Roy's chest. "If I could ask back."

Another shiver ran through Roy, and he lowered his head until his temple rested against Ed's. "What would you ask me for?" he whispered, formless anxiety tightening his nerves.

A tiny laugh brushed past his ear. "I don't know," Ed answered. "Do you?"

Roy took a deep breath and felt the corners of his mouth curl up. "No, I suppose not."

He kissed Ed's shoulder, down his chest, letting his tension transform into desire. Letting Ed's responsiveness carry them both away into a simpler intensity.

Ed.

"Is something bothering you, Ed-kun?"

Gracia-san had eased Al out of the kitchen by asking him to keep her husband away from the food preparation, and given Ed a bunch of carrots to slice to keep him busy. Now Ed knew why. "Not really," he denied.

Gracia-san waited. There was no need for her to be concerned, Ed told himself. It wasn't a huge problem. He shouldn't trouble Gracia-san with it.

Oh, who was he kidding?

"When did you know you wanted to be with Hughes-san for good?" Ed asked at last.

"Hm." Gracia-san smiled reminiscently. "Well, let's see. I knew him for about a year, casually, before we ever really got to know one another. I met him through Roy, you know."

Ed blinked.

"I used to work at the city library, didn't I ever mention? I met Roy when he came to Central to study, and Maas when they made friends." She stirred sauce and looked thoughtful. "I suppose it was a little over six months after Maas and I really started to know each other that I winkled an engagement out of him. I think I had to work on him for about two months. So, four months or so after we became close was when I decided."

"Ah." Ed paid very close attention to his carrots.

"I think it's harder when it's someone you've known for a long time, actually," Gracia-san said, reflectively. "Harder to tell what's changed."

"Mm." There had probably never been such perfectly diced carrots before in culinary history.

"Are you still wondering about Roy?"

Ed just barely missed his own finger.

"It's not... we're... not that, but..." Ed stammered.

Gracia-san patted his hand, and he looked up to see her smiling sympathetically. "Or is it that you are sure?" Her voice was gentle.

Ed bit his lip. "I think so," he said softly.

Gracia-san smoothed his hair back and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

"Well, then, you need to talk about it instead of dancing around it, or backing off from it, or whatever it is you do instead of talking." She gave Ed a meaningful look.

Ed was positive he had turned the same color as the radishes. Carrots. Carrots were absolutely entrancing, yes they were.

"Gracia-san?" he asked after a little while.

"Yes?"

"How did you and Hughes-san really get to know each other?"

Gracia-san looked over her shoulder with a soft smile. "We started talking."

Roy.

Roy looked up from his book to see Ed leaning in the doorway watching him. Seeing that Ed had a book of his own, Roy smiled and held out a hand.

"Business or pleasure?" he asked, nodding at the book as Ed came and wrapped his hand around Roy's.

"Pleasure, mostly," Ed answered. "History."

Roy rearranged himself against one arm of the couch and tugged Ed down to recline against his chest. Ed settled back with a sigh as Roy slipped an arm around him. It wasn't long before Roy set down his book and wound the other arm around Ed also, resting his cheek against Ed's hair.

It felt... very good to have Edward here like this.

"You're thinking," Ed asserted. "What are you thinking about?"

"How well you fit," Roy told him.

Ed let his own book fall. "Well enough to stay right here?" he asked, voice low.

Roy was sure Ed could feel his heart speed up. He didn't think Ed was asking whether Roy's legs were falling asleep.

"Yes," he murmured at length. "If you want to."

"I do," Ed said, looking straight ahead. And then he turned in Roy's arms until he could brace his right arm on the couch behind Roy and lift his other hand to cup Roy's cheek. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes," Roy whispered. "I do."

Ed took a breath like he'd just come up after a long time underwater, and let his head fall to Roy's shoulder. "Then I will." His voice was a little choked, and trembling on the edge of a laugh.

Roy gathered him as close as he could, the same laugh rising in his own throat. He had laughed more in the last few years than he had honestly thought he ever would again. Most often because of the young man in his arms right now.

"Ed..." He smiled and said very quietly in his lover's ear, "Welcome home."

End

At A Cost

Roy's choices, soon after the end. Drama, I-4.

"A price is something you get. A cost is something you lose." —Shards of Honor, Lois McMaster Bujold.

Roy nudged a piece of rubble with his toe.

"How is the clean-up coming on the buildings that were destroyed?" he asked.

"It's on schedule, Sir," Hawkeye reported. "The ones out in the city are almost finished; I left the ones inside Headquarters for last, as you said."

Roy weighed the value of disturbing his generals by leaving the military buildings in wreckage for a bit longer against the drawbacks of disturbing his men by doing so. With only a faint twinge of regret, he decided that the men were more important. After all, he didn't want any of them to start agreeing with the officers who were displeased by Roy's ascendance. And while he was thinking of common welfare...

"Have we located everyone who actually met the Homunculi?"

Hawkeye nodded. "Yes, Sir. A number of them had to be hospitalized, especially those who were present at the end."

"Not surprising," Roy murmured.

"No one still alive knows what they really were," his aide finished.

Roy ran a hand through his hair. "Well that's one concern out of the way."

Now to see if he could take care of another concern, he thought as they continued on toward their new offices.

Roy stood at the window with his back to the room. It didn't particularly help. He had worked with Fullmetal too long; he could see the boy's expressions in his mind's eye quite clearly, hear them in the flex of his voice.

"What do you mean, none of your business? Everything's your business now, isn't it?" Fullmetal added, more quietly but still loud enough to hear, "God help the world."

"Not this," Roy informed him coolly. "The State Alchemists are no longer associated with the military. I've given the Dean of Central University oversight. That," he flicked his fingers at the silver watch lying on his desk, "is not my concern. I'm not the person you need to return it to, if you want to be rid of it."

Fullmetal snorted. "Well, isn't that convenient. Speaking of getting rid of things."

Roy smoothed the twist out of his mouth before turning around. "Why should it concern you? You have no reason to stay here now, or worry who controls the State Alchemists. You have what you need." Roy looked pointedly at the arm and leg that he knew were no longer automail, though Fullmetal still wore his concealing gloves.

Fullmetal looked at him narrowly, puzzled. Roy should have known he wouldn't get the boy to leave without some kind of explanation. He sighed, plucked the watch off his desk, and tossed it back to Fullmetal.

"I did not spend this much effort freeing the State Alchemists from military control only to see it wasted. Turn that in or not, as you please. But you have no more business here. So take your brother and go." Roy turned back to his window. "You are no longer my dog, Edward Elric. Go."

He could almost hear Fullmetal's teeth grind at that epithet he had hated and spent so much time and energy circumventing. Roy had, after all, chosen it to make him angry.

"Whatever you say," Fullmetal growled. "Dai-Soutou." He bit off the title like an insult, and Roy heard him spin around and stride out the door. His steps never paused or hesitated, and one small thread of tension unwound itself from Roy's shoulders.

Two more safe.

Hughes found him that evening, still at his desk.

"Are they away?" Roy asked, knowing it wasn't beyond Fullmetal to decide to stay for sheer pique.

"Lock, stock, and baggage," Hughes confirmed. "It was a good idea to assign a car and driver to see them back to Riesenburg. Al is still a bit... edgy."

Roy sniffed, amused at his friend's talent for understatement. Alphonse Elric had spent the first month of his recovery constantly on the raw edge of breakdown. It was only recently he had stabilized enough to even consider traveling. Roy hesitated to imagine what a trip by train would have been like to his reawakened senses.

"As long as they're gone." Roy rubbed a hand over his eyes and leaned back.

"Roy, are you sure it was a good idea to send them away?" Hughes asked quietly.

Roy shook his head. "They had to go now, while the remaining confusion will keep anyone from asking questions. Enough of the State Alchemists have left, now that the direction of research the State will fund has changed, that it won't seem strange for them to leave too."

"I meant, is it a good idea to send them away at all?" Hughes' eyes on him were sharp.

In front of this man Roy let himself slump, let himself scrub his hands over his face, let his impatience and anger show.

"Hughes, you can't possibly be suggesting that I keep them here! Ed has no reason to do as I say now that his brother is restored, and I'm going to have enough on my conscience without continuing to use a child as my tool."

"What if you told him what the point was?"

Roy dropped his hands with a thump and glared. "Impossible," he stated flatly. "Edward is brilliant, but politically naive and far too hot tempered."

Hughes' mouth quirked. "Ah, you're afraid you couldn't control him, is that it?"

Roy's hand came down on his desk with a crack like a gunshot. He barely managed to close his teeth on the stream of abuse that rose to his lips. Needing to do something, before he truly lost control, he shoved away from his desk and paced a few furious turns through the room before managing to stop himself. He heard Hughes sigh at his back, and felt his friend's hands close over his shoulders.

"This is why I asked, Roy. You're wearing yourself too thin; you need someone to help you hold all this together."

"What," Roy asked, turning his head slightly, "are you saying you aren't going to be here?"

Hughes gave him a brisk shake. "Stop that. I'll always support you, and you know it. And your people will follow you to Hell as many times as you choose to go there. But is there anyone else who can do what he did? Ed the Amazing, Traveling Trouble Magnet, Problems Solved at No Extra Charge?"

Roy leaned on his desk and laughed himself breathless. He must be overtired, it hadn't been that funny. His coat appeared in front of him and he blinked at it.

"Put on your coat, Roy, it's time to leave," Hughes told him in the same tone of voice he used when convincing his daughter to eat her lima beans, a process Roy had witnessed several times.

"Don't be ridiculous," Roy sighed, "I still have a ton of work to do..."

He trailed off as Hughes started stuffing his arms into the sleeves willy-nilly. For several crucial moments Roy was too surprised to resist.

"Hawkeye says you've done more work today than you really need to, and Gracia gave me orders to bring you home for dinner," Hughes declared as Roy gathered himself to protest. "Are you going to argue with both of them?"

Roy thought about that for a minute, considered how tired he was, and meekly followed Hughes out the door.

"You're right," he said as they emerged into the cool night air, "no one else can do quite what Ed did. But why would he? What drove him is done now. Our exchange is over."

Hughes shot him a sidelong look before gazing up at the sky. "If you asked him, I think he would do it. Especially if you said why."

"And take him away from his brother? Now?" Roy asked, softly.

Hughes was silent.

Did a person have to be dead before you could have her beatified? Roy couldn't remember. He would have to find out, because he was seriously considering nominating Gracia for sainthood. She had kept Elysia from decorating Roy with her dinner, and was the only person who made coffee better than Roy himself. That was two miracles right there, and the coffee was a miracle of healing, he was sure. Could that be counted twice?

Roy cradled his coffee cup in his hands and inhaled deeply.

"Roy? Are you all right? You look like you haven't been sleeping."

She had even let him savor the first cup before beginning her inquisition, which was the most mercy anyone had shown him in months. Definite saint material. Saint Gracia, patron of... really stupid men who thought they could save the world. Pray for us.

"Roy?"

He started slightly as she touched his wrist, and dredged up a smile for her.

"I'm sorry, Gracia, my mind was wandering. Transported by the quality of your coffee." He saluted her with the cup, and she laughed.

"Flattery will get you everywhere. Except out of the question. You haven't been sleeping, have you?"

She speared him with a stern look and Roy sighed. He could, he supposed, try to weasel out of it, but Gracia often knew when he was lying. He was sure the skill would come in very handy when her daughter started dating. What had she asked? Ah, yes.

"Not much," he admitted."It will be better after a while, but there just hasn't been time to get everything done. Most of the generals still hate my guts, but even Hughes can't find reasons to discharge many of them. The population of the city is still shaken up, and I don't have enough people who can keep order without causing the mobs they're trying to prevent. Rumors are running through the backcountry twice as fast as official news, and God only knows where that will end..." Roy stopped himself with an effort.

Gracia looked a question at her husband, who nodded.

"My own area is bad enough, since His Excellency here," he waved at Roy, who glowered back, "made me head of the entire Intelligence branch. But some of the generals are recovering from their shock and starting to get creative."

"Still," Gracia admonished, "you won't do anyone any good if you drive yourself to collapse."

Roy stifled the laugh that he knew he wouldn't be able to stop if it started. "What makes you think I'll do any good anyway?" he asked his coffee cup.

"Roy..." Gracia said softly, frowning.

Hughes, who had heard him say this more than once in the last week, only tightened his mouth.

Gracia slipped off the couch so that she could sit on her heels in front of Roy and make him look at her. "Do you remember when you got stuck over the seasonal codes of the Twelve Gates?" she asked.

Roy felt a small grin tug at his mouth. That had been the first year he had known Gracia, the first year he had lived in Central City, studying toward the State Exams.

"You told me to get out of the library for a look at the actual Spring. I recall," he added, "that you smacked me with a lexicon when I protested."

Gracia smiled, and took his face in her hands. "And do you remember when you were panicking, a week before the Exams?"

Roy closed his eyes. "You told me you believed I could do it. And that you would be there with me to make sure I did."

"I still believe in you, Roy. And I'm still here with you; we all are."

"Thank you," Roy whispered, lifting a hand to cover one of hers.

"You need to sleep," she told him gently. "Do you want to stay here tonight?"

If he did, Roy knew she would make sure he slept. And while he didn't doubt Gracia's wisdom for a moment, there were still things he had to do. "No, I think I'll sleep better if it's in my own bed."

He opened his eyes to see Gracia and Hughes exchanging on of those silent spousal communiques that sometimes made him briefly envious.

"All right," Gracia agreed. "Maas will take you home."

Roy thought he really must be slipping, because he didn't suspect a thing until Hughes joined him at the door with an overnight bag in hand. He looked at Gracia, who kissed her husband good night and smiled sweetly at Roy. Remembering the lexicon, Roy closed his mouth on a protest.

"You should drink something besides coffee," Hughes told him, watching Roy wander aimlessly around his kitchen, trying to find the coffee grinder. He was sure it had been in the cabinet by the stove. Things never held still when you needed them to. Not people, not science, not coffee grinders.

"I need coffee to stay awake," Roy pointed out very reasonably, opening the icebox. No, not there either.

Hughes caught him as he went by. "Roy, you need to stop."

Roy looked up at his friend seriously. "I can't stop. If I stop, I'll fall."

"If you fall we'll catch you," Maas said, voice low and soothing.

Roy could only shake his head. He couldn't betray them all by falling. By failing. Maas sighed and pulled Roy against him.

"Stop now," he ordered quietly.

Roy rested his head on Maas shoulder. Maybe that would stop the spinning. "Maas..."

"Hush. It's all right, Roy."

Roy felt Maas' hand settle lightly on his hair, and let his eyes fall shut for a moment.

Roy woke up warmer than usual. He felt rested for the first time in months. Someone's arms were around him. He lay, contemplating these bits of information, in that borderland between sleep and true wakefulness. The arms tightened a bit. Who...?

Oh, yes.

Roy had only dim impressions of Maas supporting him up the stairs, but he did remember being amused that Maas remembered Roy liked to sleep on the inside.

Still drifting, Roy moved closer to Maas, who obligingly shifted to transfer Roy from the pillow to his shoulder. That was better.

He'd felt better the last time he'd woken up like this, too, Roy mused sleepily. After that worst night in Ishvar. Maas had held him until he slept and been there when he woke up. And Roy had felt a little cleaner for his presence, as he felt a little calmer now. Roy lay, listening to his friend's heartbeat, until the brightness on the other side of his eyelids finally registered.

"What time is it?" Roy muttered.

"Almost noon."

Having half expected it, Roy did not sit bolt upright at this piece of intelligence. Instead he pried an eye open and directed a faintly accusatory look up at Maas.

"You needed the sleep, and Hawkeye can handle things fine until you get there," Mass told him. "Possibly better, she's a lot more direct than you."

While the vision of his second calmly backing some obnoxious officer out the door at gunpoint had a certain appeal, Roy was awake enough to remember how long his To Do list still was. He sighed, stretched, and hauled himself out of bed. He squinted back at Maas as his friend followed suit.

"So, can I have more coffee now?" Roy asked.

Maas snorted. "You think I've lost my mind enough to try and keep you away from it in the morning? Think again. Does this mean I can have the shower first?"

"You think I've lost my mind enough to let you make the coffee?" Roy shot back. "Towels are in the hall closet."

"I'll see if I can find you some troubleshooters for the field," Hughes said as they entered Headquarters.

Roy nodded, remembering their discussion yesterday about what Fullmetal had been able to do.

"That would be helpful."

They were almost at his office before he touched Hughes' shoulder and spoke quietly.

"Thank you."

Hughes looked at him steadily for a silent moment.

"You're not doing this alone, Roy. Remember that." And then he winked and swept a deep bow. "It's my duty and pleasure, Your Excellency, Sir."

Roy growled and snapped a tongue of flame alight. Hughes fled in mock-terror, laughing all the way, and Roy was smiling as he opened his office door.

End

Snapshots

A handful of moments: Roy and Hughes at Ishvar. Drama With Occasional Porn and Angst, I-4, spoilers ep 15.

Second Lieutenant Roy Mustang poked at his dinner roll. He should be eating it, but he wasn't sure he had the energy.

It had been a very unpleasant day.

As Roy counted it, the day had started last night, when he had been assigned his least favorite duty, counter-assassin bodyguard. When he was looking out for one or more of the high ranking officers he had two possible distasteful outcomes. He could spend the entire time wound tighter than his own watch spring for absolutely nothing. Or he could actually counter a threat, which meant using fire on another human being, and while he could do it in the heat of the moment he was always sick afterwards.

It was the smell, he reflected morbidly, kind of like the smell of dinner here in the mess tent.

The comparison was not making him any more eager to eat his roll.

Last night had been a watch spring night. Which meant he hadn't been able to sleep after, and was now stumbling around the camp in a state of advanced blear, fervently praying he wouldn't draw night duty again tonight.

It was almost enough to make him want to be assigned to a Demolitions team for a few days. Annoying as it sometimes was to be looked at as a walking fuse, he wasn't usually bringing buildings down on living people.

His musing was interrupted by a hand snatching his roll from under his eyes. Spinal reflex grabbed it back before he consciously recognized the hand as Maas Hughes'. Roy glared up at his friend, who was standing across the table and grinning at him.

In doing so he forgot to keep a good grip on his bread.

"Ah, come on Roy," Hughes cajoled, examining the roll that was somehow back in his own grasp, "it's not like you were eating it. Toasting it maybe. Are you experimenting on whether you can start a fire by giving something the evil eye?"

"Give me back my bread, Hughes," Roy growled, in no mood for horseplay.

Hughes' slow grin told Roy that his wishes had no bearing on the situation.

"Make me."

Roy did not normally rise to that kind of bait in public. He had a certain dignity to maintain, and being an Alchemist who had become an officer by default rather than through training didn't make things any easier. But today he was tired and short on temper, and decided that the shortest distance between two points was to vault the table and tackle Hughes.

It was unfortunate that Hughes anticipated him, and took off sprinting, but Roy wasn't about to let that stop him now.

The two of them ducked and wove around tables and soldiers, Hughes cackling and Roy snarling. He didn't even consider the fact that he had his gloves in his pocket. He was going to strangle his best friend with his bare hands, by God.

Right after he got his damn bread back.

Hughes ducked out of the mess tent altogether, which turned out to be a tactical error. They both skidded to a halt directly in the path of Brigadier General Hakuro. What was even worse, Master Sergeant Mitchell was with him, and Hakuro's pursed lips and narrowed eyes were nothing to Mitchell's expression of abysmal expectations wholly fulfilled.

It was the second expression that snapped both Second Lieutenants to attention.

Hakuro passed on without deigning to speak, but Mitchell paused long enough to rake them both up and down.

"It's nice to see someone in high spirits. Sirs." His tone could have put ice on the sand at noon.

Roy winced.

When Mitchell was safely out of sight and ear-shot he rounded on Hughes, mouth open to berate his friend for getting them both into trouble.

Hughes lobbed the roll back to him.

Roy regarded the rather battered hunk of bread for a long moment. "If you tell me that this was all for the sake of getting me to loosen up, as you like to put it," he enunciated precisely, "I am going to remember that I have my gloves with me."

"All right," Hughes replied, airily, "I won't tell you that, then."

He started to stroll back into the tent. Roy's lip curled back. Dignity, he reminded himself strenuously, an officer has a certain dignity to maintain.

Ah, screw it.

The roll bounced off the back of Hughes' head. Roy was unsurprised that Hughes reacted fast enough to catch it, though it would have made things more... piquant if he hadn't.

Roy made his way very calmly past his startled friend.

"Decided you don't want it after all?" Hughes asked.

"Of course I still want a roll. That's why I'm going to have yours. You get that one."

"Excuse me?" Hughes blinked at him.

"In the words of your illustrious mother," Roy said in his best laying-down-the-law tone, which he had, in fact, learned from Maas' mother, "you touched it, you take it."

Maas choked at the imitation, and Roy smiled with great satisfaction.

Then he sprinted back toward the table to lay hold of Maas' roll before his friend recovered.

"Affinities have nothing to do with personalities, Maas, there have been plenty of studies on it."

Roy sprawled on the floor or Maas' tent and took another drink of his beer.

"Oh yeah? Point out to me one person who's more of a cast iron bastard than Gran. And he binds that stuff to his skin." Maas shuddered, delicately. "There's got to be a connection."

"Maas..."

"Not to mention Armstrong," Maas continued. "He can call it art all he likes, there's a man whose answer to everything is brute force." He paused for a contemplative pull on his own beer. "Sometimes it's the force of pure bull-headed chivalry, but still."

"You're reaching, Maas," Roy informed his friend.

"So what about you? You and your flash fire temper, even if you don't usually show it to the poor suckers around here. Boy are they in for a surprise some time," Maas added.

"I control my temper, Maas, and what does that do to your little theory?" Roy arched a brow. The gesture didn't seem to have the same effect it did when Major Gloster used it. Roy would have to work on that.

"Doesn't mean it's gone," Maas pointed out with some justice. "Besides, that isn't the only thing your personality has in common with your affinity."

"What else is there?" Roy challenged.

"Your brilliance."

Roy blinked. Maas gave him a sidelong look.

"It's just like fire, really. It flickers. There's no better word for it."

"Flickers?" Roy repeated. "Do I want to know?"

A corner of Maas' mouth curled. "You're brilliant," he stated. "I don't think anyone doubts that, except possibly Mitchell, and that's his job. But you have the most uneven application I've ever seen. When something grabs your attention, you give it everything you've got, but if it doesn't you couldn't care less."

"What's wrong with focusing on the important things?" Roy asked, a bit defensively.

"It's the not focusing on a few important things that stands out," Maas replied dryly. "Like eating."

Roy was indignant. "I was only fifteen, Maas, and it was only once," he protested.

"A very memorable once," his friend noted. "Your mother nearly had hysterics when you fainted."

Roy sniffed. "The whole argument is false logic," he declared. "You already know my affinity is fire, so you map my personality onto that. If you didn't know, you wouldn't be able to guess based on my personality."

"Maybe," Maas allowed easily. Then he grinned. "It's still a favorite pastime for both the officers and the troops."

"What is?"

"Guessing what someone's affinity would be if they were an advanced alchemist."

Roy rolled his eyes. A smile twitched at his lips, though. "So? What is yours supposed to be?" he asked.

Maas chuckled.

"The general consensus is that I would have an affinity for lightning. Supposing that's possible, of course, most of the guys are pretty sketchy on their science. Is it?"

"Mmm. Could be," Roy allowed, squinting at the canvas above him. Trying to translate from technical terms, he essayed, "If you break air, the bits left over can have an electrical charge. If you could recombine them correctly, you could get lightning. You'd have to clear a path for it, though. It would be very delicate work."

He smirked.

"If you were," he drawled, "I bet what you'd really have an affinity for is air itself. You'd have all the raw material you could ever need coming out of your mouth. Of course, the temperature might be a bit high..."

A small knife zinged past Roy's nose and clattered off Maas' footlocker. Roy laughed. "That's the last of my beer you're getting, Mustang," Maas told him darkly.

Roy grinned and propped a foot on his knee. "Seriously, though," he said, thoughtfully, "if it did work that way, which it doesn't, but if it did... I'd expect you to have an affinity for plants."

"Plants?" Maas blinked.

"Growing things," Roy explained. "An affinity for, well, life. The quiet parts that most people don't pay attention to."

Maas was silent, and, looking over, Roy thought he detected a faint blush. He decided to take pity on his friend.

"So, can I have another beer?" he asked lightly.

Maas growled, though Roy could see the gleam of appreciation in his eyes. "Oh, so that's what this was all about, hm?" Maas languished dramatically. "My best friend, and he only likes me for my beer!"

He tossed over another can.

"I hate these boots," Maas grumbled over the footgear he was polishing. "They might at least have chosen rough leather for the field, but no, it had to be shiny!"

"They aren't that bad," Roy said, fitting the last piece of his gun back into place.

Maas gave him a dour look from where he sat on the bed. "You, of course, wouldn't think so, Mister Perfectly Groomed. Gran probably keeps you hanging around the command to be a sartorial example."

"Ah. Would that also be why he keeps assigning me bodyguard duties like I was some kind of self-mobile gun?" Roy inquired rather acidly. He glanced up at Maas and couldn't stop a smirk. His friend was looking at him seriously, and had apparently forgotten the rag full of boot polish dangling from his hand.

"You're going to get polish all over your bed, you know," Roy pointed out helpfully.

Maas contemplated the boot in his hand, set it down carefully, neatly folded his polish rag beside it, and pounced on Roy, wrestling him to the floor.

Roy tried not to laugh too hard; he needed all his breath. He hadn't won a wrestling match with Maas in about ten years, but some were closer than others. For one thing, Roy had a stronger grip.

It was hard to use it effectively, though, when Maas started cheating and tickled him.

Roy wasn't sure when wrestling gave way to something else, but he was sure it happened sometime before the salt taste of Maas' skin was on his tongue. He traced the line of Maas' throat, and his friend arched back with a rough, low sound of pleasure.

They drew apart of get rid of interfering clothes, and Maas tugged Roy toward the bed. Roy's bare back touched Maas' sheets and he pulled Maas down against him. Yes, that was what he wanted.

"Maas, do you have...?"

Maas chuckled in his ear. "Since being your lover? I stashed some away every place I could think of." He reached an arm under the bed and Roy laughed low in his throat.

"Does that mean I should try to find all those places?" he purred.

Maas shivered against him. "God, Roy, sometimes I think you could bring a person off with nothing but your voice," he whispered against Roy's shoulder.

Roy leaned in to close his teeth on Maas' ear. "Want to find out?"

Maas laughed, breathless. "I thought we had something else in mind for now?"

His fingers returned, cool and slick, and Roy leaned back with a sigh. Maas stroked him, soothing and seducing Roy's body until he was rocking up into the slow thrust of Maas' fingers.

"It happens every time, and it still surprises me," Maas murmured.

Roy made a questioning noise, about all he could manage.

"The way you relax so fast for me."

Roy knew there were a lot of reasons for that, some old and some recent, most having to do with the core of gentleness in Maas. It was what his steel and danger were wrapped around. But Roy didn't have the breath or coherence to explain that at the moment. "You're my friend. I trust you," he managed. He drew Maas down to a kiss. The long fingers inside him curled, beckoning, and Roy gasped sharply. "And I want you," he added against Maas' mouth. "Now, Maas."

He could feel Maas' lips curve into his crooked smile. "Now that doesn't surprise me in the least," Maas told him.

Maas withdrew his fingers slowly, stroking them across that electric place inside Roy, leaving him trembling. When Maas started to move between his legs, though, Roy put a hand on his chest to make him wait and turned over. He released a sigh as he felt Maas' chest against his back, and Maas curled them both up.

Roy liked this feeling, of Maas' long, lean strength folded around him. He couldn't stop a sensuous wriggle as Maas' arms wrapped around his ribs.

Though Roy would never have admitted it out loud, he felt very safe like this.

"Is this all right?" Maas asked against the nape of Roy's neck, and it was Roy's turn to shiver.

"It's good," he said softly.

And then it was better than good, because Maas was pressing into him, and there was something about Maas' care that always undid Roy. And maybe he'd been under too much stress lately, because suddenly he was on the edge of tears for no reason he could find. Gentleness shouldn't cause tears, should it?

Maas was as slow now as he had been earlier, and for once Roy gave himself up to it, letting Maas set the pace, long, leisurely thrusts, until he lay shuddering under his friend, completely abandoned to Maas' touch. Heat built gradually in Roy until he almost felt he was floating, only Maas' weight anchoring him. It wasn't until Maas' hand slid between Roy's legs that the heat tipped over into explosion, and Roy jerked against Maas' body behind him, as Maas drove into him faster, harder now. Fire drowned Roy's senses.

He drifted, pleased that Maas was still curled around him.

"Feel better now?" Maas asked quietly.

Roy sighed a bit. "I can never keep anything from you, can I?"

"Nope. Besides," Maas' arms tightened, "you never want me to make love to you like this unless you're feeling shaken up."

"Thanks, Maas," Roy said, past a small catch in his throat.

He felt Maas smile against his shoulder.

"My pleasure," Maas whispered.

Roy knelt on the cliffs in the darkness, wondering why he wasn't in shock.

Shouldn't he be? Shouldn't he have difficulty believing that he had set half a city on fire? Fire so hot it exploded stone.

But he had never doubted for an instant that it was his hand, his will, his doing that caused the destruction he now looked down on.

His power.

Even if the amplifier was no part of him, it had been his power.

He had always known his own power.

Shock would have made things vague, perhaps a bit more bearable. Not so hideously solid and exact in his sight and memory. Every flash of light, every hurtling shard of stone precise and brilliant.

Maybe he didn't deserve that mercy.

The fist that held his gloves and that glowing ring clenched tighter.

"Roy."

Roy bowed his head. It didn't really surprise him that Maas had found him here. Maas always knew how to find him. He waited for whatever words his friend might find for this occasion.

Maybe they would even help.

But Maas said nothing, only set his hands on Roy's shoulders, kneeling behind him on the sand.

Roy didn't know how long they sat like that in silence, but eventually he leaned back just a little and Maas folded his arms around him. Roy breathed in for what felt like the first time all night, breathed out, felt himself shaking. Had he been shaking before? Or had it just started?

"Don't let go?" he asked, voice faint and thready.

"I won't," Maas assured him.

And he didn't, as Roy listened to the sobs that tore loose from his own chest, distantly amazed at their violence. They subsided slowly, and after a time Roy lay back in Maas' arms, exhausted and wrung.

Maas still said nothing, only stroking Roy's hair back from his forehead. They sat together there until the sun rose and called them back down to the camp.

End

Rosin

Roy considers some of the difficulties of his relationship with Ed. Light Purple Drama, I-3.

"...that only leaves Ausred. Rumors say that the research center there has been reopened, but the Alchemist supposedly in charge is someone who's been dead for two years." Hawkeye passed her notes over to Roy.

"Hm." He paged through them. "None of my correspondents are in that area, are they?"

"No, sir, and few are in a good position to move from what Fury says." She narrowed her eyes in thought. "Taisa, what about Edward-kun? This is the kind of rumor he might reasonably have an interest in." Roy smiled.

"True enough. I believe he cleared out one of the storerooms, today, for experiments. Ask him to speak with me when he's done."

"Yes, sir."

Roy contemplated the Captain's solution as she left. It should work. Edward's interest would be unremarkable, and if anyone could kick the truth to the surface, it was his hunter.

His knowing, willing hunter.

It still surprised Roy that Edward had given himself to Roy's cause. He knew Edward was uncomfortable with what Roy meant to do, but he hadn't truly expected even tolerance. The most he had hoped for was Edward's silence after he left. His long familiarity with Edward's steel sense of ethics had not led him to expect the young man to condone cold-blooded murder. Edward's offer of allegiance had both comforted and worried him.

On his darker nights, Roy wondered if Edward had confused desire for his lover with approval for his leader.

It had not surprised him, at the beginning, that Edward had let Roy take him to bed. Roy knew perfectly well that he was a skilled lover, and he had been careful with Edward. Careful not to alarm or completely overwhelm him. Careful not to let their time in bed affect their relationship at work. Too much. And despite Edward's occasional grumbles about how no contract was worth putting up with Roy's ego, it was clear that Edward was enjoying their liaison.

If he had know, then, where it would lead them Roy might have chosen to break the contract himself.

Because it had all become tangled. The unthinking purity of Edward's response to him had drawn Roy, bound him to Ed more tightly than any other lover ever had. And the more he had seen of that bright spirit, the closer he had come, the more he had found himself relaxing into Ed's trust. He knew that it was not a good idea to relax, and still couldn't seem to stop himself.

At the start, eight years ago, Edward's sense of rightness had been a useful extra. Roy had used him as a dowsing rod, to tell where corruption had spread. Half the time just giving Edward his head had solved the problem, too.

So why hadn't Edward rejected the cold expediency of Roy's plans? Roy couldn't deny that Edward's acceptance had soothed him, comforted him with a gut-level assurance that what he did was right. He had spent too long contemplating the dirtiness of his own methods to accept that comfort easily, but Roy had come to rely on it more than he knew he should.

Had Edward's trust of Roy's touch led him to trust Roy's integrity? Was that all that had led him to it?

Could Roy really face drawing back, if that was what it took to leave his hunter's judgment unimpaired?

Roy started a bit when a knock sounded at his door, followed by Edward himself.

"Taisa, Hawkeye-taii said you wanted to see me."

Roy held out his hand. Edward tilted his head, curiously, but crossed the room and let Roy pull him down to a kiss.

"Should I have locked the door behind me?" Edward asked against Roy's lips, sounding amused. Roy didn't answer. He drew back to look at Edward, grateful that the afternoon sun would be in Ed's eyes and he wouldn't see the uncertainty in Roy's.

"May I hold you for a little while, my hawk?" he asked softly. Ed looked at him wordlessly for a moment, perhaps a bit taken aback, but settled into Roy's arms willingly enough. Roy suppressed a shiver as Ed casually rested his cheek against Roy's hair.

The thought of letting go, permanently, affected him with something uncomfortably like panic. Roy didn't like losing control that way, but he had yet to see any solution. For now he simply bore with it, and hoped a solution would present itself in time.

He leaned his head against Ed's shoulder and closed his eyes.

End

Title Note: Rosin is powdered pine sap (fir, I believe). It is used, among other things, on the bows of stringed instruments to provide the right amount of friction against the strings. Without this it is far more difficult to control the sound and shape it into accurate or complex music.

The Door

Ed's choices, two years later. Drama, I-3.

Ed sat at the kitchen table with his chin in his hands, looking fixedly at the open watch in front of him. He was supposed to leave for Central City tomorrow. Al and Winry were coming to the station with him to see him off. And Ed wasn't even sure he was going. He didn't used to be this indecisive, he brooded. He didn't even realize Al had entered the room until he heard the door close.

"Nii-san?"

"Am I really doing the right thing, Al?" Ed asked softly.

"Do you think you're not?" Al asked back. Ed eyed him. Al had always been subtle, far more so than Ed himself, and this was not up to his usual standards of misdirection. Al just smiled. Maybe he was going easy on Ed because Ed was already having a hard time.

"I don't want to leave," he said, looking back at the watch.

"Yes you do."

Ed blinked up at his brother, who came and put an arm around his shoulders. Ed leaned his head against Al's chest with a faint smile. Al knew how much it comforted him to listen to his brother's living heartbeat.

"If you stayed here all the time," Al continued, "you'd explode from your own fidgetiness."

"Fidgetiness?" Ed objected.

"Give it another couple of weeks, Nii-san, and you'll be bouncing off the walls here and Winry will be throwing wrenches at you again. What you mean," Al concluded, "is that you don't want to lose us."

Ed flinched.

"Nii-san, you're not our father," Al murmured.

"But what if I am?" Ed slumped. "I mean, what if this was how it started with him, too? A few trips to the city to pick up something for Mom, and then some trips further away to find some interesting books or talk to scholars, and then he got into something bigger than he could understand, and the next thing you know he's creating monsters and destroying cities and not giving a damn about his family."

Al rapped him gently on the head with his knuckles. "Don't be an idiot."

"Hey," Ed mumbled.

"Is this bigger than you can understand?" Al asked, curiously.

Ed thought about that.

"It used to be," he said slowly. "I never thought the reasons why stupid people were left in charge was something I needed to know. It couldn't help us, so I didn't pay attention. Now," he paused, "now I understand the basics. I see that he's trying to put civilian government in place of military. And I'm pretty sure he plans to go all the way."

"You think he means to bring back the Parliament?" Al sounded surprised. Ed didn't blame him. Their grandparents hadn't been born when there was last a civilian government.

"I think so. Don't ask me how, but I think so." Ed laughed shortly. "I guess if anyone could do it, it would be him."

"Do you trust him?"

Now there was a multi-sided question. Al was good at those. Ed was silent for a good twenty heartbeats before answering.

"I trust his intentions. I trust his means... to work. I don't trust him to tell me the truth, because he'll lie through his teeth if he thinks he needs to. But I trust him to have a reason for doing it."

"Do you trust his integrity?"

"I trust that there's a line he won't go beyond. I don't know where it is." Ed contemplated his answer and sighed. "Am I doing the right thing?"

Al's arm tightened around him. "I can't think of anyone better to be doing it. We'll miss you, but you're not a home-maker, Nii-san. As long as you come home to visit... and to rest... it'll be all right."

Ed listened to another handful of heartbeats before he nodded and straightened.

"All right, then." He pressed his hands together and laid his fingers on the watch-case.

Ed stood looking, with some trepidation, at the perfectly normal red-painted door in front of him. If he really wanted to do this, he had to start with this door.

Did he really want to do this?

Ed fingered the weight in his pocket and straightened his shoulders. This was no time to have an attack of nerves. He had made his decision already and wasn't going to back down. He gathered himself and knocked on the door.

A light tread sounded and the door opened to reveal a slender woman with short hair the color of brown sugar and a gentle smile.

"Why, Ed-kun, what a surprise! Come in, come in."

"Thank you, Gracia-san." Ed stepped inside, looking around cautiously for small children.

"Elysia just went in for a nap," Gracia-san said without turning around.

It really was true that mothers had supernatural powers, Ed reflected.

"Now, let me have a look at you," she continued, taking Ed by the shoulders. "You've grown up so much in just two years!"

Ed stifled a sigh, having resigned himself to hearing this observation. Not that he wasn't extremely pleased to have made it to five foot six inches, because he was. And it could have been a lot worse; you're still so small, for example. But, still...

"I think your hair is almost twice as long as it was! And you don't look nearly as lost in that jacket as you did in your old coat."

Ed blinked. Well, that was a new sort of growing-up measurement. Better than the inch counting everyone else did...

"And you must have grown three or four inches!"

This time the sigh escaped, and Gracia-san laughed. "I'm sorry, Ed-kun, you must be tired of hearing that."

"A little," Ed admitted, ruefully. "Gracia-san, is Hughes-taisho home?"

"Of course, he'll be very pleased to see you again. Come along." She led the way to her living room.

"Ed! You should have written and said if you were going to be visiting Central!" Hughes exclaimed, rising from the couch to seize Ed's hand. "And you've really..." he broke off as his wife laid a finger over his lips. He looked at her in confusion, and she giggled and shook her head. Enlightenment dawned with a grin and a tolerant look at Ed.

Hughes hadn't changed much at all, that Ed could see. Perhaps a few more lines around his eyes. His eyes themselves, though, were as sharp as ever as he waved Ed to the couch across from him.

"So, does business or pleasure bring you today?" he asked as Gracia-san left them.

"Business, I suppose. I need to ask a favor."

Hughes raised a brow.

"I need to see him."

"Ah. I expect Hawkeye would let you in, but it never hurts to have some extra weight when you want him to stand still long enough to talk," Hughes allowed. "Any particular reason, or just a visit for old time's sake?"

Clearly he didn't believe the second possibility for one moment.

Ed looked down. "I need to give him my watch back."

"You didn't before you left?" Hughes asked mildly, not sounding surprised.

"It wasn't ended yet. Now... now I think it is. A real end." Ed looked up to gauge Hughes' response.

Hughes nodded slowly. "I'll take you in to see him."

Yes, Ed thought Hughes understood. Not surprising, considering his closest friend was also an alchemist. Hughes had probably picked up quite a bit of the symbolic language.

The only real ending was a new beginning.

Another day, another door. This one was more intimidating than the last one, because Ed knew for a fact that one of the most cuttingly sarcastic bastards he'd ever met was on the other side. And Ed was about to make a huge target of himself.

Deep breath. Ignore Hughes nearly snickering behind him. Ignore Hawkeye doing the same in her own deadpan way.

His knock was immediately answered with a brisk "Enter."

Ed was covertly relieved that Hughes followed him in. The office was spacious and bright with sun from the long windows. Roy Mustang sat behind his desk, hands folded loosely under his chin, and didn't say a word.

Not the best possible start.

Ed nerved himself and went straight to the desk, ignoring the chairs Hughes was busy dragging up. He pulled his silver watch out of his pocket and laid it down gently.

"Dai-Soutou. I need to return this to you." He stepped back.

Mustang sat unmoving, regarding the watch. "I recall mentioning that I'm not the one to return this to," he commented at last.

Deep breath.

"Yes, you are."

Mustang tilted a brow.

"I took this from your hand," Ed told him firmly. "You are the one I need to give it back to."

"Very well," Mustang agreed after another long pause. He picked up the watch, paused, flipped the case open, and smiled.

Ed refrained from growling, wondering whether the man actually knew about what used to be written in the case or was just checking on general principles. Never mind. Now was the time to sit down.

"So," Ed said, once he was comfortable, "I am no longer, even technically, a State Alchemist, I'm just plain, civilian Edward Elric, right? No connection to the military or the state, not under anyone's command."

Mustang looked at him a bit oddly at this recitation of the obvious. "Correct," he agreed.

"Then tell me what you need me to do," Ed finished.

Silence.

"I beg your pardon?" Mustang asked, looking bemused.

"Has this job softened your head?" Ed snapped. "I'm saying I'll work for you. What do you need?"

For once, Roy Mustang appeared to be at a loss.

"Not to discourage you, Ed," Hughes put in, "but why?"

Ed looked out one of the windows.

"I've been traveling again, these last eight or nine months," he said quietly. "I've watched what's happening. Seen what you're doing. The garrisons recalled, the soldiers retired. But only lower officers discharged, mostly." He looked back at Mustang. "You're keeping most of the ones who would make trouble for people where you can see them."

Mustang's eyes widened just a touch.

"What?" Ed glared. "You thought I could work for you for over four years and not pick up any of this?"

The eyes flickered. This time Ed growled.

"Should I have expected it?" Mustang asked, coolly. "From someone with your temper and lack of patience? Should I have expected any kind of mature observations?" Ed bared his teeth.

"As much as I should have expected altruism from you," he cut back.

"By your own admission then, not at all."

Ed flung himself out of the chair and stalked to the window before he tried to wipe that smirk off Mustang's face.

"All right, I think that's enough," Hughes said wearily. "Stop trying to send him away again, Roy, you need him."

Ed blinked. Send him away? Again? Again? He frowned, thinking back on his last conversation with Mustang. His eyes narrowed and he turned back to look at them.

"Taisho," Mustang said, cold, warning.

"Roy," Hughes returned, soft, urgent, "you know it's true."

Mustang set his mouth.

"It's not like you can say he's too young now," Hughes added.

"Really?" Mustang drawled. Hughes gave him a look.

"How old were you when you tied yourself to the military? Nineteen, wasn't it?"

"That was different," Mustang snapped.

"Yes, it was, because you were a lot more naive than Ed was, even two years ago."

It was Mustang's turn to growl.

"Roy, haven't you been over this already?" Hughes ran a hand through his hair. "If you hadn't picked him up someone else would have. And the fact that you benefited from his search has nothing to do with how much pain it caused him. He would have died along the way without your support."

Ed was very still. They seemed to have forgotten that he was in the room.

"That doesn't make the pain any less either, Hughes," Mustang replied in a low voice. "How can I keep using his ethics, his vision, in ways he doesn't understand?"

"So tell me," Ed said.

Both men jerked at his voice, as if they really had forgotten his presence.

"I was willing to keep doing this blind if it was necessary," Ed told Mustang, catching his eyes, "because I've seen the overall reason. But if it isn't, then tell me. Tell me why, when you send me somewhere or want me to watch someone."

Mustang looked at him for a long moment. "What reason do you have for doing this?" he asked at last. "Can you care this much for the well being of people you've never met?"

Ed snorted. "I've met more of them than you, I'll bet." He paused to think, though. How to put it? "It isn't people," he said slowly, "or the nation. It's the people I have met. All of them." He slanted a look at Mustang. "Just because I'm not a State Alchemist doesn't mean I'm not an alchemist any more," he said, obliquely.

"Quite the reverse," Mustang agreed softly.

It hung in the air between them. An alchemist works for the common good.

A sudden thought struck Ed, and he smiled wickedly and came to lean on the back of his chair.

"After all," he said, "you wouldn't want me just running around loose and doing this on my own without your support would you?"

Mustang's eyes narrowed again, but Ed spotted the corner of his mouth curling up for a moment.

"Indeed," Mustang agreed, voice silky. "It would be negligent to allow such a thing. So, Elric-kun, what job title did you have in mind?"

"Eh?"

"Did you want to enter the military itself? Or did you have a civilian post in mind? Or is it up to me to invent one?"

Ed quailed to think what Mustang might come up with at this point. Something about the man's phrasing was nudging at his mind, though. Something that seemed significant in light of the things Hughes had revealed. Title. He likes having titles to call people by, Ed mused. It's the way he likes to see the world. So he can keep it from coming too close?

Interesting thought. And it sparked another interesting thought. Ed grinned.

"Well, I was kind of thinking about Investigative Inspector of General Inquiries," he said innocently.

A snort of laughter came from Hughes, not terribly muffled by the hand over his mouth. Mustang paused to direct a dire we-will-discuss-this-later look at him. Hughes eeped theatrically and edged back.

"Why don't we stay with Investigator on the official paperwork, Elric-kun?" Mustang suggested evenly.

"Whatever you say," Ed agreed. "Sir."

His commander's eyes glinted, promising retribution at some later date when Ed thought he was safe.

And that was just the way it should be.

End

The Rain

Ed and Roy go for a walk in the rain... at least that was Ed's intention. Fluffy Drama, I-2.

- Associated Fanart: Roy in the Rain by Jedera

Edward Elric had spent years living out of his suitcase, and thought it a waste of time to actually unpack when he traveled. Accordingly, he dumped his current suitcase on top of a very battered chest of drawers, opened it and considered his unpacking done.

Ed wandered into the main room of the hostel suite and glanced at Roy, who stood at the window looking out at the breaking storm. They had barely beaten it to the door. Lightning flashed, a crack of thunder hard on its heels.

"So, I guess this means you'll spend today holed up inside?" Ed asked.

"I actually like rain, you know," Roy answered, tone reminiscent. "I used to go out in it all the time when I was little. Especially storms like this. Even when I started specializing, I still liked walking in it. It wasn't until later that it became," he paused a moment before finishing, "inadvisable."

Too dangerous, Ed translated. He gave Roy's back a long, thoughtful look, chewing on his lip. They had almost two days, yet, before the Fel garrison commander was expecting them. He knew Roy wanted to surprise the man, but maybe they had a little time, too, for the wistfulness in Roy's voice.

Ed went to Roy's side and held out his hands. "Come on."

Roy laid his hands in Ed's with a tiny smile. "Where?" he inquired.

"Outside."

Roy halted. Ed tightened his grasp.

"Look, no one knows we're here yet, right? And you're out of uniform. And neither of us have ever been here before so it's not like anyone will recognize us. We're about as safe as we can get." He tugged lightly, urging Roy to come with him. After another moment of frozen hesitation, Roy did.

They had wound up in one of the second floor suites with an outside entrance. The landing in front of their door was small enough that Ed, locking up, felt the shiver that ran through Roy as the rain struck them. Roy descended the stairs slowly, looking up rather than at where his feet were going, and Ed had a momentary qualm. He couldn't, offhand, remember Roy acting quite this absent-minded ever before.

When they reached the street Roy stood with his eyes closed for a moment, and Ed saw another shiver pass over him. Lightning flashed. In the taut silence before the thunder Roy tossed his head back, flinging his hair out of his eyes, and laughed. He spun towards Ed and held out a hand.

"Come on," he called over a long rumble.

Ed's eyes widened.

Roy's smile was open and unconstrained, and his eyes were bright. He looked barely older than Ed.

"Come on," Roy repeated. His grin practically glowed. "If you think you can catch me!" And he was off running, with another laugh, stride long and easy. Ed stood, open mouthed, for several long moments before collecting himself sufficiently to give chase.

Roy was in the town square by the time Ed caught him, standing with his face tipped up to the sheeting water. Ed touched his shoulder just a bit cautiously. Justifiably so, in his opinion, since Roy promptly clasped his wrists and proceeded to swing the both of them in circles until Ed was dizzy. When Roy finally caught him close, Ed could feel that he was laughing again.

When Roy kissed him, Ed tasted the rain on his lips. Roy's mouth was hot in contrast to the water running down them, hot and... bright somehow. That was the only word that came to Ed, the only one that fit this open, laughing, dripping, Roy who kissed him the the middle of the town's public center with thunder rolling overhead. Ed clung to him, dizzy again. He felt like he'd been dropped from a great height, and somehow missed the ground.

Roy drew back slowly, resting his palm against Ed's cheek for a moment before taking his hand. They strolled back through the storm, Ed just a bit dazed, Roy with a bounce in his step that almost qualified as skipping.

"Here," Ed said, once they were standing in their entryway again, "let me dry us off."

Roy caught his hands, keeping them apart. "No, no, trying not to get too much water on the floor while dashing for towels is part of the fun," he admonished, eyes sparkling.

Words failed Ed completely, and he let Roy drag him down the short hall without protest.

The bathroom was not made for two people, and Ed was laughing himself by the time they managed to peel off their soaked clothes and dump them in the tub to drain. Ed spent a moment longing for the plush robe he had stolen from Roy; cotton just wasn't the same. They completed the afternoon's exercise in the miniscule kitchenette, where Roy made tea.

"Is this part of the fun too?" Ed asked with a tiny grin, as he accepted his mug.

"Certainly," Roy answered serenely. "In the summer, at any rate. Hot cocoa in the fall."

Ed forgot his tea, gazing up at Roy instead. He had never seen Roy's eyes this brilliant, or his mouth this relaxed, not drawn the way it usually was even when he smiled. He was absolutely beautiful like this. Roy looked up from his own mug and tilted his head, questioning. Ed caught up Roy's free hand, bending his head over it, pressing the strong fingers to his lips. "Roy..." he whispered.

Roy knelt, coming down to where he could see Ed's face again. "Ed? What is it?"

Ed looked at that unaccustomed, wild happiness lingering in Roy's face and was suddenly, absolutely infuriated. He pulled Roy into his arms and buried his face in Roy's shoulder.

"Damn them all to hell for making you hide this," he breathed, almost shaking with rage. He heard the faint thunk of Roy's mug on the table, felt Roy's hand stroke his still-damp hair.

"Ssh. It's all right. It's only hidden, not gone. If it were," Roy's voice picked up an edge of teasing, "you'd never have convinced me to surprise you, today."

Ed relaxed again with a shaky sigh. "I just wish," he stopped, considered, and went on anyway, "that I could see you this way more often."

"Well, now you know one way," Roy told him. Ed lifted his head to give his lover a wry smile.

"Guess so. Thunderstorms. Who'd have thought?"

Roy gave him back another bright grin. "Get your tea," he directed, "I want to watch the rest of it."

Ed trailed after him, and consented to curl up with a blanket in the open doorway, where they could see the sky, but insisted that Roy sit upwind and keep him from getting wet again.

End

Glow

Ed gets home after a rather rough trip. Fluffy Drama, I-2.

Ed's fingers were too cold and stiff to fumble around with his keys, so he knocked instead. When Roy opened the door, Ed glared at him.

"I hate being cold, I hate giving reports to stupid Generals, and I hate sleeping on train seats," he declared, stepping in out of the biting chill.

"Mm. Makes you wish you were still short enough to fit on one neatly, doesn't it?" Roy shut the door, shooting a sly smile over his shoulder.

Ed was in no mood for banter, and gave him a flat look and a cold, "No." He ignored Roy's raised brow in favor to trying to get out of his coat. It was a real trick when it hurt to lift his arms above chest height. He slumped a little in relief when Roy came to help.

"You're that stiff from sleeping on the train?" Roy asked rather skeptically.

"No." Ed swore he could hear his muscles creak as he made for the kitchen. "I'm that stiff from sitting in endless meetings, chasing idiot criminals over rooftops, sitting in more meetings and sleeping on the train." To his delight, the kettle was already on. He eyed the cupboard that held mugs, doubtfully. Could he reach that far right now?

Roy's hands slipped over his shoulders. "You're walking like a ninety-year-old with arthritis," he noted. "Sit down."

"If I sit down I'll fall asleep," Ed protested.

Roy came around to face him, and brushed the backs of his fingers against Ed's cheek. "Edward. You're home now," he murmured.

Ed, listening to the echoes that sentence made in his mind, closed his eyes, and leaned against Roy for a moment. Roy's arms closed around him gently, careful not to stress sore muscles. When Roy nudged him toward a chair, Ed let him. He watched a bit enviously as Roy reached down a mug without a single twinge or wince. The man didn't appreciate his blessings, that was what.

Once he had folded Ed's hands around his tea, Roy looked Ed up and down, and pursed his lips. "Stay here for a bit," he directed on his way out.

Ed spared the retreating back an incredulous look. There must be something more interesting than he had expected in the tea today, if Roy thought he would voluntarily move ever again.

Faintly, Ed heard water running.

Well, all right, maybe he would move, then. Just not yet.

Roy returned, collected some glasses and a pitcher of water, and left again. Ed looked after him quizzically before deciding it didn't matter and finishing his tea. It was getting easier, as the mug got lighter.

"Ah, good, you finished." Roy took the mug away and held out a hand. "Come on."

Ed winced at the mere thought of standing and walking, and eyed Roy, trying to judge how determined he was. Roy looked amused.

"I suppose I could carry you," he offered. "Do you really want me to?"

Ed weighed his options, and reluctantly came down on the side of dignity. He hauled himself, slowly, out of the chair, only too glad to let Roy support him as he hobbled down the hall. Pleasure at the sight of the bathtub full of steaming water warred with his awareness that getting his boots off would be a serious trial. Busy contemplating the geometry involved in that effort, Ed blinked as Roy sat him down again and started to undo the footgear in question.

Well, that would make things easier.

Ed was unsurprised that Roy helped him with the rest of undressing. He had obviously observed how limited Ed's current range of motion was. He tilted his head, however, when Roy stripped off his own clothes.

"Roy?"

"I somewhat doubt you would make it over the edge without dunking yourself just now," Roy told him.

Ed had to admit, if only to himself, that Roy had a point. Ed loved this bath; it was deep enough to sit upright in and still have water brushing his chin. But that made it rather tall, and his legs weren't any happier about lifting than his arms.

With a good deal of hissing and grumbling, not to mention assistance, Ed managed to lower himself into the tub. It felt boiling hot, which was just about right.

He noted another advantage to Roy's presence once they were in the water. He made a handy backrest, and kept Ed from having to lean on still-chilly porcelain. Best of all, even if Ed fell asleep, Roy was here to keep him from drowning. Ed rested his head on Roy's shoulder.

Slowly, the water began to feel less searingly hot to his fingers and toes, and Ed began to relax. He drifted until Roy nudged him back to awareness.

"Mmm?" Ed asked.

"Drink something before you get too lightheaded."

Ed opened his eyes to find a glass of water in front of him. Temporarily too content to argue, he took it. It was pleasingly cool in his throat, and Ed felt a bit more reconciled with the world as a whole, sipping his water and leaning against Roy's chest. When he was finished he stretched, cautiously, feeling a bit less like that arthritic old man Roy had compared him to.

"Feeling better?" Roy asked.

"Everything still hurts, but it isn't all one piece of pain anymore," Ed decided after a moment's thought. Roy chuckled.

"If you feel like you can walk, I'll see what I can do about that."

Ed managed to dry himself off, but let Roy wind an arm around his waist to help him up the stairs. He greeted their bed with a happy sigh. He would have liked to flop over onto it, but wasn't that flexible. The best he could manage at the moment was a crawl that ended with a sprawl in the middle. Roy pulled up a blanket to keep him warm, and knelt beside him. Ed flinched a little as Roy's fingers pressed into his back.

"Hm," Roy commented. His touch lightened, stroking the grain of Ed's muscles. Ed sighed. "This may take a while," Roy told him, as he moved to straddle Ed's hips.

Ed made ah and ack and ggh noises as Roy's hands loosened his muscles, pressed pain out of them to be swept away.

"Breathe," Roy reminded him as he worked on Ed's shoulder.

"Trying," Ed hissed between his teeth. His next exclamation was a good deal less articulate, as Roy found a knot and pressed down. It loosened with something like a snap, and Ed lay panting as Roy's fingers smoothed up and down his neck. "Ow," he remarked at last.

Roy leaned down to kiss the back of his neck lightly. "All right?" he asked.

"Mmph," Ed answered.

Roy laughed quietly as he moved to sit crosslegged where he could reach Ed's arm. After his shoulder and sides, that only rated a few erks from Ed. He was dozing again by the time Roy pulled the blanket over his shoulders, and moved down beside Ed's leg instead. That got a variety of noises again, including a few gniis. Ed's hamstrings felt like they'd been twisted until they double-kinked, and he twitched uncontrollably as Roy pressed his palm down the back of Ed's thigh. He didn't relax again until Roy started kneading his hips and rear.

"I think you almost pulled something here," Roy said, passing his hand over Ed's left cheek. "There's a bit of swelling."

"I can tell," Ed winced.

"Hang on, then." Roy was back in a few moments, and Ed felt something warm drip onto his skin. He smelled peppermint a moment later, and felt the warmth spread out as Roy rubbed it in. "You're getting too old for this," Roy teased.

"Oh yeah? Then what are you?" Ed grumbled.

"Too wise to do such things to myself," Roy told him.

Ed would have retorted, but Roy had picked up his foot, and dug his thumbs into the center.

"Aaahh," he sighed, instead. He snuggled into the covers, humming happily, and wriggled his toes. He was deeply disappointed when Roy finished. As far as Ed was concerned, no foot rub could possibly last long enough.

Roy lay down beside him, one hand on Ed's back. Ed stretched, very slowly, feeling many of the knots in his body finally come undone.

"Thanks," he murmured, sleepily, turning over. Roy's hand came up to touch his face.

"My pleasure." Then he grinned. "One of these days I really will make a recording of those sounds you make."

Ed glared though half shut eyes. He growled, and reached up to wind his arms around Roy's shoulders so he could pull Roy down and kiss him. Roy stroked his hair back.

"One more glass of water, and then you can sleep," he said.

Ed growled some more, but let Roy coax him out of bed long enough to get a drink while Roy put the covers back to rights. He was better pleased when Roy joined him on his return to bed, and drew Ed into his arms.

"Welcome back," Roy murmured into Ed's hair.

Ed pressed closer against the length of Roy's body and smiled.

End

Sustained

When it comes down to action everyone has to find a way to handle the stress. Plot With Porn, I-4.

- Associated fanart: Roy with Violin by Hikariblue

When he got the note that Mustang wanted to see both Ed and his staff in his office, Ed figured it was probably bad news. Mustang's expression certainly seemed to confirm it, mouth tight and eyes distant. His first words sounded like good news, though.

"We're being recalled for assignment in Central again."

"What area?" Havoc wanted to know.

The tight mouth twisted. "Administration. Precisely what I hoped for."

Everyone looked at each other, and then back at their commander, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"According to my network," Mustang went on, "Bradley will be making an unannounced visit here in three days." He looked down at his hands, braced flat on his desk. "I will be going to Altlast to meet him before he arrives in East City."

"Alone?" Hawkeye asked, sharply. Mustang's expression stilled.

"No. You'll be coming with me."

Hawkeye relaxed, but Ed also noticed her eyes narrowing and her right hand tensing. His stomach lurched, and his gaze snapped around to Mustang.

"It's time." Those two quiet words echoed through the room. Or maybe it was just inside Ed's head. About once every week or so he remembered that he'd given his loyalty to a man who intended to assassinate their head of state. He generally shoved the memory back in its box as quickly as he could, because it made his stomach twist. Somehow, he didn't think that was going to work this time.

"Why?" he whispered. "Why now?"

Mustang's mouth drew down before he sighed and answered. "Because he's coming for me. Everything points toward him suspecting what I've been doing, and coming to catch me at a moment of disorganization and confusion to confirm it."

And if he confirmed it... Ed shivered and lowered his head, suddenly wishing that Al were here for him to lean against, and in the next instant fervently grateful that Al wasn't here and wouldn't be involved.

"I need the rest of you to conceal the fact that we're gone," Mustang continued, quietly.

Havoc whistled. "Tall order." He contemplated his cigarette for a few moments, thinking, before he nodded. "I think we can do it; it'll take a little character assassination, though." He grinned at Hawkeye.

"How so?" she asked, warily.

"Hell, no one wants to be anywhere you can see them when you're in a bad mood," Havoc grinned. "All we have to do is act scared and no one will come near this office."

Hawkeye's expression chilled.

"Er, case in point, ma'am?" Fury pointed out tentatively.

"We will take what advantages present themselves," Mustang said. Hawkeye glared at her smirking superior a moment before she sniffed and settled.

Ed listened with half an ear as deadly serious strategy was jokingly debated. He didn't think he was the only one made queasy by this whole thing, but you would never have known it by their tones. Ed found himself looking at Mustang's hands, eyes tracing the circle on the back of his glove, thinking about the fire that would leap out from it. A visceral memory of that glove moving down his back washed through him, and Ed had to take a few deep breaths to keep from choking on that juxtaposition. What was he doing involved in this? Finally, Mustang turned to him.

"If the timing could look anything but suspicious, I would send you away, but that isn't possible. I want you to keep as low a profile as you can until this is over, though. If you have some research that's been waiting, that would be perfect."

Ed leveled an evil glare at him, suddenly angry at Mustang for repeating his own thoughts. For offering him such an escape. For taking all the danger on himself. "You would send me away?" he repeated, voice grating.

Mustang's gaze turned piercing, and his tone took on the edge of command that he rarely used with Ed. "You will not be involved in this."

"You think I want to be?" Ed snapped, swinging sharply back to his original distaste. Mustang's face closed, his eyes frozen now.

"Do you think I do either?" he asked in a perfectly conversational voice.

"No, that's not...!" Ed broke off, not wanting to try to untangle his revulsion and fury and fear in front of their current audience. Roy's expression was very distant, now, and Ed's fear for him gained the upper hand.

"Sometimes problems solve each other," Roy murmured in such a detached voice that ice threaded down Ed's spine. He recognized that voice. He'd never heard Roy use it, but he remembered it. Years ago, in the rain, the offer of a trade... Al had been so furious with him after. Ed could feel that fury in his own chest now. Roy couldn't possibly mean to...

Ed pulled in a deep breath, not at all sure what he wanted to say with it. Before he could decide, or, alternatively, howl with frustration, Hawkeye stepped in front of him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Edward-kun." When Ed looked in her eyes he saw a promise there, to guard Roy's life as she had for years, and a request that he trust her. Did she hear it too? Would she guard Roy from himself? Ed chewed on his lip, and eventually nodded. Hawkeye nodded, firmly, back.

As they all left the office, Ed felt Mustang's eyes on him.

Ed trudged down the street, hands in his pockets.

It had only taken about forty-five minutes of watching him pace the room, stopping at unpredictable moments to stare at nothing, before Al had thrown him out. Well, all right, Al hadn't actually thrown him out, but his brother's voice had been more than usually exasperated when he told Ed that he should just go talk to Mustang-taisa already. Because that man was the only thing that ever got his older brother so wound up.

Al was right, and Ed had to find out what was going on with Mustang. Why had he spoken like that, earlier? Could he honestly think it would serve something if he didn't come back? Who else did the idiot man expect to pick up the pieces?

There was no answer when Ed knocked at Mustang's door, so he let himself in. He could hear, faintly, music coming from upstairs, and followed it. When he found the source he stopped short in the door of Roy's bedroom.

Roy was perched in the broad window ledge that usually served as an auxiliary desk, and he had a violin tucked under his chin. His fingers slid smoothly over the neck, other hand sweeping the bow across the strings. Delicate, ringing notes swirled through the room.

At the scuff of Ed's boots, Roy looked up, music pausing. Ed was seized with the fear that Roy was sufficiently withdrawn, or upset, or unbalanced, or whatever the hell he was that he would turn away. That he would hide this revelation.

"Don't stop," Ed breathed, barely audible even in the sudden silence. After a still moment, a tiny smile crossed Roy's lips, and he closed his eyes again. His hands slowed, the returning music softer than before.

Ed stayed where he was, entranced. He had seen Roy concentrating before, but never with such emotion. His face showed nothing, but the changing tones of the music set Roy himself on display, sharp, languorous, dark, dancing. Pure. One last note was drawn out, sustained without break for so long Ed saw spots because he'd been holding his breath, waiting for it to end.

As Roy started to pack the instrument away again the passion faded out of the room. Ed didn't want it to go, didn't like the distant look that was back in Roy's eyes. He wanted to call back the brilliant intensity that had surrounded Roy while he played.

Well... there was another set of circumstances under which Roy often showed him something similar. And despite Roy's past claims of not being a sex maniac, it was an offer he never hesitated to accept when Ed made it. And then, maybe, he would be here and warm and... alive again.

As Roy settled, a bit wearily perhaps, on the foot of his bed, Ed came to him and lifted Roy's left hand.

"So that's where these came from," he said softly, brushing his thumb across the calluses on Roy's fingertips. Roy only lifted one shoulder, sketching a shrug.

"I haven't played often lately; they'll hurt tomorrow, a little." Ed was really starting to dislike the detachment in Roy's eyes. Time for a more direct approach, then.

"If you die doing this, the way you think you're going to," Ed growled, lifting Roy's chin until they were eye to eye, "I swear I'll bind your soul to your damn desk, and you'll spend the rest of eternity buried in paperwork."

That got a brief laugh, and Roy's eyes warmed, but he still didn't reach out for Ed and Ed was tired of waiting. He slid one knee onto the bed and closed the distance between them, the hand under Roy's chin tilting his head further back so that Ed could kiss him properly. Roy stiffened for a heartbeat, two, five, and then, surprising Ed yet again, relaxed, opening his mouth under Ed's. If Ed had expected anything, it was for Roy to react by pulling him down to the bed and kissing him senseless in retaliation. Instead, when they broke apart, Roy leaned back on his elbows, watching Ed from under his lashes.

With a mental shrug, Ed decided he could work with that, too. It wasn't the first time Roy had given him the come-hither routine. He toed off his boots as he climbed all the way onto the bed to kneel over Roy's hips. As an after-thought he got rid of his shirt, also. Roy did nothing as Ed unbuttoned his shirt as well, only watched with an odd waiting expression until Ed pushed the shirt off his shoulders. Then he stretched under Ed, curving his back, baring the line of his throat.

Ed paused. Did he...? Was he...? To test the hypothesis forming in the back of his mind, Ed leaned down and kissed the underside of Roy's jaw. Roy responded with a low sigh, letting his head fall back still further.

As if to let Ed take the lead. A tingle shot down Ed's nerves. He had thought about this before, but the only time Roy had ever invited it had been... different. That had been Ed's gift to Roy, and Roy had still been the one directing things. Now...

Why now? Did Roy simply want to return the gift?

"Roy," Ed murmured against his neck, "are you serious?"

"Are you?" Roy returned, with no inflection at all.

Ed considered for about half a second. Was he serious about making love to Roy? Easy answer. He leaned up and kissed Roy fiercely. "Yes."

When Roy opened his eyes and looked up at Ed he was completely present again, eyes heated. "Then don't stop," he whispered. Ed smiled slowly.

"I won't."

Ed trailed open-mouthed kisses across Roy's chest, and slid the fingers of his right hand, lightly, down Roy's spine. Roy arched up into him and moaned softly. Ed had to rein back an answer in his own throat at that husky sound; he couldn't remember Roy ever being so responsive so quickly before.

But, then, Ed had never been near while Roy prepared to kill someone. Maybe Roy needed to not think, tonight, needed to only feel. Needed to let someone else do the planning and maneuvering and considering.

Like how to best get their damn pants off. Ed growled a bit over the recalcitrant buttons.

He was interested to note, though, the way Roy gasped when Ed's metal fingers brushed against his stomach. He trailed them deliberately over Roy's hip, and a shudder swept through Roy. Ed smiled wickedly and set out to tease, little, random brushes of chill metal catching Roy's breath again and again while Ed's left palm slid, firm and slow, over Roy's skin, soothing. Roy's answer to Ed's kiss was a little wild, now, but his hands stayed light where they grasped Ed's hips.

Ed was discovering a few new things about Roy's body. He'd known that Roy's sensitive spots included the hollow of his shoulder and the palms of his hands. He'd known that Roy's ribs were usefully ticklish. He hadn't known that Roy liked to feel teeth on his throat, though he might have guessed that. He certainly hadn't known that rubbing the tendon that ran up the inside of Roy's thigh turned him limp and boneless.

Of course that only lasted until Ed ran his right thumb, delicately, up and down Roy's hardening length, and Roy arched up off the bed, every muscle tensed.

Ed understood, now, why Roy concentrated so intently on him when they were in bed. He'd known how overwhelming it was to experience the play of tension and relaxation, of building pleasure, but to watch it happening, to watch his own hands calling it out of Roy's body, fascinated him. The image of Roy calling music out of the violin flashed through Ed's mind.

He leaned over Roy, sliding his right hand between Roy's legs, back, parting him. Roy stretched, spreading his legs, inviting Ed further. But Ed kept his touch light, circling, never quite entering Roy's body. Roy twisted under him, panting for breath now, eyes closed, lips parted, and Ed had a hard time pulling his attention away long enough to fish in the nightstand and find a familiar bottle by touch.

He had no idea how Roy managed these things one handed. Ed used his teeth to help him open it.

And then he hesitated.

He knew that the sensible thing to do would be to go slow. The one other time they had done this it had taken a while for Roy to relax, and Ed certainly didn't want to hurt his lover. But the line of Roy's body, the flex of his hips as Ed's fingers slid into him, was suggesting something else, suggesting a welcome that sparked a fire in the pit of Ed's stomach.

The heat in Roy's eyes when he opened them only fanned it higher.

"Ed," Roy whispered, "now. Now." There was a tone in that velvet and steel voice Ed was far more used to hearing in his own. Need. Entreaty. It drew him like iron to a magnet. Screw slow, then.

Ed ran his hands up the backs of Roy's legs, and pressed into him, steady, deep. Roy's body let him in, heat so tight around him that Ed felt sweat starting on his skin.

"Yes," Roy breathed. "...yes..." There were more words, low and rough, but the hot shift of Roy's body drowned them out. Ed already knew what they came down to anyway; Roy had said it earlier.

Don't stop.

Ed bit his lip, no longer completely in control of his own movement as his hips flexed to drive him into the grip of that heat. He freed his still-slick left hand to close around Roy's length, and the words dissolved into soft, raw sounds. Ed bit down harder, wanting to hold on, to wait for Roy, but he could feel the edge, feel the shiver that started at the back of his neck and would sweep down...

It caught him by surprise when Roy's body seized him, and for an instant Ed was frozen by the shock. Then reflex drove him forward, and the heat closing around him stole his breath, his sight, stole everything but the electric tide pounding through him.

It finally left him slumped over Roy, forehead resting on his chest as they both gasped for air. When Ed finally levered himself up he wondered for a moment whether Roy was still conscious. He had never seen Roy in such a relaxed sprawl when he was awake. But Roy's eyes opened, slowly, full of lazy satiation. Ed felt rather smug about that, even if his legs did wobble a bit on his way to get a towel. He was especially pleased since it likely meant Roy would be interested in doing this more often, which Ed would very much like. Just the memory of Roy giving himself so freely to Ed's touch was enough to make him shiver.

When they had curled together under the covers, Ed's head on Roy's shoulder, Roy spoke very quietly.

"Thank you, Edward."

Ed woke up to the rustle of someone getting dressed. Since Roy seemed to be trying to keep quiet, Ed pretended to still be asleep.

At least, until Roy's fingers brushed lightly over his hair. Then Ed reached up and grabbed a handful of cloth.

"A desk," he reminded Roy without opening his eyes. "For the rest of eternity."

"I'll remember," Roy assured him, lightly.

"Besides," now Ed opened his eyes so he could give Roy a meaningful look, "we have to do this again sometime." He tugged Roy down to a hard kiss.

"I quite agree, my hawk," Roy laughed against his lips. Ed let him go.

"Gyrfalcon," he stated. "Don't let that be anything but the truth."

Roy straightened, dark eyes searching Ed's. Ed held that gaze with an effort, knowing he had just told Roy to kill.

"Who flies whom today?" Roy murmured, but Ed saw something relax in him. Roy touched Ed's lips with his fingertips and nodded.

And left.

Ed slouched in a library chair, staring at an open book. The same book he'd been staring at for the last three days. And, despite his love of and respect for books, he was about ready to hurl this one across the room from sheer nerves.

Where was Roy? He had said three days, it had been three days. If he'd managed to screw up and get himself killed, Ed really would...

"Research going well, Edward-kun?"

The deep, familiar voice struck through Ed like lightning. He closed his eyes, swallowing against the tightness in his throat.

"Everything is fine," he managed at last, turning to see Roy Mustang, neat and precise as always, lounging against the shelves with a faint smile and pained eyes.

"It's time to be moving," Roy told him.

End

Ed: You know, this arc started with humor. How'd we wind up here?

Branch: This arc started with you, how do you think?

Ed: ...you have a point.

Fiat Roomate

Ed has to deal with a housemate. Drama, I-3.

Ed found out later that it had been his habit of retreating to a library whenever he needed distraction that started the whole thing. After the third time Hughes found him asleep on a pile of books, rather than the bed in his room at headquarters, he mentioned it to Gracia-san, and Gracia-san spoke to Mustang, and Mustang decided to take steps, and Hughes had thought he'd known just the person to help...

The first Ed knew of this, though, was when he returned to his room to find Captain Maria Ross directing a small horde of soldiers in packing up Ed's belongings.

"Ah, Edward-san, good timing," Ross smiled. "I can take care of the packing and moving, but I thought you'd like to unpack your things yourself."

"Moving?" Ed asked, faintly. "What moving?" Ross blinked.

"To the house, Edward-san. Didn't you know it would be today? My own things are already moved," she continued with a tolerant look, "but I made sure to leave plenty of room for you."

Ed turned this incomprehensible scene over in his mind a few times. It appeared he was in the process of being moved out of headquarters and into a house somewhere. With Maria Ross. If it weren't Ross standing here, he might think it was a practical joke and go pin Havoc to the wall until he admitted it had been Hughes' idea. But Ross was even more straightlaced than Hawkeye, and he didn't believe she would be party to anything improper. Or anything she thought might harm him. And Ross could be as insanely protective as Hawkeye got over...

Oh, he wouldn't have.

Yes, he would, Ed reminded himself, that man would damn well do anything he thought was necessary. The real question was why he might have thought this necessary.

A practical joke was suddenly not entirely ruled out.

"Excuse me, Ross-taii," Ed said brightly, "I need to go check on something. I'll catch right up with you."

Two buildings later Ed kicked open the door of the Fuehrer's office, not particularly caring if it started out locked. He did note in passing that it hadn't been, which probably meant he was expected. Indeed, Mustang didn't even twitch at the bang as the door opened.

"Good afternoon, Elric-kun," he said dryly.

"What the hell is this all about?" Ed asked without preamble.

Mustang raised a brow. He was wearing that infuriating little half-smile that said he had put one over somewhere, and no one would know where until far too late. Ed ground his teeth and dug mental fingernails into his composure. Fortunately, Mustang didn't pretend ignorance of what Ed was talking about.

"Why, Elric-kun, I would have thought more living space would appeal to you. You've been keeping up with your field, after all. Won't it be useful to have room for your books and notes when you're in the city?"

This beguiling thought distracted Ed for several seconds, before he recalled himself to the matter at hand. "The house part isn't the problem. The babysitter is the problem," he said, flatly.

"More than one observer has noted that you don't take sufficient care of yourself when you live alone," Mustang returned. There was even less give in his tone than in Ed's, and it rocked Ed back a bit. This wasn't a joke, then, his commander was serious. Ed paused a moment, weighing whether it would be worth the effort to fight on this one. Mustang's eyes narrowed lazily, and his smile widened a notch. Familiar with the danger signs, Ed braced himself.

"So, you can either share a house with Ross-taii, you can stay with Hughes and Gracia, in which case you will undoubtedly be the babysitter, or you can use the guest room in my house. Your choice, Elric-kun."

It took Ed several tries to re-hinge his jaw. He barely managed to bite back the words You're joking, because that would not be a wise thing to say right now. Mustang seemed to hear it anyway.

"You think I'm bluffing?" he asked, lightly.

"No," Ed gritted out, spun on his heel and stalked out. He had known right from the start, he reminded himself strenuously, that Roy Mustang fought dirty. Strangling the man for it now would be pointless. Besides, he'd be damned if he'd give Mustang the satisfaction.

It could be a lot worse, he tried to convince himself. Ross shouldn't be that difficult to live with.

A week later he was back in the Fuehrer's' office.

"Are you sure there's nowhere you need to send me?" Ed refused to actually beg for an assignment, but he was getting close.

"Nowhere urgent enough to call you away from settling into your new house," Mustang told him, watching Ed over folded hands. Ed bared his teeth. Time to get down to cases, then.

"If you don't get me out of this city," he growled, "I swear I'm going to kill that woman before the weekend gets here."

Mustang looked politely inquiring. Ed couldn't contain himself any longer, and started pacing.

"All right. I can deal with her fixation on healthy food, Sensei was the same way. It's probably a female thing." Ed paused to glance suspiciously at Mustang. He could have sworn the man who terrorized hard-bitten generals every day and twice on Sundays had just squeaked.

"Do continue," Mustang invited, blandly.

"I can deal with the food thing, and it's only reasonable that we divide the housework, and I can live with the color-coded chart on the wall. Even if the colors are completely unintuitive. Ross-taii has obviously been in the military too long, and the military has a thing for cross-wired symbolism."

"Does it?" Mustang murmured. Ed rounded on him.

"But when she starts in on my clothing, that's where I draw the line! It's none of her interfering business how long it's been since I last went shopping! What gives her the right..." Ed cut himself off before he said more than he should, and stood, breathing a bit hard. Mustang regarded him calmly. Possibly a little too calmly.

"If you've drawn the line, then where's the problem?"

Horribly torn between the urge to ask whether he could still choose to take Mustang's guest room, and the urge to transmute the man's desk into a manure pile (he'd have enough nitrates if he used Mustang, himself, too), Ed stomped out. It was the only thing he could do, and keep his dignity.

Detente was reached almost by default. When Ed was agitated he resorted to his books, and that was the one place Ross never disturbed him. Left his meals inside the door, complete with small notes reminding him when it was his turn to do the dishes, yes, but she did so quietly.

Two weeks of lying low appeared to convince his sadistic commander that Ed was resigned to his housemate, and Mustang finally asked Ed to to go see why the mayor's office in Allege seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. Ed refrained from bouncing or whistling until he was out the front doors, just in case he jinxed his freedom.

He was, however, humming when Ross found him folding clothes into his suitcase.

"It sounds like you're looking forward to your work, Edward-san." Ed looked over his shoulder to see her leaning in the door of his room.

"I am," he replied, and bit his tongue on the extra reasons he had to be pleased with his job this trip. She sighed.

"I had hoped you and your brother would be able to have quieter lives, after everything was over," she said softly.

"Al does," Ed pointed out. Ross hesitated before she spoke again.

"Were you really not happy with that life?"

Ed was silent for a long moment, gazing into his half full suitcase. On the one hand, it was none of Ross' business and he rather wanted to tell her so. On the other, maybe if she understood she would stop hovering quite so much. Expedience won over privacy, in the end.

"I love my brother," he told her evenly, "and being with him without having to worry about... everything was wonderful. But I need something to do with my life." He turned to look at Ross seriously. "I missed a lot of being a kid because we had things to do. It would have been nice to let someone else worry about how to make life work out, but it's too late to go back and live like that now."

"That doesn't mean you have to take on more than your share of life's trouble just because it's what you're used to," Ross maintained stoutly.

"It isn't like that," Ed insisted. And then looked aside. "It isn't just that I'm used to it." He mulled over how to put it so that this practical, steady woman would understand.

"It's like alchemy itself," he said at last. "Knowing that something changed because of your action, that you have the skill and ability to alter the world... it's... it's not something I can just leave."

"And alchemy itself wasn't enough?" Ross asked. Ed thought about that. What if he had just returned as a State Alchemist, and never volunteered for Mustang's political crusade? The thought rang hollow.

"They aren't separate, for me," he finally answered. For one thing, he reflected, he would never use half as much of his alchemical knowledge tucked away in a study somewhere. Ross' laughter startled him a bit.

"No wonder you came back to Dai-Soutou Mustang," she shook her head. "You think alike." And then she laughed some more, probably at Ed's expression. "Well, what I came for was to ask whether this would be helpful while you're traveling." She held out a small, fat, green notebook.

Taking it, the sleek feel of the leather told Ed it was waterproofed. When he opened it, only about half the volume turned out to be taken up by loose-leaf paper. The rest was pockets. Pockets that unfolded, pockets that snapped, pockets inside of pockets; he spent several minutes just hunting them all out, and wasn't entirely sure he had found every one. He blinked at Ross, who blushed faintly.

"You seem to make notes on any paper at hand, including matchbooks. I saw this while I was getting my bootheel repaired earlier this week, and thought it might be useful for you."

Ed turned the notebook over in his hands. She had noticed that about him, and considered what it meant when he didn't have two or three rooms worth of books and desks to tuck his notes into. And she had come up with a solution for him.

"Ross... taii... You didn't... I..." Ed took a deep breath. "Thank you. Maria-san. This will help."

"Good," she smiled at him. "Don't forget to eat well while you're busy." Ed gave her a long-suffering look. She sounded just like Winry used to, lecturing him about taking care of the automail.

"I won't, Maria-san. You don't have to worry so much."

She didn't dignify that with a response, just patted his shoulder and left him to his packing.

He would not, Ed promised himself as he stowed away another shirt, ever admit to Mustang that this had been a decent idea after all.

End

In Silence

Hughes is called on to intervene in a fight between Roy and Ed. Drama, I-4.

Maas Hughes paced down the corridors of Central City headquarters grumbling to himself.

Maria Ross had come to him with a message from Hawkeye that Edward-kun and His Excellency were arguing, and could General Hughes please come calm them down before the idiots destroyed anything? Ross clearly wasn't comfortable calling her supreme commander an idiot, but her verbatim delivery made it equally clear that she agreed with the assessment.

Maas had always known she was an intelligent woman.

He had sent her back with assurances that he was on his way, and taken the time to arm himself appropriately before heading upstairs. He seemed to be in time; there were raised voices, but no crashes or explosions. Judging by the attitudes of Roy's staff, though, he probably shouldn't dawdle. Havoc was as far from the door as he could get, chewing on the end of his cigarette rather than smoking it. Hawkeye was giving the door a tight-lipped look and drumming her fingers on her desk.

"So, what got them going like this?" Maas asked. Hawkeye didn't take her eyes off the door, but Havoc cast him a look of relief that brightened further when he noted Maas' armament.

"Oh, good thinking, sir! Er, it isn't yours is it?"

"Of course not. This," Maas wiggled the carafe in his left hand, "is Gracia's special blend, which she presciently gave me a stash of in case I ever really needed to get Roy's attention at work. My wife is brilliant. Now," he repeated, "what got them going?"

"I think it was Edward-kun's report on the organization of the State Alchemists," Hawkeye supplied.

"Wonderful," Maas sighed. Something they both had a stake in and knowledge about. No wonder.

"Are you ready, sir?" Hawkeye asked, laying a hand on the doorknob.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Maas shrugged. Roy was going to owe him vacation time for this. He breezed through the door into Roy's office, as insouciantly as though he wasn't stepping into the next best thing to a free-fire zone.

Neither Roy nor Ed noticed. They were too busy leaning over their respective sides of Roy's desk until they were nose to nose, arguing at the top of their lungs.

"Millay has the morals of a thief, and you want to give him the keys to the damn bank!" Ed yelled. "I can't believe you're thinking of putting him in charge!"

"You said yourself they won't accept anyone who isn't an alchemist!" Roy shouted back. "Who the hell else is there?"

Maas' brows lifted. Ed was more coherent and Roy more vehement than either usually got, even in a fight. This really was serious. Time to get their attention, before things ran any further downhill.

"Coffee break, gentlemen?" he suggested, setting down his carafe and three mugs on the desk with a thunk.

They both started.

"Any particular reason the two of you decided to alarm all the staff officers in the building today?" Maas continued, pouring. Ed blinked. Roy inhaled and set his jaw.

"We are having," he said through his teeth, "a difference of opinion on who should oversee the State Alchemists."

"I'd never have guessed if you hadn't told me," Maas murmured. Both combatants glanced at the clearly-too-thin door and refrained from saying anything. It was a start. Ed flung himself away from the desk and stalked a few paces off. Even better.

"What did you send me for if you never planned to listen to me?" he snarled. Roy's eyes glinted, and Maas stifled a wince. Then again, not so good.

"If you find it so distasteful to work for me, Elric-kun, the door is right behind you," Roy purred.

Ed's chin came up, mouth and shoulders both tightening. A spark lit his eye, in turn.

"You two bring out the worst in each other," Maas groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Can you possibly keep from kicking each other in the insecurities for five minutes at a time? I already have a small child, you know, I don't really need two more." He took his mug and slumped onto the couch.

"What?" Roy snapped at him. Maas glared right back. Vacation time and a raise, he vowed to himself.

"You," he pointed a finger at Roy, "stop trying to test Ed's loyalty to destruction. A self-fulfilling prophecy won't help anyone. And you," the finger swung around to spear Ed, "quit trying to get a rise out of Roy just to prove you can. It's counterproductive."

Roy and Ed glanced at each other, and then away at opposite corners of the room. Maas cast his eyes up. God save him from stubborn idiots; and he'd thought just one was bad. Further distraction was clearly in order.

"Save the revenge for after work, Ed," Maas advised. "It's much more fun when he's a bit tipsy, anyway." A faint choke emerged from Ed, though he didn't look back around. Roy, on the other hand, bared his teeth at Maas in something that was decidedly not a smile. Well, at least they weren't at each other's throats any more. And Roy had never toasted him yet, Maas reflected philosophically. He met his friend's eyes seriously, and tilted his head in Ed's direction, raising a brow. Roy's gaze flickered. Maas gave him a narrow look. Yes, in fact, Roy should be able to keep his temper better than Ed, after fourteen more years practice even if his fuse wasn't actually any longer than Ed's by nature, he thought at Roy as loudly as possible, exasperated. Judging by the slightly shamefaced look that flitted over Roy's face, Maas' expression must have conveyed the thought pretty well.

Roy heaved a silent sigh, picked up both remaining mugs, walked over to Ed and offered him one.

Maas saw Ed freeze as he registered whose hand was holding out the mug, and when he looked up, for one second, those sharp, gold eyes were wide and unguarded. Faint contrition softened Roy's face in answer to that flash of uncertainty. After a moment Ed took the mug, and bowed his head over it. They stood for another moment, while Roy regarded the bent head, before he touched Ed's shoulder, lightly. Maas wasn't sure Roy had seen Ed biting his lip, but he was sure that his friend noticed Ed let his breath out at that touch.

Maas shook his head. When these two wanted to insult each other you could hear them in the next city, but apology and reconciliation? Those were silent.

They came back to the desk in still-unspoken accord, and took chairs this time. Maas let out a relieved breath of his own. Destruction and mayhem appeared to have been averted.

"Is there anyone else who could do this job?" Roy asked Ed, evenly. Ed consulted the depths of his coffee, which seemed perfectly reasonable to Maas. He had no doubt Gracia's coffee could aid memory and tell the future; it was Gracia's, after all.

"There's no one else with his breadth of knowledge," Ed answered, slowly, "but I think Sitten would be less likely to deliberately overlook dangerous paths of research."

"Leaving only the question of whether he has the acumen to recognize them." Roy sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Maas noted that Ed was chewing on his lip again, as if he very much wanted to say something more but was wary of starting another argument. Maas, for one, wasn't surprised by that restraint in the least, though he was getting the impression that Roy might be.

"All right," Roy said at last, "ask Hawkeye-shousa to get Sitten's file for me, if you please."

When the door closed behind Ed, Roy took a long drink of coffee and slanted a look at Maas. "Thank Gracia for me," he said. Maas chuckled.

"You know, Ed has always snapped at you," he prodded after a few seconds. "And winding him up has always been a hobby of yours. But you used to grin about it. What's different now?" He waited while Roy examined the grain of his desk. Maas was pretty sure he knew the answer, but he wasn't the one who needed to know it.

"It used to be a way to distract him, make him think about something besides his obsession," Roy answered at last. "Now..." Roy leaned back with a sigh. "Why is he here, Maas? Why does he stay, when his family, the family he did everything for, is so far away?"

"Why does Hawkeye stay, despite the fact she doesn't like fighting and killing?" Maas asked back. "Why does Havoc stay, when following you drags him into all kinds of insane danger?"

"That's different." Roy waved a dismissive hand. "They chose to follow me for personal loyalty."

Maas let his head thump back against the couch. "Roy, for such a superb manipulator, you have the strangest blind spots," he declared, wearily. After an extended silence he turned his head to see Roy staring open-mouthed.

"Are you trying to tell me," his friend managed at last, "that Edward Elric is... is..."

"Loyal to you, personally?" Maas filled in. "Yes, you idiot, that's exactly what I'm saying! You spent four years being the closest thing he had to family, besides the Rockbells, who he rarely saw, and Al, who he always felt guilty over. You took an orphan into your care, and offered him a future, and threw him in the way of anything that might make him strong enough to achieve it, and sheltered him when you could. What did you expect?"

Roy looked absolutely stunned.

"The only thing more irritating than watching you wind someone around your finger on purpose," Maas concluded, in disgust, "is watching you do it on accident."

Hawkeye tapped on the door. "The file you wanted, sir."

Faced with paperwork, Roy managed to pull himself together.

Maas collected mugs and carafe, and prepared to withdraw before Roy decided to put more work on his plate while Maas was handy.

"Hughes," Roy's voice caught him at the door.

"Yes?"

"Why do you stay?" Maas looked over his shoulder to see a touch of wistfulness in Roy's face.

"What, you think I would leave you to make a hash of everything on your own?" What kind of family would I be if I did? he added, silently.

To judge by the way Roy's smile warmed before he turned back to his latest problem, he'd caught that one, too.

End

The Road

Ed thinks over what he knows about Roy. Drama, I-3.

"...so, unrest, yeah, and plenty of it, but I don't think Sur will be a real problem. Everyone was just nervous." Ed shrugged and slouched down a bit further in his chair. "That's all a lot of the problems are, even the riots."

"Only to be expected," Mustang noted, "though I wish I could convince more of my officers of that truth." He shrugged against his glass backrest.

"Hawkeye-shousa would have fits if she saw you standing with your back to the window like that," Ed observed. A corner of Mustang's mouth curled up.

"Hawkeye-shousa knows the value of a gesture. She would only glare." Ed raised his brows.

"A gesture?" Not that Mustang wasn't past master of a certain flamboyant showmanship, but Ed wondered how something the Major would likely term reckless self-endangerment could be a gesture.

"Bradley's office was buried in the middle of this building," Mustang pointed out. "Mine faces out over the city. And by standing at these windows, and being seen here, I say that I trust the loyalty of the people around me. Soldiers and civilians both."

"So that they'll trust you back?" Ed hazarded, after a moment's thought.

"I can hope. And for those who aren't in line of sight, there's you."

Ed raised his brows. Mustang shrugged and turned to face the windows.

"The outlying areas have nothing but rumor and reputation to judge by. And your reputation is far... cleaner than mine. Your presence, in my name, is a pledge of good faith. Without that I would expect a good deal more panic."

Every now and then Mustang told him, not only how he was using Ed now, but how he had used him before. Ed thought this might be one of those times; his commander had been doing it more often lately. So he thought about what he had done as the military's rather rogue dog, and the reputation it had made for him. Thought about the things he had been able to do, and the things he had never had to deal with. He'd known for years about the latter. Maybe it was time to say so.

"My reputation is cleaner because I was protected," he said, slowly. "You... didn't have anyone to deal with the politics for you. Did you?"

He took Mustang's silence for agreement. And then he tilted his head, curious.

"How did you keep them off me, anyway?" Mustang had never really told him. Of course, Ed had never asked; until a year or so ago it wouldn't have occurred to him to ask. Mustang snorted.

"I told them the truth. You were young. It was only to be expected that you would act impulsively, without considering the long term consequences."

Ed narrowed his eyes at Mustang's back. "That doesn't explain why they left me loose," he pointed out.

"I told them I could control you," Mustang said, flatly. "They were stupid enough to believe me."

"Didn't you?" Ed asked. Mustang laughed.

"You reminded me a good deal of those unstable Stones. They thought those could be controlled, too. But you don't control something that intense. The best you can do is place it where you want something changed, and hope it does more damage to your opponent than it does to you." He glanced back over his shoulder. "I, for one, am very pleased you're no longer so driven, Elric-kun. Placing you properly was very wearing."

Ed had enough to think about for now, so instead of rising to the bait he simply bowed and took his leave. As he strolled down the halls toward the front doors he thought.

Mustang might be surprised that anyone had believed he could control Ed. Ed wasn't. The man practically radiated control. Of course, the flip side of that, and the most likely reason Mustang hadn't believed he could, was Mustang's own intensity. Mustang obviously, at least to Ed, knew first hand how... intractable it made a person. And, Ed had to admit, Mustang's control was considerably less than perfect if you knew what to look for: the times when he baited dangerous people, the moments when he walked head-on into death and never seemed to notice. It was enough to convince anyone that man was an adrenaline addict, if they didn't know that it was just his drive breaking loose for a moment.

As if he had any room to talk about addiction to thrill, Ed reflected wryly. He tried to stay honest with himself, and so he admitted that was one of the major reasons he had returned here. For all the times he had thought his and Al's search might eat his soul, there were things he missed now that the search was over. He could do without the desperation, but there was a vital edge that it had called out. Uncontrollable, frequently, yes, but Ed had liked it. He rather suspected Mustang knew it. Surely he recognized it as the same thing behind his own little outbreaks of behavior that gave his staff heart attacks.

Those outbreaks were a lot less frequent, now that Mustang had, like Ed, achieved his goal.

Ed paused in the middle of the hall.

Or was that it?

Maybe, he thought, walking on, he was wrong. It was obvious to anyone that Mustang's new job was, to make a colossal understatement, time consuming. And energy consuming. Had Mustang come to the end of his road, reached some kind of satisfaction, or was it just that his road was taking everything he had, now?

Everything Roy Mustang had was a very great deal.

Was that what Hughes kept hinting at, when he said how glad he was that Ed was back?

Ed was still mulling over that thought when he emerged into the falling evening to see his housemate waiting for him with a car.

"Maria-san," Ed sighed, "I was coming straight to the house from here. You didn't need to wait."

"No trouble at all, Edward-san," she told him blandly, getting in and patting the seat beside her. Since arguing with Maria's protective instincts was an exercise in futility, right up there with trying to keep Hughes from gushing over his family, Ed climbed in.

He didn't realize he was frowning at empty air until Maria touched his hand to get his attention.

"Hm? Sorry?"

"Was this a difficult assignment?" she asked, frowning a bit herself. Ed shook his head.

"No, actually it all went pretty easily."

"Did Dai-Soutou Mustang say something, then?" she suggested shrewdly.

"He always has something to say," Ed snorted. Maria eyed him for a moment.

"I see," she said, and let him be for the rest of the ride.

Ed thought about the help he'd had on his own road. Much of which he had received whether he liked it or not. When the car stopped and they got out, he stood for a moment, looking up at the house he and Maria shared.

He was still getting a good deal of help, whether he liked it or not.

"Edward-san?"

"Maria-san," he said quietly, looking down at his right hand, "what if we hadn't succeeded? What if... things... hadn't come out right?" He looked up when she took his shoulders.

"Then we would have helped you keep looking until it did," she said, firmly.

Perhaps, Ed thought, turnabout was fair play. He straightened and nodded, and followed Maria up the stairs.

It was time to start keeping a closer eye on his commander.

End

Chiaroscuro

Ed reflects on the similarities between Izumi and Roy. Drama, I-2, spoilers ep 27.

It had been a bit of a shock the first time he had actually seen Roy Mustang, Ed remembered. The first time Mustang had seen him didn't count. Ed had been playing possum, despite a feeling that the owner of that deep, smooth voice he listened to wasn't taken in. But a year later, in Central Station, it hadn't been the casual display of Mustang's power that had frozen Ed in place until the man was on his way out.

His feet had stuck for want of directions from his brain, which was busy tallying Mustang's features. Black hair; dark eyes narrowed consideringly at the world; pale skin; long, thin lips; long, winged brows; round face and pointed chin and high cheekbones. And the name echoing through his mind hadn't been Roy Mustang, but Sensei. The timbre of their voices was even similar. Only months of familiarity had blunted the shock of how much Mustang resembled Ed's teacher.

Ed was deeply thankful that they didn't speak in the same manner at all.

Well... not unless the Colonel was really angry. Then they spoke in very much the same manner—all bark and however much bite they thought he deserved.

And there was a certain look they shared, the one they both used when they thought Ed was being unreasonably stubborn. It was faintly weary, and slightly annoyed, and something else that Ed categorically refused to name. If he named it, then the knowledge that he had betrayed his teacher's trust would crush him, and the the idea that his commander gave a damn what happened to him would betray him.

All told, Ed found the Colonel easier to deal with than Sensei. Mustang demanded less of him. Admittedly, Sensei was straightforward, while no one in their right mind would call Mustang any such thing. But what the Colonel wanted from Ed was far simpler. Go here, meddle there, whack this person over the head with a heavy hammer. Whether the hammer was metaphorical or real was generally left to Ed's discretion.

Whereas, with Sensei, the hammer was always real. It was the action that became a metaphor, a meditation, always leading Ed's thoughts up an inward spiral until he was dizzy with the spinning is and might be and can and should.

The really, truly unfair part was that his twisty Colonel had that quirk of eyebrows that made him look, for just a moment, like Ed's agonizingly straightforward Sensei. And when that happened it made Ed think about what metaphor, what meaning, what pattern the actions he took under Mustang's command made. And that gave him a headache.

"Ed."

Ed opened his eyes and looked up out of the grass into the dark eyes above him.

"It's dinner time. Come in."

"Yes, ma'am," Ed murmured, looking aside as he rose.

He'd never thought he'd want to have that headache, but it would have been much better than the brutal twisting in his chest and throat every time he met his teacher's eyes.

Really, he should have stayed in Central.

End

Long Exposure - One

Upon meeting again in the hospital, after Seigaku plays Rikkai, Tachibana decides Fuji could use a friend outside of tennis. Drama With Romance, I-3

Tachibana Kippei was fretting. It wasn't a common activity for him, but he didn't have a great many alternatives at the moment. He still wasn't permitted to walk any significant distance. Certainly not far enough to visit the person he'd been told was also a guest in this hospital to see if he was all right.

So he was sitting up on the hospital bed he had come to loathe, picking at a raveled corner of the far too thin blanket under him. He'd been told before, most notably by his little sister, that he worried too much. But he couldn't shake off a feeling of responsibility for this injury. Couldn't forget the direct, burning blue look Fuji had shared with him over an innocuous roll of tape. That look had promised to take up the hope Kippei couldn't carry for a while, and asked for his help to gather the spirit to bear it.

How could he not feel he had some responsibility for what had happened?

A knock at the door was a welcome distraction.

When he saw who was coming in, though, Kippei surged up off the bed and strode to meet him, hardly noticing the warning stab of pain through his foot.

"Fuji!" Kippei caught his shoulders, examining his visitor closely. "Are you all right?" Fuji blinked at him, looking rather surprised at this greeting.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you," he murmured. Seeing the brilliant eyes focus and track, Kippei breathed a short sigh of relief. Fuji's brows went up.

"Your teammates stopped by, along with mine, to tell me what happened. And Ann's tape of the match didn't exactly relieve any of my concern," Kippei told him. He lifted a hand to touch, very lightly, Fuji's cheekbone just under the temple. "That was an extremely reckless thing to do," he said, quietly.

Fuji's smile was a bit sharper than usual.

"So. Do you think you need to scold me in Tezuka's place, since he isn't here to do it himself?" he inquired. A half laughing breath escaped Kippei, and he dropped his hands.

"Of course not," he said, stepping back to sit on the edge of his bed. "For one thing, you never chose me as your captain, and I don't have the right. For another," he smiled slightly, "I have no doubt Tezuka can deliver his own reprimands, whether he's present or not."

Fuji didn't answer, busying himself instead with pulling out a chair. He sat precisely, hands folded. Kippei eyed his posture.

"You're worried about what he might say?" he asked, more gently. Fuji's smile froze just a little. Kippei waited.

"It's more complicated than that," Fuji said, at last. "I... haven't actually spoken to him about that match, yet." Watching him, Kippei recognized a variation on the expression Akira had worn the day he tried to keep a traffic accident quiet from him, and play on anyway. He doubted Fuji would let him push for details, though. At least not right away. Well, that needn't be a problem; he certainly had the time to spare to work it out.

"If I promise not to ask, will you come visit again?" Kippei asked. "It's really boring, here." Fuji looked up with a quick laugh.

"All right."

It took Kippei over a month to winkle out the source of Fuji's disturbance, following his match with Kirihara. By then Fuji was visiting his house, rather than a hospital room. It wasn't until he succeeded that he really thought to question why he was doing it. Even then, all he could really tell himself was that Fuji needed someone to ask, someone to have the patience to wait out his smile.

The break came the second time Fuji brought him ice cream to cool the frustration of physical therapy. It was also the day after Seigaku had heard from Tezuka that he would be home soon. They sat outside, passing the carton back and forth, but neither the good weather nor the butter-pecan was able to keep Fuji's attention.

"Have you ever had a friend you didn't understand?" Fuji asked, abruptly.

"Several." Kippei didn't mention that Fuji himself was currently one of them.

"And what if, suddenly, you did come to understand?" Fuji was staring up at the sunlit leaves above them, looking more lost than Kippei remembered ever seeing him look before, though he doubted a casual observer would recognize it.

"And didn't know how to say so?" he hazarded. He'd realized some time ago that Fuji wasn't really much good at speaking directly.

"And didn't know how to apologize," Fuji corrected softly, looking down at his hands.

"Was the friend hurt that you didn't understand?" Kippei thought he might be starting to see what the topic of this circling conversation was.

"I never had to. Not before then. Te... he never pushed me like that."

Kippei nodded to himself.

"Some things, only an enemy can do for you," he said, and paused. Fuji might be angry with him for the next part, but someone needed to say it and he didn't think Fuji could bring himself to. "Beyond that, though, you never let him push you." Fuji flinched slightly, and Kippei sighed. "You didn't want to be an opponent to him. I don't think Tezuka will hold that against you, Fuji. You came forward when it mattered."

"But it means so much to him," Fuji murmured. "It's always been his goal..." Kippei set a hand on his shoulder and shook him once.

"Stop that," he said, firmly. "Take it from another captain, Tezuka cares more for the well being of his team than for that title."

Fuji blinked at him a few times, jarred out of his introspection.

"You're right. Of course he does," he answered eventually, with a self-deprecating little smile that nearly made Kippei grind his teeth. He tightened his grip on Fuji's shoulder.

"Fuji. You did not fail him."

After a moment of aching stillness, Fuji took a deep breath and let it out, closing his eyes. When he opened them again he offered Kippei another small, but more genuine, smile, and laid his fingers over Kippei's hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you."

Kippei didn't have a chance to do anything about the conclusions he had come to until after Nationals were over. Over for Fudoumine, at any rate. Just their luck, he reflected, that after clawing their way to the quarterfinals they should come up against Seigaku. He would almost have preferred Rikkaidai again. He knew he couldn't speak beforehand. They had to play this round out however it fell.

In the end it worked out well enough. He was proud of his team; the matches actually went all the way to Singles One. Tachibana Kippei had never, in his life, been pleased to lose, and never would be. Nevertheless, he was satisfied that he had played his best against Tezuka, and had no hesitation about approaching him afterwards.

"Tezuka."

"Tachibana," his fellow captain acknowledged, stepping apart from his team at Kippei's silent request.

"Nearly the end of the season," Kippei observed. "It's been a good year for both our teams, injuries and all."

Tezuka's mouth tilted, rueful and partial agreement.

"It will be at least a year before either of us is in a position to draw up team rosters again, but there was something I wanted to ask you now." Tezuka tipped his head, inquiring with one brow. Kippei met his eyes evenly. "When we come to play each other again, I would prefer not to play opposite Fuji."

"Is there a particular reason why not?" Tezuka asked after a long, searching look. Kippei smiled a bit wryly.

"Because he needs someone who doesn't," he said, simply. Tezuka's eyes darkened, and Kippei shook his head. "I'm not criticizing you, Tezuka, it's just..."

Just that, although Fuji was devoted to Tezuka, and Kippei suspected that Tezuka was one of Fuji's few real friends, Tezuka saw all truly talented players as potential opponents. Even the ones on his own team. One had only to watch how he handled young Echizen to see that. And Fuji... Fuji couldn't seem to imagine truly exerting himself against those he cared for.

"You want to be safety for him?" Tezuka asked, deep voice soft, and Kippei relaxed. Tezuka did understand; good.

"Yes."

"I will see to it, then." Tezuka turned to head back to his team, paused, and looked back over his shoulder. "Thank you. For your compassion." Kippei thought his eyes were just a little sad.

Kippei inclined his head. "Thank you for your trust."

"It's his trust you need to worry about," were Tezuka's parting words.

Kippei didn't doubt them in the least.

TBC

A/N: I have used the manga version of the match between Fuji and Kirihara, since it's far more dramatic.

Wrapped Around My Finger

Mizuki seduces Yuuta, and possibly vice versa. Drama With Romance, I-3

It wasn't that Yuuta didn't know what kind of person Mizuki Hajime was. He knew perfectly well. Mizuki was viciously ruthless. He was the kind of person who worked through manipulation because he enjoyed it. He was a flaming control freak and downright obsessive. Yuuta recognized all these things quite readily.

The only thing he refused to admit was where he recognized them from.

Mizuki was also the first, and, for a long time, the only one to recognize Yuuta's skill, and his weaknesses, as his. The one who had never asked "Oh, did you start playing tennis because of your brother?" The one who took him, and, yes, used him, purely and completely on his own merits.

Of course Yuuta knew he had an ulterior motive for it, he wasn't stupid.

But that wasn't the point.

It started with a few casual touches, Mizuki's hand on his arm or shoulder to call his attention or in farewell. It would have been less noticeable if Mizuki had been the sort to touch anyone, however casually.

He wasn't.

That was Akazawa's part. When a hand fell on a team member's shoulder for encouragement or camaraderie, or, occasionally, a brisk shaking, it was their captain's hand not their manager's. Mizuki didn't touch. It was typical of the difference between them. Akazawa held them together as a team; Mizuki drove them forward as his personal game pieces. Between the two it pretty much worked out.

So Yuuta noticed those as-if casual touches, and wondered what Mizuki was up to. The idea that he might not be up to anything didn't even deserve a first thought.

Yuuta got his first clue, though he didn't recognize it at the time, in a heated discussion between Akazawa and Mizuki that broke off as soon as he approached. Akazawa gave Mizuki a hard look before turning away.

"You had better be right about this not affecting the team," he told their manager. Mizuki gave him a mock-surprised look.

"You doubt my analysis of the situation?" he asked with a dangerous lilt.

"Just remember who's always involved when your analysis fails, Mizuki," Akazawa said, sharply.

"I always do," Mizuki replied though his teeth. Akazawa snorted. He patted Yuuta's shoulder, absently, in passing, and Yuuta saw Mizuki's eyes narrow slightly.

"Mizuki-san?"

A smile was added to the edged look.

"Shall we work on your serve, Yuuta-kun?" Mizuki ordered as if it were a suggestion, urging Yuuta toward the far court with a hand on his back.

Yuuta didn't start to worry about what Mizuki was doing until the day Mizuki parted from him after practice with a hand on his cheek and a thumb brushing, ever so lightly, over Yuuta's mouth. That was when it occurred to him that this might not have anything to do with tennis, which reminded him of the conversation he had heard the end of, and then he spent the rest of the day locked in his room, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and trying not to hyperventilate.

Mizuki couldn't possibly be... well, he couldn't. Right? Admittedly, he tended to look rather predatory around Yuuta, but that was just how Mizuki was. Wasn't it? He'd looked like that for years, now.

It didn't take very long for Yuuta to realize that was not necessarily a reassuring thought.

The next day he was so hyper-aware of those maybe-not-casual touches that he dropped two games. After the second he noticed Akazawa giving Mizuki a very dirty look, and had to escape, pleading a headache. Memorizing his ceiling for the second evening in a row, Yuuta tried to think the problem through. He could do this. His brother wasn't the only smart one in the family.

If Mizuki really was... well, coming on to him, the first question was, did he want it to stop?

It was actually kind of a hard question. This whole thing was disconcerting, and had him very off balance. But, in a way, it wasn't actually new. He'd always been flattered, right from the first, that Mizuki paid attention to him, sought him out. He'd gotten used to how... intense Mizuki's attention was. The idea that Mizuki might want him, personally, made him shiver.

Ok, so maybe he didn't exactly want it to stop. Next question was, what to do about it?

Actually, was there anything he could do? Yuuta chewed reflectively on his lip. It wasn't as though Mizuki had done anything very obvious, yet. It was still possible that something else entirely was going on. Mizuki might be experimenting with a new management style, using Yuuta as his guinea pig. That would also explain Akazawa's irritation.

Or Mizuki could just be waiting for Yuuta to stop jumping like he'd stepped on a tack every time he was touched.

Yuuta glared at his ceiling as though it were responsible for the conclusion that the best thing he could do was wait and see, and try to relax a little. There was no getting around it, though, and he spent the next few days attempting to have more patience than he usually needed. His captain's temper subsided as Yuuta's game steadied again.

Sure enough, that seemed to be the signal for the next step.

Mizuki took to, not just touching, but stroking down his arm or across his back. Yuuta stopped doubting his original conclusions. And, as the days slipped by, he started wishing that Mizuki would get on with whatever he had planned. The touches had gone from odd to shocking to commonplace to downright teasing, and Yuuta was tired of waiting.

He asked Mizuki, later, whether every language had a saying about being careful about what one wished for.

Yuuta was finishing a weight workout late in the evening when Mizuki tracked him down. Neither thing was unusual. Yuuta liked having the room to himself, which meant coming in late, and Mizuki liked to check on his training and adjust his regimen if necessary.

"Not even out of breath, Yuuta-kun? Perhaps you should increase your repetitions."

It was not usual for Mizuki to prowl into his personal space and run a hand down his chest, reminding Yuuta forcibly that his shirt was still lying on the bench behind him. Mizuki's fingers outlined his muscles, and Yuuta thought sparks might be skittering in their wake. He couldn't pull his eyes away from Mizuki's hooded stare to check.

"Excellent definition, Yuuta-kun," his manager murmured. Yuuta stood, frozen, as Mizuki's palm skated down his stomach. He shuddered as it stopped there.

"Mizuki-san," he choked. Mizuki's lips curved, and his hand rose to the back of Yuuta's neck.

"Do you have any idea," he said, softly, "how much it pleases me to know that, if I decided I wanted you right now, on one of the weight benches, you would offer me no resistance?"

The light-headed thought crossed Yuuta's mind that, yes, he did have some idea how much that would please someone like Mizuki Hajime. Maybe, sometime, he would tell Mizuki that yielding was a reasonable trade for being the center of his focus. That focus was almost as tangible as body heat, as Mizuki leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

"Not yet." He drew back, graced Yuuta with a demure smile, and strolled out the door.

Yuuta couldn't make it back to his room this time, and had to settle for memorizing the ceiling of the weight room instead. At least, until it occurred to him that he was lying sprawled on one of the weight benches, and that Mizuki might just decide to come back, and take that as an invitation. He hauled himself upright and forced his shaky knees to support him.

What had that been about? Mizuki touching Yuuta like that and in the next breath assuring him that nothing would happen.

He supposed that Mizuki might have just wanted to ease his anxiety by making his intentions clear. Or it could be that he wanted to be sure of Yuuta's willingness. It was also quite possible that Mizuki had done it just because he felt like provoking someone. Yuuta would actually have put his money on it being a little of all three. As he tried to convince the adrenaline singing through him to subside enough for sleep, he reflected that it was probably weird for him to be attracted to that combination of whimsy and iron calculation. But there it was. Things that caused most people's eyes to cross seemed quite normal to him. He'd come to terms with that much.

And he honestly had to admit to himself that Mizuki had gotten it dead right. If he had kept going, Yuuta wouldn't have stopped him. Yuuta's backbrain helpfully presented him with an image of Mizuki pressing him down on that bench and running his hands lower.

So much, Yuuta thought, gasping, for lowering his adrenaline.

He spent the next week being ganged up on by his subconscious and his hormones at extremely inconvenient moments, such as when he was called on to read in Literature or translate in English. As a result he wound up with extra homework and spent several long evenings in the common room of his floor, dwelling on the unfairness of the universe and the incomprehensibility of English articles.

"Trouble with your English again, Yuuta-kun? Would you like some help?" Mizuki's voice inquired from the door. That voice always had an insinuating edge, but Yuuta swore it hadn't been this suggestive last week. He debated throwing his textbook, but decided that would probably only lead to a longer period of frustration. He settled for glaring.

Mizuki seemed to find this amusing.

This time, at least, Yuuta was ready for it when Mizuki crossed the room, stepped over his legs and leaned his hands on the back of Yuuta's chair, caging Yuuta under his body. Yuuta rested his head back so he could look Mizuki in the face, offering, waiting, challenging, and could they please actually get somewhere this time? Fire lit in Mizuki's normally cool eyes.

"Ah," he breathed. "That's what I've been waiting for, Yuuta-kun."

Mizuki's lips covered his, and Yuuta opened his mouth under them. Mizuki kissed the way he did everything else, intense and thorough, his tongue tasting every part of Yuuta. When he drew back it took Yuuta a few moments to realize that his eyes had fallen shut. He opened them to see Mizuki smiling down at him. It was not a smile that gave anything away, and Yuuta found himself having to ask.

"Mizuki-san, what... where... is this going?"

Mizuki trailed a finger down Yuuta's neck, smile sharpening at the shiver that resulted.

"I think that's for you to say, Yuuta-kun," he murmured. Yuuta blinked.

"It is?" he asked, a bit nonplussed. At Mizuki's nod, he sank back in his chair, even more breathless than the kiss had left him. Yes, this was Mizuki, the one who knew him, the one who had watched him, who knew exactly what would win him. Not just the trade of his pliancy for Mizuki's complete attention, but giving Yuuta the choice and determination.

So, what was it going to be?

"Dating?" he suggested, eventually, finding no better word for where he would prefer to start.

"Indeed." Mizuki leaned down again, brushing another kiss across Yuuta's lips. "In that case, would you care to join me for dinner next Friday, Yuuta-kun?" For some reason, that made Yuuta blush, where the kisses hadn't.

"Sure," he answered, glancing aside. Mizuki laughed, low, and turned Yuuta's face back up to his for a third kiss, long and slow, before he pushed back from the chair. He left Yuuta staring at the ceiling of the common room, this time, and completely incapable of thinking about the difference between a and the. Help with his English, yeah, right.

Yuuta decided it would be a good idea to write to his brother about his upcoming... date. Aniki was usually scrupulous about letting Yuuta go his own way, keeping his manipulations obvious enough to avoid if Yuuta really wanted to. But Aniki really didn't like Mizuki, and if this was going to be one of the times he lost his temper, and Yuuta lost his prospective boyfriend to a homicidal sibling, well better to know sooner than later.

Five days later he wrote again to say that it had been cheating to send Aniki's boyfriend's little sister to try and talk him out of it. They had ended up yelling at each other at the tops of their lungs, across a picnic table on the campus lawn, about pig-headed idiots and interfering amateurs. It had actually been kind of nice to yell at someone who would yell back properly, instead of smiling and speaking softly and making Yuuta feel unbalanced.

Unfortunately, Ann's rather acidic observations about Mizuki had enough truth in them to stick in Yuuta's head. He knew perfectly well that Mizuki was focused pretty obsessively on his brother; it was one of the things they shared. When Aniki had said that he wasn't going to continue professionally in tennis, Yuuta had gone to Mizuki as the only person who would understand his fury over the news. A niggling uncertainty refused to be dislodged.

Though being taken out on a date where, however casual their surroundings, Mizuki insisted on holding the door and pulling out a chair for him, went a long way toward flustering Yuuta enough to swamp it. When it became clear that Mizuki intended to see him back to his door, and quite probably past it, the thought of what was likely to happen next was actually familiar and calming by comparison. Yuuta thought that was probably why Mizuki had gone to such lengths to unsettle him in the first place.

When Mizuki closed and locked the door behind them, and pressed Yuuta gently back against the wall, though, the uncertainty resurfaced.

"Yuuta-kun?" Mizuki asked, as Yuuta looked aside, chewing on his lip.

"Mizuki-san... why?" Yuuta finally asked. "Why me? I thought it was... my brother... you wanted." He might never forgive himself for actually saying that, but he had to know.

"Mmm. It would be nice to have him, too," Mizuki agreed, casually. Yuuta's head snapped back around, jaw loose. "But that has nothing to do with this."

Yuuta sputtered. Mizuki tilted his head and looked at him, measuringly.

"I want something different from him than I want from you," he explained. "I don't doubt I'll get it, eventually, because I understand him. And there's something he wants that I can give him." Yuuta found the curl of Mizuki's lips and the light in his eye very unnerving. "If I survive the experience, perhaps I'll tell you what it is. But what I want from you is," Mizuki pursed his lips, "deeper."

Yuuta's heart jumped at the silky tone of the last word.

"What do you mean?" he asked, voice husky in his own ears.

"I want you for good," Mizuki told him, cool and low. "You're passionate, Yuuta-kun, and determined in a way he can never hope to be. I like that." He leaned in. "I always appreciated your looks, of course. Such strong, clean lines to your body," his hand smoothed down Yuuta's side, "such expressive eyes, rich and sharp as new steel," he drew Yuuta down to him, "and such a soft mouth for someone so fierce." He stroked his tongue gently over Yuuta's lower lip, and Yuuta gasped.

"But that wasn't what really drew my eye, at the beginning," Mizuki continued. "It was the fire in you. Useful and beautiful both; my ideal, Yuuta-kun." He caught Yuuta's face between his hands. "And all the more when I saw you knew I would let you destroy yourself to win, and you accepted that. Yet again when you defied me, and took only what you wished of my advice, and still returned to me." His mouth quirked up. "Helpless things are only of passing interest. You are fascinating. You yield to me and yet keep your own way."

Yuuta was grateful for the wall at his back, because without it he thought the intensity of Mizuki's gaze and words would have had him on the floor. And then Mizuki smiled, and shook his head, and said the one thing that Yuuta never, honestly, thought he would hear.

"It was you from the very first, Yuuta-kun. At the start I mostly wanted to defeat Shuusuke as a gift to you. Here and now, he has no relevance. It's you I wanted first." He ran a hand up Yuuta's neck, lifting his chin with a thumb, and pressed his mouth over Yuuta's pulse. "So?"

Yuuta was shaking as his hands found Mizuki's waist.

"Yes," he whispered, harshly. Mizuki's lips curved against his skin.

He let Mizuki pull him away from the wall, onto the bed. Let Mizuki's hands strip off his clothes. Lay, breathing fast, waiting to see how far Mizuki would take his consent. Mizuki stroked his fingers through Yuuta's hair, looking down at him curiously.

"Not completely innocent, are you?" he murmured. "It shows in your eyes. Everything does, of course." He shifted and ran his hands down Yuuta's thighs, pressing them apart. Yuuta shuddered, breath stopping completely. The weight of Mizuki's body settling over his, the softness of his skin against Yuuta's, pulled a choked off sound from his throat.

"What would you do if I did choose to take this all the way?" Mizuki's voice brushed his ear. Yuuta closed his eyes.

"I said yes," he answered, unevenly.

"So you did," Mizuki agreed, sounding amused. "But perhaps we'll start a bit slower." He kissed Yuuta softly, hands stroking him, soothing the trembling. "I am curious about your source of information, though. Let me see." Yuuta opened his eyes to see Mizuki leaning on an elbow with his chin in one hand, contemplating him thoughtfully.

He bit his lip and turned his head a little away. Mizuki's rare laugh washed over him.

"You walked in on someone? Probably Akazawa and Kaneda, then."

Yuuta nodded, though, technically, he had not walked in on them. The sight of Kaneda bent over under their captain had frozen him on the threshold, and Kaneda's moans as Akazawa drove into him had been loud enough to cover the sound of Yuuta, very carefully, closing the door again.

"Well, let me assure you that I have a far lighter touch than our esteemed captain," Mizuki purred. "We'll get to that later, though."

He kissed Yuuta more deeply, through teasing, and now Yuuta relaxed under him. Mizuki's touch danced down his body, drawing low sighs from him, and Mizuki's mouth gradually followed. Yuuta twisted and arched into the glide of Mizuki's tongue down his stomach, came up off the bed with a sharp cry at the swift, slick heat of Mizuki's mouth closing around him. Mizuki's tongue slid down and then up his length, curled around him, coaxing, demanding. Yuuta lost track of time and place, attention narrowing to the hot sensation that wound around him tighter and tighter until the world snapped into glittering shards from it.

When his breath returned, Mizuki moved back up to lie beside him, smiling down at Yuuta with smug pleasure. Yuuta turned on his side and laid a hand, hesitantly, on Mizuki's hip.

"Mizuki-san... you...?" He chewed on his lip until Mizuki stroked a finger over it to stop him.

"In a little bit, Yuuta-kun," Mizuki told him, lazily.

The phone rang.

Yuuta glared over at it, wondering who had the bad timing to be calling now. Mizuki smiled and waved in a don't let me interrupt you manner, so he answered, despite some misgivings. He couldn't suppress an exasperated sigh when he heard who was on the other end.

"What are you doing calling me now?" he asked.

"I just wanted to make sure you'd gotten back all right, Yuuta," his brother answered. Yuuta rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Aniki, I got back just fine, and Mizuki-san didn't eat me on the way home."

There was one beat of dead silence from everyone before Mizuki folded up laughing and Yuuta felt his face growing hot.

"Yuuta," Aniki's voice was getting dangerously pleasant, "who is that?"

Before Yuuta could muster a coherent answer, Mizuki held out a hand for the phone. Yuuta shrugged and handed it over. Redirecting his brother's attention would be a good thing, and if Mizuki was volunteering to be thrown to the wolf, far be it from Yuuta to stop him.

"Indeed, Shuusuke, I didn't eat your brother on the way home," Mizuki said, still chuckling. "I waited until we got back."

Yuuta was positive he was the color of a radish.

"Mizuki-san!"

Mizuki handed the phone back with satisfied smile.

"It got rid of him," he pointed out, and leaned over Yuuta, pressing him back with a hand on his chest. "I can bait him at greater length later. Right now, I have better things to do."

Ann had asked him, once, how he could stand to be in between two such possessive people. On the one hand was his brother, who would be perfectly happy to rip the lungs out of anyone who looked at Yuuta the wrong way. On the other was his boyfriend, who would be equally happy to break the hands of anyone who touched Yuuta. Not that either of them would ever be so straightforward about their revenge. No one seemed to understand that it was the equal possessiveness that made it work.

Well, that made it work for Yuuta.

His brother detested his boyfriend, and his boyfriend was obsessed with his brother. It was Aniki's hostility that ensured Mizuki would be careful what he did to Yuuta. What he did without Yuuta's consent, at any rate. And it was Yuuta's acceptance of Mizuki that kept Aniki at a little distance, gave Yuuta some breathing room. Yuuta liked his brother's protectiveness, as much as he liked Mizuki's touch. As long as there was something to keep each from getting out of hand.

It all worked out for Yuuta.

End

In the Forest of the Night

Takes place in Current Tenipuri Year. Ohtori reflects on the pair he's found himself a part of. Drama With Romance, I-3

Choutarou couldn't remember precisely when Shishido-san had started calling him by his given name. It had been some time during those first, grueling, late night training sessions. He did remember being surprised by it. A number of things had surprised him, right around that time.

He had never, before that, given much thought to the cutthroat system of Hyoutei's tennis club. It was just the way things were. Well, he had noticed that it seemed to make for astonishing rudeness among the pre-Regulars, but that didn't have to affect him. Choutarou had been raised to show courtesy; Otou-sama always said it was one of the best ways to disarm an opponent. So he was polite to his peers and his seniors, both, and lent a hand wherever one seemed needed, and devoted every bit of his strength to working his way up the ranks. It hadn't taken long. The grumbling of people with less dedication had little meaning to him. By the same token, it was pleasant, the mass support that Atobe-buchou's hand with the club placed at his back once he was a Regular. But Choutarou never deceived himself by thinking that his performance rested on anything but his own will and effort. The shape of the system that went on around him didn't matter.

And then Shishido Ryou had come to him, after his sudden defeat at Fudoumine's hands, and asked for help with some training. Choutarou had agreed, as he always did, though the help Shishido-san wanted had been a bit out of the ordinary. He had watched Shishido-san drive himself to catch an unreturnable serve with his bare hands, night after night, and seen something he hadn't expected.

After very little observation, during his first year, Choutarou had decided that no one among the Regulars shared his own dedication, with the exception of the captain. They were all very talented, but also flippant and careless, not devoting anywhere near the concentration that Choutarou thought the game called for. Under the floodlights, though, in the burning of Shishido-san's eyes, in the scrapes and bruises and blood on the court, in his voice with every snarl of Next!, Choutarou had seen drive and will to match his own.

That was what had driven him to break his usual reserve and plead with Sakaki-sensei to reinstate Shishido-san. And when their coach's threat had brought home, for the first time, the cold finality of Hyoutei's system, it was that recognition of kinship-at-last that had driven him to lay his own position on the line. He would certainly have regretted it, if he had lost his place. But if Hyoutei's system had no room for the pure determination and burning edge that Shishido-san had reached, then perhaps Choutarou truly didn't and couldn't belong there, either.

Not that he hadn't been extremely relieved when Atobe-buchou had stepped in.

And when Shishido-san had finished trading insults with Atobe-buchou, and it had taken some time for Choutarou to figure out that this might be Shishido-san's way of thanking their captain, he had turned to Choutarou and called him by name. That was the first time Choutarou really remembered, though at the same time he had recalled an increasing number of Choutarous slipping in among the Ohtoris during the weeks they worked together.

No one else at the school called him by his given name.

Choutarou wondered, sometimes, if Atobe-buchou had seen it starting then. It would explain why he had immediately thrown them together as a doubles pair. It was the kind of thing that he, long acquainted with Shishido Ryou, might well have seen at once.

It took Choutarou somewhat longer to realize that, when he had given Shishido-san his support, he had gained something in return, tossed in his path as easily as Shishido-san might toss him a towel after a long practice.

Shishido-san's loyalty.

Choutarou was friendly with many, but friends with few. It was the way he had always been. Shishido-san didn't seem to care. He breezed through Choutarou's public manners as casually as he elbowed past Atobe-buchou's arrogance. Ohtori Choutarou was now his partner, and his friend, and that was that.

Choutarou had been stunned.

He had never known someone who would so freely grab his arm to get his attention, grin at him to share an inside joke, yell at anyone he found giving Choutarou grief about his control and then turn around and lecture Choutarou himself about the same thing. He had certainly never known anyone at Hyoutei who matched his focus on the court without hesitation or complaint. But Shishido-san did all of that, now. And, for the first time since he had entered the tennis club, Choutarou had relaxed. As part of a pair, his success was no longer purely dependant on his own effort and will; but Shishido-san's fierceness left no room for anxiety or reluctance to depend on him.

When they had beaten Oshitari-senpai and Mukahi-senpai at doubles, Choutarou had returned Shishido-san's brilliant grin with a smile so open it felt strange on his face.

Shishido-san's determination for him, and pride in him, when it came to defeating Choutarou's own weaknesses, had, for the first time, given Choutarou more than his own will to support him.

Shishido-san's spendthrift energy and warmth had drawn Choutarou in until he found it hard to imagine living without them. But in another half a year...

A cold, dripping waterbottle against the back of his neck pulled Choutarou out of his introspection with a yelp.

"You're miles away, Choutarou," Shishido-san chuckled, dropping onto the bench beside him. "What's up?"

"I was just thinking," he said, taking a sip of water to cover his confusion.

"About what?" his partner prodded, leaning back. He waited while Choutarou gathered his thoughts.

"This spring, mostly. Graduation," Choutarou answered, finally. "I... don't really like the thought of playing alone again."

"Who said anything about alone?" Shishido-san asked, sharply. Choutarou blinked at him. "Just because we can't play together in the tournaments for a year, that doesn't mean a thing. We're a team, Choutarou. The Shishido-Ohtori pair. Got it?" Shishido glared at him, the one that meant he thought his partner was being dense.

"Of course," Choutarou said, slowly, "but it will be two years before we can play as a pair again."

"Bullshit," Shishido-san pronounced. Choutarou opened his mouth and closed it again. He contented himself, at last, with raising his brows at his partner. Shishido-san grinned, teeth gleaming.

"First class doubles pairs are hard to find," he said, "especially at the really competitive schools. They'll let us play. You'll see. Atobe likes to win."

Ah. Shishido-san did have a point. And Choutarou had no doubt that Atobe-buchou would have a good deal of influence, even as a second year.

"So," Shishido-san continued, "the only thing you have to worry about next year is keeping Hiyoshi from trying to take over the entire world."

"Shishido-san, he's not that bad..." Choutarou began, a smile starting at the corners of his mouth.

"I imagine I'll be stuck as the one who gets to try and keep Atobe's ego from gaining any more mass, than, say, Jupiter," his partner continued, blithely.

"Shishido-san..." Choutarou was laughing now.

"And we'll have to get together often to blow off steam about what a pain they are to deal with, and since we'll be together we might as well get in some match time while we're at it, right?"

"Yes, Shishido-san," Choutarou agreed, once he caught his breath.

His partner nodded at him, firmly.

"Don't you forget it, Choutarou."

"I won't," Choutarou promised.

End

Relay

After the third-years graduate, how do those who remain adjust? Drama, I-2

Ryouma didn't exactly mind that Nationals were over. After all, they had won. He did, however, mind that the third years were retiring from the tennis club. How was he supposed to beat all his senpai if they weren't around to play against?

On the other hand, in the midst of the day's goodbyes, and team bonding, and dodging Kikumaru-senpai, he had wandered across Tezuka-buchou explaining Momo's new duties to him, and that was good for a laugh.

A silent laugh, so Tezuka-buchou wouldn't send him away.

"...and, of course, the assignments for the ranking matches," Tezuka-buchou finished. "It's a good idea to keep a running list of which players might balance out the blocks."

Momo looked a little dazed, and Ryouma couldn't resist needling just a little. "Sounds like the job is mostly paperwork," he noted. "Maybe it should have been Kaidou-senpai after all; he's a lot better at finishing homework on time."

His friend shot a glare over his shoulder while Ryuuzaki-sensei grinned.

"Kaidou is very conscientious," Tezuka-buchou agreed, evenly. "But Momoshiro has developed a better eye for broad strategy."

Momo blinked at this unusually direct compliment, and looked down, almost fidgeting. His embarrassment would have been another good opportunity for teasing, which would only be fair turnabout, really, but Ryouma only tugged down his cap a bit, acknowledging his captain's unspoken command to stop poking holes in the new captain's confidence.

Ryuuzaki-sensei got in the last word, though, which Ryouma supposed he should have expected.

"I wouldn't laugh too hard, Ryouma," she said, dryly. "After all, it's almost certain to be you in another year."

Ryouma choked, and stared at her, wide-eyed, as Momo snickered.

"So, Echizen," Momo called over the whir of bike wheels, "how many times a week do you think you're going to have to smack Arai's ego down?"

Ryouma made a face. Despite riding backwards and not being able to see his friend, he was sure Momo was grinning. "Inui-senpai does averages, not me."

The fact was, though, after finally making it into a regular slot in the wake of the departing third years, Arai had gotten even more annoying. And Ryouma had, in fact, stooped to deliberately showing him up a few times just to make him quiet down.

"And here I thought you had a schedule," Momo said, lightly. "It's seemed like you were taking some trouble to keep him in line the past couple weeks."

Ryouma made a noncommittal noise.

"Especially when he starts in on Kachirou," Momo added, perfectly casual.

Ryouma appreciated the sideways tact Momo used to ask him questions like this. Because, of course, the question behind Momo's comments was What are you trying to maneuver your teammates into? Momo had gotten very good at guessing what kind of things Ryouma wouldn't like to admit to out loud. He leaned against Momo's back and shrugged, knowing his friend would feel it. "We need more people who can play doubles, don't we?"

Momo was quiet for a moment. "You think Kachirou will be good enough to make it into the Regulars by spring?"

Ryouma, since he was out of sight, let himself smile at Momo's tone. It was serious and focused, the tone of a team captain asking for the opinion of one of his players before he made a decision. It was the tone that, when used in front of Kaidou-senpai, made him stop hissing and growling over what an idiot Momo was. Not, of course, that he ever did that where anyone but Momo or Ryouma was likely to hear.

"He has the ability, as long as he has the chance to work on it," Ryouma answered. "And he'll work for it." He left it unspoken that Kachirou had more of Seigaku's spirit, that way, than Arai did. He thought Momo had probably already noticed that.

"All right, we'll work on it," Momo said, decisively. "Anyone else you've got your eye on?"

"You're the captain," Ryouma pointed out. "Momo-buchou."

"Oh, knock it off," Momo growled.

Ryouma was perfectly straight-faced, as he waited for Momo to lock up.

"Long day, wasn't it?" he prodded.

"Oh, yeah, go ahead and laugh," Momo complained.

"All those new first years watching you."

"Echizen."

"Looking up to you as a role model."

"Echizen..."

"Lot of responsibility, isn't it?"

Momo turned around and glowered at him, sorting through his keys for the one to his bike chain.

"Do you wish Tezuka-buchou had picked Kaidou-senpai yet?" Ryouma finished, raising his brows inquiringly.

"If I agree to pay for food, will you shut up about this?" Momo asked, just a little plaintively.

Ryouma grinned. "Sure."

"Brat." Momo slung an arm across Ryouma's shoulders as they headed for the bike racks. Ryouma hunched them just a little, thankful that he was getting big enough not to be pulled off his feet by that maneuver anymore. Which probably made it less effective retribution, from Momo's point of view, but that was just too bad. Ryouma had always done his part of their roughhousing more subtlely, twitting Momo with jabs of words or expression. If it bugged Momo that physical retaliation couldn't keep up his end of the game anymore, he was perfectly capable of switching tactics.

Maybe that new responsibility was affecting Momo's brain, though, because he hesitated, and cocked his head at Ryouma. "Do you really mind it?" he asked, tightening his arm for a second.

Ryouma blinked and shrugged, not hard enough to dislodge the arm. "No big deal," he muttered. Certainly, it had gotten a little wearing to be pounced on by Kikumaru-senpai. But Momo was just like that, and he'd gotten used to it. Momo didn't mind that Ryouma was quiet and obnoxious, and Ryouma didn't mind that Momo was loud and obnoxious. They met in the middle, and it all worked out. He hadn't really thought it needed to be said.

"Good," Momo declared. "Didn't think so, but..." He ruffled a hand through Ryouma's hair.

Ryouma swatted the hand away, glaring. Momo grinned.

"C'mon, Echizen, food's on me," he said, airily. "Maybe we'll get lucky and there'll be something interesting on the street courts tonight."

The team was coming together, no one had broken anyone's neck, the club's fans were actually a little quieter than usual, they were into training for the tournament season, and Ryouma could feel his edge slipping.

What was even more annoying was that his dad noticed it.

It would have been less annoying that Ryuuzaki-sensei noticed, too, if she'd had anything useful to say on the subject.

"You need more competition, Ryouma, this year's team isn't strong enough to keep you moving along."

Ryouma eyed her from under his cap. "I know."

"And he's not the only one," Momo put in from where he was fishing out his water bottle. "But that's easier said than done."

Their coach gave them a half-lidded stare. "Maybe." And then she strolled away.

Momo and Ryouma looked at each other.

"What was that about?" Momo wanted to know.

Kaidou sniffed, on his way past. "Idiot," he stated, quietly.

"What?!" Momo growled, just as quietly.

Ryouma hid a smile. Positions of responsibility hadn't stopped them bickering. They just did it more softly now. Wouldn't do for the captain and vice-captain to have a screaming fight in the middle of practice. He had overheard Ryuuzaki-sensei explaining this to them very clearly after the first time they did have one, and both of them had been rubbing their ears as they emerged from that little talk.

"I'll lock up today," Kaidou-senpai said.

Momo blinked at this non sequitur, but Ryouma suddenly remembered Kaidou-senpai, last week, consulting something that looked a lot like a recently updated exercise menu in Inui-senpai's writing. He remembered thinking, just a bit enviously, that maybe Kaidou was still practicing with Inui-senpai. Ryouma almost heard his brain click as it all fell together. He eyed Momo. "Not a very long walk to the high school campus," Ryouma observed. "We should make it if we leave right after practice."

"Just a walk up the hill," Momo agreed, smiling now, apparently pleased enough to ignore Kaidou's mutter of Took you long enough.

Ryouma tipped his head and gave Kaidou's back a one-sided grin. "Thanks, Kaidou-senpai."

Kaidou-senpai waved it off, brusquely. For one instant, Ryouma dearly wished for one of Fuji-senpai's cameras, because he could have blackmailed Momo for years with a shot of the nearly affectionate look he gave his yearmate.

So Momo and Ryouma snuck off the instant practice was over, and made their way uphill. Momo's cheerful smile got them directions to the tennis courts, and Ryouma was somehow unsurprised to see Fuji-senpai, Inui-senpai and Tezuka-buchou leaning against the fence while the last of the high school tennis club left. Inui-senpai smiled an unnervingly pleased smile, and held out a hand to Fuji-senpai. Fuji-senpai silently dug in his pocket and dropped coins into Inui-senpai's palm. Then he smiled at them, too.

"That was quicker than I expected," he told them, genially.

Ryouma stifled the urge to step quickly behind Momo. He was too big for that to be really effective anymore.

"Ryuuzaki-sensei obtained permission for us to use the courts after hours," Tezuka-buchou told them without preamble.

Ryouma felt the tingle of anticipation for a good game sweep through him, and nearly sighed with relief. He hadn't felt that nearly often enough, since winter started. There was a nice glow, a relaxation into the effort, that came when he played Momo, but it didn't put sharp edges on the world and make his blood sing.

"What are we waiting for, then?" he asked.

Doubles pairs were peculiar things, Ryouma decided. He understood a little better the players who could do doubles or singles with equal facility, like Kachirou, or Ibu and Kamio. But the dedicated pairs were just weird. He could swear that he'd just finished playing two people, despite the fact that only Ohtori had stood on the court and that Shishido had barely said a word the entire game. Watching Momo gradually box in Hiyoshi, Ryouma reflected that maybe he was glad he still really didn't work very well in doubles. He didn't mind being part of a team; and there were people he didn't mind being close to, if they understood each other. But that was... understanding. Two people who were just on the same wavelength. It wasn't so... intrusive.

As they gathered up to leave, Ryouma took a look at the lemon-sucking expression on the face of Hyoutei's captain and the light of absolute determination in his eye, and his mouth quirked.

"Maybe, if we play Hyoutei again, this year, you should put Kaidou-senpai up against Hiyoshi," he suggested to Momo. "I bet they'd get along."

Momo laughed. "I'd put a little more weight on whether Kaidou can beat him than whether they get along."

"It goes together," Ryouma pointed out. "Tachibana, Atobe, Sanada, Yukimura, Tezuka-buchou—it's why they play good games against each other."

Momo looked at him rather oddly, and Ryouma raised his brows. He couldn't believe that Momo hadn't seen it; in fact, he knew Momo had seen it, because he'd commented on it before, if not quite in the same terms.

"You have a strange definition of getting along, Echizen," Momo said, at last.

Ryouma blinked and shrugged. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah. And you're right about Kaidou and Hiyoshi." Momo looked thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe that would work."

Ryouma nodded. He'd known Momo would understand.

Theoretically, Ryouma was doing homework over at Momo's house.

Actually, he had long since finished his own English homework, checked Momo's, and moved along to snooping in Momo's paperwork, which was a lot more interesting.

"You put us in the same block again?" he asked. "Kaidou-senpai is going to accuse you of keeping the good competition for yourself, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Momo agreed, draping himself off his bed and over Ryouma's shoulder.

Ryouma eyed him sidelong and sighed.

"What?" Momo grinned. "You did say you didn't mind."

Ryouma opened his mouth to point out that he hadn't said he didn't mind Momo taking the place of his jacket, but then closed it again. To say that would immediately invite the question of whether he really did mind, and he would then have to admit that he didn't. It was just Momo and Momo wasn't annoying like that, though he doubted he could explain why not, if pressed. Better not to say anything.

"Besides," Momo went on, more seriously, "if I put myself and Kaidou in the same block we might get careless because we're in too much of a hurry to get at each other. And this lets me put Arai and Kachirou in separate blocks, too.

Which could only be considered a good idea, Ryouma admitted. Arai had never quite gotten past his whole seniority thing.

"You know, everyone thinks it's some kind of miracle that you and Kaidou-senpai can play doubles together when you don't do anything but fight anywhere else," he mused.

Momo shrugged. "We fight enough that we know each other. I trust his strength, and he trusts my belief in it. That's all we really need."

Ryouma smiled, and glanced at his friend. "Not bad, Momo-buchou."

"Just you wait, Echizen," Momo told him, with a dark look. "Your turn's coming up, and I'm going to get my laugh in, too, before I go."

Another day, another round of paperwork. Ryouma was starting to wonder whether he could convince Ryuuzaki-sensei to make Kachirou captain next year.

Today, though, there was something of more personal interest than usual.

"Momo-senpai."

"Hm?" Momo asked, from the depths of his Science textbook.

"You're putting me in Singles One against Josuikan."

"Yep."

"You think we're going to get to Singles One, against them?"

"Nope."

"Momo," Ryouma growled, completely out of patience.

Momo looked up with a wry smile. "I know you want to play absolutely every match you possibly can, Echizen. But it isn't good for the team to always rely on you to pull their nuts out of the fire, and it isn't good for you to get into the habit of carrying too much. You should get a little bit of rest, at this point in the season."

"Rest?" Ryouma repeated, with careful disbelief.

"Yeah, rest." Momo sounded both amused and a little exasperated. "That thing you think you never need. You have to learn to pace yourself someday, you know. Not," Momo added, turning a page, "that I have any reason to think I'll be able to convince you to do it, when Tezuka-san couldn't."

Ryouma sat back, grimacing. He hated it when Momo got all reasonable on him. He supposed it was a good thing it didn't happen too often. "As if you have room to talk," he grumbled, quietly.

"Yeah, it's always hard to judge for yourself," Momo agreed, easily. "That's what we have other people for."

Ryouma gave it up. Not that he wasn't going to glower at appropriate moments, to remind Momo that he was annoyed about this. But he'd known from the start that Momo had a protective streak. The fact that it always irritated Ryouma when it was applied to him just made it the more ironic that it was a major reason he had trusted Momo immediately.

Besides, Momo had a point about the team. If Momo wanted his players to take Ryouma's example, rather than let Ryouma do all the work... well, that was how a captain should think.

Ryouma really wondered whether he could pawn the position off on someone else.

"We should..." a yawn interrupted Momo, "get going, if you want to catch Atobe at the park courts tonight."

Ryouma stayed right where he was, sprawled in the warm grass under the trees. "Up late last night?" he asked.

Momo waved a hand dismissively, and then had to use it to cover another yawn. "My sister has an earache," he admitted. "I stayed up with her, reading, when she couldn't get to sleep. Anyway," he prodded Ryouma in the ankle with a toe, "you wanted the practice against Atobe to be sure you're in good shape to take Kirihara next week. We should head out."

"No hurry," Ryouma said, folding his arms behind his head.

"You're just like that cat of yours," Momo accused, slumping back down himself. "Impossible to move once you get comfortable."

Less than ten minutes later a faint snore sounded beside Ryouma, and he smiled. He did have to suppress a start when Momo rolled over to use him as a pillow, though. He'd woken up like that, often enough, but usually he was asleep himself before they managed to sprawl into each other. Personally, Ryouma blamed buses. First they made you fall asleep, and then they made you fall over.

He pulled his bag over to make a pillow for himself. He could track down Atobe later.

"All things considered, I expect you already know how this job works," Ryuuzaki-sensei told Ryouma.

He gave her a resigned look, waiting for her to finish whatever official lecture would seal his doom.

Momo was snickering.

"Congratulations, you're captain. It's more than I ever managed to wring out of your father. Enjoy it. Or not. Now get out of here and go say your goodbyes." She waved them off.

"So," Momo said, getting his laughter under control as they moved back towards the courts, "what do I have to bribe you with to get you to keep helping me with English while I study for exams?"

After a judicious moment of consideration, Ryouma rejected the bill for food as too easy. "You have to listen to me complain about the paperwork," he decided.

"Deal," Momo agreed, instantly. "I'll stick around campus until practice is over, then; it'll make it easier if you keep riding home with me."

Ryouma eyed his friend. "Thinking of 'sticking around' the courts?" he asked, pointedly.

Momo looked a bit sheepish. "Eh, you guessed."

"Study inside, Momo-senpai," Ryouma told him. "We can practice for real up the hill."

Momo grinned at him, wryly. "Whatever you say, buchou."

Ryouma glared, and had his hair ruffled for his trouble. Still, he supposed he had earned that one. Captain. He suppressed a shudder. Should be an interesting year. He let Momo wind an arm around his shoulders and steer him back to his club.

End

Long Exposure - Two

Fuji, slowly, learns how to be cared for; fortunately, Tachibana is patient. Drama with UST, I-3

Shuusuke sat with his chin in his hands and watched as Tachibana celebrated the first week of their first year in high school with an... experiment.

He couldn't quite manage to simply call it "cooking", not when he'd seen labs using hazardous chemicals pursued with less concentration.

Tachibana tasted what had started life as a Thai curry recipe with a thoughtful expression. He rummaged through through the spice rack for yet another unmarked canister and shook a careful sprinkle into the pot. After a thorough stir and another taste he finally nodded.

"Almost ready for the squid. Fuji, could you give me a hand and chop those lime leaves into strips?" he asked, turning to the refrigerator.

"Of course," Shuusuke agreed. As he arranged the leaves on their long axis and took the knife Tachibana handed over, he reflected on the knack Tachibana had, the one Shuusuke admitted all his friends probably had to have, of drawing him in. Of making him participate rather than simply watch. Tachibana seemed to do it more unthinkingly than Eiji, who favored nagging until Shuusuke gave in. It was a game between them. Tachibana just asked, as casually as if he never noticed Shuusuke's tendency to observe from the sidelines.

It was a puzzle, since Shuusuke couldn't imagine that someone as observant as Tachibana himself was really hadn't noticed. Fortunately, Shuusuke was fond of puzzles.

"So, how is the high school tennis club?" he asked, recalling Tachibana's misgivings on that subject. Tachibana sniffed.

"There is one. That's almost all I can say for it." The innocent squid received an increasingly cold look. "The players are third rate, judging kindly, with no discipline to speak of. The coach lets them slack along with no motivation at all."

"Ah, well, history is hard to overcome," Shuusuke needled, gently. Tachibana gave him a trenchant look that Shuusuke parried with a cheerful smile.

It was true in both senses, though. Certainly the inertia of apathy did nothing to help Fudoumine's high school tennis club. But the history that clung to Tachibana himself undoubtedly formed a stumbling block of its own. Ann had told him the whole story one day, last winter, when Tachibana had been detained by school matters and she had detailed herself to console his friend by taking Shuusuke for hot chocolate. Fear of Tachibana kept the coach and other students from interfering with his team, but it probably wouldn't make either listen to his recommendations now.

"It isn't as though I make a habit of losing my temper," Tachibana grumbled, taking the shredded lime leaves and stirring them in. Shuusuke leaned against the counter beside him.

"No. But you can and you have, and that's enough." Shuusuke was familiar with the phenomenon.

"It shouldn't be," Tachibana said, inflexibly. "Anyone with the common sense to look at the circumstances would know perfectly well that I'm no more dangerous than you to people who are merely infuriating."

Shuusuke blinked at him. After a moment his silence seemed to catch Tachibana's attention.

"What?" his friend asked. "It's obvious that you never let your temper go unless someone provokes you intolerably. You certainly never lose it on your own behalf."

Shuusuke blinked again. Even his own teammates were a little... wary with him at times. But Tachibana appeared both serious and completely matter-of-fact. He made no further comment, but offered Shuusuke a spoon and gestured to the pot.

"See what you think."

Shuusuke complied, and made a small, pleased, sound over the rich, tangy burn.

"Wonderful," he declared. Tachibana nodded, satisfied.

And then he proceeded to divide the concoction into two separate pans, and added four cans of spice-diluting cocoanut milk to the larger, before apportioning the squid and covering them to simmer.

"Then everyone should have a good dinner," he concluded.

Really, very little escaped Tachibana's notice, Shuusuke decided.

By the middle of summer, Shuusuke was a frequent enough visitor at Tachibana's house to tease his mother by calling her okaa-san, which made her laugh and say that he could almost pass for Ann's brother. Ann had suggested that Tachibana should start calling Shuusuke his little brother, so Shuusuke could see what it was like for himself. Tachibana had given them all a tolerant look and sent Ann to fetch more ice for the water pitcher.

He seemed to understand how sensitive the subject of little brothers was for Shuusuke. Which made it more uncomfortable when he did press the issue.The most uncomfortable conversation on the subject actually started as one about Tezuka.

"I told him, today," Shuusuke said, looking out the door to the Tachibanas' porch.

"Tezuka?" Tachibana asked, and Shuusuke nodded.

"I told him I would play for him until we graduated. After that," Shuusuke shook his head, "there's really nothing in it for me." Tachibana's mouth twisted a bit.

"Did he argue with that?"

"No." Shuusuke gave his friend an honest half smile. "Tezuka understands, I think."

Tachibana said something under his breath that sounded like about time, but, before Shuusuke could ask, Ann came flying into the room and tackled her brother, who oof-ed obligingly.

"You're almost too big to do that any more, Ann," he told her, laying a hand on her head and smiling down at her. "What is it?"

"Okaa-san wants me to go shopping for some vegetables and fish. Is there anything you want me to pick up?"

"If you pick up some plums I'll make umeboshi."

Ann squeaked happily and promised to do so.

"Bye, Onii-chan, Fuji-niisan!" she called back on her way out the door.

"Ann..." Tachibana sighed, looking after her with exasperation. Shuusuke suppressed a chuckle. Nothing her brother said convinced Ann to stop calling Shuusuke that.

"It's all right," he said, mildly. Tachibana turned thoughtful eyes on him.

"Have you told your brother yet?" he asked. Shuusuke ruthlessly held back a flinch.

"Not yet. Did I tell you that Yuuta is the captain of St. Rudolph's tennis club this year? The start of term is busy, and he hasn't visited home yet, but he sent me an email to say." He turned his public smile to Tachibana, and had to stifle a second flinch.

Tachibana's expression was even and waiting, and just a touch stern. It was the same expression Shuusuke saw on Tezuka, when Tezuka knew he was talking around something.

"Fuji," Tachibana said, quietly. Shuusuke looked away. "He's not angry at you."

"Really." Shuusuke let his eyes turn sharp, even though he'd already noted that it didn't have quite the usual effect on Tachibana. He still wanted his friend to know he was getting annoyed.

"Not," Tachibana allowed, "that he isn't several times more likely to argue with you about this than Tezuka. I expect Yuuta-kun will be outraged that he won't have the chance to keep trying to beat you."

An involuntary snort of laughter escaped Shuusuke. He had to admit, that sounded very likely.

"Fuji, part of why he loves tennis is because he loves you."

That hit Shuusuke like a ball in the stomach, and he swallowed hard. There were times when he would have preferred a less perceptive friend.

"Does Ann-chan ever get angry at you just for being her older brother?" he asked, quietly.

"Of course she does, how do you think I know?" Tachibana answered, looking rueful. "Not to mention the uproar as soon as I say the first word about her dates."

"Now that," Shuusuke observed, "is not something I've had to worry about."

"Be thankful for your blessings," Tachibana told him, darkly. Shuusuke smiled for real.

"Oh, I am."

It was an especially frosty day, which suited Shuusuke's mood admirably.

He knocked on Tachibana's door, and made polite conversation with his mother absently and automatically, mind ticking down the minutes until he could gracefully leave her and go find Tachibana in his room. Tachibana let him in, looking a bit surprised since they hadn't arranged to meet that day and Shuusuke hadn't called ahead. He ceded the desk chair, which by the looks of it he had been working at, to Shuusuke and sat against the side of his bed.

Shuusuke examined his folded hands, considering the best way to begin.

"The tennis club was talking today about who were likely to be Regulars next year," he said at last. "Everyone assumes Tezuka and I, and Eiji and Oishi, of course." He paused. "One of the second years, it seems, has noticed you and I talking at the tournaments this year, and wanted to know if it was all right with me, being so friendly with someone who would be an enemy. He was joking, I think," Shuusuke added as Tachibana started forward a little.

"As we were leaving, though," he continued, "Tezuka mentioned to me that I would not, in fact, be playing you. Ever. That you had asked not."

"Yes, I did," Tachibana agreed. The casual calm of his tone came close to snapping Shuusuke's temper. One more question, he thought.

"Did you think I needed to be protected?" he asked, and despite his best control he could hear the cut-glass edge in his own voice. Tachibana was silent almost long enough to make Shuusuke look up at him.

"Yes," he said at last. Shuusuke's gaze shot up at that, glaring.

"I am not weak," he enunciated, low and dangerous, "nor fragile, nor so volatile that I can't handle playing against you."

"I didn't think you were," Tachibana sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, looking harried. "Fuji..."

Shuusuke raised a brow and waited. He didn't move as Tachibana got up and came to kneel in front of the chair. Not an eyelash flickered as Tachibana set both hands on his shoulders.

"Fuji, everyone needs to be protected. Even the ones who usually do the protecting. It doesn't mean you're weak; it means you're as human as the next person. And I don't, for one instant, believe you are less human than the next person."

Shuusuke stiffened, hearing echoes in his mind of things overheard, spoken behind hands. It wasn't very far from genius to monster, he'd known that for a long time. But that wasn't the point.

"I don't need to be sheltered," he said, firmly. Tachibana heaved a much longer sigh this time.

"Fuji, listen to me," he said. "Just because you can survive exposure to ice cold rain doesn't mean it's healthy. I'm not saying you aren't strong enough for everyone else, or that you shouldn't be. Just let someone return the favor every now and then." His eyes softened. "No one ever really has, have they? Or you wouldn't be making so much of this."

That gave Shuusuke pause for thought. Eiji helped him... to make mischief. He always listened when Shuusuke wanted to talk, but he never pushed and he'd certainly never done anything like this. Onee-san, well, she was always there, but... never like this. Tezuka... Tezuka drew him on. Tezuka guarded, but he didn't protect. Still. Wasn't there some inconsistency, in Tachibana saying this to him?

"Who do you let protect you?" he challenged. The sudden lightening of Tachibana's expression took him by surprise.

"Ann, sometimes. Kamio, sometimes." Tachibana laughed a little. "Neither of them would ever forgive me if I didn't let them."

Shuusuke considered that. No one with the slightest observational skills would ever suggest that Tachibana Kippei was less than a very able protector of his family and his team. Yet... they protected him? Memories emerged, of Ann facing down anyone who showed her brother and his people less than respect, of Kamio fielding administrative problems before they could ever come to his captain's attention. Perhaps they did, Shuusuke mused.

Actually, that suggested a compromise that his heart and mind might both agree on.

"Would you let me?" he asked. Tachibana smiled up at him slowly.

"Turn about is certainly fair play," he admitted.

He started to sit back, and, impulsively, Shuusuke caught one hand as it left his shoulder. Just to say thank you... it wasn't enough this time. He lifted Tachibana's hand, pressed his lips to the back of the fingers, and let go.

He heard Tachibana's breath catch. The fingers paused, returned to brush against his cheek, light as butterflies landing.

"Fuji?" he asked, very softly.

Shuusuke found he could only look at Tachibana openly for a few moments. There was warmth there. Not just an umbrella against that cold rain, but a pile of towels, too, Shuusuke though, amused at his own imagery. But it was warmth he wasn't quite sure how to reach towards.

"I interrupted your homework, I'm sorry," he apologized, veiling his eyes again.

"It's all right." Tachibana stood and stepped back. "I was about to take a break and make some tea in any case. Join me?"

"I'd like that," Shuusuke agreed.

TBC

Fearful Symmetry

Snippets of how Ohtori and Shishido keep company while they're apart, during Ohtori's third year of junior high and Shishido's first year of high school. Drama With Romance, I-3

Ohtori

At the end of the first day of his last year of junior high school, Choutarou found Shishido-san leaning against the wall of the school grounds, waiting for him. Tension he had carried all day without noticing unwound from his shoulders.

"Shishido-san," he greeted.

"Choutarou. How'd it go? Is it Hiyoshi?" Shishido-san fell in beside him, hitching his bag over his shoulder. Choutarou nodded.

"Hiyoshi-kun is captain this year. I think it will work well. He's very different from Atobe-san." It didn't need to be said that Atobe-san had the ability to back up his flamboyance, and anyone else who tried to use the same style to lead the club was likely to make a fool of himself. Shishido-san chuckled, just a bit nastily.

"Yoshimaru-buchou is already worrying about Atobe."

"But seniority won't let Atobe-san take his position," Choutarou said, puzzled. "Not even Atobe-san."

"No. But he'll be playing as a Regular; no one really doubts that. And it won't be fun, being captain when the ace who can beat his socks off is a first year," Shishido-san pointed out.

Choutarou smiled at Shishido-san's glee over his captain's discomfiture. Yoshimaru-san must be the quiet type; that always made his partner uncomfortable. He listened, as Shishido-san detailed the quirks and attitudes of the high school tennis club, in a better mood than he'd been all day.

Shishido

Ryou eyed the sakura trees along the route home with annoyance. Sure, they were pretty, but they also made a mess, and you'd think the things would have finished blooming by now. It was getting on toward summer.

"Shishido-san?"

Ryou glanced back at his companion with a quick grin.

"Yeah, so, anyway, Kaa-san said it would be fine with her, even if we run late and you wind up staying for dinner now and then. I figure it's easier to get work done with company; even if we're not studying the same things."

Choutarou still looked hesitant, but Ryou knew better than to take that personally. His partner was just allergic to putting himself forward, at least socially.

"I'll have to ask," he started, and Ryou's grin widened.

"No you won't. Kaa-san decided to call your mother herself. They agreed to trade off who feeds us." Ryou nudged Choutarou in the ribs to make him close his mouth. "The direct approach runs in the family," he added.

"So does thinking ahead of your opponent," Choutarou told him, with a small smile to show he was teasing. Ryou was pleased. Most people would probably say Ohtori Choutarou wasn't capable of teasing, or of a smile that bright. Nice, but distant, most people would say. Not, Ryou thought, smugly, with him.

"Just anticipating my partner," he corrected, easily. The way they should be.

Ohtori

Shishido-san flopped down on the bench beside Choutarou and grabbed for his water bottle.

"Is anything wrong, Shishido-san?" Choutarou asked. "You seemed kind of distracted today."

It was as polite a way as he could think of to point out that Choutarou didn't normally win when they played singles against each other. It was getting closer, but still. Shishido-san shook his head and tossed Choutarou his own water.

"Just had a weird night," he said, reassuringly. Choutarou raised his eyebrows. Shishido-san made a face.

"I was out playing pool last night, and ran across Seigaku's Fuji." He shuddered, though Choutarou thought he probably did it for effect. "Never, ever trust that guy, especially if he's smiling. He completely fleeced four players in an hour, and three of them were the kind who usually do the fleecing themselves. And when one of his fellow sharks took exception to being cleaned out, Fuji backed him off without even raising his voice. He's seriously creepy."

Choutarou found himself smiling just a little at the disgruntled tone of Shishido-san's story telling. He rather thought that Shishido-san's real distraction came from the reminder that he wasn't playing in the tournaments this year, while Fuji was. It was something close to unheard of, to have two first years among the Regular team, but Seigaku's high school captain was apparently more interested in giving talent free rein than abiding by seniority. Hiyoshi-kun had smiled an extremely sharp smile, when he'd heard, probably at the idea of what Atobe-san would have said when he heard.

"I think another doubles pair has showed up, Shishido-san," he said, instead. "Do you want to ask them for a game?"

Shishido-san's eyes glinted, annoyance forgotten.

"Why don't we do that?"

Shishido

Ryou still hadn't managed to stop snickering by the time he met Choutarou to walk home. His partner gave him an inquiring look.

"Did something happen at practice, Shishido-san?"

"You could say that, yeah," Ryou snorted. "Oshitari and Mukahi finally got walked in on. And the best part," he added, snickering again, "was that Oshitari just looked over his shoulder, told them to come back in fifteen minutes, and kept right on. In the general club room, no less! I knew it was gonna happen some day."

Choutarou cleared his throat, and Ryou saw that he was blushing. Whoops. Sometimes he forgot just how reserved his partner was about personal things. He patted Choutarou's shoulder.

"Didn't mean to embarrass you, Choutarou. It was just that everyone's reactions were hysterical! You should have heard Atobe reading Oshitari the riot act about doing things with style."

Ah, there was the little smile, again. The one from their early days as a pair, that meant Choutarou wasn't entirely sure, yet, that he should be showing that he was happy or amused. A change of subject would probably make him relax again.

"So, how did your matches against Fudoumine go?" he asked, "I meant to come watch, but Atobe was feeling like a bastard and practically dragged me to the high school matches instead." And he was going to get Atobe back for that. He was not married to his partner, thank you very much, he just cared more about Choutarou than the entire high school tennis club put together.

"Tachibana-san couldn't make it to this match, to watch, either, and there's really an edge they lack when he's not there," Choutarou said, a hint of disapproval in his tone. "It went all the way to Singles One, but we won."

"Completely uncool," Ryou agreed, firmly ignoring the small voice in the back of his head that was pointing out certain similarities to his own performance without Choutarou.

That was different. Choutarou wasn't the center of his game; he was just... the other center of his game. Ryou had to shake his head at himself, wryly, before bumping Choutarou with his shoulder.

"So, your mom make any more of those killer chocolate cookies this week?"

Ohtori

Choutarou was having a very bad day. His E string had broken last night, and the store close to his house didn't have the brand he favored. He'd had bizarre dreams that he couldn't remember very well, involving a tennis court that somehow had nets all over it. The lingering restlessness from that had distracted him so much he'd burned three pieces of toast in a row, before Okaa-sama made him sit down and let her do it.

Normally, a match, especially a tournament match, let him put things like that aside, but today he was playing Seigaku's Echizen-kun in Singles Two, and somehow it was just the last straw. Despite all the concentration and discipline he could muster, Choutarou couldn't shake the horrible, foggy feeling of losing right from the start.

He tightened his mental grip as much as he could, preparing to serve.

"Choutarou!"

His head snapped up at the sound of his name, and he spun to see Shishido-san standing behind him, one hand wound into the fence. Choutarou recognized the look on his face. It was the same one he'd had while they worked on controlling his serve. Impatient. Sharp. Burning with incontrovertible belief that Choutarou would succeed.

Choutarou took what felt like his first real breath all day, and nodded. Shishido-san smiled back, bright as sunlight flashing off a knife.

All right, maybe he'd have a little more sympathy for Fudoumine next time. Maybe.

These days Echizen-kun could return over half of Choutarou's serves. This one was not one of that half. As Echizen-kun shook out his hand, he gave Choutarou a one sided smile, eyes interested for the first time this match. Choutarou let his own mouth curve slightly, cool and pleased.

He knew Shishido-san was grinning, behind him.

Shishido

Ryou closed his History of the Heian Era text with a thump and cast himself back, carelessly, across Choutarou's bed.

"I will be so glad when it's next year," he commented to the ceiling, knowing Choutarou would have looked up at the rustle when he fell back. "I mean, singles is fun, and all, but it's just not the same."

"Me, too." Choutarou slipped out of his desk chair to sit leaning against the bed. "There's just something... missing."

"Yeah," Ryou agreed, softly. It was almost enough, just to hang out with Choutarou, to share frustrations over their teams, to redesign the curriculum when they got bored with their homework. And they had played together a lot this year. But there was an extra edge that came with playing as a pair, against real challenges, that the street courts only supplied once in a blue moon.

Though the street courts did make it easier for Atobe to come watch them unobtrusively. Which he was capable of, if he put his mind to it. Being himself, Atobe hadn't said a thing, but Ryou hadn't known him this long for nothing. He had no more doubt that he'd be able to talk Atobe around to supporting he and Choutarou.

"Besides," he went on, mood lightening a little, "somebody's got to get Oshitari and Mukahi's heads out of the clouds. They think they've got a cakewalk to Doubles One next year." He turned his head, crooked grin meeting Choutarou's sudden, brilliant smile. There was confidence there, and anticipation.

"Too bad Oshitari-senpai and Mukahi-senpai will have to settle for second," Choutarou said, reaching out his hand to his partner. Ryou clasped it.

"Yep. Too bad for everyone else."

End

Burning

In the winter of Ohtori's third year of junior high and Shishido's first year of high school. Shishido reflects on his partner, and their bond as a doubles pair. Drama With Romance, I-3

The first time Ryou found himself admiring his partner's body, he chalked it up to hormones and went on from there. He'd read his mother's old human biology textbooks, and knew he was at the age where these things were supposed to start happening. It wasn't the first time he'd caught himself looking at one of his teammates, either.

After a few months, though, he started noticing something.

When he looked at Choutarou the appreciation wasn't colored by his usual awareness that he'd sooner sit through a makeover with his brother's girlfriend than let the person in question within actual arm's reach. And half the time it wasn't precisely Choutarou's body he was appreciating. Of course, Choutarou was striking to look at; the contrast of silver hair and large, dark eyes got lots of attention. But what caught Ryou's attention was the poise of that tall figure; the straightness with which he always held his shoulders; his habit of running a hand through already rumpled hair, making it glow as it feathered down again; the way his eyes brightened and warmed, like chocolate melting, when Ryou complimented his technique.

By the time Ryou figured out that he was genuinely attracted to his partner, and it probably wasn't going away, he had it pretty bad.

Some people, especially a certain other, really annoying, Hyoutei doubles pair, might have said it was a perfect setup. Ryou knew better. For one thing, he had no idea what Choutarou liked. His partner's reserve made him one of the most asexual people Ryou had ever known, short of Hiyoshi. And while Choutarou was a lot nicer about rebuffing advances than his yearmate, everyone who made one to date had still been turned away.

Ryou had no intention of screwing up their combination by coming on to his partner if Choutarou wasn't interested. He and Choutarou were already as close as siblings, without the disadvantage of having annoyed each other all the while growing up. Ryou valued that very highly. His hormones could damn well go sit on ice. He stared out his bedroom window at the light dusting of snow glittering on the trees and houses. It was certainly the right season.

Well, spring would be here soon, and Choutarou would graduate, and they would be in the same school again. He could always keep an eye out, and see. He was pretty sure that, when Choutarou made up his mind what he was interested in, it would show in spite of that reserve. For one thing, Choutarou tended toward the intuitive the same way Ryou tended toward the analytical. With him, everything just was. Which was an occasional drawback when it came to finding and training out his technical weaknesses, but that was what partners were for. For another thing, Choutarou let a lot of his reserve go with Ryou.

Ryou grinned up at his ceiling, remembering his absolute shock, that day he'd heard Choutarou put his position on the line for the sake of Ryou's. That had been the first day he'd seen a hint of the shy, friendly brightness beyond the steel determination that was Choutarou's trademark as a player. That, as much as Choutarou's genuine respect for him in his hour of disgrace, had reconciled him to playing as part of a doubles pair.

"Shishido-san?" came his partner's quiet voice from across the room. Ryou rolled over to see him stacking his books, papers neatly tucked away.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think all doubles pairs are this close?"

Ryou blinked, startled once again at how closely their thoughts matched sometimes.

"Where did that come from?" he asked. Choutarou drew his knees up and rested his chin on them, looking thoughtful.

"My History and Society course is talking about how chance influences events, and it just started me thinking. It was really chance that we wound up as a pair. But we work together really well in doubles, because our styles and personalities fit. And that made me wonder about what it is that makes doubles in general work. All the really good pairs that I've seen seem... very close. I wondered if that personality match is necessary."

Ryou regarded his partner. Was Choutarou's reserve starting to rebel against that closeness? It didn't seem likely; Choutarou had always seemed pleased, almost relieved, that he and Ryou were so in synch. Still.

"We're closer than just a personality match would make us," he observed. "Compatible personalities can happen even with people who have barely met."

Choutarou nodded, solemnly. No clues yet.

"I think the best pairs probably are all close like this. It would take kind of a strange mind to share so much understanding in a game and then just drop it when the game ends," Ryou said, carefully. "Do you mind?"

Choutarou blinked at him, brown eyes wide.

"Oh! No, that wasn't what I meant, Shishido-san," he assured his partner. Ryou relaxed again, mouth quirking.

"You sure?" he asked. Choutarou smiled, and Ryou savored more of that brightness that Choutarou didn't show to anyone else.

"I'm sure," Choutarou affirmed. "I was just wondering about what that means for a pair like Inui-san and Kaidou."

Ryou thought about it for a long moment, and then almost fell off his bed laughing at the mental pictures.

"Shishido-san," his partner admonished, but Ryou could hear the edge of suppressed laughter in his voice.

"I just," he gasped, "had this image of the two of them griping over Tezuka, the way we do over Atobe and Hiyoshi..." He dissolved again, and this time Choutarou was laughing too.

When they calmed down again, Ryou felt satisfaction displacing the uncertainty of his earlier thoughts. As long as he was the one who made Ohtori Choutarou laugh out loud, the rest of it was almost beside the point.

End

Long Exposure - Three

Tachibana and Fuji ease into intimacy. Drama with Romance, I-3

A month into his second year of high school Kippei was very pleased with the world. The fact that he was currently surrounded by spiky, vicious looking plants didn't change that in the slightest. Nor the fact that Fuji was laughing at him, silently. Ann had been laughing at him for weeks, after all, and she was far less subtle about it. But the fact was, Kippei had his team back, and that was enough to distract him from any number of chortling siblings and flora of carnivorous appearance.

Not, of course, that he hadn't been meeting with his team, his real team, to practice all last year. But now they were all in the same school again, and it was official. They were his again, and no one would even consider arguing. Least of all the lingering older tennis club members, none of whom could hold a candle to any of his players.

Fudoumine was back. Was it really any wonder he couldn't stop smiling?

Even if he was wondering how many variations on gray-green and spiky one botanicals exhibit could fit in.

"It's good to see you so happy," Fuji murmured as they wandered the branching, pebbled paths that had, so far, been deserted of any fellow plant-life enthusiasts.

"I suppose I've been a bear about the tennis club for the last year, haven't I?" Kippei asked, as apologetically as he could while he felt like grinning every time he thought of his team. Fuji chuckled.

"No more than Tezuka, certainly. He never said out loud, but we could all tell he was twitchy over not being in control of the team any more."

"He seemed to respect your captain, though," Kippei noted, with a hint of question.

Fuji didn't answer immediately, instead exclaiming over the planting they had just come in sight of.

"They do have a Saguaro!" He laid his hands on the perimeter rope, as if he yearned to reach out and touch the tall plant. To Kippei it looked like the archetype of a cactus: a tall, striated barrel with arms branching out and up. "They're endangered in America," Shuusuke told him, sounding a bit wistful, "I thought it might only be a rumor. They take a very long time to mature; it's one of the problems with propagating them."

"Cacti are good at enduring, aren't they?" Kippei asked. "Surely these will, too."

"They're like any plant. They endure anything except sudden environmental change." His smile quirked. "I suppose it's true of animals, too." He sighed, faintly. "Tezuka does respect Yamato-buchou. He's the one Tezuka got a lot of his sense of responsibility from. But Tezuka prefers direct commands, and Yamato-buchou tends to be rather roundabout. I think it made Tezuka... uncertain. Nor was there really anything any of us could do but wait it out."

Kippei responded automatically to the shadow that darkened Shuusuke's eyes, and wrapped a light arm around his shoulders. He could wish that it didn't make Shuusuke feel guilty when he couldn't help Tezuka, but that was the kind of person Shuusuke was. Natural success always left you ill prepared to deal with any failure at all, even failures that weren't your fault.

"Humans are more flexible than plants," he observed. He glanced down to find Fuji gazing at him with the same curious fascination he had been directing at the cacti. Kippei raised his brows.

"You touch so easily," Fuji said.

"Is there some reason I shouldn't?" Kippei asked. That wistful edge was back in Fuji's voice, so Kippei didn't think the statement was an indirect request to let go. Even when Shuusuke shied back from some intimacy, he never objected to Kippei's touch. Kippei wondered, sometimes, whether that was Fuji's promissory note; his assurance that, when he retreated, he only wanted a little space, not for Kippei to leave him alone. So Kippei had waited and let Fuji choose his own time. Lately, based on the thoughtful, sidelong looks he'd been getting from under Shuusuke's lashes, he had started to hope that the time might be soon.

Thus his increased freedom with touching Fuji, which led to more direct looks. Looks that had begun to seem less thoughtful and more decisive.

Fuji seemed to consider his question, for a moment, before a small, secret smile crossed his face and he leaned ever so slightly against Kippei.

"No."

Kippei felt a tension that had been with him for a long, long time let go. It wasn't that he thought Fuji had been deliberately teasing him...

Well, mostly not.

But the fact remained that Fuji was very skittish about receiving expressions of simple affection. Or, at least, he had been. He seemed to have decided that he could relax now. Kippei slid his arm down to Shuusuke's waist and drew him a little closer. Shuusuke, however, having made up his mind, didn't seem to think this was sufficient. He gave Kippei a sparkling, laughing smile and reached up to tug him down far enough to kiss him.

It was probably fortunate for Kippei's heart that he'd realized some time since that Fuji Shuusuke didn't have much in the way of middle gears. There was neutral, and then there was full ahead. Full ahead, in this case, was a warm, open mouthed kiss that lasted quite a while before Shuusuke let him go. Kippei took a moment to catch his breath and another to be pleased they were still the only visitors at the exhibit.

"You know," he said, eventually, "for the longest time I thought you were in love with Tezuka."

"I will always care very deeply for Tezuka," Fuji told him, softly. "But if we were closer than friends, what he wants from me would be too..."

He broke off, but Kippei could fill in the rest. It was hard enough for Shuusuke to exert his strength seriously against a friend; to do so against a lover would probably tear him apart. He gathered Shuusuke a bit closer, still.

"Was that why you asked not to play opposite me?" Shuusuke asked, suddenly. Kippei blinked down at him a few times before releasing an exasperated sigh.

"I'm not the one who's that machiavellian," he pointed out. "I simply thought it would be better." A chuckle vibrated through the body in his arms, and Kippei realized he was being teased.

He buried a smile of his own in the caramel colored hair under his chin.

Tuesdays, like most days of the week, featured afternoon practices for both Fudoumine and Seigaku. Thus, Kippei was a bit surprised when he emerged from locking up the club room to see Shuusuke pacing like a tiger in a cage under the somewhat alarmed eyes of Akira and Shinji. He must have left practice half-way through to be here already, and that wasn't like Shuusuke.

Nor was the tight-lipped, hard eyed expression on his face as he glanced up at Kippei.

"You're here early," Kippei noted, a bit cautiously.

"Tezuka said I should go," Shuusuke said. His voice was low and sharp, the way it got when he was angry and trying not to show it too much. And if Tezuka had sent him away from practice, it meant that whatever was wrong had made Shuusuke angry enough to affect his game.

Kippei had a few quick words with Akira and Shinji before waving his concerned seconds off and leading Shuusuke under the trees beside the courts. There was room to pace, there, and little likelihood of passers by at this time of day.

"What's wrong?" he asked, leaning against a sturdy maple. Shuusuke stalked to the fence and back.

"Yuuta," he bit out, "is actually considering dating that... snake Mizuki. The one who was almost responsible for injuring him. That heartless, amoral bastard is making advances on my little brother."

Kippei carefully refrained from saying anything foolishly reasonable, at this point, such as It's Yuuta's choice in the end. It wouldn't help. Besides, he knew perfectly well that, if it were Ann, he would have set off immediately to make Mizuki eat his own tennis balls until he renounced any interest in her.

"Are you worried he'll hurt Yuuta-kun?" he asked, instead. Shuusuke came to an abrupt halt, fists clenched.

"It's not just that," he said, at last, sounding more strained now. "Mizuki has used Yuuta, before, to get at me. What if it's like that again? And I can't say something like that to Yuuta, not even to warn him!" He looked at Kippei, tense conflict in his eyes. Kippei winced. No, that wouldn't work very well, would it?

Kippei didn't really think that Yuuta hated the fact that his brother was a better tennis player than he. Anyone who watched him watching Shuusuke play could see the glow of pride, and Yuuta smiled when he heard someone praise Shuusuke's skill. Always provided they didn't mention Yuuta. What invariably enraged the boy seemed to be the automatic assumption that he was secondary. To be told that he was being approached only because of his connection to his brother, to be told by his brother no less, would send him up in flames.

Well, now he understood why Shuusuke was angry and tense enough to show it openly.

Voices coming around the side of the court interrupted his thoughts.

"...tennis club. They have a lot more pull than they did last year." Another second year, who Kippei unfortunately recognized, turned the corner. He seemed to be showing a friend the school grounds. He looked up, noticed Kippei, and immediately sneered.

"Of course, it's still a pretty slapdash club," he remarked loudly. "Mostly a bunch of first years; can't seem to get any interest from the senior students. Rumor has it they're kind of... rowdy."

Kippei sighed. Tokogawa and he had never gotten along, and the other second year liked to bait him. He'd chosen the wrong time to do so, though. Shuusuke was already in a poor temper; something of his had been threatened. He never let something like that slide, and for it to happen twice in one day...

Kippei leaned back against his tree and crossed his arms. Well, with luck this would let Shuusuke release some tension.

Tokogawa froze as Shuusuke pinned him with an arctic blue glare.

"Every team who has gone against Fudoumine with that attitude has met with the humiliating defeat such blindness deserves," Shuusuke said, a flaying edge in his voice. "Their courage and determination, even more than their considerable talent, have earned the respect of both professionals and peers. Of whom you are clearly not one. To belittle something you know nothing of makes it clear how much of a fool you are." His eyes narrowed, glinting, as Tokogawa gaped. "Unless, of course, you would like to try proving to me you do know enough?" he purred, gesturing toward the courts.

Tokogawa nearly tripped over himself getting turned around and hustling his friend away. Shuusuke watched them go, satisfaction wafting off him almost visibly.

"My team will be pleased to know you have such a good opinion of them," Kippei observed, lightly. Shuusuke blinked over his shoulder, focus interrupted. Which had been the point of the comment, after all. Kippei smiled and held out his arms, offering. After a moment Shuusuke gave him a smile back and came to rest against him. Kippei stroked his hair and said nothing more. He didn't know whether it was simply the novelty or not, but being held, silently, always calmed Shuusuke. That Shuusuke would let Kippei calm him seemed like a good sign at the moment.

"I suppose that was an overreaction," Shuusuke sighed, at last, "but it annoys me when people make such petty attacks on you."

"My hero," Kippei teased, gently. Shuusuke sniffed. "What about Ann?" Kippei asked, suddenly.

"What about her?" Shuusuke lifted his head so he could give Kippei a curious look.

"Ann gets along reasonably well with Yuuta-kun, and she shares your opinion of Mizuki," Kippei explained. "She might be able to at least warn him of the possibility."

Shuusuke thought about that, and the longer he thought the wider his smile got. Finally he broke down chuckling, probably at the idea of the outspoken Ann pinning down the touchy, reserved Yuuta for a personal conversation.

"Ann-chan probably would be able to talk to him about it," he said.

"I'll mention it to her, then," Kippei promised.

For the first time that day, Shuusuke truly relaxed, and let his head fall back to Kippei's shoulder. Kippei set aside his own concerns in favor of appreciating the feeling of holding Shuusuke, alone in the warm, still afternoon.

That winter they had an ice storm, on a Saturday night by luck. Kippei found himself wandering through the frozen city, very shortly after sunup Sunday morning, with Shuusuke and his camera. He wasn't entirely clear on how this had come about, but thought it might have had something to do with the phone call before he was entirely awake, and a promise of hot chocolate.

He supposed it was a good thing, every now and again, to be reminded that his lover was a ruthless manipulator who liked to win, and who, moreover, did it by reflex the way most people breathed. At least this time it wasn't the pool hall. He'd never seen so many poor dupes fleeced in such a short period, and Shuusuke's high good humor about the whole affair had been faintly unnerving.

He'd mentioned it to Tezuka the next time they'd met and gotten an amused chuckle in reply. He had never suspected Tezuka of such a low sense of humor.

"All right," Shuusuke announced, having caught one last picture of the sun making an aureole of frozen branches, "that's all the film. Ready to go back?"

Kippei agreed as mildly as he could. Not that the ice-coated trees and streets weren't beautiful, but his toes were getting very numb.

He had never had more cause to be grateful that Yomiko-san was a sweet and thoughtful woman. Not only did she have hot chocolate waiting, she had also put a couple blankets by the heater to warm, and sent them straight up to Shuusuke's room with those and a tray when they piled in the door, shivering. Shuusuke carefully labeled his rolls of film and put them in his to-be-developed basket before availing himself of either.

"There," he said, with satisfaction, perching on the foot of the bed and winding his feet into one of the blankets. "And when it all melts, perhaps I can get some good shots at lower speed."

"What difference does the speed make?" Kippei asked around his mug. Since he suspected he might find himself along for the next trip, too, he might as well know what was going on.

"The longer the shutter says open, the more movement is picked up by the film," Shuusuke explained, wrapping pale fingers around his own mug. "You can get some wonderful effects with running water that way. Here." He leaned over to pluck an album from his shelves, and flipped it open.

Kippei's breath stopped. The photo was a study in contrasts. A small waterfall, long lines of soft white, was surrounded by leaves whose edges looked sharp enough to cut.

"Sometimes it's like the world waits for you," Shuusuke said in a far away tone. "The wind died completely just after I finished setting up the tripod. Nothing moved but the water, for the whole one second exposure. It was perfect."

"Yes," Kippei agreed, softly. Shuusuke glanced up at him, surprise melting into shy pleasure.

"Today was all very short exposure," he continued, busying himself with putting the album away. Kippei shook his head, affectionately. Every time he touched something important to Shuusuke for the first time, Shuusuke slipped around it for a while. "The shorter the exposure, generally, the sharper the image. And ice needs its edges to show the beauty."

"Will you show me today's pictures, when they're ready?" Kippei asked. Shuusuke gave him a smile more brilliant than the reflected morning light outside, and nodded.

Kippei decided, as Shuusuke curled up against him to share all the blankets, that this wasn't such a bad way to start a Sunday after all.

End

Tyger

Ohtori and Shishido finally come to terms with their attraction, and their partnership. Romance With Drama and Porn, I-4

Choutarou had learned years ago that a cool response was his best revenge on hecklers. So, when one of the second years suggested that Shishido-san must have done some extraordinary favors for Atobe to have arranged for the Shishido-Ohtori pair to play, despite Choutarou only being a first year, he didn't twitch. He wanted to feed the smirking bastard his own racquet, but he knew that wouldn't help anything in the long run.

For one thing, he knew no one actually believed any such thing. Shishido-san's... discussion with Atobe-senpai had been quite vehement and perfectly public. Half the club had hung around while Atobe-senpai had arranged for Choutarou and Shishido-san to play a match with the current Doubles Two pair. Their resulting win didn't count toward team rankings, since it had been after actual club practice time, and theoretically their coach was not aware of it. But Choutarou was quietly permitted to play as a pair with Shishido-san again. He had known there would be resentment, as they advanced, even without Atobe-senpai's silent warning just before their "trial" match began.

"If you think we aren't strong enough to be candidates for the Regulars, you're welcome to try proving it, Senpai," Choutarou suggested, calmly, now. The smirk turned into a grimace, which made him feel a little better. What he spotted over the heckler's shoulder made him feel a great deal better.

"That Shishido..." the second year spat, only to be cut off by a razor sharp voice behind him.

"Yeah? What about 'that Shishido'?"

Choutarou couldn't help a tiny smile as the heckler and his two friends whirled around to see Shishido-san leaning against the fence.

"You have a problem with me?" Shishido prodded, pushing away from the fence and advancing. "Or my partner?" he added, eyes narrowing.

He watched their disorderly retreat with a gleam of satisfaction, before sighing.

"It's fun to watch 'em run, but there are times I wish I had your cool, Choutarou. Furokawa's going to be a pain for weeks after this."

Choutarou bit back his initial response, but then thought again. This was Shishido-san, after all. His partner. So.

"I'm glad you don't, Shishido-san," he said, quietly. Shishido-san turned toward him, one winged brow lifting.

"Why not?" he wanted to know.

"It's... a cold way to be," Choutarou explained. "You're not a cold person."

Shishido-san's expressive mouth twisted, wryly.

"And you are?" he asked smacking Choutarou on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "Don't give me that, Choutarou. Maybe you can fool the rest of them, but I know you better." Choutarou ducked his head.

"Yes. But you're... you're very passionate, Shishido-san. I'm not like that."

They walked in silence until he turned toward the classroom buildings.

"You have something else today?" Shishido-san asked, surprised.

"I wanted some extra time to practice with the piano this week. The tutor said it would be all right for me to come in late, as long as I lock up behind me."

"Yeah?" Shishido-san tipped his head to the side. "It bother you to have an audience?"

Choutarou was startled. Shishido-san had heard him play before, but usually by coincidence. He'd never asked to listen.

"It won't bother me," he said, at last, "though I'm afraid you'll be bored." Shishido-san's mouth quirked.

"Doubt it." He fell in beside Choutarou again.

All right, so Shishido-san didn't look bored, as he slung himself into one of the chairs in the second music room while Choutarou started working through his warmups. That was good. It made it easier to slip into the music when he started practicing for real, listening, feeling, for the moments when the flow hitched, places he needed to go back and smooth. When he snuck a look at Shishido-san, between pieces, he looked relaxed and contemplative, eyes half shut. It was a rare look for Shishido-san to wear, but Choutarou had seen it enough to know it wasn't boredom. In the end, he was comfortable enough to wrap up with a run through one of his own rare compositions.

He had written this one last year, trying to catch a moment in the music. It was a day he and Shishido-san had been playing each other, on one of the courts near Shishido-san's house, and a storm had driven them under cover. Shishido-san had stood at the very edge of the pavilion, staring raptly at the sky and laughing with each especially impressive crack of thunder. He had leaned into the storm, the way Choutarou had seen him lean into a good opponent. The idea of playing a storm had taken Choutarou's fancy, and he'd tried to sketch out, in music, what it might feel like.

He took a deep breath and let it out as the last chord slid through his fingers. The stillness just after was one of the things he played music for, the peace after the rush. When he looked up, he was almost surprised to see Shishido-san still there, eyes burning into him. Shishido-san stood, without speaking, came to Choutarou's side, gripped his shoulder and shook him, gently.

"And you think you aren't passionate? Choutarou, for a smart guy, you can be really dense sometimes. Just because you don't show it in many ways doesn't mean it isn't there," he said, seriously. "I haven't seen you underestimate yourself very often. Don't do it now."

To hear that from the one person whose judgment Choutarou was willing to trust as he would his own laid peace over him as deep as the stillness after a good performance.

"Thank you, Shishido-san," he murmured. Shishido-san smiled down at him, the small smile that meant something was going their way. The thought flickered across Choutarou's mind that Shishido-san was close enough to kiss him.

He almost swallowed his tongue in startlement. Where had that come from?

"Choutarou?" Shishido asked, looking concerned. "You all right? You looked kind of odd for a second, there."

"Yes, I'm fine," Choutarou assured him, automatically. "I think I just spaced out for a minute; it's been a long day."

"You can say that again, Mr. Two Club Overachiever," Shishido-san teased. "We'd better get you home before you fall asleep on your feet."

Choutarou laughed and agreed, but when he finally went to bed that night he didn't go to sleep for a long time.

It was not news to him that he was powerfully drawn to his partner. When he had spoken of Shishido-san being passionate he had left out the parts about how it infused everything he did. Every gesture practically glowed with it, like the corona during an eclipse. It fascinated Choutarou, and all the more for the contrast it made with his own reserve and containment. Their complementary natures were as much what made them an outstanding doubles pair as the similarity of their drive and will to succeed.

Choutarou had thought that was all it was.

He decided to test it with a little thought experiment, of sorts. He closed his eyes on the dark room, and cast his mind back to himself sitting at the piano and Shishido-san standing beside him. How would he have felt if Shishido-san had closed that last distance, run his hand up Choutarou's neck to tangle in his hair, leaned down and touched his lips to Choutarou's...?

Tingling heat shot through him, curling low in his stomach. Choutarou's eyes snapped open to stare at the darkness, breath fast, heart pounding. All right. So. Yes. He really was attracted to his partner. Fine.

Now, what on Earth was he going to do about it?

Choutarou's thoughts insisted on running in circles, and they were starting to make him dizzy. The most reasonable thing he could do was decide whether he thought Shishido-san shared his attraction or not, and either tell him, in the first instance, or do his best to ignore it, in the second. The problem came in step one.

Shishido-san sought him out, even when they weren't practicing. Shishido-san used a language of expressions that was just between them. Shishido-san acted like Choutarou's wellbeing was an extension of his own, and cared for it as matter-of-factly. Those were things that Choutarou had seen established couples do. But it could easily be that Shishido-san did all that because they were a team, and friends, without being at all attracted to Choutarou. Then again, he touched Choutarou far more easily than he did anyone else. But, then again, it could just be...

Around and around.

And underneath it all, the intuition that he should just speak up, pushing against the fear of damaging what they already had.

The court was one of the few places he could put it all aside, because a game was a game and training was training, and nothing interfered with that. But Shishido-san was starting to notice his distraction whenever Choutarou stood still for more than a minute. There were a few things about which Shishido-san could show great patience, but his partner holding out on him did not seem to be one of them. It only took a few weeks before he cornered Choutarou while they were packing up after practice.

"All right, Choutarou, give. What's got you so wound up, lately?" Shishido-san didn't look up from zipping his bag, but his tone was not casual. Choutarou bit his lip.

"It's nothing, Shishido-san, there's just been something on my mind."

"Yeah, I got that part. You're throwing yourself into games like you don't want to come out the other side." Shishido-san blew out an exasperated sigh, and stood directly in front of Choutarou. "C'mon, what's up?"

Choutarou couldn't quite bring himself to look Shishido-san in the face when he was so close, and contented himself with examining his partner's shoes instead. "It's nothing. Really," he murmured. He could hear the frown in Shishido-san's voice, when he spoke.

"Choutarou, you're starting to make me nervous, here. Come on, look at me." When Choutarou didn't look up, his voice lowered, half an order and half an entreaty, "Choutarou..."

That tone, and Shishido-san's hands closing over his shoulders, drove Choutarou's head up. Shishido-san was leaning forward, barely a hand-span away. His breath caught, and a shiver sheeted over him before he could stop it. Choutarou was sure his eyes were as wide as an animal's caught in oncoming headlights.

Shishido-san was his partner, the one he willingly shared his mind and heart with when they played; he knew Choutarou. Choutarou felt apprehension, but no surprise, to see Shishido-san's expression changing, the frown of irritation and concern giving way to surprise, to inquiry, to a thoughtful examination that finally faded into a look almost as wide-eyed as Choutarou's own.

"You're kidding me," he said, softly.

Choutarou wanted to look away again, but since he couldn't give himself a reason for doing so, any longer, besides cowardice, he swallowed hard and kept his eyes on Shishido-san's. His partner was very still for twenty heartbeats; Choutarou counted them. And then one of Shishido-san's hands rose to his chin, thumb settling against his cheek. Choutarou's breath stopped entirely.

"You sure?" Shishido-san asked, tone gentler than ninety-eight percent of the tennis club would probably ever credit. Choutarou remembered Shishido-san asking him the same thing, the first time they had talked about just how close they were becoming. Warmth started in his chest, unlocking his lungs.

"Yes," he whispered. Shishido-san's thumb brushed over his mouth, and he had to close his eyes for a moment. When he looked up again, Shishido-san was smiling, crookedly.

"Is this what you've been so knotted up over?" he asked. When Choutarou nodded, Shishido-san shook his head.

"My partner, the brilliant idiot," he said, mock-disgusted. "Even if I didn't want you too, did you think I'd be upset about it or something?"

Choutarou felt a flush rising in his cheeks, and glanced aside as far as Shishido-san's hand would let him.

"You should know better than that, by now," his partner admonished. "And, anyway, if I'd had any idea you felt like this I would have done something about it a lot sooner, believe me."

Choutarou looked back at Shishido-san, ruefully.

"Actually... I only realized a few weeks ago," he admitted. Shishido-san leaned over him, laughing softly.

"Choutarou," he chuckled, before his lips covered his partner's.

It was... Shishido-san. Impulsive, and casual, and impatient. Sharp and sleek. Warm and open. And Choutarou relaxed into that warmth, the way he always did.

"Well," Atobe-senpai murmured to Shishido-san, as practice broke up two days later, "that's certainly one way to increase the effectiveness of your combination."

"One more comment like that, Atobe, and I'm gonna see if that mouth of yours is big enough to fit your racquet into," Shishido-san growled back.

Choutarou steadfastly made as if he hadn't heard a thing, as Atobe-senpai strolled off, laughing low in his throat. He was deeply grateful that no one else seemed to have noticed anything; he really didn't feel that it was anyone's business but his and Shishido-san's. As they headed toward Shishido-san's house, it being his turn to host homework and snacks, Choutarou couldn't help asking, though.

"Shishido-san, why are you and Atobe-senpai like that? I mean," he hesitated, "you're... friends... aren't you?"

"Yeah, well," Shishido-san snorted. Then his mouth quirked, reminiscently. "It goes back a long way. Atobe and I were in the same class almost from the start, and it was hate at first sight." He glanced at Choutarou, with the tilt of brows that meant he was just a little embarrassed."We're both kind of attention hogs; even Atobe admits that, though he has different words for it, of course. I forget what we were even arguing about, actually. I do remember that he made one smart remark too many, and I hauled off and socked him one." Shishido-san grinned, showing a lot of teeth, at what seemed to be a happy memory. "I also remember being surprised that he gave as good as he got." The grin twisted. "Atobe has always fought dirty, unless he has a reason not to."

Yes, Choutarou had noticed that. He'd spared a moment to be glad, every now and then, that being one of Atobe-senpai's team was apparently sufficient reason.

"Well, one of the Elementary teachers had probably just been to a developmental psychology seminar, or something," Shishido-san continued, a bit tartly, "because they shut us up in a room together to cool down."

"Um," Choutarou commented.

"Yeah. Thing was, in a way it worked. We didn't spontaneously become buddies or anything like that, but we did agree that, while we hated each others guts, we were even more pissed off at the adults who thought we would fall for a set up like that." Shishido-san shook his head. "The older I get, the more I understand why Tou-san says they couldn't pay him enough to teach at Hyoutei. But it's been like that ever since. We have enemies in common, goals in common. And he doesn't try to wrap me around his finger, and I always give him straight answers." Shishido-san shrugged. "It works out."

Maybe, Choutarou reflected, as they made their way up to Shishido-san's room, they had both needed someone to be open with. Really open.

They shed their bags, but Shishido-san stopped him before he could pull out his books.

"You have anything that needs doing right away?" he asked. A tingle danced down Choutarou's spine.

"No," he answered, softly, taking a small step toward his partner.

"Good." Shishido-san smiled, slow and pleased, sapphire eyes darkening as he ran a hand up to the nape of Choutarou's neck and tugged him down to a kiss.

Choutarou pressed a little closer to Shishido-san's body, opening his mouth as the tip of Shishido-san's tongue skated over his lower lip. Shishido-san seemed to take the hint, because his lips curved against Choutarou's, and he pulled his partner down to his bed. Choutarou let out a tiny laugh when Shishido-san planted an elbow on either side of his head and just looked down at him with the glowing smile he gave Choutarou when they won a hard game. Choutarou reached up, and Shishido-san's smile curled in just a little at the edges as Choutarou ran his hands through the brush of thick, silky hair. It was soft against his palms.

"You're just going to look, Shishido-san?" he asked, moving one hand to touch his fingertips to his partner's mouth. He gasped when Shishido-san captured one, delicately, between his teeth, touching back with his tongue.

"Mmm," Shishido-san purred, letting go. "You mind if I touch?" His voice made Choutarou shiver, lower and huskier than usual, and the spark in his half-lidded eyes suggested just what kind of touching he meant.

"I don't mind," Choutarou whispered, a little breathless. He wasn't entirely sure, himself, how far he was ready to let this go, but he wanted Shishido-san to touch him. He wanted to add the warmth of Shishido-san's hands to the warmth of his partner's simple presence and smile.

"The Student Council are sadists," Shishido-san said, conversationally if a bit muffled against Choutarou's throat, as his fingers worked their way down Choutarou's shirt buttons. "They design these uniforms to be taken off, and then expect us to keep our minds on studying."

Choutarou's chuckle unraveled as Shishido-san's hands stroked down his chest, brushing his shirt aside. His breath escaped on a soft aaaahh when Shishido-san slid down him to trace the muscles of his stomach with a warm tongue. His insides felt shivery, uncertain, as if he'd stepped into a fast elevator down. When Shishido-san bit down, gently, it felt like a static shock, and Choutarou arched up off the bed with a sharp sound.

"Shishido-san!"

His partner moved back up to kiss him, pressing him down with the comforting weight of his body.

"Too much?" Shishido-san asked.

"I..." Choutarou actually couldn't make up his mind about that. He certainly didn't want to stop. So he asked something else, instead. "Shishido-san... would you mind? If I touch?"

Shishido-san grinned, and rolled them both over, taking Choutarou above him. "Feel free," he said.

The shirt was, as Shishido-san had pointed out, quick work, and Shishido-san made small, appreciative noises as Choutarou explored his chest with light fingers. It was when he got to the pants that Choutarou hesitated, glancing up at Shishido-san to make sure this would be all right. Holding Choutarou's gaze, reassuring him more by action than any words could, Shishido-san reached down and unfastened the button and zipper himself before leaving it to Choutarou again. Choutarou had to tear his eyes away from his partner's before he could continue.

Seeing Shishido-san lying naked on a bed was a very different matter than seeing him changing into or out of uniform, and it stopped Choutarou again, all his attention taken up with tracing the lines of Shishido-san's body, dark against the white sheets. A soft laugh drew his eyes up to Shishido-san's face, and his wicked smile, as he stretched like a cat, muscles shifting and flowing under his skin.

"Like what you see, Choutarou?" he asked, teasing.

Choutarou swallowed, and nodded, and came to him, touching his partner with something like wonder. Shishido-san's skin was fine-grained, smooth as he stroked across it, and his partner sighed and stretched again under his hands. A pleased smile curled Choutarou's own lips as he glanced down and noticed just how much Shishido-san was enjoying this. Slowly, hesitating a little, he reached down and curled his fingers around Shishido-san's length.

"Choutarou," Shishido-san breathed, harshly. "Oh, yeah."

Choutarou stroked him, gently. He hadn't quite realized, touching himself, how soft this skin was, and feeling the heat of someone else's arousal against his palm was... very different. He was breathing almost as fast as Shishido-san. Small things lodged themselves in his memory: the flex of Shishido-san's moan; the line of Shishido-san's leg as he drew one knee up; Shishido-san's hands fisting in the sheets, not trying to return anything yet, leaving this moment to Choutarou; the arch of Shishido-san's throat as he threw his head back, suddenly voiceless, hips thrusting up into Choutarou's hand; the way Shishido-san was still hot to his touch when he finally fell back, panting.

Choutarou was just starting to wonder about the mechanics of cleaning them up when Shishido-san slitted his eyes open and laughed. He fished around the headboard of the bed without looking, and extracted a box of tissues. When Shishido-san had applied those and tossed them over the side, he pressed Choutarou down and kissed him slowly.

"So, can I return the favor?" he asked, his tone playful but his eyes serious.

"I'd like that," Choutarou said, softly.

"See? I told you you were, so, passionate," Shishido-san observed as he stripped off Choutarou's remaining clothing. "Or maybe I should just say aggressive."

"Shishido-san," Choutarou laughed, feeling a blush cross his cheeks.

"Hmmm." Shishido-san covered Choutarou's body with his own, drawing a quiet gasp from Choutarou, before he spoke again. "You know, all things considered, it's probably all right to be a little less formal now."

Choutarou blinked up at him for a moment before he actually understood. The formalities were so automatic for him... But his partner had a point.

"Shishido," he essayed, a little shyly. His partner's bare name in his mouth somehow felt more intimate than the bare skin against his own.

"Mm. Better," his partner purred, nudging Choutarou's head up so he could lick teasingly at the tender skin under his jaw.

Choutarou closed his eyes. If what he wanted was the openness that his partner offered him so freely, it was only right... And this was his partner, he was safe here...

"Ryou," he whispered. He heard his partner's breath catch, and then he was being kissed, hard, caught up against Ryou's body so tight he almost couldn't breathe, though he didn't miss it just then, kissed again and again.

"Choutarou." His partner's voice was rough against his ear.

Choutarou was still a bit dazed when Ryou slid down his body, but Ryou's fingers stroking him hard focused his attention. The hot, wet slide of Ryou's tongue licking up his length, delicately as he might an ice cream cone he wanted to make last, knocked him back again. He shuddered at the soft, quick touches, moaning when the heat of Ryou's mouth finally closed around him. That heat raced through him, snatching him up like a wave ready to throw him to shore, and the speed of it might have frightened him without Ryou's hands to steady him, remind him of who was with him. Choutarou closed his own hands, hard, on Ryou's arms and let the wave of heat and pressure and pleasure take him, lift him, cast him forward and out of himself.

Ryou was holding him when the tremors running through him finally relaxed, and he turned his head into his partner's shoulder, shaken but pleased.

"All right?" Ryou asked, quietly. Choutarou nodded, and a thought struck him, prompted by the knowledge in his partner's voice when he asked.

"You've... done this before."

"Yeah; a fling here and there at the seminars and camps," Ryou answered, shrugging.

"I think I'm glad for that," Choutarou murmured, wrapping an arm around Ryou's waist. His partner chuckled.

"Good."

Choutarou lay, thinking about how comfortable Ryou's arms around him, and Ryou's hand rubbing his back, were. Comfortable, comforting, warm and natural. Intimate. He stirred.

"Ryou?" he started, still shy with his partner's name.

"Mm?" There was a happy, satisfied grin in that small noise, and Choutarou smiled before biting his lip.

"Will you mind if I call you by your family name, at school, still?" he asked, softly. "It's... this is..."

"Personal," Ryou finished for him, holding him tighter. "Of course I won't mind."

"Thank you." Choutarou settled a little closer, into peace deeper than he had ever felt, even with his music. Clearly, he thought, smiling to himself, the closeness and the touching hadn't been just because Ryou was his partner.

Clearly, there was no "just" about their partnership.

End

Simple

A little Momoshiro introspective about how he manages to be friends with Ryouma. Drama, I-3

Momoshiro Takeshi considered himself a straightforward sort of guy. He didn't bother to hide what he thought much, and he liked the friends he made by being outgoing and cheerful. He didn't stand on formality, and if that caused certain stiff-necked classmates of his to call him an annoying idiot, well Momo knew that he gave respect where it was due and accepted it where he'd earned it, and that was good enough for him.

Which could be why he'd gotten along with Echizen Ryouma right from the start. They had very similar approaches, that way.

It was one of the more interesting things, to Momo, about their friendship. He was outgoing and outspoken, while Echizen was self-contained and sparing with his words. Momo, despite his casual ways, was really quite proper most of the time, while Echizen, despite his genuine respect for skill and accomplishment, mouthed off to absolutely everyone. And yet, somehow, they were always in the same place, always looking the same way, always knowing what the other would do.

Kachirou had mentioned, once, that it was strange Momo and Ryouma still couldn't play doubles to save their lives, since they seemed to understand and predict each other so well. Momo had replied that that wasn't enough for good doubles, especially when what they could unfailingly predict was that both of them would go for the ball no matter where it landed. Kachirou had agreed, ruefully, that Momo had a point.

In fact, the only one Momo had seen who could play doubles with Echizen was Kachirou himself. And that highlighted the difference, of course. Kachirou played as support to Echizen, and he did it well because he'd spent so long watching how Echizen played. Momo knew how Echizen played, too, but Kachirou... orbited Echizen. Ryouma was the primary in that relationship. And neither Momo nor Ryouma would ever do that for each other. For them, Momo decided, extending his astronomy metaphor, it was more like a double star, both turning around a common center. Not that determination to win generated gravity. Or, maybe it did...

An elbow in the ribs interrupted his musing.

"Momo-senpai, quit dozing off and work on the English," Echizen directed from where he was propped against Momo's back, reading his Japanese textbook.

Momo sighed. "Right, right, whatever you say. Buchou."

Ryouma reached over his head and noogied Momo.

Despite his startlement, Momo could hold back a delighted grin. Lately, Ryouma had been descending to physical retaliation, in their teasing; it was almost as good as having another little brother. Momo thought it was probably because Ryouma was afraid of losing contact, with Momo gone from the club. His sister had acted a little the same, when Momo had started junior high and wasn't in the same school with his siblings anymore. Whatever the cause, it meant that, every now and then, Momo actually won.

Thinking of his brother gave Momo an idea, and he reached around his side and crooked his fingers in Ryouma's ribs.

A stifled squeak answered, and half a second later Ryouma was on the other side of the room, plastered against the wall, glaring at him.

"You're that ticklish?" Momo asked, hugely amused.

"Of course I'm not ticklish," Ryouma snapped. Momo recognized the spinal-reflex, defensive denial, and grinned more broadly. Ryouma glowered.

"Oh, don't worry, I won't let on," Momo assured him.

Ryouma gave him a very suspicious look.

"After all, I have to keep some advantages to myself," Momo finished.

Ryouma now looked like his worst suspicions had been confirmed.

"You worry too much, Echizen," Momo told him. "C'mon, homework." He patted the floor next to where Ryouma's book had fallen.

Ryouma didn't budge a centimeter. Momo sighed a little. Looked like he'd found another gap. Most of the time, he and Ryouma could have their little brawls without worrying, because Ryouma gave as good as he got; it passed the time until they encountered an outsider they could cooperate to take down. Every now and then, though, Momo stumbled across some gap in Echizen's poise. The first one had been Karupin, and he still remembered being startled at how badly Ryouma's cool attitude had shattered when his cat was missing. Feeling the slightest bit vulnerable did not seem to be something Ryouma did with any grace whatsoever. Momo held out a hand.

"Come on, Ryouma," he said, more gently. "You know I wouldn't." Wouldn't attack his friend in a weak spot anywhere except on the court. Wouldn't deliberately hurt him.

Ryouma tucked his head down, and didn't say anything, but did come back across the room and settled down beside Momo with his book. Momo smiled, wryly, down at his friend's bent head. Not quite like having another little brother, he decided. He understood Ryouma better than he did his brother, most of the time, and Ryouma was more willing to be coaxed. Not that a single other person would believe him about that last, but it was still true. Under certain circumstances, Ryouma was also more willing to be protected. As long as Momo was casual about it, Ryouma would let Momo protect him when it came to one of those little gaps.

No, not quite like a brother.

Ryouma leaned against his shoulder, silently, and Momo leaned back, reaching for his homework again.

End

Twist

Ryouma encounters someone who jars his view of what tennis is, and has a few revelations in the aftermath, some less comfortable than others. Drama With Almost Romance, I-4

As soon as this Matsueda character had shown up at the street court, Momo had figured he was bad news. He had the contemptuous smirk of someone looking to make trouble, but he hadn't moved right away, and it was a bad sign when troublemakers stopped to think first. He'd waited, watching the other players, and finally approached Echizen for a game. Even though Echizen didn't play at speed on street courts like this, unless someone really got his goat, it was clear to Momo that Matsueda had pegged Echizen as the best player present. And, of course, the day Echizen turned down a challenge would be the day there was a blizzard in July. Momo had still disliked the look of Matsueda enough to murmur in Echizen's ear to keep an eye out, even if it did make his friend give him the raised eyebrow.

By the end of the third volley, Momo was sure there would be trouble.

When Echizen switched to his left hand at the end of the first game, Momo's jaw tightened. A whisper swept around the court; the ones who played in this area regularly knew, by now, what it meant. This challenger was good.

And he was, Momo had to admit. Not good enough to win against Momo himself, and certainly not good enough to win against Echizen. But good enough to make Echizen smile.

Normally.

Echizen wasn't smiling now.

Momo swore silently. He knew what was wrong. He'd met a few of Matsueda's kind before; even played one, once, and regretted it after. But he didn't think Echizen ever had. Oh, he'd played plenty of the crazy ones, the ones who were out of control and dangerous. Heck, he'd been on the same team with Fuji-senpai, and Momo hadn't even taken a whole year to figure out that Fuji-senpai would have been one of the crazy ones if Tezuka-buchou hadn't, somehow, steadied him.

But even the craziest had respected the game, or at least they had once Echizen was done with them. A real challenge, the chance to gain the respect of someone brilliant... that did it every time. Forged a connection in the heat and glee and craziness of the game itself. Even that lunatic Akutsu had responded to that, and it had eventually brought him back to the game once everyone had the brains to stop nagging him.

Momo remembered being concerned during that game, too, worried that the nut case Echizen was playing would cross the bounds of the game, worried how Echizen would deal with an opponent who held the game itself in contempt. But, in the end, Echizen had broken through. Echizen had seen past Akutsu's derision to the desperate, frantic desire for a real challenge underneath, and, in his own inimitable way, had kept hammering until he'd reached it. Momo remembered going from being a bit worried about Akutsu's dismissive contempt to being a little alarmed at his absolute, devouring, manic focus on Ryouma, once the game heated up. At no point had Momo really been surprised, though. Even then, he'd taken it pretty much for granted that Echizen could hold any fire barehanded, on the court.

But not this time.

This time, it was acid, not fire, and Momo didn't like to think what might happen if Echizen grasped it. There was a vicious edge to Matsueda's smile that got sharper every time he pulled out another move, pushed Echizen a little harder. A fast drop shot; a respectable smash; a sly, curving slice that came in deceptively slow. For all Matsueda's skill, though, Momo could see that the true center of his attention was elsewhere. By the end of the third game he thought Echizen had seen it too. Momo would have bet a week's tab at McDonald's that it had only taken so long because the very idea was so utterly alien. The ones he'd played who thought like that, that Momo knew about, had always been pretenders; no real talent, no challenge.

Echizen stood for a moment, before he served, staring at his opponent.

"What's the matter kid?" Matsueda called. "Getting scared?"

Echizen's hand clenched around the ball, and Momo snorted. It was probably the best thing the bastard could have said right then.

The best thing for Echizen, at least.

Echizen's mouth set hard, under the shadow of his cap, and Momo knew he had laid aside his disturbance for later. The line of his body and the flash of his eyes as he cast the ball up said that now was the time to end this.

The last games rushed by in a flare of power and finesse that left Matsueda's jaw hanging. Despite his own misgivings, Momo could help a smirk as the man slunk off at the end of the set, chased by the grins and condolences of the other players. The grin faded as he watched Echizen pack up, too. Momo zipped up his own bag and silently fell in beside his friend as Echizen left the court.

Echizen never exactly chatted, but his quiet now made Momo uncomfortable. Despite that, he didn't press for conversation; it wasn't the time. He watched Echizen as they walked, following his path without comment. They weren't exactly going in circles, but every time they went a little closer to Echizen's house, his friend managed to take the next turn in another direction. Momo was just wondering whether he should nudge Echizen toward the school and let him walk around the track until he wore himself out, when they fetched up in a playground between his house and Echizen's.

Echizen finally stood still, there, and Momo eyed him, considering whether it was time to push. A violent shudder ripped through Echizen, dropping his bag off his shoulder, and he started moving again, pacing between one hollow cement animal and another. Momo's mouth thinned.

"He didn't care," Echizen said, voice tight, spinning on his heel for another round.

"No, he didn't," Momo agreed, quietly. Ryouma whirled on him.

"How?" His eyes, even in the low light, were shadowed, wide and hurt. "How can you be any good and not care? Somehow?"

The drawn look and voice were too much for Momo, and he took the two strides forward that would bring him to Echizen, and pulled his friend close. Now he could feel just how tense Echizen was, almost shivering with it. Ryouma didn't protest, for which Momo was belatedly glad; his friend still wasn't quite as tall as Momo, but he wasn't tiny anymore, either. If he were upset enough to strike out it wouldn't have been fun. But the fact that Echizen stood still in his hold, neither stiffening nor grumbling at him, more than anything, told Momo just how upset Ryouma was. He sighed and leaned back against the climbing tower, tugging Ryouma with him. He'd known Echizen wouldn't understand it; so, how to explain?

"I asked Ryuuzaki-sensei that, after the first time I played someone like that myself," he recalled, after a bit. "She said it just happens, sometimes."

Ryouma stirred against him, and Momo heard a shadow of his usual sniff of contempt.

"She said," he continued, encouraged, "that there are two kinds of players who are bad. Bad for everyone else, dangerous to the game. One is the kind who has a whole lot of talent but no challenge. She said that those are the ones who don't respect anyone else, and do stupid or dangerous or cruel things because they're bored. Like they're trying to provoke someone into stopping them."

Echizen nodded, faintly. Momo had figured that description would ring a bell.

"The other is the kind who has talent, but only sees the game as a means to an end. Not something they enjoy for itself, just something that lets them get something else they want."

Echizen stood very, very still for a long moment.

"Like I was," he said, at last, muffled, "before Tezuka-buchou..."

Momo's arms tightened in automatic response to the blank emptiness of that usually sardonic voice. His first instinct was to deny it completely, because, damn it, he'd always seen more than that in Ryouma from the first moment they laid eyes on each other. But he hadn't spent a year as team captain without learning to face unpleasant thoughts, and he was sure that if he was anything less than totally honest right now Ryouma would ignore him entirely.

"If Tezuka-buchou hadn't gotten through to you, you might have been," he answered, carefully. "Eventually. But I can't believe you would have gone much longer, anyway, without meeting someone who could show you what else tennis could be." He puffed a little laugh against the raven-wing hair beside his cheek. "You had too much fun with it, even if you wouldn't admit it yet."

He felt, rather than heard, Ryouma's answering laugh, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"All you can do is what you did," he concluded. "Beat them fast and go on."

Echizen slumped against him, head thumping down on Momo's shoulder.

"Great," Ryouma muttered.

Momo grinned and ruffled his hair, and this time Ryouma swatted at his hand with a growl and pulled away to stand upright. Momo was impressed all over again with his friend's resilience. He'd needed a few days of not playing anyone but his teammates to get over his own encounter with tennis slime. As they collected their bags and walked on he thought the atmosphere had lightened enough to tease Echizen about having fast recovery time. Ryouma blushed and glowered at him.

"Momo-senpai..." he drawled, threateningly.

"When are you going to get a girlfriend, anyway?" Momo prodded at him, having to choke back a snicker at the shudder and grimace he got in response.

"Never!" Ryouma's response was particularly heartfelt, and Momo figured his little fanclub must have been especially shrill this week.

"Boyfriend?" Momo suggested, helpfully, and got an elbow in the ribs for his trouble. The familiar chaffing made them both smile.

"Seriously, though," he added, "I knew you could handle it. After as many of the crazy kind as you've come up against, the slime are just a nasty shock. Not a challenge." Momo shot a sidelong look of satisfaction at Echizen.

"Haven't been that many," Echizen objected with a small shrug. Momo snorted.

"Yeah? Just think for a minute about how many people you've played who fit that first description."

Echizen tucked his hands in his pockets and slouched along thoughtfully for the block that remained before the turning that would take each of them home by separate ways. Momo expected an absent good night, or possibly a smart remark about the relative sanity of tennis players. He did not expect Echizen to stop short at the intersection, and stand as if turned to stone. Momo, looking over in surprise, caught a haunted, sick expression on Ryouma's face before he shuttered it.

"Echizen?" he asked, startled. Ryouma swallowed twice.

"I don't want to go home yet," he whispered at last, turning sharply away from his street.

Calculations cascaded through Momo's mind, starting with just how long someone in Echizen's excellent shape could stay up, walking, if he decided to; touching on the number of times he'd seen emotion that open from Ryouma, a very small figure; and finishing with the best way to actually get some sleep while not leaving his friend alone with whatever thought had hit him so hard.

"You can come home with me, if you want," he offered.

Ryouma blinked up at him, and Momo gave him a half-smile in reply, turning toward his own street.

"Come on," he directed. As he'd hoped, the peremptory tone broke Echizen out of his paralysis, and if his friend gave him a dark look he still came along. They were about half way there when Momo remembered that his sister had friends over to stay, this being Saturday, and wondered whether they had left so much as a spare blanket, let alone a spare futon.

They hadn't.

There was one extra pillow sitting, lonely, on the shelf of the linen closet. It was, Momo reflected with some resignation, better than a bus provided and he and Echizen had managed to nap on plenty of those. Echizen barely seemed to notice, accepting the t-shirt Momo offered and climbing into bed, when Momo scooted over to make room, with a somewhat abstract look on his face. When Momo turned on his side to give them both a little more kicking space, Ryouma turned his head on the pillow and gazed at him for a long moment. The large, dark eyes seemed to swallow what little light was in the room and Momo laid a hand on Ryouma's shoulder, questioning. Ryouma grunted and turned over too, putting his back to Momo.

Momo smiled and let his hand stay on his friend's shoulder as they settled down to sleep.

He woke, slightly disoriented, when sunrise speared light through the blinds he hadn't closed all the way. It took several seconds to pin down the cause of the disorientation. He remembered right away that Ryouma was next to him. He wasn't in quite the same place, however.

Ryouma had, in fact, turned over, managing to steal most of the covers, and burrowed against Momo's chest. He had also managed to throw an arm over Momo's ribs without in any way compromising his possession of the blanket. Momo snorted, and let himself drift back to sleep. He knew better than to try and get the covers back, and Ryouma himself was warm enough. He had no idea how long he dozed, but he was jarred to partial alertness when Ryouma woke up and stiffened with a start. Still half asleep, Momo responded with the protective reflex that had always run hand in hand with his competitive reflex where Ryouma was concerned.

"Sh. 'S okay," he mumbled, rubbing Ryouma's back soothingly.

Ryouma didn't relax in the least. Momo woke up a bit further, recalling that he had reason to be concerned for his friend, and tightened his hold.

"Ryouma," he murmured, "it's all right."

For a long moment Ryouma was so still Momo wondered if he was breathing, and then his head tilted a bit, hair brushing Momo's collar bone.

"Is it?" he asked. His tone was soft, hesitant. Momo had no idea what was behind that question; he was only sure that whatever it was struck deep. Ryouma usually covered any uncertainty with an easy sang froid, or else overwhelmed it with fiery determination. Was it all right? Was what all right? How could he answer?

One corner of his mind, slightly more awake than the others, perhaps, noted sharply that he could damn well answer the way he always answered when Echizen needed help.

Calmness settled over Momo's internal dithering. If he didn't know what had moved Ryouma to actually ask for reassurance, he did know that he would back his friend up, whatever it turned out to be. That was all he needed to know right now.

"Yes," he answered, with certainty. "It is."

Ryouma let go a tiny breath, and slowly, like stretching a sore muscle first thing at morning practice, relaxed. His back loosened; his head settled into the curve of Momo's shoulder; the hand Momo hadn't realized was clenched in the cotton over his side let go; a faint shiver completed the progression, and Ryouma lay quiet against him.

Now it was Momo who had the urge to hold his breath, rather than break the moment. The warmth of Ryouma's trust, more than even he had ever been given before, stole over him like the sunlight creeping across the bed. He gathered Ryouma closer, and pressed his lips silently to the morning-ruffled hair. Ryouma settled himself a bit more comfortably, with a very faint sigh, and they were still. The shrieks and crashes of his sister and her friends getting up and fed came and went with only the smallest twitch from Ryouma at the especially impressive bangs.

At last, though, Ryouma stirred, and Momo loosened his hold. He propped his head up on one hand as Ryouma flopped over onto his back and looked up at him. Ryouma's expression was... odd. Almost wistful. Almost scared. Maybe a little sad and a little hopeful. Momo had to quash a strong urge to catch Ryouma back into his arms and not let go. Normally, Ryouma could be counted on to whap him over the head for doing any such thing. Momo wasn't sure what would happen if he did it this morning.

Ryouma lifted a hand and laid it on Momo's chest, light and tentative. Momo had to close his eyes for a second, before he covered Ryouma's hand with his own. A smile lightened Ryouma's eyes. Momo wondered, not for the first time, whether Ryouma had started wearing his beloved cap when he played in order to hide those expressive eyes that showed every thought and feeling unless he was very careful.

"Good morning, Momo," Ryouma said, quietly. Momo ran his fingers through Ryouma's hair, and, for once, Ryouma accepted the gesture.

"Good morning, Ryouma," Momo answered.

End

Ripple

The day after the events of "Twist", Ryouma tries to sort out his thoughts. Drama With Slight Romance, I-3

Ryouma scrunched down in his bath until the water was at his nose and contemplated the surface of it.

It had been a strange weekend. First the game with Whatshisname, which had set him off balance pretty badly, and then the talk with Momo, and then this morning... Every time he had to deal with Momo's sister he was glader than ever that Nanako was so much older than he was. And not his sister. And not crazy. Maybe girls didn't become sane until they grew up.

The day itself had been better. He and Momo had wandered around, and a bit of luck had come his way when they stumbled over a few of Fudoumine. He'd had a pretty decent game against Ibu. And another against Kamio, once he'd managed to actually get Kamio's attention off of his staring contest with Momo. He wasn't one hundred percent sure they had thought it was a good game; they'd been too out of breath to say.

Momo probably thought Ryouma hadn't heard him thank them.

Ryouma lifted a hand out of the water and watched drops patter back down.

He knew Momo was a little worried about him, still. He'd insisted on walking Ryouma home, and it had been hard to miss the sidelong looks. He supposed Momo had a reason; Ryouma had kind of freaked out last night.

He leaned back with a sigh and poked at the thought that had been lying in the back of his mind ever since. Was his dad one of the crazy ones?

He didn't remember, now, when it had started. It might even have always been this way, that every effort of his, on the court, was met with the same words. Some variation on You'll never beat me like that; nope, a hundred years too early. And he knew what the real message in that taunt was: defeat me—if you really think you can. It was a dare. Pushing him down to make him push back harder. There was a name for that, in English, Ryouma remembered reading it somewhere. Ah, yes. Reverse psychology.

Ryouma snorted and swished a hand, impatiently, though the water. What a load of crap. He also knew perfectly well why it worked, when he thought about it. It was the dishonesty that got him mad. The way that never-changing formula pretended that any progress Ryouma might be making was negligible, invisible. Ryouma was capable of tracking his own progress, and he knew he was starting to close in. And he was bound and determined, and had been for years, to beat his dad completely enough that he couldn't brush it off or say it was a fluke, that he would be forced to acknowledge the truth!

Ryouma frowned at the water. What a stupid reason to play tennis.

He pushed a wave of water away from him, watched it rebound, caught a little bit of it and pushed it back again. It wasn't a motive that would ever open up the game to him, a fact that pissed him off more the better he understood it. He'd been going stale before he came to Seigaku. He could see that, now. He hadn't been playing tennis, he'd been pursuing a vendetta. Like that would get him anywhere! What had his dad been thinking, anyway? He was just damn lucky that Ryouma really did like this game he had a talent for and had found people to remind him of that, because otherwise Ryouma would have been stuck right there in the same place, without being able to move forward or to win or do anything but keep trashing the small fry and never understanding why he couldn't reach any further, watching his dad lose interest and...

He slapped a hand down, splashing water up, violently, and sucked in a long breath. It was all right. It hadn't happened. He'd come to Seigaku, and found good people to play against and with, and Tezuka-buchou had seen and understood. Ryouma folded his arms on the edge of the bath and rested his head on them. He had a sudden wish to be with his captain. Not even to play a game, necessarily; just being around Tezuka calmed him down, made everything seem a little clearer, a little cleaner. He didn't always say out loud what the point of his orders was, but his challenges to Ryouma, and his wish for Ryouma, was always clear and straightforward, and Ryouma could trust that the point was always the benefit of the team and its players. He could trust that Tezuka-buchou's praise or cautions or reprimands actually meant something.

It would be nice if he could trust his dad like that.

But his dad didn't think like Tezuka-buchou. His dad had never shown him that the game could be more than just beating some particular opponent, that there was a core to it, a spirit to it that went beyond that. Maybe his dad couldn't show him. Ryouma supposed he might give his dad the benefit of the doubt and figure that his dad knew that too—that it was why he had sent Ryouma to Seigaku. But he didn't know if he wanted to give his dad the benefit of anything, just now. After a day of simmering, the thought that had hit him hardest, last night, was starting to take on a shape Ryouma could grasp, and the edges on it were sharp.

To taunt and dare, to make himself into the enemy, to drive with insults... Ryouma could see a teacher doing that. Not a nice teacher, maybe not a good teacher, at least Ryouma had never seen that work too well when Mr. Cotswold or Yoshida-sensei did it, but a teacher that the student had come to and said 'I want to learn this thing you know'. There was a... a deal made, there, on both sides, and everyone more or less knew what they were getting into.

A teacher, maybe. But a father?

Ryouma twisted against the edge on that thought. It cut.

Did he really have a father anymore? Did his dad even see Ryouma as his son, anymore, or just as the one who might, possibly, finally, give him a real game? A real challenge. Even a real defeat. The better he played, the worse it seemed to get. Oh, yeah, his dad got all bright-eyed, but it didn't feel like that was because he was proud of Ryouma. It felt like the eagerness Ryouma saw in his opponents. And from them it felt right; that was what they were to each other. But a father? That wasn't how Kachirou's dad looked at his son, when they grinned and gave each other a thumbs up. It was a lot closer to how Akutsu had looked at Ryouma the first time they played.

That, that was the thought that had kept him huddled against Momo this morning.

Ryouma blinked down at the water in front of his nose. Weird. Remembering this morning was actually making him feel a little better. Like he could breathe again. Like...

Like someone was holding him.

Ryouma snorted a laugh. If he ever admitted to Momo that his protective streak made Ryouma feel better, he'd be doomed. Probably for life. Momo would never again believe Ryouma was serious when he grumbled or swatted Momo away. Still, he admitted to himself, turning over to stare up at the ceiling, it had felt... nice that Momo took the trouble to comfort him.

If Momo stopped believing Ryouma was serious, Ryouma supposed, as he climbed out of the bath, he could deal with that. Heck, maybe he could even deal with the rest of it. Maybe.

End

The Winner Is...

Mizuki and Fuji play head games with each other. Psychological Drama with Porn, I-5, D/s overtones

Mizuki Hajime knew that Shuusuke had had a bad day. Even if he hadn't known from other sources, one look at the way he was walking would have told the story: stride a bit longer than usual, feet coming down a touch too emphatically.

More significantly, he was walking alone.

All of which meant that Hajime had chosen what should be the right time for his approach. It was hard to be sure, with Shuusuke. But, then, that was what this was all about. And Shuusuke had just come close enough to identify who was leaning against the wall of this particular, usefully deserted, stretch of his way home, which meant it was time to begin. Hajime swallowed his nerves and called out.

"Shuusuke. How good to see you again." Shuusuke didn't acknowledge his presence by so much as the twitch of an eyebrow. Perfect. "Why, Shuusuke, I'm injured," Hajime added, "and here everyone always says you have such excellent manners, even when you're angry. Or, should I say, especially when you're angry."

Shuusuke checked in front of him and spoke without turning his head.

"Don't overestimate the tolerance afforded you because you're keeping Yuuta company."

"Oh, I don't," Hajime replied, hoping that he was speaking the truth. "You're very careful of your brother's things. Do you think he's all that averse to sharing?" That got Shuusuke to look at him, disbelief flickering briefly in the hard, brilliant blue.

"Excuse me?" Shuusuke said, as though he thought he might genuinely have misheard. Hajime smiled. He knew perfectly well that the thought of touching anything belonging to his brother truly never would cross Shuusuke's mind. Shuusuke was predictable when it came to Yuuta—and only when it came to Yuuta. If he was lucky, Shuusuke wouldn't know how sure Hajime was of that, though.

"Yuuta knows I want you, too," he explained smoothly. "I told him."

And that turned Shuusuke all the way toward him, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"What?"

Hajime leaned back a little more ostentatiously against the wall.

"He asked. I told him. Surely," he looked at Shuusuke through his lashes, "you wouldn't want me to be dishonest with him." Before Shuusuke calmed himself enough to dissect that particularly specious bit of logic chopping, Hajime continued in a thoughtful tone. "I was a bit distracted at the time, but if I recall correctly, I mentioned that I expected to get you, too, because I can give you something you want."

A subtle snarl twisted Shuusuke's mouth.

"And what," he inquired, low and cutting, "could you imagine you might have that I would want?"

He was still too far away, Hajime decided. One more goad, then, and pray he got the timing right.

"Well, I have Yuuta, for one," he noted. Shuusuke took one long step toward him, and he forced the next sentence past the tightness in his chest. "But you're right, it isn't something I have."

Shuusuke paused, less than arm's reach from him, and Hajime breathed again.

"It's what you want," he said, quietly, "and what I can give you."

Shuusuke raised a devastatingly eloquent eyebrow. The part of Hajime's mind that insisted on focusing on inconsequentialities wondered whether he had learned that by observing Atobe. But this was the first critical moment, and it was only a tiny part. He reached out and laced his fingers lightly through Shuusuke's. Taking Shuusuke's hands with him, he raised his own and laid them back against the wall by his head.

"Control," he murmured. "Anything you want. Anything you choose."

From Shuusuke's sudden stillness, he knew he had called it right. Exultation that he had the pattern correct battled with anxiety over what his being correct meant for the near future. But just the first step wasn't enough for him, and he didn't, quite, want to stop. Shuusuke was leaning in just a bit, starting to press his hands into the brick.

"Anything?" he repeated, and there was a darker edge to the soft voice now. Hajime bit down a shudder; not yet.

"Anything," he agreed.

"And you get what out of this? You enjoy being controlled?" There was disbelief in Shuusuke's tone, and Hajime had to admit it was justified. He answered with part of the truth, the part that he hoped would see him through this in one piece.

"I enjoy power. Strength. Having it is nice. Being touched by it is... also enjoyable. You are very strong."

Shuusuke was leaning harder now, hands closed around Hajime's wrists.

"Strong enough that even throwing yourself on my non-existent mercy excites you?" he asked, pleasantly.

Now Hajime released the shudder, let his smirk slip away to show the fear and anticipation underneath as he raised his eyes to Shuusuke's.

"It terrifies me," he said with complete honesty. "I don't have any illusions about you, Shuusuke. You made sure I wouldn't. But I want this."

The sharp eyes drilled into him, as Shuusuke closed the last distance between them. He lowered his head and ran his lips down Hajime's neck, nuzzled past his unbuttoned collar.

Bit down savagely.

Hajime jerked sharply against the body pressing his to the wall, a harsh choke drawing out into a groan as Shuusuke's lips slid softly back up. He slumped back against the brick, trembling under Shuusuke's hands, breathing fast. Waiting for what Shuusuke would choose. Shuusuke drew back enough to study him.

"You really are serious," he observed.

"Yes," Hajime whispered, leaning his head against the wall.

The slow smile that curved Shuusuke's mouth would have sent any sane person running, very far and very fast. Just as well, probably, that Hajime had never made any strong claims to sanity when he was in pursuit of a goal he wanted.

"Come with me." Shuusuke led the way toward his house, and Hajime followed. No one else was home, which Hajime took as a sign of favor from fate. Shuusuke led him up to his bedroom and gestured, as if politely, for Hajime to precede him. Suspecting what the point of this was, Hajime didn't turn around once he had entered.

He was distantly pleased with another correct perception when he felt Shuusuke against his back, and arms reached around him. Long fingers undid the knot of his tie, worked loose the buttons of his shirt, and then the button of his slacks, delicately drew away his clothing and only brushed his skin every now and then. Shuusuke's fingers sliding over his stomach made the muscles twist and jump in response, and Hajime struggled to breathe. Shuusuke's hands on his shoulders guided him to the bed, pressed him down on his back.

Shuusuke stood back, regarding him for a long moment, and then briskly stripped off his own clothes. Hajime let out his breath, with silent thanks to all the gods he didn't believe in. There had been a high probability that Shuusuke would choose sex over outright violence. It paralleled Hajime's relationship with Yuuta in a way that would appeal to Shuusuke's mind, whether he admitted it or not. But the probability hadn't been high enough for Hajime to have real confidence in it.

Having some idea of where things were going gave Hajime a measure of equanimity as Shuusuke gathered his wrists in one hand and pinned them over his head. Another long look, another unnerving smile, and Shuusuke ran his other hand down Hajime's thigh, up his side.

Gently.

Hajime's eyes widened as the gentleness of Shuusuke's touch registered. Soft caresses, firm enough not to tickle, soothing his body, seducing him toward pleasure. Shuusuke's eyes glinted down at him.

"So?"

Such a small word to contain so much challenge. A challenge to submit, not just to domination, but to pleasure at Shuusuke's hands. Hajime knew that if he accepted it, if he relaxed that much, it would make the shock exponentially worse if Shuusuke chose to alter his approach and use pain after all. He knew that Shuusuke knew it too, and was aware of their mutual knowledge.

That had, after all, been the pattern of their first match on the court.

That was Shuusuke's challenge; his suggestion that Hajime would not actually be able to give him the measure of control he wanted. Hajime was shaking again. But this was why he was here. He would bet on this. If Shuusuke wanted to truly unsettle him, he would not, in fact, repeat himself. He would stay with pleasure.

And enjoy the edge of uncertainty he had placed Hajime on.

One last, convulsive, shudder, and Hajime forced himself to go limp under Shuusuke's grasp.

"Anything," he reiterated, voice breaking even on that single word.

"Hmmm," Shuusuke murmured, thoughtfully. And then that appallingly gentle touch returned, and Hajime pushed aside his perfectly reasonable fear and abandoned himself to the pleasure his longest standing opponent seemed to want to bring him. And it was always, and only, pleasure. Shuusuke didn't tease him, or seek to startle him; only caressed and stroked until he was hard and panting, arching under Shuusuke's touch, legs spread wantonly. Shuusuke answered the pleading look Hajime didn't have the coherence to give voice to, and rubbed a finger softly against his entrance, drawing a long moan from him as Shuusuke pressed, slowly, in.

The rather disconnected thought crossed Hajime's mind, that it was probably an awkward stretch for Shuusuke, who hadn't once released Hajime's wrists. But, yes, this was right, Shuusuke would want to watch his face. And then the feeling of Shuusuke's fingers thrusting into him derailed any attempt at thought.

Shuusuke prepared him thoroughly, and when he set a hand under one of Hajime's knees and pressed it back, opening him, when he slid into Hajime, there was still no pain. The layered pleasure was becoming a pressure in him, instead. Hajime couldn't even cry out as Shuusuke's first, long thrust drove home, slowly, slowly. Shuusuke was still for a moment, letting him catch his breath, and then he was moving, long and slow, drowning Hajime in a flood of hot, electric sensation, building it higher. As soon as Hajime found his voice again Shuusuke leaned forward, thrust harder, and the world turned white, and the moan turned into something like a scream. Shuusuke didn't let up, and the the jolts of pleasure unwound Hajime's muscles and broke the world into licks of unbearable heat, and a true scream clawed its way out of his throat as he came.

It didn't take Shuusuke long to follow him, and the shallow, rocking thrusts as he did coaxed the last possible response out of Hajime, leaving him utterly unstrung and overwhelmed by the care Shuusuke had taken and the pleasure he had given. A few tears of sheer overload spilled from Hajime's eyes. Shuusuke, recovering himself, looked down at them.

Bent down and kissed them away.

It was a gesture of triumph, the kind of graciousness in victory that only drives the fact of defeat home. They both knew Shuusuke felt no tenderness toward him whatsoever. For one moment Hajime thought it might break him, that he would not be able to stop the tears or the trembling.

But as he closed his eyes he also knew that he had won. Shuusuke had overwhelmed him, reduced him to prostration, quite literally. But Hajime had successfully calculated and predicted all of it: the pattern of Shuusuke's actions, the branches that the pattern might take. Hajime had won on his true chosen ground, and the shame of his first defeat was washed away.

That thought was enough to calm him and still him. He thought some of it probably showed in his eyes as he opened them and looked up, because Shuusuke cocked his head and gave him one last long, thoughtful look before finally letting Hajime go. It took a few tries before he gained his feet.

"The bathroom is down the hall on the left," Shuusuke informed him quietly.

"Thank you," Hajime returned in a similar tone. He snagged his clothes on the way out, and returned, once prepared for polite society again, to stand in the doorway. "I'll see you later, Shuusuke," he said, exhaustion draining the usual edge from his voice.

"Yes," Shuusuke agreed, with a faint smile.

He wondered, as he made his occasionally wobbly way back to St. Rudolph, just how much of his real purpose Shuusuke had divined, and what form of retribution he could expect if Shuusuke took offense at losing in any way. Well, he'd figure it out. He was confident of that, again.

He certainly wouldn't say no to a little extra reassurance, after that experience, though, and he let his feet take him to Yuuta's door rather than his own. He had never been more grateful for Yuuta's tendency not to lock his door, which let him walk straight to where Yuuta sat, and sink down and lay his head on Yuuta's knees without the need for greetings or explanations.

Not that the latter seemed very necessary. After a startled moment he felt Yuuta's long fingers combing through his hair, and they sighed almost in unison.

"You went to Aniki, didn't you?" Yuuta more stated than asked. Hajime nodded slightly. "Did he hurt you?" Yuuta wanted to know.

The question was so utterly unanswerable that Hajime started laughing. And then it was a bit difficult to stop. Yuuta slid out of his chair and pulled Hajime into his arms, as he chortled, rubbing his back until he calmed, gasping for breath.

"I invited him to rip out my soul and wring it like a washcloth," Hajime said, eventually. "He accepted. But, no, he didn't hurt me." His head was resting on Yuuta's shoulder, but Hajime could almost see the Look Yuuta gave him.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have bad hobbies?" Yuuta muttered. That set Hajime off again. Yuuta scooted them both around until he could lean back against his bed, pulling Hajime to lean on his chest.

"I won, Yuuta," Hajime said, softly. "It was the only way I could win."

"On your own terms," Yuuta filled in. "Yes. I know."

Which was fairly impressive, considering that Hajime had never told him what he wanted with or from Shuusuke, but this was Yuuta, after all. He understood that kind of thing.

"Yes, you do understand," Hajime mused, only half aware he was speaking out loud. "I love that you understand."

Yuuta's startlement telegraphed in his moment of stillness, but he seemed to decide that his boyfriend was just more strung out than previously suspected, because he didn't answer. Only gathered Hajime a bit closer. It was pleasant to rest against him. Hajime didn't realize he was dozing until Yuuta woke him up so they could move up to the bed.

In the course of moving, Yuuta noticed the now-dark bruise above Hajime's collarbone, and gave him another Look, clearly questioning the claim that Shuusuke hadn't hurt him.

"It was just the one moment during the initial negotiations," Hajime assured him. Yuuta bristled anyway, glaring at the bite mark. He had the family possessive streak, all right, Hajime reflected. Fair enough; Hajime did, too, without the excuse of genetics.

Which was partly why, when Yuuta gave him a soft kiss, he answered passionately, drawing Yuuta's tongue into his mouth, inviting him to taste that there had been no intruders. It was the one gesture, the one advance, Shuusuke had not made. When Yuuta drew back, a little breathless, Hajime gave him a pleased and sleepy smile.

They twined around each other, Yuuta still running his fingers through Hajime's hair as he drifted off. He was almost entirely asleep when he thought he heard Yuuta murmur to him.

"We both understand, Mizuki. And we'll always find a way to win. Always."

End

Clove Apple

The aftermath of Fuji's encounter with Mizuki, and explanations for Tachibana. Drama With Romance, I-4

Kippei tracked him down on a small, sunny hill in a quiet corner of the park near Shuusuke's house. He sat down beside Shuusuke, close but not touching.

"Eiji called me," he said, quietly. "He said you were acting strangely at practice today. He was worried." Shuusuke shrugged one shoulder.

"I was... out of sorts I suppose. Tezuka kept me away from most of the other club members. I suppose it is a bit strange for he and I to play much." He snorted, remembering. "Echizen had the nerve to tell me I play better when I'm calm, afterwards."

"That sounds like him," Kippei smiled.

They sat in silence for a while, and Shuusuke tried to gather his thoughts. He should have known he wouldn't be able to avoid Kippei for long; he really hadn't been thinking very clearly. At last he leaned back on his hands, looking up at the clear, pale sky.

"I had," he paused to fish for a neutral term, "an altercation with Mizuki two days ago. It got... a little out of hand."

Kippei waited, and Shuusuke relaxed a little when he didn't push for an immediate explanation.

"I was already angry that day," he went on, and released a half laughing breath. "It sounds so petty when I tell it out loud. But that morning..." he paused again, trying to find the beginning of the sequence in his memory. "Everyone pretty much knows who will go on professionally, from the club, and who won't. Everyone knows by now that I won't. Some know that my brother probably will. I suppose I'm not one to talk about competitiveness," he smiled tightly, "but sometimes I could do without the side effects. One of the second years was saying that it was too bad Fuji Yuuta would be the name the tennis world remembered. And then he realized I was listening and hurried to say that he was sure people would always remember Yuuta's talent as second to mine."

Kippei winced.

"Quite," Shuusuke murmured. "I was unsettled enough to message Yuuta over lunch and ask how his training was going. I really should know better by now, don't you think?"

Kippei moved around to sit behind Shuusuke and wrap an arm around his waist. Shuusuke leaned back against him with a sigh. The next part was going to be harder.

"I don't know whether Yuuta mentioned it to Mizuki, but Mizuki was waiting for me on my way home. He... challenged me."

"To what?" Kippei asked when Shuusuke didn't continue.

"A game. I suppose." Shuusuke sternly told the hollow feeling in his chest to go away for the nth time in almost three days. It made breathing feel like work. Once again, the feeling refused to go anywhere. Kippei's arm tightening around him reminded Shuusuke that he wasn't alone. And that there had, in fact, been a total of four parties fairly intimately involved in what had happened. On an impulse he turned and kissed Kippei.

It was a little wild, a little desperate, and Kippei started out returning it more gently, trying to soothe Shuusuke. As the seconds ticked by, though, Shuusuke thought the fact of the kiss fell in with what else he had said, and gave Kippei some of the shape of the "altercation", because his lover's kiss changed. It became deeper and hotter, demanding in a way that Kippei rarely was. Ironically, that calmed Shuusuke faster than the earlier softness. When they broke apart Kippei raised a hand to his cheek and held his gaze, eyes dark and serious.

"You aren't the only one who's possessive, Shuusuke," Kippei told him.

Yes, Kippei had an idea what had happened. But not all of it. Shuusuke shook his head, laying a hand on Kippei's chest.

"What he offered, what I did, it wasn't about sex." Kippei's lips tightened as Shuusuke confirmed at least the mechanics of the encounter, but he didn't protest Shuusuke's interpretation. Yet.

"What was it about?" he asked, quite calmly under the circumstances Shuusuke thought. He turned again so he could lean back against Kippei.

"Control," he answered, biting down a grimace as he remembered Mizuki's voice gliding over that word. "Knowledge. I suppose," he summoned a small smile, "it was more like a game of go than anything." Entrapment, oh yes. He had to hand that to Mizuki, and he should have recognized it sooner.

"A game of go with a bed as the board?" Kippei suggested, sounding amused despite himself at the idea. Shuusuke smiled more genuinely, letting the intellectual metaphor carry him over his discomfort.

"Mmm. More like the bed, and the bodies, as the stones. The board was the mind."

There was silence behind him for a moment before Kippei closed both arms around him.

"Shuusuke." He didn't sound amused any longer. He sounded a little shaken. Shuusuke supposed that made two of them. He didn't really want to dwell on that.

"Besides, I never let him touch me," he added, veering back to the original question and keeping his tone casual. Kippei's hold tightened, and Shuusuke realized he'd probably just given away a little more of the mechanics than he'd really wanted to.

"Mizuki accepted that?" Kippei asked, both surprise and a touch of distaste in his voice. Shuusuke laughed, wearily.

"Oh, yes. Mizuki waylaid me, provoked me until I was extremely angry, invited me to take him any way I pleased and accepted everything I did, just to prove a point." Shuusuke leaned his head back against Kippei's shoulder. "He knew what he was doing, Kippei." He fell silent, hoping his lover could unravel that and wouldn't ask him to put words to the details.

"He knew?" Kippei asked at last, carefully. Shuusuke's mouth twisted. Kippei had gotten very good at reading under what he said.

"Every last step," Shuusuke confirmed with false cheer. He never did that for long around Kippei, though, and let it go to turn in Kippei's arms until he could curl up against him.

"And it's so easy," he whispered. "To do that to people. To control, to break. Because I can. And when I'm in the middle of it it's so satisfying, but afterwards, when I stop and look back... it doesn't feel right." Kippei stroked back his hair.

"I know," he said. Shuusuke stirred at that. Kippei wasn't like that.

"You do?"

"I know that you don't really enjoy going that far. It's pretty obvious." Kippei smiled down at him when Shuusuke raised his head to give him an inquiring look. "All the people you're most drawn to are ones you can't control."

Shuusuke ran a quick catalogue in his mind, and decided Kippei was right. Tezuka, who wouldn't let him. Eiji, with whom there was no point. Taka-san, who was too sweet to tempt him. Even the firebrands like Echizen.

And Kippei, of course.

"So," he smiled, reassured enough to tease a little, "you're not worried about it at all?"

Kippei turned on his side, spilling Shuusuke into the grass, and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

"Of course not. I recall saying once that you don't strike out unless you're unbearably provoked, and never on your own account. It's still true. Mizuki prodded you about Yuuta, didn't he?"

Shuusuke nodded, holding back a snarl at the mere memory. From the quirk of Kippei's mouth, he didn't think he'd been entirely successful. That was all right, though; Kippei was the one person he could show anything to.

"So," Kippei continued, "you might not want to admit out loud that Mizuki won this round, but it's clear from what you have said that he asked for everything he got."

Shuusuke opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it. Unfortunately, that statement was correct on every count. He had been focusing on how much he disliked the aftermath of getting carried away to distract himself from the thought that Mizuki was every bit as much to credit, and possibly more, as himself. And he hadn't quite realized it until Kippei pointed it out. He felt a faint flush heating his cheeks.

"You've never been much good with your own motivations, Shuusuke," Kippei pointed out, gently. "Let it go and stop worrying."

Shuusuke took a stern hold of himself and considered his possible causes for worry. Was he dangerously out of hand? No. Was he, he sidled around to look at the thought with dislike, seriously concerned that Mizuki knew him well enough, now, to hurt him? To hurt him the way he knew, in a dark, back corner of his mind, Kippei could by knowing him so well. That one took more consideration, but the manner of Mizuki's approach implied that he didn't think he could overwhelm Shuusuke; and Shuusuke was now on his guard. So, no, not really. Was he really worried that Yuuta wouldn't forgive him for what he'd done to his brother's lover, be it ever so consensual? Shuusuke knew he had come very close to breaking Mizuki; it was why he had let Mizuki go with his success intact even when he realized what it had all been about. Somehow he doubted his brother would agree that any aftereffects were anything other than Shuusuke's fault.

All right, perhaps he would still worry about that one. He sighed and reached up for Kippei.

"Mostly," he allowed.

Kippei's smile was wry as he leaned down. Shuusuke sighed again, against his mouth, for quite different reasons, as Kippei's kiss folded him in weightless warmth like the sun on this hillside.

"No one but you touches me like this," he said, softly, as they parted. Kippei answered by catching him up in another kiss, this one slow and deliberately sensual, a sliding dance of tongues. The hollowness in Shuusuke's chest that had persisted for three days finally faded away. Shuusuke felt as though Kippei's breath helped fill his lungs all the way. He drew Kippei down until his lips were at Kippei's ear.

"Kippei," he murmured, "make love to me."

"Right here?" Kippei's tone was half serious and half teasing. Shuusuke shook his head, and spoke slowly.

"No. I think I want to remember who belongs in my bed."

When Kippei's arms closed around him hard enough to drive his breath out, he knew his lover had accepted that sideways apology.

Lying against Kippei's side, later, in the cool afternoon shadows of his bedroom, and far more pleased with the world, Shuusuke wondered whether he should call Yuuta. It would be nice to know whether his brother was upset with him or not.

The message tone rang on his phone.

"Someone has bad timing," Kippei muttered. Shuusuke made agreeing sounds, but craned for a moment to check who it was from.

Then he leaned across Kippei and snatched at his phone so that he could glare at the sender from close range.

"Shuusuke?"

He stabbed the message button and read. His lips pulled back from his teeth, though he managed not to snarl out loud. That arrogant, insufferable, little...

"Shuusuke?" Kippei repeated, a bit cautiously.

"Dear Shuusuke," he read off the message, "Please don't be concerned. Yuuta's opinion of my sanity has been confirmed, and he doesn't blame you for any of it. Except, possibly, the bite mark. Regards, Mizuki." Kippei didn't make a sound, but Shuusuke was leaning over his stomach and could feel the muscles trembling, holding back what was probably a laugh. He transferred his glare, dropping the phone pointedly over the side of the bed. So, Mizuki thought he knew him that well, and had the gall to reassure him?

"I don't think I ever fully appreciated just how much Mizuki likes to play with fire," Kippei observed, mildly. "Can I hope you'll chose a different way of burning him next time?"

The glare lost a good deal of force, and Shuusuke laid his head back on Kippei's chest.

"Of course," he confirmed, softly, pressing closer. Kippei's hand stroking his back lulled him, and he set out to ignore Mizuki's baiting in favor of Kippei's heartbeat.

He could teach his would-be rival a lesson later, Shuusuke decided as he slipped into a doze, rocked by the rhythm of his lover's breath.

End

Fence

A typical day in the life of Ryouma and Momo, with a few extra revelations on Momo's part. Karupin gets in on the action. Drama With Getting-There Romance, I-4

Momo tried not to take too much enjoyment in Ryouma's paperwork griefs. He figured a little was due him, though, and couldn't help grinning just a bit as he waited for Ryouma at the corner where their ways home came together. His approaching friend looked distracted.

"So," Momo said, as he pushed off from the wall and swung into step with Ryouma, "decided yet?"

"Mm," Ryouma answered without looking up, "for everyone but Rokkaku and Hyoutei. You never know where Aoi's going to show up."

"Oh, come on, that's the easy one," Momo scoffed.

Ryouma gave him an eloquent Oh, really? look from the corner of his eye.

"Has he gotten any less bouncy this year?" Momo asked.

"Nope," Ryouma said, glumly.

"And he's always impatient to play. Kind of like another team captain I could mention but won't."

Ryouma glared.

"So he'll probably put himself in Singles Two or Three to make sure he gets a chance," Momo finished. "You know," he added, thoughtfully, "I bet if you called him and offered to meet him in one of those slots, he'd adjust his own lineup to make it work."

Ryouma blinked, and a wicked smile spread over his face. "Maybe I won't mention that part to Ryuuzaki-sensei," he murmured.

"Ah, you're getting sneaky," Momo clapped him on the shoulder. "Fuji-senpai would be proud. Now, what's up with Hyoutei?"

Ryouma held the gate to his house open. "They're a pain, like always," he grumbled.

"Can't be more of a pain than Hiyoshi was, last year," Momo declared, kicking off his shoes.

Ryouma paused on the stairs to consider that. "Maybe. Come on, though, I'll show you." In his room, he dug out several sheets of paper and spread them on the floor. Momo settled behind him, looking over his shoulder.

"This year's captain," Ryouma tapped the name Fukuzawa, "he's a lot better than Hiyoshi was at talking their coach into new ideas. He took a few tricks from Fudoumine, and sometimes puts the best players in early. And just about everyone knows we only have one strong doubles team. Again. Even if Kachirou and I play doubles, that's only two wins and leaves singles completely open."

"Yeah, better assume one win and one loss in doubles," Momo put in, resting his chin on Ryouma's shoulder. "They should be short on good doubles, too, this year."

"Which means," Ryouma continued, "that Fukuzawa is likely to come in early, which means I should too. But what if he second guesses me? If I take Singles Three while he stays with One, I don't think Kachirou will be able to handle him, and they'll have three wins in the end. I hate this," he sighed, leaning back against Momo with a faint thump.

"Oh, yeah," Momo ruffled his hair, "you thought it was a lot more interesting when it was my job, and you could just poke your nose in for the fun of it."

Ryouma growled and elbowed him.

"I bet you were the sort of kid who went on all the really scary rides at amusement parks just to hear how loud everyone else screamed," Momo teased.

"That," Ryouma observed, with trenchant accuracy, "would be Fuji-senpai. Besides, I think we only ever went to an amusement park once, when I was really little."

"And here I thought America had lots of them," Momo remarked, surprised. "What did you do, then?"

"What do you mean?" Ryouma asked, poking the end of his pen at the paperwork.

"With your family," Momo clarified.

Ryouma glanced over his shoulder, brows raised. "Played tennis."

Momo sat, staring straight ahead, as Ryouma crossed something out and scribbled a different name in. The absolute incomprehension in his friend's eyes hit him like a fist. He thought about his own family, about the annual trip to the beach; about his sister nagging until he took her to pet stores to play with the puppies; about his father and brother wearing almost identical pleading expressions while begging his mother to come watch a local motor cross match with them; about his mother's soft laugh the first time she played his favorite computer game with him, after days of wheedling on his part, and beat his score. And then he thought of not having any of that happen—of having all of it swallowed by tennis. Tennis the way he had seen Ryouma and his father play it, taunting and needling and provoking.

Absolute fury boiled up in him, twisting his stomach and tugging at his mouth with a snarl.

Ryouma paused in his shuffling of names, and looked around at him. "Momo?" he asked, sounding surprised.

Momo wrapped both arms around his friend, and rested his forehead against Ryouma's shoulder, hiding his expression. "Nothing. It's nothing," he said, quietly.

After a moment, Ryouma leaned back into his hold, puzzled, Momo thought, but willing to offer silent comfort for whatever was wrong. The irony was almost enough to start him laughing. He tightened his arms, instead, thankful that, for whatever reason, Ryouma had decided it was all right for Momo to hold him.

A fuzzy touch on his ear startled him into looking up. Karupin had come in and was standing with one paw on Ryouma's shoulder, batting at Momo with the other. He meowed in a you're taking up my space kind of way.

"What if I don't want to move, yet?" Momo argued.

Karupin batted, insistently, at his cheek.

"No," Momo said, definitely.

Karupin paused, considered him, and then, with no warning at all, whapped him in the jaw with a remarkably strong, if furry, right hook. Momo jerked back.

"Ryouma," he said, indignantly, "your cat just punched me!"

The announcement was probably redundant, seeing as Ryouma was doubled over with laughter. Recovering himself, he gathered Karupin up in his arms and, before Momo could protest this favoritism, turned to lean against Momo's chest, bracing Karupin against them both.

"It's okay, Karupin," Ryouma assured his cat. "You don't have to worry about Momo."

"Yeah, see?" Momo seconded, cautiously putting an arm around both of them. "I'm not trying to steal him, I just want to share him. Didn't your mother ever teach you it's good to share?"

Karupin managed to give him a very skeptical look for something with such a round, fuzzy face, before he snuggled against Ryouma to be petted. Momo suppressed some uncomplimentary remarks. That furball was the only living creature he had ever seen Ryouma look at with open tenderness, and Momo had a good idea of who would lose if it came to a choice between the cat and himself. It was, in fact, utterly typical that Ryouma should let himself practically cuddle with Momo, not for Momo's benefit, but for his cat's.

Recalling what he had been thinking about before Karupin interrupted, Momo suddenly had a much better idea why that might be, and looked with less disfavor on the purring menace in Ryouma's arms. That cat was probably the sole member of his family Ryouma loved and trusted without reservation. Karupin might just be the main reason Ryouma had even been capable of trusting enough to becoming a part of the Seigaku team, much less willing to do so. Momo sighed and leaned his cheek against the top of Ryouma's head, and scratched behind Karupin's ears himself. Carefully.

When he left, that day, he gave Karupin a serious look. "Take care of him, okay?" he said, nodding toward Ryouma.

Ryouma gave him a startled look, and Karupin meowed in a tone Momo translated to Teach your granny to suck eggs, kid. Momo grinned and let himself out.

Away from them, though, Momo found his thoughts circling around and around the realization about Ryouma's family life that had struck him, and by the time he arrived at practice the next morning he felt like there was a rut worn in his brain. It didn't help his temper any. He finally resorted to a tactic he didn't need very often, and took himself off to one side to practice his swings. He tossed each ball up, focused on where it needed to go, and imagined Echizen Nanjirou standing there.

He didn't actually realize that his balls were breaking through the fence until Ryuuzaki-sensei yelled at him.

"Honestly!" she finished her harangue. "What were you thinking? Go get a drink and calm down!"

Catching his breath on one of the benches, Momo was aware of movement in his direction. A quick glance showed it to be Oishi-senpai, and Momo winced. Now, how was he going to explain himself? Oishi-senpai was never intrusive, but he was hard to hold things back from. Another odd note caught his eye, though. Tezuka-san had crossed, quickly, to have a word with the team's captain, and then turned and gestured Oishi-senpai back. Momo bit his lip and looked at the ground.

"That exercise will work better if there's actually someone there to return the ball," Tezuka-san said, beside him.

Momo blinked up at the vice-captain for a moment before cosmic irony overcame his surprise at not being dressed down. He snorted a laugh and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"I couldn't do it if it were you standing there, though," he said, a little tired, glancing away. "You're the one who changed things for him."

Tezuka-san looked at him for a long moment, and then his eyes narrowed. "I see," he said, quietly. He touched Momo's shoulder.

"Come practice while thinking about something else then," he ordered. "Like winning."

Momo looked up with a grateful smile. His favorite challenge, for all he doubted there was much chance of it ever happening. There was nothing better to get his mind off a problem. "Yes, Tezuka-senpai," he agreed.

Really, he reflected, as he followed Tezuka-san to an empty court, it was no surprise Ryouma had found Tezuka-san's cool approach more reassuring than intimidating. After his father, it must have been a relief to deal with someone so straightforward and consistent, even if what he consistently was was demanding. Tezuka-san challenged his people, always, but he also, somehow, and Momo had never quite figured out how, convinced them of his implicit belief that they would succeed. It was contagious. And it spread to other parts of a person's life, too. Momo wasn't sure when he had decided that keeping a snippy, independent-minded brat like Echizen Ryouma well and safe was one of his challenges, but there it was. And if it had become still more personal than that, it just made the challenge all the more exciting.

"Ready?" Tezuka-san called.

Momo grinned.

"Any time!"

End

Puzzle

The Clue Trout descends upon Ryouma. Drama Finally Romance with Slight Porn, I-3

- Associated fanart: Momo and Ryouma during a fluffy moment, by Hikariblue.

"You sure you don't want to get that looked at?"

Ryouma rolled his eyes. If one more person asked him that, they were going to eat a tennis ball. "Yes, I'm sure," he sighed. "I banged my funny bone, that's all. You'd think I'd been in a traffic accident or something."

Momo looked stern, which almost made Ryouma smile. A year and a half ago, Momo would never have been able to pull the expression off. Ryouma was forming the theory that you could only learn it by being responsible for people two years younger who kept doing stupid things. Kachirou was very good at it, though too good natured to hold it for long.

"Don't give me that," Momo growled, "you know perfectly well it's a nerve cluster; of course everyone's worried."

"Inui-senpai said there was nothing to worry about as long as my grip kept coming back steadily," Ryouma argued, deciding that if he ever met the person who had injured Tezuka-buchou and thus been the ultimate cause of all this mother henning, they would regret it very deeply. "It has been. You're getting as bad as Oishi-senpai."

That succeeded in distracting Momo, and Ryouma did smile at the indignant expression on his friend's face. "You coming in?" he asked, opening his gate.

"For a while," Momo agreed, smiling back a little ruefully, which Ryouma took to mean he would let the subject be changed.

About time.

They were waylaid, however, by his dad's hail from the court.

"About time you got back! Come and play some real tennis."

Ryouma leaned against the porch, trying to decide whether it would be more trouble to play with a lingering handicap or to refuse and deal with the ragging. He didn't have any particular interest in telling his dad about today's little slip at practice, which argued against playing, but... He blinked as Momo stepped past him.

"Well, now, Ryouma's had a long day. If you want a game, why don't you play me?" It was less a request than a demand, and Ryouma's brows went up at the hard light in his friend's eyes.

His dad eyed Momo up and down, and the little smile that said Momentary entertainment, how nice crossed his face. "Why not," he murmured, and beckoned Momo onto the court.

Ryouma frowned as he watched them play. They were both acting strangely. His dad wasn't being quite his fully annoying self, and Momo was...

Momo was angry.

Not angry in the snarling-with-Kaidou-senpai sort of way, which wasn't really angry, though Ryouma couldn't say just what it was. Not angry the way he got at an opponent who ticked him off and who he wanted to beat. This was colder. His eyes were burning, but it was like the fire of the cutting torch in the art class studio—so focused down that the heat became sharpness. Ryouma had watched Momo play for years, and he knew Momo played hot; Momo liked it that way. He didn't stop to think, unless he was playing doubles and had to take a partner into account. He saw and he acted. It was the same way Ryouma had seen him do his math homework: writing down the answer immediately, and then going back to fill in the steps that led to it, because they were required.

This time, Momo was thinking. Watching, and testing, and watching again. He wasn't playing for the score, Ryouma realized, slowly. He was playing to find something out about his opponent.

Ryouma was confused. What could Momo want to know about his dad, that could make him this mad? Momo's eyes still had that bright glitter in them when the match ended. Ryouma didn't think he'd ever seen quite that look before.

"So," his dad asked, casually, "find what you want?"

Ryouma snorted to himself, confusion momentarily overcome by familiar exasperation. Of course his dad had spotted it.

"Not especially," Momo answered, evenly.

"Hm."

Ryouma sighed as his dad smiled, inscrutably, and strolled inside. He looked up at Momo, who had come to stand beside him.

"What was that all about?"

Momo shrugged. "You didn't want to mention that," he gestured at Ryouma's arm.

"Yes," Ryouma agreed, and waited. Momo's mouth quirked.

"And I didn't think you needed to deal with it today," he added, and quickly held up a hand. "I know, I know, overprotective mother hen." He made a mock tragic face. "Even after all this time you don't appreciate your senpai. Ah, I'm used to it."

Ryouma, caught between laughing and glowering, folded his arms and looked aside.

Thus, he was surprised when Momo's hand came up to cup the side of his face. He looked back around, eyes wide. He'd long since given up on enforcing any idea of personal space with Momo, but this was a little unusual.

"You should have someone you can actually trust, every now and then, that's all," Momo said. His mouth tugged up at one corner. "Someone who can talk, instead of meow."

And then the oddness of the moment seemed to reach Momo, too, and he dropped his hand and shouldered his bag.

"See you tomorrow," he told Ryouma, and made for the gate, leaving Ryouma staring after him and still wondering what that was all about.

Ryouma was still wondering at club practice the next day, and stalked around the courts with only half his attention on his team. When his Singles Three player nearly nailed him in the back with a wild ball he didn't even bother to glare.

"You need to retape your grip, Ougurou," he said, absently, swatting the ball back.

"Yes. Um. I'll do that now," Ougurou said, sidling away before Ryouma could change his mind.

And normally Ryouma would have called him out to demonstrate in action just how the problem could harm Ougurou's game. But he had other things on his mind today, and Kachirou seemed willing to take up the slack if the way Ougurou was shuffling in face of his lecture was any indication.

What had that been all about? It wasn't that he wasn't used to Momo touching him; in fact, if he were quite honest with himself he'd started to invite it. The contact was comfortable, and Momo was a good friend, after all. But that had been more than just friendly.

Ryouma stopped, and stared blankly through the fence. Just friendly. What was just friendly? What wasn't?

He started walking again, more slowly. He knew he didn't necessarily have the most normal view of these things. Apart from his dad's occasional jokes about wanting to grope his mom for old time's sake, at which point she offered to smack him one for old time's sake too, he didn't see any examples of anything from them. With his mom so busy with her job and the house, they didn't really spend that much time together, he guessed. And if Nanako was dating anyone, she didn't seem to have any intention of letting her aunt and uncle, or her cousin, know about it.

Not that he could blame her.

"Sagara, Tsunan, get back to work on your new formation," he directed his gossiping Doubles One pair, passing quietly behind them. Another day he might have been somewhat more amused that they jumped half a meter before stammering out affirmatives.

Maybe he should ask someone's advice on this. Except that the person he would normally ask about personal things was Momo. Besides, he didn't like having to ask.

He knew that he took his desire for self sufficiency from his mother; Nanako had commented on it before. Maybe he could take some methods from her, also. She was good at logic. So, logically, how to answer this question?

If his parents weren't any help, maybe he could compare the situation to someone else. Someone a little more average. So, who did he know who was more than friends?

Well, there was always Ann and Sakuno. Yeah, they would be a good comparison; Ann had a protective streak wider than Momo's. Ryouma figured it was probably genetic. How did she act around Sakuno?

She was almost always in contact with her, for one thing. A hand on her wrist, shoulders brushing, leaning against Sakuno, a hand around her waist. The more of those gestures Ryouma tallied up, the more unnerved he felt. That was the way Momo was around him, all right. And he hadn't noticed. Why hadn't he noticed?

Whether it was intuition or logic, the answer sprang up in his mind and rooted his feet to the ground. He hadn't noticed because it hadn't felt any different. He had always been comfortable around Momo, from the first day they met and he recognized the gleam of challenge in the eyes of the second year who had interfered to protect his kouhai.

Which raised the interesting question, had Momo noticed?

He could see about answering that later, Ryouma decided, briskly. Right now, he had things to be doing. Mind relieved for the moment, he called his team in and set them playing two on one, in rotation. The expressions of relief rather startled him, given how grueling this exercise got before too long, and he looked a question at Kachirou, who was smothering a laugh.

"They've been worried all day that you were distracted by thinking up something more, um, interesting for them," his vice-captain explained.

"Hm. I'll have something for tomorrow, then," Ryouma said, with a wicked smile. "Wouldn't do to let everyone down."

Kachirou lost the fight with his laughter, shaking his head.

Figuring out whether Momo had noticed proved more difficult than Ryouma had expected. Not because Momo was particularly difficult to read, but because Ryouma kept getting distracted. When Momo leaned against him, or sat behind him, or wrapped an arm around his shoulders, Ryouma kept forgetting to watch Momo because, now that he was noticing it, he was noticing how nice it felt.

And it did feel very nice. Having someone close to him, someone he could relax with because he knew for a fact Momo didn't mean him any harm, felt... warm.

In fact, he was starting to have to resist the urge to press closer, to invite Momo to hold him tighter.

At last, after a particularly unproductive day of staring at his History homework while his thoughts tripped over each other trying to observe Momo watching him, Ryouma decided, quite firmly and rationally he thought, that enough was enough. Logic was great, but Ryouma had known for a long time that instinct and action often had the edge. He clapped his book shut and tossed it off to one side.

Beside him, Momo looked up. "Homework that frustrating?" he asked with a grin.

"Actually, no," Ryouma declared. "Something else is, though."

And, as Momo was opening his mouth, probably to ask what, Ryouma turned and slung a leg over Momo's, settling comfortably astride his lap. Momo's mouth stayed open.

"Ah, Ryouma?" he managed, after a moment.

Ryouma spread his hands against Momo's chest, and felt his sudden intake of breath, watched his eyes widen. Momo's hands didn't seem to share the surprise, though, and closed firmly at Ryouma's waist. Mmm, yes; that was nice. Ryouma smiled. He was now prepared to bet that Momo, or at least the part of him in control of his hands, had been perfectly aware of how their touching had changed. Which raised yet another question.

"So, what's been taking you so long?" he asked.

Momo opened his mouth, closed it again, and growled. When he saw Ryouma's grin, he, too, seemed to decide that action was the best course, because he slid his hands up Ryouma's back, and pulled Ryouma against him, and caught Ryouma's mouth with his. Ryouma didn't make it easy for him; he was laughing. Momo persisted, though, tracing the curve of Ryouma's lips with his tongue, kissing the corner of his smile. And Ryouma finally sighed, and leaned against him, and kissed back.

The feeling of Momo's arms this tight around him, and Momo's tongue playing tag with his, was a lot more than just warm.

Momo drew back a bit. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?" he murmured against Ryouma's mouth.

"Very sure," Ryouma told him, repressively, and rocked forward to kiss him again.

Oh.

A lot more.

If the groan that tangled with his in the middle of their kiss hadn't been enough to tell him, he could feel, now, that Momo was enjoying this as much as he was. Experimentally, Ryouma shifted, rocking their hips together again. Heat tingled through him, and he heard a soft, wordless sound in his own throat. Momo leaned his head back against the bed behind him, but if he meant to catch his breath it backfired. Ryouma took the opportunity to taste the skin under Momo's jaw, and they both gasped as their bodies pressed flush together.

Ryouma's hands moved down Momo's body, almost involuntarily, because he wanted more. More contact. And clothes were very much in the way, though not for long. Momo bit back a moan as Ryouma's fingers brushed against his skin, curled around his cock. Ryouma rather liked that sound. He liked it more when he felt Momo's fingers shaking just a little as he loosened Ryouma's pants and slid a hand inside.

And then Ryouma kissed Momo again, hard, to muffle his own harsh moan. Shivers coursed through him, trembling out from Momo's touch. Their fingers tangled together as Ryouma pressed closer, feeling Momo's other hand smoothing up and down his back, and he wound his own free arm around Momo's shoulders to brace himself against the flickering, shuddering heat.

"Ryouma," Momo whispered, and Ryouma buried his head against Momo's shoulder, pressing his lips against the skin of Momo's neck, biting down with the first surge of pleasure that wrung his entire body. He shuddered, hearing Momo's sharp gasp, riding the fire that twisted through him again and again. It was too much, in the end, and he heard his breath sob through his chest as the fire threw him loose, falling...

But he was leaning against Momo, and Momo was holding him. He couldn't be falling. The hot pleasure let him back down into warmth that curled around him, gently. Both of them stayed where they were, and Ryouma listened to Momo's breath calm against his ear. Their fingers were still tangled together, and, while messy, there was something oddly comforting about the feeling.

At last, Momo stirred, shifting to fish in his pocket and produce a packet of tissues. Ryouma stifled a laugh at the practicality, and didn't look up as they cleaned themselves off.

Momo's fingers brushed over his hair. "You all right?" he asked, quietly.

"Of course," Ryouma told him, raising his head to look Momo in the eye.

Those eyes were just a little soft, and lit with a smile at Ryouma's answer. Ryouma bent his head back down to Momo's shoulder to hide what he was fairly sure was a blush (of all things!), and locked his arms around Momo.

"Of course I'm all right," he said, again, though a smile.

Momo's fingers rubbed up and down his neck. "Good."

It was possible, not likely but possible, that Ryouma was being paranoid. He was nearly positive, however, that Inui-senpai had been spending more time than usual watching him at unofficial practice, today. It was starting to make him a bit twitchy. He edged around the other side of Momo on the pretext of getting his water bottle, and leaned briefly against Momo's shoulder for reassurance.

A quick glance showed Inui-senpai scribbling furiously.

"Momo-senpai, has Inui-senpai had a new project going or something?" Ryouma asked, cautiously.

"Not that he's mentioned," Momo answered, a bit uneasily.

The soft laugh behind them was not reassuring, despite its warmth, and Ryouma turned to give Fuji-senpai a wary look. While Fuji was an excellent source of protection from everything from too-loud teammates to malicious opponents, and one Ryouma was perfectly willing to take advantage of, the flip side was that Fuji tended to regard protectees as his personal source of amusement.

He certainly seemed amused by something, today.

"It's just Inui's way of wishing you well," Fuji-senpai told him. "Come play a set with me, Echizen."

Ryouma hefted his racquet and headed back to the court. He wasn't going to ask. It just wasn't worth the trouble, and answers usually presented themselves sooner or later if he just let it ride. Sometimes his subconscious just needed time to decide what Fuji-senpai was talking about. They were, in fact, in the fifth game before Ryouma's backbrain piped up with a suggestion of what Fuji-senpai's rather cryptic remark might have implied. His swing went wild, and he nearly tripped over his own foot before slamming to a halt and staring across the net at his senpai's blandly inquiring look.

It showed? And Inui-senpai was recording this in one of his damned notebooks?

Ryouma shot a blistering glare at Inui-senpai, who smiled cheerfully back. He growled very quietly, and directed an even more searing look back at Fuji. Fuji-senpai wasn't even attempting to look innocent, any more, and his eyes were laughing.

Before Ryouma could attempt bodily harm against his grinning seniors, however, Tezuka-buchou turned from coaching Momo through a speed exercise and narrowed his eyes at them.

"Fuji. Inui." An admonition to knock it off and get back to work hung, unspoken, after their names, and, with a last chuckle, Inui tucked away his notebook and Fuji backed off to receive Ryouma's next serve. "Echizen, mind your concentration," Tezuka-buchou added.

Ryouma ground out an acknowledgement, and stalked back to serve. He was going to kill them both, he really was. Later, because Tezuka-buchou had a point; nothing interrupted the game, not even senpai who were getting far too much amusement out of Ryouma's... relationship with Momo. At least, he grumbled to himself, there was still a handful of months to go before they would be on the same campus again. He could hope they wouldn't be smirking quite so hard by then.

When practice ended, though, and Fuji-senpai's hand fell on his shoulder, Ryouma's mistrustful glance met an unusually soft smile. Ryouma looked aside, stepping firmly on the urge to squirm, and Fuji-senpai squeezed his shoulder, companionably, and let him go. None of them were smirking as Momo draped an arm over his shoulders.

"Come on, Ryouma, let's get something to eat; I'm starved!"

"You're always starved, Momo-senpai," Ryouma pointed out, going along easily.

The looks that followed them, as they left, might even have had an edge of affection.

All right, maybe he wouldn't actually kill them.

End

Insight

Tezuka introspective. Drama, I-3

He knew that no one among his peers was credited with greater insight into his opponents than Atobe Keigo. It was a justified reputation. But Atobe concentrated on the physical, and tended to ignore the signs of character that the ball wrote on the face of a racquet. It was the weakness in his strength, because those signs were the ones that told whether a player would or could go beyond his physical limits.

He found it strange that Atobe ignored this when he was one of those people himself.

But, then, Atobe had had years to get used to the idea that he didn't need to know, that it would never matter, that no one could overtake him no matter how they drove themselves. Old habits were hard to change. No one had driven Atobe, or shown him in the language of his own body how much it could matter.

No one until himself.

And, to his credit, Atobe did watch him for those signs of the intangible, now, when they played. Not that he made it terribly difficult, he supposed. Nothing was very concealed when he played Atobe. When they faced each other the fronts ripped away, Atobe's affectations and his own reserve both burned to glittering ash in the heat of their contest. He knew it was what kept them both coming back for another unofficial match every few months, carefully stepping around ever having to inform their coaches, for almost three years now.

Sometimes he wondered if Atobe realized just how much of himself he showed, when they played.

Perhaps it still didn't occur to Atobe that his opponent would see. He knew his own style was somewhat deceptive. It appeared that he forced the game onto his terms, that it was simply the fine extent of his control that caused each ball to come to him as if called. But it was more than control; it was also understanding. He learned the language that the ball spoke to his racquet, and spoke it back, and the ball heeded. But the ball was only a carrier, in the end. The language he had to learn each time, listening through his hands, was that of his opponent.

Atobe's language was both raw and sleek. There was fury in the power of his techniques, and malice in the way he held his hand until the most overwhelming moment so that he could crush those who dared stand against him, those who dared try to stop him. He used his strength as a bludgeon, and his speed to confuse, and his arrogance to infuriate. Where some balls sang against the strings his screamed.

And when someone sent that scream back, proved that he had heard it, Atobe's eyes brightened and his smile turned hungry and true.

Tezuka Kunimitsu knew why he kept coming back. It was to hear a desperation and hope and frustrated rage that matched his own.

Sometimes he wondered whether Atobe saw that, too.

End

Backstage - Part One

Tezuka and Atobe meet while out fishing, in the Spring of their third year of high school. Conversation, verbal jousting, poetry, philosophy, angst, dramatics and humor ensue. Drama with Budding Romance, I-3

Well, wasn't this just a fine thing?

When Atobe Keigo wanted to get away from the duties and expectations of his game, his team, his opponents, he had a particular place to go. An isolated little bite out of the lakeshore where none of those things would follow. And now he saw all of them reflected at him in Tezuka Kunimitsu's eyes. If the fishing paraphernalia spread out comfortably around this slightly overgrown grove was any indication, his best rival already had the place staked out for a long day. He had excellent taste, if execrable timing. Keigo took a few deep breaths; he would not, he told himself strenuously, scream with frustration. No matter how cathartic it might be just now. He had an image to maintain, even if Tezuka didn't usually believe it.

Tezuka's startled gaze fell on Keigo's equipment and sharpened. He tipped his head to one side.

"Do you come here to fish, too?"

Keigo raised a brow. Too? Come to think of it, he had seen plenty of signs that someone else liked to fish at this place. He hadn't thought much about it, except to be pleased that their schedules never seemed to overlap. He certainly hadn't imagined that his unofficial timeshare partner might be Tezuka.

"Yes," he answered at last, gathering himself to go look for another spot as graciously as possible. It took a fair degree of gathering, and Tezuka beat him to the punch.

"There's room for both of us, if you don't mind," he offered, quietly.

Keigo accepted, stifling his surprise. It occurred to him, as Tezuka gathered his things to one side, that he'd definitely been out-gracious-ed, but he let it slide in the interest of peaceful fishing. Tezuka didn't seem like the sort to practice competitive graciousness, in any case.

In fact, the edge of competition was completely lacking in Tezuka's manner today. The absence was a bit jarring, Keigo mused as he laid out his things. He and Tezuka rarely encountered each other except on the court, and their personal competition was everything, there. Keigo loved it. Tennis was almost always entertaining, of course, but with Tezuka... Tezuka's intensity washed away all the extraneous bits that usually occupied Keigo's attention. The crowd, the future, the presentation, they all faded, and nothing mattered but the moment and the ball drawing lines in the air between them.

They'd learned, over the last few years, to bring seconds along, even for their unofficial matches. Once they were absorbed in the game only exceptional intervention, such as, say, a car crashing into the court, would induce either one to back down before the final score was decided. It wasn't uncommon for them to leave so exhausted neither of them could walk a straight line without help.

This present still calm was , ironically, not helping his peace of mind, Keigo reflected as he cast his line out.

And how was Tezuka taking it? A sidelong glance showed him focused on the water as if it were a meditation garden. Keigo decided to take the opportunity to indulge his curiosity, and looked closer.

Tezuka's stillness was nothing new. The quality of stillness wrapped around him even in the middle of a hard game; it was one of the things that often intimidated his opponents. It was a good tactic, and Keigo smirked every time he saw it used on someone else. There was something, though. Something in the line of his shoulders, and the set of his hands.

After a long moment it finally came to Keigo. Tezuka was relaxed.

Not the waiting whipsnap that fatally deceived so many on the court, but really relaxed. Keigo was not much given to introspection, at least not when he could help it, but one particular conclusion hit him hard enough to knock his breath out.

Keigo came here to find a little stability, a restful, solid time when he didn't have to worry about balancing the needs and quirks of his team against the ruthless demands of their coach. Here, he didn't have to deal with the annoyance of some uppity little hotshot after his position. He didn't have to listen to his father casually mentioning the statistics on how many youthful tennis stars completely failed as professionals, and thank God for Grandfather, that was all Keigo had to say. He didn't have to be arrogant enough to prop up the egos of two hundred odd mediocre players. He could be quiet. He could be lackadaisical. He could be abrasive or not, as he pleased. He could, in short, relax.

Tezuka clearly came here for pretty much all the reasons that Keigo himself did. It was an insight he really felt he could have done without. Not least because it immediately presented the question of whether the flash of understanding was mutual.

"There's no audience here, Atobe, you don't have to stay in character just to play to me." Tezuka's voice held a hint of impatience, as he glanced over, and Keigo realized abruptly how much he'd focused on Tezuka for the past few minutes. Of course he'd noticed.

And, Keigo supposed, that answered that question. He turned his attention to his line. He wasn't sure today would be a relaxed day for him, but at least he was distracted from his regular problems.

Five minutes later he was studying Tezuka again. Fish were less demanding, but they weren't as interesting.

He had known already that Tezuka used his reserve to conceal his intensity. It now appeared that he also concealed a certain... softness? tolerance? Keigo sighed to himself, because now his curiosity was engaged. And, after his pride, curiosity was probably his second strongest driving force. Well, if he was going to indulge it, he might was well do so with flair. What would be a good approach to stir up some revelations? Hm...

"Do you ever wish you had chosen a different front?" he asked. Tezuka eyed him, and he decided to prod a little harder. "Not that it isn't an effective one, the stone silence does emphasize your command presence nicely, but don't you ever get tired of it? Face get stiff?"

One of these days, Keigo told himself as Tezuka's brows rose, it would probably be a good idea to restrain his sense of humor. It had gotten him in trouble before. In fact, it was the source of most of his bad reputation, including the part that held he couldn't possibly have a sense of humor because one person couldn't fit that and his ego too.

Tezuka was not, however, looking offended. He looked, insofar as Keigo could decipher his typically minimalist expression, thoughtful.

"Do you?" he bounced the question back. Keigo read a certain censure in the sharpness of his voice, and snorted.

"If you had as many people to deal with as I do, you would have chosen a front that afforded you some amusement into the bargain, too," he declared.

"It amuses you to annoy people?" Tezuka inferred.

Keigo smiled. "Infinitely."

"It amuses you to toy with people?"

"Provided they're worth toying with," Keigo specified, leaning back on his elbows. Tezuka reeled his line back in.

"If you want an honest answer to your question, Atobe, give me an honest answer to mine."

"That was honest, Tezuka. I enjoy frustrating people who don't realize that I am toying with them. If that fact itself also amuses me, that doesn't make it any less true." He tipped his head back to look up through the leaves. "You must know what it's like. To be the best without a regular challenge. What's worthwhile then?" Tezuka was silent for a minute before he spoke, in a meditative tone.

"There are times you remind me of Fuji."

Keigo sat up rather quickly at that.

"I beg your pardon! I remind you of that little blond sociopath of yours? I have never been that unstable!" He glared at his companion.

"Indeed," Tezuka noted, a bit too neutrally for Keigo's taste, as he made a new cast.

Keigo slouched back and made a mental note that a relaxed Tezuka, while not significantly more emotive, was a good deal more outspoken.

"I am content with my own choice," Tezuka stated after a few minutes of silence. It took Keigo a moment to remember the question that this was an answer to. But, then, it was only what he would expect out of Tezuka's particular inflexible integrity, that he would keep his end of even a forgotten agreement.

"Always?" Keigo wanted to know. Contemplative silence reigned again for a while before Tezuka replied.

"Like your choice, mine has results that please me. Those I don't wish to deal with don't bother me. My team obeys me." Keigo smirked over that last, while Tezuka paused again. "Like you, I don't like the pressures that originally made me learn these habits. But, like you, I chose something that would let me stand against those pressures. Those expectations. Those denials."

Keigo had to fight a sudden urge to back away, quickly, from that deep, even voice saying such unexpected, personal, accurate things. A corner of his mind observed that it was no wonder his opponents on the court looked so alarmed when he did this kind of thing himself.

"I don't recall saying any of that," he observed in his best languid drawl. The look Tezuka turned on him was not at all relaxed; it reminded him, with unpleasant abruptness, of how Tezuka looked when he played.

"Why do you come here, Atobe?" Tezuka asked. The change in direction gave Keigo a moment of mental whiplash, but he understood what Tezuka was asking. And he was ruefully aware that he'd been asking for this when he decided to prod Tezuka. The real question, now, was whether he wanted to afford his rival, of all people, the kind of frankness that he had previously reserved for such undemanding recipients as the fish.

On the other hand, hadn't he done that already? What else were their matches, if not utterly brutal honesty written out in every movement? Brutality, in fact, had been their point of contact from the beginning. It was pleasant to have a couple constants in one's life. And, reputation to the contrary, Keigo had never been one to hand out anything he couldn't take.

"I come here to trap slippery creatures, reel them in, and then decide whether I want to kill them or not," he said, making another cast.

A sharp glint of appreciation lit Tezuka's eye for a moment.

"And you," Keigo suggested, "come here because the fish understand your sense of humor better than your friends."

Tezuka picked up one of the sharp, barbed hooks from his tackle box and held it up so that it glinted in the sun.

"Perhaps."

Several casts later, Keigo remembered something he'd been wanting to ask since he got here. "Why are you here today, Tezuka? You've never come on Thursdays before."

"That's how my schedule worked out, this spring," Tezuka shrugged slightly and tilted a brow. "Yours?"

"Likewise." They both contemplated this fact in silence. "Ah, well. It will add a touch of interest to the conclusion of high school."

"To say the least," Tezuka murmured, and set his hook in a hapless fish with a flick of his wrist.

TBC

A/N: I do know that fly-fishing, which is what Tezuka's hobby, at least, is listed as, is not a sitting still on the shore sort of affair. Since I wanted to boys to talk, though, I took a bit of artistic license.

Backstage - Part Two

Tezuka and Atobe meet while out fishing, in the Spring of their third year of high school. Conversation, verbal jousting, poetry, philosophy, angst, dramatics and humor ensue. Drama with Budding Romance, I-3

Kunimitsu had started approaching his favorite fishing spot a little warily since his schedule and Atobe's had fallen into synch this spring. Today, however, his caution appeared unnecessary. Atobe was not waiting, with his usual edgy words and mocking smile only slightly blunted by the peace of water and silence.

Instead, he was sprawled out with one arm thrown over his eyes, looking rather rumpled. He hadn't even set his line yet.

At the rustle of Kunimitsu setting up, he raised his arm for a moment and muttered something that might have been a greeting. Kunimitsu considered his companion as he sorted through his hooks. Atobe was a showman, even when he was relaxing. If he was showing exhaustion, he probably wanted to be asked about it.

"Are the fish particularly tiring today?"

"The fish are the very souls of courtesy," Atobe informed him. "They're waiting for me to recover before taking up negotiations."

"Ah." Kunimitsu waited, curious to see whether Atobe's obvious desire to talk about it would win over his habit of misdirection.

"I think some of my team may fail to graduate this year," Atobe mused. "I'm going to kill them first. Mukahi decided today was the perfect day to provoke Shishido, and told him it was a good thing he was so persistent, as it almost made up for his lack of talent. To which, predictably, Shishido replied that that was better than having a useless talent and no staying power, and becoming a drag on his partner. Which, of course, made Mukahi angry enough to resort to fists over words. You've never seen such a catfight." Atobe ran a hand through his hair. "And that got their partners into it, and thank God both Oshitari and Ohtori have level heads and managed to pull those two apart. Except I'm reconsidering whether Oshitari can really be said to have a level head any more, because he decided the best way to shut Mukahi up would be to kiss him. Not that those two are anything but an open secret, but there's such a thing as style, not to mention discretion, and I'm just thankful Hiyoshi had the good sense to chase off most of their audience before that." Atobe sat up at last and reached for his water.

Kunimitsu found himself having to stifle a chuckle at the indignant tirade. The expressive flex and swoop of Atobe's voice, when he was in full swing, was as good as anyone else's extravagant gesticulation.

"Did you ever consider theatre as a hobby?" he inquired. Atobe shot him a sidelong look for the apparent non sequitur.

"Not really."

"You would have been quite good at it, I think," Kunimitsu told him, blandly. "Aristophanes would suit you. The Thesmophoriazusae, perhaps."

Atobe choked, and snorted water out his nose.

If Kunimitsu were honest about it he would have to admit that Atobe wasn't the only one who liked provoking people now and then. It was merely that Kunimitsu restrained himself, while Atobe made an art of flamboyant unrestraint. This place was where they relaxed, though, and perhaps they met in the middle, Atobe less artful and Kunimitsu less restrained.

"Your timing is as good as your humor is terrible," Atobe rasped, recovering. Kunimitsu let a faint smile show. He didn't think he had to say out loud that Atobe had no room to complain.

"Your team has stayed remarkably cohesive over the years," he observed instead. Atobe waved a dismissive hand.

"It's the doubles pairs that have been stable. Neither of them could be pried apart with a crowbar. Shishido wasn't a Regular again until Ohtori caught up. Though I doubt Oshitari and Mukahi will continue with tennis after this year. They're the second rank doubles team, again, and I doubt they can improve much more. At least," he added, lip curling, "not unless Mukahi gets it though his head that contempt for his opponents won't automatically let him win."

"A very bad habit," Kunimitsu agreed.

Atobe glared at him. He was very easily provoked today, Kunimitsu noted. And, apparently, more out of sorts than was immediately evident, because he declined to rise to the bait.

"In any case, I could say the same of your team. You have that mouthy little brat of yours back again, don't you?"

"Of course." And Arai had been deeply irate to be ousted from the Regulars by Echizen's arrival, despite, or possibly because of, everyone else's sure knowledge that it would happen. Tezuka shook his head. "Though you could say he never really left. He's been practicing with us right along."

Atobe slanted a look at him. "Ah? I wouldn't have thought you'd bend the rules like that. Some favoritism creeping in, Tezuka?"

"It was in everyone's free time," Kunimitsu returned, serenely. Atobe really was off his stride today.

It wasn't until Atobe jerked his line too hard and lost a fish that Kunimitsu thought it might be something serious. Lack of control was not normally one of Atobe's problems, even when he was angry. Now, though, he saw a very fine trembling in Atobe's hands, the kind that might translate into a series of bruising smashes if he had held a racquet instead of a fishing pole. He waited, patiently, for whatever was wrong to emerge.

"What are you planning to do when you graduate?" Atobe asked, at last.

"To play professionally." Caution made Kunimitsu's voice expressionless. Where was this going?

"Ah. Has anyone ever told you the odds of good junior players succeeding professionally?" Atobe's voice was almost as even as his own, but the expression that accompanied it was a subtle snarl.

"No," Kunimitsu answered quietly. The snarl was becoming less subtle, and Kunimitsu found himself a little concerned what might happen if Atobe gave his rage free rein outside of the court. He considered the problem.

He had observed Atobe interacting with his coach a few times. It was clear they respected each other, and he had thought at the time that Atobe must not be very familiar with support if he responded so warmly to such a cold trainer. He had an increasingly firm idea that someone in Atobe's family was the source of the frustration and anger that seemed to drive Atobe's game.

So...

"There's supposed to be something more important. Something of higher worth," he stated, cool and certain. Atobe stilled. "But it isn't the same, and it isn't enough."

"Business," Atobe nearly spit the word.

"Kendo," Kunimitsu offered in return.

"They don't understand what it's like," Atobe said, low and soft, staring over the water.

Kunimitsu thought about his brat , as Atobe named Echizen. He remembered the morning Momoshiro had come to practice, after finally prying the initial source of Echizen's tennis obsession out of the boy, and proceeded to hit balls through the fence until Ryuuzaki-sensei had yelled at him.

"That may be for the best, in the end," he pointed out. Atobe looked at him as if Kunimitsu had suggested he dye his hair orange, and he couldn't decide which scathing retort he wanted to use first. That was more normal, and Kunimitsu relaxed again.

"That's better," he said, turning back to his line. Atobe arched a brow at him.

"What's better?"

"Your temper. Not that it's anything to boast of at the best of times, of course."

Atobe scowled at him before turning away to fiddle with his line. At length he muttered a thank you almost as indecipherable as his earlier greeting had been. Kunimitsu smiled, amused.

"Really, you're the highest maintenance rival I've ever had," he told Atobe, deadpan.

After one blank moment Atobe laughed low in his throat and lounged back by his rod.

"As it should be," he declaimed.

TBC

A/N: The Thesmophoriazusae is a play by the Greek comedic playwright Aristophanes; it's full of low humor and crossdressing and sexual innuendo.

Backstage - Part Three

Tezuka and Atobe meet while out fishing, in the Spring of their third year of high school. Conversation, verbal jousting, poetry, philosophy, angst, dramatics and humor ensue. Drama with Budding Romance, I-3

Spring was starting to warm into summer, and the fish were getting smarter.

Or, at any rate, pickier about what they'd bite. Thursday afternoons had acquired a slower pace. Keigo basked in the mild sun, storing up pleasure in anticipation of the crushing heat to come later in the year. Practices would become downright grueling, then, he knew.

"A little hard to believe this is the last year we'll be training with our teams," he murmured, eyes closed.

"Mm."

Keigo opened his eyes. He was becoming increasingly fluent in Tezuka-speak, which was a very tonal language. That particular tone was more terse than he would have thought the comment warranted. He examined Tezuka's hands on his pole. He was definitely thinking of something besides the fish. It looked like today would be another challenge to get something out of his companion; that was always good for an entertaining hour or two.

"Too bad the competition will be so poor for the Nationals this year," he suggested. "With Rikkai still in such disarray after losing a doubles pair and Sanada, both, the only real challenge, besides you, is Fudoumine."

Tezuka's mouth tightened for a moment. Ah, getting warmer, then. Something about one of the other teams, perhaps?

"I never expected Sanada to drop out of tennis unless Yukimura did." Keigo drew a breath to continue, and then let it out silently as Tezuka's eyebrows dove down. He smiled with great smugness. Got it in one. Now, then, something about Sanada himself, or about his captain?

Of course, judging by the edge to Tezuka's expression, if Keigo pushed this he might just start returning, and that could get... uncomfortable. Tezuka saw him far more clearly than Keigo was used to. But that had never stopped him before.

"I hear Sanada's studying the sword, instead," he mentioned casually.

"Yes. I've been told." Tezuka's voice was hard and cold, and Keigo sat up to look at him. There were harmonics in that statement that he would have recognized at five hundred meters. The frustration, especially.

Pieces fell together.

"You're related to that Tezuka family, then?" he asked.

"Through my grandfather," Tezuka answered flatly. He didn't mention his father, Keigo noticed, as though his father didn't enter into the matter. Maybe he didn't. Too bad they couldn't trade, he thought, a bit sourly. He might pay money to watch his own father blunt his bluff attitude on Tezuka.

He didn't suggest that there must be other cousins and such to take up the tradition; in cases of family tradition, especially as famous a tradition as the Tezuka school of kendo, that didn't usually make a difference. Tezuka stirred.

"I doubt my team will suffer such confusion when the seniors leave," he said. "Yours, on the other hand..."

Keigo chuckled, accepting the change of topic. Entertainment was one thing, but if he did press Tezuka further on this subject the return was likely to go beyond painful and into deadly. He didn't want to push Tezuka that far. Not here.

"Unlike your merry band, Hyoutei is used to reforming dramatically each year. Hiyoshi has the experience to hold the new players together." Keigo pursed his lips thoughtfully. "He might even follow on professionally."

"I doubt any from my years except Echizen will become professionals," Tezuka noted, unusually forthcoming with what Keigo rather thought was relief.

"Not even that bouncy power-player of yours?" he asked, a little surprised. "What was his name... Momoshiro. An annoying loudmouth, but he has the talent." Tezuka gave him a distinct People who live in glass houses sort of look before replying. Keigo smiled.

"For a few years, perhaps, but I doubt he wants to bother with something that cutthroat in the long term. Momoshiro is invested in his team. I won't be surprised if he becomes the Seigaku coach when Ryuuzaki-sensei retires."

"What about your socially maladjusted data specialist?" Keigo prodded. "Hiyoshi has been quietly enamored of his determination for years; surely you aren't telling me he lacks the focus."

Usually Keigo's insulting epithets for Tezuka's team garnered at least a sharp look, promising retribution, but this time Tezuka's face was a bit distant as he watched the water.

"There was a time I thought he would," Tezuka spoke at length, tone as distant as his expression. "But I'm not so sure any longer." He seemed to return to himself and finished, more briskly. "He may choose to become a trainer; he certainly has a knack for it."

"Hm. I suppose Jirou might take that path, too," Keigo mused, reeling in his line for another cast. Tezuka quirked a brow, and Keigo was in an good enough mood not to make him ask out loud.

"Shishido and Ohtori will probably go on, too, as doubles specialists," he speculated. "Oshitari and Mukahi will probably go settle down somewhere and be scandalous." He shuddered, delicately. He would never admit it, but he envied Tezuka his star doubles pair. They seemed so... calm and undramatic. Hyoutei only needed one dramatic personality, and that was him. "I don't think I'm going to miss it that much," he concluded.

Tezuka was still for a moment. "You won't miss the attention? Being the center of that circus?" he asked, mildly. A crack of black laughter escaped Keigo.

"What a good comparison. Not really, no." He had become a little... attached to this particular team, but that was no ones business but his. And, perforce, Sakaki-sensei's. "Being the focus of two hundred little minds with less talent? Being their talisman, so they'll all focus on one goal?" He bared his teeth. "The annoyance value of acting like an idol is pleasant, but it would have limited utility, professionally. I think I'll choose something else after this year. Hell, I'll act like anything that's called for, including humble, if the sponsors can just break me loose from..." He bit off the end of the sentence. Damn Tezuka's silence, that invited him to talk without thinking. Relaxation or no, he'd gotten too careless here.

"From your family?" Tezuka finished for him, and Keigo quashed a wince. Wasn't he supposed to be the one with the marvelous insight? Not, he supposed, that it was such a large leap from some of the other things they'd said in this place.

He thought about that for a minute.

"You... were planning in that direction, too?" he hazarded, not looking at Tezuka. If Tezuka felt trapped by the question he'd never answer it.

"Somewhat." The deep voice was barely audible, and when Keigo glanced over Tezuka was looking down at his own hands folded on his knees. It looked like a harder thought for Tezuka than it was for him.

On impulse, Keigo leaned over and laid his fingers on Tezuka's wrist. Tezuka's head turned toward him, sharply.

"Great minds think alike," Keigo offered, in English, with a lazy smile.

A corner of Tezuka's mouth actually twitched, and the bittersweet-brown eyes lightened.

"Ah. In that case I shall look forward to Tachibana's company as I go about choosing a sponsor," he said, smoothly.

Keigo gave in at last, and fell back, laughing freely.

TBC

A/N: The idea of Momo becoming the Seigaku coach came from Familiarity by Monnie. It stuck in my head and wouldn't leave.

I ran across an actual Tezuka school of kendo while out browsing the web. The coincidence of names was too good to pass up, despite the fact that, canonically, Tezuka's grandfather teaches Judo.

Backstage - Part Four

Tezuka and Atobe meet while out fishing, in the Spring of their third year of high school. Conversation, verbal jousting, poetry, philosophy, angst, dramatics and humor ensue. Drama with Budding Romance, I-3

Atobe seemed to have something on his mind this week. He kept glancing over at Kunimitsu and then away. After the fourth time he did it, Kunimitsu sighed.

"You might as well say whatever it is."

Atobe really must have been distracted, because he immediately recoiled to his default response of mockery.

"What," he drawled, "you think you can figure it out if I don't? Let us witness your great deductive abilities, then."

Kunimitsu eyed him. Atobe didn't often fall back on that sort of thing any more. He shrugged one shoulder. "I think that if I wait quietly you'll say in any case. You might was well say it now as later." Atobe blinked, and slouched back, grumbling under his breath.

"Just because I know how to use my tongue..."

Kunimitsu smiled. It was too perfect. He couldn't resist.

"Do you, now?" he murmured.

Atobe's eyes widened, and he stared at Kunimitsu for several beats before he burst out laughing. There, that was better. Atobe's mocking humor was a serrated thing, both sleek and ugly, subtle and vicious. Kunimitsu preferred it when Atobe relaxed enough to laugh, instead.

"Innuendo from Tezuka Kunimitsu," Atobe managed at last, "be still my heart! The world must be ending." He sighed and looked out over the lake. "I was wondering why you invited me to stay. That first day we were both here."

The question surprised Kunimitsu. Most of the understanding between he and Atobe was unspoken. He had not expected Atobe to want to change that. Well, how to explain, then?

"The things you say here," he began, at length, "could you say them anywhere else?" Atobe's eyes flickered. Kunimitsu turned one hand palm up. "Neither could I. But you aren't a member of my team, that I have to maintain my authority with. You aren't a classmate I have to get along with. I have no family duty to you. And there are things you understand."

Atobe considered this for a while.

"You were so sure of all that at the time?" he asked, finally, not quite mocking but clearly on edge. Kunimitsu's mouth tightened; he wasn't sure Atobe would accept the answer, but he had asked for it. And while Atobe might not have noticed it, yet, Kunimitsu told him the things he asked directly. Always.

"We've been playing each other for years, now," he pointed out. "You are very honest when you play full out. And given that key, you aren't difficult to read at other times, either."

Tension threaded through Atobe.

"Besides," Kunimitsu added, after a moment, returning to the original question, "sometimes you quote German poets with a very bad accent. It's an amusing way to pass the afternoon." The tension leaked away as Atobe drew himself up.

"A bad accent?" he repeated, in a deeply offended tone. The gleam in his eye undercut his supposed indignation.

"Horrible," Kunimitsu confirmed, evenly. "You mangle the gutturals." Atobe snorted.

"Well, if it's a good accent you want..." He tilted his head, consideringly, and started to recite in what Kunimitsu recognized, after a few sentences, as Greek. He thought the language suited Atobe. The sound of it was sharp, but it had a rolling rhythm, like an avalanche of broken stone seen from far enough away to make it fluid. When Atobe finished, Kunimitsu quirked a brow at him. Atobe's smile was a bit distant as he translated.

"Imagine the condition of men living in a sort of cavernous chamber underground. Here they have been from childhood, chained by the leg and also by the neck, so that they cannot move and can only see what is in front of them. At some distance higher up is the light of a fire burning behind them." He paused. "The prisoners so confined would have seen nothing of themselves or of one another, except the shadows thrown by the firelight on the wall of the Cave facing them, would they?"

"Plato," Kunimitsu identified it. Atobe nodded. It had to be from The Republic, as that was the only thing by Plato that Kunimitsu had ever read. He remembered being irked by the man's complacence, while appreciating the idea of ability being allowed to lead. On reflection he wasn't at all surprised that Atobe knew it well enough to quote.

Though what he had chosen to quote today indicated that he focused more on the bleak picture of human understanding than on the bright, brittle vision of a perfected society. That didn't entirely surprise Kunimitsu either.

"I think I prefer the German poets," he said quietly. A particular passage from one of his favorites came to mind, and he quoted it in turn. "You know how much more remarkable I always find the people walking about in front of paintings than the paintings themselves. It's no different here, except for the CÃ©zanne room. Here, all of reality is on his side: in this dense quilted blue of his, in his red and his shadowless green and the reddish black of his wine bottles. And the humbleness of his objects: the apples are all cooking apples and the wine bottles belong in the roundly bulging pockets of an old coat."

Atobe looked at him inquiringly. "That's not poetry."

"It's a poet's letter about a painter's work," Kunimitsu explained. "Rilke writing about CÃ©zanne."

"You like Rilke enough to memorize his letters?" Atobe asked on a chuckle.

"The philosophy of artists appeals to me," Kunimitsu told him softly. Atobe was silent, with the rare depth in his eyes that only showed when he was thinking seriously about a challenging idea. Kunimitsu kept his gaze as light as he could. Atobe was... compelling like this. But he didn't think it would be wise to let his companion know that.

It wasn't as though his ego needed the assistance.

"Cooking apples, hm?" Atobe murmured. "That's certainly different from the ideal Form of Apple-ness."

"Quite," Kunimitsu agreed, dryly. Atobe leaned toward him.

"But isn't perfection what we're looking for? Especially on the court?"

"Yes," Kunimitsu allowed, "but perfection differs from one player to another. There wouldn't be a game if it didn't."

"You don't think the final winner would be the one who found the real perfection?" Atobe challenged, dark eyes almost glowing.

"If that were true you and I should be converging toward a similar style." Kunimitsu noted. "We're not." Atobe leaned back with a delighted smile.

"Good point." Then he gave Kunimitsu a narrow look. "Why haven't you ever argued philosophy with me before, Tezuka? You've been holding back on me."

Kunimitsu couldn't hold back a quiet laugh. It was so like Atobe to be irate over something like that. He was just a bit surprised that Atobe also seemed to feel that they had passed from rivals good enough to talk to friends good enough to argue. But perhaps Atobe hadn't thought it out quite that far. Kunimitsu had rarely observed him applying his quite incisive intelligence to his own feelings.

"I won't any longer, if you like," he offered.

"I should hope not," Atobe admonished him. "So, are you familiar with Theses on the Philosophy of History?"

Neither of them really seemed to mind that they didn't catch any fish at all that day.

End

A/N: The passages of Plato and Rilke in this story are quoted, with a few artistic inaccuracies, from The Republic of Plato, Oxford Press edition, translated by Francis Cornford and Letters on CÃ©zanne, North Point Press edition, translated by Joel Agee.

For those who may be curious, Theses on the Philosophy of History is a thoroughly cracked-out essay by the German philosopher Walter Benjamin. I highly recommend it. That it appears as subject matter in one of Laurie Anderson's songs should tell you something about how wonderfully bizarre it is.

Undertow

Hiyoshi's perspective on a "chance" encounter between Hyoutei and Seigaku, and especially their captains. Drama with Flirting, I-3

Wakashi thought, later, that it started innocently enough, with Mukahi complaining. That was nothing unusual. Nor did it surprise anyone that Mukahi was annoyed that he hadn't gotten a chance to play against Kikumaru and his partner at Prefecturals this year, and, in the Doubles Two slot, was unlikely to have the chance at Regionals either, even supposing Seigaku and Hyoutei came up across from each other again. Wakashi ignored him, as he usually did. It was nobody else's problem that Mukahi and Oshitari hadn't been able to secure a position as the first doubles team.

So it escaped his notice, until long after the fact, that Atobe's smile had taken on an extra edge, or that their captain had dispatched one of the lesser club members on an unspecified errand. The first anyone really knew of something going on was at the end of practice a few days later when Atobe answered his cell phone and suddenly had the gleam in his eye that meant someone was going to regret his existence very soon.

"Mukahi, you were saying you wanted a chance to play Seigaku's Golden Pair?" Atobe asked, with a shark's smile.

"Yes," Mukahi answered, a bit warily.

"Well, here's your chance. You remember the courts down by the park?" Everyone nodded. "It seems some of the Seigaku team have gathered there today. Interested?"

Mukahi's eyes lit almost as brightly as Atobe's, and he looked over at his partner. Oshitari nodded agreement.

"Definitely interested," Oshitari replied for them.

"Who all is there?" Ohtori asked, looking a bit thoughtful. Atobe's smile widened enough to make Wakashi wonder just what he had in mind.

"Kikumaru and Oishi. Echizen. Momoshiro. And Inui." His glance flicked toward Wakashi on the last name, and Wakashi suppressed a snarl. Atobe's sense of humor had not been a welcome addition to his ongoing study of Inui Sadaharu's techniques and play style.

"Echizen, hm?" Ohtori mused. Wakashi had no idea what value Ohtori could see in being steamrollered by Seigaku's most annoying member, but he must see some. His steel was showing as he glanced at Shishido. His partner grinned back at him.

"I get the bouncy spiky-haired one, then," Shishido said.

From the expressions Wakashi saw, the entire team was thinking the same thing about pots and kettles.

In the end everyone agreed to go except Akutagawa, who wanted a nap, and Taki, who tended to distance himself as much as possible from Atobe's little projects. Wakashi wasn't sure why he went, since he had no intention of challenging any of Seigaku tonight. Certainly not Inui, and definitely not Echizen. Echizen was on his list of people to defeat later. After he caught up to Atobe. And he would.

Maybe it was just his curiosity about what Atobe was doing, he reflected as they made their way to the park. Because he had to be doing something. Atobe didn't go to trouble without a reason.

Of course, he could just be getting a kick out of putting Seigaku off balance. His expression was pleased enough when the other team stared in surprise at Hyoutei's arrival. Predictably enough, Echizen recovered his tongue first.

"Slumming?" he asked, eying Atobe.

"Gakuto missed Kikumaru so much we had to come visit," Oshitari purred. Kikumaru's eyes narrowed just a bit. He never had liked Mukahi. There were days when Wakashi sympathized a great deal.

"Oishi." It was just short of an order, and Oishi shot his partner a look both resigned and affectionate.

"One set," he specified, moving onto the court.

Every time he watched doubles pairs interact Wakashi became more grateful that he was a dedicated singles player.

As he watched the game get going, Wakashi wondered again just why Atobe had arranged this. It should be clear to anyone that, unless Oshitari had something phenomenal up his sleeve, he and Mukahi were going to lose. And then Mukahi would be absolutely unlivable for weeks. He would sulk. He would snap if anyone mentioned the game. And he would drive his teammates insane by focusing obsessively on whatever Oshitari came up with to address... the weakness...

Wakashi chewed on his lip and thought. At last he went and stood behind Atobe's shoulder. "You brought them here to lose," he stated. "To lose badly. They won against Inui and Kaidoh, even it it was just barely. You want them to lose badly enough to spur them on."

"You're learning," his captain murmured, without turning his head. There was that about Atobe, Wakashi reflected. He was not what anyone could call nurturing. He didn't lift a finger or say a word to teach Wakashi how to lead a Hyoutei team. But when Wakashi figured something out, Atobe did let him know whether or not he was right.

It was both annoying and useful. Because, while Wakashi didn't know whether he could exceed Atobe as a team captain, he was damn well going to keep trying. Anything less was unthinkable.

Sure enough, Oshitari and Mukahi lost. At least Oshitari managed to soothe his partner down from throwing an outright fit. Wakashi had to admit, Kikumaru's feline grin of triumph probably didn't help any. Ohtori's match with Echizen was about as uneven as Wakashi had expected, but Ohtori seemed satisfied. Inui also looked pleased, presumably for different reasons. By Wakashi's count he'd filled six pages with notes, during the match. Perhaps, he thought, as Shishido and Momoshiro swaggered onto the court, grinning and boasting at each other, Ohtori was using Echizen the same way Wakashi used Inui. As a gauge of his own progress.

With the example and tacit permission of Atobe's frequent matches with Tezuka, Wakashi had sought out a match with Inui every now and then. If Wakashi had progressed significantly since the last time Inui had a chance to take his measure, then they had a close game. Wakashi had even managed to win one or two. If he hadn't made enough progress to be a bit unpredictable, then he lost quickly and humiliatingly. It was effective. He couldn't imagine that it would do much good to play Echizen for such a purpose, but, then, Ohtori had some of the same spark that Echizen did. None of the bravura flare, but the same fine edge and knack for reaching beyond what was reasonable.

Shishido's game with Momoshiro was closer than Wakashi had thought it would be. Momoshiro's strength and sharp eye won in the end, but Shishido's speed and finesse drove through his guard often enough to make it tight. Echizen tossed his friend a water bottle as they returned, and told him he was slowing down in his old age. Ohtori gave his partner the smile he reserved for Shishido, brighter and gentler than the one he kept for everyday politeness.

And that seemed to conclude the evening. Wakashi was quietly relieved that Seigaku's captain hadn't shown up. No telling what kind of fireworks might follow if Atobe and Tezuka got into a match with most of their teams... looking... on...

Oh, hell. So much for leaving in time for dinner.

Echizen had noticed, too, and nudged Momoshiro, nodding toward where Tezuka stood just beyond the court, leaning on a lamp-post.

"Buchou!" Momoshiro exclaimed, and then everyone turned as Tezuka approached. Atobe gave no evidence of surprise, and Wakashi was positive he'd known the second Tezuka arrived.

"Tezuka," Atobe greeted him. "You're late." Tezuka didn't dignify that with a reply, merely nodded to Inui.

"Fuji passed on your message," he said. Why that should make all the third-year Seigaku smile, Wakashi couldn't imagine. Inside joke, he supposed.

And then Tezuka and Atobe came face to face. Wakashi had a sudden image of a piece of paper, drifting between them, ignited by the force of those locked stares.

"So?" Atobe asked, softly. Tezuka merely nodded, and dropped his bags, pulling out his racquet. Wakashi's gaze crossed Oishi's, the same touch of resignation in both. If their captains planned to go all out...

Sure enough, as Atobe and Tezuka set themselves on the court, a familiar feeling swept out from them like an ocean wave.

Wakashi was never quite sure why Atobe had chosen to ask him along as combination back-up and gofer at his unofficial matches with Tezuka. Most probably because he was the one most likely to keep his mouth shut, and not mention Atobe's obsession to their coach, who thought Atobe had better things to be concentrating on. Wakashi had as little to do with Sakaki-kantoku as he could reasonably manage, and wouldn't say anything in any case. They both knew he owed Atobe. They both knew that it was Atobe's influence that kept Wakashi a regular despite defeat, in the past. Not so much this year, perhaps; even Kantoku didn't really expect him to win against Seigaku's Singles Two player. He had kept three games, and, despite his own infuriating surety that Fuji Shuusuke had been taking it easy, that seemed to be enough for everyone who remembered what Seigaku's wild card was capable of.

But that didn't erase the first time. Not in Wakashi's mind, and certainly not in their coach's. Atobe's backing had saved him that year, much as it had Shishido. But Shishido and Atobe had been friends for a long time; it was easier for him to accept the help. Wakashi despised being indebted to Atobe. The only thing that made it tolerable was that Atobe clearly didn't expect it to stop Wakashi from trying to overthrow him.

And he was going to do it. Even watching these games hadn't dissuaded him, though he realized now that it was unlikely to happen unless he followed Atobe into the professional circuit. Chased him, the way he had realized, years ago, Inui chased Tezuka.

One of the reasons he wasn't dissuaded was that he wanted to find this intensity, this absolute focus and commitment that resonated between Atobe and Tezuka and covered the court like deep water. He leaned into it as they slashed across the court, returns singing through the air. In fact, everyone was leaning forward, entranced by the passion and precision of the players. The momentum never relented; this game was shaping up fast and hard, with few twists.

Or so Wakashi thought until Tezuka feinted a smash and delivered a drop shot instead. Regarding the ball that rested demurely just his side of the net, Atobe's mouth curled up and he directed a smoking look at his opponent.

"It isn't polite to leave your partner hanging, Tezuka," he admonished. Tezuka raised a brow at him.

"Do you doubt my endurance, Atobe?" he asked, with perfect composure. Atobe threw his head back and laughed, returning Tezuka's serve with a vicious slice.

The jaw of every single watcher dropped.

"Impossible... they're flirting!" Mukahi sputtered.

"They are," Kikumaru seconded, apparently too stunned to notice who he was agreeing with.

"At the very least," Oshitari murmured, sounding as floored as his partner.

Wakashi exchanged a long, wide-eyed look with Oishi, his fellow witness to matches between these two. This was certainly a new development.

That look caught Shishido's attention, and he leaned over Wakashi's shoulder.

"So, Hiyoshi," he said, conversationally, "how long has this been going on?" Every eye focused on Wakashi, and his spine stiffened in response.

"Ask Atobe-buchou yourself, if you want to know," he snapped. Shishido took on the look of a man calculating his chances of surviving a jump from a fifth floor window.

"Maybe," he muttered, dubiously.

"I don't think I really want to know," Momoshiro put in, sounding just a bit ill.

Wakashi ignored them all in favor of the game. He was not, actually, all that shocked, though that kind of banter seemed more in Atobe's line than in Tezuka's. He'd have thought Seigaku's captain would have had more decorum, even in the heat of a match. But it really fit well enough with the way these two played each other. The purity of the effort they exerted against each other, the complete, wordless rapport between them, the unspoken agreement that they could and would drive each other to the limit and beyond, it was the kind of thing that easily bled over into other kinds of passion. They were both breathing hard, now, dripping with sweat in the setting sun, and concentrated on each other like the twin mirrors of a laser.

Wakashi had occasionally been disturbed, watching them play, by a random thought wondering what it would be like to go to bed with one or the other of them. Since he would never, under normal circumstances, even consider the possibility, he had stamped out the thought quite violently the first few times it occurred. After a while, though, he realized that it was only the spill-over of the games. Even separated by the length of a court, Atobe and Tezuka were in constant contact while they played, just as much as if they had been running their hands over each other.

They reached a six game tie not long after the street lights came on.

"We'll be here until midnight if we don't stop them now," Oishi said quietly. Wakashi nodded agreement, and Oishi crossed the court to Tezuka, quickly, before he could serve again. Wakashi hopped over the low wall and leaned against it, waiting to see whether he would have to add his voice to Oishi's. Tezuka tilted his head, considering whatever Oishi was saying to him. He nodded, thoughtfully, and looked over to quirk a brow at Atobe. Atobe looked displeased, and waved a dismissive racquet. Abruptly, Tezuka's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. Atobe's mouth tightened, but after a moment he nodded and turned toward the seats. Wakashi was relieved. Talking to Atobe right after a match with Tezuka always made him feel like he was transparent. Atobe's focus was slow to widen again, enough to include anyone but Tezuka.

The teams broke up, chattering in the released tension, most of them dissecting the game. Shishido had a one sided smile that suggested he planned to tease Atobe about flirting as soon as some private opportunity presented itself. The gleam in Echizen's eye indicated he had similar plans, despite his current silence. They drifted off in ones and twos.

Atobe and Tezuka were looking at each other again.

Wakashi sighed. Why him? A quiet word to Ohtori let him hustle both his yearmate and Shishido off, leaving Atobe and Tezuka in peace.

Or as close to peace as the two of them probably ever got.

At this rate, his captain was going to start owing him.

Epilogue

"Atobe."

Keigo slung his bag over his shoulder and turned an inquiring look on Tezuka. Tezuka didn't answer aloud, instead taking Keigo's right hand in his own. He turned it palm up and pressed gently along the lines of the tendons. Keigo knew he would feel the tremors in the muscles. When Tezuka looked up, eyes demanding an explanation, Keigo shrugged his unburdened shoulder.

"I was working with Ohtori on his singles technique today. He's starting to be able to volley at strength, if someone can return his shots for long enough."

"And you baited me for a match today, anyway?" Tezuka asked, anger in the lowering of his voice. His fingers moved down Keigo's wrist and forearm, testing. "And you would have kept going if I hadn't noticed it."

"It was a match of opportunity, and don't try to tell me you wouldn't have done exactly the same thing," Keigo said, firmly. Tezuka ran a thumb down the long tendon of his arm, and he sighed faintly. It felt very pleasant. That seminar in sports medicine Tezuka said he had taken last winter definitely had some dividends.

"Perhaps." The corners of Tezuka's mouth twitched up. "But considering this I don't want to hear any more comments on my endurance."

Keigo's smile showed his teeth, and he looked Tezuka up and down, slowly.

"We'll have to see, won't we?" he purred. Tezuka chuckled softly, and let his hand go.

"See you Thursday?"

"Of course."

End

A/N: I am indebted, for a good deal of my conception of Hiyoshi, to Ruebert. Particularly the idea that he would be drawn to Inui's attitude and methods. *tips hat* Doumo.

Already Are

Atobe watches Tezuka, and reflects. Drama, I-3

Keigo folded his arms on the edge of his couch and rested his chin on them to regard the occupant. Kunimitsu seemed to be well and truly asleep, one hand holding his half-folded glasses against his chest, Keigo's copy of Faust falling out of the other. His eyes were relaxed, though his mouth wasn't, particularly.

Keigo didn't have a great many examples to work from, yet, but he had come to the conclusion that Tezuka Kunimitsu never relaxed completely, even in sleep.

There were reasons, of course. Tezuka had at least as many responsibilities as Keigo, and was quite serious and dedicated about fulfilling them. In addition to the general run of Student Leader Responsibilities, such as keeping the photography club from getting into fist fights with the chemistry club over who got to use the well-plumbed and windowless lab room, there was the stress of keeping the tennis club in line and the team in trim. Keigo entirely sympathized, though it had been a bit hard to convince Kunimitsu of that the time he burst out laughing over Kunimitsu's description of the taste of an accidental slug of Inui Juice. Keigo knew that Kunimitsu identified far more strongly with his individual team members than Keigo allowed himself to do, and that their advances, or lack of the same, just added to the strain.

But surely, he mused, sleep was the one place none of that could follow. Or should be.

Not, he had to admit, that Kunimitsu hadn't woken Keigo from a nightmare once or twice when his waking troubles had followed him down to dreams. He had refused to say what it was about, last time, and Tezuka hadn't pressed him. The memory of walking across a frozen lake, and looking down to see his team, trapped under the clear ice, of reaching down, only to find that he was reaching up, that he was trapped, too... He shuddered and pushed it away. It wasn't even the images, really, it was the remembered feeling of panic and then helplessness that made his stomach twist. It had happened the evening after they played Seigaku at Prefecturals.

Keigo sighed to himself. All right, so perhaps he was more bound up with his team than it was entirely a good idea for him to be. He was even fairly sure when it had started.

It almost had to have been the day Tezuka had taken his world and tilted it up on one corner, proven to him that he had missed something about an opponent, that he hadn't seen everything.

Keigo knew his coach was still dubious about the resulting change in Keigo's approach to his team. A loss was a loss, in Kantoku's eyes. Keigo insisted, though, that he never defended any player whose failure had not driven him to such improvement that it would not happen again. He had never been wrong about that, and so Sakaki permitted Keigo's judgment to prevail. He had no doubts about what would happen if he ever were wrong. The rule of Hyoutei still held, albeit modified. The weight of it now rested on Keigo, should he chose to absolve one of his players of a loss.

How, after all, could he still believe that a loss was a loss after that first game? He had won... but he hadn't. Tezuka had lost, and yet...

And that was what had brought Keigo to take such foolish personal risks on behalf of his team members. Looking at it objectively, he could only shake his head at himself. But it was also undeniable that his team had responded more willingly to his hand, after. Shishido even called him Buchou without it sounding like an insult, every now and then. He smiled, a bit wryly, at the man sleeping under his gaze, and recited, quietly, in German.

"My eyes already touch the sunny hill,
Going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
It has its inner light, even from a distance â€“

And changes us, even if we do not reach it,
Into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are."

Keigo raised his head and lifted one hand to brush Kunimitsu's hair back. "One match, Kunimitsu," he murmured. "Maybe some day I'll ask you if you knew what you were doing." And then he chuckled to himself. "Quoting poetry over my sleeping lover, yet. One of these days I'll lose my mind completely and actually write poetry for you, I have no doubt."

He leaned down and kissed Kunimitsu, softly. Drawing back, he was pleased to see that Kunimitsu's mouth had finally relaxed.

End

A/N: The poem is most of "A Walk" by Rilke, trns. Robert Bly.

Color of the Sea

Atobe and Fuji have a chat about possessiveness. Drama, I-3

Shuusuke had had his suspicions, but he hadn't been entirely sure. Not one hundred percent. Not until he walked out the front entrance of the school, listening with amusement to Eiji's enthusiastic explanation of why Betta fish were fascinating, and spotted Atobe leaning against the wall, waiting. Waiting for him.

Then he was sure.

"Atobe," he greeted, as Eiji's exposition cut off in surprise.

"Fuji." Atobe pushed off from the wall. "Mind if I walk with you for a ways?"

Shuusuke thought about where he was headed today. Not normally someplace he would take company like Atobe. But... yes, it might be a useful illustration. He nodded and touched Eiji's shoulder.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Eiji." Eiji gave him a long look, and Atobe a longer one, before he nodded in turn.

"Ok. Have fun, Fujiko-chan." His friend winked and strolled off humming, and Shuusuke stifled a laugh. Eiji knew him very well.

Atobe fell in beside him as he turned toward his own destination, and Shuusuke spoke softly.

"There was something you wanted?" A pleasingly double edged question to start off with.

Atobe was quiet for a few moments, and when Shuusuke looked at him his expression was edgier than usual.

"You're Tezuka's friend, as well as one of his team members," he said at last. Shuusuke waited for him to do something besides state the obvious.

"Has he told you that we are," Atobe paused judiciously, as if seeking just the right words, "seeing each other?"

"Not in so many words," Shuusuke replied, and left it at that, waiting to see what Atobe would make of it. Atobe's answering chuckle was warmer than he had expected.

"Ah, yes. We are speaking of Tezuka, after all. I should have said, has he indicated. Well, that makes things easier."

"How so?" Shuusuke asked.

"There was a... precautionary question I wanted to ask you," Atobe said, glancing at him, sidelong. Shuusuke waited, keeping his expression bland, and Atobe's expression took on a slightly disgruntled edge. "Well, I suppose I didn't expect you to make it easy," he snorted.

Atobe took a deep breath, and when he let it out his bearing changed, less flippant, more focused, closer to the way Shuusuke had seen him at times when he thought he had a worthy challenge on the court. And, yet, more hesitant than that. When he spoke, Atobe's voice was quieter and more even then Shuusuke had ever heard it before.

"Anyone with the slightest pretense to a brain knows that you're dangerous, Fuji." He glanced over, eyes dark. "And I have to say, that smile only makes you unnerving as well as alarming. If you're actually trying to hide it, I recommend a different tactic."

So, this was going to be a serious conversation. Shuusuke knew from observation that Atobe didn't like to speak seriously or let on how much he saw or knew until he could use the information to his advantage. So. Shuusuke let the smile fade, unveiling his eyes from behind his lashes. Judging by the sharp half smile that crossed Atobe's face, he appreciated both the threat and the compliment of that honesty.

"Anyone with eyes also knows that you're very possessive," he continued, quite matter-of-fact. "Your team, your friends, your family," a pause, "your captain. Anyone who harms any of those comes in very quickly for an extremely unpleasant experience of some sort." For a moment his expression was typically mocking again. "I imagine Jirou's delight with your little lesson to him came as a bit of a shock." A sigh. "But I'm not like Jirou, so it seemed wise to find out now if you have any objections."

"And if I did?" Shuusuke probed.

"If you objected I would expect it to be because you thought I was a threat," Atobe said, elliptically. "And if you thought I was a threat, I would expect you to carve my heart out and never lose that smile while you did it."

Shuusuke gave him the smile he didn't usually show, the dangerous and delighted one, enjoying this opportunity to show the danger clearly to someone who seemed to respect it for what it was. This was turning out to be very interesting.

"You would be right," he murmured.

"I didn't doubt that I was," Atobe shot back, calmly.

"Didn't you?" Shuusuke prodded. "What makes you think you really understand that kind of protectiveness?" Atobe snorted again, with more disdain than exasperation this time.

"It's true I tend to make friends who can take care of themselves, but there have been one or two. One or two pure hearts." He looked at Shuusuke full on, eyes glinting. "And I know that if I thought you were a serious threat to his peace... I'd carve your heart out with a smile."

Shuusuke considered. He didn't really have any particular objections, and, if he had, that last sentence would probably have laid them to rest. But it would be nice to have confirmation, and, after all, Atobe had offered this game. So he let his expression stay cool and sharp.

"What is Tezuka to you?" he asked. Atobe tilted his head, and gave him a question back.

"Do you love him?"

Shuusuke understood that Atobe wanted his credentials to ask such a question, or hear the answer, and he did want to hear it, so he replied as accurately as possible.

"Tezuka is very dear to me." That seemed to suffice. Atobe's eyes softened, and Shuusuke was fascinated to see that they actually lightened, turning the color of deep water under a clear sky.

"He is silence that hears," Atobe said at last, sounding far more casual than he looked. "He is a hand to catch my balance on. He is a drive that matches mine and a mind that can argue against me." He fell silent, and Shuusuke decided to try drawing out the still unsaid things hinted at by a faint smile that looked remarkably like one of Tezuka's. He was reasonably sure there was more to this than what could have been a description of a good doubles pair.

"Is that all?"

But, apparently, that was as forthcoming as Atobe was willing to be. His eyes shuttered again, and he raised a sardonic brow.

"Did you really want me to mention the part about an incredible body and hands that know exactly where to touch?" he asked. Shuusuke's mouth twitched. An excellent deflection.

"Perhaps," he returned slyly. Both Atobe's brows went up, and he looked a bit askance at Shuusuke, probably trying to gauge his seriousness.

And here they were, with perfect timing, at the park where Kippei was waiting for him, standing now from the bench he'd occupied and looking rather surprised at Shuusuke's company. And also, perhaps, to see Shuusuke without his public face.

"Shuusuke?" he asked, coming to stand close in a silent offer of support if it was needed. Shuusuke smiled, softly, up at him.

"Tachibana," Atobe acknowledged, casually. And then he looked twice, suddenly eyeing the distance between Shuusuke and Kippei. More precisely, the lack of distance. And then he looked very narrowly at Shuusuke, who gave him an amused look back.

"Tezuka isn't a man who can be possessed," he noted, by way of explanation.

Atobe was very still for a moment, and in that moment Shuusuke was sure Atobe understood. That he knew Shuusuke had accepted his company on the way to see Shuusuke's lover in order to flaunt the ease and closeness of their bond. And also to assure Atobe that Shuusuke would not contest him for Tezuka out of jealousy. And to imply that, if Shuusuke did object, it would be because he recognized a good relationship and didn't think Atobe could supply that.

Shuusuke was, actually, somewhat impressed with the extent of understanding he read in Atobe's face. And then he was rather surprised when Atobe flung back his head and laughed.

"Ah, very nicely done," he said, recovering himself. "Perhaps, the next time Kunimitsu compares me to you, I'll take it as a bit more of a compliment." And he nodded to Kippei and continued on his way, still chuckling.

"Kippei," Shuusuke said, gazing after Atobe with pursed lips, "please remind me that I need to have a talk with Tezuka."

"About what?" Kippei asked, curiously, brushing Shuusuke's hair back with a soothing touch. Shuusuke looked at him, keeping a tight grip on his outrage.

"Did you hear? Tezuka has compared me to him." He glared at Atobe's retreating back. "I have never been that unsubtle!"

End

Hashira

Some conversation, courtside, about what it means to be Seigaku's pillar. Drama, I-2, anime continuity

Kikumaru Eiji liked it when his team was relaxed. Which meant he didn't like it much when scouts came sniffing around the school courts. They ogled the Regulars and distracted everyone else, and Tezuka was more stringent than usual about proper behavior when they were around. Today, in addition to the usual sleek looking scout, smiling over his business cards like a poker shark with a winning hand, was someone who looked like a team manager; and that meant Ryuuzaki-sensei was with them, ready to pounce on any lapse Tezuka might miss.

Personally, Eiji thought they could all do without the distraction, with a bare week to go before Nationals, but nobody had asked him, so he just sidled around the other side of Oishi and tried not to twitch whenever the scout looked his way.

"Fuji-senpai." Echizen's voice was low, but rather sharp, and Eiji looked to see what was annoying Ochibi this time.

"Yes, Echizen?" Fuji asked, cheerful smile firmly in place. Echizen narrowed his eyes before spinning on his heel and stalking back to serve. A very hard serve, Eiji noted, that Fuji returned rather lightly. Ah, that was it. Fuji was in a mood to tease, and wasn't playing for real.

It wasn't that Eiji didn't understand the urge, because ruffling Ochibi's feathers was amusing, but Tezuka was probably going to be annoyed as soon as he noticed. Eiji craned around to check on their captain's whereabouts, and winced. Not only was he already watching Fuji and Echizen's match, the scout and manager were right next to him along with Ryuuzaki-sensei. Tezuka never approved of his players messing around, and the fact that Fuji was toying with Ochibi in front of outsiders wouldn't make him any happier. To Eiji's surprise, though, Tezuka merely folded his arms and watched silently. Ryuuzaki-sensei, after a long glance at him, tucked her hands in her pockets and didn't interfere.

"Ah, is that Seigaku's incredible first-year that we've heard so much about?" the scout asked, brightly. "He's very good, to play a game like that against a third year."

Eiji winced some more.

The manager only grunted, watching the match almost as narrowly as Tezuka. Fuji let Echizen have the second game, too, and Eiji expected Ochibi to be steaming and, possibly, to pull out a Drive A or two just to make it clear how pissed off he was. It was obviously the day for surprises, though, and maybe Ochibi was growing up a little, because as the serve came back to him he looked up with a smile, bright eyed.

"That's enough, Fuji-senpai," he stated, and served straight for Fuji's racquet. With no excuse to let that one escape, Fuji turned his racquet out and returned very lightly, as if he'd been surprised. Quite calmly, Echizen aimed straight on again. Just as if, Eiji realized, he were practicing against a wall. He covered a grin as Fuji's eyes glinted and he returned full strength to the corner. Echizen practically materialized behind the ball, smile brighter than ever.

Eiji could almost hear Fuji's sigh as he finally gave in to Ochibi's enthusiasm, and the game suddenly vaulted onto another level. When he looked around to check reactions Ryuuzaki-sensei was smirking, Tezuka had a very faint smile, and the scout's jaw was hanging open.

The manager laid a hand on the fence, chuckling.

"Seigaku's pillar, eh?" he said, softly. And then he turned a sharp eye on Tezuka. "The next one."

Eiji wasn't the only one blinking in surprise.

"How...?" Oishi started, and paused. The manager seemed to understand what he wanted to ask.

"I went to school here," he told them. "Katsuki Toshiki, pleased to meet you." Everyone murmured greetings back, sounding just a little dazed that this outsider in their midst... wasn't.

"Every school has its imprint," Katsuki-san continued, easily. "That's part of ours. Has been for years. "

"How long?" Oishi murmured, a bit wondering, glancing at Ryuuzaki-sensei Everyone in hearing distance followed his example.

"What are you looking at me for?" she asked, amused. "That's always been the business of the team itself. Besides, I only came here a year or two before Katsuki did."

"Oh, yeah, we all thought it was such great luck, having a beautiful woman as a coach," Katsuki-san said, suddenly grinning wickedly. "Then we found out what she was really like."

Eiji nearly choked, trying not to laugh, as Katsuki-san ducked the swat Ryuuzaki-sensei aimed at him.

"Nothing but insolent brats in this job," she mock-grumbled.

"Ah, no wonder she deals so well with Ochibi; she had practice," Eiji observed, glancing away innocently as Ryuuzaki-sensei skewered a glare in his direction. His partner gave him a more effectively quelling look.

"He does have a good deal in common with some that I remember," their coach allowed, relenting.

"Not that much, Sensei " Katsuki-san said, watching the ongoing match again. "I know you had hopes for him, and Echizen Nanjirou was an incredible player. Singles One both his second and third years. Never lost. But he could never have led the team, much less been our core. This one, he has what it takes." He glanced at Tezuka. "And you've been letting him learn that he has it, haven't you Tezuka-kun?"

"You were captain while you were here." Tezuka stated it as a fact, not looking away from the match. Katsuki-san nodded.

"I've seen Fuji Shuusuke play a few times, and I wondered why you didn't say anything. You knew Ryouma could get him to play seriously."

It was Tezuka's turn to nod. Eiji, once again, had to increase his estimation of their captain's potential sneakiness. Really, it was no wonder he and Fuji got along. Katsuki-san sighed.

"That's exactly what Nanjirou never had. It wasn't just that he didn't care about the team. It was almost as though he didn't really understand the game. There was no real rapport between him and his opponents. I'm sorry, Ryuuzaki-sensei," he looked at his old teacher, "but I never believed he could go all the way. He didn't have the spirit."

Ryuuzaki-sensei shrugged a little. "You win some and you lose some. It's true for teachers as well as players."

Kachirou, who Eiji had always considered the sharpest of Ochibi's cheering section, approached a bit tentatively.

"Do you mean Ryouma-kun really will be able to beat his dad in tennis?" he asked. Katsuki-san bent a narrow eye on Echizen's game.

"I think so." And then he smiled down at Kachirou. "You've probably seen it. When he plays a challenging opponent, I bet he lights up. And if he needs to, he finds some way over or under or around whatever's in his way."

Everyone smiled or laughed, and Eiji had to agree, that was exactly what Ochibi did. Kachirou nodded, shyly.

"And when that happens, he draws people along with him, doesn't he?" Katsuki-san asked. "His opponents, his own team, everybody."

On the court, Echizen delivered a smash that should, by rights, have been unreturnable. Fuji caught it, threw it back, waited for the return, eyes sparkling.

"That's what it means to be Seigaku's pillar, the center of the team. Not always the team's leader, though it's easiest when it happens that way," Katsuki-san shot a glance at Tezuka, "but the core that lifts the whole up. That's what my own captain taught me, and it's what I tried to pass on."

Eiji suddenly remembered that this man was a team manager, here on a scouting trip, and wondered just how susceptible Tezuka was to flattery. True flattery, certainly, but somehow Eiji didn't think it was an accident that this explanation was taking place right where Tezuka would hear every word. He also didn't think he imagined the silent offer of a team that would understand what drove Tezuka, and value it.

"Echizen will do well," Tezuka said, evenly, "provided he doesn't get careless."

Katsuki-san looked at their captain for a long moment before turning to Ryuuzaki-sensei.

"Some you lose. And then, some you win, don't you? I think we're done here, today, Sensei Thank you for letting us intrude." Katsuk-san gripped his scout's wrist before the man could produce the usual handful of business cards.

"Not at all," their coach murmured with a small smile, and led her guests off, the scout protesting under his breath. A subtle edge of stiffness left Tezuka's shoulders, and Eiji felt Oishi's silent sigh beside him.

Eiji grinned, watching Fuji and Echizen come off the court, Fuji laughing quietly as Echizen smirked up at him and told him he'd never keep Singles Two playing like that. Eiji bounced a little on his toes and trotted to meet them.

"Fujiko-chan," he called, "play a match with me next, now that Ochibi-chan's worn you out for me!"

He liked it when his team was relaxed.

End

Challenge - Chapter One

Niou enters junior high and encounters a wonderful new game. Drama, I-3

Niou Masaharu liked seeing people disconcerted. The expression itself amused him, and the knowledge that he had been the one to put it on somebody's face gave him a nice, warm glow of accomplishment. And, while he liked playing with people who appreciated his art and style, in order to get the full effect it was best to target the straightlaced and serious.

Thus, after spending a month or so observing his fellow first years it was as natural as sunrise that he should choose Yagyuu Hiroshi as his first major target.

Yagyuu was prim and proper, respectful and reserved. His appearance and his work were uniformly precise and neat. He spoke to everyone, from the teachers to his study partners to the girls who made eyes at him, in exactly the right fashion and degree for a good student with little interest in entanglements, either friendly or romantic.

He was ideal.

Masaharu had indulged in a little petty theft with every expectation of a handsome return on his effort. The contrast would be especially piquant, when that still face broke into an expression of shock, and possibly even turned red. It was a shame he couldn't get rid of the glasses, in order to get the full effect of the eyes widening, but perfection was rare. Masaharu accepted this, while taking pleasure in coming as close as possible. This one should be fairly close, albeit on a small scale.

He was, therefore, very surprised when Yagyuu, upon discovering what had been substituted for one of his books, merely flipped through a few pages of extremely explicit erotic postcards before tucking them back into his bag without so much as a raised brow. Masaharu was still trying to assimilate this when Yagyuu paced over to his desk.

"Niou-kun, if it isn't too much trouble, might I ask for the return of my dictionary?" Yagyuu asked, quite calmly.

When Masaharu actually processed the request, and the fact that Yagyuu seemed to have no intention of returning the postcards, he broke into a grin of utter delight. He produced the dictionary with a slight flourish.

"Why, of course, Yagyuu. You only had to ask." How wonderful. He did love a good challenge.

Yagyuu's resigned sigh as he accepted the book made Masaharu wonder for a second whether he had said that last out loud. But no. If Yagyuu had figured out who was responsible for the little trick so quickly, he likely knew just by Masaharu's expression what he'd let himself in for.

Masaharu whistled through the halls for the rest of the day.

Yagyuu surprised him again by inviting Masaharu to play a set with him after the tennis club's afternoon practice was done. He was not particularly surprised when Yagyuu won handily. Masaharu had already tagged Yagyuu as one of the strongest players in their year, short of The Miraculous Three. In another year, Yagyuu's speed ball would probably be unbelievable.

So Masaharu wondered, as they packed up, what the point of this game had been. Did Yagyuu not have his measure already? Given his obviously sharp observational skills that seemed unlikely. On the other hand, Masaharu knew that plenty of people were taken in by his rough and casual attitude. But this one was obviously no stranger to deceptive fronts, himself, if the go-round with the pictures was any indication. It was a puzzle.

Masaharu liked puzzles, too.

As they started off their respective ways, Yagyuu looked at him, glasses flashing and concealing whatever expression might be behind them.

"It pays to attend to the important things, Niou-kun," he said, in the tone of someone quoting an aphorism in Literature class. And then he was gone.

Masaharu's eyes narrowed as he looked after his classmate. So. If he wasn't mistaken, the point of the game had actually been to suggest that, not only was Yagyuu a better player, but that he was better because he did not indulge in unimportant things. Like, say, tricks and provocations.

Well then. Masaharu felt his lips curving in the smile that made even his friends nervous. Perhaps he wasn't the only one who liked a challenge?

Very brief experiment confirmed that Masaharu was unlikely to catch Yagyuu up on the tennis court. Not, at any rate, by conventional means. Yagyuu just had that extra edge of technique. So Masaharu settled down to observe and analyze, looking for other means. And if no one else knew what to make of the brilliant grins he occasionally couldn't help bestowing on Yagyuu, that was fine with him. This one would last him for months, possibly even years.

That was the part that no one seemed to understand. Yes, Masaharu loved his tricks just for the waves they caused. But the deception or manipulation itself was only the tail end of the thing. The real heart of it was understanding; the trick was simply the proof that he had understood correctly. And, of course, stirring people up made for even more opportunities to observe and understand. It was Masaharu's own awareness of how central understanding was that allowed him to turn it around—to conceal himself while indulging his taste for unsettling people. Most of the time it was lamentably easy.

Yagyuu Hiroshi was not easy to understand. Nor was he easy to unsettle.

Masaharu thought he just might be in love.

So, he checked off on his mental list, sex didn't so much as make Yagyuu blush. Encouraging his admirers, which Masaharu spent a week doing to great effect, didn't discommode him in the least. He was unfailingly polite to the most shrilly besotted girls. Masaharu added "inhuman patience" to his list of Yagyuu's defenses.

After some consideration, and some more covert practice to pull it off, he played a set against Yagyuu while imitating his style and moves. That disturbed just about anyone, at least for a while. Yagyuu merely increased the power of his shots until his last speed ball blew the racquet out of Masaharu's hands. Irritated, perhaps, but not disturbed. Oh well. The exercise wasn't without a productive aspect; Yagyuu's moves were a nice addition to Masaharu's repertoire.

Indeed, he had occasion to use it within the week. Toshiyuki had it coming. Really, Masaharu considered it his duty to the club to keep that kind from getting too far above themselves. So, after spending the match hammering him with one drive after another, just as Toshiyuki was starting to get his stance right to return them, Masaharu gave him a curving slice instead. Wavering, attempting to shift his balance fast enough to return it, Toshiyuki stepped right on the stray ball Masaharu had spent half a game maneuvering him in front of.

Such a shame that the first years were so much laxer about collecting balls for each other than they were for the second and third years.

Toshiyuki went down hard and lay, wheezing. Masaharu sauntered to the net and propped himself on one of the posts.

"Are you all right?" he inquired, light and mocking.

Toshiyuki wheezed some more, and Masaharu watched with great satisfaction as he tottered over to the benches. Now, maybe, he'd shut up about what a great all around player he was going to be.

"Such an extreme measure was unnecessary, Niou-kun," Yagyuu's level voice said behind him. Masaharu tossed a look over his shoulder, and noted that Yagyuu's mouth was actually a little tight. Interesting.

"I only do things like that to people who really annoy me," he returned with a thin, lazy smile. Yagyuu's brow arched.

"Really?" he asked, all polite skepticism.

"Some people annoy me just by breathing," Masaharu admitted. He stretched, vastly pleased. Not only had the matter with Toshiyuki worked out precisely, but for some reason it had bothered Yagyuu.

Now, the question was, why?

Because Masaharu had used one of Yagyuu's moves to do it? It seemed unlikely, since it hadn't bothered Yagyuu when Masaharu had used them against him. But perhaps he didn't want anyone thinking that he had actually shown that move to Masaharu, that he had participated in any way in a trick like this.

Perhaps because it was a teammate? But Yagyuu had watched him pull things just as vicious on classmates and never blinked. Masaharu spent a happy moment recalling the rather lurid love confession to the teacher that he had inserted into the English homework Hidenori was called upon to read aloud. It would never have worked if Hidenori had been good enough in English to actually think about the content of what he was reading, but knowing that he wasn't was, after all, exactly why Masaharu had chosen that tactic. Did Yagyuu feel more protective of the tennis club than general schoolmates? Was that, perhaps, the reason he was so courteously distant toward them all, because otherwise he would care too much?

Masaharu was positive that Yagyuu's smooth front hid some kind of passion behind it. No one played tennis the way he did without passion.

When Masaharu knew what kind, then he would have the key to unsettle The Unflappable One.

They were all playing doubles, and Masaharu was getting bored. It was all Yukimura's fault. He had mentioned to the captain that, while the Regulars were well supplied with excellent singles players, their best doubles pair would be retiring soon, and wouldn't it be a good idea to find out who could be promoted to fill that space? And, before you could blink, here they all were, with a rotation drawn up to see who might play well with whom. Because when Yukimura spoke like that, all quiet and reasonable and commanding, everyone did what he said, including the captain, who, Masaharu couldn't help noticing, seemed a little afraid of Yukimura.

Masaharu spared a sneer, before hitting a surprise drive to set his current partner up with a nice, smashable lob. Surely, even Akashi couldn't miss that one.

Most of his partners were incompetent, and the others were boring. The only one Masaharu had enjoyed his game with was Jackal, because, after a very brief shake-down, he had settled at the baseline and prevented the other side from scoring and let Masaharu toy with their opponents to his heart's content. But he'd only gotten to play with Jackal twice so far.

It was times like this that he wished Yukimura wasn't so damn easy-going most of the time. Any trick that didn't involve tennis would roll right off that sunny charm he used to wind the club around his finger, and any trick that did involve tennis was right out of the question. If he tried it, Yukimura would probably have the nerve to give him instructions for improvement, after he finished mopping the court with Masaharu.

Never even mind that, if he did attempt to put something over on Yukimura, Sanada, who had no sense of humor Masaharu could detect, would skin him. Possibly for the purpose of making Yukimura a new pair of house slippers. Sanada was that kind of bloody minded, iron bastard, and anyone with eyes could see that he had a mother-hen complex over Yukimura. It went strangely with his hot temper, not to mention Yukimura's greater skill, but Masaharu figured that was probably half the point—Yukimura could harness Sanada's temper.

No, he decided, there was no hope for it. They were all stuck doing whatever Yukimura wanted. He aimed his last shot at his opponent's toe, which at least elicited a nice yowl, and sulked.

Well, at least he was in good time to watch Yagyuu play his next match.

Yagyuu playing doubles was a curious thing, to Masaharu's eye. After a couple weeks of doubles work, Yagyuu was getting a reputation as a frightening observer and analyst, because he tended to call aloud advice and directions to his partners regarding how to respond to the other pair. He wasn't up to Yanagi's level, but Masaharu would admit he did keep an impressive eye on his opponents.

The strange part was that he never seemed to so much as glance at his partner. Even if he was at the net, he seemed to know, without looking, where his partner was and what he was doing. He never said anything about that, which might explain why no one else had noticed yet; he just acted on the knowledge. Masaharu was fascinated.

Yagyuu's matches tended to go pretty quickly, since it was still first-years playing first-years.

The second-year keeping an eye on them apparently agreed, since he looked at his roster, shrugged, and flipped to the next day's page.

"Next!" he called. "Yagami-Ishida pair against Yagyuu-Niou pair!"

Masaharu blinked, and then smiled like a fox. His birthday present was here seven whole months early.

Yagyuu turned to look him up and down before shrugging minimally. "Perhaps you would be best suited to a forward position, Niou-kun?" he offered.

"Ever the gentleman," Masaharu laughed, moving up.

As the focus of the match descended on them, though, he stopped laughing. His eyes widened and his teeth set. It had nothing to do with his opponents, though they weren't too shabby a pair, and everything to do with what was standing behind him. Facing Yagyuu across the net he had noticed the intensity of Yagyuu's game, the flare of focus and passion pressed under the smooth glass of Yagyuu's manners and restraint. Playing on the same side as him was like standing next to a lightning strike. A charged, ringing atmosphere enfolded him. He could feel Yagyuu's presence in it, like a weight. When he slid aside, before Yagyuu even called it, to let a drive sizzle past, ending the first game, Masaharu shot a pleased look over his shoulder and got an edged smile in return. Whatever Yagyuu did to keep track of his partners, it made him less careful of his distant front.

Masaharu was absolutely exhilarated. He knew he was showing himself more clearly than usual, too, and couldn't quite bring himself to care.

They swept away the other pair in a whirlwind, and the second-year watching goggled a little until Masaharu gave him a sharp grin. Then he twitched.

"Winners, Yagyuu-Niou pair, 6-0," he announced a bit blankly.

Masaharu was laughing again, under his breath, as he and Yagyuu walked off the court. He was positive, now, that he was playing with fire by seeking to unsettle Yagyuu.

So much the better.

"See you later, Yagyuu," he murmured as they packed up. "Maybe we can play together again, some time."

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Two

Niou and Yagyuu become a doubles pair, and the game continues. Drama, I-3

True to Masaharu's prediction, or perhaps it had been a threat, he and Yagyuu played together more and more frequently over the next weeks. They, and the other two Masaharu had noticed as the best among the first years, always excepting the Glorious Three, worked their way through the ranks of the second years' various doubles pairs undefeated. Masaharu was finally enjoying himself, even if their opponent pairs still weren't much of a challenge. Only the remaining Regular pair could even take them two out of three.

The fourth of their little party, Marui, preened amusingly about that.

They learned fairly quickly that it was best to keep the styles mixed. Yagyuu with Jackal had excellent communication, and immense power, but a vital spark was missing. Masaharu added this to his list of Yagyuu-notes, that Yagyuu's aggression on the court didn't show equally with every partner. Masaharu and Marui spent more time in competition with each other than with their opponents. As long as they kept it mixed up, though, they walked right over just about everyone.

They didn't get really slaughtered until the Munificent Three decided to get in on the action. Masaharu wasn't the only one who was surprised that they could sweep the court in doubles almost as thoroughly as they did in singles.

Since winning was clearly out of the question, Masaharu concentrated on losing by a reasonable margin, and took the opportunity to observe their various combinations.

Sanada played baseline for Yukimura; no surprises there. In something of the same fashion, Yanagi played cautious to Sanada's aggressive, making no effort to contain Sanada but clearly understanding him well enough to pick up any openings. The combination that really dazzled Masaharu, though, was Yanagi and Yukimura, because the speed and flexibility of their play was astonishing. By now everyone was getting used to the supernatural accuracy of Yanagi's data, and it applied well to doubles. But this was the first time Masaharu had seen Yukimura play doubles, and it was clear he had that same instinct for his partners that Yagyuu did. He never looked; he always knew.

Masaharu couldn't help but grin, even though that match left him flat on his back. Maybe, if he could find the key, if he could really understand Yagyuu, the two of them could play like that.

After an exceedingly brief consultation with the new captain, Yukimura called their little gang of four over.

"We have one seasoned doubles pair who will be playing as Regulars for the upcoming year," he told them. "It would be difficult to choose a single pair from the four of you to take the second doubles slot, and since you work smoothly as a unit, we aren't going to. I would like to select the pair best suited to a given school, as we play next year, shifting as necessary. Will that be acceptable to all of you?"

Masaharu opened his mouth to ask a pointed question about why it was Yukimura making all these decisions and announcing them, and not the captain standing, silent and uncomfortable, behind the Trinity. He closed it again, with a smooth look, at Sanada's burning glare.

"Quite acceptable, Yukimura-kun," Yagyuu answered, coolly. Jackal nodded. Marui eyed Masaharu.

"It is extremely unlikely that the Niou-Marui pair will be called for," Yanagi murmured. Masaharu wondered if he was the only one who heard the sardonic edge. Marui merely blew a bubble of gum and shrugged.

"Sounds fine to me," he said, though Masaharu was fairly sure he was a bit annoyed not to be playing singles. Well, Marui could play singles with him, and that would keep their self-proclaimed genius busy. For himself, Masaharu waved a hand toward Yagyuu.

"What he said."

Yukimura looked at him, head tipped to one side, for a long moment before he nodded. Masaharu had the unnerving, and unusual, sensation that Yukimura knew about the competition of wills and ingenuity between Masaharu and Yagyuu. And had chosen to permit it.

Honestly, he was starting to wonder why they hadn't just made Yukimura captain this year and had done with it.

Their faculty advisor was the only stumbling block to the plan.

"This is... irregular, Yukimura-kun," the man said, disapproval dripping from his voice. All four of the doubles crew looked back at him with equal disfavor.

Yukimura smiled.

"Perhaps," he allowed, "but it will ensure the best possible performance of the Rikkai team."

"I am not as sure of that."

Masaharu stopped paying attention to the blowhard and started paying attention to Yagyuu. He was standing close enough for Masaharu to feel the tension slowly winding up that straight, poised frame. It was noticeable enough for Masaharu to wonder whether it was all because of the insult to their abilities, or if there was some other element.

"There is a proper way of doing things, Yukimura-kun, and this is not the way our team does things," the advisor concluded.

Afterward, Masaharu always remembered that as the moment they all found out what it meant to have Yukimura as their captain, even if he didn't have the title yet.

Yukimura's eyes narrowed and glinted, the smile fading as his mouth hardened.

"You may continue to think that, if you wish to be remembered as the one responsible for Rikkai's loss at Nationals this coming year," he stated, and the husky voice was chill and precise as a surgical scalpel. "I do not think you wish that, though. You will understand, therefore, that I will lead this team to victory. And you will not interfere."

Masaharu felt his jaw dropping, and noticed, distantly, that he wasn't alone. Even he didn't talk to the teachers like that. Yukimura's forms were perfectly courteous... except that he was definitely giving orders. And whatever resistance the advisor might have been able to muster in face of that cold, diamond sharp surety folded when Sanada stepped to Yukimura's shoulder and added his own, much less subtle, glare to Yukimura's.

As the advisor hemmed and hawed and retreated, Yagyuu let out a breath that caught Masaharu's attention again. All the febrile tension had drained out of him, and he was looking at Yukimura. For the nth time, Masaharu damned the glasses that concealed half the nuances of Yagyuu's expression, but the line of his mouth was suddenly uncertain, almost trembling.

Yukimura turned back to them.

"Please don't be concerned. The reservations of outsiders will not affect you, and after a few wins I expect even those will fade." His voice was gentle again, to match the warmth of the look he always gave the team.

Yagyuu bowed slightly. "We will not fail, Yukimura-san," he stated, quiet but definite.

It was only by a great effort of will that Masaharu kept from gaping again. Yagyuu was always proper, of course, but proper was not the same as respectful. What he had just heard, for the first time, Masaharu realized, was respect. Yukimura was, of course, adept at bending people to his hand; Masaharu had watched him do it all season. But he'd never expected Yagyuu to succumb. Not the reserved, self-sufficient, distant Yagyuu Hiroshi.

So why now?

He chewed over the question as they returned to practice, and every interaction between Yagyuu and Yukimura added to his bemusement. Yagyuu wasn't fawning, the way a lot of the less talented players did; he wasn't treating Yukimura like some kind of avatar. He was simply attentive and respectful and...

...at ease.

Masaharu was so boggled he missed a swing and Marui snapped at him. Masaharu swiped the bubble out of Marui's mouth with the next ball and went back to pondering.

At ease, as if some defensive tightness had loosened. Masaharu considered that thought. Defensive? Certainly, Yukimura had defended them, and quite sharply, too. Was Yagyuu reacting to that? But why would he feel he needed defense against a teacher, for crying out loud? All the teachers thought he was perfect.

Of course, the thought came to him, the opinion was not mutual. Now that he had something to compare it to, he could see the pattern of contempt in the way Yagyuu dealt with the teachers. Hostility, even, albeit muffled under those perfectly correct manners. A grin spread over Masaharu's face as he contemplated it.

Yagyuu, the Perfect Gentleman, the apple of the administrative eye, had a problem with authority.

Masaharu chuckled out loud, earning a wary look from Marui. He loved irony almost as much as he loved a challenge, and this one was magnificent. He wondered what had happened to set Yagyuu so against order-giving adults, and to cause him to conceal his dislike so strenuously. No surprise that Yukimura had captured his allegiance, after defending them from one of the enemy so vigorously.

Now, now Masaharu thought he had the key.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Three

Stress in school gives Niou the break in the game he's been looking for. Drama, I-4

Masaharu was glad he waited for the right moment to turn his new key, though, because very shortly the entire school was enveloped in upset. If he hadn't been inconvenienced by it, he would have basked in it. As was, there were a few annoyances countervailing his amusement and he considered the whole thing a break-even proposition.

Marui took exception more vigorously.

"Curriculum review!" he snarled, hitting his ball to balance on the net and then kicking the net to dislodge it. "One stupid administrator steps on his dick, and suddenly the entire school has tests piled up past our eyes. Why are the students suffering for this?"

"It's the nature of the beast," Yagyuu pointed out. "The provost embarrassed someone senior to him in the administration of our schools. His senior is, in turn, embarrassing the provost in as all-encompassing a manner as he can manage. We're simply the medium of his revenge. The fitness tests would," he added, less evenly than usual, "be a reasonable and even admirable step, if our preparedness was really in any question."

Noting the teeth behind that statement, Masaharu placed odds with himself that whatever had happened to Yagyuu was the same shape as what was happening now. Had he played the part of the provost? Or just been caught in the wheels that time, too?

"In any case," Jackal put in, "it's probably a good idea to brush up on any weak subjects. We don't want this affecting our team standing."

Masaharu grunted, and cocked an eye at Yagyuu. They were class-mates, after all, and the help closest to hand.

"Social Studies for Science?" he offered.

"Reasonable," Yagyuu approved after a moment. Masaharu did like it, that Yagyuu never backed down from any potential challenge or trap.

"You know, it's a little scary when you two do that," Marui told them. At two sets of raised brows he elaborated. "There's probably a paragraph or two of explanation that you didn't bother with, because you both already knew what you meant. Doubles Syndrome usually takes a little longer to set in, you know? You two are made for it. Lucky break, for you, there was such a push for doubles this year, or you might never have known."

Masaharu threw back his head and laughed; he couldn't help it. "Yes, it would undoubtedly have taken longer, otherwise," he said, with a sly look at Yagyuu. "Fortuitous coincidence, that."

"Fortuitous?" Yagyuu raised a brow at him. "Really?"

Masaharu grinned, pleased. He also liked Yagyuu's subtlety. Their two doubles-mates would probably take it for genteel teasing, suggesting that Masaharu had sought Yagyuu out. Which was true enough. But, to Masaharu, it was another barb of challenge, asking whether he thought he could actually one-up his own doubles partner.

"Fortuitous," he confirmed. "It brought so many important things to light."

He had the distinct impression that Yagyuu's eyes had narrowed. He gave back a limpid look, telling his target that, yes, he had discovered things Yagyuu would consider important that were not tennis. Important things had been the terms of the challenge, after all.

And it only made the challenge brighter, for Yagyuu to know he was coming.

It was a busy winter, while the entire school studied madly for totally superfluous tests. Masaharu supposed the third-years probably didn't notice the difference, but everyone else, including all the teachers, were thrown into a flurry. He observed the tiny, subtle signs of tension under Yagyuu's customary coolness whenever a teacher tipped over the edge of hysteria in class. He experimented with little tricks to focus the fuss on himself rather than on the "good students" the teachers increasingly relied on to keep control of the disgruntled student body and get everyone ready. Little things, like switching the rats for the final behavioral lab and seeing how long it took everyone to notice, so as not to actually trigger a complete breakdown. Well, not in anyone but Hikashi-sensei, who had really had it coming. And, when the focus shifted, he watched the tiny lines at the corners of Yagyuu's mouth, and between his brows, fade to smoothness again, and smiled, and planned.

Mad flurry was not, they all learned, considered sufficient cause to slack off of tennis practice. Not by Yukimura, at any rate, and his steel determination dragged everyone else in his wake. The Regular members became a team of units: the doubles pair, the doubles team, the Mad Three. And the captain, almost an afterthought at times. It was only natural that they should fall into study groups along the same lines.

Masaharu and Yagyuu, as agreed, traded assistance, Masaharu tutoring in Social Studies and Yagyuu in Science.

With three weeks to go before the tests, Masaharu decided the time was right. Yagyuu should be stressed enough to crack, but not quite enough to seriously break Masaharu in turn.

"You know," he remarked, balling up a successfully completed sheet of study questions and batting it into the air, "you should consider teaching as a career, if you don't want to go pro." He watched Yagyuu's shoulders stiffen.

"Really?"

"Well you're sure a lot better at teaching this than Hikashi-sensei," Masaharu said. Then he offered a lazy smile to his study partner. "But being a teacher wouldn't give you enough protection, would it?"

Yagyuu's pencil stilled.

"I have to congratulate you on your camouflage, Yagyuu," Masaharu continued, casually. "I don't think a single one of them has figured out how nervous they make you. Or how much you'd like to rip their hearts out for that." He stood and stretched, body welcoming the movement after over an hour of inactivity. "Gotta say, though, I like my way better. It's more fun to make them nervous."

Yagyuu's head lifted, slowly, to look at him straight on. "Lack of control is your forte, Niou-kun, not mine," he said, dead level.

"True, in a way," Masaharu agreed, softly, "but it could be." He prowled around the end of the low table, and Yagyuu watched him come without so much as a twitch. "How often do you want to just let go, Yagyuu?" he murmured. "How often do you want to let the teeth show and watch them flinch back? How often do you want to hammer all of your opponents into the dirt, not just the ones across a tennis net? How often do you want to laugh after you've done it?"

Yagyuu could hardly be breathing, he was so still. Masaharu knelt over Yagyuu's folded legs, and delicately plucked off those frustrating glasses. Yagyuu's eyes were narrow, ice-colored, glinting with danger. Masaharu smiled, entranced.

"I know how much you want to," he breathed. "I can see it."

That assertion was the last straw, as he'd half expected it would be to someone who put so much effort into such a smooth, grippless front. There was a blurred moment of motion, and then Masaharu's back hit the floor, violently enough to drive the air from his lungs. The hand holding the glasses was pinned, hard, to the floor beside him, and Yagyuu's other hand was on his shoulder, thumb curled rather tightly over his throat.

"Do you really know?" Yagyuu asked, low and harsh. "Do you really want to?"

Rage blazed in Yagyuu's pale eyes, and his expression, for once, was raw and open. Sharp, sweet thrill swept through Masaharu to see that unleashed passion, the thrill for which he had played this game. He had touched this actinic blaze in the calm Yagyuu; he had found the way to call it out. Oh, yes, he wanted to see this more often.

To do that, though, the first step was to keep Yagyuu from doing him serious bodily harm. So Masaharu did the last thing Yagyuu probably expected at this point. He relaxed under Yagyuu's hold, let his head drop back on the floor, baring his throat, lowered his lashes over his eyes.

He had known from the start that Yagyuu liked a challenge as much as he did; the corollary was, often, that Yagyuu would not pursue an opponent who offered no resistance.

His faith in his own ability to understand another person was once again vindicated, as Yagyuu's grip gradually loosened, and his weight left Masaharu. When Masaharu opened his eyes, meeting Yagyuu's gaze was still rather like standing in the way of a laser, so he lay still for another few moments just to be on the safe side. He sat up, slowly, when Yagyuu made no further move, and offered back the glasses with a slight quirk of his mouth. He was pleased, though a bit surprised, when Yagyuu simply held them. Squinting at the lenses to try and tell their strength, Masaharu decided he must be close enough to be in focus.

Yagyuu was eyeing him like a tiger trying to decide whether some sharp-clawed creature would be more trouble than lunch was worth. Masaharu gave him a brilliant, wolverine's smile, and he snorted.

"What," Yagyuu enunciated, precisely, "was that in service of?"

"Why, my partner's sanity and well being, of course," Masaharu said, easily.

The ice-flash glare narrowed again.

"And my own entertainment," Masaharu admitted. "Did you know that you're magnificent when you drop that bland mask of yours?"

Yagyuu blinked.

"Beautiful like lightning," Masaharu murmured, hearing his own voice go just a bit dreamy and not really caring. The exaltation of being amidst or around that kind of powerful, unruly, brilliant violence was something he treasured. He found it so rarely, and the chaos sparked by his little deceptions was really nothing to it. "You should do it more often," he concluded.

Yagyuu made a scoffing noise and turned, abruptly, away.

"What did happen?" Masaharu asked, quietly. Yagyuu's spine straightened with a nearly audible snap. "The better I know what it was," Masaharu pointed out, "the better I can turn it aside from you."

If the wolverine had suddenly asserted it was a butterfly, the tiger might have given it a similar look to the one Yagyuu was now giving Masaharu.

"And the better I can turn it aside," Masaharu continued, reasonably, "the more often you're likely to let go. It works out for everyone. Well," he added, thoughtfully, "perhaps not our opponents, so much. But that's their problem."

Yagyuu had several gradations of socially polite smiles, but this was the first time Masaharu had seen one so clearly rooted in suppressed laughter. Yagyuu toyed with his glasses, for a few moments, looking pensive. Masaharu thought he might be considering the case of Hikashi-sensei, who would not be teaching again for a while after Masaharu had arranged for a good deal of extra caffeine to find its way into the man's morning coffee and then switched the colors on all his notes and tabs. Just the colors. The resulting cognitive dissonance had produced a very nice little breakdown. No matter how wound up the man was getting, Hikashi-sensei should never have tried to make an example of Masaharu's failures of scientific knowledge, especially when Masaharu had already been in a foul temper from losing three sets in a row to Yanagi. Totally aside from Masaharu's personal satisfaction, the incident probably made for good credentials right now.

"It was a science teacher, actually," Yagyuu said at last. Ah, irony struck again. Masaharu congratulated himself on the accuracy of his instincts; perhaps Yagyuu was rubbing off on him. "I showed, a little too clearly, that I was better at the material than he would probably ever be. He took exception."

There was another stretch of silence, which Masaharu refrained from breaking.

"I spent the rest of the year pulling ridiculous punishments for the slightest infraction, and rapidly became a pariah among the students. None of them wanted anything to splash on them. I can't," Yagyuu said, thinly, "quite blame them."

"Thus the Perfect Boy front," Masaharu murmured, chin in one hand. Yagyuu inclined his head. Masaharu considered for a long moment before he decided not to bother asking whether Yagyuu had been one of those students who liked his teachers and was liked by them, previous to this rude awakening. He was fairly sure it was true; only betrayal would drive the fury he'd seen in Yagyuu's eyes. He leaned forward and touched Yagyuu's chin, ever so lightly, with his fingertips, to make his partner look around.

"It won't happen again," he stated. "If you'll let me."

"Let you what is the question," Yagyuu noted, but amusement flickered in those clear, cutting eyes. "It could be interesting, I suppose."

"Eminently," Masaharu agreed, compressing his exhilaration at all the wonderful, new possibilities into a gleaming grin.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Four

Niou and Yagyuu settle into their partnership. Drama, I-3

It hadn't taken any time at all to figure out that the months between when the third-years retired and when the school year ended were a time when the clubs could reorder themselves. A time to establish the new pecking order before another crop of first-years arrived, and everyone pecked on them. The tradition was a bit disrupted, this year, but, with the tests past and winter thawing, Masaharu started keeping an eye out. It had occurred to him that some of the very most and very least perceptive among the newly senior second-years might try something with either Jackal or Yagyuu, hoping to establish themselves as superior before the tournaments started and the doubles team's win record made them untouchable. The mannerly ones were the obvious targets.

Masaharu didn't know whether he was pleased or disappointed that it only took one incident to warn all like-minded sorts off of Yagyuu.

He had been waiting for it, and was in good time to turn a sharp eye on his partner when Nishio accosted him.

"Just because you're a quarter of a Regular, don't think you can give yourself too many airs," the older student told Yagyuu, with a not very concealed sneer. "There are balls all over D court; clear them off so we can get more practice games going."

Now that Masaharu knew what he was looking at, it was easy to see the tension in Yagyuu's straight shoulders, the moment of hesitation and calculation over how much he would uncover himself by resisting. While the calculation was lovely, the hesitation wasn't at all what Masaharu wanted to see in Yagyuu. No, it just wouldn't do.

"You want a game, hm?" he asked, strolling past Yagyuu's shoulder. "That's good. It means you're free to play one with me. Aren't you? Senpai." He had called people bastards in a warmer tone of voice, and Nishio gaped a bit to hear just how contemptuously Masaharu was addressing him. Masaharu scooped up a couple extra balls and sauntered onto a free court. He only had to wait long enough for Nishio to realize just how many people had heard the exchange. Ah, pride. It was such a wonderful motivator. It backed people into such tiny, little corners.

He served fairly gently, but his first return sang past Nishio's ear, missing by mere centimeters.

"Damn," Masaharu commented, mildly, "I guess Yanagi was right when he said I needed to work more on pinpointing. My precision is definitely a little shaky. Glad you were around to help me with this. It's good to see senpai who take their positions in the club so seriously." He smiled, slow and cold, as Nishio's eyes widened.

It was an excellent game, altogether, Masaharu thought. And good practice, too. Yanagi really was right; he clipped Nishio several times when he hadn't intended to. Though, on reflection, toward the end that might have been because Nishio himself was shaking so hard. Still. He should be able to allow for that kind of thing.

Masaharu moseyed back to Yagyuu, and ran a critical eye over him. Good; the tension was gone. And, while Yagyuu shook his head at Masaharu, there was a tiny quirk to his mouth. Maybe next time Masaharu would be able to convince him to participate.

"You do realize," Masaharu murmured, "that you can be polite while still smashing them into jelly."

"I'll take that under consideration, Niou-kun," Yagyuu said, coolly.

Masaharu grinned, and saluted his partner with his racquet, before going in search of something inanimate he could use for practice. Moving targets could wait a little, perhaps.

"Niou."

Slightly to his surprise, Masaharu found himself stopping as if his feet had stuck to the ground. He'd heard Yukimura use his there-is-no-possibility-I-will-not-be-obeyed voice on other people; this was the first time it had been used on him. That absolute surety really did have a remarkable effect, he reflected, turning. Something about the harmonics went straight to the spine.

Yukimura was looking at him measuringly. Masaharu raised his brows.

"Was that entirely necessary?" Yukimura asked. Since he sounded like he wanted a serious answer, Masaharu gave him one.

"Yes."

A corner of Yukimura's mouth curled up.

"Succinct," he noted, before he sighed and laid a hand on Masaharu's shoulder. "Defend your partner; it's an admirable motive. And small lessons in caution will be good for everyone. But I will not have members of my club harmed."

Masaharu thought about the way Yukimura had phrased himself. There were some interesting possibilities embedded.

"And if it takes more than a little lesson to get the point across?" he asked, testing. Yukimura's eyes narrowed and darkened.

"Then tell me. Our team will win; any member of this club who cannot support that goal wholeheartedly does not belong here."

Masaharu was lost, for a moment, in admiration of Yukimura's subtlety. Their vice-captain would not, of course, condone injury to those under his command. Of course, once someone left the club, that prohibition would no longer apply. And then Masaharu could do whatever he felt was called for. And everyone would toe the line when word of that got around. He'd been right earlier in the year; Yukimura did understand him. In fact, he chose, knowingly, to use Masaharu's games, like Sanada's temper, to his own ends. Masaharu appreciated that kind of playing with fire.

"Whatever you say," Masaharu agreed, easily. Yukimura's expression turned dry as he let Masaharu go.

"Come on," he directed, "I'll serve to you for your target practice— make it difficult enough to be worthwhile."

For several reasons, Masaharu was happy to note that not all the new first-years were inclined to roll over for the older students. Still, he had to wonder about the extent some of them took it to.

"What's up?" Marui asked, as he and Jackal arrived to find just about the entire club gathered around a single court.

"One of the first-years challenged Yanagi, Sanada and Yukimura, right in a row," Masaharu told them. "Have to admit, the kid has guts. Not too many brains, maybe, but plenty of guts."

"He's still standing?" Jackal asked, sounding intrigued. To date he was one of the few who could manage that feat; Masaharu swore he had extra lungs tucked away somewhere.

"Yes. He's actually very good," Yagyuu noted. Yukimura's return flashed past his challenger's foot. "Not good enough to win," Yagyuu added, "but quite skilled."

"Yanagi drove him absolutely frothing mad," Masaharu put in, "but the kid actually got one game off Sanada. The iron face unbent enough to look a bit impressed."

The first-year didn't quite manage to finish the game standing, instead sprawling full length on the court in a futile effort to return Yukimura's last serve. That did not seem to stymie him, though, and he raised burning eyes to the victors and spat that he would be the best.

"I think Niou was right about the guts to brains ratio," Marui commented, punctuating his judgment with a bubble.

"He will be an impressive player, though," Jackal pointed out.

Masaharu grunted in response, distracted by the flash of red in the first-year's eyes. That was different. An anger reaction?

"He will be joining us," Yagyuu predicted, quietly. When the other three turned to him in surprise he nodded toward the court. "Look at Yukimura-san."

Sure enough, while Yanagi looked contemplative, and Sanada looked saturnine, just as usual, Yukimura had the gleam in his eyes and the faint curve to his mouth that meant he had found something interesting. He stepped over the net, took the newcomer's wrist and pulled him to his feet.

"Try, then," he answered the boy's assertion. "I'll look forward to it."

The first-year seemed a bit taken aback by this approval. Or, Masaharu thought, perhaps by becoming the focus of Yukimura's full attention.

"I believe Yagyuu is right," Jackal said, thoughtfully. "I only hope Yukimura can keep such a wild player in hand."

"That," Masaharu predicted in turn, "will not be a problem."

Later in the day's practice, he tracked down Yanagi.

"So, O Master of All Data, who's the kid?" he asked, slouching against the fence next to their data wizard. Yanagi looked amused.

"I take it Yagyuu noticed Seiichi's interest?" At Masaharu's sidelong look he added, "The chance is about eighty-five percent that he will correctly gauge what Seiichi is thinking at any given moment."

"One of these days," Masaharu sighed, "I'm going to get used to you doing that."

"Our challenger is Kirihara Akaya," Yanagi told him. "He has some impressive experience already. His greatest weakness at present is his temper, as I expect you noticed." Now it was Yanagi's turn to shoot Masaharu a sideways look; Masaharu grinned into the distance. "He will be a good addition to the team, if he can gain some control and refine his skills. I estimate the latter will take six months."

Masaharu made a note of the fact that Yanagi did not hazard a guess how long the former might take.

This year's round of tournaments had finally started. And Masaharu was bored again.

"Yagyuu-Niou pair, 6-0!"

"When are we going to get a decent challenge?" Masaharu grumbled as they fished out water and ignored their totally unnecessary towels.

"These are only the district preliminaries, Niou-kun," Yagyuu pointed out. "I doubt there will be much, here. Are you in such a rush to court the possibility of defeat?"

"What?" Masaharu tipped back his head to grin at Yagyuu. "I want to see my partner shine. Where's the crime in that?"

"Most codes of law would likely consider it to lie in your definition of 'shine'," Yagyuu noted, but his tone was light.

"Do I want to know what you two are talking about?" Marui asked, as they watched Sanada tearing through his opponent like a tall, dark bandsaw.

"See? Marui wants to see too," Masaharu blithely reinterpreted, ignoring the sudden choke that had Marui scraping bubblegum off his nose. "And we do have one more team to play today..." He trailed off, suggestively.

"Hmm." Yagyuu looked down at him, and Masaharu would have laid odds that his eyes were glinting behind those glasses. "I suppose they are our opponents, after all. Perhaps, a little."

Marui eyed them both for a long moment before declaring, "I want to be very clear that whatever is about to happen is not my fault in any way."

Masaharu smiled at him broadly enough to make him edge toward Jackal. "Of course not."

Masaharu was aware that the bounce in his step as they moved to their next match was drawing attention. He didn't care in the least. Though he did have a bad moment when Yukimura drew them aside just before they went out. He wasn't going to stop them, was he?

"Niou, I think it would be a good idea if you let Yagyuu set the pace of this match," Yukimura suggested. Masaharu gave him a patient look. It was abundantly obvious that their vice-captain was, tactfully, saying he didn't want them to draw this match out the way Masaharu had been doing in an effort to entertain himself.

"You know, you could just say you don't want me to play with my food," he pointed out.

Yukimura laughed. "I'll remember that," he promised.

"Is there a particular reason we should take this one quickly, Yukimura-san?" Yagyuu asked.

"This is one of the stronger teams here," Yukimura told them. "It would be a good thing, both for Rikkai as a whole, and for the doubles team in particular, if you were to make an impression, here."

Masaharu and Yagyuu looked at each other. Masaharu chuckled. Yagyuu adjusted his glasses.

"Of course," he murmured.

"Enjoy yourselves," Yukimura told them, with the sharp smile he wore when he played.

Masaharu could barely hide his glee as he observed the subtle relaxation in his partner, shoulders looser, breath deeper, head higher. The bright, furious sense of Yagyuu's presence pooled around him, charged the space between them, snapped across the net to lick at their victims. Masaharu shivered, delighting in it.

When Yagyuu let go, the smoothness of his front turned fluid and hot as molten glass, and, even if it burned to touch, Masaharu loved to immerse himself in it.

They took the set, 6-0, in a glorious sweep of speed. And Masaharu almost laughed out loud when Yagyuu congratulated their opponents, quite straight-faced, on a good game.

"What did I tell you?" he asked, as they strolled back to the benches. "Jelly."

Yagyuu laughed, low in his throat, danger and fury satiated for the moment, leaving him languid until he regathered himself.

"As you say, Niou-kun."

It was probably a good thing, Masaharu reflected, that Yagyuu had clued the doubles team in about Yukimura's fascination with Kirihara. Otherwise they might have wondered what on earth their leader was doing spending so much time on a non-Regular now that the tournament season was in full swing. As it was, they quietly made space for him among them. Masaharu, in particular, liked to watch him practicing, especially with The Exalted Three. Admittedly, Kirihara didn't have Yagyuu's brilliant purity, when he let go. For Kirihara it was something more shadowed. But Masaharu enjoyed watching it all the same.

He toyed, for a while, with the idea that the kid genuinely was possessed. Whatever it was that happened, when his eyes went red, it both freed his reserves and seemed to detach his brain. Masaharu certainly couldn't come up with any other explanation for the way Kirihara played such a deliberately dirty game when he was like that, even against Yukimura.

Yukimura, of course, took it all in stride, though he'd had to have a word with Sanada to keep him from pounding Kirihara into a pulp the first time he'd seen it happen. Masaharu sniffed at the memory. As if Yukimura couldn't do it perfectly well himself, if he thought it needed doing. Though, he glanced at Yagyuu, standing at the fence beside him, he supposed there could be reasons for defending someone stronger.

This afternoon looked like a quicker match than usual. Yukimura was getting used to that sudden change in Kirihara's level, probably. In fact... Masaharu eyed the return shots Yukimura was making.

"Yagyuu," he said, on an inquiring note.

"Yes," his partner agreed, "Yukimura-san is reflecting Kirihara-kun's body shots, though he returns them just shy of actually striking. He's provoking him."

Masaharu whistled. If he'd ever doubted Yukimura had a cold streak, this would have disabused him of the idea. The last ball skipped between Kirihara's feet, and he stumbled to his knees and stayed there, panting and shaking, probably with anger. Yukimura came around the net, but this time he did not pull Kirihara back up. He knelt down in front of him, grabbed his chin, and forced his head up to meet Yukimura's eyes.

"You will never defeat me," Yukimura told him, low and sharp, "unless you can control that strength instead of merely letting it loose. Do you hear me?"

"I..." Kirihara swallowed with some difficulty, green gaze wide and clear, "I hear you, Yukimura-fukubuchou."

Yukimura nodded, and released him, dropping the towel he had picked up on his way past the benches over Kirihara's head.

"Remember it."

As he walked away, Masaharu and Yagyuu shared a look and moved toward the motionless Kirihara.

"You really managed to put your foot in it today, kiddo," Masaharu observed, mussing Kirihara's hair through the towel. Kirihara swatted at his hand and emerged with a petulant look. Masaharu shook his head. Half the time, being around Kirihara was like sitting next to a ticking bomb, and the other half it was like having a bratty but cute little brother. Possession really seemed as reasonable an explanation as any other. He hauled Kirihara over to a bench to clear the court.

"Will you listen to what Yukimura-san says?" Yagyuu asked, gently, passing over a water bottle. Kirihara blinked up at him, caught in the middle of drinking.

"Of course," he said, a little blankly, as if wondering what other course of action there could be. Yagyuu smiled, satisfied, and Masaharu chuckled.

"He's something else, isn't he?" he remarked, only a touch ruefully.

The three of them shared slightly sheepish grins before the captain called all the Regulars to gather around.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Five

Niou coaxes Yagyuu into more intimacy; or perhaps it's the other way around. Drama with Porn, I-3

There were times when Masaharu seriously thought Marui Bunta was going to grow up to be a gossip columnist. He had an apparently insatiable curiosity about other people's personal lives.

"So, what do you guys think?" Marui asked one day, while the doubles team was cooling down, nodding at The Magnificent Three over by the fence. "Are they hooked up, or what?"

"Marui," Jackal said, disapprovingly. Masaharu laughed. The usual doubles pairs really had come down to one casual sort and one straightlaced sort each...

"Possibly," Yagyuu answered, adjusting his glasses.

Jackal's brows rose, and Masaharu frankly goggled at his partner.

"If so, however, I suspect all three must be involved," Yagyuu continued, serenely. "Together the three of them have a stability that no two do alone."

"Kinky," Marui said, with a bubble for emphasis.

"And here I thought you were completely indifferent," Masaharu marveled, a bit sardonically. "You never give any of your fanclub the time of day."

"As opposed to your attempts to corrupt yours into delinquency?" Yagyuu inquired, with a tiny smile. "The shrillness is a bit off-putting. That does not make me blind, nor does it mean I have no appreciation for beauty of body or of heart."

Masaharu blinked. Marui snickered, and nudged Masaharu in the ribs.

"I told you you shouldn't have switched the labels on the water and acetone before Yonomi-sensei's dry-ice demonstration. He's just getting you back for messing up his favorite class."

"Yonomi-sensei deserved it," Masaharu defended himself. He shared a speaking look with his partner. Yes, Masaharu would be more careful not to interrupt experiments that interested Yagyuu. No, Yagyuu wasn't actually angry. He'd known that already, really. If Yagyuu had gotten angry with him he certainly wouldn't have shown it by adopting methods so close to Masaharu's own. Masaharu grinned.

The corruption proceeded apace.

Masaharu and Yagyuu had kept up their winter habit of studying together. It was comfortable and familiar, and it gave Masaharu a chance to keep working on Yagyuu's self-restraint. His goal was to get Yagyuu to cut off a teacher at the knees. He felt it would be a healthy step forward in his partner's personal development.

And it would be fun as hell to watch.

He did his best to be a good example, and he was reasonably sure that Yagyuu liked watching him stir things up, but it was still good to have it confirmed. Even if the form of that confirmation was slightly disconcerting.

They were working through a section on the Edo period, and Masaharu was giving his interpretation of Toyotomi Hideyoshi's foundational policies, which was rather more colorful than the official one.

"Really a brilliant social engineer, and an utterly cold-hearted bastard. Think about the strictures on who can do what. I mean, it looks worst for the peasants, but consider what he did to the samurai with the same move. Effectively, you can have weapons or you can have food, but you can't have both. Stabilized the economy and contained the warriors with one fell swoop." Masaharu stretched out a little more comfortably on the floor beside the low table Yagyuu sat at so straight and upright. "Absolutely brilliant bastard; you've got to admire a mind like that."

Yagyuu paused in his note-taking, and tapped the end of his pen against the table. Masaharu tilted a brow; that was what Yagyuu did when he was evaluating some thought or person.

"Niou-kun, you asked me once what had happened to me," Yagyuu said, thoughtfully. "What was it that happened to you? Not that the results aren't entertaining to watch, when you rake people over trying to find bits of gold in the gravel. But what gave you such a taste for people of extremes?"

Masaharu blinked, never having heard his proclivities framed quite that way, before. Then he shrugged.

"It's always been like that. Some people are fascinated by fire; the brilliance, and destructiveness, and beauty. It's the same for me, only it's people. Fire is mindless; people have intention and direction. And I can come closer to the burning."

Yagyuu slowly removed his glasses, and polished them, pale eyes resting on Masaharu.

"Are you saying," Yagyuu asked, after a long, contemplative pause, "that you're a metaphorical pyromaniac?" He looked amused.

"Good description," Masaharu agreed, folding his arms behind his head. Yagyuu regarded him, eyes sharp and curious.

"You know, I've wondered, if it was passion you wanted to call out of me, why you never tried seduction."

Masaharu blinked some more. He'd thought the answer to that was self-evident.

"Because sex didn't work," he said. "It was the first thing I tried, and it didn't unsettle you at all. Could have knocked me over with a feather, at the time," he admitted, just a bit disgruntled at the memory. Thinking it over, he had to add, "If I thought I could get you to let go all the way, I would in a second."

"Would you really?" Yagyuu wondered, softly. His gaze was somehow both piercing and distant, and Masaharu heard questions behind the question. Would you really want to and Could you really handle it, among others.

"Oh, yes," he answered all of them, mouth curling.

"Hm." Yagyuu replaced his glasses. "So. Do you have an opinion of Tokugawa Ieyasu to add for this section?"

As Masaharu held forth on genealogical slight of hand, he also tucked away some intriguing new ideas for later examination.

The tournament matches started to heat up a little, as they entered Regionals. To keep everyone on their toes, Yukimura colluded with Yanagi to put together a training schedule to make a slave-driver blanch. The only open times were provided solely to include Kirihara.

By now the entire club had a pretty good idea of what next year's team would look like.

For once Kirihara seemed to be struggling. He appeared to have taken Yukimura's edict about control to heart, but it was clear that holding back his own rage was both alien to him and draining. Masaharu, personally, considered most of that control a waste of time, but then it wasn't the dearest desire of his heart to defeat Yukimura at tennis. To each his own.

Sanada approved, though. Masaharu noticed him taking Kirihara aside, while Yanagi and Yukimura were busy playing he and Jackal, to help Kirihara with his footwork. That was the day Masaharu decided Sanada had a soft spot for ambition and drive. Kirihara definitely had those, in spades. It did explain, perhaps, why Sanada accepted Yukimura's superiority so easily, when he was so taken up with achieving victory over absolutely everyone else.

Draped over a bench, after a grueling marathon of singles matches within the team, Masaharu watched Kirihara and Sanada going at it hammer and tongs, still. They were both nuts. Masaharu loved tennis, and he loved winning, and he deeply loved playing with Yagyuu, but some people just took the whole thing beyond any degree of sanity. Even Jackal was looking worn out after today.

Marui was still standing, but only because he was so pleased with his new shot that it acted on him like a sugar high. Masaharu expected him to crash any second. The day he'd perfected that startling ball that rolled along the net, he'd been bouncing off the walls for the rest of practice.

"Pure genius, that's what it is!" he'd proclaimed, grinning too hard to even blow bubbles. Jackal had smiled, tolerantly, on his partner's antics. Kirihara, on the other hand, had snorted.

"Pure showing off," he'd corrected, only to be jumped on and pummeled by Marui. Masaharu had watched with a smirk; he'd only kept his mouth shut because he knew Kirihara could be counted on to say it first.

Now Marui came to the rest of them after a mere dozen runs through his new move.

"Looks like the little spitfire's improving," he said, flopping down and stealing Yagyuu's towel. Jackal plucked it out of his hand, replacing it with Marui's own, without a word. Yagyuu accepted his back with a nod.

"Seventeen percent improvement over the last month," Yanagi specified from where he was fishing his water bottle out of the cooler. "Though I'm not sure he believes it."

Masaharu had to admit, for someone who was so sure he would make it to the top, the kid did seem prone to crises of confidence. Indeed, when the game finally ended, Kirihara slumped on his bench looking quite glum, head hanging almost to his knees as he caught his breath. The doubles team were having a quick conference of looks to decide who should speak to him first, when Yukimura made the issue moot by going to Kirihara himself.

"You're doing well," he said, gently. Kirihara's look up was a bit wry.

"It doesn't feel like it," he admitted. Yukimura smiled down at him and touched his shoulder.

"It's hard to tell from inside the game, sometimes. So trust my judgment from outside of it. You are making good progress, Akaya."

Kirihara's eyes widened before he ducked his head. The doubles team exchanged amused looks. For all that Yukimura was Kirihara's prime target, or possibly because of it, he seemed especially susceptible to the warmth that Yukimura lavished on his team to go along with his ruthless demands. It was really kind of cute.

Masaharu caught a similar look passing among The Glorious Three. He was particularly interested to note the hint of affection in Sanada's eyes, and the faint softening of his mouth as he regarded Kirihara and Yukimura.

Well, well. Here he'd thought Sanada would be the jealous sort. He did so love how unpredictable his teammates could be.

Some things about Yagyuu were unpredictable, and then some things weren't. After turning over the intriguing thoughts one of their study sessions had left him with, Masaharu had decided that he had better choose the setting carefully, to act on his conclusions. Otherwise, Yagyuu's entirely predictable personal privacy would likely deep six the entire thing.

Long consideration led him to decide on Yagyuu's room. It was handy, being where more than half their study sessions took place anyway, and he'd observed that Yagyuu tended to be a little less tense inside those walls, as if they took the place of his outermost layer. That should help, too.

Then it was just a matter of waiting for the right opportunity.

He chose two days after they played Seigaku. After Yanagi's report on Seigaku's impressive second-year singles player, their captain had taken the Singles Three slot and been soundly trounced by one Tezuka Kunimitsu. Tezuka had apparently caught Sanada's interest, as he had spent all the next practices working against the team's strongest singles players to polish his techniques, hoping that they would come up against Seigaku again at Nationals. This, of course, included Yagyuu. Masaharu had noted months ago that Yagyuu relaxed in a very particular way after playing Sanada, possibly because he used more raw strength against Sanada than any other player.

"I take it," Yagyuu commented, as they dumped their bags by the table, "that it isn't a review of spectography you have on your mind today, Niou-kun?"

Yagyuu's intuition was a match for anyone else's analysis, Masaharu reflected.

"Not in the least," he admitted, approaching his partner. Yagyuu smiled, and watched him come.

Face to face, Yagyuu was a bit taller; though, Masaharu supposed, if he ever stood like he had a poker where his spine should be, they would likely be the same height. He reached out and, delicately, removed Yagyuu's glasses. A signal, a symbol, a talisman, but more than anything else an intense desire to see Yagyuu Hiroshi's eyes.

Those eyes were gleaming like ice in the sun, and Masaharu felt the frisson that came when they played.

"Would you let go all the way, Yagyuu?" he whispered. "If I asked you to?"

One of Yagyuu's hands wove into Masaharu's hair, tipped his head back a little.

"Yes, I think so," his partner answered, softly. He bent his head, and his lips moved over Masaharu's neck, warm, seeking. Masaharu shivered, leaning against Yagyuu. The touch of his lips moved up, found Masaharu's mouth, changed.

Yagyuu's arm locked around Masaharu, pulling his body hard against his partner's, and Yagyuu's mouth covered his, pressing, parting, demanding. Masaharu breathed in the weight of Yagyuu's desire and gave it back as a low moan that Yagyuu wrapped his tongue around. He gave himself over to the crushing strength of Yagyuu's hold and was held so tightly he barely noticed when Yagyuu lowered him to the bed.

The complete lack of hesitation in his partner's hands, as they undid clothing washed a wave of clear, brilliant heat through Masaharu. This was what he wanted: to see Yagyuu throw away the restraints he fastened around himself. He stretched, under Yagyuu's hands, reached up to touch, felt himself pressed down to the bed by the flash of Yagyuu's eyes.

Yagyuu's gaze held him in place, and he panted for breath under it, as Yagyuu's hand closed around his cock, and Masaharu shuddered violently at the gentle stroke of powerful fingers. His partner's skin slid against his like water against the shore, but he felt as if it was Yagyuu who was solid, and he who was fluid, melted, surging with the pull of his partner's gravity. Masaharu let himself fall into the hot, flickering pleasure of Yagyuu's hand on him, and Yagyuu's kiss set the pace of it, tasting of slow, wet slides. Masaharu's entire body flexed into it, quickly lost in the sharpness of Yagyuu's movement, rushing, speeding heat crashing through his veins, wringing him over and over, until it slowed, collapsed into Yagyuu's hand on him and Yagyuu's body leaning over his, Yagyuu's breath drowning his. Lassitude folded around him, warm with the strength of Yagyuu's touch.

Masaharu smiled, surprised, in a somewhat lightheaded way, that Yagyuu's passion could emerge without the danger that was its stamp at other times. A little surprised, as well, that it could thrill and please him so deeply without that edge.

Yagyuu stirred against him, and pale eyes, edge softened with satisfaction, examined him. "So?" his partner asked, pleasure and humor in his tone. Masaharu chuckled, a bit hoarsely.

"Any time you want," he murmured.

"Danger addict," Yagyuu accused. Masaharu blinked.

"But you're not," he objected. As Yagyuu's brow tilted, he shook his head. "I know when you're dangerous, Yagyuu. You weren't dangerous to me just now."

Yagyuu considered this assertion for a few breaths, and then leaned down to kiss Masaharu long and deep, pressing him down, hard, to the bed, as if to hold him still long enough to breathe him in. Masaharu took the point perfectly well.

"Are you sure?" Yagyuu asked, against Masaharu's lips.

"What if I want you to consume me, though?" Masaharu shot back. "Like a fire."

"Danger addict," Yagyuu said, much more definitely this time.

"You worry too much," Masaharu grinned. "I won't ever lose myself in you, Yagyuu."

TBC

A/N: Check here for one of the most comprehensive accounts of Hideyoshi I've found online; very evenhanded.

Challenge - Chapter Six

Niou has an idea for a trick. Drama with Peculiar Romance, I-3

Sanada was being a bear.

And a bear with a sore paw, at that. Masaharu was seriously considering doing something to loosen him up a bit. The only thing holding him back was trying to plan how to remain alive afterwards.

Rather to everyone's surprise, except, possibly, Yanagi's, and he had warned Sanada, Sanada had lost a game to Hyoutei's new ace, Atobe Keigo. Sanada was now bound and determined to even the score. If they didn't come up against Hyoutei at Nationals, Masaharu suspected Sanada would ask for an unofficial match just for his personal satisfaction.

His suggestion that Sanada now had two excellent opponents to play against, and wasn't that nice, had been met with such a glare he'd sworn he smelled singed hair in its wake.

Yukimura, standing behind Sanada, had raised a hand to cover his grin.

Those two were currently playing, and to Masaharu's eye it was now Sanada who could use a little extra control. He wasn't pacing himself well at all. Sure enough, he dropped the last game faster than usual, and Yagyuu, standing next to Masaharu, shook his head.

"That, Niou-kun, is why I will not let you draw me out as often as you would like," he commented. "One of us must keep a relatively cool head or we will lose in exactly that manner." Masaharu raised his brows at his partner.

"You think I couldn't?" he asked, slightly offended. It wasn't as if he were out of control. Well, not seriously. He caught the glint of a sidelong look from behind Yagyuu's glasses, and his partner's mouth curved subtly.

"Could you stay cool while you watched me let go?" he asked, softly.

Well, all right, Masaharu admitted, as a pleasant shiver tracked down his spine, that was a point. Still.

"If I really had to," he answered, seriously.

Yagyuu tipped his head to the side. "I'll remember that, then," he said. Masaharu smiled; that sounded... promising.

Sanada tossed his racquet onto the bench in front of them, and his empty hands clenched, convulsively.

"Sanada," Yukimura said, setting a hand on his arm. His voice was low, close to commanding but also soothing in its very evenness. Masaharu watched Sanada's fists loosen, and was impressed once again by Yukimura's fine touch with his team.

"Yukimura," Sanada started, an apologetic edge to the deep voice. Yukimura's hand tightened, stopping him.

"You will win," he said with certainty. Sanada looked down at him, expression lightening, and dipped his head slightly. Yukimura raised his voice again. "Yagyuu, you and Sanada are up next."

Yagyuu moved forward, fingers trailing ever so lightly over Masaharu's wrist in passing. Masaharu suppressed his reaction, sternly, but couldn't hold back a grin. Who would have thought that Yagyuu would be an incorrigible tease? Yukimura came to stand next to Masaharu, and eyed him closely as the next match started. A breath of laughter escaped him.

"So, he finally caught you, did he?" he asked, eyes sparkling.

Masaharu, caught flatfooted, had to grope for an answer for several moments. "I would have said it the other way around," he managed, at last.

"He's been after you since late spring," Yukimura told him, conversationally.

Masaharu blinked. He had? Thinking back over it, though... he had instigated things, yes, but Yagyuu had incited him to do so. Yukimura tugged on the slim tail of hair that Masaharu kept expressly to annoy the daylights out of the uniform sticklers at school.

"Has the Trickster been tricked?" he asked, with a warm smile to take the sting out of the question. "There was a reason Yagyuu accepted you as his primary partner, Niou. You make a good pair. But your partnership won't last if you underestimate his penchant for misdirection."

"Mmm," Masaharu agreed, fighting down a flush.

"Ah, now I've embarrassed you," Yukimura said, sounding penitent. "But the two of you work well together, Niou. I don't want you to fail; either on the court or off it."

"We'll try not to," Masaharu assured him, relaxing a little as he reminded himself to respect his partner's depth of sneakiness from now on.

The Perfect Gentleman, he supposed, would, after all, be indirect about getting things he wanted. What mattered was that he wanted Masaharu, and, by extension, the things Masaharu led him on to do. A grin resurfaced.

Knowing that Yagyuu wanted unrestraint would definitely help in future plans.

Masaharu lazed in a pool of autumn sunlight feeling remarkably at peace with the world.

Rikkai had taken Nationals, as per expectation, and Sanada had gotten his chance to even the score with Atobe. Which only meant that now they both had a reason to stalk each other, but that was Sanada's concern, and he seemed pleased enough.

The third years had retired, and Yukimura Seiichi was finally captain in name as well as fact. As Akaya had brashly, if accurately, put it, "It's about time!" Relaxed from the tension of the tournament season, the team was consolidating.

And best of all, at least right at this moment, Yagyuu had just taken a great deal of pleasure in running his tongue over every especially sensetive area of Masaharu's skin. Quite slowly. The net result being that Masaharu was lying in the sun, in a tangle of white cotton sheets, with no desire to move any time in the near future. How Yagyuu mustered the motivation to get up, even for a shower, was really beyond him.

His partner returned, toweling off his hair. Masaharu chuckled to see it so unaccustomedly ruffled, and spiky with moisture.

"What's amusing you now?" Yagyuu asked.

"Your hair looks better messy," Masaharu told him.

"You, of course, would think so."

Some thought was tapping Masaharu's shoulder. Something having to do with Yagyuu. He found himself recalling past observations or occasions.

...practicing Yagyuu's particular shots...

...understanding his revulsion of authority...

...accepting that his underhandedness equaled Masaharu's own...

...noting that their height difference was due to posture...

...drowning in sharp, ice colored eyes, the same color as Masaharu's...

Masaharu's grin widened, notch by notch, as the outline of a superb game blossomed in his mind's eye.

"Niou-kun?" his partner asked, sounding a bit wary. Masaharu looked at him with glowing delight.

"Yagyuu, I have the best idea," he declared.

The only real sticking point was hair color. Light to dark was easy enough, but the other way around wasn't, and Yagyuu flatly refused to bleach a single strand. In the end, Masaharu found a yearmate whose brother's best friend worked with someone who knew something that would do it. Masaharu considered the expense worth it, and swore his fellow student to secrecy on pain of Masaharu's ingenuity.

"You're sure this won't be permanent?" Yagyuu pressed.

"The guy promised the enzyme base, on it's own, won't do a thing," Masaharu explained, patiently. "It requires the reactant, and once the neutralizer is applied, that's that, nothing else happens."

Thus it was, a few days later, that Masaharu packed up an exceedingly well-pressed uniform and the non-prescription glasses with reflective coating. Apparently that was a somewhat unusual combination to request, since the optometrist's assistant had given him a slightly odd look. He and Yagyuu left their houses early and met at the house of the yearmate who had put them in touch with the obliging makeup artist. When they emerged, half an hour later, their grinning fellow waved them on ahead. He had sworn up and down not to come near them all day, lest he give the deception away, in return for which he was permitted, tomorrow, to brag about having been in the know.

Masaharu drew himself up very straight, which made the walk come on its own. He glanced at the figure slouching insouciantly along beside him and compressed a grin into Yagyuu's faint smile. Yes, he thought this would work. 'He' might be a bit tamer than usual, today, but the glint in those narrow eyes would definitely pass for the genuine article. As they walked he dusted off the manners that one teacher after another had tried, with ultimate futility, to get him to use, greeting the occasional classmate with cool courtesy.

The best part would be seeing all their faces, when the switch was revealed.

Classes started without incident, Masaharu opened the day's first book, and nearly strained himself suppressing hysterical laughter. Tucked in between the pages they had been assigned to read was a postcard.

An extremely explicit postcard featuring two naked individuals in the middle of an extremely personal act.

A postcard which, unless he was greatly mistaken, came from the book he had slipped into Yagyuu's bag early last year, hoping to disconcert him. He never had returned it, had he? He glanced over to see his partner leaning back in his chair, hands tucked in his pockets, and a downright evil grin on his face. Schooling his own expression carefully, Masaharu tucked the card into his bag.

Yes, this was definitely going to work.

He went through the day feeling like a hunter behind a blind, the blind of Yagyuu's impenetrable manners. From that vantage he finally had the inexpressible delight of seeing his partner point out to their literature teacher, shriveled old prune of a martinet that he was, that the love poems of the Man'yoshu centered on distrust, not faith, and that he should really stop trying to convince them of such romantic drivel. For one glorious moment, Masaharu thought Sugawara-sensei would have heart failure on the spot. After a long look at the razor sharp smile 'Niou' was sporting, the teacher chose to ignore the insolence and move right along.

Ah, the benefits of a reputation, he thought, looking on Yagyuu with fondness concealed by the glasses he wore.

It wasn't until one of the most loud-mouthed of the second-year tennis club members discovered that the new roll of grip tape he was bragging about over lunch had been replaced with an equally long roll of super sour bubble gum that Masaharu had to excuse himself to the bathroom where he could indulge his laughing fit unnoticed. When he returned, he passed his partner's desk.

"Are you finished for the day, Niou-kun?" he inquired, mildly. Yagyuu stretched like a cat, mouth quirking.

"For now, I suppose," he allowed.

Masaharu made sure to incline his head in reassurance to the grateful looks he was collecting from their classmates.

Then came tennis practice. They had both wondered whether it would be possible to fool their teammates. Masaharu now thought it would be, and when Yagyuu raised a brow at him he nodded in return.

Well, it was possible to fool some of their teammates. Marui, Jackal and Sanada clearly didn't suspect a thing. After the first hour, though Yanagi and Yukimura were giving them curious looks. Akaya joined in not long after. Masaharu had expected Yanagi, at least. When it came down to it, he simply wasn't as strong in Yagyuu's shots as Yagyuu was, and there was no real way to hide Yagyuu's bone-deep awareness of where his partner was on the court, which was not characteristic of Masaharu.

It was a fascinating exercise, all the same. Yagyuu was often their game-maker, and standing back in the way his partner normally did suddenly gave Masaharu a new perspective on their teammates. Marui, for instance, was clearly the game-maker for his pair, something Masaharu had never quite noticed while playing in close to him, up at the net. Now he thought he understood why Yagyuu kept such a close eye on their volatile "genius". Masaharu found himself slipping, almost unawares, into Yagyuu's pattern of play, watching and waiting for the crushing chance, rather than pressing in and harrying their opponents. As, in fact, Yagyuu, in his position as 'Niou', was doing at this moment. Quite enthusiastically.

When Yanagi moved over to Yukimura and leaned down to say something in his ear, Masaharu thought the game was up, but Yukimura smiled, slowly, and looked over at them. He shook his head and replied to Yanagi, without looking away. Yanagi shrugged. Neither of them said anything, and for once Akaya seemed reluctant to stick his neck out.

Masaharu had always known Yukimura had a fine sense of humor.

The next day, Masaharu felt, strongly deserved a gold star on his calendar. Their accommodating yearmate had spread the word as fast as gossip could travel, and Masaharu strolled the halls, savoring the utterly pole-axed expressions on at least half their denizens. It took a little while before anyone got up the nerve to ask if it was true.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Masaharu returned, smiling innocently.

Rumor galloped on twice as fast after that.

Yukimura was chuckling when they got to practice, and clapped a hand on each of their shoulders.

"You do have a talent for creating disruption," he noted. Sanada rolled his eyes, exasperated, and Akaya just about pounced on them.

"It was! I was right!"

"Enough games, though," Yukimura ordered. "We have work to do. Everyone on the courts!"

"I was right, too, you know," Masaharu murmured to Yagyuu as they dispersed.

"About what?" his partner inquired, cool as ever behind his precision and glasses.

"You are magnificent when you let go."

"Narcissist," Yagyuu accused him, lightly, fingertips brushing Masaharu's hand.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Seven

Disaster strikes for the whole team. Drama with Angst, I-4

After such a golden autumn, no one expected what happened in the heart of winter. Yukimura himself said afterwards that he had thought the tingling was merely pinched nerves, and had made an appointment with his doctor. At the time, all Masaharu knew was that he heard his captain's voice falter, saw his partner's head snap up, heard Sanada's sharp exclamation, found himself running, with the rest of the team, to where Yukimura had crumpled to the ground.

"He's still breathing, but his pulse is uneven," Yanagi reported, tense, as Jackal sprinted for the cell phone in his bag and called an ambulance. "I didn't see him hit anything when he fell."

"He didn't," Yagyuu seconded.

"Then what's wrong?" Sanada asked, voice ragged. Yanagi closed a hand, bruisingly tight, on his shoulder.

"I don't know, but you have to keep the club calm until the ambulance gets here," he told their vice-captain.

Sanada's head bent, and Masaharu was close enough to see the muscles of his jaw standing out as he clenched his teeth. He drew in a quick breath and nodded.

"The rest of you, get changed. We're following him to the hospital," he said, tightly, before turning away and calling the club to order, dismissing them for the day.

Masaharu remembered the rest of the day as an appalling blur in which random moments of panic stood out: a paramedic calling urgently for oxygen; Akaya shivering against him as they sat in a waiting room; the date on a sports magazine, three months old; the chill of Yagyuu's hands when Masaharu folded them around a can of coffee.

When a doctor finally emerged, though, it was Yagyuu who took one look at Sanada's hunched form and went to meet him; Yagyuu who explained that Yukimura's parents had been called, but they, his team, were the only ones there for him at the moment; Yagyuu who wormed the diagnosis out of the doctor and carried it back.

Relief made Masaharu lightheaded, as he listened to Yagyuu's account of the information he had extracted. Guillain-Barre, very unlikely to be fatal, Yukimura had already regained consciousness though he was still very weak. Then the bombshell. Up to a year for recovery in severe cases. This was a severe case.

The team stared at each other, stunned. Their captain would be away from them? Most likely the entire year? The sight of Yukimura being wheeled past, pale and still, wiped away any lingering fantasies of a quick return, though.

It was too much for Sanada, who called after him with a promise that the team would wait for its captain, would remain undefeated for him. A promise like a charm for Yukimura's recovery; if they kept faith for him, surely he would return. Masaharu could see the tremors running through Sanada's body, see the terrible tension in his bowed head and tight fists. Yanagi stepped to his side, clasped his shoulder, and, when Sanada looked up, nodded firmly, giving himself to the promise as well. Akaya, the baby of the team, who would now be playing in every match when the new year began, stepped forward, and nodded, just a touch tremulously. The doubles players, with barely a glance at each other, stepped forward as one.

The tension drained out of Sanada, and he closed his eyes, swaying slightly against Yanagi's supporting hand.

"Thank you," he whispered.

The team slowly regathered themselves, leaning on each other more heavily, now that the one who had lifted them all up was gone. The winter was a nightmare, as one month, and then two crawled by, and Yukimura remained hospitalized, largely paralyzed, often on respirators. The mood of the team darkened, and Masaharu began to wish for the new year to start so that they would have outsiders to take out their accumulated stress on. Even when Yukimura began to regain some strength, and the worst fear lifted, the prognosis remained poor. He would be a long time recovering.

In March, Sanada and Yanagi drew up a tentative training schedule, which included, to everyone's initial dismay, weight training. Wrist weights, to be precise, worn all the time. The vast complaints of Masaharu's shoulders indicated that it was a good idea, in a sadistic kind of way.

"We'll work up from lighter weights to heavier ones," Yanagi explained, as he handed the pocketed bands out. "Thanks to our location, we have always had to face most of our strongest competition twice: once at Regionals and again at Nationals. The schedule aims for peak performance starting toward the end of Regionals."

The mood was somewhat lightened by the gathering to move Yukimura back home, during Spring Break. He was coherent, and smiling, and pleased with them. He was also far weaker and clumsier than any of them had ever seen him before.

"It isn't as bad as that," he finally told them, probably exasperated by the dour expressions surrounding him. "Just watch. I'll be back with you for Nationals. I promise." He then proceeded to regale them with descriptions of his physical therapist, who was apparently psychic. She had listened to his goals, taken a long look at him, and utterly forbidden him to go anywhere near a tennis court without her presence.

Masaharu had to snicker at that. "She's got your number," he told his captain, who actually blushed, faintly.

The team started the new school year in a strange mix of hope and fear, confidence and screaming tension, brilliance and darkness. Masaharu couldn't help thinking there would be trouble sooner or later.

The first time Sanada lost his temper, they all knew there would be trouble.

One of the third years, a player who was in the pool of alternates, should any of the Regulars be... absent, made the mistake of trying to excuse his loss to a second year and collected an abrupt and vicious backhand. Silence fell over the court like an iron bar.

"There can be no losses. Not for us. Not this year," Sanada said, cold and hard.

And then Yanagi was there, with a hand on his shoulder, drawing him away, speaking quietly. The doubles players, just switching after a match, drew closer to each other. Masaharu had seen Marui's start of shock, felt Yagyuu, beside him, freezing with a tension he had largely shed over the past year.

"He's totally snapped," Marui murmured.

"Not totally," Jackal objected. "But Sanada has always been a harsher leader than Yukimura; and now he leads alone."

"Indeed," Yagyuu agreed, tone distant and chill.

Jackal and Masaharu exchanged a glance. They would have to shield their more tightly strung partners when possible, and in Yagyuu's case, at least, that would mean keeping him away from Sanada as much as possible when either was on edge.

If they agreed to this.

That knowledge passed among all four of them. They had to choose, and they had to choose now, whether or not to break ranks over this. Either they could seek to restrain Sanada, probably by appealing to Yukimura, or they could accept his ruthlessness in the name of their common goal and give themselves over to his command without question.

Any other options involved breaking from the team, and that was unthinkable.

Yagyuu was the first to voice a decision.

"We will await Yukimura-san's return undefeated," he said, evenly, repeating the promise Sanada had given their captain.

Masaharu nodded. If Yagyuu could handle it, he could certainly handle it.

"This will change who we are," Marui noted. After a long moment of silence, though, he shrugged and blew a bubble. "No losses, hm? I can deal with that."

Jackal nodded without speaking.

"All right, then," Masaharu sighed, and looked around to catch Yanagi's eye. He made a quick gesture to the four of them and nodded. Yanagi smiled with uncommon relief and nodded back, before he returned to soothing Sanada. Akaya, standing beside the bench Sanada had been steered to, arrested Masaharu's gaze before he turned back to his partner.

The pattern hit him with the force of a premonition, as analysis lying latent until triggered sometimes did. This was where there would be a problem. With their youngest, most volatile member, the one who did not have a close supporter within the team.

The one whose restraining voice was now gone, and whose second mentor was sliding headlong into a dangerous frame of mind, and whose other teammates had just agreed to ride along for the trip to hell.

And if there was a damn thing that could be done about it, Masaharu didn't see what it was.

TBC

Water

Takes place during Chapter Seven. Sanada finds an opponent who can help him improve his game, and, perhaps, offer some much needed distraction from his captain's illness. Yanagi notes, in this, the possible start of a dangerous trend. Drama With Romance and Porn I-4

Sanada Genichirou had promised his friend and captain that their team would not be defeated while Yukimura was gone. After a very little consultation with Yanagi about the teams opposing them in the coming year, Genichirou had decided that, in order to keep that promise, some extra effort was in order. After all, while he knew he could take Atobe, he hadn't played Tezuka in a competitive match in years. The withdrawal of Seigaku's top player from this year's round of inter-school seminars and camps had rumors flying, but there was no solid information on just how disabled or not Tezuka might be, and Genichirou didn't believe in counting on luck.

No matter what that annoying little red-head from Yamabuki might say.

The problem, of course, lay in finding an actual challenge he could advance against. In theory, the high school division welcomed juniors who wanted to improve their skills, whenever time was available; in practice Genichirou was already better than most of them and it would be bad for morale to flaunt the fact. The street courts were useless. Genichirou, personally, thought most of the "professional trainers" were even more so. And it was frowned upon, to track down players from other schools and challenge them outside of competition.

That left the tennis schools, where he might hope to find another talented player or two looking for the same thing he was. And, in fact, luck did appear to be with him, there, as his current match demonstrated.

Sasaki Kouji was definitely a worthwhile opponent. The fact that he was also the current captain of Rikkai's high school team gave Genichirou the pleasant feeling that Rikkai's standards were being held up by someone besides his own team. Sasaki's play was fast and sharp, precise in a way Genichirou rarely saw, and powerful enough to overcome even his strength, so far. It was exactly what he needed.

Sasaki, too, seemed to appreciate a challenging opponent. He treated Genichirou almost as a team member, offering pointers when Genichirou seemed stuck over some particular move, and goading him when he flagged. Genichirou thought well of his dedication, which clearly extended beyond Sasaki's own team to encompass a player who would never be his to direct.

In a way, the absolute effort that Sasaki demanded whenever they played was a break for Genichirou. It left no room for worrying about anything else, pushed down even his fear for Yukimura under the simple focus on the ball, the court, the person across the net.

And if Genichirou felt just a touch guilty, afterwards, for letting himself forget, he needed those brief interludes of peace too desperately to stop. So he just pushed himself harder, gave himself even more totally to the focus of the game, strove that much harder to match Sasaki.

He was getting there. He could see it in Sasaki's own game. He recognized the way Sasaki's eyes brightened, the closer he came, recognized the smile he saw today on his opponent's face, the sudden lightness of Sasaki's movements, calling him, daring him. He recognized his own willing response, his answering speed, recognized the passion that reached over the net to touch his opponent's game.

He recognized it... from playing Yukimura.

The thought snagged in his mind, and the shock of it caught at his feet. The last ball whizzed past a good fifteen centimeters from his racquet.

It didn't help at all when Sasaki pushed back dark, feathery hair with an impatient hand, and gave him exactly the same look Yukimura did when he thought Genichirou was behaving foolishly in some way.

"What was that about, Sanada-kun?" he asked, in the voice of a captain demanding an explanation of his best player.

"Excuse me, Sasaki-san," Genichirou said, as evenly as he could. "Perhaps I'm more tired today than I had thought. Would you mind if we ended here?"

Sasaki gave him a skeptical look, but nodded, letting him keep his silence on whatever the problem really was. That perception and forbearance just twisted Genichirou's heart more sharply, and he withdrew as quickly as he could, leaving Sasaki gazing after him in obvious speculation.

Seiichi...

Normally, at least of late, the visits Genichirou and Renji made to Seiichi were a time when nothing outside the three of them intruded. Today, though, Genichirou found himself rather distracted, despite the fine almost-spring afternoon and despite Seiichi's returning strength, and it had probably been too much to hope for, that Seiichi wouldn't notice it. His observation was sharpening again, as he regained control of his body.

"What are you thinking about?"

Definitely too much to hope for.

"Just a match I played recently," Genichirou answered, trying to stay casual. Which only went to show that he wasn't thinking particularly clearly just then, because Yukimura always wanted to know about interesting matches.

"Who were you playing?" he asked.

"Sasaki Kouji," Genichirou told him, taking an interest in the view out the window.

"The captain of Rikkai's high school team," Renji noted. "How did you arrange a match with him? I thought you decided to stay away from the high school practices."

Genichirou sighed. "You remember the tennis school I started dropping by last month, to see if I could find some stronger players? He plays there too, sometimes."

"Have you won yet?" Yukimura asked, a bit of sparkle lighting his eyes. The implicit assumption that Genichirou would win, sooner or later, made him smile back at his captain for a moment. Then the memory of the match returned to nag at him, and he turned his gaze out the window again.

"Not yet."

"Genichirou." Seiichi was watching him more narrowly, now. "What happened?"

Genichirou never could decide whether he preferred Seiichi's manner, who invariably drew whatever Genichirou was thinking out of him, or Renji's, who rarely asked since he could usually be assumed to know already.

"It..." he sighed. "When we played, he was... I just..."

Light fingers brushed over his lips, and Genichirou paused and looked up, startled, to see Seiichi laughing, quietly.

"Genichirou, you're sputtering," he said. "And while there's a certain rarity value to that, it doesn't tell me what happened."

Genichirou looked down at his hands. "When we played, he reminded me of you," he said, voice low.

Seiichi's brows rose. "My style?"

"No. Nothing that simple." Genichirou felt a sardonic twist curl his mouth. "His... brightness was like yours."

Seiichi was silent for a long moment. "And did it draw you, the way mine does?" he asked at last, softly.

Genichirou flinched. "Seiichi..."

"I can't think of any other reason it would trouble you, since I know you've been fascinated by other players' talent before," Seiichi continued, thoughtfully. "Or is it just that I'm not there right now?"

That was exactly what Genichirou had hoped to get away without saying. What could be more contemptible than seeking a replacement for a friend and lover when he was ill? Self-disgust twisted his stomach.

"Genichirou, you can think yourself into such ridiculous corners, sometimes," Seiichi sighed. "That wasn't what I meant."

Genichirou stared at him, disoriented by such a calm response. Seiichi shook his head, and leaned forward. His hand touched Genichirou's face, coaxing him down to a soft, lingering kiss, and Genichirou's arms found their way around Seiichi, with the helpless protectiveness Seiichi always roused in him. The sweetness of Seiichi's lips moving so gently against his almost made him shudder with how much he had missed his friend's presence and touch.

Seiichi finally drew back and ran his fingers though Genichirou's hair, looking serious. "Does Sasaki make you feel like this?" he whispered.

"No," Genichirou answered, without a shade of doubt or hesitation, and water-gray eyes smiled at him.

"Then I don't see anything to worry about. Have a little faith in yourself, Genichirou," Seiichi admonished. "It's no injury to me, if you want me there enough to see my likeness in other people."

Genichirou blinked at the astonishing common sense of that statement. Renji was laughing, softly, from the other side of Seiichi's bed.

"Seiichi, you have the gift of taking the single action that's more convincing than hours of reasoned debate could ever be," he said. Seiichi, still in the curve of Genichirou's arm, gave Renji a pleased look before continuing.

"As for the rest of it," he said, "you've always been taken up with other strong players, as I shouldn't have to remind you, after last year." Renji chuckled and Genichirou threw him a half glare. "If you want to go to bed with this one, as long as he doesn't presume, where's the problem?"

"I'm sure it would be good stress relief," Renji put in, absolutely straight faced.

That rated a full fledged glare. "Renji," Genichirou growled.

The hand Seiichi pressed over his mouth totally failed to muffle his laugh. That, alone, was enough to reconcile Genichirou to the teasing. He remembered far too clearly the day, not long after Seiichi had come off the respirators for the last time, that some doctor had said, a little too cheerily, that there was only a thirty percent chance of a relapse. He had held Seiichi for over an hour, while his friend shuddered with silent terror against his shoulder. The sight of Seiichi so broken had terrified him in turn, and he'd spent that night curled up in a knot while Renji stroked his hair until he finally fell asleep. Seiichi's smile was still far more fragile than he liked, much of the time, and if his spirit was recovering enough to laugh, Genichirou was content to be the object of fun for him.

"Is this what you've been so tense over?" Renji asked.

Genichirou shrugged agreement. Renji's hand settled on his shoulder.

"Perhaps next time I'll ask sooner," he said.

Which was as close as Yanagi Renji was ever likely to come to admitting that he had miscalculated the cause of Genichirou's reaction. A corner of Genichirou's mouth quirked up.

"That presumes you can get me to answer you," he observed, getting another chuckle from Seiichi.

Renji, though, only turned his hand up to brush the backs of his fingers across Genichirou's cheek. "You'll tell me, if I ask, Genichirou," he said, deep voice both soft and sure.

Genichirou wound his fingers through Renji's and closed his eyes, savoring the closeness of these two who were most important to him. Seiichi was right. Nothing could replace this.

And, now that he wasn't avoiding the thought, he could see perfectly well the glint of appreciation in Sasaki's eyes.

"A much better game today, Sanada-kun," Sasaki told him, clasping his hand over the net. "At this rate you might just overtake me by summer."

"That's certainly my hope, Sasaki-san," Genichirou answered, seriously.

"Hm. Don't work yourself so hard you forget to enjoy this." Sasaki smiled to take away any sting from the admonition.

"I doubt there's any chance of that." Genichirou didn't change expression at all, but Sasaki gave him a considering look anyway and he thought Sasaki had probably heard what hadn't been said.

"Really? When was the last time you played at one of the street courts, just for fun?" Sasaki challenged.

"A long time ago," Genichirou had to admit, as they packed up.

"There's a rather nice one down by my house," Sasaki said, lightly. "You might come check it out."

Genichirou almost laughed, less at the invitation than at the humor that lit Sasaki's pale gray eyes as he made it. The dance of euphemism and innuendo clearly amused him, and for a moment, Sasaki reminded Genichirou far more of Renji than of Seiichi. Genichirou shouldered his bag and gave Sasaki a direct look.

"I would like that."

"I hope you will, Sanada-kun," Sasaki said, voice suddenly much lower, and Genichirou's breath caught. Anticipation feathered through his stomach, as they left. He knew what the offer he had accepted was, knew what he was heading into, but the knowledge had not grown out of anything he had shared with Sasaki. Since they had staked their places together in their first year, he and Renji and Seiichi had traded pieces of themselves back and forth like good books, reading each other's histories and fantasies and footnotes, and pleasure had simply been another added chapter. By comparison he barely had a nodding acquaintance with the man walking beside him. This felt... reckless. Impulsive.

He found, however, as he let Sasaki escort him through a quiet house to a bedroom painted in rather fanciful swirls of green, that he didn't care.

When Sasaki slid a hand around Genichirou's waist, and stroked his hair back with light fingers, Genichirou also found that there were some lines he had to draw for his own peace of mind. He caught Sasaki's hand in his, stilling it as it slipped down his neck.

"Sasaki-san," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "I don't... I don't think I can take this if you're gentle."

Sasaki's brows rose, and he studied Genichirou for a long moment. He freed his hand and lifted Genichirou's chin the little bit necessary to put them eye to eye. Genichirou returned his gaze, unflinching.

"Who is it?" Sasaki asked, at last. "The one who's gentle with you?"

Now Genichirou closed his eyes, briefly. "Seiichi. Renji."

After a blank moment, Sasaki blinked. "Yukimura and Yanagi?" he asked, and chuckled when Genichirou nodded. "Well, I suppose I owe Nishiki an apology, not that I intend to tell him so. I thought he must have been hallucinating when he said the three of you were together that way." Then his thumb brushed against Genichirou's jaw. "I remember hearing that Yukimura was ill this winter."

"It's getting better," Genichirou said, with no expression. "He can breathe on his own again."

Sasaki inhaled sharply, eyes widening. "That bad?" he asked, softly. When Genichirou nodded again, silent, Sasaki's mouth tightened. And then he pulled Genichirou against him, paying no mind to his stiffness, and, abruptly, Genichirou was too tired to bother with reserve. After a moment's hesitation he let his head drop to Sasaki's shoulder.

"Sanada," Sasaki said, eventually. "Why are you here with me, instead of with them?"

All the reasons tangled together in Genichirou's throat. He laughed a little as he decided on the simplest answer.

"It was your game. Yukimura calls it my strongest weakness, that I get so focused on other strong players, sometimes so focused it hurts my own playing. And you... you're so bright when you play. I touch that through the game, and I want to reach out to it outside of the game too."

"But not gently?" Sasaki asked, a smile in his voice.

Genichirou lifted his head. "Not gently," he agreed.

Sasaki's gaze turned more serious. "I don't like the idea of hurting you, Sanada."

"Good," Genichirou said, one corner of his mouth quirking.

Sasaki threw his head back and laughed. "So," he said at last, tone turning speculative, "rough and slow, then?"

Genichirou felt heat wash over his entire body, and tried not to think about the fact that his face probably showed it. He nodded, and Sasaki's lips curved. His arm tightened, sharply, around Genichirou, and Genichirou shivered a little at the unaccustomed sensation of a larger body pressing against the length of his. Sasaki wasn't, he supposed distantly, really that much taller or significantly more heavily built, but the difference was noticeable like this. And it sent a jolt down his spine when Sasaki's hand tipped his head back before kissing him. The hard demand in it called out a longer shudder, and Genichirou's hands closed tight on Sasaki's back as he answered, opening his mouth under Sasaki's.

He gasped when Sasaki's teeth closed, sharp and stinging, just under his ear, and groaned, sagging against Sasaki, when he sucked there. This was the intensity Genichirou wanted just now, and he threw himself into it and let it close over him, pressing into Sasaki's touch.

Sasaki slipped around behind him, one hand moving between Genichirou's legs, kneading roughly. Genichirou's knees weakened at the sudden rush of sensation, and his hips bucked into Sasaki's hand.

"Or, maybe, not so slow," Sasaki laughed in his ear, undoing Genichirou's pants and sliding a hand inside to touch skin. Genichirou could only moan in answer, leaning against Sasaki as his fingers closed tight and stroked Genichirou hard.

There was barely enough left of his thought process to raise his arms, when Sasaki tugged his shirt off, and those calloused hands skimming over his hips to push down the rest of his clothing drowned that last bit. When Sasaki turned him to face the wall, Genichirou simply leaned on his forearms, trying to recover his breath and listening to the faint rustling behind him.

His breath left him again when he felt the heat of Sasaki's body against his back, and Sasaki's hand, slick, rubbing against his entrance. True to his word, Sasaki was slow, not seeking to press further yet, but his hand was not gentle. He worked his fingers hard against Genichirou's muscles until Genichirou was almost clutching at the wall, moaning at the tingling burn as he opened under that demanding touch. He arched his back, pressing his hips against Sasaki, inviting, and Sasaki accepted. Thumbs spread Genichirou apart as Sasaki pushed into him, slow but unstopping, a long, hard thrust that pressed him full and left Genichirou panting.

"Good?" Sasaki murmured.

"Yes," Genichirou gasped. "Sasaki..."

He lost whatever he had meant to say when Sasaki's still slick hand wrapped around his cock and pumped. His involuntary jerk moved Sasaki a little out of him, and then Sasaki surged forward, chest pressed into Genichirou's back. Not slow any longer, he drove into Genichirou, pounding him against the wall, only Sasaki's own hand, stroking him so roughly, pulling him back again. Genichirou lost himself in the harsh rhythm, hearing his own voice without knowing what he was saying, feeling only the heat and pressure of Sasaki's movement, the swelling rush of pleasure that surged up like a wave and threw him down so hard he almost lost awareness completely.

Leaning about equally on the wall and Sasaki's arms, Genichirou waited for his breath to calm and his pulse to settle just a little before he tried to stand on his own. He could feel a roughness in his throat that told him it was probably a good thing no one else seemed to be home. He heard the same roughness in Sasaki's voice, when he spoke, though his tone was contemplative.

"If I were the only one you were with, I would be more concerned about what you want from me. But I have to admit," he said, running a hand over Genichirou's shoulders, "there's an attraction in someone as strong as you asking for something like this. Was that what you were looking for?"

"Yes," Genichirou murmured.

"Good." Sasaki nipped at the back of his neck, tugging a low noise out of Genichirou. "Let me know the next time you need to be distracted from the world, then."

Genichirou turned, slowly, to look at Sasaki. He was sure he hadn't actually said that that was why he was here, when Sasaki had asked. How did he manage to draw, and be drawn to, such overly-perceptive people? On the other hand, he could hardly deny the truth. So he nodded.

"Thank you."

Genichirou expected Renji to tease him, and, indeed, there were a few comments on the statistics of "early maturation" delivered perfectly deadpan. He did his best not to react, silently blessing his previous practice. It took a while for any other side effects to catch up to him, but they did so with a vengeance the day Renji touched his arm as they were heading out to afternoon practice.

"Genichirou, did you do something to your shoulder?"

"No, why?" Genichirou asked, paying more attention to the start of a match between Akaya and Yagyuu.

"Because it looked like you had a bruise," Renji told him.

Genichirou frowned, sifting back through the last few days for anything that might have caused...

Oh.

He had no idea what expression might be on his face, but both Renji's brows were lifted.

"Genichirou?"

"I'll tell you later. Not here," Genichirou said. After a long moment of scrutiny, Renji accepted that, and moved off.

Genichirou managed to get through practice and all the way home before Renji's patience ran out.

"All right," Renji said, rather clipped, as he closed the bedroom door behind them. "First of all, show me."

Genichirou suppressed a sigh, pulling off his shirt and turning to let Renji take a look at his back. For all the other two might say he was the most overprotective of them, he thought that Renji won hands down once he made a decision to interfere. It just didn't happen very often. Light fingers brushed his skin.

"It seems to be along the bone of the shoulder," Renji reported. "It doesn't hurt?"

"I didn't even know it was there until you told me," Genichirou assured him.

"It probably helps that it's your off hand side. Now. You obviously know where it came from."

Renji, Genichirou reflected, had a talent for demanding information without asking a single question. "It's probably from yesterday, when Sasaki took me up against a tile wall," he said, evenly.

The silence behind him turned resounding.

"Renji..." he started, only to break off as Renji's arms came around his waist. The body at his back was shaking with silent laughter. The strain of suppressing it showed in Renji's voice, too.

"I suppose it's a good thing no one else noticed, while we were changing, then. Can you imagine their expressions...?" Renji broke off, burying his head in Genichirou's shoulder and laughing out loud.

Genichirou growled, wordlessly, and Renji managed to get himself back under control.

"Just be careful, all right?" he said, more seriously.

Genichirou looked back and raised a brow at him.

"I know you can take care of yourself, Genichirou. I mean more than that. Your penchant for violence; it's stronger, lately. Be careful how you handle it." Renji's arms tightened around him.

Genichirou turned in those arms to take Renji's shoulders. "Renji. You can't think I would let it spill onto us."

Deep, hazel eyes looked at him quietly. "I know you wouldn't, normally. I just worry about how much pressure you can take."

Genichirou drew Renji close against him. Yes, Renji was definitely the more overprotective one. "You worry too much," he said, softly, in Renji's ear. "Let me show you?"

"You and Seiichi, and your language of actions," Renji murmured, the laugh back in his voice. "How did I wind up with two such terribly direct people?"

"If I'm so direct and unreflective, you can hardly expect me to have an answer for that," Genichirou pointed out, and closed his mouth on Renji's earlobe.

"Very direct," Renji sighed, leaning into him. "I suppose it has its merits."

It was Genichirou's turn to laugh.

Renji let Genichirou undress him, smiling tolerantly at the care he took. Genichirou had to admit, he didn't often go this slowly, but today he found himself wanting to keep things... tranquil. He knew he wasn't the only one who had been under pressure, nor the only one who still was. He wanted to relax and reassure his friend, to see him stop worrying for a little while. Renji seemed almost bemused, as he lay back on the bed, that Genichirou was spending so long just stroking him, as if to memorize his skin or map the body he already knew.

Renji closed his eyes with a low sigh as Genichirou licked, slowly, at the inside of his wrist. Genichirou knew it was one of Renji's more sensitive spots, and lingered over it. And over the space just under Renji's lowest rib. And the arch of his foot. When he tongued the delicate skin behind Renji's knee, it drew out a soft moan, and Genichirou smiled.

"Enjoying yourself, Genichirou?" Renji asked, archly. The effect was, perhaps, a bit spoiled by the fact that he was spread out, naked, in bed, but not by much. Genichirou was impressed all over again by Renji's poise. He stretched out beside Renji and kissed him until his mouth relaxed from its sardonic curl.

"Enjoying watching your body calm because of me?" he murmured. "Yes, I am."

"Such a taste you have for getting your own way," Renji teased, smiling more gently.

"Now there's a case of the pot and the kettle," Genichirou commented, nibbling on Renji's ear again. "You're every bit as headstrong as I am, Renji, for all you prefer manipulation to force."

"Mmmmmm. It's hard to argue when you're doing that," Renji breathed.

"Then don't. The subject will keep for later." Genichirou kissed him again, slow and deep. "Turn over?"

Renji obliged, stretching out on his stomach, and purred as Genichirou trailed fingers down his spine. The sound he made when Genichirou nipped at his rear was considerably sharper. That was one of the sensitive points his partners didn't get around to as often.

When Genichirou spread him open and ran a soft tongue around his entrance, Renji's hips flexed into Genichirou's hands and he muffled a rough moan against the sheets. Genichirou coaxed Renji with his tongue, teased and soothed him by turns, until Renji was panting, hips raised and legs parted in a wordless invitation. Genichirou reached forward to close a hand around Renji's cock and stroke him slowly. The feeling of that lean, powerful body tightening under his touch, the sound of that cool voice heated and hoarse on the syllables of Genichirou's name, was deeply satisfying, and Genichirou nipped, gently, one last time so that he could watch Renji come undone in his hands.

When the last tension wrung out of Renji's body, Genichirou let him down and curled up against his back, pleased.

"You know," Renji murmured, drowsily, "I can tell without even looking that you have a smug expression on your face, Genichirou."

"Perhaps," Genichirou allowed.

"I'm afraid you'll just have to deal with my worrying, though."

Hadn't he been thinking something about overly-perceptive people, just a while ago, Genichirou mused. "Renji," he said, seriously, leaning up on an elbow and tugging his friend over to look at him, "tell me you don't honestly believe that I would deliberately hurt you or Seiichi."

Renji laid a hand along the side of Genichirou's face. "Never deliberately."

Genichirou relaxed again, and dropped back down to rest against Renji's side.

"Just be careful, Genichirou. Please," Renji said, quietly, against his shoulder.

Genichirou considered this. Obviously, Renji saw some danger, and considered it fairly likely, if he was willing to press Genichirou like this. And he had spent two solid years trusting Renji's calculations of these things. He ran his fingers through Renji's straight, heavy hair and nodded when his friend looked up.

"I promise."

End

Challenge - Chapter Eight

The team starts to recover, and Niou and Yagyuu find another kind of comfort. Drama with Porn, I-4

As the tournament season drew on, the team drew together around the axis Sanada had defined: no losses. And, as they didn't lose, it became more acceptable to them; Sanada's brutal ruthlessness became simply a matter of fact, and they all picked up a tinge of it.

Except Kirihara Akaya. He took on considerably more than a tinge. And by the first time the team watched him destroy an opponent with blinding, methodical speed, it didn't occur to any of them to suggest that Yukimura might not have approved. Their captain was their cause, their beacon, but they were Sanada's team for this season. And he accepted Akaya's rage and destruction without a blink.

The one time Masaharu mentioned it to Yagyuu, his partner had looked at him, one brow lifted over unwinking lenses.

"Perhaps Akaya gives to Sanada some of what I give to you," he suggested. Masaharu sniffed.

"Sanada doesn't deserve the precision of your destruction, and Akaya is too wild to give it to him."

"Perhaps wildness is what he needs." Yagyuu trailed his fingers over Masaharu's collar bone. "I can sympathize. Somewhat."

Masaharu smiled engagingly for his partner, and, the next day, convinced the Japanese teacher that it was really next week and they had already completed Chapter Ten. He rather thought Yagyuu appreciated this contribution to undermining authority.

They visited Yukimura in ones and twos, and found him annoyed that he was not permitted to return to school, and nearly climbing the walls because he was not permitted to return to tennis. Masaharu told him expansive stories of his latest tricks, and Yagyuu brought him class notes. Once Masaharu dropped by to find Yanagi asleep on the couch, and Yukimura, eyes soft, pressing a finger to his lips for quiet. Another time he observed, to his vast amusement, Akaya hauling a glaring Sanada down the walk to Yukimura's house, shoving him inside, closing the door firmly and settling down on the front stoop. He saluted the kid lazily and didn't try to stop in. Sanada could not, he knew, have been resisting that much or the slight Akaya would never have budged him.

Everyone was deeply relieved when Yukimura's physical therapist cleared him to resume light (the word was underlined three times, on his exercise sheet) tennis practice, provided he had a spotter. The team promptly drew up a rota of who could come by after practice, each day.

The stress, and Yagyuu's basic distrust of Sanada's temper, were starting to tell on Masaharu's partner. He found himself, more than once, putting their study sessions on hold to sit behind Yagyuu and press a little of the tension out of his shoulders.

"This isn't good for you," he scolded, mildly. "And," he added, aggrieved, "it isn't good for me, having to play mother hen; that isn't supposed to be my job."

"It doesn't suit you," Yagyuu agreed, blandly.

Masaharu growled at the jab. Though, actually, he was pleased to see Yagyuu's dry humor intact. He didn't like the way this year was wrapping old layers of defense back around his partner's scintillating, luring edges. Today was, apparently, one of the days when Yagyuu could read his mind, because his partner huffed out a faint laugh.

"I know you don't much like my public face, Niou-kun, but it does allow me to keep control of myself and my integrity. I believe you know that has been more than usually necessary, this year."

Well, yes, Masaharu did know that. Just because Yagyuu had agreed to lend himself to Sanada's agenda didn't mean that this, the most self-contained member of their team, had any liking for the way Sanada's obsession dragged them all in its wake, like so many bits of metal after a magnet. So, too, knowing that Sanada's high-handed approach grew out of the frantic worry for their captain that the idiot seemed to be allergic to admitting didn't do a thing to make Yagyuu's reaction any less reflexively hostile. While Masaharu tried to avoid saying so, he had realized long since that Yagyuu's surface compliance allowed him considerable independence of action. He just didn't want to encourage his partner by seeming to approve.

"I know," he agreed, without specifying which part he was agreeing with. Yagyuu's laugh was fuller this time.

Well, there was something Masaharu had been thinking about, that might, in part, answer both Yagyuu's need and his own desire.

Masaharu stepped back from himself a bit, and took a long look at what he was considering doing. He had researched the topic more scrupulously than he usually did anything but history and mathmatics. He was now well acquainted with the theory, and, theoretically, knew what he would be getting himself into. He thought that it would probably be agreeable to Yagyuu's inclinations, and, for himself, the idea fanned subtle waves of sparks down his spine. It was really the last of those thoughts that led him to disregard his lingering trepidation and bend his head until his lips brushed Yagyuu's neck.

"You like being able to control the pace," he observed. Yagyuu's soft breath might have been agreement. "I would let you," Masaharu said, obliquely, "if you want to try."

"Try?" Yagyuu repeated, smoothly. "I do believe I've always succeeded, with you, Niou-kun." His fingers brushed through Masaharu's hair.

"We haven't," Masaharu noted, "tried everything, yet."

His partner froze, and Masaharu smiled against Yagyuu's skin. If he had ever wanted revenge for having been maneuvered into it, that first time, he rather thought he had it now. Yagyuu turned, lifting a hand to Masaharu's face.

"You want that?" he asked, after a long moment of scrutiny.

"Yes," Masaharu answered, simply.

"I don't want to cause you pain," Yagyuu said, unaccustomed hesitance slowing his words. "The lack of restraint you want from me would make it... very likely."

So he hadn't been the only one doing research. "I'm definitely not into pain," Masaharu told his partner, wryly. "But you didn't listen to what I offered. Your pace," he clarified, at Yagyuu's raised brows, "whatever that is."

Yagyuu flicked his glasses off and laid them aside, leaned forward and kissed Masaharu, outlining his lips with a soft tongue.

"I accept," Yagyuu murmured against his mouth.

Masaharu let Yagyuu lay him back on the bed, and sighed under his slow, gentle kisses. His partner's hands were quicker, undoing buttons with the dexterity of significant practice. Masaharu ran his own hands through Yagyuu's hair, taking a certain pleasure in mussing it. Yagyuu was perfectly well aware of this, and paused to give him a put-upon look.

Masaharu didn't buy it for a second.

He did, however, shift, obligingly, so Yagyuu could tug off his clothing. And then he gasped a little at the coolness of Yagyuu's fingers, as they pressed across his skin.

Slowly.

He knew it was entirely deliberate when he looked up into Yagyuu's eyes and saw the teasing light in them, and the grin hovering at the corners of that controlled mouth. He reached up and tapped his partner on the nose, admonishing, but he had, after all, promised to let Yagyuu set the pace. So he let his hand drop back to the sheets and simply breathed, waiting.

At that, the pale eyes widened a little, and Yagyuu's hand brushed over Masaharu's lips, teasing them apart, before Yagyuu's mouth covered his, hard, his other hand slipping behind Masaharu's back to pull them tight together. That was familiar, the sharp, tingling thrill, like licking a battery. To Masaharu, Yagyuu's open presence tasted of lightning.

And he was open, now, as open as his palm sliding over Masaharu's stomach, over his hip, over his rear and up the back of his thigh. Masaharu answered with his own openness, spreading his legs to let Yagyuu lie between them. Yagyuu rocked against him, taking Masaharu's moan into his mouth and trading his own for it.

"Dare I hope you had the foresight to bring along the appropriate accoutrements?" he murmured in Masaharu's ear, the light words undercut by the breathless tone.

"Schoolbag," Masaharu directed.

When Yagyuu's fingers, still cool and now slick, pressed against him, sliding across skin no one else had touched before, Masaharu tossed his head back and snatched in a deep breath. It was so... close. Such an intimate thing, to allow Yagyuu to touch him like this. And then his partner's finger pressed into him, and Masaharu had a new definition of intimacy.

His research had been quite accurate, he thought hazily. It did feel strange. Yagyuu's eyes were sharp on him, watching his face. It was typical of them that he did not ask if Masaharu was all right. What he said, instead, was, "If you need me to stop, tell me."

Masaharu's offer to let him control the pace had, after all, been made in better knowledge of what his partner was like when he cast off his mask than anyone else had. With, a corner of Masaharu's mind had to add, the possible exception of Yukimura, who was obviously omniscient. Yagyuu had told him to break this off, if he had to; if he didn't, Yagyuu would take him at his word, trusting Masaharu's judgment. Curiously enough, that knowledge made Masaharu relax.

And when he relaxed, the sensation of Yagyuu's touch inside of him became less strange and more enticing. Masaharu released a trembling breath, feeling the sleek glide of Yagyuu's fingertip over unaccustomed nerves. Yagyuu moved slowly, very slowly, and his eyes bore down on Masaharu more heavily then his hand. Masaharu thought that, too, was deliberate, because Yagyuu was, by now, well aware that his direct gaze sent sparks dancing through Masaharu's blood at times like this.

Yagyuu's other hand trailed down the inside of Masaharu's thigh, teased lightly between his legs, swept up his chest and back down, and Masaharu was distracted from the idea of what Yagyuu was doing, left only with the feeling. That feeling became heated, as Yagyuu's fingers caressed him, stroked deep into him, until even the ice of Yagyuu's eyes before his seemed to gleam with fire.

And his partner could only be drawing this out from a desire to see Masaharu completely abandoned to his touch, because he was already arching into those fingers, inviting the tingling, electric touch deeper, breathing in soft, pleading sighs as strange, tense pleasure wrapped around the base of his spine like a climbing vine. Masaharu released a choked half laugh when Yagyuu finally bent down to him and kissed a delicate line up the tendon of his neck, drawing his hand back. So precise, his partner, so deliberate, even in release. It was Masaharu who was the wild one, but so rarely. So rarely did he give over his own control this completely. Yagyuu's mouth on his spoke of understanding that gift, and that, even more than Yagyuu's hands on him, washed shivers through Masaharu, melted him back against the sheets, opened him to the pressure of Yagyuu pushing into him.

It stretched him to the edge of pain, but never quite over. It was, perfectly, everything he desired of his partner, every reason he pressed Yagyuu to let himself go, the extremity of sensation that could have been destruction but, to him, was not. Masaharu cried out, voice strained, as his partner began to move, sinking himself under the shock of this heat, barely aware of his hands closed hard on Yagyuu's arms. The soft, heavy pleasure of Yagyuu's hand stroking him slipped around the edges of sensation, twined itself into the harsher heat, and Masaharu clung to the constant of his partner's eyes on him as his body tensed, tensed, and released, waves wrenching muscle and nerve, and fire sweeping him, dropping him down, dazed, panting.

When Yagyuu came to rest beside him, they simply breathed together for a time.

Yagyuu stirred first, pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Entirely my pleasure," Masaharu assured him, voice husky. He lifted a heavy hand to brush back Yagyuu's wonderfully mussed hair.

Heavy...

His eyes focused on what he was actually seeing, and Masaharu abruptly collapsed on Yagyuu's shoulder, howling with laughter. His partner held him, obliging if a bit bemused.

"I understand that it's usual to have some reaction to one's first experience of this sort," he commented, "but I hadn't heard that hysterical mirth was one of the common choices."

"We didn't..." Masaharu gasped, "we didn't take off... the wrist weights...!" He dissolved into cackles again.

Yagyuu's rare, open laugh joined his.

TBC

Challenge - Chapter Nine

For Regionals, the team pulls out all the stops. Drama, I-3

As they started into Regionals, the rumor trickled down from Sanada to the rest of the team. Yukimura was considering surgery.

"Surgery?" Yagyuu asked, sharply. "For Guillain-Barre?"

"It is still fairly experimental," Yanagi admitted, slowly. "But his physical therapist recommended it, as an alternative, she said, to Seiichi hurting himself by pressing his rehabilitation too quickly."

Masaharu didn't know about the others, but he'd had to catch Yukimura from falling more than once, while spotting for his "light" practices, and had to carry him back inside twice. He'd watched the frustration his captain could keep out of his voice but couldn't keep out of his eyes, and shuddered to think what it must be like. For someone who had been in superb control of his body all his life, to suddenly find it unresponsive... well, it made Masaharu a bit more understanding with Sanada's temper and brooding moods.

That therapist definitely had Yukimura's number, he thought.

"If it succeeds, this would bypass much of the necessity for rehabilitation therapy, as much as ninety percent" Yanagi concluded.

"Is it dangerous?" Marui wanted to know.

Yanagi was silent for an ominous moment, before he sighed.

"No surgery is one hundred percent safe. In this case, though, the primary danger is not from the procedure itself. The problem is that the fact of the surgery, the new insult to the body, and the spike in immune reaction that follows, can trigger a relapse."

Double or nothing. Masaharu held that thought against the memory of Yukimura's eyes.

"He'll do it," Yagyuu voiced Masaharu's thought.

"It's still undecided," Yanagi cautioned, but there was little force behind it. He had seen it, too, Masaharu knew; the two who were closest to Yukimura could hardly help but see it.

When Fudoumine took Yamabuki in the second round, Yanagi and Sanada were sure enough of what it would mean to set the final lineups.

"Seigaku is the true threat," Yanagi told them, "they've put together a very strong team this year, and most of our preparation will be geared toward meeting them. I have little doubt we will; Midoriyama won't stand against them, and, while Rokkaku will likely give them a fight, I judge Seigaku the stronger. That does not mean that Fudoumine is negligible. Tachibana Kippei is a very strong player, and their team discipline appears to be extremely tight."

"They also," Sanada put in, "have a habit of front-loading their line-up when they have a strong opponent. Tachibana himself will almost certainly be in Singles Three; that was how they pulled the rug out from under Hyoutei. I will take Singles Three, to meet him for this match."

"Let me."

Everyone looked around to see Akaya sprawled on a bench, looking fixedly at Sanada.

"You got the last two fun ones, Sanada-fukubuchou," he said, with a crooked smile, "let me have this one."

"Will you listen to the mouth on him," Masaharu snorted, swatting Akaya lightly. Akaya pouted at him, and Masaharu shook his head. While Akaya still acted a lot like a totally mannerless kitten with the team, his series of effortless wins this season had given him an extremely contemptuous attitude toward any other players.

"Actually," Yanagi mused, "there could be some benefits to that."

Sanada cocked an eyebrow at him.

"For one, a real challenge will be good for Akaya," Yanagi pointed out, adding a quelling look as Akaya grinned. "For another, it would leave you and I free to take one of the doubles slots. I expect them to field Ibu and Kamio as a pair against us, and while I have little doubt any of our doubles combinations could take them, it would be well to be sure."

"And who, against their other doubles pair?"

"Jackal and Yagyuu, I think."

Masaharu wasn't the only one blinking at that suggestion. The other pair must be power players. Sanada nodded.

"Very well. We'll return to our usual line-up against Seigaku, so don't get too distracted."

Masaharu thought Yanagi worried too much. Or, perhaps, worried about the wrong things. Fudoumine was really fairly easy. The only true challenge was Tachibana himself, who had managed to trigger Akaya's rage, and became the proxy target for all the anger and uncertainty and fear Akaya had to deal with this year. Masaharu was actually quite impressed with the man; he'd managed to keep Akaya from injuring him too critically. Fudoumine would be back around for Nationals.

The one Masaharu was increasingly worried about was Sanada.

This had not been a good year for anyone, and Yukimura's illness, his long recovery, and his dangerous choice had driven down on their vice-captain harder than anyone else. It had compressed and darkened him, as if coal were being squeezed into iron instead of diamond. Masaharu didn't think he would snap, that wasn't in Sanada's nature; but that didn't make his stress and pain any the less. When they found out that Yukimura's surgeon could only schedule him in the same day that his team would play Seigaku in the final round of Regionals, it was really just the icing on the cake. And when their headstrong little Akaya managed to get himself into a match with Seigaku's Echizen Ryouma and lost, Sanada was finally infuriated enough to strike members of his team.

Masaharu admitted to a certain desire to throttle Akaya, himself. Just a little bit.

They all spent the last few days before Finals regrouping, planning. He and Yagyuu expected to come up against Seigaku's "Golden Pair", which might easily turn into a competition of coordination. They needed tactics to set those two off their stride.

The idea that wended its way into Masaharu's thoughts made him smile, probably not very pleasantly. If they pulled it off, and there was no real reason they shouldn't, it would do what they needed it to. And even better, from Masaharu's point of view, it would allow his partner to blow off some of the stress he had been accumulating. He didn't show it the way Sanada did, but that didn't make it any less dangerous.

"Yagyuu," he murmured, as they packed up, "do you remember that trick the two of us pulled last year?"

Yagyuu's hands paused. "Yes."

"It could be... useful, here," Masaharu suggested.

"Mmm," Yagyuu tipped his head to regard his partner. "The shock, and then the increase in power. Yes, that could be effective."

They shared a thin smile.

Yanagi had been right, Masaharu decided, adjusting the glasses he wore. Seigaku could be dangerous. Not enough to beat them, in all likelihood, but enough that he wasn't surprised by Sanada's order to play without the wrist weights. Yagyuu, of course, disregarded that, the better to hold his profile to Masaharu's. Just their luck that Sanada noticed.

When 'Niou' snarled at him, startled suspicion flared in their vice-captain's eyes. Masaharu didn't worry much about that; their team knew enough to keep their mouths shut. He'd been more worried that Yagyuu, released by wearing his partner's persona, would do more than snarl.

As the set got going, and Masaharu sank himself into his partner's place, observing, tallying, he spared a moment to be pleased he had always played such an unpredictable game. It meant there was little chance anyone not of their own team would realize that the way 'Niou' was manipulating Kikumaru depended on an absolute awareness of his partner's position and moves that was characteristic of Yagyuu. Not that it all went one way, of course. He heard what his partner was, silently, asking him to do, and shrugged to himself. If that was what Yagyuu's heart desired, well, it was certainly one way to end the set quickly. He returned hard and fast, watched Yagyuu place Kikumaru in the ball's path, watched their opponent fall.

The taunting repetition of Kikumaru's tag line was more vicious than Yagyuu usually let himself be, even when he let himself go. Masaharu was pleased that his partner had gotten this chance to express himself; who knew what might have happened if he'd bottled it up much longer.

Nevertheless, he was also pleased when Kikumaru recovered. Masaharu found it boring when targets just rolled over and died right away. Since he was being 'Yagyuu', he allowed himself to speak his complimentary thought aloud. The Seigaku pair got their second wind, and started pressing back, and Masaharu decided it was time to play their trump card.

Time to call his partner back.

The injunction to "play seriously", to play as himself, was met with a glare, but Yagyuu finally gave over and pulled out his specialty shot at full strength. It was clear to Masaharu that his partner didn't particularly want to take up his own, more circumscribed, identity again; he was distinctly grumpy about it. Masaharu sighed to himself. Clearly, they needed to have another conversation about the lack of conflict between politeness and grinding opponents to jelly.

The expressions on the faces of the Seigaku pair were everything he might have hoped for, though.

And, as planned, they never did quite recover their rhythm. It wasn't an effortless match, but it was a good, solid win, and Masaharu was happy with all aspects of it. All the moreso when he and Yagyuu returned to the benches, and he felt, brushing against his partner's shoulder, that a good deal of his tension had drained off.

Doubles handed off to singles, and Masaharu sat back to enjoy the last game.

Only it wasn't.

He had to admit to being deeply impressed with Inui Sadaharu. To give the appearance of wildness, always a lesser threat to a player like Yanagi, in order to set such a magnificent psychological trap definitely earned Masaharu's respect. For all that Inui looked like the perfect straight-man, Masaharu decided that here was another who deserved the title of Trickster.

That did not make the delay any easier to handle.

Nor did it make Yanagi's gesture of allegiance to Sanada's brutal focus, offering himself to the violence Sanada had increasingly used to drive his club and his team, any less painful to watch. Masaharu, for one, was relieved when Akaya intervened. Relieved, if not surprised, because anyone with eyes could see the way Akaya softened whenever he watched The Great Three.

Akaya could be very predictable in some ways.

Masaharu watched him driving Fuji to hit Akaya's trigger, releasing him. Watched, impressed, as Fuji pressed on despite what would normally be a completely incapacitating injury. Watched, with a bright shock of excitement, as Akaya's eyes cleared.

Watched Sanada's involvement with the match. Watched him smile, in spite of Akaya's loss, when he collected Akaya's unconscious form from Fuji and brought him back to his team. Yep, Sanada definitely had a soft spot for insane drive and ambition.

Masaharu thought they were all just a little on edge, watching Sanada play an unknown quantity. He knew for a fact that they were all stunned, watching Sanada lose, especially considering the come-back Wonder Boy had had to make. Masaharu briefly considered the possibility that the kid wasn't human.

The team looked at each other, a little bewildered. It was the first time this team of theirs had lost. The first time in sixteen years that Rikkai had failed to be first at Regionals. What now? Even the lax set of his partner's shoulders, the serenity in Akaya's eyes and, curiously enough, in Sanada's as well, didn't quite manage to distract Masaharu from the question he was positive was echoing through everyone's heads.

How were they supposed to tell their captain about this?

TBC

A/N: *mildly disgusted* The surgery mentioned in here has no basis in medical reality. While some of the therapies used to treat the critical stages of Guillain-Barre involve big needles, none of them that I have been able to discover involve invasive surgery. Most certainly none of them hold out any promise of repairing the damaged nerve-sheathes, which would be necessary for such a dramatic recovery of strength as Yukimura had. Canon, however, dictates a surgical procedure, so I did the best I could. My apologies for any egregiously bad science.

Challenge - Chapter Ten

The team brings the results to their captain. Drama, I-3

"I will go in first, and explain," Sanada said, firmly.

Waiting through Yukimura's surgery and post-operative evaluation had squelched all fears and uncertainties save the ones that related directly to their captain's health. The news that he was well, and even expected to be strong again, soon, while joyful and welcome, had allowed smaller concerns to resurface. Sanada, in particular, was almost back to his usual, dour, stubborn, pig-headed self.

"It wasn't just your loss," Akaya said, softly, head bowed. Masaharu thought his double loss had shaken him pretty badly. Yagyuu thought it was more his strange awakening during his tournament match. Whatever it was, it snapped Sanada, at least temporarily, out of his self-flagellation. He took Akaya by the shoulder and shook him a little.

"Enough, Akaya," he said, more gently. "You drove yourself well past your limits, all the way to collapse. There was no more you could have done. And if this had never come to you," he paused, seeming to search for words, "your game would never have become real. Honorable losses are simply an invitation to win next time."

Masaharu straightened from his slouch against the wall, and exchanged a surprised look with Yagyuu. He had heard Sanada say broadly similar things before, but never quite so bluntly, and certainly not any time this year. Apparently, Akaya wasn't the only one who had gotten his attitude realigned by shock.

Akaya looked up, gaze solemn. "Yours, too, then. Sanada-fukubuchou," he stated.

Sanada blinked, opened his mouth, and closed it again. A slightly unwilling smile took over his face, and he ruffled Akaya's hair. "You'll be a good captain, next year," he said, a touch ruefully. Akaya's ears turned rather red, and he lowered his eyes. Chuckles ran among them all.

"We are a team," Yagyuu pointed out. "We win or lose as a team. It's only right that we all be present."

Sanada finally capitulated with a wordless grunt and turned to lead them down the hall to their captain's room. They all filed in and arranged themselves around the bed Yukimura reclined in, looking a bit wan, but brighter of eye than he had for some time. Sanada stepped forward, and Masaharu could see his shoulders brace.

"Yukimura," he started, low, "I have to ask your forgiveness."

Yukimura tilted his head with a small smile. "What, for running late? I didn't say so, but I thought you probably would."

Masaharu winced, and caught Marui with a similar expression out of the corner of his eye.

"No," Sanada said, struggling a little, now. "Yukimura," he took a deep breath, "we lost. My... our promise to you is broken. Forgive me." He looked aside, unable to hold their captain's eye.

Yukimura looked at him for a long moment, and swept his gaze over the rest of the team as well. They shifted under it, none of them able to lift their eyes. Masaharu nibbled on his lower lip. Yukimura didn't hold Masaharu's soul in his hand, the way he did Yagyuu's or Kirihara's. Or, for that matter, Sanada's and Yanagi's. But Masaharu, who respected very little, respected his captain's strength and insight. Having failed his trust made Masaharu squirm. If he felt like this, he was half surprised that Sanada wasn't bowed to the floor.

"Did you play your best?" Yukimura asked, at last.

"Yes," Sanada answered, sure of that, though Masaharu also heard an edge of helplessness in it, as if he wasn't sure how both things could be true. Yukimura raised a hand to close over Sanada's.

"Then there is no shame in losing. You gave everything to this match, even when I was not there to make sure of it. I'm proud of you. All of you." His eyes moved over his team again, before coming back to rest on Sanada, and the absolution of his acceptance felt like a weight lifted. Everyone breathed again, and Masaharu observed spines straightening all over the room. Except for Sanada, who couldn't have gotten his any straighter without the help of a rack; he was slumping to a more normal, human posture.

Yukimura tugged on Sanada. "Steal some chairs, and sit down and tell me about it."

Masaharu slipped out with a grin, only to hear Yukimura's laughing voice send Yagyuu after him. Yagyuu, the spoil-sport, smiled politely at a passing nurse and extracted extra chairs with ease. Masaharu mock-sulked at his captain when they returned, only be be laughed at again.

"Everyone tells me that the both of you have already had your fun, Niou. Surely you can skip terrorizing the hospital just for today."

"Just for you," Masaharu agreed, trying not to grin like an idiot.

They took turns, telling each other's stories, and Yukimura soothed his singles players when those accounts brought up fresh anxieties.

"...actually made Jackal-senpai sweat, until Marui-senpai decided to show off again." Thwap! "Ow!"

"Yagyuu was in a fine taking; exactly like Niou in a really foul mood, except he ignores Sanada when he's pissed off..."

"...really nailed the other player. That was vicious, Yagyuu-senpai."

"Do you really think you have room to talk, Akaya-kun?"

"...and don't turn your back on that data specialist of theirs; he's sneaky."

"And considering the source..."

"It was interesting that Inui himself thought the result of the match came down to chance."

"Do you wish to play him again, Renji?" Yukimura interjected. Yanagi looked down at his hands, obscuring the tilted smile on his face.

"I think so, yes," he said, at length. Yukimura touched his wrist, and nodded firmly when he looked up. Yanagi's smile un-tilted, and he nodded back. Masaharu decided, as the chatter picked up again, that Yukimura was pleased that Yanagi refused to back away from this challenge.

"...Akaya went completely around the bend," Marui concluded his tale of Singles Two.

"Fine for you to say," Akaya grumbled, "I barely remember a thing about it. Just... it was just..." he trailed off, uncertainly.

Yukimura held his eyes. "You can tell me later," he offered, gently. Akaya nodded, biting his lip.

"And that kid...!"

"He paid for it pretty hard, though."

"Still..."

"He was," Sanada paused, looking grim, "unexpected."

"Someone like that is difficult to calculate or account for," Yagyuu noted.

"That doesn't make losing to him any more acceptable," Sanada insisted. Yukimura sighed.

"Sanada," he rapped out, the bite of command that none of them had heard in too long back in his voice, "you know there's more to it than that. Have you completely forgotten what I said on this subject last time?"

Sanada, Masaharu was intrigued to note, glanced sidelong at Akaya. A slight flush surfaced along his cheekbones. Was that where that little bit of advice in the hall had come from?

"I remember," he murmured.

"Good," Yukimura stated, definitely.

Finally, a nurse came to chase them out, saying that it was time for Yukimura-kun to rest.

"I should be released in a few days," he told them, happiness coloring his face, "I'll be back soon."

"We'll be waiting for you," Sanada answered. "It will be good to have you back again."

The team bounced or strolled or stalked their way home, according to personality, breaking off toward their houses once they got back to their own neighborhood. As Masaharu and Yagyuu reached their turn-offs, Yagyuu paused, turning very slightly toward Masaharu.

He was getting better, since Yukimura pointed it out, at reading these little incitements for what they were. Masaharu gave his partner a half smile, and asked, "Mind some company for a while?"

"It would be welcome," Yagyuu answered, cool as if he hadn't just silently asked for some. Masaharu ran a hand through his hair, laughing to himself at the two of them.

While he'd really had something a little more vigorous in mind, and suspected his partner had as well, when he nudged Yagyuu onto his bed and followed him down they somehow stopped there. Lying, wrapped around each other, almost fully clothed, they simply held on and breathed together, watching the sunlight from the window creep off the bed and onto the floor.

"Is it over, do you think?" Yagyuu asked, at last, barely whispering in the silence. He didn't protest when Masaharu twined a hand into his hair, drawing his head down to Masaharu's shoulder.

"This part is, yes," Masaharu answered, looking up at the ceiling. "I think Sanada will calm down again, some. And Akaya, too, long enough for Yukimura to take him back in hand. And you?"

Yagyuu shivered, and his arms tightened around Masaharu. Masaharu didn't normally ask such things so bluntly, but, then, normally he didn't have to. He honestly wasn't sure how stressed or relieved or, possibly, over the edge his partner was right now.

"He's coming back." Yagyuu's whisper was harsher, choked. "That's enough."

Masaharu tightened his hold in return. "You know, it's a good thing I'm not the jealous type," he said, against his partner's temple. Yagyuu laughed, at that.

"Of course you are," he contradicted, firmly. "Our teammates are the only people you're willing to share me with. The last time anyone else so much as touched my arm, if I recall correctly, you made everyone think he was challenging Sanada one on one; he could barely pick up his racquet the next day."

"He had it coming," Masaharu growled. Yagyuu raised his head and looked down at him.

"Case in point," he noted rather dryly.

"Mutual monopoly," Masaharu shrugged. "It's only fair." Yagyuu's eyes sharpened.

"Do I have a monopoly on you?" he asked, softly.

"I thought that was obvious," Masaharu told him, raising his brows. "It isn't as if I play tricks for anyone's benefit but my own and yours."

"Only you," Yagyuu chuckled, "would measure it by such a standard, Niou."

Masaharu made a pleased sound, to hear his bare name in his partner's mouth, and an even more pleased one when Yagyuu leaned down and kissed him, long and close.

The day Yukimura returned, he was almost mobbed by his delighted club until Sanada barked for everyone to get back to work and the ingrained habit of dangerous months sent them all scattering out of Sanada's path. Yukimura's brows lifted a bit, at that, and, when Sanada avoided his gaze, his eyes narrowed. But he seemed willing to set it aside for the time being.

Masaharu reflected, a touch smugly, that he would not wish to be Sanada at any time in the near future. Not, of course, that he ever had wished to be someone so utterly humorless. Casting an eye over the team, he catalogued Jackal as relieved and Marui as gleeful. Not much surprise on that second; Yukimura was generally indulgent of Marui's histrionics as long as they didn't interfere with his playing. Sanada was apprehensive, in his own iron-faced way, while Yanagi seemed... exasperated? Now that was unusual. Akaya, predictably, was floating somewhere around cloud nine, and Yagyuu was quietly, subtly glowing. Masaharu grinned.

"Hey," he nudged his partner, "want to ask Yukimura and Yanagi for a match?"

"If Yukimura-san has no specific plans for the team, today," Yagyuu agreed, smiling faintly.

Feeling his partner's glittering, charged presence reach out to fold around him, as they fought to counter the other pair's combination, Masaharu could barely keep from laughing out loud. Yukimura was back. They were all back, released from their fear and agitation and distraction, back to the place they belonged. Now they could face Seigaku's challenge properly.

When they took their first game from Yukimura and Yanagi, Masaharu and his partner shared an identical, gleaming smile.

Yes. Everyone was back where they belonged.

End

Earth Over Thunder

During Chapter Ten Yanagi deals with Sanada guilting. Drama, I-3

They were almost at the turn for Renji's house when he noticed that he and Genichirou were walking in step. It was a peripheral observation, and not really surprising since they tended to fall into step when they walked any distance together. They were of a height, it was quite natural. Today, though, it suddenly seemed significant.

Not that Renji entirely trusted his perceptions just at the moment. The release of tension from the matches this afternoon, plus Seiichi's surgery, had left him rather lightheaded.

Still, it struck him as a good symbol of everything that had been right and wrong during this year.

"Renji."

His name called him back from his musing, to notice that they had reached his turn, and that Genichirou was standing with his head down, turned a little away.

"I'm... sorry."

"For what?" Renji asked, quietly, touching his friend's shoulder. He shook his head at the look Genichirou turned on him. "I knew what I was doing, Genichirou. I'm not blaming you."

Not least, he reflected, as Genichirou's eyes darkened, because Genichirou could be counted upon to blame himself.

It had been a split-second decision, almost an impulse, really, except for the calculation behind it. Renji had never expected to lose. Nor, he suspected, had Genichirou ever expected him to lose. When he had, and when he had seen the tightness of Genichirou's mouth, the question had presented itself: How would Genichirou react to this breaking of the unbreakable rule he had set for their team this year? Renji knew perfectly well that, if it had been anyone but him, Genichirou would not have hesitated to strike, to drive home the unacceptable nature of losing. But it was him. And everyone in the club was aware that he and Genichirou were close friends, as well as teammates. Which led, inescapably, to the conclusion that, in order to keep the respect of the club, Genichirou must not react differently just because it was Renji.

So he had said so.

He had known it was a risk, to deliberately provoke Genichirou when he was that tense and angry. Knew that putting Genichirou squarely between his responsibility to the club and his care for Renji might finally break him. But he hadn't seen any other way. Nor, to judge by the glint of helpless fury he'd seen in Genichirou's eyes, as his hand drew back, had Genichirou.

At least, he smiled to himself, they hadn't seen another way until Akaya interfered, blithe and brash as ever. Genichirou had been right, earlier today; Akaya's protectiveness of his own, every bit as fierce as his will to win, would serve him well next year, when he became captain.

"Not just today, Renji," Genichirou shook his head. "This whole year. You warned me, and I didn't listen."

"You chose the path that you felt you could walk on," Renji noted. "And I chose to follow you down it."

"It was the wrong choice," Genichirou said, looking away.

"Was there a right one?" Renji countered.

Genichirou's hand flashed up to touch the side of Renji's face, softly. "Yes," he answered, low and sharp, "one that didn't involve losing control."

Renji stifled a sigh. He knew quite well what the chances were of convincing Genichirou to let go of some blame he had decided to take on. And he couldn't argue that the path Genichirou had chosen hadn't been a dangerous one, especially once their personal bond had fallen crosswise of it. Still, there were times he wished that Genichirou's ruthlessness were accompanied more often by detachment, rather than passion.

Of course, he supposed that was his part. So he made one more try.

"Was there a right choice we could have reached, this year?" he asked, gently. He read the stubborn There should have been in Genichirou's tight lips, and couldn't help a laugh. He laid his hand over Genichirou's and turned his head to place a kiss in the palm.

"Genichirou," he said, firmly, "stop this. If there's anything that needs to be forgiven, I forgive you. It's over now. Seiichi is coming back to us. We're going to be all right."

Genichirou's eyes were a little brighter, now. "Have I ever won an argument with you?" he asked, with a small, rueful laugh of his own.

"There have been three occasions, to date," Renji told him, serenely. "I made note of them."

Genichirou smiled. "Well, since this doesn't seem like it will be the fourth, I'll stop. I'll see you tomorrow, Renji. Good night."

"Good night, Genichirou."

Renji walked the rest of the way home with a lighter mind and heart, reassured that things were returning to where they should be.

End

Glory

Just before the end of Chapter Ten Kirihara comes to talk to Yukimura about his final match at Regionals. Drama, I-3

Akaya tapped, hesitantly, on the doorframe of Yukimura-san's room. His mother had said to go on up, but Yukimura-san had only been home one day, and he looked tired. Still, he looked up with a smile of welcome.

"Akaya. Come in, I've been expecting you."

At that bit of information, Akaya ground to a halt again, a few steps inside. Yukimura-san hadn't said anything, yet, about the way Akaya had let his control lapse this year, but he was uncomfortably aware that he had merrily tromped all over his team captain's direct orders several times. Having some privacy while his captain yelled at him about that wouldn't make it significantly more pleasant. Not that Yukimura-san ever exactly yelled, but even-tempered disappointment was worse, and the cold edge when he did lose his temper was terrifying, and...

Yukimura-san's breath wasn't quite a sigh. He held out a hand from where he sat on the edge of his bed.

"Close the door, Akaya, and come here. I did say you could tell me about it later, didn't I?"

Ah, so Yukimura-san had been expecting him because of that; not a huge improvement. Speaking of things that were a little terrifying. Just a little. Akaya tried not to fidget, as he approached, but when he reached Yukimura-san's side, and paused, the memory of what he'd come to talk about drove such a shudder through him that his knees folded. He sat down abruptly by his captain's feet and leaned against the bed.

"Are you all right?" Yukimura-san asked, eyes serious.

"I don't know," Akaya whispered. "When I played, for the final game, I... I don't know..." Yukimura-san's hand brushed over his hair, and Akaya bent his head to rest against Yukimura-san's knee. "Yukimura-buchou, I can't even really remember all of it."

"I watched the tape of the match," Yukimura-san told him. "Have you?"

Akaya nodded. "It was weird," he declared.

"I don't doubt it." His captain's voice was warm, and Akaya relaxed under it. "I think you will remember everything in time, especially the next time you play that intensely. What do you remember in the most detail, now?"

Akaya was silent for a few moments. "The feeling," he said, at last, slowly. "It was so... clear. And cool. And bright. And I felt... like I could keep going forever; like I was breathing in strength, not air. It was so strong. So much." He broke off, shivering, every muscle wound tight, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering.

Yukimura-san's hands closed around his face and lifted his head. Akaya clung to the dark, steady gaze that met his, to brace himself against the memory of that overwhelmingly precise focus that had swept his awareness up like a leaf in a high wind.

"Yes," Yukimura-san said, sure and clear. "I know that. And it can be almost too much to bear, can't it?"

Akaya pulled in a breath, comforted by his captain's instant understanding. "Yes," he agreed, shakily. Yukimura smiled, slow and brilliant and wild, and Akaya's breath departed again.

"But it's also glorious, isn't it?" A laugh ran under Yukimura-san's voice. "To feel every moment and movement so fully, to experience the sharpness of that edge, to release everything that's in you and throw it into the game."

Akaya nodded, wordless.

"This is what I hoped, from the start, you would find, Akaya," Yukimura-san told him. "It came more abruptly than I expected, but I knew it was there for you from the first."

Akaya was trembling again, under his captain's hands, and his eyes felt wide as saucers. "Is it like that... every time?" he asked, hearing his own voice thin with awe or incredulity or terror, he couldn't have said which. Yukimura-san's expression was sympathetic again.

"Not so perfectly, perhaps, but yes. It's there every time. It always comes when you give all of yourself to the game," he explained. The unspoken corollary hung in the air; if it was too much for Akaya, he could back away. His chin came up, pride stung.

"Yes, Yukimura-buchou."

The gleam in his captain's eyes made it clear that Yukimura-san approved of Akaya's acceptance of this challenge. He took his hands away, fingertips brushing across Akaya's face with butterfly-wing affection.

"Yukimura-san," Akaya heard himself murmur, and bit his lip. He tried not to show that yearning too plainly. The gentle denial in Yukimura-san's gaze hurt too much.

This time, though, Yukimura-san's look was considering, fiercer and brighter. "Can you defeat me yet, Akaya?" he asked, with the unyielding edge in his voice that had called Akaya to him from the moment they first played against each other.

Akaya heard what Yukimura-san wanted: for Akaya to give himself to this crazy brilliance as completely as his captain had. If he did, and they both played from that intensity... Akaya shuddered, violently.

"Not quite," he choked, before he hauled in a slow breath and looked up. "Yet," he finished, sharply.

If a hawk could smile, it might smile the way Yukimura-san was now. "I'll be waiting for you," he said.

Akaya nodded, while anxiety and exultation got together to dance a polka in his stomach.

"On that topic," his captain continued, looking more stern, "I trust I won't see laziness like you showed in the first part of that match again."

Akaya winced. He'd known it was coming. He twisted his fingers together and lowered his head.

"Yes, Yukimura-buchou."

"I know I wasn't there to hold you back, Akaya," Yukimura-san said, seriously, "but you must learn to do it for yourself. If you can't your game will stagnate, and you'll destroy yourself. And, above that, it isn't worthy of you. "

Akaya's head dropped a little further. "Yes, Yukimura-buchou," he whispered. He'd known, at the time, that his captain wouldn't be pleased, but the knowledge had been small and distant next to the satisfaction of utterly destroying whatever threatened his goal. Now it was a lot more visceral. Yukimura-san's kindness, even in the middle of making his displeasure clear, made Akaya feel about one centimeter high.

There was a rustle as Yukimura-san slipped off the bed onto the floor and tugged Akaya, gently, into his arms.

"You're so innocent, in some ways, Akaya," he sighed, pressing a hand to Akaya's bowed head, "and so direct. Let that serve you, instead of dragging you down, and you'll be one of the best. Remember that I'm waiting for you."

Akaya closed his eyes and leaned against his captain's belief in him. He would. He knew what he was chasing, now. He would keep going, and when he found Yukimura-san, on the way, he would be able to hold his head up.

End

Water Over Fire

Immediately after Chapter Ten, Sanada (and, to a lesser extent, Yanagi) explains himself to Yukimura. Drama With Romance, I-4

The first day Yukimura returned from recovery to the Rikkai tennis club, and his team, was a day of great relief and rejoicing. It was also, at least for one vice-captain Sanada Genichirou, a rather uncomfortable day.

"You won't be able to avoid telling him forever, you know," Renji murmured in his ear. "In fact, I would say your chances of dodging his questions much beyond this evening only stand at twelve percent. By the end of practice, I expect them to drop to three."

No one else, Genichirou reflected, understood just how evil Renji could be when the mood was on him. Except Yukimura, who found it amusing.

"Do you want me to explain to him?"

It was, of course, balanced by his kindness at other times, but that was no less depressing when Genichirou knew quite well that he didn't deserve it. Not from Renji; not now.

"No," Genichirou said, quietly. "I'll tell him."

At this remove he found it hard to believe that he had nearly struck one of his two best friends; would have, if Akaya hadn't interfered. And while Renji was forgiving enough to accept a plea of temporary insanity, he doubted Yukimura would. His friend, Seiichi, was gentle, understanding, even sweet at times. His captain, Yukimura, was unyielding in his demands and his standards.

"You take too much on your own shoulders so often," Renji sighed. "That was exactly what got you into this situation in the first place."

Genichirou suppressed a wince. Did Yanagi have to be so damn... accurate?

It was, in fact, just as practice ended that Yukimura closed a hand on each of their arms.

"Why don't you two join me this evening to discuss the team's progress?" he suggested, only a hint of steel in his voice indicating that this was not a request.

"I stand corrected," Renji observed. "Zero percent."

"Thank you for that update," Genichirou said, between his teeth. At Yukimura's questioning look, he glanced aside and answered, "We'll come."

The way to either of the other two's houses was as familiar as the way to his own, so the walk left plenty of Genichirou's attention free to reflect on his own failures of control. After the first few conversational nudges, Renji left him to it and engaged Yukimura in a discussion of how much reconditioning he could fit in before Nationals. Genichirou was grateful for that.

Yukimura's parents were out still, not unusual, so the three of them settled in the living room, Yukimura on the couch, Renji in the older and softer of the two chairs. Genichirou took one of the floor cushions, and folded his hands rather tightly on the table. Yukimura eyed his choice with a thoughtful expression.

"It's been obvious that there were things you weren't telling me about the club, this year," he said, at last, quite calm. "I thought there was probably nothing I could do about whatever it was, so I didn't ask. But I'm asking now, Sanada."

Genichirou gazed down at his hands.

"In the spring," he began, "my temper started to... fray. To the point of striking out sometimes. Mostly it was directed at the club, the pool of alternates, but eventually the team was included." He breathed in and out, slowly, evenly, controlled. And wasn't that irony for you? Say the rest of it, he ordered himself inflexibly. "Anger was easier than fear. And it kept the club under control."

"Fear," Yukimura repeated. "For me?"

Genichirou nodded, silent. Yukimura rose abruptly from the couch, came and knelt beside him, took his shoulders and pulled Genichirou around to face him. His eyes were blazing.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded. Genichirou gauged Yukimura's agitation by the tightness of his grip. He didn't want to add to the upset, though he welcomed the bruising strength of Yukimura's hands, proof of his wholeness once again. But Genichirou had always been honest with these two.

"When?" he asked, barely audible. "While you were already driving yourself to injury, trying to regain strength enough to return to us? While you were torn between risking a relapse and taking a long chance?"

Yukimura closed his eyes and took in a sharp breath. Genichirou felt a rake of pain at having reminded his friend of his own pain, so recently past. But that was the truth of why he hadn't spoken, and much of the reason he had felt so much helpless fury in the first place. And he knew his captain heard that truth. When Yukimura opened his eyes again, he looked over at Renji.

"I take it you agreed with that?" he asked, evenly.

"I did not consider it likely that you would be able to recall Genichirou's control while you were still recovering," Renji specified. "Perhaps my judgment was also impaired by my concern for you. But, Seiichi," he leaned forward, earnest, "our team is made up of violent and dangerous parts far more than serene ones. You collected them, because you love their brilliance and their edge. Does it truly surprise you that, without you to hold them steady, the danger ran over?"

"I had hoped that your strength would steady them as well," Yukimura said, softly, glancing between Genichirou and Renji. Genichirou flinched under his hands. The failure had been his own; he knew that.

"If you had only taken a vacation to Australia, instead of the Intensive Care ward, maybe it would have," Renji answered, with some asperity.

Yukimura blinked a few times before his mouth curled up, and his eyes began to sparkle. After a few moments' struggle, he gave way and let his forehead thump down on Genichirou's shoulder while he laughed. The bright sound released Genichirou's tension, and he finally lifted his hands to Seiichi's shoulders in return.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against Seiichi's hair.

"Aah," Seiichi sighed, straightening. "It's all right," he said, laying a hand against Genichirou's face. "I suppose we've all found out we're only human." His smile warmed Genichirou, smoothing away his hesitance, and he pulled his friend close, burying his face in the curve of Seiichi's neck for a long moment as he held Seiichi, taking reassurance in the returning solidness of his body. When they drew back, Seiichi reached out to Renji, who came to join them, taking up the hand Seiichi held out and pressing it to his lips.

There were times when Genichirou envied Renji his less restrained manner.

"So that was what set Akaya off, too?" Yukimura asked, with a slightly rueful twist to his mouth. "If I had known, when I spoke to him, I might have been gentler."

"That particular dynamic flowed in more than one direction," Renji noted. "Genichirou's violence gave Akaya permission, but the satisfaction of Akaya's destruction was what kept Genichirou focused in that direction."

That particular bit of accuracy cut like a knife, not least because that wild darkness still tempted, still tugged at his control.

"Stop that," Seiichi said, firmly, to Genichirou, as he began to stiffen again. He cast a critical eye over the other two, and nodded. "I think," he declared, "that a bath would be just the thing. What do you think?"

Genichirou saw Renji's expression soften, and knew his own had as well. It might be a strange reaction, to anyone outside the three of them, he reflected, but that was all right. No one else really needed to understand this.

It was something close to ritual, for them, the silence as they undressed, the fact that Renji always adjusted the temperature of the spray, the fact that Seiichi always took the soap first. Genichirou had missed this, desperately. He and Renji had comforted and supported each other in other ways, while Seiichi had been ill and weakened, but it had never seemed right to have this time without him.

There had been times, when someone was in a playful mood, that "a bath" had turned into a water-and-sponge war. Today, though, it was a handful of quiet moments, Genichirou trading shampoo for a sponge with Renji, scrubbing it gently over Seiichi's back; Renji leaning against him for balance as he washed a foot; Seiichi sweeping Genichirou's wet hair back as he finished rinsing it. He felt peace settle over him, over all three of them, as if the drops of water carried it.

Genichirou sighed as they slid into the bath proper. Seiichi nudged him into a corner so that both Seiichi and Renji could lean on him. It was thoroughly nonsensical that it was Genichirou who should feel supported by that, but he did. He slipped a hand around Seiichi's waist, and the other, more hesitantly, over Renji's back, asking if it was all right. Renji turned and leaned into him more firmly, hazel eyes laughing at him, silently. He had already forgiven Genichirou his descent into obsession, that look said, so why was his friend being so foolish? Genichirou rested his head against Renji's, and held him more surely.

If it had been anywhere else he would have offered a kiss, but that was the one thing this time had never been about. This was comfort and cleansing. Healing. It was something that made him understand the little rituals of water at shrines and temples. So they soaked in the heat, and each other's presence, relaxing with the simple closeness as much as the hot water.

"Better?" Seiichi murmured, at last.

"Much," Renji answered, and Genichirou made a quiet sound of agreement.

They were all quiet as they emerged and dried each other off, exchanging smiles with the towels. In unspoken accord, Genichirou drew Seiichi back against him and Renji came to wind his arms around them both, closing Seiichi between them. Seiichi leaned against Genichirou and clasped his hands behind Renji laughing softly.

"It's all right," he reassured them. "I'm right here."

"You don't mind if we hold you a little longer, anyway?" Renji asked, both teasing and serious as he so often was.

Seiichi's eyes reflected brighter for a moment, before he blinked. "Of course not," he said, voice catching.

They stood together for a long time.

End

Temper

Yukimura apologizes to the teams his own injured, and picks up a challenge on the way. Drama, I-3

Yukimura Seiichi paced through the grounds of a school not his own, toward the practice area of a rival team, and reflected that his current errands in Tokyo would probably make a splendid case study of social interdependence. His illness had affected his entire team, and the pass-along effects had been substantial, to say the least. His return called on him to tie up far more loose ends than he would have expected.

Seiichi sighed to himself. Genichirou had wanted to come as well. Or, at least, he had said that he should come. But Seiichi could see the soul cramping discomfort in those level eyes, and had told him it was Seiichi's duty as captain. And then dropped a word to Renji to try and keep Genichirou busy while he was gone.

When Seiichi came to the edge of Fudoumine's tennis courts, he stood under the shadow of the trees and simply watched for a moment. The contrast to his own home courts was pointed. These were well kept, and the players on them energetic and dedicated. But there were only seven of them. No other club members played, or watched, or cheered. No coach stood beside the tall captain, watching from the sidelines.

Well, Seiichi reflected, with a self-deprecating smile, the official faculty advisor for Rikkai's tennis club didn't come anywhere near their practices, either, but from what Renji said Fudoumine's captain had chased theirs off far more vehemently than Seiichi had his own.

He had been aware that Tachibana Kippei was an excellent tennis player. Watching the team he had put together with no one's authority or guidance or support but his own, Seiichi was prepared to call him an excellent captain, too. It made the offense committed against him bite all the sharper, that it had threatened, not only a good player, but an entire team who were worthy of respect.

Interdependence. Without superb opponents, where was the point in being the best? If he could teach that to his little fire-eater before the year's end, Seiichi might call himself a good captain, as well.

At last, he sighed and stepped forward, calling out, "Tachibana!"

"Yukimura," Fudoumine's captain acknowledged, surprised. The heads closest to them snapped around, and Tachibana's vice-captain took a few quick steps closer. Seiichi stifled a sigh.

"If you have a moment free, I was hoping we might speak," he said.

Tachibana's brows twitched up, but he nodded. "Of course." He waved his team back to their practice, and stepped a little away from the fence. "You're recovered, then?" he continued.

"Yes," Seiichi answered, pleasure warring with remembered pain and current annoyance. From the shadow that passed over Tachibana's eyes, he saw all three. Seiichi smiled, just a touch wistfully; he would have liked to be present to have played this one. "And you?" he asked.

Tachibana's expression stilled. "Completely recovered," he said.

"That was actually why I came, today," Seiichi told him, quietly. "The actions of my team were unacceptable; both that Akaya would do such a thing, and that the others would not stop him." He bowed. "I apologize for them."

He was uncomfortably aware of Tachibana's surprise; it confirmed what he had suspected about the general behavior of his team while he was gone. It was a moment before the other captain managed to speak.

"It's well," Tachibana said, at last. "Please..."

Seiichi straightened, aware of the Fudoumine team, frozen on the courts until Tachibana cut a stern look at them.

"A dedicated team can sometimes let their determination lead them too far," he said, voice raised just a bit. Seiichi was rather amused to note the suddenly red faces of about half the Fudoumine team, as they all turned quickly back to work. He was sure there was a story behind that little admonition.

"Indeed," Seiichi agreed, with a tiny smile, answered by a wry glint in Tachibana's eye. "I'm glad you recovered in good time for Nationals. We hope to meet you again, there."

Tachibana's sudden smile was like sunlight after dark weather. He held out a hand, and Seiichi was pleased to find his grip sure and strong.

"Likewise."

Yes, this was a good opponent.

An approaching rustle culminated in a sharp exclamation of, "Rikkai!" A girl, about their age, was standing beside the courts, looking at Seiichi like she had found him under a particularly loathsome rock. If this was the younger sister he understood Tachibana had, he supposed he couldn't blame her too much.

"Ann!" Tachibana said, in almost exactly the tone Seiichi used when calling Akaya to order. Her growl had much more in common with Sanada, however, albeit in a higher register. Renji had mentioned that she was extremely protective of her brother and his people. Seiichi firmly suppressed a chuckle, as she stalked a little further down the fence after a last suspicious look at him, fairly sure she would bite him if he let it out.

"I should be going," Seiichi said, a bit regretfully. "There are other errands I need to run while I'm in Tokyo."

"Of course," Tachibana said. "I hope we'll meet again soon."

Well, that was the warm-up, Seiichi thought, as they parted with pleasantries on both sides. Now for what was likely to be the harder part.

Seigaku's courts were much livelier, and they spotted him coming. His name and Rikkai passed among the club members like wind through tall grass.

One distinct similarity, however, was the speed with which the players responded to the captain's dark look.

He and Tezuka were more familiar with each other than he and Tachibana, and Tezuka gestured Fuji over and received Seiichi's apology to them with no surprise. Fuji was, predictably, somewhat harder to read.

"Please, think nothing of it," he told Seiichi, with a very bright and entirely insincere smile. "Truly, I was pleased to be so instrumental in such a dramatic awakening as Kirihara-kun's. Though I'm sure I can't take too much credit. It must have been building for some time."

Seiichi's eyes narrowed. He had come here to render an apology, but he'd be damned before he stood still to be a source of entertainment for Fuji Shuusuke.

"I was equally pleased to see your own efforts finally become serious," he returned, tone even but clipped. "I trust it will not be merely a temporary advance."

Fuji's burning blue gaze was suddenly much more direct. If Fuji had implied that Seiichi's team was undisciplined and ill-trained, Seiichi had just come within two breaths of calling Fuji a coward.

Fuji had frustrated him at a distance for years. They had met several times, in the Elementary circuit. Powerful opponents were the heart of the game, to Seiichi, and it had been clear that Fuji could be very powerful. His elusive profile, however, had spoken to Seiichi of how little Fuji understood the exaltation of playing with everything one had. He would flash out with some gem of skill or discovery, and then refuse to follow it up. It had absolutely infuriated Seiichi, and after they started junior high, when his forlorn hope that Fuji would either shape up his game or withdraw had been dashed, Renji and Genichirou had had to listen to several extended tirades on the subject. He had itched to add Fuji to what Renji called his collection; had gone so far as to suggest that Fuji would find a place waiting for him if he chose to transfer. Seiichi had been sure that he could draw Fuji's real strength out. But Fuji had chosen to stay with Seigaku, and with Tezuka, and Seiichi had no choice but to grit his teeth every time he saw Fuji play, and accept it.

Nor could Seiichi say, now, that Fuji had been wrong to do so, watching the almost-glance he flicked toward the captain he had chosen.

"It will not be," Fuji answered, light tone gone from his voice, head high. A ripple of surprise ran through the Regulars who had edged close enough to hear the exchange. Tezuka's eyes, though, held only a bright, hard pleasure that showed nowhere else in his face or stance.

Perhaps that was the key, Seiichi reflected. Perhaps Fuji had needed the quiet of Tezuka's demands and the stillness of his brilliance rather than the blaze that Seiichi knew was his own when he set it free.

"We will all look forward to seeing it, then," he said, still a challenge but a gentler one. Fuji nodded, silently, and they both relaxed again.

"You have returned to play, then?" Tezuka asked, gathering the conversation back up with his trademark economy and grace.

"Good as new," Seiichi confirmed, and exchanged a look with Tezuka that glinted with anticipation. They had both, Seiichi rather thought, had enough of convalescence.

"Well," a new voice put in, "if you're all better, will you play a game?"

A muffled laugh escaped Fuji, as Tezuka's brow arched and his vice-captain, nudging back the other Regulars, clapped a hand over his eyes. Seiichi examined his challenger, who was unmistakably Seigaku's first-year prodigy, Echizen Ryouma. Sanada had had a good deal to say about him, mostly about his unquestionable talent and his stunning determination. Akaya, on the other hand, had said very little; merely that Echizen was really annoying, almost as much so as Fuji. Akaya's opinion took on a new edge, in light of Echizen's expression. It was familiar: cocky, assured, eager. Seiichi had seen one just like it last year, when a first-year had challenged the three best players in the club.

"Now I see why Akaya picked things up from you so easily," Seiichi murmured. "You remind me a great deal of him."

Fuji's laugh was no longer quite so muffled, and Echizen gave his senpai a look of Very Limited Amusement before he turned back to Seiichi.

"So?" he pressed.

Seiichi smiled, slowly, letting his focus settle on this one, letting the world narrow and sharpen. From the fire in his eyes, Echizen saw or felt that preparation, and leaned forward. Yes, this one was good.

"If your captain permits it," Seiichi agreed.

Echizen's expression, as he looked up at Tezuka, held neither a plea nor a demand—only the absolute certainty that his captain would understand. It was, Seiichi noted, far more effective than either of the other things would have been. A corner of Tezuka's mouth curled up, slightly, and he nodded.

As they set themselves on the court, Echizen called out to him.

"No holding back, all right Yukimura-san?"

"Of course," Seiichi answered

His first serve sang past Echizen's ear.

Echizen had very expressive eyes; even from across the court, Seiichi could see them widen, and then gleam. Echizen's stance shifted, and he was in time for the next ball. The corners of Seiichi's own mouth quirked up in answer to the delighted grin the boy shot him.

Sanada was right, Echizen was extremely fast, and remarkably strong for someone that small. Seiichi could hardly wait to see him on the high school circuit. More than that, he gloried in the game. Seiichi could feel the crackle of Echizen's awareness and excitement lacing into his own as he raised the level again and again, and Echizen gathered himself each time to meet the new challenge. The first time Echizen took a point, with that curious double-bouncing drive of his, Seiichi laughed out loud, and the sparkle in Echizen's wide, bright brown eyes laughed with him. Seiichi forgot care and convalescence, prudence and measurement, let himself go, and played full out, in love, for the space of the game, with the blazing spirit across the net.

Echizen lost three games to six, but his arrogance was undiminshed as he hauled himself to his feet and looked up at Seiichi, gaze as straight as his back. Seiichi offered his hand across the net.

"Next time you'll do better," he said. A goad, an invitation, a compliment. Echizen clasped his hand.

"Of course," he stated.

Seiichi became aware of the silence surrounding them, even the Regulars standing rather wide-eyed, except for Fuji, who looked reflective, and Tezuka, who gave Echizen a nod of approval, and Inui, who was writing. Seiichi realized that the skritch of pencil on paper was so familiar he hadn't even registered it. He sighed to himself; Renji would likely have a few words to say about playing full out in front of Seigaku's data specialist.

Seiichi found he didn't care in the least.

"I'll walk you out, if I may," Tezuka offered, nodding his team back to business. Most of them descended on Echizen first, who looked downright surly about the fact. Seiichi chuckled as they turned away.

"I take it you still have some reconditioning to do," Tezuka observed, as they walked.

"Mm," Seiichi agreed. "Quite a bit, I'm afraid. This was very useful though; thank you."

"Echizen needs good opponents to teach him," Tezuka said, quietly. "It was as much a favor received as a favor given."

"Perhaps," Seiichi answered. Names hung, unspoken, in the air. Akaya, driven, first by Echizen and then by Fuji, to reach past his easy strength to something truer; Sanada, reminded by Echizen of why they played this game; Fuji, roused at last from his detachment by Akaya's rage; Echizen, now given another goal to chase. Seiichi did not underestimate the need for and value of that last, especially for someone of such outstanding skill. The thought made him smile, though.

"You know, I think you've been replaced in Sanada's affections, Tezuka; he's very focused on evening the score with Echizen, just now," Seiichi mentioned, a bit mischievously.

Tezuka gave him a bland look that declined to rise to the bait. "Should I expect him in Singles Two, then?" he asked.

"Probably." They stopped at the school gates, and Seiichi gave Tezuka a direct look. "We can leave them to it, I think. It's time you and I met in a real game, Tezuka."

The shift was subtle, but distinct; the look Tezuka returned carried a pressure like deep water, and a knife of focus that cut away everything else in the world.

"Indeed," the other captain said, softly.

"...was not a well thought out choice, Seiichi," Renji concluded. "Sadaharu is perfectly capable of projecting your likely progress in the time before Nationals, and you don't really need to give Tezuka any advantages."

"Oh, come on, Renji, I was there to ask them to forgive the uncivil behavior of my team. Refusing a polite request would have undone half my work."

Renji gave him a long, steady look, leaning back in the desk chair. "And you couldn't resist the lure of a talented and passionate player," he sighed.

Seiichi smiled at his friend, entirely unrepentant. "And I couldn't resist the lure of a talented and passionate player," he agreed.

"It's a lost cause, Renji," Genichirou said, from the bed behind Seiichi's shoulder. "You know what Seiichi's like when comes to a good opponent."

"Yes, I do. And you're almost as bad," Renji pointed out, dryly.

"Renji," Seiichi said, softly, turning the other's face back to his. "It was magnificent." He drew Renji down to a kiss, seeking to share some of the exhilaration and joy Seiichi found in matches like today's. He thought he might have succeeded when Renji shivered under his touch and a choked sound caught in his throat.

"A difficult argument to refute," Renji murmured as Seiichi drew back.

"Then stop trying," Seiichi directed. "We're going to play them at Nationals. I'm sure of it."

He gathered up the other two by eye, calling silently for their fierceness to answer his, and when they did Seiichi smiled, content with the world.

End

A/N: I am no longer at all convinced that Yukimura would feel called to apologize for these injuries, any more than Atobe apologized for Tezuka's shoulder. The opponents chose to take the risks they did, even after seeing clearly what Kirihara was capable of, and I actually think Yukimura would consider it lessening his opponents' dignity to apologize. This was my best guess about him at the time, though, and I let it stand as such.

Earth Over Heaven

Yukimura is finally convinced that he is fully recovered, and is beyond pleased over it. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-4

Genichirou was deeply relieved when Yukimura started to hit his stride again, at practices. Renji had assured him it would happen, but that hadn't stopped him from worrying—not least because he could tell Yukimura himself was worried. Worried that after all the pain, and all the risk, he wouldn't be able to regain that last, vital edge. Genichirou had seen it, shadowing his eyes like mist, as Yukimura stood, after practice when he thought no one was watching, flexing his hand open and closed.

So, when that last, gleaming, precision, that whipsnap of muscle and speed, returned and burned away the fog of doubt, Genichirou was deeply thankful.

Even if it meant that Yukimura, finally convinced of his own recovery, had spent the entire practice running the team absolutely ragged in an attempt to keep up with his burst of delighted activity. He had declared it a day for singles practice, and proceeded to cycle through the entire team twice, leaving one after another panting in the dust. It reminded Genichirou of the first time he had played Yukimura, shocked by a brilliance that had defeated him without humbling his pride, fascinated by a charisma that offered genuine respect whether he chose to follow it or oppose it, stunned by a passion that promised to match his own.

Today, it was Akaya, in their second game, who gave in to that passion, and came closer to matching his captain than anyone on the team but Genichirou ever had. Yukimura met him at the net, when they ended, thrilled to laughing, catching Akaya's face in his hands to tell him how superb he had been. Akaya seemed barely able to take it in. Genichirou smiled, remembering the first time it had happened to him, and guided Akaya to a bench afterwards, detailing Jackal to keep an eye on the dazed boy and turning to his own second game before Yukimura's momentum dropped.

He was wearily amused that, by the end of practice, having driven everyone else into the ground and left his team draped over the benches like so many towels, Yukimura was still light on his feet, almost dancing, almost restless.

"Hold still for a moment, Seiichi," Renji admonished, running his hand over Yukimura's forearm as the rest of the team dispersed. Niou and Akaya were leaning on each other, staggering and laughing in a slightly punch-drunk manner, while Marui, not in much better shape, upbraided them for being wimps. Jackal herded them along, shaking his head, but Yagyuu paused to cast a small smile back at the three who remained. Genichirou returned a nod.

"Your muscles are going to seize up tonight, if you're not very careful," Renji informed their bright-eyed captain. "You should let me do something about it, or you won't be able to move tomorrow morning."

Yukimura flexed his limbs carefully, frowning. "It doesn't feel like it," he observed.

"That," Renji told him, "is because you're still riding on adrenaline. You'll feel the strain when it gives out. Although," he admitted, "I'm not entirely sure when it will give out; I would have expected it to happen already."

Yukimura laughed, softly. "I've put you all to a great deal of trouble, today, haven't I?"

Renji's mouth curved in a rare grin. "Good trouble."

Seiichi stepped away, and then spun to face them. "It's all here," he said, and Genichirou's throat closed at the wonder in his voice, "I'm all here, still. Again."

Genichirou laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let Renji take care of you, so you still feel like that tomorrow, then."

They wound up in the converted sunroom Genichirou used to practice sword, as they often did when someone needed a massage. Genichirou had started keeping a futon in the closet, there, and helped the other two pull it out, along with a couple old yukata and a stack of towels, before he left them to it and went to wash up. When he returned, he found Seiichi not behaving with his usual decorum under such circumstances, but stretching like a cat under Renji's hands, and, in fact, purring in low, rough murmurs.

"This would be easier if you lay still, Seiichi," Renji said, with affectionate exasperation. Seiichi took a deep breath, arching with it, and turned over with a lithe twist to look up at Renji.

"I can't stay still," he said, low but distinct. "Not right now."

Genichirou shook his head, and turned to coax the rather recalcitrant old door shut. As he finally slid it into place with a last scrape and clunk, though, a sharp intake of breath behind him caught his ear. He turned back, and was struck still by the image before him in the dim light.

Renji, sitting back on his knees, the yukata he wore to spare his uniform from any oil stains pushed half way down his arms. Seiichi, naked, kneeling over him, hands enclosing Renji's face and lifting it to meet Seiichi's kiss. Renji's hands on Seiichi's hips, closed convulsively. The straight line of Seiichi's body, pressed against Renji's, almost pushing him over backwards, and of Renji's, arched and tense.

Genichirou shook himself out of his paralysis. So, Seiichi was in that kind of mood. Genichirou couldn't exactly call it dominant, though both he and Renji found it hard to do anything but give way to Seiichi when he was like this. Genichirou recognized what it actually was, of course. It was the same thing that came on Seiichi when he played a serious match, the same power and focus, turned to a different end.

It was just as overwhelming here as on the court, however, and when Seiichi lifted his head and held out a hand to Genichirou, he came and knelt behind Renji, supporting him. Seiichi met him with a wild, burning smile and a long kiss. Renji leaned back against him with a sigh that was close to relief. That sigh caught as Seiichi pulled loose the cloth around him, and his mouth traced down Renji's chest and stomach.

Genichirou blinked, and chuckled a little, as Seiichi stretched out on his stomach, propped on his elbows as he licked, delicately, down Renji's length, waving his feet in the air. Perhaps he hadn't ever seen Seiichi in quite this mood, before. His full, raw intensity rarely left room for such casual playfulness. The playfulness, however, was clearly not diminishing the effect of his focus, to judge by Renji's increasingly ragged breaths. Genichirou cradled him, stroking his taut muscles and whispering soothingly in his ear as Seiichi's hand slipped under him. Genichirou could make a good guess at what Seiichi's fingers were doing from the way Renji arched back against him, and up into Seiichi's mouth, eyes blank.

"Seiichi!" Renji gasped, harshly.

"Hmm-mmm?" Seiichi inquired, without releasing him, and Renji cried out, wordless, as that hum seemed to ripple through his entire body.

Genichirou fit his body to Renji's as Seiichi drove him higher, and higher again, eased the curve of Renji's spine, caught him when Seiichi swept him over the edge, and held him close as he fell back. Renji lay in his arms, panting in unaccustomed disarray, yukata hanging loose around his slumped shoulders and spread knees.

"You are demanding today, Seiichi," he murmured, resting his head against Genichirou's shoulder.

Seiichi stretched upright again, and laughed, pulling both the other two down to the futon. The ensuing tussle was very short, since Renji declined to resist in favor of catching his breath, and Seiichi was moving fast and sure enough that Genichirou couldn't prevent being pinned without fighting back seriously. They were both laughing by then, but when Seiichi's hand ghosted over Genichirou's cheek, down his jaw, and Genichirou saw the soft smile on his lips, he stilled.

The three of them knew each other's bodies and moods very well, and very intimately. Even though they had barely started to experiment with, as Renji jokingly called it, grown-up sex when Seiichi had fallen ill, Genichirou recognized the desire in Seiichi's eyes. He reached up to pull Seiichi down against him, and whispered in his ear, "Yes." He wasn't ashamed that his voice was hoarse. It had been so long since he had touched or been touched by that brilliant strength, so long when he was afraid it would never return.

"Yes," Seiichi whispered back, and kissed him. It was gentle, Seiichi was never other than gentle in bed, but it was still very much like being kissed by a tsunami, and Genichirou knew, as if he could feel it already, that when Seiichi slid into him it would be just as gentle and just as wild and just as implacable. Now he understood the helpless edge in the sound Renji had made under Seiichi's kiss; he heard it echo in his own throat, felt himself drifting in the force of Seiichi's mouth on his until Renji leaned against him, anchoring him.

Seiichi's smile was sharper, as he drew back a bit, and fit himself against Genichirou's other side, leaving Renji room. Seiichi's hands, passing across his skin, should have seemed lighter than Renji's fingers as they teased him open, but it was Seiichi's deliberate, fleeting touches that locked his attention and sped his breath.

Finally, Renji drew Genichirou over on his side to face him, coaxing Genichirou's leg up to rest on Renji's hip, and he leaned into Renji's arms. That reassurance was the only thing that kept him from starting when Seiichi's hands stroked over his thighs, between his parted legs, before sliding up his body as Seiichi pressed against his back. Seiichi's hands touched him like ice on a burn, healing and shocking both. But perhaps it was only that he knew what was coming. He heard Renji whispering to him to relax, as Seiichi entered him, knew that he was tense and shivering with the aching heat of Seiichi's presence. He welcomed Renji's touch, firm fingers stroking down Genichirou's length, that kept him from being lost.

The rhythm of Seiichi moving inside him calmed him, even as it fanned tingling warmth through his body. It took feeling Renji's chest brushing his as they breathed together to tell him why. Seiichi pressed into him and drew back in the rhythm of breathing, long and deep as the first breaths of a new morning, so familiar, so necessary, that Genichirou could do nothing but move with it. Pleasure wound through him, the pleasure of breathing after being unable to.

This, too, he recognized, this rhythm, this wholeness, and images flickered through his memory. Seiichi across the court from him, flashing under the sun, brilliant and sharp as a killing sword; Seiichi laughing, the day the three of them broke several municipal laws to play in the large, stone fountain at the park, hands lifted to catch drops of spray; Seiichi standing in the doorway of this room, with a faint smile, calling him back from his solitary training.

Seiichi, leaning over him, hair turned to shadow in the lowering light, the line of his body fierce and fluid.

"Seiichi," he sighed, welcoming that radiant, familiar strength that opened him and called him and roused his body until he wondered how long he could bear it.

"Let go, Genichirou," that soft, unyielding voice said, "we'll catch you. Let go for me."

Genichirou had never been able to resist Seiichi's voice, not from the day he first heard it, and he let it take him now. Let Renji's presence and Seiichi's demand spill through him, fire his blood, snatch him up and hurl him outward, only held by their touch around him, inside him. When the wrenching heat pulsing through him faded, Genichirou was aware that there was wetness on his cheeks. Seiichi touched it, delicately, and tugged him onto his back to kiss it away.

"Genichirou?" he asked.

Genichirou smiled up at him, through the sparkle of his damp lashes. "Isn't it traditional?" he murmured. He watched puzzlement cross Seiichi's face, because they all knew this had not been his first time in any literal sense. But it had been, in every way that actually mattered right now, and he saw understanding soften Seiichi's eyes.

He also felt Renji's mouth curve, against his shoulder, and knew that Renji had known it already. He turned his head to eye Renji.

"Do you ever get tired of being right?" he asked, as conversationally as he could manage at that moment.

Renji's answering chuckle vibrated through both of them. "Do you ever get tired of winning?" he returned. Genichirou pulled a half-hearted glower at him, and it was Seiichi's turn to laugh, the low purr that never failed to make Genichirou shiver.

"A loss here and there keeps the enjoyment fresh," Seiichi noted, stretching luxuriously against the futon.

The glance Genichirou and Renji shared held relief, only slightly tinged with regret, that Seiichi seemed to have calmed from his earlier euphoria. A few moments rearrangement twined them around Seiichi, and he sighed, drawing them closer, and closer again, until the three of them could feel each other's heartbeats. They lay there as full dark fell.

Until Seiichi stirred and said, thoughtfully, "I suppose one can't hang glide after dark, can one?"

Genichirou and Renji both drew back to look, wide-eyed, at Seiichi's perfectly serious expression.

It lasted perhaps five beats before Seiichi broke down laughing.

"You should see your faces," he gasped, waving a hand.

The look that passed between Genichirou and Renji this time was a trenchant one of absolute agreement, before they turned back and pounced on Seiichi, ticking him until he squeaked.

Genichirou knew he was smiling in a way he hadn't for most of a year.

End

Need

Fuji visits Rikkai, hoping Yukimura can explicate a few things for him. Drama, I-3

It was one week before Nationals began that Fuji Shuusuke visited Rikkai. It took Seiichi a while to notice that one of the people gathered around the courts was wearing a different school's uniform; Fuji could be very unobtrusive when he chose. Fortunately, Seiichi spotted him before anyone else caught on. He had no particular desire to have any of his club embroiled in Fuji's idea of entertainment. He drifted to the side of the court and beckoned Fuji to join him.

His team noted his preoccupation and drifted after him. Seiichi was, in a general way, pleased with their sharp perceptions, and, in a specific way, exasperated with their nosiness, but he didn't stop them yet.

"Fuji," he greeted. "This is an unexpected visit."

"Mm. There was something I wanted to see, and something I hoped to discuss," Fuji said, elliptically. He smiled at Akaya, who bristled back. "Kirihara-kun; you seem to be doing well."

Seiichi could feel Akaya hovering on the edge of a challenge, and touched his arm to hold him back. They didn't need that in the middle of club practice. Fuji met Akaya's eyes for a long moment, and then shook his head turned back to Seiichi. Seiichi sympathized a bit more with Akaya's response, then. The impact of that silent look briefly pushed Seiichi himself over the edge, into the flickering fire of competitive awareness. He took a breath and settled back, examining Fuji with a captain's eyes again, aware of Sanada, tense, beside him. He wondered why Fuji, who normally only provoked those who were threats, was pushing like this.

Fuji, however, was smiling again, a smaller smile, a bit rueful. "Yes," he said, softly. "That's it. That's how he looks at me. Why, Yukimura?"

Seiichi blinked, as he tried to parse the question. 'He' who? Who would look at Fuji like... Then it clicked. Tezuka, of course. Who else would look at someone as strong and unpredictable as Fuji Shuusuke with that kind of measurement and anticipation and desire? But... Fuji wanted to know why?

"You don't know...?" Seiichi trailed off. It was clear in the steady gaze that Fuji, indeed, did not know. "Fuji," Seiichi sighed, running a hand through his hair. Still, he had been trying to wake Fuji up for years, now. Something he suspected Fuji had recalled, too. "I'll try. Come." He waved for Fuji to follow him, nodding for Sanada to take over in his place.

Sanada gave him a look that promised later discussion, and Seiichi stifled a smile. It always made Sanada just a touch edgy when people provoked Seiichi. He led Fuji under the clump of trees south of the courts, where they could watch without being obvious to those playing.

"So," he summarized, briskly, "you know how to provoke it, but you don't know what it is. Or how to answer it."

"I know what it is," Fuji corrected. "But, no, I don't know how to answer it; not from him."

"At this rate, you might just have well have accepted my offer for a transfer, last year. " Seiichi was finding himself a little annoyed at Fuji's assumption that he both could and would explain this thing after Fuji had spent years denying it.

Fuji's eyes slid to his, sharp, and his mouth was tight. Seiichi sighed, leaning back against a tree. That wasn't going to be productive, he knew.

"You'll have to excuse my temper, Fuji," he said, more gently. "It's just that you've suddenly come to me for help after having frustrated me for so long."

Fuji's head lowered just a touch.

"Yes," Seiichi answered the unspoken thought, frankly, "you probably frustrated him just as much, if not more." He thought about that for a moment, and continued, slowly. "And when he finally had evidence that you do understand what it means to play for real, after all, I imagine he asked you for a serious game."

"Yes," Fuji confirmed, softly.

"And he played against you in all seriousness," Seiichi speculated. A nod. "And it scared you, that he wanted you to do the same," he suggested, very quietly. Another nod, this one barely perceptible. Seiichi bit back another sigh. He would not, normally, compare Fuji to Akaya. Fuji was far more deliberate and analytical, and while he had some of the same propensity for violence, he had a far greater awareness of it and had channeled it far more tightly. This stubborn innocence, though, reminded him very much of Akaya.

"I don't understand what it is he wants of me." The words pulled out of Fuji, unwillingly. "I thought it was just for the team. For the Nationals. But it's more than that."

Seiichi waited. If Fuji really wanted his advice, he was going to have to have to come further out of that damn shell.

"He wants us to play full out, not against rivals but against each other," Fuji continued at last, reflective tone belied by his clenched fists. "I understand that he likes to play strong opponents. Even when he played Atobe or Sanada, though, I'd never seen him quite like that before."

"He hopes that you are stronger than he is," Seiichi said, as matter of fact as he could.

Fuji frowned, narrow, blue gaze fixed on his hands as he flexed them. "Ryuuzaki-sensei thinks I am," he murmured. "Or can be. But why...?"

Seiichi rubbed his fingers over his forehead. Perhaps he was grateful that Tezuka had been the one to win Fuji for his team, after all. He'd have gone mad, faced with such hesitance to understand for three solid years.

"We are the best," he stated. "What that means in practice is that it's very hard to find any opponent who can push us hard enough to make us advance, within our own age group. And," he added, flatly, "even in the next there aren't many." He leaned forward to meet Fuji's eyes. "Tezuka hopes that you will be a true challenge. One he has to reach beyond himself to meet."

The lingering confusion in Fuji's face made him want to bang his head against the tree. Try another tack, then.

"What do you want out of life, Fuji?"

Fuji blinked.

"What are your goals?" Seiichi rephrased. Fuji tipped his head to one side, caramel hair brushing across his cheek.

"To find interesting things," he said, at last.

Seiichi didn't doubt that for a second. Fuji and Niou would probably have gotten along very well, in a dangerous sort of way.

"Is there anything interesting enough to get you out of bed with an extra bounce, in the morning? Enough to make it worth driving yourself through pain and trouble for it? Enough that sometimes you think you would sell your soul and mortgage your breath for it, because it's so wonderful?" he prodded.

Fuji's eyes widened, as he watched Seiichi.

"That's what it's like, for us, Fuji," Seiichi murmured. "That's why we're the best. Because the shape of the game is the shape of our spirits, and there aren't words for the glory of a game that demands everything from us. And the only way to be true to the game is to always strive to be more within it." He leaned forward on his knees, taking Fuji by the shoulders, caught up by his need to finally make Fuji understand. "That's what Tezuka wants for you, too. That's why he's been trying to coax you or force you or, for all I know, bribe you to be serious these last years."

The normally bright eyes were blank and shocked, and turned inward.

"Did you feel it," Seiichi asked, more gently, "when you played Akaya?"

"If that's what it was," Fuji murmured. He shivered.

"If you take that path it will probably be even harder for you than it is for most," Seiichi told him, honestly. "You'll run into it, too, the craving for someone who can challenge you, who can share that vitality with you. And those will be few and far between."

Fuji nodded, closing his eyes. "I can see that." He touched Seiichi's wrist, lightly, and Seiichi let him go. "Thank you for explaining."

Seiichi's mouth quirked. "I can't say it was entirely altruistic."

A glint entered Fuji's eyes, and a razor smile curved his mouth in turn. "Good." He stood up. "I said it would not be a temporary advance. I meant that. What I found," he paused, "I'm not sure it's worth my soul, but it's certainly worth getting out of bed. And a fair amount of pain and trouble, too, I think."

"It's a start," Seiichi said, rising as well.

"Yukimura," Fuji was silent for a long moment, "will you play a game against me?"

Seiichi's focus sharpened with a snap he could nearly hear. "I would be delighted to," he said, with absolute truth. The club was leaving for the day; that would make things easier. He escorted Fuji back to the courts.

Sanada took a long look at each of them, and dismissed the team brusquely before moving to the side to call the game.

"He knows you very well," Fuji observed, sounding like he was stifling a laugh.

"This is something we share," was all Seiichi said, already immersing himself in the cool exhilaration of the moment. He felt Fuji's eyes on his back.

Seiichi pitched the game high from the very first serve, pushing Fuji, driving him to show his strength or be defeated immediately. He could feel, in the occasional unsteadiness of Fuji's returns, the other player's startlement, and his mouth tightened every time it happened. Fuji was too used to toying with his opponents, too used to slack competition who didn't raise the level until they thought they had to, too used to playing for the enjoyment of seeing his opponents' realization that it was far too late already. It was precisely the approach to the game that had infuriated Seiichi for years. He had wondered, for a long time, why a player as true as Tezuka allowed it to continue. But if Fuji had really never risen to Tezuka's challenge, before now, Seiichi reflected, what could his counterpart have done?

Well, Seiichi had an opportunity to do something, now, and he brought everything he had to bear on Fuji. And, finally, Fuji broke, broke open and flashed out at him, and it was Seiichi who was on the defensive. He recognized the still lack of expression on Fuji's face, the absolute concentration that had no time for such peripherals, and a fierce smile curved his own mouth.

When they hit a six game tie, Fuji faltered.

"Keep going," Seiichi called.

Still, Fuji hesitated, unnerved, Seiichi thought, by the intensity in both of them and unsure what it would mean to pursue the game to the end. Seiichi let his voice turn harsh; this was not Akaya, who would heed his gentleness.

"Do you want to do this, for yourself? For him? Do you want to be more in this game than a scavenger? A bully? Then keep going."

Fuji's head came up, and his serve whipped past Seiichi like a bullet.

"Better," Seiichi snapped, and sank himself, once more, into the immediacy of play and response.

Fuji won. Seiichi was slightly amused by his opponent's surprise. Fuji was still unused to playing full out, unused to playing on the edge where chance could decide a game. It would likely take some time for him to accept and own both his abilities and that space no one could control. Altogether, though, Seiichi was pleased, and said so as they shook hands.

"Thank you," Fuji told him. "I appreciate this, Yukimura. I should be getting back, now, though."

"And let me regather my team, who are probably peering out one of the second floor classrooms this very moment," Seiichi agreed, with a wry smile.

Sanada growled, and stalked past them toward the building. Seiichi chuckled as heads abruptly vanished from a window. He kept his grip on Fuji's hand another moment, though.

"It's the chance, do you understand?" he asked. "The opportunity to be more. It's something all of us treasure."

"I do understand," Fuji said, quietly.

Seiichi tilted his head. "Do you think this is something you can give Tezuka, even though you're on the same team?"

Fuji's smile returned, slight and thoughtful. "I think," he said, slowly, "it would be wrong if I didn't."

Seiichi nodded, satisfied that Fuji did, indeed, understand. "Welcome home, Fuji Shuusuke," he said, very, very softly.

End

The Continuation of War

A small snafu leads to some practice time between Rikkai and Seigaku, just before the end of Nationals. Drama, I-3

With one week to go before the last few matches of Nationals, it was clear that both Rikkai and Seigaku would be advancing. Seiichi was sufficiently pleased by this to give his team a little latitude when they acted up. He accepted that they needed to ease their anxiety, quite present, however concealed, before they could focus properly. As long as they didn't start any riots, or send his vice-captain into actual apoplexy, Seiichi was willing to be tolerant of their strutting and poking at opponents.

For Akaya to be completely missing when they were preparing to leave the tournament grounds was less acceptable.

"I can't find him anywhere," Yagyuu reported, the last of the team to regather after scattering to seek their errant junior.

Seiichi ran an impatient hand through his hair, wondering if Akaya had wound up on some other team's bus, which had happened a time or two when he was especially caught up in some debate with another player and failed to notice his surroundings. The amusing thing, after the fact, was that the other players failed to notice that they had someone else's team member in their midst. Akaya, when he was fully engaged with something, just seemed to lock attention that way. It had been one of the first signs Seiichi observed that Akaya had the potential to stand among the very best some day.

Sanada, having evidently followed Seiichi's line of thought, flipped his phone closed. "There's no answer," he said, though with an undertone of exasperation, because Akaya not answering was far from conclusive evidence that he was away from his phone.

"...can't find him anywhere, I'm afraid," a familiar voice said, behind them. "It isn't like Echizen to leave on his own."

Seiichi turned to see Fuji rejoining his own team, not too far off. "Echizen?" he murmured. He could almost hear Sanada's teeth grinding, beside him.

His doubles players exchanged looks. "What, again?" Niou wondered.

"It's Akaya," Marui shrugged.

Seiichi sighed, and called over. "Do I take it that your youngest player is missing, also?"

"Also?" Tezuka repeated. Seiichi nodded, ruefully.

Kikumaru flopped back against a tree. "Again?" he asked the leaves overhead.

"It's Echizen," Momoshiro pointed out, grinning, "you know what he's like."

"Not the concourse," Jackal put in.

"Not the east courts," Oishi added.

Renji tilted his head. "Sadaharu?" he inquired.

"Mm." Inui adjusted his glasses, thoughtfully. "Kirihara chose their location last time, correct?" Renji nodded. "Then I expect Echizen steered them to the last court at the back of the grounds; I recall him remarking that it wasn't used at all, today."

"Well, let's go, then," Sanada growled, the look in his eye boding no good to Akaya for putting them all to this trouble.

Both teams trailed in the wake of their captains, and, sure enough, found their missing members playing a lively game against each other.

"Akaya!" Sanada snapped, pushing the gate open. Akaya started, missed his step and then missed the ball. He scowled at the ball, lying against the fence behind him, planted his hands on his hips and scowled at his vice-captain, too.

"Sanada-fukubuchou, that was game point, and you made me miss it!" he said, irate. Then his eyes actually focused on the teams, gathered and watching, and widened. "Ah." He edged a step back from the glares of his teammates. "Is it that late, already?" he asked, a bit weakly.

Echizen was less obvious about it, but his tug on the brim of his cap reminded Seiichi irresistibly of a turtle, beating a quick retreat into his shell. The two truants shared a speaking look, and returned, reluctantly, to their teams. Akaya slipped by Sanada hastily, cast an eye over the others and apparently decided Renji was least likely to pummel him over this affair, because he sidled behind their data specialist. Echizen, for his own part, seemed resigned to being pummeled, but chose the source by moving quickly into Momoshiro's orbit. Seiichi was interested to observe the similarity of reactions, between his team and Seigaku's. Really, it wasn't all that surprising that their junior players had so much in common.

"Akaya..." Sanada started, pausing when Seiichi touched his arm.

"Wait, Sanada," Seiichi said, looking over at Tezuka. "They caused us some inconvenience, but the idea isn't entirely without merit."

He could see the calculation running behind Tezuka's eyes. "Nor entirely without precedent," the other captain noted, in return. Seiichi smiled. This would be useful for everyone.

"I'll call you about schedules, later, then, shall I?" he asked. Tezuka nodded, and fished out a scrap of paper on which he scribbled a number.

"Yukimura, are you serious about this?" Sanada asked, softly. His brows rose when Seiichi looked around at him and smiled, bright and hard.

"Entirely."

He and Tezuka decided that holding this particular training exercise at Seigaku would be best. Tezuka's team was still a bit... tense where Seiichi's was concerned, and, if they wished to take the edge of hostility off that tension, giving Seigaku the comfort of their home courts would help.

Seiichi didn't explicitly suggest that Tezuka arrange for his non-regular players to be absent, but was very pleased to see, when they arrived, that his hints about over-reaction and unfortunate senses of humor had been taken anyway. All the moreso, as Niou had been bouncing, subtly but bouncing all the same, all day, and Fuji looked dangerously cordial.

"You're sure you don't mind giving your opponents such a close look at your play?" Fuji inquired, solicitously.

Niou rested his racquet over his shoulder and bared his teeth in a gleaming grin. "Ah, but that only goes for some, doesn't it? What do you say, Fuji? A match between the unpredictables should be fun, shouldn't it?"

"Possibly," Fuji returned, less cordial and more level. Echizen shot him a very sharp look.

Seiichi tilted his head, considering, and didn't interfere. Fuji had a history of taking rather extreme revenge on anyone who injured one of those Fuji cared for, and Kikumaru certainly fell into that category. But he invariably did it within the parameters of the game. Niou had watched Seiichi push Fuji all out, and would not be surprised by him now. Nor was he likely to mind the score all that much, since his goal, to judge by the glint in his eye, was to prod Fuji rather than to win. Seeing how Fuji responded to that could tell Seiichi a good deal about Fuji's current mindset within the game.

Yagyuu, however, seemed to have other ideas. "Niou-kun," he said, stepping forward.

Niou looked at his partner, brows raised. Yagyuu made a small gesture with one hand.

"Oh, come on," Niou responded, tone scoffing. Yagyuu lowered his chin just a bit, not taking his gaze off his partner. Niou looked at him, at Fuji, back at Yagyuu. "You seriously think...?" he trailed off, staring intently at Yagyuu.

"Yes, I do," Yagyuu answered, quietly.

Niou pursed his lips and bounced his racquet on his shoulder a few times. "All right," he declared, at last. "But only," he stepped closer to his partner, "if you take him instead."

Now Seiichi wondered whether he should interfere. When Niou looked at Yagyuu with that shining intentness he was asking his partner to become very dangerous. And Yagyuu rarely refused him. On the other hand, Fuji was likely the only member of Seigaku, short of Tezuka himself, who could deal with Yagyuu when he really let go. If Yagyuu didn't mind showing himself like that, Seiichi decided, he would let it happen.

Yagyuu's lips quirked with amusement. "Very well," he agreed, and looked over at Fuji. "If that's acceptable?"

"Either will do," Fuji answered, a glint of intent in his own eye.

Seiichi suppressed a smile. Fuji was likely about to get a better workout than he expected.

"Well, I suppose he isn't the only tricky player Seigaku has," Niou observed, "is he?" and his gaze locked on Inui.

One of Inui's brows lifted over his glasses. "Interesting," he murmured, and stepped forward. Niou tipped his head and gave Inui a lazy smile.

"Though I'd like to watch their match first," he added, nodding at Yagyuu and Fuji. "Wouldn't you?"

"Quite," Inui agreed, easily, and the four of them moved toward the courts.

Seiichi felt Renji, beside him, quivering with suppressed chuckles. Seiichi couldn't blame him. Clearly, to use Niou's own phrase, Niou had Inui's number.

Seigaku's vice-captain stirred, looking after the departing players with a tense line between his brows.

"Shouldn't someone..." he started.

"They'll be fine, Oishi-senpai," Echizen interrupted.

"The way those two set each other on?" Oishi said, sharply. His junior gave him the look of someone with a great deal to say who can't quite decide where to start.

Marui snapped a bubble. "You don't get it, do you?" he observed. "Kind of strange, considering you work the same way."

"What do you mean?" Oishi asked, tightly.

"Sure, they set each other on," Marui shrugged. "But they also hold each other back. You really don't want to think about what they'd be like apart."

Oishi's mouth thinned. He didn't reply, though, and one of the other players stepped in.

"I was right, wasn't I," Momoshiro said, looking intently at Marui. "You're the analyst. You don't act like it very often."

Marui traded him a narrow look back. "You should talk."

Momoshiro opened his mouth, closed it, and grinned crookedly. "You want to see about it?" he offered, jerking his head at the courts.

Marui blew a contemplative bubble. "Sure."

"Speaking of your dynamics as a pair," Renji said to Oishi, as another two players headed for the courts, "would you be interested in playing a doubles match against Genichirou and I?"

Interesting, Seiichi thought. Renji implied that Oishi and Kikumaru participated far more equally to create the pace of their games than their reputation suggested. On the other hand, Kikumaru's expression, at that offer, was not the expression of someone who left all the strategy to his partner. He looked, in fact, rather like a cat who'd seen something interesting moving in the grass. After a final, dour, look in the direction Yagyuu and Niou had taken with their opponents, Oishi agreed.

A brief competition of demurral ended when Kaidou managed to defer to his senior and sent Kawamura off with Jackal, following to take the second match, leaving only the captains, Akaya, and Echizen unemployed. Akaya and Echizen, Seiichi noted, were eyeing each other sidelong, and edging away from their captains. He stifled a laugh, and glanced over at Tezuka to see a spark of amusement in his eyes as well. Tezuka looked at Akaya, then back at Seiichi, lifting a brow. Seiichi smiled, glancing at Echizen, and nodded.

"Kirihara," Tezuka called.

Akaya looked around, blinking. "Tezuka-san?" he answered, surprised.

Tezuka picked up his racquet. "Come play a match," he directed.

Akaya's eyes widened, and he looked a question at Seiichi. Seiichi came and gave him a small push in Tezuka's direction, setting his other hand on Echizen's shoulder.

"Go ahead," he said, gently. Akaya's eyes picked up a glitter of excitement, and he nearly skipped off in Tezuka's wake. Echizen shifted under Seiichi's hand.

"Do you want to watch them before we play?" Seiichi asked.

Echizen looked up at him from under the brim of his cap. "If it's all right," he said.

Seiichi smiled down at him. "I admit to some curiosity myself."

So they stood at the fence and watched. Seiichi noted that Akaya, used to the more vivid playing styles of his teammates, and of Seiichi in particular, had a difficult time adjusting to the deadly understatement of Tezuka's game. Akaya knew what was happening, Seiichi thought; he just couldn't quite wrap his intellect around it sufficiently to plan. But the pressure Tezuka was putting on him, at least, was familiar, and Akaya answered it without thinking.

"That won't last him very long," Echizen muttered, in the tone of someone who had reason to know.

Akaya seemed to come to the same conclusion after three games, standing still and looking across the net at Tezuka. Seiichi could see him wavering, wanting to reach for his own newfound strength but hesitant to engage it with a strange player. Seiichi sympathized; it was an intimate and precarious thing, to play full out in a practice match, and Tezuka did not make a show of being receptive to it. Ironic, Seiichi reflected, considering that Tezuka was actually one of the most passionate players he had ever met. From this distance, Seiichi couldn't swear to it, but he thought Tezuka's eyes softened in recognition of Akaya's dilemma.

"Come," he ordered, quietly, and Akaya responded to the familiar sureness, even in an unfamiliar voice. When he served to start the next game, heads turned across the courts, and Seiichi watched Tezuka's expression take on the fierce edge of a serious game.

"Not bad," Echizen murmured. Seiichi glanced down to see a bright grin hiding under his cap.

By the end of the match, Seiichi was sure Akaya had recognized what Tezuka was, had touched the searing fire hidden under the coolness. Tezuka's word of mild approval, as they shook hands over the net, painted the quick blush that Akaya hated across his cheeks, even as his chin came up, proud and challenging.

"Shall we?" Seiichi asked Echizen.

Momo and Marui leaned against the fence, watching the show two courts over. Momo smiled to himself.

"Just like Echizen, to nab a match with the best," he commented. Marui snorted.

"It's really no wonder he and Akaya keep after each other; I think they have a lot in common."

Momo cast his erstwhile opponent a thoughtful glance. "You know, Marui-san," he said, slowly, "all of you are acting really different, today."

Marui cocked an eyebrow at him. "Of course we are," he responded, easily, "Yukimura's back."

Momo blinked at him. That went beyond dependence, all the way to psychosis, in his opinion.

"He... means a lot to your team, then," he hazarded, a bit uncomfortably.

Marui's exasperated sigh produced a particularly large bubble.

"Look, Momoshiro," he said, seriously, "you've had a taste of what it's like to have your captain be gone, right?"

Momo nodded.

"Well, try this," Marui continued. "Imagine for a minute that, before that, he'd spent months in the hospital, on life support, and no matter how often anyone said that whatever was wrong wasn't fatal, none of you could quite believe it, looking at him. And then he was gone for more months, recuperating, supposedly, only you could see him breaking up because it was going so slowly. Just what," Marui stabbed him in the chest with a finger, "do you think that would do to your team?"

Momo did try to imagine it, and had to fight down a sick shudder at the thought of Tezuka-san unmoving on a hospital bed. Marui, watching him narrowly, obviously caught it anyway.

"Exactly," he said, leaning back against the fence. "I'd bet that vice-captain of yours would snap from the pressure, and that Fuji at least, and probably Echizen too, would go off the deep end, and no one would be able to control either of them. Because, in some ways, the composition of our teams isn't all that different."

Well, Momo had known Marui had an eye for analysis, and he'd certainly hit all of that dead on target. He swallowed a few times before he could speak.

"I'm glad for you," he said, softly. "That he's back."

Marui directed a one-sided smile across the courts to where his captain was serving.

"Believe me, I'm glad for us, too."

All right, so Masaharu had to admit that his partner might have had a point. While it would have been a lot of fun to prod at Fuji while he was in the mood to take heads, it was also possible that Masaharu would have managed, by doing so, to incur a much longer-term wrath than would be convenient to deal with. Yagyuu, on the other hand, was letting Fuji take out his snit and providing Masaharu with an absolutely beautiful spectacle in the process.

The scritch of a pencil beside him made him grin. He wasn't the only one enjoying the show, of course.

"Your partner demands more of Fuji than I expected he would," Inui commented.

"Yagyuu is a strong player," Masaharu replied, giving nothing. Whatever this counterpart of Yanagi's could extract from watching the flaring, prismatic brilliance of Yagyuu's destructiveness slipping around and between the colder edge of Fuji's he could have. But Masaharu didn't share that well, and wasn't about to freely add anything to that notebook.

As the game in front of them ended, Inui tucked away his pencil. "Shall we, Niou?"

Yagyuu, facing them across one of the benches, nodded over their shoulders with a smile. "Yukimura-san is playing," he told them.

The heads of both Seigaku players swiveled as if drawn on one string. Masaharu grinned with delight. Yagyuu was in excellent form, today. Dangling a choice between observing Masaharu and observing Yukimura in front of these two was the kind of casual teasing Masaharu indulged in himself, as an alternative to, say, chewing his nails.

It was nice to know he was a good influence on his partner.

When Inui drifted across the path to lean on the fence of the other block of courts, the others drifted after him. Inui, Masaharu noted, was drawn to the greater power.

Yagyuu laid his hand on the fence, and Masaharu watched his mouth soften. "It's good to know he's back," he murmured.

"It is," Yanagi's voice agreed, from beside them. The four who had been playing doubles one court down from them had also emerged to watch Yukimura's match with Seigaku's prodigy.

"Provided he doesn't get too carried away," Sanada added, and Masaharu thought he was serious despite the smile lurking under his cool tone.

Of course, considering what he and Marui were fairly sure had happened the last time Yukimura had gotten carried away, Sanada probably had good cause for a little purely personal caution.

When Yanagi gave Sanada an inquiring look, though, their vice-captain nodded toward Tezuka. Yanagi pursed his lips.

"You have a point," he admitted.

Ah, so it was Yukimura's competitiveness Sanada was worried about. Fair enough, all three of them were insanely competitive. Which made Masaharu watch with a rather ironic eye as Sanada and Yanagi strolled in the direction of Seigaku's captain, presumably in order to restrain their own. Nor could he quite hold back a snort when Fuji, after contemplating the conversation for a moment, followed them.

"So, Tezuka burns hot, too, does he?" he commented.

Oishi stiffened. "Tezuka," he answered, rather pointedly, "doesn't need anyone to govern his actions."

Masaharu cocked his head at the other.

"Someone's holding a grudge," he noted, mouth tilted. Oishi rounded on him, eyes flashing.

"You nearly sent my partner to the hospital, do you expect me to just let that pass?"

"We all know the risks of the game we play," Masaharu shrugged. "Or, at least," he added, eyeing Oishi, "I would hope we do."

"That was an irresponsible game!" the other player snapped.

"You be responsible for yours, and I'll be responsible for mine," Masaharu told him, bluntly. For a moment he thought Seigaku's famously even tempered and moderate vice-captain was about to take that simple truth as a challenge.

"Niou-kun," Yagyuu spoke, quietly, one hand coming to rest on Masaharu's shoulder. "There's a point in what he says. The match played out that way because of my loss of control." He looked at Kikumaru, watching the exchange with dark eyes, and then back toward Yukimura. "I believe I can assure you that it won't happen again, though."

"Really?" Inui asked from the other side of them, sounding merely curious. Yagyuu chuckled.

"There is a difference between losing control and setting it aside," he pointed out.

Oishi was still glaring at them, but Kikumaru stepped in front of him and put a hand on his chest.

"Oishi. It's all right. Not," he cast a sharp look over his shoulder, "that I appreciated being woken up every hour that night. But I understand."

"But...!" Oishi started.

Kikumaru thumped him in the chest. "And so would you, if you thought about it for a second," he said, briskly, glancing at Yukimura. Oishi followed his eyes, and his mouth tightened.

"That isn't an excuse."

"Didn't say it was," Kikumaru pointed out. "I just said I could understand. Now come on. I want to play their other pair."

Oishi, after one last moment's resistance, gave in with a sigh and a slight smile, and let his partner drag him off.

"They're kind of cute," Masaharu said, placidly, and stretched. "So, Inui, you ready to play?"

Judging by Echizen's expression, he was less pleased by this match than their last, and Seiichi cocked his head, inviting Echizen to say whatever was boiling behind his eyes.

"I thought you agreed no holding back, last time," Echizen muttered, at last.

"I did," Seiichi agreed. "And I wasn't."

Echizen gazed up at him, skeptical, and then considering, and then his eyes widened, shocked.

"It was bad," Seiichi admitted. "And extremely frustrating; you'll find out the first time you're seriously injured."

He felt the shiver Echizen suppressed through the hand that still clasped his. Echizen shot a quick look at his captain before he looked back at Seiichi and nodded.

Seiichi was rather amused at Echizen's preoccupation, sufficient that he didn't seem to notice when he took the other half of the same bench Akaya was recovering on. When he did notice, he merely nodded.

"Good target you have," he commented.

"Mm," Akaya agreed. "Yours, too."

Seiichi choked down a laugh, seeing it's reflection in Tezuka's eyes. And then he had to stifle a surge of impatient desire. These were just practice matches, he knew that. He was sure Tezuka knew that, too. And he knew they really shouldn't play each other here, because once they got started he wasn't at all sure they would be able to stop. But he wanted so much to test himself against this one, and there was no guarantee they would play in competition, and he could tell from the shift in Tezuka's stance that he wanted to play too...

Genichirou and Renji came up on either side of him, and Genichirou's hand was on his back, calling for his restraint. Seiichi sighed.

"I know," he murmured.

He could still feel Tezuka's focus pulling on him, though, until Fuji moved, unhurriedly, past and brushed a hand over his captain's arm.

"Tezuka."

The others called them both back, back to being captains rather than purely competitors. Seiichi didn't resent it, and he didn't think Tezuka did, either, as the subtle tension eased back underneath his smooth surface. But he did wish, wistfully, for a chance to have it otherwise.

"So," Renji said, calmly, "if you've finished revealing Yagyuu for Sadaharu's edification, would you care for a match against me, Fuji?"

Fuji stiffened, as if at a threat. Seiichi supposed it had been, considering what long effort Fuji had put into concealing his style and his strength.

"Renji," Sanada admonished, "stop teasing him."

Renji raised his brows, as if to inquire what on earth Sanada meant. Seiichi shook his head.

"Come, now, Renji, where's your patience?" he asked. "If you can deal with Akaya you should be able to deal with Fuji."

Fuji gave him a downright indignant look. Tezuka, behind him, had a hand over his mouth. Sanada gave Fuji a long glance, and turned a hand up.

"Perhaps you'd care to play me?" he suggested, shooting a quelling look at Renji.

Fuji only hesitated a moment before agreeing.

"Excellent coordination," Tezuka remarked, blandly, as they watched the two depart.

"Mm," Seiichi agreed, pleasantly. "It's often useful." Renji merely smiled, satisfied with their successful triple-team of Fuji.

Tezuka checked his watch, and called to the two on the bench, "Echizen! Kirihara! B court."

"Sure."

"Right."

Akaya blinked, looking surprised at his own prompt response. "Even sound the same," he muttered, as he and Echizen collected their racquets. Echizen glanced at Seiichi on their way by, and gave Akaya an eloquent look of disbelief.

"Wait till you hear it," Akaya snorted.

Seiichi laughed, quietly. He couldn't quite tell whether that had been a warning to him, not to stray too far into the habit of controlling Tezuka's people lest the favor be returned, or simply a return on the favor of caring for Tezuka's people. Or possibly both; that sort of efficiency would be like Tezuka. He watched Sanada starting to drive Fuji with the pleasure he always felt watching the very best show their mettle. And watched Fuji taking out his frustration in an unusually straightforward fashion with the pleasure of accomplishment. Frustration was not, however, a very sustainable motivation.

"I can push him over the edge, Tezuka," he said, not looking at his counterpart, "but he will need you to catch him when he falls. After so long refusing to fly, he's afraid of the sky now. Afraid to fly for his own sake."

"I know," Tezuka answered, and Seiichi winced a little at the pain lodged in that deep, even voice. Renji's fingers brushed his wrist, gently, supporting. Reminded of his friend's presence, Seiichi looked around at him.

"Did you actually have someone else in mind?" he asked, knowing Renji would follow his veer back to the subject of match partners.

"I expect Momoshiro to go looking for Niou soon; Sadaharu will be free then."

"Momoshiro and Niou?" Seiichi echoed, intrigued.

"Momoshiro has been showing a steadily increasing tendency to seek out other analytical players to measure himself against," Renji explained. "I believe he's beginning to know his own strength."

"And Inui, hm?" Seiichi added, with a twinkle up at his friend. "Does he begin to know his own strength, too?"

"Yes," Renji answered, softly, giving him a direct look back.

Having heard Renji's opinion, past and present, about Inui's greater facility as a singles player than a doubles player, Seiichi nodded, satisfied. It wouldn't do Renji any harm to remember that side of his own strength, so often overshadowed by Seiichi and Sanada.

"And there we are, right on time," Renji said, looking up. "If you'll both excuse me."

"You know," Seiichi mentioned, under his breath to Tezuka, "I'm starting to wish for a tape of today."

Tezuka's mouth quirked up.

Seiichi considered the day a productive, if tiring one, and his team was relaxed and easy with their opposition when he gathered them back up to depart. Better yet, Seigaku was considerably more relaxed as well, and he exchanged a nod with Tezuka.

Of course, that increased ease had side effects.

"So," Echizen interjected into the parting pleasantries. "If he's the Emperor," waving a hand at the startled Sanada, "what does that make him?" indicating Seiichi himself.

"Echizen..." Oishi sighed, exasperated. Sanada looked like someone fishing for the right words to express his outrage.

Niou, however, blinked slowly at Echizen, mouth curling.

"Why, Kami-sama, of course," he answered, quite matter-of-fact.

Now Sanada looked like someone trying to decide which target to char to a crisp first. Renji, however, was overtaken by a coughing fit that was in no way convincing. Inui and Fuji were both snickering, despite Tezuka's stern look, and Echizen was grinning. If it weren't for Sanada's ire, and the sudden, knotted tension in Oishi, only defused by Tezuka's quick hand on his shoulder, Seiichi might have let it pass; but the vice-captains were clearly neither of them in the mood for Niou's antics. So he touched Sanada's arm, stopping whatever explosion that deep inhalation was the preface to, and pinned Niou with a sharp look.

"Enough."

Niou blinked at the touch of steel in that order, and raised his hands placatingly. Seiichi nodded, accepting. He turned back just in time to catch the mildly impressed look Echizen threw at Akaya, and the 'told you so' grin Akaya returned.

There were days when Seiichi wondered whether he ran a tennis team or some kind of home for incorrigible boys.

"We'll see you this weekend, Tezuka," he said, and herded his team in the direction of their bus.

"So," Akaya said, smugly, as they filed aboard, "do I have good ideas, or what?"

Half the team pounced on him.

End

Dislocated

Immediately after "The Continuation of War", Yanagi and Inui finally get around to talking about how they parted. Drama With Romance, I-4

As the Rikkai team made their way back to their bus, Renji found himself pausing for one more look back toward Seigaku's courts. He had, perhaps unwisely, let himself be drawn into playing a second doubles match, today, this one against Yagyuu and Niou.

As a pair with Sadaharu.

They had both evolved over the years, of course, but they had also watched each other do so, and, while their particular moves had changed, their coordination was achingly familiar. He had read descriptions of how it felt to have a dislocated joint realigned, and, from what he recalled, it sounded remarkably like what he had felt this afternoon: a sharp pain accompanied by a hard wrench and a sudden feeling of rightness. Despite his distraction by such contradictory feelings, which he suspected Sadaharu shared, they had won.

Actually, Niou's expression of indignation when they did had been rather amusing.

And despite his own knowledge, well borne out, now, that both of them played better in singles than in doubles, he found himself reminded of something he missed. Perhaps, he thought, whimsically, the first doubles partner one really had rapport with was like first love; it always had a special place.

"Renji?"

He started, and looked around to see Seiichi smiling at him, sympathy in his eyes.

"Do you want to stay a little longer?" Seiichi asked, gently.

"I don't..." Renji broke off. For the life of him, he couldn't say whether he wanted to or not.

Seiichi shook his head at Renji, and reached up to take his shoulder and shake him lightly. "You need to settle this, Renji. If nothing else, until you do you'll be vulnerable to the same kind of shock he gave you last time."

Having a solid reason to go along with his ephemeral ones made Renji feel better about the prospect, and he smiled back, bowing his head to the knowledge that lurked in Seiichi's gaze.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"Don't be foolish," Genichirou said from behind him, hand warm on Renji's back. "We'll be waiting for you when you get back."

Renji knew without looking that Genichirou's expression was softer than his tone, and nodded.

After waving his teammates onto the bus, and thinking a little, Renji stationed himself five and a half blocks away from the school, under a handy chestnut tree. It should be far enough that anyone Sadaharu might walk with would have turned off already.

When Sadaharu appeared, and spotted Renji waiting there, his mouth took on a very satisfied quirk, by which Renji deduced that Sadaharu had predicted this turn of events.

"Renji," Sadaharu greeted him, just a touch smug.

"Sadaharu," Renji returned, suppressing a chuckle and falling in beside his old friend. "Do you have your room on separate environmental control yet?"

Sadaharu waved a hand. "I'm waiting until fall for that; my schedule is too irregular in summer to get good results."

One of the things he had missed, Renji reflected, was someone who genuinely took Renji's informedness completely for granted.

"Will that give you results in time for this year's Exposition?"

"The baseline will be a little short, but the lower number of variables will make the entire study much cleaner."

"That must be a pleasant break from the data you deal with all summer," Renji murmured.

Sadaharu shot him a sidelong look. "Data that changes makes an equally pleasant challenge," he countered. Renji smiled.

Sadaharu was a scientist to the core, and had a true scientist's drive to constantly improve and adjust his models. It was a good thing, because otherwise, Renji was convinced, the frustration of attempting to map such stubborn imponderables as human performance in a game like tennis would have driven him mad within six months. The fact remained that Sadaharu was a scientist and looked for patterns that were stable.

When dealing with people, one had to look for patterns that moved, as well.

"And you?" Sadaharu needled. "Still cluttering your mind with the latest novels by Touma Shigure?"

Renji chuckled. "Much of history is written by storytellers," he pointed out. "Comparing a contemporary story to contemporary events allows me to recognize the patterns of reinterpretation when I seem them in historical accounts."

Sadaharu sniffed.

"Oh, come now," Renji sighed. "Don't pretend you don't know the value of including emotional elements in calculations. Not when you demonstrated it so very well at the Regional finals."

"That was different," Sadaharu insisted, as he opened his front door and waved Renji inside.

"How?"

"That was you. It was personal."

Renji paused in toeing off his shoes to cast an exasperated look over his shoulder. For all his finickiness over his data, Sadaharu was as capable as the next person of fuzzy logic when it suited him.

"The most objective observation is always personal for someone, Sadaharu," he admonished. "The observer always has a reason for observing."

Sadaharu, too, paused, in the act of opening the door to his room. He gave Renji a crooked smile.

"You really will make an excellent professor," he said, echoing their childhood nicknames.

"So will you," Renji observed, closing the door behind him. "We'll just be in different departments."

This time Sadaharu stopped dead in the middle of the room, a soft, surprised laugh escaping him. Renji remembered that this was what they used to say to each other when they made plans to work at the same university when they grew up. And to move in together, getting a nice, big apartment in...

"Shiodome," they said, together, and were both still for a moment, looking at each other through a tangle of memory and dreams so dense that Renji felt it like a knot in his chest. He thought about his comparison of first partners with first loves, and reflected that Sadaharu was probably both to him.

It was Sadaharu who broke the moment, turning to his desk to set down his bag. He had always been the one less comfortable with interpersonal nuances. Renji accepted the tacit request to change the subject and went to take a look at the bookcase. The Yukawa and Kaku were expected; the Kurzweil was a bit of a surprise, and he adjusted his assumptions about Sadaharu's English proficiency to reflect it.

He had to stifle a laugh at the two novels by Touma Shigure.

But he did wonder about the couple of notebooks marked Recipes. "Sadaharu?" he asked, brushing his fingers over the spines.

"Ah," Sadaharu said, pulling one out, "a little in the way of biochemistry."

Renji raised his brows. Sadaharu flipped the book open and handed it to him with a faint smile. He read over the lists of ingredients and effects, brows climbing even higher at the recorded effects on other people. When he reached the section titled Penal-Tea he couldn't help himself and burst out laughing until he had to lean against the shelves.

"Sadaharu! You didn't!"

"It operates as a very reliable motivator," Sadaharu said, serenely, only the evil curl to his smile giving him away.

Renji shook his head. "You and your sense of humor," he mock lamented. "Niou was entirely correct about you." He ruffled a hand through Sadaharu's hair, unthinking, and they both froze.

Their old gesture, just as automatic as the old names. Just as easy. Just as hurtful, now.

Sadaharu snatched a deep breath and backed up to sit on his bed, head bent.

"Renji." The low voice was huskier than usual. "Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?"

"I didn't want to think about it," Renji told him.

"And?" Sadaharu prodded, still low but harder now.

"Your tone tells me you already know," Renji hedged. He knew he was avoiding the point, but to speak of it now would make the pain new again, and wasn't once enough?

"Tell me," Sadaharu insisted, roughly.

"And when I did think about," Renji admitted, eventually, "I thought that it would push you away from doubles, and into singles. Where you belong." He could see the muscles along Sadaharu's jaw standing out, and he didn't want to say the next thing, but Sadaharu had asked.

"And I was right," he finished, softly.

Sadaharu's mouth tightened, and he nodded, a little stiffly. "You were always better at people," he said, flat and toneless. "It was a good move, for our games."

Both statements were completely truthful, and made Renji's heart feel like lead. He had known what he was doing, then, but he hadn't understood what it would mean, and he couldn't leave the results to lie where they had fallen. He crossed the room and laid his hands on Sadaharu's straight, tense shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he told his once-best friend. "I should never have done that. Not to a friend."

Sadaharu's head came up quickly, and his mouth was uncertain now. Renji knew he had unbalanced Sadaharu's decision to focus their interactions solely through the lens of the game they both played, had intruded more personal matters back into the issue. But this was one pattern he found he needed to at least try to break.

"Can you forgive me?" he asked, quietly.

Slowly, the tension drained away under his hands, and Sadaharu's expression settled, a little wistful but at ease, and open in a way Renji hadn't seen in years.

"Yes," Sadaharu answered.

"Thank you," Renji whispered.

Sadaharu heaved a sigh, and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Renji's chest, clasping his hands loosely behind Renji's knees. Renji passed his hand through Sadaharu's hair again, tightening his other arm around Sadaharu's shoulders. The stillness this time was comfort, as their memories settled into alignment with their present.

Eventually Renji broke the silence, passing a hand over Sadaharu's shoulder and down his arm. "You really have gotten much stronger," he noted. Sadaharu snorted.

"Chasing after Tezuka, I've had to," he pointed out.

"Is he your goal, still?" Renji asked, curious. Having observed Tezuka's pattern of trying to make his team members aware of the breadth and variety of the world of tennis as a whole, he would be very surprised if Tezuka had not been trying to do something about that.

"One of them," Sadaharu answered, after a pause. Renji smiled down at the dark head leaning against him. Then Sadaharu looked up, an inquiring tilt to his brows. "Is Yukimura one of yours? I've never gotten enough data on the two of you to tell for sure."

"Not exactly," Renji answered, still running his fingers absently through black hair that was becoming more mussed than usual. "I like to match my skills against his, but it isn't from any particular drive to exceed him. It's just that he calls out my best; it's what he does for all of us, really. It's his gift." He paused, and then added, more softly, "He's the one who sent me to you."

Sadaharu tilted his head, mouth quirking in the terribly familiar preface to teasing. Renji braced himself.

"Did he?" Sadaharu asked, tone suspiciously light.

"Yes," Renji answered, warily.

"Well, I suppose I had already gathered that he didn't mind sharing," Sadaharu murmured, as if thoughtfully.

"Sadaharu..." Renji growled, throttling down the urge to blush. His friend's toothy grin didn't help matters any. "Toy with me, will you?"

"Who said I was?"

Renji looked down at Sadaharu, trying to place the expression on his face now. Sharp. Almost challenging. But there was amusement running under it, too, and that wistful edge once again.

"Aren't you?" he asked.

"Merely examining your reaction," Sadaharu defended himself.

Oh, yes, Sadaharu could split hairs with the best. Renji ran his fingers down Sadaharu's jaw, tilting his head up, and leaned in a little.

"And is this the reaction you expected?"

"It was one I considered." The quickening pulse under Renji's fingertips contradicted the steadiness of Sadaharu's voice. "Previously, I had calculated the probability as fairly low, though."

Renji thought back to the knowing look in Seiichi's eyes, to Genichirou's reassurance. If he wanted to do this they would have no problems with it. They knew he would be back.

Did Sadaharu?

Renji raised his hands to Sadaharu's glasses, and Sadaharu let him remove them. Dark eyes gazed back at him with an undeniable edge of desire, but also with an awareness and reserve that told Renji that his friend did understand.

"You really don't mind?" he asked, hesitant for once.

"Anything more would be too much, Renji," Sadaharu told him, gently.

Just because Sadaharu wasn't as good as he was at calculating interpersonal reactions, Renji reminded himself, didn't mean his analytical skills were any less. And he had often applied them to their particular relationship with downright dazzling success. So be it, then.

He set one knee on the bed, and pressed Sadaharu down with a hand on his chest. The other hand braced him as he leaned over his friend, brushing a light kiss against Sadaharu's lips before nipping softly at his throat. Sadaharu's body tensed against his.

"Renji!" he gasped, hands closing on Renji's shoulders.

"You're used to being the one who causes this response, not the one who gives it, aren't you?" Renji murmured against his ear. A shiver answered him. "Do you need that, Sadaharu?"

Long fingers spread against his collar bone, slid down his chest. He lifted his head to see Sadaharu's eyes. They were bright and laughing, the way Renji hadn't seen them for a very long time, as Sadaharu shook his head.

"Not with you," he said, simply.

Renji smiled and leaned back down, tasting Sadaharu's caught breath as they kissed again.

He went slowly, savoring the strength with which Sadaharu answered his kiss, his hands against Sadaharu's skin. Feeling Sadaharu arch under the stroke of Renji's fingers down his chest or thighs, seeing the sleek lines of his muscles tense into sharp definition when Renji pressed his lips to the hollow of Sadaharu's hip, hearing his low moan as Renji parted his legs, these wrapped around Renji tighter than any physical grip could have. Seeing the abandon in Sadaharu's eyes now, he recognized the pretense he had seen on the court for what it was: the shell of this loosed passion. The knowledge that Sadaharu trusted him, again, with so much of himself stopped Renji's own breath. The note of that trust in Sadaharu's voice, when he called Renji's name, even more than the heat and welcome of the body twined with his, drew Renji, helpless, over the edge of pleasure.

It was a long time before he could raise his head from the curve of Sadaharu's shoulder, or relax the trembling tightness of his hold.

"Renji," Sadaharu said, eventually, sounding thoughtful.

"Mm?"

"You said Yukimura isn't you goal; that you don't play like that."

Renji propped his head on one hand so he could see Sadaharu's face. "Yes."

Sadaharu tilted his head on the pillow. "Does that mean you're going to have a problem playing all out against me?"

Renji stroked his fingers down Sadaharu's cheek, silently acknowledging the similarities Sadaharu had seen. "No," he said, softly. "I won't. Seiichi sent me back to you today, and he'll send me back to you this weekend, too."

An appreciative smile curved Sadaharu's mouth. "You have a good captain."

"Yes," Renji agreed, shoving back the shudder that tried to walk up his spine at the memories of Seiichi's absence.

Sadaharu seemed to feel it anyway, and pulled Renji back down to him. "It's all right," he murmured. "He's back."

Renji sighed, and nodded. Sadaharu's arms tightened, and an edge of teasing crept into his voice.

"Can you stay a while longer before I send you back to him?"

Renji laughed, quietly. He'd forgotten how easily Sadaharu could make him laugh. He twined their fingers together and settled closer.

"Of course."

End

Fortune

Atobe encounters Yukimura at the museum, they fall to chatting, and events take a rather sharp left turn. Drama With Romance and Porn, I-4, continuity uncertain—possibly hybrid

Atobe Keigo liked to have privacy when he sketched. Which was to say, he didn't like to have anyone around who would recognize him. Squealing admirers were a distraction, and sneering detractors didn't need the ammunition.

It wasn't that Keigo sketched badly, because he was actually fairly good at it. His preliminary work, in fact, was excellent. It was the details that always seemed to go astray. The problem was that he did not sketch superbly. If he'd known, years ago, that he would be expected to affect an attitude everywhere about everything, and defend it the same way he did on the court...

Well, it might not have changed anything, but at least he'd have had some forewarning.

Thus, when a pleasant voice that he recognized immediately spoke over his shoulder, thoroughly invalidating every precaution of stowing his sketchbook in his tennis bag and coming to the museum early in the morning and sitting in the Impressionist gallery, where most people his age tended to breeze through with barely a glance, he was not terribly pleased.

Besides, he was in the middle of trying to capture the shadows of a Cassat, and that was never easy.

"Mmm," he answered, and kept working.

Fortunately, Yukimura had the grace to let him do so.

After another few minutes, Keigo decided this effort was as done as it was going to get, and held it out, critically, to compare with the painting in front of him. The likeness was unimpressive, and a faint growl of frustration escaped.

"It looks like a reasonable start."

If Yukimura's tone had been in any way encouraging, Keigo would have snapped at him. Since his unwelcome company merely sounded matter of fact, he limited himself to a curled lip. The implicit understanding, in that voice, of how deeply annoying shortcomings of any kind were, however, also led him to offer some explanation of his disdain.

"Reasonable for an exercise, I suppose. It works better when I'm drawing a three dimensional subject. This simply isn't up to standard."

Yukimura tipped his head and looked down at him, thoughtfully. "My art teachers have always said that copying a masterwork was the best way to learn the techniques the artist used to achieve a given effect," he noted.

Keigo sniffed. Still, there was honest curiosity in Yukimura's observation, and a delicacy behind his lack of actual questioning that soothed Keigo's brief temper. So he stopped and thought about it.

"It's never really worked that way, for me," he said, slowly. "When I observe something," he waved a hand at the Cassat on the wall, "it... sublimates. It comes out again when I actually sketch a real subject, but just copying has never worked out very well. Live models are much better." He shrugged, dismissing the topic, and stowed away his sketchbook. "Are you here for one of the exhibits in particular?" he asked, standing.

"I didn't have any in mind, especially," Yukimura answered, accepting the shift to polite small-talk. "Are there any you would recommend?"

"Their Renaissance galleries are quite good," Keigo considered, turning toward them absently. "There's also an excellent special exhibit of Edo period textiles this month..."

Which was how he found himself acting as impromptu tour guide to one of his strongest rivals. They were in the middle of the textiles exhibit before he even realized it. On the other hand, Yukimura's conversation was informed and insightful, and there were worse ways to spend a morning than discussing fine art in the serenity of a well-kept museum.

Yukimura laid his hand on the glass of a case. "Gaudy," he said, of the layers on layers of figured cloth inside, "but beautiful. It takes a good deal of dedication to create something this complex."

"Extremely difficult to move in, though," Keigo observed. Yukimura laughed, softly.

"Ah, but these were made for court nobles to show off to each other. When it came to actually avoiding a knife in the back... well, that's what they had retainers for."

"Indeed," Keigo smiled, crookedly. Too bad he didn't have a few of those. Not that he could imagine himself mincing around in the robes in front of them. Yukimura would look well in these creations, though, he reflected, idly. He had the grace of gesture implied by every line of Ukio-e; the trailing style would suit him, for all that the constriction would likely drive him as mad as it would Keigo.

They finally fetched up in the open courtyard of the museum cafe for lunch.

Lingering over coffee, Keigo's mind wandered back to the question of shadows. How, for instance, would he render the shadows that dappled that handsome bit of Greek statuary under the trees?

"How long does it usually take you to sketch something?"

Keigo blinked at his companion. "Ten or fifteen minutes, unless it's a very complex subject," he answered, a bit startled at the non sequitur. Yukimura smiled.

"Well, then, I'll be sure to take my time getting us some more coffee," he said, rising.

Keigo stared after him for a few moments before he decided not to question the gift, and pulled out his sketchbook. Now, the arm thus, and the curve of hip so, and shaded here... When he emerged from the concentration of transfer from solid to paper, he sat back, pleased. It lacked the texture of Cassat, but he was getting there.

"You are much better working from life," Yukimura said, over his shoulder.

Keigo grimly suppressed a start; he hadn't even realized the other was there. "Why thank you," he replied, layering irony over courtesy.

Yukimura chuckled, and set Keigo's coffee down beside him before resuming his seat. "You said live models are best, though?"

"Yes," Keigo agreed, stowing materials away again. "I know some people prefer subjects that don't have to breathe, but that bit of movement always adds something to a scene, for me."

He might have gone on, because Yukimura seemed to have a better understanding of such things than most people he spoke to, but, as he straightened, his eye, still tuned to line and shadow rather than human identity, was arrested by the figure across the table from him. That figure was, momentarily, not one of his rivals, nor a chance companion who discussed artistic philosophy well. Instead, it was a study in contrast: the dark, breaking wave of hair against the pale, stark angles of bone and lean muscle. In that suspended moment, a word drifted through Keigo's mind. Chiaroscuro. Light and shadow. And another after it. Kikkyou. Fortune. Sunshine and shadow.

He shook his head, and his perceptions settled. Wouldn't it be superb, though? Now, how on earth to ask something like that?

"Yukimura..." he trailed off, as the gleam in his companion's eye suddenly registered.

Yukimura rested his chin on one hand, and lifted his brows. He was, Keigo decided, perfectly well aware of what Keigo wanted to ask and was going to sit there with that attentive expression and watch Keigo squirm while he tried to come up with a courteous way to do it.

The hell with that.

So. His coach had taught Keigo that pride was a powerful tool; years of watching his father entertain clients had taught him a much older lesson. Flattery gets you everywhere. Above all else, experience had taught him that the observant ones liked to be amused.

"I'm sure that someone of your elegance has been asked before, often enough for it it be burdensome, whether advantage can be taken of your grace," he said, as unctuously and expansively as possible. The corners of Yukimura's mouth twitched. "Will you forgive me for imposing on you with an additional request?"

"That being?" Yukimura prompted, a strain of suppressed laughter in his voice.

"Would you be willing to sit for a few sketches?"

"Draped or undraped?" Yukimura asked, casually.

Keigo came very close to snorting a mouthful of coffee out his nose. Who would have thought, he wondered, swallowing very carefully, that Rikkai's soft-spoken captain had such a low sense of humor?

"Draped, I think, at least to start with," he managed.

"Certainly, I'd be delighted," Yukimura agreed graciously, eyes sparkling. "Did you have a location in mind?"

"I would prefer somewhere outside, where I can get the shadows from sunlight," Keigo mused, casting his mind over the possibilities.

"What about a garden?" Yukimura suggested.

"That would probably be ideal," Keigo agreed. "Do you know of one that's reasonably quiet?"

A half smile curved Yukimura's lips. "Mine," he said, softly.

Keigo raised a brow.

"It's a hobby of mine. And I would be interested to see what you make of it, as a setting," Yukimura explained.

"By all means, then."

Yukimura's garden was beautiful, Keigo thought. It took up one end of the grounds behind his family's house, a space of low leaves, and tall vines, and subtle flowers, wrapped around a few trees. The shifting light and shadow, over the course of a day, must be charming.

Yukimura fit into that space like a missing part of it, as if one of the plants had unfurled a flower made of steel and let it drop at the feet of the maple. Keigo was normally too practical for such excessive imagery, but the sweeping simplicity of line Yukimura made, leaning on one hand, a length of gray fabric draped carelessly across one shoulder and down, seduced the mind toward fantasy in an attempt to explain it. While Keigo cultivated a considerably more flamboyant image for himself, the clean serenity of this space, folded around this person, appealed mightily to his aesthetic sense. He found more detail than usual appearing on his page, and it was took longer than he had quite expected before he laid down the pad.

"Done."

"Aaaahh. Good." Yukimura shook out his arm and turned over onto his back, stretching from fingertips to toes. Cloth slipped off his shoulder, and Keigo found himself, abruptly, jarred out of appreciation of line and proportion and into appreciation of a magnificent body arched back on a black quilt, less than two meters away.

On an impulse, Keigo rose and came to sit just beside Yukimura. Smoky eyes opened and looked up at him.

"Would you like to see?" Keigo offered the pad.

Yukimura took it and smiled, a slow, pleased smile. "You are good," he commented. He laid it back down by Keigo's knee, extending both arms in another spine-curving stretch.

Keigo swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. "Yukimura..." he murmured.

"Seiichi," Yukimura told him, just as quietly. The gleam from earlier was back in his eyes. "If you're going to kiss me, you might as well call me Seiichi." Those eyes were half-lidded now. "You are going to kiss me, aren't you?"

Far be it from him to disagree, Keigo decided. He leaned down, one hand slipping into dark hair.

"Seiichi," he whispered, against the other's lips.

Those lips parted for him on a soft breath, and their tongues tangled, stroked together. Keigo shifted, slid his hands down Seiichi's sides, pushing loose cloth ahead of them. Seiichi pressed into his touch with something very like a purr, a subtle arch of his hips inviting Keigo further. The swiftness of that invitation, of this whole encounter, kicked Keigo's brain back into motion. He drew back as far as Seiichi would let him, which wasn't very.

"So, when, in the course of the day, did you decide on this?" Keigo inquired. A laugh brushed against his ear.

"Guess."

He propped himself on an elbow, tracing fingertips over Seiichi's sharp cheek bones and down the line of his jaw. Seiichi gave him a tiny smile before turning his head to catch a finger, gently, between his teeth.

"During lunch," Keigo guessed, when he thought he could trust his voice.

Seiichi hmmed and let him go. "Good aim. It was when you were looking at the statue, actually. Your eyes were so intent, so taken up with nothing but that one thing." His expression turned wry and wistful. "And I wanted you to look at me with those eyes."

Snatches of the day's conversation fell together, leaping into intuition, and Keigo was swept by a wave of disbelief, closely followed by something close to outrage. He caught Seiichi up against his body and kissed him fiercely. Seiichi made a small, startled sound before gradually relaxing in Keigo's arms and accepting the kiss.

"Keigo?" he asked, when they drew apart, a bit bemused.

"Would you care to tell me how you," Keigo laid a hand along Seiichi's cheek, "could possibly doubt the attraction of your own grace and strength?"

Seiichi was very still for one moment, and then lifted a hand to thread through Keigo's hair. "Only the perception I might expect from you, I suppose," he remarked. Then he sighed and his eyes turned distant.

"I didn't used to," he said, quietly.

Keigo had played Yukimura Seiichi in competition. He had seen the mantle of brilliance burning around him, seen the wild joy in his eyes, in the fierce curve of his mouth. Yukimura's face was not meant to show uncertainty or doubt.

"Let me convince you?" Keigo murmured in his ear.

A faint laugh escaped Seiichi, and he looked back up at Keigo. "You do think highly of your skills, don't you?" he teased.

"Of course," Keigo replied, complacently. "That is why you seduced me, isn't it?"

The laugh was fuller now, and Seiichi reached out to him. Keigo gathered him up, more gently this time, and laid a path of kisses down his throat and over his chest. Seiichi sighed, arching with Keigo's hand as it stroked the small of his back, and Keigo delighted in the slow softening of the body under his. Before long, though, Seiichi leaned up on an elbow and tugged at Keigo's shirt.

"Off," he said, firmly.

You had to appreciate efficiency like that, Keigo reflected, as he obliged. With one word Seiichi had given notice that he was willing to let Keigo have the initiative in this encounter, and, at the same time, that he had no intention of letting Keigo control the pace completely. Naked, Keigo knelt beside Seiichi and drew away the last folds of cloth covering him. Seiichi really was magnificent, he thought.

Keigo stroked his hands down one long leg, lifted it to lick slowly at the tender skin behind the knee. A faint gasp answered his touch, and he glanced down the length of Seiichi's body to see his eyes closed and his head tipped back. The heat gathering low in Keigo stomach tightened at the sight.

"Seiichi," he murmured, letting his voice drop. "Such strength," he closed his teeth, gently, on the tense muscle of Seiichi's thigh, moved on. "And such elegance," he added against the curve of Seiichi's hip, "smooth as water over stone." His hands slid over Seiichi's ribs, traced a spiral over his chest until Keigo's palm cupped his heartbeat. "And such vitality, fit to cut like the point of a diamond," he whispered against Seiichi's throat.

Seiichi was breathing deep and quick. "Keigo," he husked.

And then his hands were pushing Keigo back, back upright, and he was moving in until he straddled Keigo's folded legs, pressed tight against him. Seiichi's fingers wove into Keigo's hair, cradling his head as Seiichi kissed him again and again. Keigo smoothed his hands up and down Seiichi's back, soothing, and answered those wild, open mouthed kisses with equal passion until Seiichi calmed.

"Mmm. Makes me wonder whether I should write you poetry," Keigo said, against Seiichi's lips.

"That," Seiichi rocked against him, making them both gasp, "depends on how good the poetry is."

"You're right," Keigo mused. "After all, if it was my poetry, I expect your response would be completely overwhelming."

Seiichi leaned against him, laughing. Keigo took the opportunity to bite, lightly, on Seiichi's shoulder until he was sighing, hips moving against Keigo's again.

"Since you did plan on this," he said in Seiichi's ear, "I hope you brought something along to make it easier?" He stroked his fingers against Seiichi's entrance.

"Hmmmm. I did," Seiichi told him. "But start without it." He smiled when Keigo raised both brows at that, and reached down for one of Keigo's hands. "I like to feel as much as possible," he explained, before closing his mouth over Keigo's fingers.

Keigo had to catch his breath at the soft, wet heat of Seiichi's lips and tongue. It escaped him on a quiet aaaahh as that tongue curled around one finger and stroked up the side, and he felt Seiichi's lips tighten in a smile. When Seiichi let go, Keigo pulled him closer with one arm, and slid the other hand down, pressing one finger, just barely slick enough, into him, wanting to know Seiichi was drowning in desire just as hot as his.

Seiichi's parted lips and suddenly heavy, hazy eyes said that he was. When Keigo worked another finger past the uneven tensing of Seiichi's body, Seiichi tossed his head back and a moan spilled from his throat. The sound drove Keigo's fingers deeper and the whole line of Seiichi's body tautened against his, flushed and yearning.

"Seiichi," Keigo breathed, "let me watch you?"

Seiichi gazed down at him, and the color across his cheek bones might have deepened a shade. "If you like," he agreed.

"Can you honestly tell me of anyone who wouldn't?" Keigo asked, laughing low in his throat.

Seiichi didn't answer, but resettled himself with his ankles crossed lightly behind Keigo. Keigo made a pleased sound and shifted to cradle Seiichi's hips more comfortably in crossed legs. It appeared that Seiichi was willing for him to go slowly, which Keigo thought was just about ideal. He wanted to savor the flow of Seiichi's expressions.

He did, however, have to pause to chuckle when Seiichi flipped up the corner of quilt nearest them and dropped a bottle into his hand. There was the forethought and planning of Rikkai's captain. The oil was cool against his skin, almost shockingly so, but he couldn't manage to mind when it made the heat of Seiichi's body so intense by comparison. That heat grasped at him, as he pressed against it, into it, so tightly Keigo had to bite his lip to keep from losing every sense but touch.

Seiichi was leaning back on his hands, breath cut short, eyes closed. He was the single most arousing sight Keigo thought he had ever seen, and when Seiichi arched back further to ease Keigo's entry Keigo's hands on his thighs tightened, probably to the point of bruising. Seiichi relaxed with a gasp when Keigo finally slid all the way into him.

"You feel good," he murmured, opening his eyes.

Before Keigo had quite processed the glint in them, Seiichi leaned in, lacing his hands behind Keigo's neck. Their voices wrapped around each other as the movement drove Keigo deeper. Keigo's hands found Seiichi's back, stroked down, coaxing Seiichi to move with him, and they were rocking together, slowly.

Seiichi's soft moans, each time they came together, the abandon of his body surging against Keigo's, the pleasure that lit his eyes more and more intensely, closed on Keigo, gripping him as tightly as Seiichi's body. Keigo gave up thinking for the present, gave himself to Seiichi, letting the burning heat draw him deeper into this beauty that offered itself so unexpectedly and so willingly.

When pleasure snatched Seiichi over the edge, it was the break in his voice that pulled Keigo after him. When his eyes cleared, it was the lax contentment in Seiichi's face that stole any remaining strength. Keigo let Seiichi down onto the quilt, and subsided next to him. He leaned over and stole a lingering kiss from Seiichi's still parted lips.

"So, now do you believe me?" Keigo asked.

Seiichi touched his cheek and looked at him for a long, considering moment.

"I suppose so, yes," he said, at last.

Keigo widened his eyes in such mock dismay that Seiichi laughed. "I was hoping for something a bit more certain than that," Keigo sighed. He looked sidelong at Seiichi. "Perhaps there will be some opportunity in the future to see if I can't coax somewhat greater assurance out of you."

A small smile curved Seiichi's lips quite enchantingly. "Perhaps," he agreed.

About to seek another kiss, Keigo was assailed by a sudden and somewhat unpleasant thought.

"Is Sanada going to attempt to break valuable parts off me over this?" he asked.

He had one moment to see Seiichi's mouth tighten and his eyes flash, and then the world whirled and his back hit the ground, hard.

"My decisions and choices are my own," Seiichi said, low and dangerous, leaning over him.

"I believe you," Keigo assured him, entranced by the fire that had flared in Seiichi so abruptly. "Does Sanada?"

Seiichi's sharp eyes narrowed, and one of his hands wove into Keigo's hair, tilting his head back, demandingly, as Seiichi bent down. Keigo wondered whether he would ever bother to amend his habit of prodding dangerous things just to see how dangerous they were. Altogether, and considering the way his heart sped as Seiichi pressed him down more firmly, he rather doubted it.

"He does," Seiichi stated, lips hovering just over Keigo's.

Now that, Keigo didn't doubt in the least.

"Tired of everyone assuming you're his lover?" he asked, a bit breathless.

"To say the least," Seiichi murmured, and kissed him deeply.

Keigo was breathing heavily when Seiichi drew back. "I will ask once more," he said. "How can you possibly doubt yourself?"

One blink, and the fine edge left Seiichi's expression, replaced by a moment of startlement and then a shy smile. That smile stunned Keigo more than anything else that had happened all day, and he reached out to gather the gift he had been given closer. Seiichi lay down against his shoulder, and the peace of the garden settled around them.

"So," Seiichi said, after a while, "can I get you to return the favor and model for me?"

Keigo looked over at him, surprised. "You draw too?" he asked, slowly.

"Mm. It's one of my favorite classes," Seiichi confirmed, easily.

Which meant that Seiichi's remarks on Keigo's work had not simply been a means to an end, but serious judgements of his ability that also operated as means to an end, which went beyond multi-tasking all the way to Machiavelli...

Keigo pulled him closer, and buried his face in Seiichi's hair, laughing low and helpless. "I'm never going to have a moment's sure peace again, am I?" he asked, at last.

"Do you want that?" Seiichi asked, raising his brows.

"Not in the least," Keigo decided, and kissed his lover again.

End

Fly

Side-story to the Challenge arc. Fuji finally plays a serious match against Tezuka. Drama With Porn, I-4

"If I become a hindrance, remove me from the team." Shuusuke looked over his shoulder with a smile, only to rock back on his heels as Tezuka's hands closed hard on his shoulders and shook him once.

"No. I will not." Tezuka's voice was harder than his hands.

Shuusuke frowned. Tezuka wasn't normally this demonstrative, no matter how angry he got, nor this blindly stubborn. "Tezuka..."

"I will not take you out. You have what it takes to win, Fuji, and you will use it. You will use it, or you will tell me now that you're quitting the team."

Shuusuke's head came up.

"You will not put this responsibility off onto me, Fuji," Tezuka said, so low his voice almost disappeared into the sound of the rain. "I say you can play seriously when it's necessary. If you don't believe that, then you're the one who's going to have to say it."

"And what makes you think that it's necessary against my own team?" Shuusuke asked, sharply.

Tezuka's brows flinched together, but his voice was level when he returned, "What makes you think it isn't?"

Shuusuke shook his head, helplessly. He couldn't; he just couldn't. Not again. "Tezuka, why are you pushing this?"

Tezuka was silent for a long moment before his mouth tightened and he closed the distance between them. Shuusuke stiffened, wondering for one wild second whether Tezuka would actually strike him.

Instead, Tezuka kissed him.

Shuusuke's thoughts dissolved in a swirl of confusion. This wasn't... they had only ever kissed once before, and that had been in jest. Shuusuke had flirted, on occasion, certainly, because it was fun to prod at his friend. In his own quiet way, Tezuka had prodded back, when no one else was around. This was not a joke, not when Tezuka's mouth had opened his and Tezuka's tongue was inviting him. This was serious. For all his confusion, though, Shuusuke liked the feeling of kissing Tezuka just as much as he had sometimes thought he might, and he leaned into it.

When Tezuka drew back it took a few moments for Shuusuke to find his voice again. "What was that?" he asked, at last.

"An answer to your question," Tezuka told him, soberly.

Shuusuke tried several different ways of fitting those parts together before he gave up. "What?"

It was hard to tell, behind the speckles of water on Tezuka's glasses, but Shuusuke thought his eyes turned a little sad.

"Never mind. We should go dry off, Fuji. Come on."

Shuusuke was terrified.

All right, perhaps that was a bit strong, but it had been a very long time since he'd felt this kind of tension. Even longer since he'd had butterflies in his stomach and shaking hands over a tennis match. He spent a moment wishing he'd made time to stop off at a shrine on his way here, and pray for this to go well one more time. He didn't think he could stand losing twice.

Not the game. He'd been losing games to Tezuka for years, quite cheerfully, at least until Tezuka started getting angry over it. Not the game, but the closeness.

Not again.

He'd been resigned, when his family moved, to losing the friends he'd had. He had never, for one moment, suspected that the move, and the new people he met at his new school, and the way their challenges had drawn his tennis out further than ever, would cost him his brother. The shock had almost killed his game for good. But he'd pulled himself together, and forced himself to trust that Yuuta would find his own way and his own strength.

He'd just been a little more careful, next time.

Care was not, apparently, what Tezuka wanted from him, though.

This was the first match he had played against Tezuka since that alarming one when Tezuka had come back from Kyuushuu. Shuusuke had managed to forget, until Tezuka's first lethal return in that game had reminded him, what Tezuka had told him before; he didn't just want Shuusuke to play seriously against other teams. He wanted Shuusuke to play seriously against everyone.

Shuusuke walked onto the court, reminding himself that Tezuka was not Yuuta. Which should be an obvious and intuitive sort of thing, but...

Shuusuke sighed. He could believe his fears or he could trust Yukimura's judgment. One or the other. Because if Yukimura was right, and Shuusuke continued to refuse to play Tezuka seriously, he would lose Tezuka more surely than he had lost Yuuta for a time. If there was any justice in the world, his two fears should cancel each other out; after all, they could not, logically, both become true.

His stomach clenched in stubborn denial of logic.

Shuusuke closed his eyes and took a deep breath, working his hand around the ball he held. If he was going to play seriously, neither fear had any place here. He could not think of his opponent as his friend and captain. Another breath. And another. He opened his eyes and looked over the net to see Tezuka looking back at him... not like a friend and a captain. The brightness in Tezuka's eyes, the smooth tension in his stance—that was more the way he had seen Tezuka look at Atobe, at Sanada, at Yukimura. It helped.

Shuusuke set himself. He had to be ready for a return that would demand effort from him, immediately. He had to be ready to give that effort. He searched for the eagerness he had felt only a few times before, for the focus that only wanted to outreach his opponent. He thought it was there, ready for him, if he could just stop thinking and throw everything into the game.

"Everything," he murmured to himself, tossed the ball up and served. The return left him no time to think, and he felt his body start to relax.

It helped that he had faced Yukimura first. The speed and force of their volleys was not a total shock, and he was almost prepared to plunge into it.

Almost.

He wasn't sure anything could really prepare a person for this, for the shiver of fire down his nerves that said, yes, he could return that, he could drive this opponent back, he could win this if only he let himself burn.

And he did, one return after another, not just waiting for Tezuka's form to break, but driving him to show an opening. The game had its own momentum, played like this, its own rhythm; the pace wasn't in Shuusuke's hands, nor in Tezuka's. They drew each other on, faster and faster, until Shuusuke almost thought he shouldn't feel the surface of the court under his feet anymore. He felt like he was flying, like the fierceness of effort had lifted him up and thrown him forward.

The moment, when he saw the opening for the last shot, when the world crystallized into perfection and he couldn't possibly have stopped the stroke that smashed the ball home, felt like he was breathing sunlight, hot and beautiful and brilliant.

Tezuka looked at the ball, where it had rolled to the fence, for a long moment before he drew himself up. "Game and match, 7-6," he said, evenly, and turned back to Shuusuke. "Your match."

Shuusuke swallowed hard, coming down from the high of the game with a jar. Every anxiety he had shoved aside to play immediately assaulted him again, and he had no idea whether he succeeded in hiding his apprehension as he approached the net. He offered his hand silently, afraid to say anything at all.

A faint smile curved Tezuka's lips. "Good game," he said, clasping Shuusuke's hand firmly. Shuusuke searched his eyes; there was a light in them, bright and dancing, to match the pleasure behind that smile. Shuusuke's knees wobbled just a bit with relief. It was all right. Tezuka didn't resent losing to him. He really didn't, and it was really all right, even if his expression did bear a slightly unnerving resemblance to some of Echizen's...

Shuusuke cut off his own mental babbling with an effort, and fetched in a deep breath. He smiled at his friend. "You too."

The wobble in his voice betrayed every effort to control the one in his legs, and Shuusuke was lightheaded enough that this was terribly amusing. He didn't manage to choke back the laugh, either, and suddenly he was shivering and couldn't stop.

"Fuji." Tezuka's hands on his shoulders steadied him a bit, and Shuusuke leaned on him, trying to get control of himself.

"I'm fine," he assured his friend, aware that the undertone of giggles probably didn't make that very convincing. "I'm all right."

"I know you are." Tezuka didn't go.

Shuusuke took a few deep breaths and managed to convince his legs to support him again. "Did you expect this?" he asked, ruefully. He was almost positive Yukimura had spoken to Tezuka on the subject.

Tezuka raised a brow. "I expected a good game, if you ever chose to play me seriously."

Shuusuke's mouth quirked. There were times it was hard to tell whether Tezuka was answering his question or not. That was fine, though, it reminded him of something else. "You know, the last time we had this discussion, on this court, you kissed me," he noted.

Tezuka's eyes darkened a little. "I'm sorry," he said. "That had no place in our discussion; I certainly shouldn't have done it because I was angry. I wanted... to remind you there are things that require passion."

Shuusuke decided lightheadedness was a good thing; it let him act instead of watch and think and wait. He stepped closer, nudging the bottom of the net out of his way. "Would you like to try again?" he asked, lightly.

Both brows went up, this time. Shuusuke smiled and put a hand at the back of Tezuka's neck, urging him down. There was a certain amount of resistance, and Shuusuke expected Tezuka to be hesitant.

He wasn't.

He was slow and sure, and his arms, around Shuusuke's waist, were gentle. He kissed softly, as though he wanted to soothe the anxiety Shuusuke had refused to voice. Shuusuke's breath caught. Yes, Tezuka had seen it.

The softness was almost shocking, but a welcome shock. Shuusuke leaned into Tezuka, and a small sound found its way up his throat. After the burning flight of the game, and the stunning drop when it ended, he very much wanted something to ground him. This was not familiar. Neither of them had ever acted to see if there was anything beyond the teasing. But it was unmistakably Tezuka he was kissing, and that was familiar enough.

Though the setting could use a little adjustment.

Shuusuke drew back with an annoyed noise. "I want to get this net out of the way," he said, distinctly.

Tezuka's hands found his hips, stopping him. "Fuji, an all out game takes everyone like this, to one degree or another. You should wait until you can be sure."

Fuji burst out laughing, and not, this time, with hysteria. "Tezuka," he chuckled, "for a perceptive man you can be so dense sometimes." This received a rather cool look in response, and Shuusuke shook his head. Trust Tezuka to think first of the game and second of the fact that they had spent over a year dancing around this moment. It wasn't as though Shuusuke hadn't had time to think things over; he certainly hoped Tezuka had, too. "I am sure," he said, firmly.

Tezuka stilled. "Really?"

Shuusuke's lips curled up. "Exceedingly," he confirmed, and closed a hand in Tezuka's shirt to drag him down for another kiss.

This time, Tezuka met him a good deal faster. His arms locked around Shuusuke hard enough to rock Shuusuke up on the balls of his feet. Ah, good; he wasn't the only one who'd been considering it. This kiss was fierce and hungry, and it wasn't only Shuusuke's groan that echoed through it.

At least until the net intruded again. Shuusuke winced, and growled, "Definitely get the net out of the way."

They both pulled back, and stared at each other, silent calculation running back and forth.

"The showers?" Tezuka suggested, at last, and Shuusuke relaxed. He'd been a little afraid Tezuka would insist that acting on this would be disruptive to the team. Shuusuke didn't doubt for a single second that the good of the team would trump both friendship and lust, for his captain. The fingers drawing circles at the small of his back, however, promised otherwise.

"Wonderful idea," he agreed. And it was. It was a Sunday, no one else was around, and Tezuka, thanks to his several official positions, had the keys to just about every room in the school building. Shuusuke was hard pressed not to laugh as they strolled casually toward the changing rooms, not touching. What a delightfully irrational day he was having.

He had not entirely expected Tezuka to help him undress... if help was what it could be called. He supposed he should have, though. Tezuka never did anything half-heartedly, once he made up his mind. He leaned back against Tezuka, purring as Tezuka's palms slid over the hollows of his hipbones, pushing his waistband ahead of them, and reflected on the benefits of this tendency.

One of them was a marked decrease in Tezuka's normal reserve. When Shuusuke pressed against him, under the water, Tezuka welcomed him with no sign of hesitation or stiffness. Well, Shuusuke amended to himself, with a tiny grin, none aside from what there should be. He shifted a little, rubbing his hip against Tezuka, and savored Tezuka's quick breath and the fingers that dug into his waist. Tezuka definitely wanted him; it was nice to be sure. He leaned up to lick water off Tezuka's lips, and sighed as Tezuka's mouth closed over his.

To be sure, it was difficult to keep track of the soap while kissing someone, but they both had good reflexes. Still. Shuusuke tugged Tezuka a little out of the spray, so he wouldn't lose his lather and have to distract himself from the body tight against his to hunt for the soap again. He stroked slick hands down Tezuka's back, tracing skin and muscle, and laughed a little at the nubby roughness of a washcloth over his own shoulders. It was a pleasant almost-scratch down his spine.

Shuusuke's hands reached Tezuka's rear and moved down, feeling Tezuka's muscles flex and tense. Shuusuke slid his fingers between Tezuka's cheeks and pressed against him; Tezuka's teeth closed on Shuusuke's lower lip, and Shuusuke made a low, approving sound.

The sound became a moan as the washcloth moved down and rubbed over his own entrance. The rough cloth made him tingle, and Tezuka's fingers, within it, pressed hard, circling, until Shuusuke's body opened to that touch, just a little. Shuusuke clutched at Tezuka, pushing up against him, and Tezuka's hand settled into small nudges that still made Shuusuke's breath skip. His fingers flexed against Tezuka, and Tezuka bent his head to Shuusuke's ear.

"Next time."

Shuusuke laughed. "Promise?" he asked, voice husky with the tension low in his stomach.

"Yes," Tezuka answered, so unequivocally that Shuusuke knew this was one of the times Tezuka was answering more than one question. He promised that there would be a next time. Good.

"Then yes," Shuusuke whispered.

Tezuka's hand, in the cloth, pressed harder again and Shuusuke wondered for a moment whether Tezuka was going to drive all the way into him with that tantalizing roughness. But the cloth drew back, and Tezuka's bare fingers touched him, slick and fast, and sank into him before Shuusuke's body recovered from the change. Shuusuke groaned as his muscles caught up and closed, working tight around Tezuka's fingers. He was glad that Tezuka moved them only slightly, at first. Shuusuke wound his arms around Tezuka's shoulders and leaned against him as those fingers stroked slowly in and out of him. He wasn't sure whether their kisses distracted him from the sensation or added to it; whichever it was, it was good.

Tezuka's tongue was in his mouth when the fingers inside him curled and Shuusuke barely had the presence of mind not to bite down. Fire flared up his spine, liquid and bright. Again. Again, and Shuusuke jerked against Tezuka's body. Never mind slow. Never mind careful.

"Tezuka," he gasped, rough and breathless, "now."

He nearly howled with frustration when Tezuka's fingers stilled. "Are you sure you're ready?" Tezuka asked.

His voice was admirably solemn, but Shuusuke had known him long enough to be fairly sure he was being teased. "Tezuka," he growled, narrowing his eyes. "I'll remember this."

A slight quirk to Tezuka's mouth gave the lie to his serious tone. "I would hope so."

Shuusuke snaked a soapy hand between them, and closed it over Tezuka's erection, pulling a sharp, uncontrolled sound from him. "Now," Shuusuke demanded.

Tezuka chuckled a bit unevenly, and slid his fingers out with a last flirt that left Shuusuke's knees weak. "Turn around, then."

Shuusuke braced his hands against the tile wall, voicing a pleased murmur as Tezuka moved against him. He breathed carefully, biting his lip as he ordered his body to relax around the hardness pressing into him. Another breath. Another. There was a twinge, and Tezuka was inside him, and Shuusuke's breath left him.

"All right?" Tezuka asked, sounding a little tense.

"All right," Shuusuke assured him. It ached, a little, but the openness and the warmth of Tezuka's hands smoothing up and down his back overrode it.

The openness, especially. Shuusuke pressed back a little; he wanted that feeling deeper inside him. Tezuka took the hint. He dropped a kiss on Shuusuke's shoulder, licked the moisture from his skin on a path up the side of his neck, moved forward, slowly. Shuusuke's breath broke into pants, and he shivered, glad of Tezuka's hands on his hips, steadying him. It felt open and full and hard and, above all, hot. Tingling, sparkling heat, rippling out from that marvelous place Tezuka's fingers had found. Tezuka's hips met his, cradling them, and then he was pulling back. Pressing in. Back. In. Slow and open and hot.

It was overwhelming, and Shuusuke wanted more. He reached between his legs, stroking himself, and moaned at the added layer of pleasure, brighter, smoother. It wound around the hardness of Tezuka inside him, and Shuusuke's hand tightened, quickened. Tezuka matched his movement, and Shuusuke cried out. This was the rhythm he wanted, and his body recognized it, moved with it, quick spasms rocking him against Tezuka's thrusts, driving his hand down. Heat coiled around him, tightened, tightened again, and he felt Tezuka driving into him raggedly, thrust against his own grip harder, felt the tightness snap. The fast, tingling heat exploded through him, and he felt himself bucking against Tezuka, straining into the tide of fire until it ran out.

Little details returned slowly. The tile was cold against his hand. His legs were shaking a bit. Tezuka's arms were around him, holding tight, and Tezuka's breath was hard against his ear. Slowly, they drew apart and came together again under the water, leaning on one another. Neither of them spoke, as they finished washing, trading the soap back and forth silently. Shuusuke didn't mind; he was used to quiet from Tezuka. They dried off still in wordless, comfortable familiarity. Though, again, not total familiarity. He smiled when he emerged from toweling his hair and felt Tezuka behind him, combing fingers through it.

"I was never entirely sure how serious you were, you know," Tezuka said, tone musing. "About any of it."

Shuusuke's smile twisted wryly. "Hard for anyone else to be sure when I wasn't sure myself."

"Are you now?"

"Can you tell now?" Shuusuke asked, half teasing.

Tezuka's hands slid down to his shoulders. "Yes." It was half a statement and half a demand, and maybe a hint of a question.

"Yes," Shuusuke agreed, softly. Yes, he was serious, now. About all of it. The idea still scared him, just a little, the idea that he might not be able to back away from this thing he had found in himself when he let go and played with everything. But it really was incredible. And with Tezuka... He shivered. "Tezuka..."

Tezuka pulled him around and kissed him, a fierce, burning kiss. Shuusuke let other considerations fall by the way for the time being and answered him very seriously indeed. It truly was appropriate that unleashing himself on the court had washed away his hesitation to close the last distance with Tezuka. He rather suspected it was what Tezuka had been waiting for. They were both breathing quickly when they parted.

"Ah, now, this time I understand you," Shuusuke murmured.

Tezuka smiled.

End

Circle

The long awaited last match of Nationals. Drama, I-4

Seiichi smiled when he saw the lineup Seigaku had settled on. He wasn't surprised to have been right, but it was still satisfying to know for sure.

He ignored the chatter of the spectators around him and turned back to beckon his team. They gathered around, in a circle of concentration that shrugged off the excited speculation eddying past them. Seiichi's smile changed, undiluted pleasure added to the satisfaction. It was the last round of Nationals, and they were ready.

"We were right," he said, without preamble. "They put Oishi and Kikumaru in Doubles Two, and Fuji and Kawamura in Doubles One. Renji."

Renji nodded, and picked up the briefing. "They're targeting Jackal and Marui, it's clear. They hope to set the pace with the first match; it's a good move. Kikumaru has the best chance of returning your specialties, Marui. Be careful of that."

"We know," Marui answered for both. His eyes were sharp, but a little distant, the way they got when he was planning ahead, and Seiichi understood the concern behind Renji's hesitation. Seiichi also expected Jackal's faint smile and nod, though, reassuring them that he would be ready to ground his partner.

Niou sniffed, looking irritated.

"Oishi and Kikumaru are a responsible doubles pair," Seiichi noted, catching Niou's eye. "I'm not surprised that they accepted the needs of the team as a whole over their own desire to even the score from last time."

Niou returned his look, expressionless, for a breath, before breaking into a wicked grin. "I suppose it does leave Fuji for us," he allowed.

"Don't ignore Kawamura," Renji told him, a touch sternly. "He doesn't play with a great deal of finesse, but he has the raw strength to break past Yagyuu, and Fuji has the subtlety to save that for a decisive moment. If it weren't for the fact that we need both of them in singles, I would have recommended setting Seiichi and Genichirou against this pair."

Yagyuu's mouth tightened, and he nodded. He laid a hand on Niou's shoulder, as his partner started to say something else. "You won't really have any complaints about this match, will you Niou-kun?" he asked.

Seiichi almost laughed at that not-quite-question. To anyone who knew them, the very evenness of Yagyuu's voice was more suggestive than any insinuating purr, and Niou's eyes brightened at the implicit promise of mayhem.

"Singles will be Inui, Echizen and Tezuka," Seiichi picked up the account, stifling his amusement. "I think we all know what to look out for?"

Renji and Sanada nodded.

"And their alternate is Momoshiro. Which has a certain symmetry, if, as I suspect, he is the one chosen to be captain next year," he finished, raising a brow at Akaya.

Akaya seemed caught between blushing and snorting. "That's the only symmetrical thing. As if they would get far enough to play me next year," he said, settling on his customary arrogance toward outsiders.

"Watch you don't get too relaxed about that," Sanada said, sharply.

Akaya heaved a put-upon sigh. "Yes, Sanada-fukubuchou."

The entire team lightened a little at this byplay, easing into the balance they would need for the matches. It never ceased to astonish Seiichi that Akaya managed so consistently to finesse just the right tone without, as far as Seiichi could tell, ever being conscious of what he did. He hoped that Akaya would be able to manage the change in approach he would need, next year, when he was not the baby of the team but its captain. Now wasn't the time for that worry, though, and he glanced around, gathering up his team.

"Let's go, then."

Renji frowned a little, as he watched Jackal and Marui play. He didn't say it out loud, because it would be bad for morale, but the match was going exactly the way he had been afraid it would. It would be a close loss, but it would be a loss. Kikumaru and Oishi were playing the game too close to the net, making Marui do all the work, and it was distracting him from finding an opening in the other pair's play to exploit.

Renji was aware that Marui had good reason for his self-confidence, and that it was that confidence that kept him from calling Jackal to the front to help. Unfortunately, in this case, that confidence was about to draw Marui one fatal step too far. Renji would have preferred to say so, beforehand, to recommend that Jackal and Marui play more closely than usual, but Seiichi had thought otherwise. He had said their play would be more injured by lack of confidence and discomfort with a change in their style than it would by a close loss.

On reflection, Renji had agreed that overly conservative play had a ten percent higher chance of losing, in any case.

That didn't make it any easier to watch Marui wearing down, or Jackal starting to worry. Or to watch Marui finally call his partner forward from guarding the back, just barely too late to recover. Renji watched the last games play out silently. There were times, he thought, eyeing his friend and captain as Seiichi also watched, expressionless, when he thought Seiichi had a far colder streak than he himself.

And then Seiichi turned his head, and Renji saw the tension in the angle of his jaw and the shadows in his eyes, and changed his mind.

Seiichi stood as Marui and Jackal came off the court, and held out a hand to welcome them back. Jackal's shoulders straightened a little at that, but Marui dropped his eyes.

"Enough of that," Seiichi said, gently. "You did well."

"I got rattled and missed my judgment," Marui contradicted, frowning. "We could have taken them, if I'd just closed our formation up sooner!"

Seiichi suddenly had the waiting tension in every line of him that Renji saw whenever Seiichi had spotted a chance to hammer through his opponent's defenses and was letting it come to him.

Jackal closed a hand on Marui's wrist. "Bunta," he said, quietly, "are we a doubles pair or not?"

Marui looked up at him, eyes blank and wide. His mouth opened on what Renji calculated was almost certainly an Of course we are, and closed again. After a long moment, Marui smiled, a small, tilted smile more serious than he usually let anyone see.

"Yeah, we are," he said.

"Good," Seiichi told them, briskly. "Then you can both work to redress this weakness. Very few pairs will be good enough to put that kind of pressure on Marui, but you need to be prepared to shift the way you support each other when it does happen. Trust each other enough to break your usual style when it's holding you back."

Jackal and Marui both nodded.

"I'll expect to see you take them, next time," Seiichi said, smile sharp and uncompromising.

Renji, satisfied that Seiichi had those two well in hand, looked over at Seigaku. Kikumaru was still bouncing, despite his obvious exhaustion. He had driven himself very hard, to seal off Marui's trickiest shots. Oishi was watching him, apparently waiting out the enthusiasm before trying to get his partner to actually rest. Wise man, Renji decided. Fuji and Kawamura were getting ready.

Renji checked Yagyuu and Niou's preparations, and nodded, pleased. Yagyuu held his head just the little bit higher that meant he was ready to play without restraint. Niou was bouncing, just slightly, on the balls of his feet. Renji looked back at Seigaku and caught Sadaharu's eye.

Sadaharu adjusted his glasses with the elegant deliberation that said he conceded some point of argument to Renji. Renji smiled. So, Sadaharu knew how the next match was likely to go, too. They both folded their arms and turned toward the court as the Doubles One pairs were called forward.

"Niou, Yagyuu," Yukimura spoke as they passed. Masaharu really hoped he wasn't about to say anything that would discourage Yagyuu from the lovely edge he had going.

"I don't want to see any injuries today. That said, consider who you're playing and defend yourselves as you see fit."

The dark eyes were sharp and demanding, but they were used to that, and Masaharu's mouth quirked as he looked over at Fuji and Kawamura. Even if he'd never watched Fuji play, he'd have had some idea what Yukimura meant. Yukimura liked Fuji, as a player. Yukimura liked things that were dangerous. As logical progressions went, this one was extremely simple.

"We will use all necessary caution, Yukimura-san," Yagyuu assured their captain. Yukimura nodded, releasing them, and Masaharu couldn't help a thin smile as they met their opponents at the net. Fuji still didn't like them much, if the glint in his eye was anything to go by; that was just fine.

Sure enough, Fuji started things off in high key with that tricky underserve of his. Masaharu stood still and watched its course before turning to nod over his shoulder to Yagyuu. The range of variation on that ball was wide. Even Yagyuu would have a low chance of catching it, unless something gave him a clue where it was headed. Masaharu moved with the next serve, focused down and moved with the ball, trusting Yagyuu's sense of his partner's position to let him track the ball by Masaharu's movement. Masaharu smiled again, as the ball went singing back over the net. He did so enjoy frustrating people, and this promised to be a good day.

They worked through Fuji's favorite moves one by one. Masaharu stayed at the net to give him a couple inviting smashes while Yagyuu fell back to the baseline to catch the Drop. Fuji's eyes narrowed. Masaharu moved even closer to the net to catch Fuji's Swallow before it could land. Fuji's mouth twitched at one corner. Kawamura anchored his positions well, but Masaharu left his returns to Yagyuu, and kept his focus on Fuji. He could feel Yanagi's disapproving look, and it was with great difficulty that he restrained himself from winking at his teammate. If he also managed to take in the Great Master of all Data, it would be a nice bonus; it didn't happen very often.

Wind touched the back of Masaharu's neck, and he let himself bare his teeth at Fuji, daring him. A spark snapped in those burning blue eyes, and Masaharu set himself. Sure enough, this ball swept up, just out of his reach. He heard it land behind him. Held his breath, timing it. Fell away to the side, as Yagyuu cut in front of him and swatted the returning ball out of the air, spiking it over the net.

Kawamura barely caught it, as Fuji wavered, slow to shift his own focus from Masaharu, who had held it the entire match, and Yagyuu hammered a return between their opponents, securing the game.

Masaharu stretched, pleased. It had worked like a charm. He'd watched Fuji play several times, now, and had decided that Fuji's temper was every bit as vicious as Akaya's. It was just far better controlled. He'd mentioned to Yagyuu that, when Fuji was angry, everything else became locked out of his attention. His partner hadn't been especially pleased that Masaharu wanted to be the one to bait Fuji, but he'd finally agreed that it was the best division of forces.

"Talk about holding a grudge," Masaharu called to Fuji, lazily. "You ever let anyone even their own scores? Anybody ever tell you you have a Messiah complex?"

Fuji came very close to snarling at him, before Kawamura drew him back, speaking softly.

Now, Masaharu let his eyes cross Yanagi's, as he turned. Yanagi had a sardonic smile on his face, and nodded once, agreeing that, yes, Masaharu had had him going for a little while.

One last touch to go.

The fact was, Masaharu mused as they waited for their opportunity, Fuji was a stronger player than either he or Yagyuu. But he was new enough to his real strength that he tended to fall back on his bag of tricks, instead, his established counters. His long-standing style was a mix of subtle head games and brutal, game breaking shots.

Masaharu could identify.

And that, of course, was what made this particular trick work. If he were calmer, Fuji would know that Yagyuu was the greater threat, but he had been used, for so long, to being the most dangerous thing on the court that his first instinct was to be most wary of the one who was most like him. If Fuji figured all that out, Masaharu doubted he would ever be able to take Fuji again. In the meantime, though, Masaharu thought, seeing the coup de grace coming, they had the upper hand.

Yagyuu set it up with a Laser. And Fuji fell back, letting Kawamura catch and return it with that stunning Dash Hadoukyuu of his.

Masaharu and Yagyuu both stayed exactly where they were, letting the ball sizzle past without attempting to return it. A murmur went up from the watchers, the same shock that he saw in their opponents' faces. Masaharu caught Fuji's eye, and shrugged, smiling. He could see Fuji's jaw set from across the court.

Because he knew, and now Fuji knew he knew, that Fuji always acted to protect his teammates. He wouldn't allow Kawamura to injure himself by trying a shot like that twice. The sacrifice of a point, even if it meant the sacrifice of a game, as this one did, was worth it when it went that last step to unsettle the other pair's strategist. If Fuji had moved fast enough to turn that around on Yagyuu, Seigaku would probably have taken Doubles One, also.

But it wasn't happening today.

Masaharu was deeply tempted to throw Kikumaru's favorite saying at Fuji, as they shook hands at the end of the match, but Yagyuu had obviously gauged his mood, and murmured a warning, "Niou-kun." So Masaharu restrained himself.

"Spoil-sport," he said, very softly, to his partner as they moved back to their benches.

"What?" Yagyuu asked, with the faint smile that said he was teasing. "Am I not enough for you? You want to prod Fuji until he explodes for your edification, too?"

"No such thing," Masaharu defended himself, pleased with his partner's smooth presence beside him, relaxed and powerful in the wake of the match. "His edge is much too brittle."

Yagyuu chuckled softly, as they came to Yukimura.

"Very good," was all their captain said, but his tone was just as pleased as Masaharu felt.

Masaharu spared Yanagi an especially smug smile, as they switched places, which Yanagi, typically, declined to acknowledge.

Or perhaps he was actually preoccupied, this time. He stood next to Yukimura, tapping the edge of his racquet against his hand, looking very thoughtful. In fact, any more thoughtful and Masaharu would have to call him troubled and he thought they'd had enough of that.

"What is this, Yanagi?" he called. When Yanagi turned, Masaharu gave him his best wolfish grin, the one that made opponents start backing away. "Are you the Master, or aren't you?" he demanded.

Yanagi regarded him evenly for a long moment, and a sharp smile curved his mouth. "Yes, Niou. I am."

Masaharu settled back, satisfied, as Yanagi stepped onto the court. Generally, Yanagi was the least fun of any of his teammates to watch, but lack of confidence would only make someone like him more boring. The players exchanged few words at the net. Masaharu supposed they didn't need many for this little rematch. The handclasp looked friendly.

The smiles, on the other hand, looked rather bloodthirsty. Well, whatever worked for them.

And then Yanagi set himself to serve, and Masaharu sat upright.

"Your eyes are gleaming all of a sudden, Niou," Yagyuu observed, dryly.

"Look at him," Masaharu murmured.

With each breath, it seemed that one kind of tension washed out of Yanagi, and another took its place. He was absolutely still, but that stillness seemed to contain all possible movement. Masaharu's lips drew back off his teeth. He'd seen Yanagi do this before, against Sanada a couple times, against Masaharu himself a couple times.

"What... what is he doing?" Akaya asked, softly, frowning at Yanagi.

"He's modeling the game," Masaharu answered. "All of it. Every way he can see that it might go. And a little more."

Akaya turned the frown on him, and Masaharu laughed.

"He's keeping a space open, in his head, for the unforeseen. Like calculating with an infinite thrown in." Masaharu sighed. "I've never been able to take a single, damn point off him when he gets like that."

Akaya thought about that for a moment, and shivered. Masaharu could sympathize; it was pretty unnerving, especially when you were right on the other end of it. He looked at Inui's tight smile, and decided the Seigaku player knew what was happening.

It was a brilliant match, Masaharu had to admit. Not the kind he usually enjoyed most, but the tearing speed, and cutting precision, combined with that sense of the real game happening somewhere in the players' heads before either of them touched the ball, rushing ahead of the actual moves in starbursts of possibility, was breathtaking. It was also a close match. Yanagi managed to open it up to a two game difference only once, and Inui closed it again, quickly. Masaharu thought he might know, now, why Yukimura was so pleased that Yanagi wanted to play Inui again. Seeing a single style matched against itself, he saw how these two drove each other to find and hone the flashes of vision and analysis that had probably led them both to choose this style in the first place.

He decided, again, that Yukimura had a ruthless streak to top either Sanada's or Yanagi's, when it came to making his players stronger. And to think, he'd almost forgotten, while his captain was gone...

This match, Yanagi won, though both players looked satisfied, as they met at the net again, smiling and breathless. Yanagi said something that actually made Inui laugh, and they parted again, back to their teams. Yanagi returned Yukimura's satisfied look with a serene expression, and touched Sanada's shoulder as he stepped forward.

"Enjoy yourself, Genichirou."

Genichirou's mouth quirked as he heard Yanagi's words. Yes, he told his friend with a sidelong look, he wouldn't get distracted by assumptions this time, as he had last time. The curl of Yukimura's lips, as he looked up at his vice-captain, said he knew what Genichirou was thinking. Genichirou stifled a sigh. Not that it was surprising; the last time he'd gotten a shock that bad, it had been at Yukimura's hands.

"Pace yourself, Sanada," Yukimura told him, eyes turning serious again. "You aren't used to letting yourself go completely, the way Echizen does."

"I haven't played you this long for nothing," Genichirou murmured.

"No," Yukimura agreed. "But I'm your captain; you expect it of me."

Genichirou snorted. "Expecting anything of that one seems to be an invitation to disaster," he noted.

Yukimura laughed. "You'll be fine," he declared.

Genichirou met Echizen at the net, and the boy eyed him from under the brim of his cap with a cocky smile.

"Ready to lose again?" he asked.

Genichirou's eyes narrowed, and the only thing that kept his teeth from grinding was the tiny voice of conscience mentioning that he had set himself up for that.

"The question," he returned, not bothering to keep the growl out of his voice, "is whether you are ready to fight."

Echizen's smile faded into a hard, focused look. "Yes," he said.

"Good," Genichirou answered, and they both turned toward their respective positions.

Genichirou took a deep breath to calm himself, turning the periphery of his spirit inward, settling into concealment, the moving silence of the Forest. A part of him still protested that this was ridiculous, that he couldn't possibly need this level of tactic, but he ignored that reflex. The last game against Echizen had demonstrated that matching pure speed and strength against him was the riskiest possible way to play. Genichirou thought it likely that he did have an edge, provided he used his own capabilities sensibly and didn't squander his chances. But Echizen had an undeniable advantage in how quickly the depth of his potential could grasp the heart of an opponent's moves, on such simple ground, and it would be a foolish gamble to meet him only there.

The wisdom of that choice was illustrated when Echizen sent the Wind slicing over the net. One of Echizen's greatest weaknesses was still his lack of subtlety. Another two tries, and Genichirou could see in Echizen's eyes that he understood how Wind broke against the Mountain each time, but didn't yet know just why he was having such a hard time seeing where the ball would go when returned. Exactly because the unyielding mental state of Mountain and the deep-rooted strength of that return was something Echizen understood in his bones, he had yet to grasp the concealment that Forest laid over it.

Echizen really had no understanding of defensive techniques. Considering that they were Tezuka's greatest strength, Genichirou couldn't stifle a chuckle as he thought of how frustrating Echizen's captain must find the boy's relentless attack mentality. The alarming part was that Echizen still stayed close to him, this match. Neither of them could open a substantial lead, but Echizen was keeping up with a handicap. Genichirou had to admit, he was a worthwhile opponent.

Which was why, at three games to three, he took the brakes off. Unlike Yukimura, and, it was clear, Echizen himself, he didn't like to do this. He could ride the edge of it, let his reflexes respond directly to his perceptions without the mind's interference, and yet still think ahead. But the feeling of it, suspended, or perhaps free falling, scared him sometimes.

Not that he had ever admitted that to anyone but Yukimura and Yanagi.

This state was to his usual focus on a game as a typhoon was to a thunderstorm. He loosed himself, and the rest of the world went away. There was only him, and the one across the net, burning as hot as he was.

In the end, Genichirou thought later, perhaps it was that fire that made the difference.

The tension of containing himself, of enclosing his responses within the silence of the Forest without slowing them or pulling them short, sawed at his nerves. The hot edge of Echizen's game called to the heat of his own, tugged at him to abandon concealment and strategy, to gamble speed against speed and strength against strength. And perhaps it tugged him just far enough, because as their shots clawed at each other, neither willing to yield the two consecutive points that would mean a win, he saw Echizen's eyes blaze and sharpen.

And something reached out to him, palpable as a sudden low pressure front.

And Echizen drove himself just that touch faster than he should have been able to move and caught the ball whose direction he should not have been able to predict.

And it was over.

Genichirou wavered on his feet, pulling himself back to everyday awareness. This was the other reason he wasn't too fond of doing that; no matter how the match ended, it always came as a shock. Rather like hitting the ground after a long fall. He wasn't sure why some people professed to enjoy the sensation. He shook himself, and walked steadily to the net.

At least, this time, Echizen hadn't actually collapsed, though he didn't look far from it. Genichirou clasped his hand, briefly, and then grabbed his shoulder to keep him from falling.

"You need to turn on your brain, and learn to pace yourself, Echizen," he observed, disapproving. "If you had had a second match today you would have been absolutely worthless. I have no interest in losing a good opponent to his own stupidity."

Echizen sniffed, attempting not to lean on his support.

"I think your coach may have some words to say to you on that subject, too," Genichirou noted, looking over the boy's head at the formidable old woman now standing with her hands on her hips and a rather tight mouth.

Echizen winced, and then glared up at him. "It worked," he said, pointedly, or as pointedly as someone whose legs were shaking could.

A faint, unwilling smile pulled at the corner of Genichirou's mouth. "I expect your captain will agree with you on that," he allowed. "Go see, before you fall over, and I have to carry you. Again."

Echizen growled, and stalked back toward his team, just a bit wobbly.

Genichirou headed back to his own team, where Yukimura's sparkling eyes said that he was suppressing laughter.

"I'm glad that one is Tezuka's problem not ours," Genichirou snorted.

Yukimura lost it and laughed out loud. "So, are you satisfied?" he asked, when he could speak again.

Genichirou considered. "For now," he said, slowly, "I think so. Next time... we'll see." He needed to think over what this match had shown him about his own play. No one had ever broken the Forest before, let alone lured him out of it by appealing to his own desire for the straightforward. Perhaps... perhaps it was time to gamble, and see what he could make of that.

Yukimura smiled. "Good," he said, softly. He stood and stretched.

"Now."

Seiichi heard the murmur of his club, as he stepped out across from Tezuka, and knew his smile had changed. Yanagi had told him, once, that it was quite noticeable, that shift from simple pleasure to the exaltation of hunting. The world brightened, sharpened, deepened. Tezuka's focus slashed against his, answering, though Tezuka's own expression only changed slightly. A brightening of the eyes, a flex of the stern mouth. Seiichi wondered, in passing, how many opponents failed to notice those tiny signs until it was far too late.

Not that Tezuka hid a thing, really. Seiichi was aware of the spectators quieting, understanding the intensity that sang between the players. It didn't particularly matter to him one way or the other, now. Nothing mattered, now, but Tezuka's presence and movement, the ocean deep stillness waiting on the other side of the net.

They started fast, neither of them seeing any reason to hold back. Seiichi was unsurprised to be caught up immediately in the Zone. He played with it a little, angling his returns here and there, to see whether pure speed or strength could break it. In a way, he was pleased that the answer was no. He knew that Tezuka was, in fact, very fast and strong, but this technique had always looked like something more than the proper application of brute force. It was good to have that confirmed. Seiichi sank himself into observation of Tezuka's play, seeking the key, reaching out to encompass Tezuka's game and know it.

Seiichi's attention was especially caught by the savagery under Tezuka's precision. There was a wildness there, an implacable ruthlessness like the flood of a river in spring. And yet, it was still fine and subtle. Seiichi was enchanted. He didn't wonder, anymore, that Tezuka concealed himself behind such a flat mask; because it wasn't, really, either of those things, now, was it? It was simply the face of his wildness, as passionate and featureless as as a wind storm, something that didn't translate into social charms.

Understanding that lack of cultivation, for all Tezuka's fine edge, Seiichi thought he might know what the Zone was. Which was good, because he couldn't afford to run around too much longer, looking for it. His next swing took a little longer, lingered, and Seiichi concentrated on the sweep of it, the way he would on the sweep of his brush or pencil, drawing a line... there. He matched the lines the ball drew against the sensation of it on his racquet. Yes. This would be a delicate thing; the Zone could be overpowered, certainly, but that would leave him in no position to catch the next shot. But if Tezuka spun the ball this way, then the line Seiichi needed to gentle it into was... there. Yes. He knew it now, and smiled at the hard light in Tezuka's eyes that said Tezuka was coming to know him, as well. He wouldn't truly wish it any other way.

He had never played a game this intense and also this intricate. The score was moving in fits and starts, a sudden twist yielding a few points until the other player caught it and they were at stalemate again. A corner of Seiichi's mind thought that it probably looked like a punishing rhythm to maintain, this stop and start. But, from the inside, it never stopped. He and Tezuka were never deadlocked, they were constantly moving around each other, sliding against and past each other. That, however, was all in the connection that they wove between them, the net of senses they each cast over the other, and he doubted most of the distant spectators noticed it. His team, perhaps, and Tezuka's, and likely a handful of the rivals who had come to witness the match.

Seiichi was hard pressed not to laugh when they reached six games to six. He would have to ask Yanagi when it had last happened, that all three singles matches went to tie-break. Later. Right now there was only he and Tezuka and the game.

Except that... there was more, today.

Seiichi paused as he started to serve, tipped his head. There was more than just he and his opponent in their game. Puzzled, he glanced at the stands, and his eyes crossed over his team. Their presence had never intruded into his game before, but here they were, now. Akaya, leaning against the fence, eyes wide and fascinated; Renji standing quiet, with a hand on Akaya's shoulder; Marui, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees; Jackal standing beside him, calm and immovable; Yagyuu, smiling softly, hands light on the rail; Niou, slouched back, grin sharp as a knife, eyes laughing; Genichirou, sitting poised and still, hands open and easy, gaze burning.

They were with him; their absolute belief in him folded around him, wove into his awareness. For the first time, they gave back what it had always been his place to give to them, and Seiichi let out a tiny breath as he felt the last, thin, sharp band of fear that this year had cinched around him crumble. Looking back across the net, he met Tezuka's faint, quiet smile, and saw the slight beckoning movement that invited him to play this match to the end without the need to prove anything but the joy of the game itself.

And now Seiichi laughed. Laughed freely, and cast the ball up, feeling his team gathered at his back, and sent it singing over the net toward whatever future he and his opponent, and their people with them, could create today.

End

Confluence

Mild chaos and vast snarkiness as many paths cross at a music store. Drama With Romance, I-3

Tezuka

Kunimitsu had some misgivings about accompanying Keigo to a music store. Particularly one this large. Music was, after all, one of Keigo's enthusiasms. He could only hope Keigo had entertained the other people in the train car more than he had alarmed them, holding forth as energetically as he had on the antecedents of jazz. He hesitated to think what would happen if they found a knowledgeable clerk inside for Keigo to chat with.

Blackmail was, however, blackmail, and Keigo had threatened to select things for Kunimitsu's collection if he didn't come along to make his own choices.

"So," Keigo said, looking around with a gleam of avarice in his eye, "where shall we start?"

"Your show," Kunimitsu told him, evenly, "at least until it comes to my collection. Wherever you like."

Keigo looked to be in a mischievous mood, to judge by the look of Well, of course that he flashed Kunimitsu before leading the way through the racks. After a brief stopover in Pop they finally fetched up at the border of Jazz and Classical.

"Mm. Akiko Yano, Nunokawa Toshiki, Raphael Lima, Ishmael Reed, now there's one I didn't expect, even at this store. And why," Keigo added in a long-suffering tone, "can't anyone ever catalogue Gershwin properly?"

"Well," came a light voice behind them, "surely not everyone can be blessed with your incisively discerning taste, Atobe."

Kunimitsu turned to see Fuji, Tachibana beside him, smiling with the kind of earnest sincerity that could only be fake. He glanced aside to see how his companion was taking it. Keigo studied the rack in front of him with a thoughtful look for a moment before one side of his mouth twitched up. He wrapped arrogant entitlement around him like a robe and turned as well.

"Of course," he agreed, carelessly, stance suddenly a pose for admiring crowds.

Kunimitsu caught Tachibana's eye, full of amused sympathy, and shrugged an eyebrow. Still, it might be a good idea to redirect the two before innocent bystanders happened along and entered the line of fire.

"Similar taste in music, too?" he mused to no one in particular. Fuji's smile didn't flicker, but Keigo gave him a cool look.

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't seriously be suggesting that Fuji's tastes run to Zig Noda." He had drawn a breath to continue when Fuji's slightly frozen expression stopped him.

"Kose Kikuchi," Fuji admitted, after a moment.

They turned as one to glare daggers at Kunimitsu, who refrained from responding. Tachibana had a hand over his mouth.

"Similar instruments," Keigo declared, "do not equate to similar styles."

"Quite so," Fuji agreed, stepping toward a different rack. "And it was Roy Hargrove that I particularly hoped to find today."

"The latest album?" Keigo asked, sharply, discarding his front in face of a possible threat to his program of acquisition. "I hope there are two copies, then, I'd hate for you to be disappointed, Fuji."

Of course, Kunimitsu reflected, as Keigo strode after Fuji, his genuine behavior didn't always differ that markedly from his public act. Particularly when one of his enthusiasms was involved. Tachibana leaned against the rack beside him, looking after the other two.

"Shuusuke is still annoyed with you over that particular observation," he noted.

"I'm not surprised," Kunimitsu said. "Keigo is, a bit, too." Tachibana gave him an oblique look.

"If you knew it would irritate them, why did you say it?" he asked. Kunimitsu folded his arms.

"Better they be annoyed with me than each other. Imagine the consequences."

Tachibana rubbed his fingers over his forehead, suddenly looking a little pinched. "I'd really rather not."

Kunimitsu looked at him sharply, questioning. After a moment Tachibana shook his head.

"It's more his story than mine," he said, quietly.

"Mm." Still, Kunimitsu had to respect the point. He had entrusted his friend to Tachibana years ago; it was good to know the trust wasn't misplaced.

Atobe

"Metheny is one step away from elevator music," Keigo snorted, as he and Fuji made their way back to their respective partners. "Next you'll be telling me you like Yanni."

"A narrative format keeps music from becoming meaninglessly abstract," Fuji countered. He paused long enough to give Tezuka something Keigo read as a vindicated look. Probably because they were disagreeing. Keigo considered weighing in with a smug smile of his own, but decided it would detract from the point.

"Well. Isn't this quite the congregation?" asked a new voice. Keigo glanced around to see Mizuki Hajime and Fuji's brother, Yuuta, come around the corner from the next aisle. Something in the quality of the silence beside him drew his gaze back to Fuji, and he almost took a step away.

The gleam of more or less good natured mockery in Fuji's eyes was swallowed into a flat, icy blue, slick as the side of a glacier. Any hint of a smile fell away like a dropped piece of paper. It wasn't an expression Keigo had ever seen on Fuji before, not even when he was playing for real. A quick look at Kunimitsu showed enough disturbance in the line of his mouth that Keigo didn't think he was familiar with this either. Tachibana had closed the distance between he and Fuji, and laid an unobtrusive hand on his back.

"Mizuki," Fuji stated, soft and flat.

Yuuta looked edgy, but Mizuki merely clasped his hands behind his back and smiled.

"Shuusuke. You're looking well."

Keigo was, a bit unwillingly, impressed with Mizuki's nerve. Or, possibly, his mental instability. A corner of Fuji's mouth twitched, as though he were suppressing a snarl. Keigo was wildly curious about exactly what Mizuki had really just said; subtext almost dripped from that simple greeting.

Tachibana's presence abruptly became more noticeable. Keigo, familiar with the ways a person could draw the eye, noted with interest that Tachibana did it without even shifting his body language much. He didn't step forward, or loom. He simply straightened, and his presence washed out from him, momentarily overwhelming even the intensity of Fuji's focus, pulling Mizuki's gaze away from his target. Tachibana gave him a hard look. After a moment, Mizuki inclined his head and opened one hand, palm up.

If Keigo had to guess, he would judge that Tachibana knew what was unspoken between Fuji and Mizuki, and had warned Mizuki to back off from the subject. And Mizuki, for whatever reason, had acknowledged Tachibana's right to interfere and accepted the warning.

And for some reason that had caused Yuuta to relax. Fuji too, after a stiff moment.

Keigo stifled a sigh, resigning himself to the hell of ungratified curiosity, because, even if Kunimitsu knew what was going on, Keigo knew he would never get the answer out of him.

"You two have fun, then," Yuuta said, running a hand through his hair, and sounding a bit rueful. "I'll just be over there." He slipped back into the other aisle, leaving both his brother and his lover looking after him, the one bemused and the other affectionate. Though it took Keigo a second look to place the expression on Mizuki's face, before it reverted to a more accustomed smirk as Mizuki turned back to Fuji.

"He doesn't like listening, when it gets to be about him," Mizuki told the elder Fuji. That, at least, made sense to Keigo. Everyone who had any contact with either of them knew that Yuuta was a bone of contention between Fuji and Mizuki.

That cold tension was singing through Fuji again, though not quite as intensely as before.

"So many assumptions, Shuusuke," Mizuki murmured. "Where would be the challenge in that?" Then he practically grinned. "So, what are you here for today?"

Keigo studied Mizuki. Unlike Fuji, Mizuki looked exactly like someone in the middle of a good game: breathing light and fast, eyes wide and brilliant. He'd long suspected that Mizuki liked to do things indirectly, and that his airs and affectations were as much a front as Keigo's own. He'd suspected that it was done for Mizuki's own amusement, and that he snickered up his sleeve at everyone who took the flouncing and strutting seriously. This was the first time he'd really thought that tennis itself might only be a medium for Mizuki, not a goal.

Fuji waved a hand at the racks around them.

"We came for music," he answered, in the tone of someone dealing with an idiot. Mizuki merely smiled.

"Ah. Not the company of friends?" He paused, and Keigo sniffed at the melodrama. "But I suppose not, given the conversation as we arrived. Really, Shuusuke, anyone would think you were jealous." His glance flicked toward Kunimitsu.

Keigo was about to snort, because hadn't he and Fuji been over that already? But the shift in Fuji's weight, the tense and twist of his hands, stopped it. Keigo's eyes widened. There must be some truth in what Mizuki was saying, or Fuji wouldn't be reacting like this. From the way Kunimitsu stiffened beside him, he had caught some of it, too.

And that was enough for Keigo to interfere.

"Jealous?" he drawled. "You should check your facts, Mizuki. Envious, now, that's a bit more likely." It wasn't easy to lounge while standing upright, but that's what talent was for. Tachibana was looking at him with a mix of disbelief and amusement. Kunimitsu was completely poker faced, except for the angle of his brows, which communicated a certain resigned affection to Keigo. Fuji slanted a wry glance at him, appreciating the double edge of Keigo's intervention.

Mizuki looked at him with irritation before narrowing his eyes. When he spoke, it was to Fuji, every nuance of tone and stance saying that Keigo's interruption was insignificant.

"You have my sympathy, of course. It can't be easy to lose such a subtle bond to someone so greedy that he can't stand not to be the center of attention."

Now it was Keigo's turn to suppress a snarl, because he'd be damned before he gave Mizuki the satisfaction. Of course, the delivery annoyed him infinitely more than the accusation, which he'd heard with tiresome frequency. A part of him, however, had to appreciate the precision of the attack. It played perfectly off the manner of intervention he had chosen, and also seemed to touch on a genuine sore point with Fuji. He filed that last observation away for future consideration.

Yes, this was definitely Mizuki's true game.

Keigo's own response rallied though, just as for any other attack. That moment after he had spoken, a flash of surprise had shown in Mizuki's eyes, as if he'd forgotten Keigo's presence. Combined with his choice of counter, Keigo rather thought it indicated something about Mizuki. It was, after all, easiest to recognize a weakness one shared. He wondered whether Fuji had caught it.

Ah, yes, there was the smile. The dangerous one.

"Perhaps," Fuji answered in his most dismissive tone, and turned most of the way away from Mizuki to smile far more softly up at Tachibana. Keigo detected subtext again, since Tachibana didn't really seem the sort to typically touch his lover's cheek in public the way he was right now.

Mizuki certainly seemed to get it, as his expression turned extremely disgruntled for a moment. Keigo rather thought all four of them were waiting for a classic Mizuki temper tantrum. He, at least, was quite surprised when Mizuki merely nodded, eyes sharp, conceding the game if not the match.

"Another day, then, Shuusuke," he murmured, and turned to follow the path Yuuta had taken.

Tachibana looked after him, down at the still glinting eyes of his lover, and finally over at Kunimitsu.

"Tezuka," he said, wearily, "is it one of your requirements for team members, to be pathologically incapable of refusing a challenge?"

Keigo chuckled. "You're just noticing?"

Yuuta

Yuuta slipped around the end of the cd racks, and nearly ran over Tachibana Ann, who was peering through a gap at the confrontation on the other side.

"Oh, not you, too," he groaned. She gave him a stern eye.

"Your boyfriend is crazy," she declared. "What did he do to make Fuji-niisan look like that?"

"None of your business," Yuuta told her. "And Aniki is my brother, in case you've forgotten. You already have one, what do you want with another?"

"Unlike some people, I happen to like big brothers," she shot back. Yuuta sighed, and leaned against the rack opposite.

"Knock it off, Ann, you're not that stupid."

She had the grace to look slightly abashed, as she tucked her hair back. "Well, no," she admitted, in a less aggressive tone, "but there are really times, Yuuta." Yuuta glanced aside. Aniki knew that Yuuta loved him. That was all that mattered. Right?

"Aniki and Mizuki had... a fight. Kind of," he offered. "I think it's over now, though. Mostly." Feeling a little nervous at the number of qualifiers his unspoken pact of honesty with Ann forced him to add, he joined her in peering through the racks.

"Ooo, that was a good one," Ann said, admiringly, of Aniki's finishing move. Yuuta grinned down at her.

"You can be really vicious, you know that?"

"Good thing, too, otherwise how would I ever deal with you?"

They both sighed, and stepped back, as Mizuki let the challenge go.

"He was actually kind of restrained, today," Ann noted, thoughtfully. "I don't suppose he's been ill?"

"Like I said, things are better. Mostly." Yuuta shrugged, concealing his own surprise and relief. Ann looked over as Mizuki rounded the corner to their aisle.

"Ann-chan, how pleasant to see you here," Mizuki greeted her. Not in a terribly good mood, but not fuming either, Yuuta gauged, and relaxed a little more. Ann gave Mizuki a long look before turning to Yuuta.

"He's still a snake," she said, firmly. "But I suppose, sometimes, he's not completely horrible." And, with that, she took herself off toward the Rock section.

"Charming girl," Mizuki murmured. "Did you find everything you wanted?" Yuuta couldn't help smiling at that question, even though it made his boyfriend quirk a brow at him.

"Yes."

"Good," Mizuki said, softly, reaching for Yuuta's hand. Yuuta's breath caught as he raised it and placed a kiss in the palm, just the tip of his tongue flicking against Yuuta's skin.

"Mizuki!" Yuuta gasped, biting his lip and glancing quickly around to make sure no one was near. Mizuki gave him a dark look, from under his lashes, his promise to find out, later, exactly what Yuuta had been smiling over.

"Shall we go, then?"

Shishido

"So, who is this guy you're so excited to find?" Ryou asked, following in his partner's wake as Choutarou paced down the aisle, casting his eye over the racks.

"Chris Norman. He's a classical flautist, primarily, but he does a lot of other really neat ethnic music, and he favors a wooden flute. It has a much softer tone than metal. I've never found a store that carries any of his albums, before. The first time I heard him was actually in concert." Choutarou glanced back at him, with a small, bright smile in his eyes. "You'd like him."

Ryou was wondering just how to take that, when Choutarou stopped short. Only Ryou's quick reflexes kept him from barrelling into his partner.

"Atobe-buchou," Choutarou said, voice startled. Ryou stepped around him to see.

And then he almost stepped back behind Choutarou, because it wasn't just Atobe. It was also Tezuka, and Tachibana, and Fuji. The captain's club, plus head case. Every club seemed to have one of the latter, and he supposed Fuji was better than Ibu, but Ryou would have preferred Jirou. At least he was reasonably harmless.

"Ohtori. Shishido," Atobe replied. Ryou swore his eyes gleamed with amusement at Ryou's discomfort, for an instant, but you could never pin Atobe down about stuff like that. A moment later he was turning back to Choutarou. "Are you here for anything in particular today?" he asked. Choutarou smiled his faint, public smile.

"The store called just this morning to say that they had Chris Norman's first album in."

"Chris Norman." Atobe's eyes went distant for a moment. "He played with the Baltimore Consort, yes?"

The conversation that followed had very little meaning to Ryou; he liked listening to music, but the details never really stuck with him. So he split his attention between pride in his partner and irritation with Atobe. Both pleasant constants in his life. He could always be proud of Choutarou, of the poise that let him keep his countenance in just about any situation, including chatting with his captain under Tezuka's gimlet eye and Fuji's alarming smile, and of a determination to match Ryou's own, even when it was his own partner he was arguing with. Ryou still didn't think fraternization between teams could possibly be healthy, but Choutarou had gotten him to admit that it didn't seem to have affected Atobe and Tezuka's games. Just personally, Ryou thought that was the weirdest thing of all.

He hauled back his wandering thoughts as Atobe... dismissed Choutarou with a gracious nod. There were really times when Ryou wished they were still eight years old and he could get away with punching the smug bastard. Still, in his own annoying way he seemed fond of Choutarou, and that got him a lot of latitude in Ryou's book. He sauntered after his partner, exchanging companionable sneers with Atobe on the way past.

"Such a unique leadership style you have," he heard Fuji remark, genially, behind him. "Do you tell your team members to imagine your face on the tennis ball, or do you trust that it will happen naturally?"

Ryou barely managed not to choke, because he had gotten through more than one practice with exactly that tactic. He'd been right all along. Fuji Shuusuke was creepy.

"Whatever works," Atobe returned in a careless tone. Ryou could hear the smirk in it, and shot a glare over his shoulder.

"Remind me again why I'm friends with a jerk like you," he growled, running an impatient hand through his hair.

"Because I'm the only one who would put up with your dramatics," Atobe answered, promptly and loftily.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Ryou gave him a look rich with disbelief. "Nice talking to you, Mr. Pot, I'll just be getting back to my teacups, why don't I." He didn't bother waiting for an answer before turning his back and stalking off after Choutarou. Maybe he'd send Tezuka a sympathy card when Valentine's rolled around. When he caught up to his partner, Choutarou offered him one of the sample-this-disc headphone sets.

"This is it."

Ryou had to admit, it was pretty music. It almost sounded like a traditional flute, but not quite; and a lot bouncier.

"Now," Choutarou added, "imagine the man playing that, standing in front of a formal orchestra, wearing jeans and a bright red knit shirt and suspenders."

Ryou burst out laughing. "You're kidding!" When Choutarou shook his head, smile flashing, Ryou had to agree, "All right, yeah, I probably would like him."

Choutarou's pleased look nearly made him glow; it was one of the expressions Ryou was especially fond of. He was just considering whether it would injure his partner's reserve if Ryou ran his fingers through the unruly drift of silver hair, when familiar voices interrupted.

"I mean, really, you need a life, Ryouma."

"I have a life."

"Besides tennis. Come on, forget the old man and act like a normal person for just one afternoon!"

"And another after that," Echizen pointed out, inexorably, "and another after that, and..."

"Now you're getting the idea."

Momoshiro, Ryou identified the other speaker. No one else had quite the same congenially full-of-himself tone.

"Momoshiro, Echizen-kun," Choutarou greeted them, turning.

"Hey," Ryou seconded.

"Ohtori, Shishido-san, how's it going?" Momoshiro hailed them, easily. Ryou considered him one of the easier players to get along with off the court. The same couldn't be said for his companion, who just nodded—unusually cordial for Echizen. "Guess this place is attracting tennis players today, hm?" Momoshiro added, grinning.

"You have no idea," Ryou muttered.

"It's Tezuka-buchou and the Monkey King," Echizen observed, peering further down the aisle. "And Tachibana and Fuji-senpai, too."

Momoshiro winced a little. Ryou sympathized completely. Neither team had been prepared for finding out that their captains had hooked up. Even though Choutarou had said they should probably have expected it. Echizen's expression sharpened into an evil, little smile.

"We should say hello."

"Hey, Ryouma, hang on, we... you shouldn't... Ryouma!" Momoshiro's snatch at Echizen's collar missed, as the younger player made a bee-line for the greatest source of trouble available.

Typical.

"It can be troublesome to have a partner who's so impulsive, can't it?" Choutarou asked.

"You can say that again," Momoshiro muttered as he made after Echizen.

It took another minute to catch up with Ryou.

"Choutarou..." he said, drawing it out. His partner made wide eyes at him.

"Yes, Shishido-san?"

Ok, now he was sure, because Choutarou never called him that, anymore, unless he was teasing. He stepped into his partner, backing him against the rack.

"If we weren't in public," he said, softly, watching Choutarou's eyes darken.

"Then, what?" Choutarou murmured. Ryou laughed.

"Grab your stuff, and let's get out of here. And I'll show you."

If the cashier thought it was odd that the customers were grinning silently at each other, he didn't mention it.

Momoshiro

Momo was an easygoing sort of guy. Which was a good thing, considering. It really wasn't often, anymore, that he had the urge to whap Ryouma over the head with a racquet. It was much more effective to tickle him until he couldn't breathe; Ryouma was far too aware of his dignity for his own good.

But whenever Ryouma saw an opportunity to mouth off to their captain he took it, and then it was time for caring friends to restrain him. Possibly with a straitjacket, because he really had to be crazy to tease Tezuka-san like that. The fact that Momo had never once, in three and a half years, succeeded was beside the point. So was the incomprehensible fact that their captain generally let Ryouma get away with it, sort of. If there was any topic that would finally drive Tezuka-san over the edge, it had to be his... relationship with Atobe.

Momo caught up just as Ryouma offered their captain his best insolent smirk.

"Buchou. Out on a date?"

Tezuka-san looked down his nose at his youngest team member with no expression Momo could detect, but Ryouma's eyes gleamed like he'd gotten a rise out of him. Atobe, after one look, leaned against the racks, silently declaring that it was not his team and not his problem. Momo didn't know exactly how he managed to get that across just by leaning back and crossing his arms. That talent was one of the more irritating things about Atobe.

Maybe Ryouma thought so, too, because he turned to Atobe next. "Guess there's no hope for a game today, then. Too bad. Beating you would have been a good way to wrap up the weekend."

"I'm told it's good for people to have dreams," Atobe returned, condescending as ever. "Nice to see you have one that will last you so very long, Echizen."

Momo's cautious look at Tezuka-san showed that he didn't seem upset that Ryouma was ragging on his boyfriend. That was a relief. A sudden thought came to Momo, that Ryouma was challenging Atobe in front of their captain by way of asking permission. Ryouma never directly disobeyed the captain, but he was a master of avoiding being given orders that he didn't want to follow. Giving the captain a chance to object was as good as asking if it was all right.

Which meant, Momo realized, that Ryouma would take Tezuka-san's silence for assent, and keep needling Atobe until he got what he wanted. Ryouma was opening his mouth for the next shot when bright laughter cut across him.

"Ryouma-kun, you're almost as good at ticking people off as you are at playing tennis. And that's saying something."

Tachibana Ann appeared from around the corner, grinning when Ryouma raised a brow at her.

"Ann-chan," Momo exclaimed, relieved. "Are you here with your brother?" She grinned wider.

"Yes, but I thought he'd probably appreciate it if I got lost for a while." She flicked her eyes at her brother and Fuji-senpai, standing together. "I've been exploring on my own; this place has a ton of great stuff!" She waved a handful of plastic cases, and Momo leaned over her shoulder to see.

"Oh, hey, I didn't know Do As Infinity had another one out, what's on it?"

"Momo-senpai." Ryouma's voice was low, but it got Momo's attention. Ryouma didn't sound that sharp very often. When he turned, though, Ryouma just looked at him, sidelong. He seemed irritated. It took Momo a couple beats to figure out why, but when he did he smiled. Ryouma looked away again, not meeting anyone's eyes, now.

Momo came away from Ann, to stand behind Ryouma and lay a casual hand on his shoulder. "Ready to go bargain hunting?" he asked.

"Sure," Ryouma muttered, still not looking back at him.

Ann-chan had a knowing smile on as she turned to her brother. "Did you guys find everything you wanted, Onii-chan?"

Occupied with her questions, the other players returned Momo's goodbyes distractedly.

It wasn't, Momo thought, as they moved on, that Ryouma was possessive, exactly. And he wasn't anyone's definition of clingy. There were just people he didn't like Momo to pay too much attention to, and Tachibana Ann was one of them. The word boyfriend hadn't even been breathed between them, yet, except jokingly, but they didn't often need things spoken out loud.

Momo ruffled Ryouma's hair, and Ryouma swatted at his hand.

"Cut it out," he said, sounding sulky. But he turned his head enough to glance at Momo over his shoulder, eyes momentarily softer and mouth curving up at one corner. Momo smiled back, and let his hand rest, briefly, at the back of Ryouma's neck before falling.

There were easier things than words.

Tezuka

Kunimitsu slung his bag of CDs into a corner, in a rare moment of messiness, and almost collapsed back on his bed. He pressed a hand over his eyes, pushing his glasses up, hoping to alleviate the threatening headache. He'd really never thought a simple trip to the music store would be so harrowing. If he had, he'd have risked whatever musical white elephants Keigo might have chosen for him.

The bed dipped, and he felt a hand pluck his glasses off entirely. "Oh, come along, Kunimitsu, admit it. It was funny," Keigo chuckled.

Kunimitsu lifted his hand, the better to glare at his lover. Though he couldn't quite maintain it when Keigo's cool fingertips pressed across his forehead, driving the tense almost-pain away.

"You're worried about Fuji," Keigo observed. Kunimitsu didn't bother denying it.

"I never expected Mizuki, of all people, to..." he trailed off.

"Lock his interest?" Keigo suggested. "It could be worse."

Kunimitsu made an inquiring noise, closing his eyes as Keigo's thumbs stroked the arch of his brow bone.

"Mizuki himself doesn't seem completely unbalanced about the whole thing," Keigo told him, thoughtfully. "And I imagine Tachibana will keep Fuji from going too far."

Kunimitsu was worn out enough to accept Keigo's judgment over his own fears, though he made a mental note to see if he could get the whole story out of Fuji later. On the other hand, he revised his thought as Keigo's lips brushed across his, perhaps he wasn't as worn out as all that. And he really felt he deserved some consolation after a day like this.

He reached up to pull Keigo down against him.

End

Branch: *looks around, slightly hunted* Ok, so, we'll flip a coin to see which couple gets their smut first, right?

All Muses: *ignore her*

Momo: It'll be us, first, we're cuter.

Shishido: You wish! You give her way too much trouble, with all that non-verbal crap. It'll be us.

Atobe: Speaking of trouble, you have far too much back-story requirement, Shishido. Besides, she loves me best. *preens*

Ryouma: Exactly. You two old guys need a chance to get your breath back.

Branch: *sidles behind Fuji* I'm just glad you don't like me writing smut for you and Tachibana.

Fuji: *slow smile* Actually, I've been considering that.

Branch: *pales, backs away as all muses turn to look at her* Help! Muse Police! I'm being mugged!

Sunao

Ryouma and Tezuka have a mild clash of wills, over which Ryouma gets rather frustrated. Drama, I-3

Note: This particular story really came out of my personal opinion that the whole affair with Kevin Smith in the anime was rather inconsistent with the way Ryouma and Tezuka normally behave.

Most of the time, Ryouma agreed with Kikumaru-senpai. They could do without the scouts and sponsors crawling all over team practice time. It wasn't like most of them had any real business with junior high students, no matter how talented. Only an idiot would consider going pro straight out of junior high.

After all, all the really fun competition was still going to be in high school.

And the high school scouts were wasting their time, as far as Ryouma could see. None of his senpai looked likely to give so much as a first thought to choosing high schools until Nationals were over. This one, though, had at least brought along an interesting hook. An example.

The example also seemed to think this would be interesting, going by the way he—Takeuchi, wasn't it?—was eyeing the Regulars. After considering the third-years, though, his gaze settled on Ryouma.

"That's right," he said, as if thoughtfully, "this is the team with the first-year prodigy, isn't it?"

Ryouma could hear the mocking undertone perfectly well, and stifled a grin. It wasn't quite time to grin at this one, yet. Not until Ryouma had him on the court. He swung his racquet up to his shoulder, and gave the interloper a Yeah, so? look from under his cap.

"Well, that would make a good place to start, wouldn't it?" Takeuchi asked, lightly.

"Takeuchi-kun," the scout started.

"An example, Ishida-san. Isn't that why I'm here?" Takeuchi cut in, without looking away from Ryouma.

Yep, definitely a first class jerk. Just the kind Ryouma liked taking down, when he stumbled across one. He stepped forward.

"No."

Ryouma checked, and looked around, sharply. His captain had his arms folded, and a particularly unyielding expression on his face. The visitors both sputtered a bit under that forbidding stare. Ryouma felt like sputtering himself. This was a challenge!

Tezuka-buchou's eyes turned to meet his, and Ryouma stiffened. There was a clear command in that look, and no compromise whatsoever. But he couldn't really want Ryouma to back down, could he? Not from this, this—Ryouma could only fall back on his childhood vocabulary—this poser! Could he?

"Buchou..." Ryouma trailed off, leaving the appeal hanging.

Still no hint of persuadability. His captain really was ordering him to back down. After a long, disbelieving moment Ryouma took a deep breath, turned on his heel and stalked away.

"Echizen..." Oishi-senpai started to call out, and then stopped. Perhaps Tezuka-buchou had told him to let Ryouma go. Just as well. Ryouma wouldn't argue in front of visitors, but he wasn't much in the mood to be polite to his senpai, right now, either.

He found an out of the way corner and took his frustration out on the wall.

It calmed him down some, but he was still in a bad mood when practice ended. This was not helped when he heard his captain's voice behind him.

"Echizen."

"What is it?" Ryouma muttered, paying unnecessary attention to packing his racquets.

"I don't want you playing Takeuchi outside of school, either, if he challenges you again."

That got Ryouma to look around, wide-eyed. Tezuka-buchou looked serious. This was just a day for firsts, because his captain had never said anything about who Ryouma played in his off time, any more than he had ever expected Ryouma to stand down from a match. Ryouma wrenched his gaze back to his bag, and bit his lip, but it was more than his self control could take.

"Buchou," he said, and stopped to take a breath and try to moderate his tone. His captain waited. "Why?" he asked, at last, only a little strained. "Why won't you let me play him? Do you really think I can't do it?!" Despite his attempts, he couldn't keep the edge of indignant incredulity out of his voice.

"I'm sure you can." The even response pulled Ryouma's eyes back to his captain. "But that kind of game isn't good for you to get into the habit of."

Ryouma blinked at him. That kind of game? What was Tezuka-buchou talking about? Apparently the question got through without needing to be verbalized, because his captain sighed faintly.

"The more widely your skill becomes known the less that kind of match will be an object lesson and the more it will be simple bullying," Tezuka-buchou pointed out. "Does your game need that?"

Ryouma almost winced under the cool question. He wasn't... was he? But he couldn't pretend he didn't know what his captain was talking about, because he did. "No, Buchou," he muttered, looking aside. He shouldered his bag with a sigh of his own and turned for the door.

"Echizen." Tezuka-buchou's voice stopped him again, and Ryouma looked up, questioning. A question looked back at him, unvoiced because his captain would never ask it out loud, but still present. Would Ryouma do as Tezuka-buchou said? Ryouma's mouth tightened with irritation, and maybe even a little hurt. Of course he would. He wasn't about to be gracious about doing something he didn't want to, or not doing something he did, but he would do it.

Ryouma certainly hoped his captain appreciated this.

Tezuka-buchou nodded, accepting that silent assurance, and let him go.

Ryouma had suggested to Momo that they stop by the park courts, hoping that a good game or two would put him in a better mood. Momo had been obliging and played an all out match with him, much to the gratification of the spectators, and Ryouma was finally shaking out enough of his tension to grin back properly at his friend, when he heard a newly familiar voice from the sidelines.

Takeuchi. Ryouma almost groaned out loud. Was some kami ticked off at him, or something?

"What a wonderful coincidence, Echizen, wasn't it?" Takeuchi sauntered toward them, and Ryouma spared a spiteful moment to note that Atobe did it better. "Now that your babysitters are gone, how about that match?"

"No," Ryouma snapped.

"Why not? Surely the prodigy isn't scared?" Takeuchi wasn't sneering, and somehow that made it even more offensive.

"I don't know what discipline is like for your team, Takeuchi-san," Momo said, hard and quiet, "but our captain forbid any matches with you. That's all there is to it."

"Ah, so there is still a babysitter," Takeuchi said, eyeing Momo. "Well, perhaps another time, then."

Ryouma breathed deeply, fighting down the urge to send a ball flying for some sensitive body part on the jerk. "Was there anyone else around who wanted to play?" he asked, tightly.

"Yeah, but how about one more round with me, just to calm you down enough that you don't kill them?" Momo suggested with a wry smile.

Ryouma snorted. "Yeah. Thanks, Momo-senpai."

The next day, at practice, Ryouma came to where his captain was leaning against the fence and leaned, silently, beside him for a few moments.

"Are you sure?" he asked, at last. "It would be a public service, honest."

His captain looked down at him, sternly.

"Just asking," Ryouma sighed, and slouched off again. He paused to look back. "Positive?" he pressed, widening his eyes hopefully. He grinned, feeling slightly more pleased over Tezuka-buchou's rare expression of exasperation, and stepped off more quickly, before his insolence gained him any laps.

Even getting a rise out of his captain didn't really help his mood for long, though, and when Momo asked whether he wanted to hit a different street court than the one up by the park, he growled. Momo grinned.

"Now, how did I know you would feel that way?" he teased. Ryouma glared at his friend, but had to admit that he would probably be grateful for Momo's presence. He had no intention of crossing an actual order, but having his friend around might just keep him from trying to throttle Takeuchi, either.

He had second thoughts about whether this was a good thing when Takeuchi proved to be there ahead of them, tonight.

"And still with the babysitter, Echizen?" he asked with a raised brow. "Or is it a bodyguard? I'm really starting to wonder."

That got him a glare from both of them.

"Maybe he really thinks you can't handle me," Takeuchi prodded.

"Hardly," a deep voice said, repressively, from behind him.

Ryouma's eyes widened, as Tezuka-buchou pushed away from the lamp post he'd been leaning quietly against. Takeuchi looked rather startled, too, but recovered quickly enough.

"So, has the captain come to deal with me, instead?" he smiled.

Tezuka-buchou paused, just past him, and spoke without turning. "Neither I nor any of my team will play the likes of you," he stated, crisply. "Echizen."

"Buchou?" Ryouma's good mood was entirely restored.

His captain looked down to meet his gaze. "Come play a match with me."

Small irritants were completely swallowed in the hot glitter of excitement. "Whatever you say, Buchou," Ryouma agreed, grinning.

A murmur swept through the watchers, two parts Tezuka-buchou's name and one part shock. Two players hastily declared their match finished and cleared a court for them. Ryouma took the intensely annoyed look on Takeuchi's face, tucked it away to treasure later, and forgot about him. Even if he hadn't been able to focus tightly on his own, Tezuka-buchou's presence pushed everything else from his awareness when he played his captain.

It was like drowning, if your goal was to live underwater. Exhilarating, infuriating, overwhelming. Still overwhelming. Ryouma could do it, now, could hit shots that his captain couldn't return. Just not enough. He couldn't break past that well of stillness yet.

He was getting closer, though, and if this game, too, left him on his knees, he could return his captain's gaze straight on and read approval there.

As Ryouma sprawled on a bench to catch his breath, he noticed Takeuchi fading back through the buzzing onlookers with a rather shell shocked expression. Ryouma made no effort to suppress his wicked smirk. Momo noticed, too.

"Doubt we'll have any more problems with him," he murmured, sounding deeply satisfied.

"Mm." That reminded Ryouma, actually. He slipped around the corner of the courts, to where Tezuka-buchou was just slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Buchou?" he said, softly.

His captain glanced at him with a raised brow. Ryouma glanced down.

"Thank you," he mumbled.

Tezuka-buchou was still for a moment, watching him. And then he nodded, and moved off, a hand resting on Ryouma's shoulder in passing. Ryouma watched him go before shoving his hands in his pockets and turning back to find Momo.

End

Shinpai

Tezuka observes one of Ryouma's matches. Drama, I-2

Kunimitsu stood in the shade above a tennis court, and watched Echizen Ryouma play Rikkai's captain, Kirihara. He was not the only spectator standing discreetly back. Sanada was here also, not too far off, come, as he had, to watch last year's teammate play.

The two players being who they were, the match proceeded to the accompaniment of taunts and verbal jabs, smug grins and determined glares according to who had scored the last point. Kunimitsu was moderately amused by Sanada's expression of exasperation over, presumably, his protege's manners or lack thereof; it wasn't as though Sanada had a great deal of room to talk on that subject. Not when he was wound up in a game, himself.

And Echizen certainly didn't seem to mind. Quite the contrary, he and Kirihara appeared to be getting almost as much fun out of provoking each other as they did from the game itself. It didn't distract either of them from their play, which was all Kunimitsu had ever concerned himself with. That and making sure Echizen had challenges enough to occupy him. He knew people had wondered, sometimes, about how hard he seemed to push Echizen, but he'd never seen it in that light. If it seemed that he placed insanely high bars in front of his best player, he did it with the sure knowledge that Echizen would go off in search of a cliff if left to his own devices. It was something they shared, that hunger to exceed, to exercise all abilities to the utmost. Echizen was the only person Kunimitsu had met, thus far, who he was positive could go just as fast and far as Kunimitsu himself. Except that Echizen would do it with a wicked smile, and brilliant eyes, and a companionable taunt on his lips.

A look like the one he was giving Kirihara, who had just put a drive past him.

Echizen was considerably more flamboyant then Kunimitsu. A year's passing had done nothing to change that, and Kunimitsu thought it probable that nothing ever would. Watching, now, as Echizen and Kirihara bared their teeth at each other across the court, he thought Echizen would never employ the mantle of quiet that Kunimitsu used in his own game. But, then, Echizen's profligacy made his intensity none the less.

That was, in fact, one of the things that drew Kunimitsu, and had from the start. It was almost a relief to him to watch it. Kunimitsu was very good at maneuver and manipulation, but it was of necessity. After helping his mother manage his father and grandfather, and their continuous sniping, steering his team and opponents presented only modest difficulties. So he was good at maneuver and manipulation, yes, but those were not what truly came most easily to him. For all that he enjoyed the elegance of understatement in his game, it was eagerness for the bright, sharp edge of confrontation that drove him. He saw the same thing, all unmoderated, in Echizen. The way Echizen threw himself into any match that looked like a good challenge reminded him irresistibly of the way he'd seen birds of prey throw themselves into the air—the same arrogance of absolute commitment. Echizen hid nothing. It was not truly strange to him, that Echizen was so open, almost confiding, with his best opponents. Kunimitsu was a little the same way with the best of his, the only people he could show so much to, and it pleased him that Echizen himself was becoming one of those.

On the court below, Echizen had won. Kunimitsu smiled to himself, and Echizen turned and looked directly at him, just in time to catch it, as if he'd known Kunimitsu was there all along. Echizen raised his chin and traded back a sharper grin. The edge of it tilted, and he tipped his head at the court, as if inviting Kunimitsu to come down and give him a real match. Kunimitsu narrowed his eyes, and flicked his fingers to send Echizen to the net where his opponent was waiting without much patience at all.

Echizen tucked his chin down and went, with a jaunty air, and Kunimitsu let himself smile again, just slightly, at his back.

End

Motto

Ryouma drags Tezuka off for an unofficial match. Drama, I-3

When the doorbell rang, Kunimitsu knew exactly who it was. He couldn't have said how he knew, because he categorically refused to believe that an inanimate object such as a doorbell was capable of ringing in a cocky tone just because of who was pressing it. But the information got through somehow.

He wasn't particularly surprised.

He had been a bit surprised the first time Echizen Ryouma had appeared on his doorstep, at the start of Kunimitsu's first year of high school. By this, the middle of his second year, it was nearly routine. It had made perfect sense as soon as he stopped to think about it, of course. Fuji had been chuckling a few weeks after Echizen's first visit to Kunimitsu, about Echizen's tenacity and ability to hold a grudge, but Kunimitsu knew that wasn't the main reason. He had come to the two of them in particular because there was no one left in Seigaku's junior high that Echizen could keep advancing against. He was not, Kunimitsu thought, particularly fixated on himself or Fuji. If Kunimitsu had permitted it, he would probably have gone up to Kanagawa every weekend to provoke Sanada or Yukimura and spent vacations in Kansai badgering Chitose.

Each time the thought occurred to him, Kunimitsu spared a moment to be grateful Echizen had allowed himself to be restrained from doing so. Most of the time. And if the cost was working with Echizen himself, it was one Kunimitsu was pleased to pay.

Most of the time.

"Echizen," he said, opening the front door, "it's eight in the morning on a Sunday."

Echizen withstood his glare calmly. "I know. But I needed to know whether you were busy today, so I can be in time for the bus to Kanagawa if you are. And you always get up early."

Kunimitsu refrained from pointing out that Echizen knew this only because of his bad habit of showing up so early. It was hard to keep the glare from turning into a glower, but he managed. Kunimitsu had long ago realized that Echizen derived some sort of satisfaction from provoking unguarded expressions, both verbal and non-verbal, out of him. If nothing else, a match between them had the benefit of redirecting Echizen's attention to less trivial matters. Sometimes Kunimitsu thought that was the entire point of the provocation. Other times he just thought Echizen had spent too much time in Fuji's company.

"Have you eaten breakfast yet?" he asked, suppressing a sigh.

Echizen shrugged. "Not really."

Kunimitsu eyed his visitor, taken with the ignoble impulse to make Echizen sit through breakfast with the Tezuka family in revenge for being visited so early. Judging by Echizen's expression of trepidation, though, the possibility had already occurred to him. The threat was as good as the reality, as far as making Echizen call at a more reasonable hour for the next couple months, so Kunimitsu didn't pause too very long after gesturing Echizen inside.

"I'll just get my bag, then. There's a fairly good pastry shop down the road." He restrained a chuckle as Echizen's shoulders slumped just a bit with relief, and he followed Kunimitsu up the stairs with commendable discretion.

And he had to admit, as they walked down the street, Echizen had chosen a very pleasant morning to drag him out into. Kunimitsu enjoyed early mornings, when he had a reason to be out in them, and at this hour on a Sunday they had the shop more or less to themselves. Because it was Echizen, he did indulge himself in the minor revenge of eyeing the boy's choice of beverages until he sighed and got extra milk.

"Are we even, now?" Echizen asked, with a rather amused look.

Kunimitsu didn't dignify that with a reply. If he ever admitted out loud that he lowered himself to sparring with Echizen over these tiny barbs, he'd never get the moral high ground back again, and he would need it next year. "How have you been doing against Sanada, these days?" he asked, instead.

Echizen shrugged one shoulder. "It goes back and forth. He won last time."

Hence Echizen's willingness to let Kunimitsu be busy if he wished, and head up to Kanagawa instead.

"It's Yukimura-san I have a harder time with," Echizen continued. "Of course, he won't play me as often."

"He has his own to take care of," Kunimitsu pointed out.

Echizen looked at him for a long moment before directing a tiny smile down at his remaining buns. "Yeah. I know," he said, quietly.

"I hope so," Kunimitsu returned, just as softly, reminding Echizen of his own responsibilities as captain, this year.

"Yes, Buchou, that too," Echizen agreed, smile a bit crooked now. Kunimitsu knew that Echizen had not been best pleased to be stuck as captain. Too bad. He needed the experience, and Seigaku's junior high team needed the best available. That was Echizen, and they both knew it. Kunimitsu didn't believe for one moment that Echizen called him captain, still, out of any failure of self-confidence.

The private little smirk as Echizen polished off the last bun and they rose to go was proof enough of that.

"Do you have something new for me, today?" Kunimitsu hazarded, as they walked. For a moment he thought Echizen was going to be coy about it, but then he grinned.

"Something. I was hoping to work on it with Sanada-san a little more, but since I have you today..."

Kunimitsu smoothed the smile that wanted to answer Echizen's sparkling glance into mild approbation. He wondered, as he often did of late, if this would be the day. Echizen was closing on him. Their games were getting closer. But Echizen wasn't the only one striving to progress as fast as possible, and he had yet to win against Kunimitsu. Their competition would gain a definite edge once he did; Kunimitsu was looking forward to it.

Even as they stood, now, a match with Echizen demanded all of his strength to win. As Echizen served, Kunimitsu abandoned his usual responsible and dignified reserve for the raw ferocity of focus that blanked out any expression but that of the ball against the racquet. Echizen answered with the glee that was so much his signature on the court. Kunimitsu had long since given up on instilling any kind of decorum in him.

It was just possible, though, that his emphasis on greater subtlety had finally begun to pay off. In the third game, Echizen broke free from the Zone. Not by powering through it, which he had tried some time ago and given up as useless in the long run, but with an extremely finely judged return that cancelled all spin. Tezuka missed the ball by centimeters. Echizen's teeth were bared in a smile of satisfaction. The look Kunimitsu gave him back had not trace of a smile in it, but Echizen looked perfectly pleased with the simple acknowledgement that Kunimitsu gave him.

Echizen did not win their match, but it was close. It would be soon.

Echizen still looked rather disgruntled, as they fished out water and sat, recovering their breaths.

"I trust this won't discourage you from the subtle approach altogether," Kunimitsu remarked.

For a moment, Echizen looked like he was about to say it had. Then he grinned and shrugged, apparently calmed enough to leave off baiting for the time being. "I'm going to pass you. I'll find whatever it takes," he said.

That won a faint smile. Echizen's determination was one of the things that made Kunimitsu enjoy these matches enough to tolerate his protege's apparent hobby of getting under Kunimitsu's reserve.

"Come," he directed, rising. "We have time for another match, before lunch."

Echizen brightened, his eyes turning fierce enough to spark a tingle through Kunimitsu's blood.

It would be soon.

End

Kakugo

Ryouma catches up to his senpai, and takes advantage of his second time around with Tezuka as his captain. This time with, perhaps, a few more insights than last time. Drama, I-3

As soon as Ryouma came within range of the crowd noise that enveloped the high school tennis courts he started praying that his captain had a lineup for the ranking matches that would make the day, in some way, less annoying. He counted three professional grade cameras before he managed to sidle past the last shrill clump of fangirls to reach the board. He blinked a few times, as he scanned it, and pursed his lips in a silent whistle.

The good news was that he and Tezuka-buchou were in the same block. The bad news was that most of the players Ryouma knew to be weaker were also in that block. Glancing up at the person who came up behind him, Ryouma cocked his head.

"Stacking the deck, Buchou?" he asked.

"It's the captain's job to balance the blocks in whatever way will give us the strongest team," Tezuka-buchou pointed out.

"I noticed. Are we really that hard up in doubles, though?" Ryouma asked. His only answer was an even look, but he caught a glint of approval there, too, that he had interpreted the lineup correctly.

It was more or less a given that Kikumaru-senpai and Oishi-senpai were separated. But this time, all the potential doubles pairs were separated. Fuji-senpai from Kikumaru-senpai. Inui-senpai from Kaidou-senpai. Kaidou-senpai from Momo-senpai. Momo from both Oishi and Kikumaru. And then, after taking this precaution, then Tezuka-buchou had thrown all the better players the club had to offer against them.

Leaving, Ryouma was still rather disgruntled to note, the worst players in A block with he and the captain, where none of them would interfere with whatever would be hashed out in the other blocks. He sighed.

"Both Hyoutei and Rikkai have all their strongest doubles pairs in play this year," Tezuka-buchou commented.

"I know," Ryouma shot a grin over his shoulder. "I know what the job is, Buchou; though I'm glad you're stuck with it, this year. Guess I'll live with being bored this time around."

"Not," his captain said, with a sharper glint in his eye this time, "for long."

The grin got wider. "Whatever you say, Buchou," Ryouma agreed, and strolled toward the far court and his first match with a bounce in his step. The promise of a serious match against his captain could make up for a lot of boredom.

He was clinging to that thought two days later, and couldn't quite suppress a sigh of relief when he finished off his last mandatory opponent. Finally. A quick look around showed that he hadn't been the only one looking forward to this. Just about the entire club was drifting, as if casually, toward B court. Ryouma snorted.

"So," he said, as he and Tezuka-buchou met at the net, "is it okay to beat the captain?"

One of his captain's brows gained an ironic arch at this echo of their very first matches. "If you can," he answered, coolly.

Ryouma certainly tried. Perhaps, though, their audience lent even Tezuka-buchou an extra edge of determination not to lose. Despite every trick Ryouma had learned in two years of playing against him, Ryouma couldn't pull ahead enough to win. In the end, Tezuka-buchou took the match 7-6; Ryouma heard Ryuuzaki-sensei's voice in his head grumbling about bone-headed boys and the ridiculousness of a ranking match going to tie-break. A quick glance at the sidelines, and her expression, told him that was probably exactly what she was really doing. Ryouma ignored that, as he thumped down on a bench beside his captain and accepted a towel with a breathless nod.

He also ignored the storm of whispers and exclamations from the rest of the club, and even the Regulars, except for Momo and Fuji-senpai who both looked amused each in his own way. It couldn't really be that much of a surprise, that he had caught up to Tezuka-buchou, could it? He sniffed, imagining what would happen the first time he actually did win. He'd only managed it twice so far, to be sure, but hitting a moving target was most of the fun.

It was harder to ignore when Kikumaru-senpai pounced on him at the end of practice, while everyone was changing.

"Looks like you're growing up, Ochibi!" Kikumaru-senpai told him with a grin, ruffling his hair.

"Kikumaru-senpai," Ryouma said, with a long-suffering look, "I'm the same height you are, now."

"Can't be!" Kikumaru declared, looking him up and down with wide eyes. "Inui, he isn't really, right?"

"Yes, in fact, he is," Inui-senpai answered, very calmly.

Ryouma gave him a dirty look. He knew, and he knew Inui-senpai knew, that refusing to take part in Kikumaru-senpai's enthusiasm just inspired him to greater heights to compensate. Sure enough, Kikumaru demanded that their heights be compared right then and there, which involved a certain amount of admonition from Oishi-senpai to be fair and stand with his heels flat to the floor, while Inui watched with a wicked quirk to his mouth.

"Exactly the same height," Oishi-senpai reported, at last.

"But that means he's gotten taller than Fuji!" Kikumaru-senpai protested.

"Fuji-senpai's little brother has been taller than him for years," Ryouma pointed out, finishing changing. "I doubt he minds."

Before the glint in Fuji's eye could materialize into anything unfortunate, Ryouma cast an appealing glance at Momo and made his escape under cover of his senpai's farewells. Momo was laughing as he caught up.

"I almost forgot how much you liven the team up, Echizen," he chuckled.

Ryouma snorted and didn't mention that he was glad to be back with his proper team. Momo-senpai's smile said he knew already.

The first round of ranking matches looked likely to set the tone for the whole season, Ryouma quickly decided. Stretches of boredom broken here and there with matches good enough to be worth it. Fudoumine was the carrot of the district preliminaries, and Ryouma had a good match against Shinji-san, his most common opponent from Fudoumine. Shinji-san must have thought so, too; he didn't slip into any side commentary on their games the entire time. Ryouma was hoping to find some decent action sometime before the very end of Prefecturals, too.

At least, he was until he happened to get a look at Ryuuzaki-sensei's clipboard full of lineups.

He and Tezuka-buchou were taking Singles One or Two for every match.

He wasn't even going to get to play until the quarterfinals at this rate!

Ryouma spent the weekend in tight lipped silence. He didn't trust himself not to snap if he did say anything. He'd never lost his temper in public, and he wasn't going to now. Momo looked a bit concerned, but let him have his space and nudged the rest of the team away from him. Ryouma was grateful for that.

He watched how the rest of the lineups worked out, hoping to see what reason his captain or coach could have for arranging things like this. It took a while to spot, but eventually he decided it wasn't about any one slot. It was about one player. The only one who played in every single match was Fuji-senpai. He was most often in Singles Three. Wherever he was, though, he always played.

Finally, Ryouma took the opportunity, as they watched Fuji-senpai sounding out yet another opponent, to approach Tezuka-buchou when he was a little apart from the rest of the team. After a few more minutes of watching quietly, Ryouma spoke.

"Buchou, why are you still trying to draw Fuji-senpai out this late?"

His captain shot him an expressionless, sideways glance that gave nothing away. Which was, of course, a dead give-away to anyone who had put in the kind of time Ryouma had watching the tiny cues of Tezuka-buchou's reactions.

"He won't be going on in tennis, after this year, will he?" Ryouma asked.

"He won't," his captain agreed.

"Then why?" Ryouma persisted. This time, Tezuka-buchou looked at him more directly, and Ryouma gave the look back. If he was getting cut out of the games because of this, he thought he had a right to know the reason behind it. Tezuka-buchou didn't do things this drastic without a good reason.

If the reason really was purely to test Ryouma's self-control, he was probably going to fail right here and now; but he didn't think that was it.

"While he is still a member of my team, I will do my best to call out the best game he can possibly play," Tezuka-buchou answered, tone unyielding.

Ryouma waited, watching his face; not with challenge, now, but with a silent appeal to the trust between his captain and this member of his team. Tezuka-buchou sighed, very faintly, and looked out over the court where Fuji had decided to wrap things up briskly.

"The things you learn on the court—do they apply only to the game of tennis?" he asked.

The first thing that flashed through Ryouma's mind was a series of encounters, some successful and some disastrous, with other sports. But then other things recalled themselves to him. Where he had gotten the discipline to keep countenance when he moved and had to deal with the shock of a whole new world. Where he had learned cooperation of any kind. Where he had learned the genuine pride in himself that let him choose his path without fear of anyone's shadow. He lowered his head a bit, glancing aside toward the court.

"He is toying with them less and less," he noted, as a roundabout peace offering.

Tezuka-buchou's eyes were gentler as he looked back at Ryouma. "Yes," he said. If Ryouma had had to guess, he would have bet that it was relief hidden behind the Captain's Face, this time.

They stood in companionable quiet as the results of the match were called.

"I'm starving," Momo declared as they all packed up for the day. "Anyone else want to grab some food?"

Ryouma tossed an Of course grin over his shoulder.

"That could be good," Kikumaru-senpai decided. "Oishi?"

Oishi-senpai looked up from his bag with a regretful smile. "I have some extra studying I have to get done tonight."

"You're always doing extra studying, lately. You're getting test anxiety way to early!" Kikumaru admonished. "I haven't started studying for exams. Fuji hasn't, right?" He waved at Fuji-senpai, who agreed, looking amused. "Tezuka hasn't either!"

Tezuka-buchou glanced up from the papers he was making quick notes on. "Our schedules are arranged so that we have time to concentrate on Nationals now, and exams after that," he observed. "But Oishi's exams are more intensive than the usual."

Ryouma's head came up as Kikumaru sighed and leaned on his partner's shoulder, offering to come make some food while he studied so he would eat something. The tone of "our schedules" had caught his ear.

"Buchou?" he asked, trying to stifle his alarm.

Tezuka-buchou seemed to spot it anyway, from the long, level look he gave Ryouma. "College," he confirmed, and then added, "first."

Ryouma started breathing again. The horrifying thought that this might be the last year he could play Tezuka-buchou receded, and he relaxed and finished packing. He also muttered, very quietly to himself, about bad senpai who thought it was fun to scare him like that.

Fuji-senpai agreed to come along for a bite, and the three of them headed off. Ryouma was still rather glum, contemplating the fact that one of his best targets was now going to be behind him rather than in front of him, where he could aim properly. Momo elbowed him.

"What are you sulking about, Echizen? You've already won against Tezuka-buchou, haven't you? I thought we'd have to sweep people's jaws up, along with the tennis balls, that day."

Ryouma shrugged, impatiently. "He'll just win next time, though. I'm not ahead of him, yet."

"So, what's to stop you from nagging the poor guy for matches while he's in college?" Momo asked with a wry smile.

Ryouma's mood brightened, at that. Maybe Tezuka-buchou wouldn't mind; just every now and then...

Fuji was laughing. "It's good to know you'll be doing something you enjoy so much, Echizen," he said.

Ryouma glanced sidelong at Fuji-senpai, hesitating. "Will you be, too?" he asked, finally.

"Yes. I will." Fuji-senpai smiled at him, more reassuring than his usual smile, and Ryouma ducked his head, satisfied. He chewed on his lip for a moment before asking the next question.

"Will he?" Ryouma glanced back the way they had come.

After a thoughtful moment, Fuji nodded. "Yes, I think he will, too." And then his mouth curled up.

"Moreso after he graduates and catches you up again, of course."

End

Yaru, Part One

During Tezuka's first year of college, and Ryouma's second year of high school, Ryouma tracks Tezuka down again and they edge into a relationship not based on the tennis club. Drama With Romance, I-4

Kunimitsu remembered that it had taken less than a month from the time he started high school to the day Echizen Ryouma had come to find him. He was not, therefore, entirely surprised to see Echizen now, not quite two months into Kunimitsu's university studies. Echizen's expression also bore a remarkable resemblance to the one he had worn on the previous occasion—a flash of uncertainty muffled under sardonic indifference.

What was odd was that Echizen had sought him out in this place.

Kunimitsu favored this particular outcropping because it was a bit off the main walking trails. After a pleasant, if thoroughly untaxing, walk up, it was nice to appreciate the view somewhere apart from the chattering families and shouting children. Someone had to have told Echizen how to find it, and as soon as Kunimitsu found out that it had been Fuji he was going to have some words with his friend. He preferred not to be disturbed, up here.

"Echizen," he said, neither welcoming nor rejecting.

Echizen had gotten fairly adept at reading him, over the years, and Kunimitsu was sure he understood the nuance. After a moment of hesitation, though, Echizen picked his way through the underbrush to the span of smooth, sunny rock where Kunimitsu sat and perched beside him. Kunimitsu contemplated his body language. Echizen was slightly less than arm's length away, arms wrapped around drawn up knees, chin tucked down. He wasn't looking at Kunimitsu at all. Kunimitsu didn't think he'd ever seen Echizen telegraph uncertainty so strongly.

"Do you like the view of the city from up here?" he asked, quietly, fishing for the reason Echizen had come to him here.

Echizen looked out, as if he'd just noticed the panorama in front of them. Eventually he nodded. "It's a lot quieter," he remarked.

Which was certainly true, if not especially informative. Kunimitsu didn't think he'd get any better results if he asked, outright, why Echizen was here, though. He decided to wait, and see if silence would draw an answer out.

As silence settled over them, though, filled with the distant hum of the city, and the low shush of wind through the trees, and the sharper rustle of squirrels chasing each other overhead, he noticed that Echizen's tension seemed to be receding. His arms loosened, and folded on top of his knees. He leaned forward to rest his chin on them with a sigh. His eyes drifted half closed. It was actually very relaxing just to watch.

When Kunimitsu stood, at last, to go, Echizen looked up at him.

"Thanks," he said.

Kunimitsu nodded a silent You're welcome, though he still wasn't at all sure what for. He wondered, as he started back down the trail, whether he would ever find out.

Echizen found him at the same place again the next week, and again the week after that. Clearly, Fuji had also mentioned Kunimitsu's schedule, which was an unusual amount of information from someone who professed not to have the faintest idea what Echizen had wanted it for. Kunimitsu made a note to have another word with Fuji and see if he could drag whatever his friend suspected out of him. Echizen certainly showed no signs of letting on. Each week he arrived a little after Kunimitsu, and came silently to sit beside him, and didn't say a word unless Kunimitsu asked him something. Despite the continuing itch of curiosity, his presence was restful.

Normally that only happened after they had played a particularly hard match against each other.

By the end of the first month, in spite of Fuji's annoyingly steadfast refusal to speculate on why Echizen came to find his erstwhile captain, at the top of a modest cliff overlooking the city, every week, Kunimitsu thought he might have begun to understand. The clue came to him when he realized that he was finding it relaxing to watch Echizen's edginess soften, each visit.

Echizen's tension lessened when he was with Kunimitsu.

Which seemed to indicate that he was under quite a bit of it, Kunimitsu reflected, watching Echizen lean back on his hands to look up at the quarreling sparrows. He had pressed Echizen to do and be many things, over the past four years, but at ease was not one of them. Kunimitsu faced a dilemma, if he wanted any more of the particulars, though. Echizen was nobody's fool, and, if Kunimitsu asked more pointed questions about sources of stress in his life, would understand that Kunimitsu had noticed both the tension and its easing.

And then Kunimitsu would be obligated to either accept Echizen's presence, and his reliance on Kunimitsu, or object to it. To date, he had avoided doing either.

Kunimitsu sighed, silently. When he had been Echizen's captain, reliance had been reasonable. Team members relied on each other, and the captain carried an extra share; that was simply part of the position. Kunimitsu had accepted the responsibility, and, in fact, passed it on to Echizen to good effect. Now, though...

Kunimitsu had chosen to go all the way through college before he entered pro tennis. He had no doubt that Echizen would chose to go professional after high school. He was sure they would meet again, professionally, but their paths had diverged. Was it good for Echizen to still follow him so closely?

Unfortunately, perhaps, Kunimitsu chose that moment in his reflections to look again at Echizen's eyes. They were bright and peaceful, a distinct contrast to their tightness a few weeks ago. Kunimitsu knew that he wasn't going to deny Echizen that peace without a more significant reason. He had never been particularly good at leaving Echizen to his own devices. Ryuuzaki-sensei had teased him about it. On the bright side, he supposed, that did mean that he was free to press Echizen for details. Prime suspects first, since he knew Echizen, while a good student, did not have the kind of effortless time of his classes that Kunimitsu or Fuji did.

"How has your second year been so far?" he asked.

Echizen looked at him sidelong. "School's been fine," he said, eventually.

Kunimitsu gave Echizen his sternest look, the one he had learned from his grandfather. If Echizen knew what Kunimitsu wanted to find out, he wasn't about to play twenty questions with the boy. Mischievous amusement flashed across Echizen's face before it faded away, and he looked down at the ground.

"It's calm, here," he muttered.

Kunimitsu raised a brow. "Just here?" he asked. Meaning, not anywhere else in Echizen's life right now?

Echizen nodded. Kunimitsu sighed out loud, this time. Specific problems were so much easier to deal with. There was nothing to be done about something this general; nothing but wait for Echizen to work it out on his own. Kunimitsu didn't doubt that he would; Echizen wasn't the sort to stand still and be run over. It was one of the things Kunimitsu had always appreciated about him. And if Echizen needed that little extra bit of familiarity and stability, while he worked on it, Kunimitsu supposed it was acceptable for him to provide it.

Echizen was watching Kunimitsu from the corner of his eye.

"It's good to have someplace like that," Kunimitsu allowed. He was hard pressed to suppress a smile when Echizen blew out a quiet breath and relaxed again. He didn't think he had ever known anyone as artlessly expressive as Echizen was once he let his shell drop. It had always amused him that Echizen opened up faster to his opponents than to anyone else, and that the only reason Echizen had been so free within his team was that each of his teammates could also give him a hard time in competition.

Altogether, perhaps he shouldn't be surprised that it was he Echizen had sought out.

Kunimitsu had expected Echizen to become a bit more talkative, now that he knew his presence was accepted. But he was as silent as ever, seeming perfectly content to pass each Tuesday evening without exchanging a single word. In retrospect, Kunimitsu did recall that Echizen had always been fairly reticent, off the courts. It was just that his unbridled insolence and provocations on the court tended to overshadow the fact.

He also found that Echizen was visiting their outcropping even when Kunimitsu wasn't there. While Tuesday was the one day of the week Kunimitsu was assured of having enough time free to take the bus, walk up and still have long enough to just sit for a while, he did try to get out for a decent walk someplace besides the city parks a few times a week. This trail was his favorite, when he thought he'd have time, and Echizen seemed to have taken to it also, to judge from the several occasions Kunimitsu found Echizen there before him on odd days, sprawled on his stomach so that he could look over the drop-off. When that happened, Echizen only looked over his shoulder and smiled before setting his chin back on his crossed arms.

That expanse of weather-smoothed stone became a shared place without Kunimitsu being able to pin down just when it happened. By the middle of summer, though, he knew this to be the case, and so it was simply courtesy that led him to speak.

"I won't be here, next week. I'm leaving a bit early to get to some of the trails further out from the city."

He had rather expected Echizen to make a face, or otherwise indicate his disgruntlement. He did not expect the abrupt and seamless blankness that accompanied Echizen's nod of acknowledgement. Perhaps it was his surprise at an expression so alien to Echizen's manner that prompted him to say what he did next.

"You can come along, if you'd like."

Echizen's eyes lightened, as he blinked at Kunimitsu, and Kunimitsu found himself relaxing to see the opaqueness replaced by faint surprise.

"It would be all right?" Echizen asked.

Kunimitsu reflected that he hadn't realized just how for granted he had come to take Echizen's openness, with him. It would bear some thought, whether he should let himself rest against it to the extent his own reaction indicated he did. For now, though, he had made the invitation, and could hardly withdraw it.

"Yes," he answered.

Echizen nodded. "I'd like to come."

Kunimitsu told him the time the bus would leave, and wondered whether it was deliberate, this talent Echizen had for getting people to act outside their usual parameters.

TBC

Yaru, Part Two

Ryouma comes to terms rather abruptly with the reason he's clinging to Tezuka. Drama with Romance, I-3

Ryouma glanced up at his companion, and then back down at where his feet were going.

At first, it had been a matter of chance, really. Ryouma had missed his captain's presence, which always made it easier to be calm. And, when Fuji-senpai had shown up to watch his brother's match against Ryouma at the district preliminaries, Ryouma had been reminded and asked, in passing, how Tezuka-san was. Fuji-senpai had cocked his head and given Ryouma a long look.

And then he'd told Ryouma to go find out for himself, and given him quite specific directions on how to do so.

When he'd seen Tezuka-san, sitting at the edge of that overlook, Ryouma been startled at the wave of relief he felt. It had reminded him of his first year of junior high, and how he'd felt when his captain had returned to the team. Which was strange, considering that Tezuka-san wasn't his captain anymore and certainly hadn't returned. Quite the contrary.

Dissecting his own reaction had helped distract Ryouma from the reaction itself. Ryouma knew perfectly well that he had always depended on his captain, for a challenge, for an example, for a little peace in all the craziness. He had just thought he'd done a better job convincing himself that he had to stop, now they were on different tracks.

Apparently not.

Apparently, the craziness now consisted mostly of Tezuka-san's absence. Ryouma had never been much for denial, so, having reached this conclusion, he had chosen to keep visiting unless and until Tezuka-san indicated he wasn't welcome. He had been a little surprised that Tezuka-san hadn't done so yet, not even after he seemed to realize why Ryouma was there. Ryouma had been even more surprised when Tezuka-san invited him along on a trip that fell on Visiting Day. Not that his surprise had kept him from accepting.

All of which had led him to here, hiking up the side of a mountain. A fairly gentle mountain, of course, this was no hanging-from-ledges affair. Though, Ryouma reflected, that could be fun, too, at some point. Still, he had to keep his mind on what he was doing if he didn't want to take a spill. Which he had no intention of doing, especially in front of Tezuka-san. Ryouma took some pride in being able to pick up new skills quickly, and had every intention of becoming competent enough to justify being invited along next time, too. So he kept an eye on where Tezuka-san was placing his feet, and how he shifted his weight to keep his balance on the slope.

There was something rather soothing about the activity, actually. Unlike the vast majority of athletics Ryouma had undertaken, there was no real competition, here. He was pretty sure that a huge chunk of rock covered in trees had no interest in defeating him; it was just there. The challenge, here, was... himself.

Maybe that was why Tezuka-san liked it.

This did not, of course, stop him from glaring at Tezuka-san's back, when he crossed a washed out bit of the trail with one long step. Just because Ryouma accepted the fact that he would always be fairly small and compact did not mean he appreciated it when tall people flaunted their extra centimeters. When Tezuka-san paused and looked back, though, as if to offer his shorter companion a hand over if it was needed, Ryouma merely cranked up the glare a few notches and sprang over on his own.

Taking comfort from Tezuka-san's presence was one thing. Accepting help for something like this was completely different.

The lightening of Tezuka-san's eyes said that he probably knew just what Ryouma was thinking. Ryouma raised his chin and smirked back. He was pleased when this won a curl at the corner of Tezuka-san's mouth, before Tezuka-san turned back to the trail.

When they finally came out of the trees, it was almost a shock. Ryouma thought that, if he took another few strides, he might step into the sky. It must be absolutely incredible at night.

He didn't realize that he had said that last out loud until Tezuka-san turned to look at him, brows slightly arched.

"Yes, it is," he confirmed, quietly.

Ryouma turned back to the sweep of blue and air over them, and breathed out a soft sigh. He wondered if he could possibly manage to come up here at night, some time, and see it. He remembered seeing the night sky through thin air, a few times, away from city lights. Personally, he thought Japanese schools won, hands down, when it came to field trips, but he'd been on a few good ones back before they'd moved, too.

Ryouma tipped his head back to follow the path of the sunlight across the sky until he swayed and Tezuka-san touched his shoulder to steady him.

When Fuji-senpai turned up at the next Seigaku match, Ryouma didn't think it was quite as coincidental as the last time. It didn't soothe his suspicion at all when Fuji fell in beside him, as the team was leaving.

"Good game," he complimented Ryouma.

"Thanks," Ryouma told him, a little warily.

"Your play has come back on-center again, I was glad to see. You seemed a little distracted earlier in the year."

Ryouma made a noncommittal noise, and took a sip of water; he knew what Fuji-senpai was talking about. He was also glad that irritating, prickly, talking-to-himself babble inside his head had faded. It wasn't as thought he had ever been able to tell what was wrong.

Fuji-senpai smiled at him, affectionately. "Who would have thought your little crush on Tezuka would last this long, or affect you so much."

Ryouma nearly inhaled a mouthful of water. "My what?" he choked.

Fuji-senpai chuckled at him. "Did you really think no one noticed?" he asked.

"I'm not... it isn't... what..." Ryouma bit back further sputtering, and took a very deep breath. It didn't help all that much. Fuji-senpai was watching him narrowly, and finally made a surprised sound, brows arched.

"You didn't realize it? Well, there's one over on me," he said, cheerfully. "I thought you had."

Ryouma pressed his lips together and stalked on, trying to ignore Fuji's presence beside him. He did not have a crush on his captain. Ex-captain. On Tezuka-san. He respected Tezuka-san, of course; Tezuka-san was his best challenge, and the one who understood best how Ryouma felt about the game. Tezuka-san was the one who had always known where Ryouma was trying to get to, and he'd put his own game on the line, more than once, to help Ryouma get there. And of course Ryouma loved playing against him; it was an incredible thrill to go all out and never be sure who would win, and Tezuka-san's game was beautiful just to watch, never mind actually stand in the middle of and reach out and touch. And, yes, so it made Ryouma feel better to be around Tezuka-san, anyone whose life was as crazy as his would be grateful for a little peace and quiet. And if he just happened, just circumstantially, to have noticed that late-day sun turned Tezuka-san's eyes bronze, that didn't... it didn't...

Ah, hell.

All right, fine, but that still wasn't a crush!

Ryouma glowered at the still smiling Fuji from the corner of his eye, and was suddenly struck by a horrible thought.

"Fuji-senpai," he said, slowly, "you're not..." he nearly choked on the word, "you're not matchmaking are you?"

Fuji-senpai laughed. "Of course not!" He smiled benignly at Ryouma. "I'm just watching to see what happens."

"Has anyone ever told you you have bad hobbies?" Ryouma grumbled.

"At times," Fuji-senpai allowed, serenely.

Ryouma sighed. Yes, that was Fuji-senpai, all right. Not precisely comforting, but a whole lot better than the alternative. "Have you mentioned anything to Tezuka-san?" he asked, crossing his fingers.

"Certainly not," Fuji assured him. "It's none of my business."

Ryouma snorted at the magnitude of this bare-faced lie, but was reassured. If he was sure of any one thing, now that Fuji-senpai had kicked him over the edge of enlightenment, it was that he wasn't saying anything about this to Tezuka-san. Daydreams were probably no longer avoidable, but that didn't call for him to make a voluntary idiot out of himself.

A week later, Tezuka-san asked if he really wanted to see what the end of that trail looked like at night.

TBC

Yaru, Epilogue

Tezuka and Echizen settle in with each other. Romance with Drama, I-3

Kunimitsu stood at the back of the humming spectators and observed the various recriminations and celebrations of Rikkai's and Seigaku's teams with some amusement. He had company, as he always did when he came to watch matches between these teams. Both Sanada and Yukimura had come, today.

What amused Kunimitsu most was watching Echizen and Kirihara, engaged in a discussion as vigorous as their just finished match, climbing the stands toward their respective seniors without paying the slightest attention to anyone else. This included several of the scouts who made bids for Kirihara's attention, only to bounce off his impenetrable focus on Echizen.

"...supposed to be two years ahead of me, not two behind!" Ryouma was saying, in an aggrieved tone, as they came into earshot.

"I don't know what you're complaining about," Kirihara told him. "I'm going to be the one bored out of my mind for a year, until you catch up."

Ryouma waved a dismissive hand. "No you won't. Momo-senpai is going straight on. And," in the tone of someone being fair against his every inclination, "Atobe-san is already in the pro circuit."

Kirihara made a face. "This is supposed to be encouraging?"

"He's a good opponent," Ryouma said, "and it's the best we'll get until they graduate. Two years!" he glared impartially at Kunimitsu, Sanada and Yukimura all.

Sanada declined to comment, merely giving Kunimitsu a look that asked him to control his unruly kouhai. Yukimura, though, smiled.

"Well, after all, university is where we'll find the majority of our favorite opponents, isn't it?" he teased, gently.

Ryouma eyed him dourly before giving Kirihara a look remarkably similar to the one Sanada had directed at Kunimitsu. Kirihara snorted and stepped around Ryouma to place himself between Echizen and Kirihara's erstwhile captain. Ryouma's mouth quirked, and he abandoned that front, apparently satisfied, to saunter over and stand inside Kunimitsu's personal space, gazing up from under his cap with a gleam in his eye. Kunimitsu stood his ground and looked back with, he hoped, sufficient coolness to indicate that he had no intention whatsoever of being tempted into a public display and Echizen could just put a leash on his mischief right now. Judging from Ryouma's grin, at least the basic idea got through.

Yukimura had a hand over his mouth.

"Your team is getting ready to leave," Kunimitsu pointed out to Ryouma. "You should join them. I'll see you later."

That promise seemed enough to placate Ryouma. "Sure thing," he agreed, easily, turning back toward the stands. Kunimitsu was under no illusions that Echizen had actually chosen to shelve his mischief; the bright look he tossed over his shoulder was enough to prove otherwise. Kunimitsu couldn't quite keep an eyebrow from twitching up with rueful resignation.

"Okay, now I'm really impressed," Kirihara declared. A glance showed him watching the two of them, wide eyed.

"Akaya!" Sanada rapped out. Kirihara directed an obvious Well, aren't you? expression up at him.

Yukimura appeared to be having a coughing fit, which was almost convincing, but his sparkling eyes gave away his amusement.

Echizen grinned at Kirihara and strolled down to the Seigaku team. Kunimitsu shook his head. It should be an interesting evening. "Sanada. Yukimura," he nodded to them. Sanada nodded back, and Yukimura recovered enough to bid him a goodbye that wasn't too very choked.

As he walked away, Kunimitsu heard Yukimura chiding Kirihara, in his soft "social voice", for the breach of manners.

"Yes, Yukimura-san," Kirihara said, tone repentant. "But, really! I never thought, in a hundred years, Echizen would actually catch him..."

Kunimitsu chuckled to himself. That made two of them.

He remembered the comment, later, though, as he lay on the floor of his unlighted living room, reclining on one of his two floor pillows, and stroked Ryouma's bare shoulder. Ryouma purred and settled closer against his side, tucking his head down against Kunimitsu's chest.

He had been more or less pounced on, as soon as the door was closed, and clothing was strewn haphazardly around the room. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, that was a sock hanging from the jade plant. Not that Kunimitsu had been at all a reluctant participant. But it reminded him.

"Were you chasing me, all that time, Ryouma?" he asked, ruffling his fingers through the sleek, dark hair under his cheek.

Ryouma shrugged, and twined himself still more closely around Kunimitsu. "Not really," he answered. And then he lifted his head to give Kunimitsu an impish look. "Not any more than you were chasing me," he added.

Kunimitsu chuckled out loud. "Fair enough."

Which meant, he reflected, gathering Ryouma just a bit tighter against him, that they had been heading toward this more or less since they set eyes on each other.

Fair enough.

End

Delta

Atobe is rather tired of Tezuka brooding, and decides it's time for another conversation with Fuji to see if the problem is amenable to a swift kick. Romantic Drama With Occasional Porn, I-4

Watching Tezuka Kunimitsu mope was a novel experience. Keigo couldn't recall ever having seen anything quite like it before. The moodiness wasn't terribly obvious, of course, Kunimitsu generally wasn't obvious about anything. But from close up, Keigo definitely noticed a certain distance in his eyes and a wrinkle of brow that was a bit different than usual.

After two weeks of uninterrupted novelty, though, the brooding was getting old. Keigo was perfectly willing to allow that Kunimitsu had a right to be concerned for his friends. But thinking about other people to the exclusion of Keigo himself, when Kunimitsu was with Keigo, was not something he intended to tolerate. Accordingly, when Keigo decided Kunimitsu had been sitting at his desk and staring at team schedules without blinking for just a little too long, he also decided it was time to take action.

Keigo tossed Kunimitsu's copy of Elective Affinities, which he had been reading in bits and pieces whenever he came over, on the bed and swung to his feet. He stalked across the room and tugged Kunimitsu's chair away from the desk, swinging it around. Kunimitsu refocused and looked up at him, startled.

"Keigo, what... ?"

Keigo leaned over and kissed him.

Kunimitsu was stiff with surprise for a long moment, before Keigo coaxed his lips to soften and part. Keigo went about the kiss in a thorough and leisurely fashion, tangling his tongue with Kunimitsu's, nipping gently at his lower lip, and eventually Kunimitsu sighed and his hands lifted to find Keigo's hips. Keigo smiled against Kunimitsu's mouth as he let Kunimitsu pull him down to straddle the chair.

"That's better," Keigo murmured.

Kunimitsu gave him a dry look. "Feeling neglected?"

"Unforgivably so," Keigo agreed, easily. "You're taking far too long to think about something that's probably very simple."

"And you know that it's simple because...?" Kunimitsu asked, mouth tightening a little.

"That is an assumption on my part," Keigo allowed. "But I'll bet a case of Dunlop Abzorbers that complication is an assumption on your part. Have you said more then five words to Fuji in the last two weeks?"

"Yes," Kunimitsu answered, in a very final tone.

Keigo eyed him. "Let me rephrase that. Have you said more than five words about whatever is actually bothering you?"

Kunimitsu's gaze darted away and then back.

"Thought so," Keigo said, smiling.

Kunimitsu's mouth acquired a very stubborn set. "We're coming into the hardest part of the tournament season. I won't risk an upset in the team right now."

And that was that, Keigo knew. Two things Kunimitsu would never compromise: his game and his team. If he had convinced himself that pressing Fuji would be detrimental to the team, there was vanishingly little chance Keigo, or anyone else, could persuade him otherwise. Clearly, then, this was a case where Keigo would have to get involved directly, if he wanted Kunimitsu's attention back where it belonged.

Wasn't it a pleasant coincidence that this would also give him some chance of satisfying his curiosity over what had happened to Fuji lately?

Satisfied with his nascent plan of action, Keigo pressed closer against his lover. "Whatever you want, Kunimitsu," he agreed, as suggestively as possible, in Kunimitsu's ear.

A soft laugh told him that Kunimitsu consented to the distraction. "Anything?" he asked, a teasing edge in the low voice now.

"Mm. Anything," Keigo purred, leaning down to Kunimitsu's mouth again.

Keigo leaned against the wall of Seigaku's high school campus, tapping his fingers impatiently. Where was Fuji? He was about ready to start pacing when his ear finally caught a familiar voice, light and sardonic.

"...I'm perfectly happy to help, Inui. Provided, of course, that you're drinking this stuff, too. After all, any good experiment needs a control, yes?"

"Certainly, but, you see, you are the control for this one," Inui answered, just a bit hastily, as the two emerged from the school grounds.

"About time," Keigo interrupted, stalking towards them. "Far be it from me to stand in the way of scientific progress, or the possible death of a rival, but we need to talk, Fuji. Come on." When Fuji failed to follow him, Keigo glanced back, annoyed. "If you don't hurry up, he'll be along, too, and then this entire exercise will have been pointless. I don't intend to go out of my way for you more than once."

Inui was looking on with raised brows. They twitched up a bit higher when Fuji, after a long, narrow look at Keigo, turned to him and said, "Will it be a problem if we postpone this particular experiment?"

"Not at all," Inui murmured.

Fuji nodded, and paced forward to join Keigo. "Let's go, then."

"If I recall correctly, there's a halfway decent cafe about ten blocks on," Keigo noted as they walked.

"That will do, yes." Fuji's voice was very even, and Keigo's lips quirked. Wary, was he? Fair enough; Keigo had a good deal more leverage in this encounter than he had the last time they'd spoken of personal matters. Keigo was honest enough with himself to admit that this was one of the reasons he had gone to the trouble of coming here today.

And, of course, far be it from Keigo to disappoint expectations; as soon as they were ensconced at a table with their drinks he opened up with both barrels.

"So, Mizuki thinks you're jealous because my presence interferes with your friendship with Tezuka. Is he right?"

Fuji did not, Keigo noted, twitch; instead he became very still. One breath. Two. "Mizuki is perceptive, but also, you must have observed, rather... warped," Fuji said at last.

"In other words, yes," Keigo translated, sipping his tea. "Didn't we have this conversation once already?"

Fuji looked at him with distinct disfavor. Keigo sighed.

"What on earth do you have to be jealous of?" he asked, exasperated. "You have a lover who, unless I'm vastly mistaken, you're perfectly happy with, you're still at the same school with Tezuka, which, I should point out, I'm not, and I find it extremely difficult to believe that he's paying any less attention to any member of his team, let alone you."

"That's none of your business," Fuji told him, tightly.

"Probably not, but it's troubling Tezuka and he won't ask if he thinks the answer might disrupt your team." Keigo caught a flicker in Fuji's eyes as they turned down to his coffee, and blinked. Had Fuji not realized that was why Kunimitsu kept silent? Keigo would have sworn that Fuji knew Kunimitsu better than that. "What is going on with the two of you?" he asked, puzzled.

"Nothing," Fuji said, quietly.

Keigo rested his chin in his hands. Fuji was fond of double talk, even when it came to body language, let alone words. Nothing was happening; so, maybe something should be? "Are you saying that Tezuka really is paying less attention to you?"

This time Fuji twitched, though Keigo would have missed it if he hadn't been watching closely.

"However much he teases about the two of us being similar, I still have a hard time believing I might be replacing you," he mused. "We're different things to him, Fuji."

He realized, later, that he had misjudged just how much what was happening must have been disturbing Fuji, because the one thing Keigo had never expected was that Fuji might actually snap badly enough to say what he did next.

"You wouldn't think so, of course," Fuji bit out, eyes narrow and cold. "You're going to be staying in his world; there's nothing for him to hold against you."

Keigo stared, stunned, for a long moment before he heaved a sigh and leaned back, pressing a hand over his eyes. He couldn't believe Fuji had misread Kunimitsu that badly. No, wait, he could believe it; after all, it wasn't as though he hadn't known plenty of intelligent, talented individuals who where, nevertheless, gifted with the people skills of dried seaweed. It was just that he expected this kind of thing from Ryou, not from Fuji. And if this was the root of Fuji's skittishness, then what he was really worried by must be... Keigo silently recited his choicest German invective. "And here I'd thought you were supposed to have a good brain to go along with the good reflexes."

"I beg your pardon?" Fuji said, with the mildness of a green and pleasant mountain just before it explodes and rains burning rock all over the landscape. Keigo ignored the hint.

"It happens, all right? It isn't your fault, it isn't his fault, it just happens, and it certainly isn't because he's angry at you, you idiot!" he snapped.

Fuji blinked at him, temper temporarily derailed. "What happens?" he asked.

Keigo held up one hand and ticked points off on his fingers. "You're starting to not have as many things to talk about, yes? And he does not, in fact, treat you any less warmly..." he paused to think about that, and amended, "any more harshly, anyway, he's just not quite there as much, yes? And when you talk about some things, he just doesn't seem to connect the way you expected him to. Is this ringing any bells?"

Fuji nodded, slowly, as if he thought this might be a trick question. Keigo snorted.

"We're growing up, Fuji," he pointed out. "We're going in different directions. He doesn't blame you for not staying with tennis, any more than you blame him for his choice to stay. But talking about things only one of you is deeply involved with is different. That's all." Keigo lifted his cooling tea for a sip to conceal his expression.

Not fast enough, it seemed.

"You're speaking from personal experience?" Fuji asked, gaze sharp.

"None of your business," Keigo answered, brusquely.

It was Fuji's turn to lean back in his chair. "It is if you don't want me to think that entire lecture was a self-serving fiction you pulled out of your ear," he said, coolly.

Keigo glared, and reminded himself never, ever to play poker with Fuji. The man was downright addicted to maneuvering people. "You and Mizuki deserve each other," he growled.

Fuji smiled at him, if a show of that many teeth could be called a smile.

"Fine, fine," Keigo said, wearily. "If you insist on being so mannerlessly uncivil to someone trying to do you a favor," he ignored Fuji's snort, "yes, it has." He swirled the dregs of his tea in the cup. "We're still friends, even if it's not the same as it used to be. I go to as many of Kabaji's poetry readings as I can manage, and he comes to as many of my games as he can fit in. We can still have perfectly good talks. It's just not exactly the same." He cut himself off, a little annoyed at having said so much, and looked up preparing a barb to distract Fuji.

Fuji was staring at him as if Keigo had been speaking in Arabic. Keigo raised a brow.

"Poetry readings," Fuji repeated. "Kabaji? Kabaji Munehiro?"

And it was Keigo's turn for a toothy smile. Fuji was keeping his composure better than most, but disbelief edged his voice and widened his eyes. Ah, it was too bad he didn't have a camera handy; Kabaji would have laughed.

"Oh, yes," Keigo confirmed with an airy wave. "His first collection will be published next year. Really, I'm a little surprised you haven't heard." He sipped delicately. Cold tea was a small price to pay for the perfect gesture to finish this play.

And now it was time to be going, before Fuji recovered himself.

"Well, I'm delighted we could have this chat," he said, rising. "I hope it clears things up, and you stop sulking so Tezuka stops moping. I expect I'll see you at Nationals; until then."

As he made it to the door, he heard Fuji starting to laugh, behind him. Ah, success. It was a sweet thing.

Keigo expected to see some improvement in Kunimitsu's mood in reasonably short order. What he did not expect was that Kunimitsu would arrive, unannounced, at the door of his room, a mere two days later.

"Kunimitsu?" he greeted his lover, a bit surprised he had managed to circumvent the staff.

Kunimitsu crossed to the couch before Keigo could rise and knelt, swiftly, catching Keigo's face between his hands. The kiss that followed muffled any thoughts Keigo might have mustered under the heat of Kunimitsu's lips smoothing over his, tempting and offering and demanding. Kunimitsu's hands stroked down Keigo's chest and around his back, pulling him tighter against Kunimitsu's body, and Keigo slid bonelessly off the couch to the floor. His quiet moan was swallowed in Kunimitsu's mouth. Keigo was just starting to wonder whether the door was locked when Kunimitsu drew back and regarded him with a calm expression and laughing eyes.

"What was that about?" Keigo asked, rather breathless.

"Payback," Kunimitsu informed him, serenely.

"Remind me what for, so I can make a note to do it more often."

Kunimitsu smiled. "For baiting Fuji badly enough that he gave you an honest answer; for annoying him enough that he was too busy shredding your character to be reserved with me."

"And then again, perhaps not," Keigo decided. "He spoke to you about it?"

"Yes." Kunimitsu sighed a little. "I hadn't realized he might think..." He pressed his lips together.

Keigo wove his fingers through Kunimitsu's hair. "For five and some years, now, he's been close enough to you to guess what you're thinking without having to ask," he pointed out. "For all that, though, I'm betting that Fuji's never been so good with people that he would have recognized what's happening now until someone thumped him over the head with it."

Kunimitsu's mouth curled, and his eyes were distant. "He isn't, always, no," he agreed.

"That sounds like the start to a good story," Keigo suggested.

Kunimitsu returned to the present and gave him a reproving look. "No."

"You know, it's very cruel of you to rouse my curiosity like that and then refuse to satisfy it, Kunimitsu," Keigo told him in an injured tone.

A familiar gleam lit Kunimitsu's eyes. "Are you really that disappointed?" he asked, one hand sliding down Keigo's body again.

"That depends," Keigo gasped as that warm hand closed, firmly, between his legs, "on whether you intend to satisfy anything else."

Kunimitsu's tongue traced a slick path up Keigo's neck. "Yes, I think I do," he answered, softly.

A low sound rose in Keigo's throat and he leaned back against the couch as Kunimitsu's hand kneaded against him. Kunimitsu wasn't normally the one who pushed things this quickly. But those were definitely Kunimitsu's fingers undoing Keigo's pants, and Kunimitsu's hands urging him back up to the couch, and spreading his knees apart.

And it was very definitely Kunimitsu's mouth closing on him, hot and wet and slow. Keigo fell back against the cushions, moaning as Kunimitsu sucked, hard, before his mouth gentled again. Kunimitsu's tongue flirted with him, rubbed back and forth across screaming nerves, and Keigo tangled his fingers in Kunimitsu's hair again. The silky spring against his hands somehow felt very much like the the touch of Kunimitsu's mouth sliding down his cock, and Keigo flexed his fingers against that softness to keep himself from thrusting up into the sleek heat of Kunimitsu's mouth too forcefully.

That compunction frayed as Kunimitsu slid Keigo's pants a little further down, and strong fingers reached under him, pressing, massaging. Keigo cried out, sharp and yearning, as that touch pushed into him, almost harsh, almost rough without anything to smooth the way. The contrast with the softness of Kunimitsu's tongue sweeping over him put an edge like a knife on the heavy pleasure building low in Keigo's stomach and tensing his thighs. He bucked up as Kunimitsu's lips stroked him, and Kunimitsu's fingers drove into him again. And again. And again. Keigo spread his legs wider and arched with the tantalizing, electric promise of Kunimitsu's touch.

And, just as the raking burn of Kunimitsu's fingers thrusting into him steadied into a deep, open heat, Kunimitsu's mouth slid down him one more time and hardened, sucking, the stroke of Kunimitsu's tongue almost rasping. Demanding. Keigo's body answered, tensed, shuddered as raw sensation surged through him, wringing him so hard he could barely gasp. Over. And over. And over. Until it dropped him back to the cushions, panting, a little dazed.

Slowly Keigo's senses resumed their normal proportions, and he stared up at the ceiling while a thought formed in the stillness of his mind. Not that Kunimitsu entirely left him in peace to contemplate. Kunimitsu's hands, tugging Keigo back down to his lap, were insistent, and Keigo leaned against him, smiling, while he caught his breath.

"You know, when you've been worrying over something and finally manage to stop, you tend to break out really quite noticeably," he said, at last. "I think, perhaps, you need better stress management techniques."

"Are you complaining?" Kunimitsu asked, against Keigo's shoulder.

"Certainly not. Just mentioning it, in case you want to fine tune things so as to keep that famous composure of yours better."

"That matters less with you," Kunimitsu said, without lifting his head.

Probably just as well, because Keigo was fairly sure his entire expression had turned soft, and it still made him just a touch embarrassed when Kunimitsu actually saw how he affected Keigo sometimes. Keigo rested his cheek against Kunimitsu's hair.

"Are the two of you all right, now?" he asked.

Kunimitsu nodded.

"Good," Keigo declared, and put a hand under Kunimitsu's chin to tip his face up to Keigo's. "Then I think it's my turn," he murmured.

He felt Kunimitsu's lips curve under his, before they parted for him.

End

Third Watch

When the third years retire from the club, Kirihara has to deal with taking over. Drama, I-3

Akaya counted off the days of the past week in his mind, as he walked toward the tennis courts. One day of recovery from Nationals, to make sure no one had injured themselves in an excess of enthusiasm, as Yanagi-senpai put it. Three frantic days of learning what paperwork the captain of the tennis club had to take care of while the rest of the club sorted out their new rankings. Two rather boring days of proving that, yes, he was still the best player out of the first and second years. And third, too, barring Sanada-san and Yukimura-san, but that didn't matter any more. One day to sit home and catch his breath and bite his nails.

And now here he was, for his first day as captain of this club.

He came most of the way down the stairs to the courts and stopped. He was fairly sure he could make himself heard over the noise of horseplay and half-hearted warming up, but he really didn't want to invite comparisons to Sanada-san, who had been able to do it with no effort at all. So he just stood and waited. It worked. Quiet spread across the courts, and everyone drifted toward him. Akaya tried to banish his nervousness; he didn't succeed very well. At least, he reflected, he could be reasonably sure he wasn't showing it to everyone else.

"I'm not going to say this will be an easy year," he stated, without preamble. "It won't. Our strongest players are gone, and however hard we work it isn't likely this year's team will be as strong. We aren't them." He saw some grimaces, and a few expressions of resentment, but not many. It was an obvious truth that few, if any, of them could become what Yukimura or Sanada or Yanagi was. Akaya nodded, and raised his voice. "It doesn't matter. What we are is Rikkai. We will win." A murmur passed through them, and nods, sharp and proud. They were Rikkai; they might or might not be the best, but they would damn well try. "Regulars, stay here. The rest of you, get warmed up. I want first years playing against second years."

The club scattered, chattering, first years either groaning or bouncing, depending on how confident they were. His new team gathered around Akaya.

"Inspiring speech, there," Furuya said, with some sarcasm.

Akaya gave him a narrow look. "You want me to send a message up to the third years, so Sanada-senpai can come down to play you and you can prove me wrong?" he asked, secure in the knowledge that Furuya would sooner carve out his own liver with a spoon than do any such thing.

Furuya looked away.

"Didn't think so. All right, we should have doubles pretty well sewn up through Regionals; most of our major competition have half pairs left. When we get closer to the tournaments, we'll work more on that, but for now I want to focus on singles."

"Kirihara," Hiiyama interjected, quietly, and nodded off to the side when Akaya glanced at him.

Akaya turned to see an adult standing at the wall around the courts, watching them all. He thought he recognized the man as one of the coaches. What now?

"I'll see about it," he said. "Hiiyama, rotate the doubles players against the singles."

His vice-captain nodded.

"Waste of what we're best at," Furuya grumbled, quietly. "Real doubles players never play as well in singles."

Akaya spared a moment to be thankful, first that he only had one dedicated doubles pair to deal with, and second that Furuya's partner, Chiba, could usually curb Furuya's quarrelsomeness. "Learn," he snapped over his shoulder. "You never know when there might be an accident that demands you play alone."

After the hell of the past year, mention of accidents shut everyone up, and Hiiyama started to sort them out as Akaya stalked over to the man watching them.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

The man smiled at him, which surprised Akaya a bit considering his tone hadn't been the politest. He examined their visitor a little more closely. Tall, but rangy rather than big. Dark. Pretty nondescript. The only notable features were a pair of sharp, champagne colored eyes. And the smile.

"Actually, I was wondering if I could help you. Kirihara-kun, isn't it?"

"Yes," Akaya admitted, a touch warily.

"Suzuoki," the man introduced himself. "The faculty advisor for the tennis club is doing a little reorganization this year, and I noticed no one seemed to be assigned to work with the junior high division. I thought I'd come see how things were going."

Akaya smirked. He hadn't been around for it, but he'd certainly heard the story from his senpai, about how the advisor had said the wrong thing to Yukimura-san and been run off. All the coaches had stayed well away from them, actually. He eyed Suzuoki, wondering whether he'd heard the story too.

Suzuoki eyed him back. "You don't look like the type to bite heads off, but I understand the last captain didn't either."

That sounded like a yes.

"And you seem to have a pretty fractious bunch fairly well in hand," Suzuoki continued, "so I'll refrain from snap judgments, I think. Which leaves us with the real question: do you want my help?"

Akaya considered this. They had done well enough without either advisors or coaches for the past two years. But what he'd told the club held true here, too. The team didn't have Sanada-san and Yanagi-senpai to put together training schedules for them anymore. Akaya wasn't sure he believed Suzuoki would have the fine touch for it that those two did, but he knew for sure that he himself didn't. He couldn't turn away something that would help him strengthen his team.

On the other hand, he was used to the idea of working without interference, and didn't especially like the idea of someone who thought he could override the team captain. How to tell whether this guy would be more trouble than he was worth?

A sudden thought struck Akaya, and he grinned. "How do you feel about paperwork?" he asked.

Suzuoki looked like he was biting back a grin of his own. "I'll lend you my office, if you need a quiet place to work on it," he offered, blandly.

Okay, not a stick in the mud, and not a pushover either. Akaya's grin sharpened. He could work with that. "I might take you up on that. And yeah, I think I would like your help. Suzuoki-sensei."

"Good." Suzuoki leaned against the wall. "So, what do you need, Kirihara-kun?"

Akaya ran an absent hand through his hair. "Like I was telling them, I want to work on singles for now..."

Akaya was perfectly willing to admit when he'd been wrong. Well, maybe not perfectly, but he was lucky enough not to have voiced his doubts to anyone but himself, and therefore didn't have to admit the mistake to anyone else, either. Suzuoki was turning out to be a great deal of help.

Of course, he also drove Akaya absolutely nuts, but that was at least half Akaya's own fault.

"I think it's time Ueda started practicing more often against you," Suzuoki mused over his clipboard. "He's starting to win pretty regularly against both Kuwabara and Tsunoda. He needs to work against someone with a stronger focus on technique."

"He came along faster than I was expecting," Akaya admitted, leaning on the wall beside Suzuoki where they could watch the team practice."The climbing exercises you gave him really helped his speed."

Suzuoki smiled. He never said Of course, but, then, the results said it for him. Akaya snorted.

"Now that singles are in hand, Kirihara-kun, have you noticed what's been happening in doubles?" Suzuoki asked.

Akaya frowned. "I've noticed that Tsunoda and Kuwabara have seemed... a little odd lately. Distracted, maybe."

"Mm." Another smile. "I was working with the first years last week. Tsunoda is gravitating toward Sakamoto. They make a good pair; quite possibly a stronger pair than Tsunoda and Kuwabara. I expect Sakamoto will suggest the idea some time soon."

Akaya winced. There were a lot of stories about his temper, he knew. And, for that matter, Hiiyama, while normally a quiet guy, could go off like a warehouse full of fireworks when pushed too far. But Sakamoto topped them all. Mouthier than Furuya, more explosive than Hiiyama, and meaner than Akaya when the mood was on him. Akaya occasionally had to wonder whether it was compensation for being small and delicate looking. He was also, however, an excellent doubles player, and had remarkable rapport with the few partners he really bonded to. What a mess. Akaya slanted a look at his coach and crossed his mental fingers.

"Do we allow that kind of ranking challenge in the middle of the year?" he asked, as innocently as he could manage.

Suzuoki raised his brows and looked back, amused. "I don't know, Kirihara-kun, do we?"

Akaya sighed. Oh well, it had been worth a try. "I'll look into it," he muttered, leaning back on his hands.

He did have a certain reluctant admiration for the way Suzuoki managed not to be conned into things like this. And he had to admit, the presence of a coach who was willing to let Akaya keep full authority over the team was a blessing. The entire club followed Suzuoki's lead without thinking twice about it. But Suzuoki steadfastly maintained that Akaya had to lie in whatever bed he chose to make. Either he could shove off half of the administrative chores onto Suzuoki, and half his authority with it, or else he could keep one hundred percent of both.

It did not entirely help that Akaya was convinced that, if Yukimura-san knew about all this, he would gently point out that it was good experience for Akaya and that he could hardly fault the man for his integrity. And that Yukimura-san would then go somewhere else and laugh for a long time. Akaya wasn't sure whether this would be better or worse than the stern lecture that would, no doubt, be forthcoming from Sanada-san if he knew. And he just wasn't going to think about how Niou-senpai would respond. Altogether, he thought he was grateful that they were all busy studying for their exams.

He pushed off from the wall. "Well, no time like the present. Ueda! You're playing a set with me, come on!"

Akaya was busy enough that December came as a surprise.

The visit came as a surprise, too, though it shouldn't have.

"Kirihara-kun," Suzuoki, put in, between last minute admonitions to Sakamoto at the end of the day's practice, "you have visitors, I think."

Akaya looked up, blinking, and around to see Yukimura-san and Sanada-san leaning against the wall, watching the club members trickle past on their way out the doors. He was torn between two such strongly conflicting impulses that, for a moment, he swayed on his feet. He wanted to hide behind Yukimura-san and beg him to take care of all this crap. He wanted them to go away, far away, from his team, his people.

He was vaguely aware of Suzuoki taking over the conversation with Sakamoto, and shook off the moment of disorientation before walking over to greet his erstwhile captain and vice-captain. Yukimura-san smiled as he approached.

"Akaya. We stopped by to see how you were doing. Things look well."

Akaya, who had been feeling harried all day, laughed. "I guess so. Except for the paperwork. And maybe Sakamoto."

Yukimura-san glanced over his shoulder to where Sakamoto was tossing his bright hair, restlessly, in response to whatever Suzuoki had said. "That one?"

"Yeah." Akaya raked a hand through his own hair. "Temper like a powder keg, and you wouldn't believe the mouth on him."

Sanada-san snorted and gave him an extremely sardonic look. Akaya flushed and looked down, abruptly recalled to his relationship with Sanada-san as the order keeper of the old team.

Yukimura-san was a bit more polite about it, though his eyes danced. "Well, maybe he'll be as good for your team as you were for mine."

Akaya fought down a twitch as his world view flip-flopped again. Yes, it was his team here, now. Sakamoto was his problem, he was not their problem. Right.

Yukimura-san set him spinning again with a sharp look at Suzuoki. "And this coach? He isn't giving any of you any trouble?" The hard edge in Yukimura-san's voice said very clearly that he would step in if Akaya was having trouble. The thought that Yukimura-san still considered Akaya his to protect warmed Akaya like an embrace, but at the same time it was in conflict with everything he had spent months telling himself and acting on. Rikkai might not be as cutthroat as Hyoutei, but it was a lot wilder. If Akaya was going to succeed as captain, he couldn't let himself be seen leaning on Yukimura-san's strength.

"No," he managed, "Suzuoki-sensei has been a lot of help." He wanted to elaborate, but was afraid it would just draw him deeper into the spiral of clashing perspectives.

"Good. And the rest of the team? I remember you were a little concerned about Ueda."

Responses rushed through Akaya's mind. Well, yes, but I'm worrying differently these days, because they're coming along, and Hiiyama can almost match me, his speed makes up for a short reach you know, but I'm worried because I'm measuring all of them against myself, because I'm the best there is, here, now, but will that be enough against the other schools, and what if my own edge is blunted exactly because I'm the best here, now, and I can't bring them on enough and we lose?

Akaya couldn't say any of it.

There was no good reason why he couldn't talk shop with Yukimura-san, and compare captainly woes with him, except that... it was Yukimura-san. He could feel himself slipping, falling back into someplace more comfortable, where all he had to worry about was his own game. He could feel himself stiffening, too, trying to pull himself back together under the sidelong looks of the lingering club members.

"Ueda's doing much better," he answered, as evenly as he could. "Like I said, Suzuoki-sensei has a lot of good ideas for training exercises."

Yukimura-san tipped his head and gave Akaya a long, slightly quizzical, look before his eyes softened. "I'm glad to hear it. I'm sure your team will do well this year, Akaya." He touched Akaya's shoulder in parting, and swept Sanada-san out with him, leaving Akaya in possession of the tennis club's domain. Akaya was fairly sure he'd done that on purpose, and reminded himself not to squander the gift by collapsing in a stressed heap or scuttling off to hide in the club rooms until he got a grip again. Instead, he took a long breath and strolled back to Suzuoki, as if to finish a discussion with him.

"Impressive," Suzuoki commented, quietly. "I don't think anyone has ever delivered such a sharp warning to me without saying a word."

"Yukimura-san's like that," Akaya said, stifling a shiver.

Suzuoki looked him up and down, measuring. "Well, you've got your work cut out for you, haven't you?"

Akaya mustered a glare. "Gee, thanks."

"My pleasure," his coach murmured.

The man really did drive him absolutely nuts. And half the time it wasn't Akaya's fault at all.

Akaya rather liked Suzuoki's office. Of course, it wasn't just his, several other teachers shared it. But at this time of day the other teachers had generally left, and Akaya could take possession of the extremely battered, brown armchair someone had wedged into one corner at some point, while Suzuoki worked at his desk. Akaya had no idea what he did with those stacks of books that were always threatening to topple across or completely off of his workspace; it looked more like research than grading or anything. The office was quiet and warm, though, and if the paper dust made him sneeze every now and then it was a small price to pay.

Akaya tossed yet another page of equipment request forms on the growing stack by the chair, and stretched his arms over his head. He could hear when his spine popped.

"I really, really hate these things," he declared, glaring at the remaining sheets.

"Enough to get someone else to do them?" Suzuoki asked, as he often did when Akaya grumbled.

Akaya eyed his coach, who hadn't even looked up from whatever notes he was taking. "Not quite that much," he sighed.

"I have to wonder what you would have done if I weren't around to keep reminding you of that," Suzuoki commented, sounding amused.

"I'd have still done them, of course," Akaya told him, absently, biting the end of his pen as he tried to remember how many cases of balls he had wanted to order, "only I'd have had to get someone else to listen to me complain."

Now Suzuoki looked up, with a thin smile that glinted in his eyes. "You know, every time I think your basic immaturity is shining through, Kirihara-kun, you surprise me."

Akaya sniffed. He'd spent far too much time baiting people, himself, to rise to that one. "This chair needs new stuffing," was all he said.

"I wasn't actually expecting you to accept the offer to do your paperwork in here," Suzuoki told him, returning to his books. "Most people don't seem to be comfortable spending much time in my office."

"What, just because you're abrasive, snide and enjoy punching people's buttons just so you can watch them go off?" Akaya waved a dismissive hand. "I'm used to that, Suzuoki-sensei."

Suzuoki leaned back in his chair and laughed. "Most people have to be drunk before they can be that honest with someone senior to them," he noted, recovering.

Akaya gave Suzuoki his most engaging smile. "But, Sensei, you're the only one I can keep in practice with, anymore."

Another glint. "Yes, you do seem to be more stable when you have regular opportunities to mouth off to someone. It's worth putting up with your insolence to watch you gain control of your team. And of yourself. Besides, you can be amusing."

Akaya paused, looking down at the papers in front of him. Yes, he had been aware that Suzuoki was encouraging such a casual relationship because he wanted Akaya to succeed. "Thank you," he murmured.

"You're welcome," his coach answered, quite evenly.

And, of course, all this just made Akaya think of the other person who wanted him to succeed. The one he couldn't face. He could deal with Suzuoki, and his sardonic sense of humor, and his silent sharpness, and his casual, unbending demands. Suzuoki kept his distance. Akaya could manage that. What he couldn't deal with was Yukimura-san's passionate caring.

Which was another good reason for sticking around Suzuoki's office after practice. It minimized his chances of encountering Yukimura-san, and having to see that understanding look as Yukimura-san let him escape with nothing more demanding than a few pleasantries. It spared him having to see the flash of worry or almost-reaching-out that the understanding covered up. Which was a good thing, because damn it hurt to watch that. Akaya shifted, uncomfortably, in his chair. He didn't like not being able to answer when Yukimura-san reached for him. But as soon as he did answer, he was overwhelmed again, and there went all the sureness and centeredness he needed to deal with his team. It wasn't that he lost self-control; after all, that was one of the things Yukimura-san had helped him find.

It was just that, when he answered Yukimura-san, Yukimura-san became his center.

And when Yukimura-san had been his captain, that had been fine. But it wasn't now, and Akaya wasn't strong enough to stop it. On bad days, he wondered if he ever would be.

"Are you going to fill out those forms, or just brood at them in hopes they'll spontaneously combust?" Suzuoki inquired.

Of course, there were also good reasons for not sticking around Suzuoki's office. Akaya glared as best he could into the sun slanting in through the windows.

"It's getting late. I'll finish them tomorrow," he declared, gathering up the stack and shoving it into his bag.

"See you tomorrow morning," Suzuoki said, agreeably.

Akaya trudged out of the building and across the grounds, muttering to himself. "... really annoying ... thinks he's so cool ... thinks he knows everything ... worst part is when he does ..."

"Ah, here he is."

"I was starting to wonder whether you were planning to camp out in there, tonight!"

Akaya started at the familiar voices, and blinked to find Niou-senpai and Jackal-senpai falling in on either side of him.

"Senpai? What are you doing here?" he asked.

"We haven't graduated quite yet," Jackal-senpai pointed out, sounding amused.

Niou-senpai draped an arm over Akaya's shoulders. "Thought you'd get rid of us that easily? Think again." He grinned down at Akaya with just a hint of friendly malice.

Akaya sighed. "As if Suzuoki-sensei, and his bad sense of humor, wasn't enough," he shot back with as much forlorn resignation as he could manage.

"Hey!"

Akaya ducked out of Niou-senpai's hold, laughing, and nipped around the other side of Jackal-senpai. He paused there, and looked up, curious. "I thought you didn't like looking after me, Jackal-senpai," he said, a little hesitant.

"I'm remembering the reason why," Jackal-senpai noted, dryly. But the exasperated gaze fixed on Akaya was warm. Akaya smiled, and ducked his head a little.

"Someone mentioned that you've been staying late," Niou-senpai provided, recapturing him by the ends of his scarf and reeling him in. "We thought we'd see how you were doing. Maybe drag you out for a while."

"If I can't avoid you, the least you can do is feed me," Akaya agreed, pleasantly. The conversational tone of this insolence earned a gratifying double take; it was a trick he'd learned from Suzuoki.

Niou-senpai arched his brows and gave Akaya a long, slightly unnerving look. "Hmm." An even more unnerving smile. "Let's hit the University Cafe, then. You look like you've been studying way too hard for a second year. We can get you some coffee, too."

"Food first," Jackal-senpai specified, firmly. "I've seen Akaya on caffeine before, Niou."

"Where's your sense of adventure?" Niou-senpai demanded.

"The problem is more your threshold for what you consider an adventure," Jackal-senpai told him. "If you want someone who will let you run wild, get Yagyuu."

Akaya let himself be swept along, feeling a little better about the whole world.

End

Touch

How Ren reacts to Yoh touching him. Drama With Fluff, I-2, anime continuity, slight spoilers

Fingers were tracing over his back.

Ren twitched. "Cut it out."

Movement only made the sheet slide further down, and the fingers cheerfully moved on to the skin now bared. They danced across his shoulder blades and skipped down the small of his back.

"Cut it out," Ren ordered, a bit muffled by his pillow.

He really had to stop sleeping on his stomach.

"Why?" Yoh asked.

Ren was silent a moment, and Yoh slid a fingertip down the length of his spine. Ren twitched again. "Because it tickles, damn it," he grumbled.

"It does?" The innocent tone made Ren growl; he was never sure how serious Yoh was. "Sorry." The fingertips retreated.

Just as Ren was settling down to go back to sleep, in the expectation that Yoh would leave him alone now, the touch returned. Palms, instead of fingers, stroking down the planes of his back. Ren buried his face in his pillow, stifling a resigned sigh. He should really know better, by this time.

Warmth settled into him, as Yoh's hands moved up and down his back, sweeping over his skin. Ren sighed again, pleasure overcoming irritation. It was never very difficult for Yoh to smooth his irritation away, a fact which, when he was properly wound up, irritated him in and of itself. But at the moment the gentle hands passing over his back as though clearing something away took up too much of his attention for him to be annoyed.

And then Yoh stopped.

"Anna says that Tamao says dinner will be ready soon."

There was a pause while Ren assimilated this information. "This was all just to wake me up for dinner?" Ren inquired, flatly, half wishing he could find the idea harder to believe. He was going to get Yoh for this, later tonight, even if he had to arm wrestle Anna in order to get possession of him. As long as she didn't insist on poker again...

"You don't want her to send Horo Horo up to wake you, do you?" Yoh asked, laughing.

Ren snorted. But when he stretched and would have turned over, Yoh's hands pressed him down again.

"Just a minute."

Ren was drawing breath to object, strenuously, when he felt Yoh's hair brush his back. His shiver gave Yoh time to press a kiss to the center of his back, and Ren stilled, suddenly flushed.

"Okay." A rustle as Yoh sat back. "Ren?" he added, when Ren didn't move.

"That was the first place you touched me," Ren said, voice low. Not in body, of course; that had probably been during the scuffle to get him into the water at Yoh's house in Tokyo, which Ren still remembered vividly. The place Yoh had just kissed was where Ren's father had touched him to set the family sigil. It was the place he had felt warmth when he cast the sigil off. It was the first place Yoh's spirit had truly touched him.

"I know." He could hear the smile in Yoh's voice, and Yoh's fingers brushed across his back once more. "Come on. Dinner."

Ren waited until the heat in his face subsided. Even if Yoh's grin told him that Yoh knew perfectly well it had been there, it was a matter of principle.

"Hurry up, then," Ren told him, pulling on a robe and sweeping past Yoh to the door. "You're always so laid back about everything. Don't think I'll leave you any food out of pity if you're too slow."

"Of course," Yoh said, agreeably.

Ren stalked down the stairs ahead of him, dignity intact. Even if he did have to bite back a soft breath as Yoh smoothed the cloth over his back one last time.

He was definitely going to get Yoh back for this later tonight.

End

The Name

Lucifer wakes up. Drama, I-3

"Monster... created to be... mine now..."

The fog around his senses was thinning. He was waking. The soft words that he caught in bits and pieces told him this was unlikely to be enjoyable. When he finally opened his eyes he could only reflect on the accuracy of his instincts, because he recognized the person leaning against the glass above him.

"Ah. Awake at last, Lucifer?"

Lucifer? Yes. That was his name, wasn't it? But it matched badly with what he felt, now.

He sorted, a bit slowly, through his memories. His body had died. He had felt it. Felt it twice. And now... He flexed his fingers, ignoring the pain. This was Kira Sakuya's body; it didn't respond as his own should have, power didn't run through it quite the right way.

But he was not Kira. He was Lucifer. He remembered. Had his spirit really clung so hard to this flesh that Rociel had been able to revive him from what, to all his recollections, should have been a very, finally, thorough death?

"Confused, Lord of Hell?" Rociel taunted, lightly. "I'm not surprised; you always were. And being mortal for so long couldn't have helped."

He wondered, in a detached sort or way, why Rociel was lounging against such a flimsy barrier and baiting him. Even injured, he could do a good deal of damage, and Rociel had never liked being damaged.

He got his answer when Rociel dangled a clear red stone in front of the glass separating them. A sharp edge of shock sliced off his breath, and he closed his eyes, letting Rociel's bright laugh wash over him.

He felt nothing.

No call, no nagging pull from the stone. It had no connection to him.

Impulses raced through him, and he stifled them all. Satisfying as it might be to rip off Rociel's wings, Rociel stood a good chance of killing him as the price of the pleasure. And that left out of consideration whatever poor fools Rociel had bound to himself, here. Lucifer could wait for his opportunity.

Coolness settled into his thoughts, soothing, calming him. Familiar, though it had been far too long since he'd felt it. Felt like himself. Comforting. Chill. Familiar.

Alien.

He frowned behind a smooth face, as Rociel's voice picked up again above him. His true self couldn't be alien. It was all the centuries without his memory that should feel that way. Although, actually... Nanatsusaya had carried his chill and his anger just as easily as his original form ever had. His wish to protect and possess Alexiel had been nothing particularly new, either, he'd felt it since the second time he came to her in Eden, from the moment she'd taken his hand.

Why should he feel strange to himself, now, then?

Never mind. Introspection could wait. For now, he needed to play along with Rociel and wait for his chance. This time, Alexiel's twin would die.

"...and in Etenamenki I will have the body I should have had and we'll be one again..."

Rociel's rambling caught his ear again. Etenamenki?

Fire rose in his soul, burning cold. A chance. Oh, yes. A real chance at his real enemy. If anyone would be allowed into the Presence it would be Rociel, and Rociel liked to keep his toys close. Lucifer would definitely play along. He started listening again.

He followed everything, occasionally even feeling a spark of appreciation for Rociel's unapologetic and gleeful cruelty. It was when Rociel got to the part about killing Setsuna that he felt a pang.

And then he was annoyed at himself.

Rociel had a point, after all. Setsuna had to die for Alexiel to awaken as herself again, since it had become obvious that Setsuna had more than enough determination to hold his own personality even while using her power. And only Alexiel's memory could break the doors of Etenamenki. It wasn't pleasant but it was necessary. Setsuna was mortal, he had to die some time...

His heart twisted sharply.

Lucifer breathed carefully for a few moments. He would deal with that later. For now, was there anything he would have to maneuver around, in Rociel's plans?

He would, he supposed, have to be careful that his demons didn't notice him playing lapdog for the Inorganic Angel, or there would be Hell to pay when it was all over. Quite literally. Fortunately, they almost never managed to infiltrate Heaven, except for Belial, and he could trust Belial to see the difference between her lord bound and her lord biding his time. More than that, he could trust her not to interfere too much against his wishes.

He paused in his thoughts. Trust? Trust Belial?

Perhaps, he pondered dispassionately, the revival had gone wrong and he had lost his mind.

And yet... wasn't it true? Certainly, Belial had proven willing to betray anyone and anything. Except him. Certainly he was repulsed by her flaunting, mocking seductions that ended in ruin and death. But what, precisely, disgusted him about that? Was it only her interest in him, personally?

Or her dependence on him?

Katou had made him angry that way, too.

He stilled all his thoughts, trying to call them back from wandering. Later. He would deal with these things later. When he didn't have one of the two most powerful angels in all the planes breathing down his neck, and he didn't have the death of his ultimate enemy to plan. In the meantime, he would simply have to trust his own strongest goals and deepest responses.

He would do what was necessary.

End

Mercurial

Mad Hatter has a few difficulties coping with how people have changed, post-canon. Drama With UST, I-3

"Where do we go now?" Belial asked hir lord, as they watched Lucifer's final contract partner return to his proper plane.

"Back," Lucifer said, laconically.

Belial had to stifle a bit of surprise at the thin quirk to Lucifer's lips. It was a more sardonic and less bitter expression than se had been used to seeing on the Lord of Hell's face. Perhaps his time sharing Alexiel's cycle of reincarnation really had changed him.

"Back... to Hell?" se speculated. "Or to Heaven?"

Lucifer arched a brow and didn't answer. Belial took back hir thought about having changed. Se knelt with studied and only faintly mocking grace at hir lord's feet, holding hir hat over hir heart.

"Your wishes command one, lord." That, at least, was entirely sincere.

Lucifer's eyes rested on hir for a heartbeat longer than Belial expected. "Come, then."

Belial rose and followed, pleased that familiarity had returned.

Belial understood Lucifer's refusal to name their destination within a very short while. The heavens and the hells were assimilating each other. The results were interesting. On the one hand, it sent the most powerful denizens of every plane into what could only be described as a tizzy, insisting that it couldn't be happening, or shouldn't be happening, and trying to find some way to stop it. On the other hand, a good many of the lowlier residents didn't seem to notice much difference.

The contrast amused Belial.

"Well, really, what did you think was going to happen when we jammed the planes together?" se interjected, when Astaroth paused for breath.

"We were expecting to take over Heaven," he snapped. "And might have succeeded if everyone had actually been attending to business."

Belial brushed aside his searing glare with a deprecating smile. "Indeed. Very few were attending to the real business at hand. One sympathizes with your frustration; such disloyalty is distressing."

Astaroth opened his mouth, and closed it again as Belial's glance sharpened. Se lowered hir lashes, satisfied, and moved away across the hall currently serving as the court of the Lord of Hell. It was not precisely crowded; too many of the ranking demons had died in the most recent round of war for that. Barbelo, Asmodeus, Mammon, all gone, and most of their people with them. Even so, Belial didn't really think demons were meant to congregate in anything as cooperative as a court. Which was, come to think of it, probably why Lucifer had never much bothered with the trappings of one, and still wasn't now. Belial didn't think he was even present today.

Everyone would probably calm down a bit when they managed to sort out separate domains again. Having all the higher demons brushing shoulders with each other like this made them... tetchy. Belial no less than any of the others, se admitted privately. Normally, se wouldn't make an issue of disloyalty to their lord. It was pointless, considering that they were all demons and demons were, one and all, selfish and opportunistic creatures.

Speaking of opportunity, Belial felt eyes on hir as se moved out onto one of the balconies. Delightful. Se could use a diversion. Se lounged against the stone rail, letting hir head fall back as se stretched. Apparent vulnerability was titillating to so many fools. Hir lips curved, harshly.

"This eternal guilt of yours is getting boring, little butterfly," a low, familiar voice said from the shadows by the wall.

Belial recoiled upright with a gasp. "My lord," se murmured, and then blinked as the actual words registered. "Guilt? One is a demon," se reiterated hir recent train of thought. "We do what will benefit or amuse us; we use the innocent and the tarnished alike; where is the place of guilt in that?"

A few quick strides brought Lucifer close enough to hold Belial with a hand against hir back and another curved around hir jaw. Belial bit back another gasp wondering, on a surge of sharpened senses, whether Lucifer had finally decided to kill hir. He had been volatile since his return, and Belial had been expecting, for centuries, that he would eventually cease to tolerate hir devotion and attention. Would it be now? Belial tensed but did not move.

"It has no place," Lucifer agreed, coolly, "which hasn't stopped you from heaping contempt on yourself. Haven't you seen past the lies of our Creator yet?"

Now Belial was confused, and the confusion was only making hir more tense. "My lord?" se asked, a bit tightly.

Belial thought se heard a sigh as Lucifer gathered hir close, but was far too shocked to be sure. He couldn't... not now...

"Why am I always surrounded by idiots?" he asked, rather caustically.

"What...?" Belial choked, now completely disoriented.

"Hush, foolish butterfly," Lucifer told hir.

The hand stroking hir hair, as much as the command, silenced Belial. Se didn't understand what was happening at all.

"You are not fit to carry the weight of Pride," hir lord said, evenly. "You have none. Not really."

Belial veered back to thoughts of imminent death, and searched the gray eyes that held hir own; not that se really thought the moment of decision would show there. It never had before. Lucifer shook his head and placed a light kiss on hir brow.

"Consider it," he directed, and left Belial staring after him in unaccustomed bewilderment.

Belial spent a few days wandering the nearest angelic cities, and incited a few fights just to settle hir nerves. Se returned to court in a better mood, reappearing in a swirl of extravagance, scattering barbed illusions around hir like drops of water splashed from a fountain, ready for the unwary to slip on. Se was in a mood to remind the court of hir power and danger.

The reminder seemed effective, as even Beelzebub kept a prudent distance after taking in Belial's tiny smile and chill eyes. Astaroth was not so fortunate, and stalked out in a high temper after he embraced an illusion of his sister-self only to see it turn to one of Belial. He dismembered the wisp quite thoroughly, and would likely have attempted the same on the actual Belial he discovered standing in front of him, smirking, as the illusion dissipated, if they hadn't both known exactly who would win.

Belial had retired to the window with the best view, feeling satisfied, when black feathered wings swept around hir, blocking any view at all.

Four black wings.

Belial turned, trying not to shiver at the whispering touch of feathers and magic, and looked up at hir lord, barely a breath away. His wings surrounded hir in his power, a feather's edge from destruction or... what? Lucifer's face was unreadable.

"I would say to entertain yourself as you like, if pain and humiliation truly amuse you," he said. "But your deception has gotten thin."

Belial raised hir brows. "You are the only one who was never deceived, lord," se pointed out. "One cannot see that this has changed."

Lucifer's eyes narrowed, and Belial stiffened a little. Had one of the other demons turned their lord's opinion against hir? Well, se had to amend, turned him against hir in more than the usual way. Was that the reason for the cage of his wings?

"A pose of self-honesty makes a brittle mask." His voice was cold, colder than it had been since he returned to them, as cold as it had been the very first time they spoke. The tone made Belial relax, even as se puzzled at the words. Hir effort wasn't much use, as Lucifer's fingers, brushing back hir disheveled hair, brushed away all hir thoughts. Belial was starting to wonder whether Lucifer was simply amusing himself by toying with hir. He hadn't used to indulge much in that sort of thing, but...

Grasping for the thread of this strange conversation, Belial murmured, "At the risk of repeating the obvious, one is a demon. Whether we delight in the pain and humiliation of others or are merely indifferent to it, we all bring it."

"I didn't speak of others' pain," Lucifer told hir, and cupped Belial's cheek, brushing his thumb over the teardrop under hir eye.

A thin sound of denial forced its way out of Belial's throat, even as se leaned into the touch, parting hir lips. He couldn't. He couldn't. Please, no, not this one. Belial believed in the efficacy of prayer even less than se had before the third war, but se was desperate enough to entreat the memory of their progenitor, dead as Adam Kadmon was, not to let Lucifer desire hir. It would be glorious. It would be the end of Belial's existence, the end of the only truth se had ever found.

Lucifer sighed, looking faintly exasperated. "A complete and utter fool," he stated. "I seem to be cursed with them."

The hold of his wings tightened for a moment before unfolding from around hir. Belial tried to decide, as se watched Lucifer walk away, and felt the many eyes on hir, whether se was comforted or terrified by hir lord's parting words.

Need drove, and Belial didn't think se could face much more of trying to keep the rest of the court guessing whether Lucifer was favoring or punishing hir. Especially when se hadn't the faintest idea which it might be. Thus, se was the first of the Satans to risk imposing hir will on the borderlands to establish a domain of hir own. Belial was actually rather proud of the effort. If the definition held, then the domain should expand as the assimilation of planes continued.

Unfortunately, unless se wished to deny hir allegiance to Lucifer, se could not avoid an explicit summons into his presence. Since such a denial was unthinkable, Belial crushed the messenger's heart to relieve hir stress a bit, and prepared to attend on hir lord. Drawing on the jester's mask helped calm hir, at least.

Lucifer had called hir to the gardens, which were inexplicably developing just inside the border. No one Belial knew of, including Lucifer, had had anything to do with creating them. That was happening more and more frequently, of late, on both sides of the border, and Belial occupied hir mind with speculation on whether the angels had any more idea of what was going on than the demons did. It worked up until se found Lucifer.

He was sitting on the grass, propped up against a set of steps that didn't seem to lead anywhere, reading. Belial blinked, trying to remember if se had ever seen the Lord of Hell looking so... relaxed. Se was fairly sure not.

"There you are," Lucifer said, closing the book. "Come here." He held out a hand.

Belial approached, stopping beside him the usual foot or so away—as close as se could come without being forced back. Or so it used to be. The hand remained outstretched, and Lucifer's eyes glinted. Rather worn out from trying to guess what he meant to do, Belial placed hir hand in his with only a brief hesitation. Se was not entirely surprised when Lucifer pulled hir down to his side, but this time he made no move to draw hir closer.

Nor did he let hir go.

"My patience has not grown that much," he informed hir, softly. "It's time to choose, now."

The entire thing would be a great deal easier, Belial reflected, if se had any idea what the choices involved were. Several likely possibilities did present themselves, though. One was that Lucifer had, in fact, come to desire Belial, and wished to know whether Belial would give hirself willingly or not. Another was that he had finally become sufficiently annoyed or disgusted with Belial that he wished to destroy hir, or, possibly, merely torment hir, and was asking whether se would submit or resist.

The complete lack of clues as to which might be true only added to the inherent stress of either option. When Belial considered the fact that these possibilities were not even mutually exclusive, and that both might be true, the tension rose enough to leave hir shaking.

None of that, however, affected hir decision in the least.

Belial lowered hir head and leaned against Lucifer's chest, waiting.

Lucifer's free hand came to rest on Belial's back, touching off new tremors. "Is it that difficult, butterfly?" he asked.

"Your wishes command one," Belial whispered. "If your intent is to destroy, though, may one beg the favor of a swifter end?"

The hand moved to Belial's shoulder and shook hir slightly. "I never thought I would actually meet anyone who was more of an idiot than Setsuna," Lucifer remarked against Belial's hair. "You have a better mind than that; you know the difference between ruthlessness and cruelty."

Belial stopped breathing. If it was not destruction, then...

A silent chuckle rolling through Lucifer's chest startled hir into looking up. Lucifer's expression was ironic.

"And did you really think I had fallen victim to your rather overdramatic wiles?" he added.

Belial's admittedly excellent mind went entirely blank. "Then what...?"

"One of the things my idiot managed," Lucifer noted, calmly, "was to point out to me a more interesting and effective method of rebellion."

Connections cascaded through Belial's thoughts. Se had understood, long ago, what drove Lucifer's frozen rage. He hated the Creator's plans, and yet had been mouse-trapped into playing a part in them. How to rebel, when one's assigned role was to do so? Taking part in the slaying of God surely qualified, but Belial knew better than to think that alone would appease hir lord's long, long fury. A better method? The Messiah's method? The Messiah stood outside the balance of Heaven and Hell, refused to give any credence to the rules of those realms: the rule of God's order versus the chaos of solely individual desires. Except for Belial, of course, whose desire was not purely for hirself, who cared also for the wishes of another...

Cared also for another...

The single greatest sin, for any angel...

A better rebellion...

Cared.

Belial stared up for a long moment, finally recognizing the strangeness in Lucifer's eyes as cool affection. And then se started to laugh. Laughed until se had to lean against Lucifer or fall. Laughed until se cried, wracking sobs that tore the air from hir lungs. Lucifer merely held hir until se quieted. It took a while.

"I was right the first time," Belial murmured against his shoulder. "It did change you." Se had known Lucifer loved Alexiel; even the blind couldn't help seeing that. Se had long suspected that it was the transgressive nature of his desire for the Organic Angel that had been the entering wedge for genuine care whether he recognized it or not. Se had never, for the tiniest instant, suspected he might come to expand that care to anyone else, no matter what the rationale or advantage. Why?

Lucifer lifted Belial's face with two fingers under hir chin. "You're a mess," he told hir, smiling faintly. He mopped Belial's face with a corner of his cloak, scrubbing away the remains of hir mask. "There. A little closer to truth."

Belial tried to look away. Lucifer didn't let go.

"I can't... I'm not..." Belial broke off. The mirror that had shown hir worthlessness and degradation with such merciless, enchanting clarity was warping, turning, angling in another direction. Wasn't it Belial who was supposed to play tricks like that? Se bit hir lip sharply.

"Stop that," Lucifer ordered, sounding a bit exasperated, and leaned forward.

His lips brushed over Belial's, softly.

The shock of it drove an unvoiced cry from hir, and Lucifer answered with a quiet laugh, tumbling hir down to the grass. Belial gazed up as he leaned over hir, shaking harder than before, frightened by the very possibility that he might touch hir. Se couldn't accept this, couldn't be worth the frosted shadow of gentleness in hir lord's eyes. He combed hir hair back with his fingers, smoothing it.

"Not yet, foolish butterfly," he said, and pressed a kiss to Belial's brow. "Choose your new truth, Belial. Then we'll talk."

Belial answered with the only surety left to hir.

"Your wishes command one."

Belial retreated to hir domain again, and spent a rather long time trying to stave off panic. The effort was only intermittently successful. This did not, when Belial was calm, particularly surprise hir. Lucifer had done precisely what would most unsettle, discomfit, and generally unbalance hir. He had changed, while he was away, but he showed no more mercy than he ever had.

Which was to say, none.

From the first, it had thrilled Belial, that exacting ruthlessness, the edged truth that Lucifer used to draw blood. Se found it beautiful, like perfectly clear ice, frozen from perfectly still water. And he had completely confirmed Belial's own view of what the world was. This was the first time se had not been able to see what hir lord did.

Belial drew hir knees up and rested hir chin on them, tucked into a corner of hir bed. A better rebellion. Se understood that. And love itself was insane—se knew that, too. But care for another was not natural to demons. Or any other living creature, as far as Belial had ever been able to tell. As soon as anyone, angel or human, cast off the rules they bound themselves with, they consumed each other in perfectly selfish savagery. Angels had long managed to do so without breaking any rules as such. It was that hypocrisy, masking utterly solipsistic cruelties as holiness, that had most disgusted Belial with Heaven. The fact that, even when se wrote it out in blood and sex and rot for them, no one saw the truth.

No one but Lucifer.

Belial loved the honesty of the fallen. Surely the Lord of Hell, of all people, wouldn't try to deny that? Could he truly believe that living nature held something else? Hadn't Belial proven it otherwise, in Heaven and on Earth both? Se remembered his expression, the one time he had come to the cities by the sea—chill and ironic and unsurprised. Had that not been the ultimate example of the truth that lay behind God's rules? The truth of the Creator's work, the Creator's reflection, the Creator's corruption?

Outside the rules...

Belial paused, unfolding as se remembered the thought that had come to hir earlier.

The Messiah had gone outside those rules. Rather well outside; it was one of the things Belial had actually somewhat respected in that strange individual. And yet, Mudou Setsuna had not acted with pure selfishness. He didn't care for abstracts, that Belial had been able to see. But he did care for his people. His friends. His sister.

Belial nibbled on a nail for a long moment before rising, decisively, locking hir domain and heading for Machonon. For once, se didn't look for centers of unrest, or levers to pull, or bother with the houses of the powerful. Se came, instead, to an enclave of those who had fled from Raquia when it crumbled. A fairly small enclave, but one se had noted before was more cohesive than any faction of the angelic armies managed to be. More cohesive than any powerful angelic faction, period, except for young Raziel's. They reminded her a bit of Kurai's people.

Hir intent to remain unnoticed met with a check almost as soon as se arrived, which actually confirmed hir opinion that this little group might offer the insights se needed. It was obvious that the Forbidden Children among them were taught to use their powers rather than simply suppress them, and Belial suspected their leader had once been an angel of high rank. A strange combination. If anyone could demonstrate living outside the rules, it would be them.

"...if we're lucky, Rehel will be too busy to get around to us for a while..." their leader was saying as Belial slipped in.

One of the others raised his head, sharply. "Arariel. Someone's here."

All three who were present looked around, and Arariel frowned. "You're sure?" she asked.

"Very," the one who had alerted them said, definitely, looking in Belial's direction.

Interesting. "One is impressed," Belial lilted, stepping out of the shadows.

The third angel, younger than the other two if Belial was any judge, tensed, but Arariel held up a hand. "Who are you?" she asked.

Belial fanned out a handful of cards. "Merely a jester. You might call one Mad Hatter."

The alert one's expression said that he didn't think much of this. "Whoever that is, he isn't merely anyone," he said to his leader, tense and wary. "He's strong. And a demon."

Arariel nodded. "I'm Arariel. What do you want here?" she asked, still calm.

"Merely to observe," Belial answered with a charming smile.

"Observe," Arariel repeated dryly. "Is this a synonym for scout? As in, the advance of an invasion?"

Belial laughed. "One very much doubts it. One's compatriots are far too taken up with the assimilation of planes to have much taste for other amusements yet."

"Yet," the tense one muttered, glaring.

"So you just want to hang around and watch us for no particular reason," Arariel summarized.

"Quite." Belial smiled.

"Is there anything we could do to stop you?" Arariel asked, in a tone of academic curiosity.

"Unlikely." Belial taped a finger against hir lips, judiciously. "It might be somewhat more of a chore under the gaze of your eagle eyed one, there," nodding at the alert one, "but not much."

Arariel thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Try to stay out of the way, then."

"One will endeavor to do so," Belial murmured, amused.

"Good. This is Nisroc, and that's Tabris," she nodded to the alert one and the tense one, respectively. "I'm sure you'll meet everyone else as you go. Make yourself at home." She turned back to the little conclave Belial had interrupted, and, after a few distrustful glances, so did the other two.

Belial withdrew, quietly, musing on Arariel's invitation.

"I still don't get why Arariel let you in so fast," Tabris complained, flicking the red wings that had gotten him thrown into the slums in the first place.

He and Belial were perched on the ruined roof of the group's home, watching a small but rather nasty fight between two splinters of the angelic host through Tabris' spell.

"Practicality, most likely," Belial speculated, admiring a particularly sharp explosion. "And, perhaps, an instinct for truth. She knows one is no threat to you, at this time. If it's any comfort to you, she does not seem to trust one too much."

Tabris growled. It entertained Belial that he, who made a considerably greater show of hostility, tolerated hir presence far better than Arariel's other second, Maion. Belial could drive Maion out of a room just by producing flowers from nowhere; the frivolity seemed to offend him.

Actually, they all entertained hir. Perhaps even fascinated hir.

Se still had some difficulty understanding how they managed to hold together, for one thing. Arariel was a large part of the answer, se had no doubt, but not the whole of it. Belial didn't see how Arariel could have anything to do with Isda's tolerance for the double-handful of obstreperous brats the enclave boasted. Nor the way even Tabris and Maion, who constantly sought in small ways to show each other up, would guard each other's backs without an instant's hesitation. Belial had seen it, shadowing them while they hunted information on their neighbors. More than that, each of them accepted the other's guard without a qualm.

Even Charoum and Harahel, who, by standing rule, were not permitted to be alone in the same room lest only one of them walk out, even between them lay... something. Belial couldn't exactly call it warmth; any warmth between those two could only be the beginning of spontaneous combustion. Acceptance, perhaps. Se had been waiting, in vain, ever since se met them for Harahel and Charoum to kill each other. Instead they seemed to accept that they detested each other passionately and worked around it.

All the time jealousy and spite and greed pulled every one of this little band in one direction, and that something else pulled them back. They weren't a perfect or model anything, to Belial's great delight; se didn't think se could have stomached it if they had been. Perfection was only ever a cover for corruption in hir extensive experience. What they were, illegal children, imperfect angels, political refugees and all, was a living whole in absolute defiance of the uncaring chaos around them.

Definitely fascinating. If Belial could understand them, se might have the key to hir lord's changed vision.

"Hey, Tabris!" Isda poked her flour-powdered face over the edge of the stairs. "Harahel and Nisroc found something. Arariel wants you to hear about it."

Tabris, without a word of farewell, abandoned his observation and dove down the stairs, eyes bright. Belial chuckled, and slid into the shadows to emerge, well ahead of him, in Arariel's makeshift office.

"Hatter," Nisroc said, less a greeting and more a warning to everyone else that se was present.

Maion, leaning over Zachriel as his fingers danced on a keyboard, twitched just slightly. His shoulders tensed even more as Tabris burst into the room, and glared at Belial.

"Will you cut that out?!" he exclaimed, irate at having been beaten to the office once again.

Belial considered for a moment. "No, one doesn't think so."

"Indulge your silliness more quietly," Maion directed, firmly.

"Certainly." Belial produced hir brightest, laciest parasol and twirled it gently over hir shoulder. Se gave Maion a brilliant smile as he twitched again. Arariel raised a brow at hir, and Belial obligingly let the gaudy thing fade away again.

"Zachriel, anything yet?" Arariel asked.

"Nope. There doesn't seem to be a thing in the records about this place." Belial was a bit surprised that he sounded so pleased. Normally, Zachriel took any failure of information as a personal affront. And se had to admit, while he was physically frail, Zachriel's relationship with the various databases and archives of Heaven was something close to symbiotic. Or, perhaps, romantic.

"Even I wouldn't have found it if we hadn't more or less tripped over the doorway," Nisroc observed.

"And it's only half a mile through the southbound tunnels," Harahel enthused.

A memory stirred in Belial's mind. Hidden, through the tunnels, just south of their present location...

"I wonder if it's proof against the scanners Rehel's people have," Arariel said, half to herself.

"Yes," Belial answered. Se smiled, urbanely, as the entire room turned to face hir. "Scanners, signature seekers, any and all messengers, even the voice of Bath Kol. At least once the door's shut."

"It was ajar when we found it," Nisroc confirmed. "You know the place?"

"Oh, yes," Belial murmured. "It was very useful on any number of occasions."

Everyone visibly decided not to ask.

"All right, it's confirmed," Arariel said, briskly, "Maion see what you can do about an evacuation plan."

Belial blinked. "Confirmed?" se echoed in mild disbelief. "You do realize that one might be leading you straight into a trap?"

"Yes, you might," Arariel agreed, serenely. "But the expression on your face just now, when you mentioned how useful the place was, was far too vicious to be a put on. When you're lying, you smile. You meant that."

Belial took in Arariel's matter-of-fact expression for a long moment before se burst out laughing. "One knew there was a good reason to like you. How marvelously realistic."

An edge of discomfort followed Belial when se left, though. Reviewing the way they had behaved around hir just now, se could only come to the conclusion that this little group had accepted hir as... well, if not one of them, an ally. Following Arariel's lead, they growled and teased and ignored hir much as they did any of their own.

It was far from the first time perfect strangers, and even acquaintances who should have known better, had come to trust Belial. But se thought it might be the first time it had happened when se hadn't been trying. What were they thinking?

What were they expecting, assuming such trustworthiness on the part of a demon? Just as Kurai had trusted hir "wedding proposal". Just as Lucifer...

Belial bit hir lip and frowned.

That comparison rooted at the bottom of Belial's mind, and it wasn't long at all before it bore a fruit se would never have expected.

It started with Isda rounding up the children with the kind of sharp haste Belial had seen on battlefields, and herding them toward the tunnels. That was enough to tell Belial that someone was coming, and the explosion shortly after confirmed the suspicion quite conclusively. Se emerged, discreetly, to find Arariel, Nisroc, Tabris and Maion standing on the remains of a wall, facing a sizable group of intruders in uniform. The best shots among Arariel's people had managed to find spots for a fairly good cross-fire pattern, if their leaders would just get out of the way.

"It's simple enough," a tall man was telling them, in a voice which was, in Belial's professional opinion, far too smooth. "If your leader surrenders herself to us, no one else will be harmed and we'll leave you in peace."

Tabris was inhaling, presumably to tell the man where to put his suggestion, when Arariel spoke. "Will your word bind Rehel?"

The angel standing on the launcher which had, presumably, demolished the wall, barked a laugh and jumped down to saunter forward. "Yes, it will bind me. After all, without a leader, these others will fall apart into pointless rabble again."

"Very well," Arariel said, after a cold pause.

"Arariel!" Tabris burst out. "You can't...!"

Arariel spun and laid a hand on his shoulder, and another on Maion's. Belial saw her lips shape the words But you can. She turned again and stepped toward the intruders. Buying time with her death, Belial decided, tallying the defenders against the intruders. Time to make just a few more preparations that might give her people enough of an edge.

Maion's hand clamped on Tabris' arm and held him back when he would have gone after her.

Rehel grinned, and gestured to his tall lieutenant, who drew his sidearm.

And Belial was, abruptly, consumed with fury—the kind of blazing, acid rage se hadn't felt since the first war, having been far too busy since then trying to keep Gehenna in one piece. It didn't matter that se knew Rehel had made a severe miscalculation, that executing Arariel in front of her people would ensure they hunted him down to destruction with the last shred of life and breath in them. The expression on Arariel's face, as she stepped forward, was too like and too unlike the shadow of a smirk Lucifer had worn when he unravelled his body to blanket Hell with the smallest breath of life for his fallen followers. Rehel's smirk was too very like the twist on the lips of the angels who had touched hir. Se remembered too well. Se didn't step back to watch the show, as se normally would have. Instead, Belial stepped forward, and was beside the intruders in a slide of shadow.

The tall man's hands hit the ground with a slight thump, followed a moment later by his body.

"Hatter!" Arariel shouted, cut off as Belial threw her back into the arms of her seconds.

Belial turned on Rehel, a snarl twisting at hir usual sardonic calm. He had threatened these people who had accepted hir, whose beautiful, precarious, living balance had lured hir into taking part in their lives. Just as Lucifer had, when he returned.

Rehel clearly saw his destruction in Belial's face, and sprang back, shouting to his soldiers. They fired with the speed of fear, but Belial was gone. Se slid among them, and they fell, cut down one after another, until only Rehel stood. Belial stepped in front of him long enough for him to get a good look, and then was gone again, flickering through the shadows that surrounded them, reappearing always long enough to be seen but never long enough to be struck. Dancing with this creature who dared think himself righteous, as se had danced with so many before. Slashing through his illusions until they were all gone and he died of truth.

Belial stood, at last, looking down at the bodies, absently shaking blood off hir hand.

"Ha... Hatter?"

Belial turned to see blank disbelief in Tabris' eyes as they tracked from hir to the bodies and back. Se tipped hir head to one side and waited to see what would happen next.

What happened next was that Arariel picked up a scrap of towel and came to offer it to Belial, silently. Hir mouth curled in appreciation of this sang-froid, and se accepted it, wiping off hir hands. Something, though, perhaps the expression on Maion's face, wouldn't let Belial leave it at that. Arariel's orders to her people about disposing of the bodies, while it did shake everyone out of their apparent paralysis, also offered an opportunity just too good to pass up.

"There's a much easier way," Belial noted, blandly.

"Is there?" Arariel eyed hir. "Do tell."

Belial waved a hand, opening a gate to the borderlands under the entire lot of erstwhile intruders. "There are gardens taking hold," se said, into the resulting quiet. "One is sure they could use the fertilizer."

After another long, frozen moment, Nisroc turned and called up to one of the others, "You owe me two weeks of late patrol. I told you he was a Demon Lord."

Amid the ensuing expostulation that the bet had only been for one week, and Nisroc wouldn't cheat a friend like that, would he? Belial had to wonder how se had known that they wouldn't react with fear. Because se had been sure of it.

And for the life of hir, se couldn't have said how. Perhaps it was this trust thing, again; it was really extremely counterintuitive. Se sighed.

"I don't know about you, but I need a drink," Arariel said, under the hubbub. "Care to join me?"

"One would be delighted," Belial agreed.

They wound up in Arariel's office, where people occasionally looked in to tell their leader that the children had returned, or that the hole in the building was boarded up, or, curiously enough, to grin at Belial.

"May I ask your rank?" Arariel said, at last.

"One is first among the seven Great Satans," Belial answered, and then amended, "well, four now. Curious how that matches the reduction in numbers of the Great Angels."

"What are you really doing here?" Arariel asked, softly, examining her glass.

"One spoke the truth. You were not mistaken in that." At Arariel's exasperated glance, Belial smiled and continued. "One has long held certain opinions about people's basic natures. Opinions which, one's lord has recently suggested, may be... incomplete." Belial leaned back and looked at the light of sunset, painted across the ceiling. "One felt that you might be complete."

"We like to think so," Arariel agreed, dryly. After a moment she spoke again. "Are you complete, now, too, Mad Hatter?"

Belial's breath caught. "You do remind one of the young Princess," se murmured. How did they both strike the things hidden even from Belial, like that? Because it was true; alone, Belial had never felt completion, even when se destroyed those whose corruption seemed the source of diminishment. Se adjusted the brim of hir hat lower. "Yes."

Arariel tossed back the last of her drink. "Good."

Belial waited long enough for everyone to stop tip-toeing around hir before announcing hir departure over dinner one night.

Tabris claimed hir timing just proved hir perversity.

"Thank you for your help, while you were with us," Arariel said, coming forward.

"It was entirely one's pleasure," Belial said.

Arariel looked hir in the eye. "And will you be coming back some time with a suggestion that we join Lucifer's people?"

Belial arched hir brows. "What would you say if one did?" se asked, intrigued.

"I don't know."

"Fair enough," Belial murmured, amused. "One does not know either."

"Would you destroy us if we refused?" Arariel asked, with that detached curiosity she showed over particularly vital questions.

"Only if the service of one's lord demanded it," Belial told her.

Arariel nodded. "Understood."

"Wise angel," Belial smiled at her. "One does like you." Se touched two fingers to hir lips, and then to Arariel's cheek.

Arariel's mouth quirked with appreciation of this delicacy. "Come visit us some time, then," she invited.

Belial paused in the act of turning to go. "One just might."

When Belial returned to the borderlands, se chose to fly. It was not a common choice for hir, and hopefully that would prevent anyone connecting the person on top of a very tall and barren crag with Belial and pestering hir. Se wasn't in the mood to deal with demon politics just at the moment.

"Was your vacation nice?"

Belial had not sensed any presence behind hir, and, in the moment before logic noted that only one individual now alive and mobile had the power to conceal himself from hir, Belial spun around violently, teetering on the edge of the cliff. Hir wings flared out, preparing to turn a fall into a swoop which would, without a doubt, be very painful.

Lucifer caught hir back from the edge with an arm around hir waist. Belial spent a moment making sure se did not dig fingers into his shoulders hard enough to bruise, nor pant for breath, nor answer hir lord in unbecomingly blunt language.

"I do hope your usual aplomb will be returning at some point soon," Lucifer observed.

There was, as they said, no time like the present, and Belial decided se might as well put hir new resolves into practice starting now. If Lucifer really wished for reciprocality, for hir to consider him a companion as well as leader, to answer his familiarity in kind, well, he would get his wish.

"Ah, but one's upset was a gift from you," se answered, sweetly. "One has no wish to seem ungrateful by getting over it too quickly."

Lucifer's mouth curled. "You chose well when you called yourself a jester."

"Does one amuse you, then? One is most gratified." Belial's tone was sharper than se usually took with hir lord.

"It is somewhat endearing when someone so controlled has to work so hard to keep from calling me names," he admitted, eyes gleaming. "Ruffling such legendary composure does carry a certain satisfaction with it."

Belial had to agree; it had entertained hir for centuries on end, especially when it came to Lucifer...

Oh... dear.

This information and its possible implications, were driven home when hir lord ran his fingers, lightly, through hir feathers, stroking one wing into place behind hir. Se shivered at the touch and looked up to see his smile.

"You never used to like to tease this way," Belial said, glancing aside, still rather taken aback by it.

"You were the one who noted that I've changed, somewhat," he returned, still smoothing hir wings.

Belial sighed, ending on a small laugh, and leaned against him. "Indeed."

"And you?" Lucifer asked, quietly.

Belial thought of Kurai, who liked hir despite knowing personally the depths of deceit and betrayal Belial was willing to descend to for hir lord's sake. Of Arariel, and her clear-eyed caution and grave acceptance. Belial had never accepted care, especially on those rare occasions when se discovered what might have been true feeling directed at hir. But those two had somehow slipped past hir guard. Could se really expect to keep Lucifer out?

"I... have already begun, I think," se answered, softly.

"It's about time, idiot butterfly," Lucifer said, tone gentler than his words.

Belial looked up at him, and smiled, wryly. "I will always follow you."

"Why?" Lucifer asked, face still.

"Because truth is merciless, and reality makes no apology," Belial said. "And I love that."

The hard gray eyes softened just a bit. "Keep a little mercy for yourself, Belial," he told hir. "You've cut yourself on your own edge for a long time. If you want to die that way, I won't stop you; but think a little about what target you really want to strike."

The words slid through Belial like a sword, the same visceral thrill se had felt at their first meeting. "Yes," se breathed.

Lucifer and Belial shared a long smile, nearly a grin—of celebration, of bloodthirst, of comfort, of freedom. He leaned down and kissed hir once, a fierce kiss of companionship.

Belial sighed as they parted. "And that, my lord, is enough, I think. Unless, of course, you truly desire me. You've made your point."

A low laugh answered hir. "We'll have to start thinking of you by the older reading of your name," Lucifer said.

Belial gave him an inquiring look.

"Unyielding," he prompted. "Worthless only if the greatest measure of worth is yielding to God."

Belial was glad hir mask was on; se thought se might be blushing. "Really?" se murmured.

Lucifer's eyes gleamed at hir tone, but he let it go. Only for the time being, Belial was sure. The future promised to be... interesting.

"Are you ready to return?" he asked instead, twisting a gate open in the air.

Belial pulled hirself back together. "One is ready," se confirmed.

As they crossed through, se couldn't help laughing to hirself. Lucifer, Lord of Hell, was, unless Belial was very much mistaken, planning to take Adam Kadmon at that being's word. He intended to rule a realm neither holy nor fallen.

Belial smiled wickedly, looking forward to the expressions on the faces of the angels and demons, both.

End

The Mind is its Own Place - Part One

The world is changing for everyone, and everyone has to find some way to deal with it. Drama With Vague Romance, I-3

"The mind is its own place, and in itself, / Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n." Milton, Paradise Lost, Book 1, ll 249-55

Uriel

Uriel sat back in his chair as Doll bounced into the room with the tea tray. Perhaps someday he would discover how she managed that without rattling a single saucer; for the time being he only accepted the cup she poured him with absent thanks, mind still occupied with a different mystery.

"Master?"

"Mm?" Uriel turned his attention back to her.

"It's time to wind me up again," she told him, brightly, removing her key from its place on her necklace and offering it.

"Doll," Uriel told her, a little amused, "you can do that for yourself, now."

Doll nibbled her lip and glanced down, and then back up at him from under her lashes. Uriel stifled a sigh. She really had a remarkable instinct for how to get around him. Her determination on her own way of doing things reminded him strongly of his old second among the Dominions, though their tactics couldn't be more different.

"All right, then." He accepted the key and opened the panel in Doll's stomach as she tucked her blouse up modestly. "There," he said, gently, as he finished. He couldn't help but return the brilliant smile she gave him.

"What are you working on?" she asked, picking up her own tea.

A slightly different blend than his, to be sure; she was still a creature of Yggdrasil, after all.

"Is that," she tipped her head, frowning at the bright lines and curves hovering over the table, "...Heaven?"

Uriel had come more and more to believe that Doll must have been an angel of rank before her death. For her to recognize this schematic view only confirmed it.

"In a way," he agreed. "And also not. You remember that the hells were cut loose and driven into the heavens in this last war?"

She nodded, still frowning at the image.

"This is what's happened since. Some reaction occurred between the two, and the planes have been merging into each other." Uriel paused a moment, contemplating the image himself. "Or, perhaps I should say, they are merging into something else."

"Yes," Doll murmured, one fingertip tracing lines here and there. "This isn't how it used to be."

"It's causing a certain amount of consternation." Uriel tried to keep his expression from being too pleased, but wasn't sure he succeeded judging by the way Doll suddenly grinned at him. He cleared his throat. "The land is... refracting. Structures are appearing that aren't quite like anything ever created in either Heaven or Hell, and they seem remarkably resistant to being changed. I don't know who first started calling the new area Abe, but it's very fitting. The land grows like a living thing." He hesitated. "What I was looking at today," he continued, slowly, "was the connection that seems to be developing between Abe and Yggdrasil."

Doll blinked at him. "They're... touching?" she asked in a startled tone. He couldn't blame her; it was a rather unusual development. The heavens had always refused the touch of the World Tree, before.

"Yes. There seems to be a place where they're growing together. I think it may be the new connection between realms, the way our worlds are stabilizing themselves after the old connections were cut." He smiled at Doll. "It does mean you could come with me, when I go there."

She looked up at him, solemnly. "Do you want to go back, Master?"

"Back to my old place? No." Uriel stared, unseeing, at the table in front of him. "I'll never give either angels or demons the power of my voice again. And the order of Dominions... I have no place with them anymore." Though he did sometimes wonder whether Ara-san had survived or not. He hadn't seen his old second during the recent conflict, but that didn't really mean anything. Though she was the sort to rise to prominence wherever she went. But, perhaps... He shook off the dark reflections as well as he could.

A slight weight settled against him, and he looked down, surprised, to see Doll's head resting on his shoulder.

"It will be nice to be able to stay with you," she offered.

Uriel smiled a little, and stroked her hair. "Yes," he agreed. "It will."

Belial

The windows of Lucifer's growing city occurred in strange places sometimes. Belial liked it. Especially the ones with deep ledges set just above head height, that allowed someone to perch in them unobtrusively and enjoy the view both inside and out. At the moment the view inside was more interesting. Outside offered the architecture characteristic of all Abe's cities, glass and stone, odd trees, towers with doors halfway up, fountains in the middle of stairways.

Inside, Astaroth was waving a knife around his own throat. And, while Belial did make a small hobby of watching the city and attempting to catch new parts coming into being, Astaroth's current performance was moving along at a much more riveting pace.

Belial had heard people say that they would go mad if they had to attend some boring meeting or other for another minute, but had never seen it actually happen before. Astaroth seemed to have been set off by Lucifer's mention that Uriel had begun to receive the souls of demons. It was a bit difficult to tell for sure, of course, given the incoherence with which Astaroth was shouting about oblivion and the destruction of souls.

"You want to follow her?" Lucifer asked, at last, from where he leaned in one of the archways.

Astaroth turned somewhat wild eyes on him.

"Then you might not want to do it that way," their lord continued, nodding at the knife. "Self-destruction was always a touchy issue, you may recall."

Astaroth inhaled, sharply. "You believe His strictures will still bind us?" he asked, voice thin.

Lucifer shrugged one shoulder. "Some parts still seem to hold. Others have crumbled. Who knows?"

"I don't care!" Astaroth proclaimed, voice spiraling up again. "If it isn't broken already, I'll break it!" He raised the knife again.

Lucifer ran a hand through his hair, and Belial smiled, imagining his silent sigh.

"Astaroth."

Belial shivered. That was the voice that none of them could ignore and few of them could defy; Lucifer didn't use it very often. It struck Astaroth silent and still, now.

"Come here," Lucifer said, more quietly, pushing off from the wall and beckoning.

Hope flared in Astaroth's eyes, strange to see there. He laid the knife in Lucifer's hand and sank to the floor at his feet, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. "Majesty... my Lord..." he whispered.

The ironic quirk of Lucifer's lips told Belial that he was reflecting on the rarity of such heartfelt respect from one of the Satans. "Good luck finding your other self, Astaroth," he murmured. "And better luck next time."

The knife slid into Astaroth without drama or flourish, and he collapsed remarkably quietly for someone, in Belial's opinion, so given to histrionics. Se slid down from the window ledge.

"And so passes the last of us who kept any significant following among the demons of middling power," se noted, sweeping a mocking bow to Beelzebub and Leviathan and rising to face Lucifer. "Which leaves a significant number at loose ends, now. Do you wish them to be contained or killed?"

Lucifer's cool look gave nothing away. "The ones with enough ambition or hatred to make trouble are engaged with the splinters of the Host still concerned with fighting us instead of each other. They're a self-solving problem."

"Problem?" Beelzebub repeated, softly. "Is it no longer your intention to defeat the Host? Majesty."

Lucifer actually laughed out loud. "What Host?" he asked. "Two thirds of everyone is dead, the Orders are in chaos, even the ones that still have their leaders, and the Anima Mundi, the only credible threat, shows no particular interest in us one way or another."

"And Michael?" Leviathan rumbled.

Belial edged discreetly back, so as to be out of the potential line of fire.

"Michael will come to me, if he comes," Lucifer noted. "What are you worried for?"

"I worry for your future plans," Leviathan answered, bluntly. "We have followed you because you hated Heaven more than any of us, enough to lead us back and destroy those who cast us out. Will you turn away from that now, Majesty?"

Lucifer looked deeply amused. "You followed me because you weren't strong enough to replace me, even with my soul gone," he corrected with brutal truth. "And the one who cast us out is destroyed. Further vendetta is a waste of time when we could be enjoying our return already. If you two are so taken with the idea of spitting on our exile, you could always look into taking over your old order. The seraphim are without a leader, after all."

Belial had to bite hir lip at the long look Beelzebub and Leviathan shared, and the way they carefully didn't say anything to each other as they left. Once they were out the door, se indulged in a good laugh.

Lucifer raised a brow at hir.

"One bows to your brilliance, my lord," Belial declaimed, suiting action to word. "One can think of few things more appealing to their grudge than that. And ruling the Order of Seraphim would, of course, require them to deal once again with angels as their own people."

"I suppose it will," Lucifer agreed. "Hopefully they'll also be too busy watching each other to attack me." His look turned serious. "Or you, which is a more likely first step. Watch yourself, butterfly."

"Life would be boring without these little challenges," Belial said, airily.

Exasperation edged into Lucifer's expression, and Belial laughed up at him.

"One is careful, my lord. With such destructive associates, it doesn't do to ever be otherwise."

Raphael

Building material rained down around Raphael in very small pieces, and he smiled. It looked like Michael had finally resumed his hobby of destroying Raphael's offices; he'd been a bit concerned for a while, there. It just wasn't natural for Michael to be as considerate as he had been of late.

"Trying to give me more casualties to take care of, Mika-chan?" he inquired.

"You're a doctor, you're supposed to have casualties," Michael told him, plunking down on top of his desk.

"That isn't quite the way we hope it will work," Raphael murmured.

"Besides," Michael added, ignoring the interruption, "it's only fair for you to do your share. There's a ton of casualties out there," he waved toward the hole in the wall, "that you never see in your cushy little roost here."

Raphael shrugged that off. "This isn't a field hospital."

Michael glared at him. "You know, you're a real bastard when you're trying to act like you don't give a damn."

"Considering how many casualties you've personally contributed, Mika-chan, don't you think that's a little of the pot and kettle?" Raphael prodded.

Michael snorted, indignantly. "I only add to the body count when the idiots get in my way trying to kill each other. And don't call me Mika-chan," he added with another glare.

Raphael smirked.

"Michael-sama, how nice to see you," Barbiel said from the doorway.

"Yo." Michael waved.

Raphael had been a little surprised, when he came out of regeneration, to see how well his second and Michael were getting along. Michael seemed to have rubbed off on her a little; she was far more outspoken than she used to be. Always polite and respectful, but definitely more outspoken. He wondered whether Michael had anything to do with Barbiel's new penchant for wearing her sleek, black combat gear under her lab coat, too. Not that it wasn't becoming.

"These requests need your approval, Raphael-sama," she said, holding up a handful of folders. She paused and looked pointedly at Michael's seat on the desk.

"Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on," Michael grumbled. Raphael noticed that he did, however, move off the desk promptly enough. Clearly, the influence didn't go all one way.

"I certainly do, in the office at least," Barbiel answered with a bland smile and a glint in her eye.

Definitely more outspoken.

"Too much information!" Michael yelled. "I don't want to know what you do with that pervert!"

"Considering the things you've walked in on in the past," Raphael observed, dryly, "I have to wonder what might be left that you don't know about."

"That's because you're a disgusting lech who thinks anyone who does walk in would be looking," Michael said, righteously.

"The only one who would put up with a brat who has the manners of an untrained puppy," Raphael returned, agreeably.

They grinned at each other.

"Well, I just dropped in to say hi," Michael told him, hopping up onto the ruined outside wall. "So I'll see you around. Later Bar-chan!"

"Have fun Michael-sama," she called after him, smiling. She looked down at Raphael, eyes still laughing. "The requests, Raphael-sama?"

"Hm. What about a kiss, first?" he suggested, taking her hand to draw her closer.

"Work first, please, Raphael-sama," she told him, serenely.

He sighed, but, having extensive experience with her dedication to doing her job properly, let her go and flipped through the folders, signing off on each one. She accepted them back and leaned down to give him a kiss sweet enough to make up for the delay.

"Are you going to be making rounds today?" she asked, as they parted.

"Yes. It's been a while since I checked with our people working in Machonon."

"I'll get your body armor ready, then," she said, one hand going absently to check the gun at her hip. "And," she added, glancing at the hole in the wall, "get the repair crew up here again while we're out."

"Quite," Raphael agreed, smiling at the wreckage.

Noise

"Those towers are new," the queen remarked, pausing on their walk. "Has anyone been inside them, yet?"

"I asked Lil to take a look today," Noise told her. "We don't have enough people, yet, to need the space, but I told her to make sure there weren't any gates to odd places at least."

Kurai-sama snorted. "Like the one in my first bedroom, under the bed, that went through to that ice valley. Can I pick 'em or what? I think it's a sign."

"The new land doesn't seem quite that... intentional, Majesty," Noise answered, torn between amusement and worry. Kurai-sama seemed to notice, and smiled at her.

"Don't worry, Noise, I'm just sulking."

"You don't sulk, Kurai-sama," Noise protested.

"Not so much anymore, I suppose," the queen agreed, easily.

"Have you been thinking a lot, lately, about finding a consort?" Noise asked, after a minute, firmly suppressing the desire to add about time.

Kurai-sama sighed, and leaned against the rail of the colonnade they were walking through. "Some. I'm less worried, these days, about needing a marriage alliance. Our upper border, which is really the one I'm most worried about, is secure. For now," she added, wryly.

"So that really was the Mad Hatter who visited the other day?" Noise asked, as neutrally as she could.

"Yep. It's actually his personal domain that came up against our border. At least we can be sure no one but Lucifer himself will come through there." Kurai-sama frowned, suddenly, and looked at Noise with concerned eyes. "Did you meet him? I asked him to stay away from you."

"He did," Noise assured her, looking down at the courtyard below them. "I just caught sight of him in passing." She shook herself and looked back up at her queen. "Besides, you cleansed his mark from me. I'm fine, now."

Kurai-sama didn't look very convinced, but she let Noise have her way. "It was the dragons who cleansed it," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "I just asked nicely. Anyway, if I don't need an alliance marriage, I do need to find a consort, still. I'm the last of my line. I know it makes you all kind of nervous."

"We want you to be happy, too, Kurai-sama," Noise said, softly.

Kurai-sama threw an arm around her shoulders in a quick hug. "I know," she answered. Then she grinned. "Maybe I'll ask Jade where to find someone."

Noise quailed at the thought of what the acerbic dragons might say to a request like that. The queen was definitely the bravest woman she knew.

Raziel

Raziel listened to his people argue and thought longingly of the bottle of painkillers in the next room.

"Bodiel, we can't possibly include demons in our ranks!" Oriphiel snapped. "It's irresponsible of you to feed Raziel-sama's fancy on this subject."

Strangling Oriphiel might help, too, now he thought about it.

"And now we see exactly why Zaphkiel-sama passed command to Raziel-sama and not to you," Bodiel shot back, her eyes narrow with leashed anger. "He understands Zaphkiel-sama's goals."

"You presume too much on the fact that you were his second," Oriphiel growled.

"You think too much about the fact that he was appointed Great One of our order instead of you," Bodiel returned, coldly.

"Excluding them simply because they were once cast out would be a bit hypocritical for us, wouldn't it?" Jael interjected, soft-voiced.

"And surely not all of them want to kill and eat us on sight," Rampel added, with a smile at Jael for remembering the Forbidden Children who were Rampel's own constituency.

"So you want to go out unarmed to take the risk?" Oriphiel asked.

Raziel slammed his hand down on the table, finally losing patience. "I'm not asking you to serve yourself up with a sprig of parsley! Although," he added, "you're tempting me to reconsider in a few cases."

Even Oriphiel was silent as Raziel's glare swept the table.

"We can't do nothing," he continued, more evenly. "The demons are beginning to spread out more and more. Life will be infinitely easier if they recognize us as, at the least, a neutral force who won't threaten them without cause."

"Raziel-sama, you know I support your decision," Bodiel said into the quiet, "but I am concerned about what we should do if they reject our offer and turn on us."

Raziel saw the echo of Mad Hatter's words, during the Third War, in her eyes. "Well," he sighed, "they haven't attacked us in force or with coordination so far, so I think we don't need to worry too much about the higher ranked demons. Lucifer must not wish to move against us, or things would have been different. For the others, who are settling around the new land... we'll just have to go case by case and keep our weapons handy."

Three of his four subcommanders nodded, and Oriphiel followed after a grudging hesitation.

"Then I think that's all for today," Raziel said, trying to keep the relief out of his voice. He managed to remain in control and at ease until he got past the door. Then he dove for his medicine cabinet.

If Zaphkiel-sama had had to deal with anything like this, he owed his mentor's memory vast apologies for yelling at him so often.

Arariel

Arariel leaned her chair back and examined the ceiling. "How many does this make?" she asked.

"Three," Nisroc answered, despite their both knowing the question had been rhetorical. Arariel knew perfectly well how many demons she had accepted among her people.

"An invasion without troop movements or a single supply truck to be seen anywhere," she stated. "He knows what he's doing."

"Are you sure this is all by Lucifer's intention?" Nisroc asked, cautiously.

"I'm sure," Arariel said, firmly. "Mad Hatter wouldn't follow anyone without a brain, and if he hasn't stopped them all scattering he must approve of the results it will bring." She swung her chair upright again. "Now we just have to decide what to do about that."

"We trust your judgment." Nisroc's voice was quiet.

Arariel stood and clasped his shoulder briefly. "Thank you. You know I'll do my best for all of us." She looked out the window. "No matter what it takes."

TBC

Detour

Roy and Gracia discuss some difficult plans. Angst with Drama, I-4, spoilers ep 25.

Gracia Hughes had been blessed with an innocent face. It had served her well, as the wife of an investigator. She had also been blessed with a sharp mind, which had served her even better as the wife of Maas Hughes, in particular. She knew why Mustang was making the suggestion he was, and she knew she would be able to do it.

She just didn't like it.

"I want to go with him," she insisted. "Surely it will be safer for all of us, especially since I doubt Alicia can remember to talk about her father as if he were dead. Some of that can be passed off as a child not understanding, but still."

Mustang didn't turn away from the window. "It would be better if you told her he is dead. It could become the truth at any time." His tone was cool and factual.

Gracia finally lost her hard-held composure at this suggestion, and snarled. She stalked closer to him and wrenched him around by the shoulder to face her. The names she wanted to call him stopped on her tongue, though, when she saw the harsh lines frozen around his mouth. They reminded her that Mustang had known her husband even longer than she had. Her lips tightened.

"That doesn't answer me."

"If you disappear with no explanation, questions will be asked. It will put Hughes back in danger if whoever tried to kill him suspects he's still alive." Mustang measured out his words as if they were some precious resource, flat eyes looking through her.

"All right," she conceded after a moment. That did make sense, in the unbending operational logic she was used to from listening to Maas talk about his work. "But I'm not telling Alicia he's dead. If I tell her that her father's gone away for a while, that will be close enough to the lies people tell children." She watched Mustang's face for any hint of give, prepared to fight for this one, even if she had to fight dirty and start making less veiled references to the Elric boys.

The bitter straightness of his mouth didn't flinch, but his eyes were helpless and lost for one instant before he turned away from her again. "Do as you like."

His brusque tone made her want to give him a solid kick in the shins. Or perhaps higher. But the memory of something Maas had once said held her back. When Mustang actually sounds angry, he'd noted with a wry smile, that's when you know you've got hold of the real him. And the real Mustang was her husband's dearest friend; Maas trusted him. In the end, so did Gracia. So, instead of smacking him, she did something that was probably crueler. She closed her hands over those squared shoulders and leaned her forehead, wearily, against his back.

"Don't, Roy," she said, very quietly.

A shudder ran through him, and the shoulders under her hands jerked with a harsh breath, and she felt tears prickle in her own eyes. Again. She swallowed them back.

"I'm going to say goodbye to him. And then I'll see you at the funeral." It wasn't real, she reminded herself as her throat closed. It wasn't real. Not yet. She straightened and stepped toward the doors to the next room where her husband lay, unconscious.

"Gracia."

She stopped.

"I'm sorry." Mustang's voice was low and hoarse, and as ragged as her heart had felt when she first saw Maas lying so very still.

Gracia sighed, scrubbing both hands over her face. Yes, she remembered, it was just like Roy Mustang to think he was responsible for everything and everyone. She came back to him and stretched on her toes to plant a light kiss on his cheek. She tasted salt on her lips.

"You're an idiot," she corrected, gently. "He'll live. He will." The repetition was fierce, and he finally looked down at her again. "What you have to do now is succeed. You hear me?"

The shadow of a smile eased his mouth. "Yes, ma'am."

Gracia nodded briskly, the way she did when she'd finally managed to get Alicia's boots, gloves and hood on in the winter, and crossed into the other room with her head high.

Once there, she sagged down into the chair beside Maas' bed with an unvoiced sigh. She brushed her fingers through his carefully washed and combed hair, and settled her hand on his chest so she could feel him breathing.

"This isn't going to be easy," she whispered. "I don't even know exactly where you're going to be. Or how our clever Mustang-taisa intends to spirit you out of here. Oh, I know why," she added, waving her free hand. "It's just going to be hard. A hard time." She swallowed thickly, looking down at the unresponsive face. "But no one can possibly say you haven't done your part. So sleep well, love. I'll be home, waiting, when you wake up."

She pressed a kiss to Maas' warm, still lips, brushed away the tears that fell on his face, and stood. She didn't bother to dry the tears from her own face, as she walked out. They were only appropriate to a woman whose husband was dead.

End

The Mind is its Own Place - Part Two

The world is changing for everyone, and everyone has to find some way to deal with it. Drama With Vague Romance, I-3

Belial liked to perch on top of the arches that bridged the city streets. The view was excellent, and se did like to keep abreast of how the city was running. It was rare that this observation moved hir to intervention, but se was wondering, now, whether it might not be advisable. Se suspected that if the two demons below annoyed Arariel any more the results could be... significant.

Belial sympathized entirely, of course. Se had never had any patience with strutting underlings, either. But it would mean a delay before Belial found out why Arariel had come, and that would be annoying.

"...kind of stringy, maybe we should start with the other one," one of the leering idiots said, eyeing the very tense angel behind Arariel. Armaita, if Belial remembered correctly, not one se had known well.

Arariel's eyes narrowed, and her wings unfurled, pure and brilliant against the stone of the city. Belial decided enough was enough.

"You will not," se stated.

"Yeah, and who..." the demon choked as Belial slipped down from the arch. A cold, amused look sent both demons scuttling away, stumbling over disclaimers and apologies. Belial sniffed, and turned back to hir acquaintances in time to catch Armaita's sigh of relief.

Arariel was wearing a rather crooked smile. "Thanks, Hatter."

"Entirely one's pleasure," Belial assured her with a sweeping bow. "Might one ask what brings you here, though?"

"I got tired of waiting for you," Arariel answered, eyes shuttered.

Belial's brows climbed. "Indeed?" se murmured. "One does apologize for being tardy. You wish to see His Majesty, then?"

Arariel drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Yes."

"Hm." Belial tipped hir head, watching Arariel for a long moment, but she returned the look without a single twitch or flinch. As expected, really. "Follow me," Belial said, at last.

Se led them down boulevards, up stairs, through a hall, a garden and over the stepping stones of a large pool.

"Are you taking us by the scenic route?" Arariel asked, as they climbed the ramp that spiraled around the outside of a tower to reach the door on the roof.

"Not really," Belial chuckled. "Lucifer-sama has a talent for finding hard to reach places. Fortunately there aren't many with approaches quite this obscure. Ah, here we are."

Lucifer was leaning against the arm of a chair, facing the door when it opened. He examined his guests and looked a question at Belial.

"Arariel and Armaita," Belial introduced them. "I believe Arariel has some business with you."

He smiled. "Business?"

"Just a few questions I wanted to ask you," Arariel put in, quietly, stepping forward.

Amusement gleamed in Lucifer's eyes. "Ask."

"What do you require of your people?"

Belial, fading into the shadows to watch the show, paused in surprise. That was far more formal than Arariel usually bothered to be.

Lucifer's stillness shed the lazy edge it had had lately. "That they obey me," he replied. A thin smile crossed his lips, and he added, "And that they keep the body count from their internal plotting within reason."

Armaita wrapped her arms around herself, shivering a little. Belial wondered why Arariel had brought her, and not someone like the ever-calm Nisroc.

"And do you protect your own?" Arariel asked.

Belial smirked. The last time Lucifer had been among them he probably wouldn't have dignified such a question with an answer. Now, he pushed upright from his chair.

"I do."

Armaita stumbled to the floor.

"Armaita!" Arariel gathered the other angel close and looked sharply at Lucifer.

Armaita shook her head, squeezing Arariel's hand. "It's true," she said, a little shakily, and then laughed on a broken breath. "Very, very true."

Belial started. And then se couldn't resist the urge to applaud. "You brought someone who hears truth to negotiations! Brilliant, Arariel." Se paused, judiciously. "More brilliant if it were less obvious, but still."

"Shut up, Hatter," Arariel told hir, exasperated. "This is too much for you, Armaita. Wait for me outside."

Armaita shook her head, stubbornly. "No, Arariel-san. You need to know. I'll be all right." She cast a rueful glance up at Lucifer. "I never thought the Lord of Hell would speak so truly."

Lucifer, who had watched the flurry silently, folded his arms. "Nanatsusaya left me some of its edge, I think. A double edge, of course."

Armaita nodded, and turned back to Arariel. "I'll be all right."

Arariel sighed, and tightened her arms around Armaita. "All right." She looked back up at Lucifer.

"Ask," he repeated, evenly.

"If I bring my people under you, will you protect them?" she asked. "Even if I'm killed?"

"If they wish to continue to serve me, I will protect them," Lucifer answered.

Armaita nodded. Arariel echoed it.

"Then I only have one more question. Will you lead us, and not abandon us, even for Alexiel when she returns?"

Lucifer looked thoroughly startled for a moment, before his mouth twitched and he raised his eyes to Belial's. Se wound hir arms around hirself and gazed back. It was the one thing se had never asked him—had never dared. He sighed.

"Alexiel draws souls after her," he said to Belial and Arariel both, "and there will be times when I'm gone, no doubt. But I won't abandon you."

A shudder passed through Armaita, and she nodded, vehemently. Arariel relaxed, and Belial was mildly disgusted to realize that se had as well.

"All right," Arariel said, tone decisive, and stood. She hesitated, one hand on Armaita's shoulder when she wavered a bit.

Belial settled beside Armaita and offered an arm. The truth was to be valued. Armaita leaned on hir readily.

"Thank you, Hatter-san," she murmured.

Arariel grinned down at them, eyes sparkling as Belial gave her a cool look. "Seems I really did catch you pretty well," she commented. "Only fair that I'm caught in return, I suppose."

"Are you caught?" Lucifer wanted to know, as Arariel approached him.

She snorted and knelt before him. Snagging his hand, she pressed a kiss to the back of it. "I'm yours," she told him, quietly.

Belial laughed silently. That, now, was more the sort of formality se expected from Arariel. In hir arms, Armaita shivered and looked up at Lucifer. Slowly and deliberately, she nodded. His expression warmed a shade as he returned it, and tugged Arariel back up.

"Groveling bores me," he told her. "Don't bother."

She grinned as he went to stand over Armaita. Belial felt a moment of surprise when he held his hands down to Armaita and she took them without hesitation and let him draw her to her still shaky feet. Se didn't think se had ever seen anyone trust the Lord of Hell so simply. Then se caught sight of Arariel's smug expression, behind Lucifer, and had to hide a smile under the brim of hir hat. Arariel was a sly creature, to offer such bait to one who had been betrayed by his creator and reviled by his people because of it.

"Very clever, Arariel," Lucifer said, without looking around.

"I thought so, yes," she agreed, without even the grace to look abashed.

Lucifer directed his amused smile down at Armaita. "And where did you come from?"

"I don't know," she admitted, softly. "Gabriel-sama took me into her household very young. I never found out whether I was a Forbidden Child, or intended to be like this, or simply an... anomaly. But that was where I met Arariel-san, and when Gabriel-sama was struck down Arariel-san took me with her and escaped."

"That's like Gabriel," Lucifer noted. "And like Arariel, too," he added, glancing over his shoulder at his new subordinate. She met his eyes calmly.

"Your assistant, here, should make it easier to convince your people to accept my rule," he observed. Arariel shrugged one shoulder. "How easily could you convince them to move?" Lucifer pressed.

Arariel arched a brow at him. "Here, I take it? That probably depends on just how much your heart is set on rubbing us in everyone's noses."

Lucifer's eyes were hooded. "I am very dedicated to a stable world for all of us, but I'm doing it out of spite towards the dead. I'm not going to kill you off with unwarranted optimism."

Armaita twitched a little and looked up at him reproachfully.

"Always and only the truth," he told her before turning back to Arariel. "There's a new area of the city no one has moved into yet. I would prefer you didn't have to leave a trail of bodies behind you when you walk down the streets, but I do want you closer."

Belial considered that. It sounded as though se was finally going to have some company in hir attendance on hir lord. Se eyed Arariel, who was eyeing hir back. Lucifer leaned back against his chair, out of the line of measuring looks, and waited.

"If the second war taught me nothing else," Arariel spoke at last, "it taught me what loyalty means."

Another two edged statement, that. But Belial was willing enough to trade away a little of hir freedom to betray in return for one more person who would not betray Lucifer.

"One understands the principle, as well," se answered.

"I think the question is whether you'll apply it," Arariel said, dryly.

Belial returned a nod. "I think the answer is that I will."

Se appreciated Arariel's diplomacy in not checking the statement immediately with Armaita.

Lucifer smiled, faintly. "I'll leave you two to settle the details, then." He laid a hand on Armaita's shoulder. "Come. I'll show you the new quarter while they fence with each other."

Armaita muffled a laugh and ducked her head, following him out.

Belial and Arariel both snorted and exchanged a speaking glance. Arariel joined hir at the window, and Belial obligingly moved over to make room on the ledge. They looked out over the city for a while, in comfortable silence. It was Arariel who eventually broke it.

"Alexiel," Arariel pronounced the name like the answer to a question. "Tell me about her."

End

Six

Lucifer and Michael deal with their history. Drama with Sex, I-5

Warning: While it's not exactly non-con, there are violent and coercive elements to the sex in this story, and the sex in question is between siblings.

"You think I'll just stand here and let you take over the whole damned world?!"

"You can try to stop me, if you like."

Michael grabbed Lucifer's arm, as he turned away. "No! Damn it, this time you're going to face me, and no bull shit! Not just hand me the fucking victory like some kind of fucking lollipop!"

His brother's arm turned in his grip, and then it was Michael who was held by the wrists, and his back slammed into the wall hard enough to knock his breath out.

"Don't you understand, yet, Michael?" Lucifer asked, leaning against him to pin him in place. "It was all a put up, but it wasn't my idea. I was assigned to fall, to lose. Destined, just like you were destined to win. God's will, isn't that what destiny is?"

"And you just did it?" Michael snarled.

The pressure against him lessened a little as Lucifer threw his head back and laughed. "Do you want to tell me what else I could have done?"

"You could have fought!" Michael raged, not even sure who he thought his brother should have fought against.

"You're so simple. Have you even figured out why you still want to fight me?"

Before Michael could find some way to show just how pissed off he was getting, Lucifer leaned into him again. And kissed him.

Michael froze, eyes wide and blind, feeling his brother's long body pressing against his, his brother's open mouth covering his, and when had Michael opened his mouth? Lucifer drew back just in time to avoid getting bitten as Michael regained his wits and twisted away. Michael panted, staring up at him. Lucifer's mouth curved in a smile like a knife.

"I'm your twin, Michael. Do you think I don't know what you want?" he asked, low and soft.

"I... I don't..." Michael wrenched at his brother's hold, and unfolded his wings. Even Lucifer was burned by Michael's fire.

Lucifer's wings rushed open, too, though, and Michael froze again. Those four wings, black as void, overshadowed him. Still. Always. Damn it! He didn't even notice Lucifer sliding a leg between his until his brother's thigh pressed against his half-hard erection and he gasped. That knowing smile infuriated Michael all over, and he hissed, fighting again. Holding him took all of Lucifer's weight, now, and their wings flared, flapped...

...touched.

Michael's entire being jolted like an electric current had slammed through him. Every hair felt like it was standing on end. He felt like his own fire was one breath away from turning back on him and burning him to ash.

They jerked apart, staring at each other, breathing hard.

"Yes," Lucifer said, voice husky. "That's it."

Lucifer's wings swept against Michael's again, and unbearable sensation rushed back. Michael shouted, and fisted his hands in Lucifer's hair. Lucifer's teeth gleamed as he moaned through them and drove Michael harder against the wall and his thigh rubbed between Michael's legs. A bright spike of heat wrenched at Michael's nerves, and he pressed back without thinking, rubbing himself against his brother's leg, bucking against him again and again until pleasure hammered through his heart so hard he thought it might stop.

Lucifer finally fanned his wings back, and Michael slumped, dazed, only to be caught up in his brother's kiss. It was wet and warm and gentle, and Michael hauled himself away from it with an effort.

"What...?"

"Yes," Lucifer growled in his ear. "You know what it is; you feel it when we fight. I'm your twin, Michael. You want me and I want you. I want your body under mine. I want to see your legs spread and feel them strain because you want me to be part of you. I want to hear you screaming for me to fuck you harder when our wings tangle, because it's the only thing that even comes close to this." He brushed his wings, teasing, against Michael's one more time. Michael jerked, fingers clawing through Lucifer's shirt and into his skin.

"I hate you!" he choked. "Lucifer... Aniue..." Michael hauled his brother tighter against his body.

"I know," Lucifer whispered, soothingly, and tore Michael's clothing away. His own followed. One hand slid up Michael's back to stroke between his wings, which flexed and quivered at the tingle of that touch. Michael felt himself starting to harden again, and moaned.

"Twinned angels need each other, little brother. Let me in."

Lucifer's arms lifted him, and Michael locked his legs around his brother's hips, flung his arms over those broad shoulders. He set his wings forward, stroked against Lucifer's, and that terrible power surged. Michael sobbed for breath, biting down on Lucifer's shoulder. His brother arched into him, gasping, and his hands shook as they caressed Michael's ass, spread his cheeks apart. He felt the head of his brother's cock press against him, felt his muscles clench, felt Lucifer hesitate.

"Do it," he rasped. "Fuck. Do it!" Michael didn't think he could stand not being connected for much longer.

"Michael!" Lucifer almost sounded like he was in pain. Michael knew exactly what he felt like, right then, and squeezed closer.

"Do it, damn it!"

Lucifer thrust into him, slow and rough, and a tiny, sane corner of Michael's mind was positive this would hurt like hell later. He didn't think it did now; he wasn't sure. All he was sure of was that something had been completed, and it felt like all the power of the heavens and hells had crystallized in the circle of their bodies, and a scream tore his throat.

His brother's voice answered him.

Their mouths came together like they were trying to drink each other down, muffling the sounds as they jerked against each other, without rhythm. The harsh drag of Lucifer's cock in and out of Michael's ass burned, and the burn sliced through the brilliant glory of their wings touching, made it bearable, and the glory soothed the burn and made it so good Michael didn't know if he could stop. He sure as hell didn't want to.

"Fuck! Harder!" he growled against his brother's mouth. "Aniue!"

Lucifer's arms pressed Michael into the wall, and his hips pulled back, drove up hard, and Michael's wings slid between Lucifer's, and fuck, yes, that was it. He never wanted to stop; he always wanted this pounding pulse between them; he always wanted to feel every feather of his brother's wings, every bit of his brother's power, slipping through and against his. If Michael died like this, that'd be fine.

For a second, he thought the universe had heard him.

Everything whited out and Michael swore he felt his brother pass through him with the brush of feathers, and it was so much light and so much power and so much pleasure he couldn't even scream.

When he could think enough to open his eyes again, he and Lucifer were dripping with sweat, chests heaving for breath, and their wings had folded in again. Michael didn't remember doing that. Maybe it was survival instinct, because he wasn't sure he could have lived through much more of that. Lucifer's hands lifted Michael a little and his brother gingerly slid out of him.

"Fuck!" He'd known it would hurt, later, damn it.

Lucifer held him up, one hand gently rubbing Michael's lower back. "Sorry about that, little brother."

Michael snorted against Lucifer's shoulder. "Yeah, I bet. Bastard," he grumbled.

Lucifer's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Michael," he murmured, lifting Michael's chin for a slow kiss.

Michael leaned into it for a moment, sucking on Lucifer's tongue, before the faint, hungry sound in his own throat brought him back to himself. Then he shoved his brother back again. "Pervert!"

"Twin," Lucifer corrected, combing his fingers possessively through the short, sweat-damp spikes of Michael's hair.

Michael bared his teeth. "You telling me Rociel and your woman, Alexiel, were like this?"

"Rociel joined his power and body to hers, in the end." Lucifer shrugged. "I can understand why, can't you? Not that I have any intention of killing you."

Michael growled and looked pointedly away even as he leaned against his brother to feel the heat of Lucifer's skin on his. "You're such an asshole."

End

River - Chapter One

Those who are left forge connections along with their new world. Drama With Occasional Romance, I-4 (Incomplete)

Lucifer leaned on the lip of a fountain and watched with some amusement as Belial and Arariel examined the Second Garden of Yggdrasil, each in her own way. Belial perched on a pillar, and Arariel prowled among the arches and benches. Neither of them seemed hugely pleased with the garden, despite what Lucifer considered a wild sort of charm to the place. Or maybe it was the prospective company that troubled them.

"Remind me again why we're bothering to talk to anyone else about this little project of yours?" Arariel asked as she strode back to him.

He arched a brow at her. "As a group, they have the power to carry it off smoothly."

She gave him a slightly pained look. "Am I or am I not speaking to the single most powerful being now alive in these planes? We don't need them."

Lucifer chuckled, quietly; Arariel's bluntness was refreshing. "Not right at this very moment," he agreed.

"Is he always this sneaky?" Arariel asked Belial, after a long moment.

"More or less." Belial slid down from her perch. "One believes people are starting to arrive for the party."

Indeed, one pair was approaching and a quartet had appeared in the distance. Belial stepped forward.

"Raziel-kun, how delightful to see you again."

Raziel was looking older than Lucifer remembered him. Only a bit taller, but far more worn and a good deal less volatile. The boy nodded, warily, back. "Mad Hatter. Lucifer-san. And...?" He glanced, questioningly, at Arariel.

"Arariel," Lucifer supplied. "She's come to me just recently."

Speculation and calculation flickered across Raziel's face as he took in Arariel's ice blond hair and bright, sea colored eyes—classic angelic coloring and form. "I see."

Arariel tucked her hands in her pockets. "Pleased to meet you, Raziel-san. And...?" She tipped her head at Raziel's companion, standing at his shoulder.

"Bodiel, one of the Anima Mundi's subcommanders," Raziel introduced her, taking a seat on one of the benches circling the fountain.

Lucifer listened to the tense amenities with only half his attention, much more interested in the four people nearing them now. Especially the shortest one.

Michael stalked up to him, stopping just far enough away that he could glare without having to crane his neck up. "All right, we're here. What the hell do you want?" he snapped, radiating suspicion and aggression like heat from a bonfire. Lucifer felt the corner of his mouth quirk up. If he ever wanted to give his brother heart failure from sheer rage he would tell Michael that he was cute when he bristled.

Dangerous, but cute.

"Michael. Raphael." Lucifer nodded to his brother's companion, glance taking in the poised woman behind Raphael and the hulking aide standing a bit back from Michael. Wise man, that one. "I have a proposal."

"Well, spit it out, already," Michael growled. "So I can tell you to go to hell. I don't want to spend any more time around you than I fucking have to."

"Going to Hell could present some problems these days," Lucifer noted, coolly.

Flames snapped around Michael before he got hold of himself, and Raphael gave Lucifer a dry look. Arariel had a hand over her eyes, and Belial was smirking. It was nice that he could always rely on Michael to defuse the tension. Well, aside from the tension between the two of them, of course.

"Besides," Lucifer added, "we're still waiting for one more." Right on cue, the twining branches of Yggdrasil, off beyond the pillars and benches of the garden, rustled and a very tall figure emerged from them.

Arariel stiffened, and Lucifer nodded to himself. He'd been right, then. Uriel stopped at the edge of the pavement, looking unusually perturbed. And not, for once, by Lucifer's presence.

"Ara-san," he murmured.

Only Lucifer was close enough to notice the wavering breath Arariel pulled in before answering. "Uriel-sama." She nodded to Uriel, but made no other acknowledgement and didn't move from Lucifer's side.

"You survived, then...?" Uriel asked, hesitantly, eyes flicking to Lucifer.

Arariel drew herself up. "When you disappeared the Order kept itself running reasonably well," she reported, as if she were standing in front of a supervizor's desk. "But the only one left to counter Sevothtarte was Gabriel-sama. I threw my support behind her. It probably wasn't the smartest thing I could have done." Her mouth twisted. "At least I understood enough of the situation to take who I could and run when Gabriel-sama went down. They never caught me, so I was never branded or formally outcast or stripped of my charge. It was easy enough to lose a few more people in Raquiah."

Uriel's eyes were sad. "Ara-san..."

Lucifer laid a casual hand on Arariel's back, and she started like she'd forgotten anyone else was present.

"No wonder you brought Armaita along to ask your questions; especially that last one," he remarked, and smiled to himself when Arariel relaxed under his hand.

"One never did get around to asking your rank, did one?" Belial mused.

A flicker of Arariel's grin returned. "No, you didn't. But don't think this means I'm going to spar knives with you just because I technically outranked you, once upon a time."

Belial made a disappointed moue, and Arariel looked at her old leader with renewed calm. "I survived, Uriel-sama, and so did the Order. Not," she added, "that the judges are seeing much action these days."

A smile tugged at Uriel's mouth. "I'm glad you did, Ara-san."

"Fascinating," Raphael murmured, leaning against a pillar. "I do have to ask, though, whether we could get on before Mika-chan actually explodes from sheer spleen."

Michael transferred his concentrated glare from his brother to his friend, and Lucifer recalled himself and turned to Uriel.

"Are you aware that Abe's growth has been impeded?" he asked.

Uriel's dark eyes sharpened. "I am. Do you know why?"

Lucifer's mouth twisted. "If I say the blockage is centered in Briah, that should answer the question, shouldn't it?" His gaze swept the lot of them and returned to Uriel. "I want to break that choke point before Abe becomes," he flicked his eyes to Yggdrasil, "twisted and stunted."

"Out of the goodness of your heart, no doubt," Raphael suggested, examining his nails.

Lucifer raised a brow. "Have you not noticed that my people live here, too, Raphael? I hadn't thought you were quite that oblivious."

Raphael coolly declined to answer the jab and settled back, watchful. Michael wasn't nearly as restrained.

"Shit! You really are, aren't you? You're really trying to take over the fucking heavens! What the hell makes you think I'll help, you son of a bitch?"

Lucifer didn't even try to deny his brother's charge; it was more or less right, and explaining the whole plan would take too long. Instead he showed his teeth in a wolfish smile that excluded everyone but the two of them. "Because it will give you a chance to destroy a couple preciously civilized cabals and the supercilious bastards who run them. Raze them to the ground and leave those sneers smoking."

Raw want flared in Michael's face. He leaned into Lucifer's words, fists clenched. "Yes," he hissed. Lucifer didn't think he even realized he'd spoken. They were related all right, he reflected with dark amusement. Though it lightened a bit when Michael's lieutenant, Khamael if he recalled right, examined his leader and heaved a large though silent sigh of resignation. Clearly he understood exactly how Michael would respond to the promise of striking back at the smug bureaucrats who had ostracized him for so long.

Raziel's warm voice, rather sardonic at the moment, broke the fierce focus between Lucifer and Michael. "You've chosen your lures with care, Lucifer-san. So tell me, what inducement do you have lined up to ensure the Anima Mundi's compliance in this plan of yours?"

Lucifer laughed. He'd been sure someone as wily as Zaphkiel wouldn't have chosen a successor without a sharp mind, and was pleased to be right. "None," he told the young angel blithely.

Raziel raised his brows, seeming a bit wary of the edge to Lucifer's smile. "Are you that sure we won't interfere? That sure what you do is in the best interests of us all?"

The boy had an edge of his own, all right. Lucifer eyed him with approval. "I'm very sure you'll agree with me, yes, but that wasn't why I invited you to hear this. I thought you might take some personal interest." He paused, but Raziel didn't bat an eyelash. "One of the choke points we've mapped is the labs."

Fury blazed up in Raziel's green eyes, brighter than even Michael's had, and his face froze in a deadly calm.

"As you do, I see," Lucifer murmured.

Bodiel was chewing on her lip. "Raziel-sama." She laid a hand on his arm, shifting forward more urgently when he made no acknowledgement. "Raziel-sama, please!"

"Peace, Bodiel," he said, at last, very evenly. "I have no intention of abusing my authority by ordering anyone into this affair." She relaxed, slightly. "At the same time," he continued, "I won't deprive those who feel the same way I do of the right to be present for this." He turned his head to look at her, and she flinched back from his hard eyes.

After one more tense moment, Bodiel bowed her head. "Yes, sir. Though I don't want to think about what Oriphiel will say to this," she added, under her breath.

"If Oriphiel has any wisdom left, he won't say anything," Raziel snapped. "Not if he wants to keep his position." His lips curled into an unnerving smile. "We will, after all, need to coordinate this, and an emissary to Michael-san's people would probably be a good idea."

Bodiel winced. "You're getting more like Zaphkiel-sama every day," she sighed.

Given the fey, chill curve to the boy's lips right now, Lucifer could only agree.

"Actually," Arariel put in, "I might have some people who could help you with coordination." Lucifer wondered whether the gleam in her eye meant worse for their temporary allies or for her own subordinates. "I'm sure Tabris would fit in just fine with your people," she said to Michael, "and from the sound of it Maion might be of assistance to you, Raziel-san. And they could both use some external diplomatic experience."

"Really," Raziel murmured, taking in Arariel's steady look. "Very well."

Michael shrugged, irritably. Arariel grinned for just a moment before recovering her composure. Lucifer stifled a chuckle; Tabris in Michael's orbit was a slightly alarming thought, but if it made Arariel happy...

Raziel turned back to him, where he had been leaning on the fountain and enjoying the show. "I can gather some of the codes, from the minds of the guards or scientists, to open the labs for Michael-san and his people, as I assume you had in mind." Lucifer nodded, silently. "But I doubt I can get all of them; there are too many and no one knows more than a handful." His lips were pale and tight, probably with memory.

Belial stirred. "If one goes with you that will not present an insurmountable problem," she said, carelessly.

Raphael jerked upright. "The hell you will," he exclaimed, urbanity breaking down abruptly.

Belial slanted a look at him, mouth unsmiling. "One is no danger to Lucifer-sama's brother." As Raphael's second edged a little closer to him, Belial's lips gained a slight crook. "Nor to you, now, it seems. It took you long enough. One doesn't think anyone else ever reacted so badly to having the blindfold ripped away, and yet lived. One's compliments."

Raphael snarled, and Lucifer intervened before Belial could answer the sharp swirl of icy wind with something sharper. "Enough. Play your games another time, butterfly."

"As you say, my lord," she agreed, demurely.

"The other strong candidate is the High Council Hall," Lucifer continued, turning back to Uriel. "Yggdrasil seems to be trying to break through there."

"I can well imagine the remaining officers and Councilors have been doing their best to hold that off," Uriel growled. "It would be helpful to have someone to keep them off me while I work."

Arariel crossed her arms. "It would be... most efficient... if I joined Uriel-sama there."

Lucifer examined her hunched shoulders while he considered that. "Ah. That would give you both earth and water, wouldn't it?"

Arariel nodded, silently, without looking up.

"Water?" Raziel asked, voice soft again as his eyes rested on the clearly unhappy Arariel.

"I have charge over mortal waters," she answered. "I can only command the waters of these planes when I'm inside the influence of the Angel of Death." She glanced up at Uriel and back down, dodging the concern in his gaze. "It's an effective combination."

Lucifer eyed her for a long moment. "Fine, if you're willing. No one can command you to do this, Arariel."

She blinked at him. Because, of course, they both knew that he very well could command her; that was one of the terms of her allegiance to him. Her eyes cleared as his message penetrated, though. He would not command her, and no one else had the right, now. She belonged only to the Lord of Hell.

Her mouth twitched. "You have a strange way of comforting people, you know that?" she said, for his ears only.

He shrugged one shoulder. "It works."

She chuckled, and he could see her relax. "I'm willing," she said, raising her voice again.

"That's the two major contenders, then," he said, releasing her.

"Should we take it that you don't actually know where the key point of the blockage is?" Raphael asked, sounding rather jaundiced.

"Yes, you should." Lucifer smiled coolly. "With these two out of the way, I expect it to become more obvious. That will be my business."

Everyone stilled for one moment, reminded of Lucifer's power. Michael broke the tension with a snort.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Lucifer-sama," Barbiel interjected, ignoring Michael's look of absolute betrayal at her respectful tone in favor of squinting upward, "did you invite anyone else to meet here?"

"No." Lucifer followed her gaze, picking out what looked like a dragon, spiraling down towards them.

It flapped down to land in the open space beyond the garden's pillars, and two women dismounted. He recognized both of them and had to wonder what Kurai and her guard captain were doing out here. It didn't look like an accidental meeting. Kurai stalked toward them, swept the assembly with glare and planted her hands on her hips.

"I'm going to kill Jade," she declared. "I don't know how it can be done, but I'll find a way!"

Belial was smiling brilliantly. "And what, one wonders, is the Queen of Evils doing here in the garden of Yggdrasil?" she purred.

Kurai's glare got even sharper. "That is absolutely, positively none of your business," she stated, very firmly.

"Hmm." Belial's presence flickered from Lucifer's side to Kurai's back where she could drape her arms around Kurai's shoulders. "Such vehemence from you to one's humble self could only mean..." she paused, artfully. "Husband-hunting again, already, sweet Queen?"

Kurai turned red and made a sincere attempt to bury her elbow in Belial's stomach. "Shut up!" she hissed. Belial slid aside with sparkling eyes.

"You asked the seer dragon something that personal?" Lucifer's brows climbed. "You have even more guts and less sense than I gave you credit for."

Kurai bared her fangs at him. "Yeah, and look what a wild goose chase she sent me on! Taken," she pointed at Lucifer, "hopeless," at Uriel, "obsessed," at Raziel, "taken," at Raphael, "and you've got to be kidding me," with a sneer at Michael.

"Kurai-sama," Noise sighed, rubbing her forehead.

Lucifer could feel a smirk taking over his mouth. Raziel was sputtering and Michael twitching at this cavalier dismissal. Uriel and Raphael, for once, looked equally speechless. Barbiel was looking smug, and Arariel was laughing so hard she had to lean on the fountain to stay standing. "I suppose," he mused, "she might have thought you didn't give your last marriage a fair chance."

Kurai opened her mouth, closed it again, inhaled mightily, and broke off to whirl and yell at Belial instead. "Quit laughing! That was all your fault!"

"Indubitably," Belial agreed, with a sweeping bow.

"Perhaps," Khamael rumbled, tightening his precautionary grip on a fuming Michael, "we should return to the question of Briah."

Noise raised a brow. "At least one person here has his head screwed on straight," she muttered.

"Briah?" Kurai asked, suddenly serious. "What about Briah?"

Lucifer took in her white-knuckled hands and tight lips. "You've felt it, haven't you?"

"The... the blight?" she whispered, and shivered when he nodded. "Yes. It's like Gehenna was, when Assiah's poison covered it."

"Abe's growth has been blocked. We intend to break that."

"As soon," Raphael put in, "as the Lord of Hell, here, figures out where the keystone is."

Kurai looked up at Lucifer solemnly. "I can find it."

"Majesty!" Noise exclaimed. "That's too dangerous!"

Kurai waved her concern off. "I'm the dragonmaster, Noise, I've been one with them before; it won't hurt me now."

"But in such a dangerous place...! I won't be enough to guard you while you're—" she broke off, shooting suspicious looks at the listeners. Particularly at Michael, Lucifer noted.

Khamael seemed to be the one who understood why. "Our people were not involved, Captain. We took no part in that massacre. You have my word. If you wish assistance guarding your queen in Briah, we will give it."

Noise looked at him, expressionlessly, for a long breath. "I accept your offer," she said, at last. "I'll be in touch about that."

Kurai rolled her eyes, started to say something, and paused. She looked from Noise to Khamael and back, and a huge grin slowly took over her face. She clapped her guard captain on the shoulder. "You do that, Noise, I'm sure it will make you feel better," she said, magnanimously

"There, now, you see how much fun it is?" Belial murmured.

Kurai shook a finger at her. "You be quiet! Don't even think of messing this up!"

"One wouldn't dream of it."

"Looks like everyone will be in touch, then," Lucifer observed, dryly. "This should be good for a laugh, if nothing else."

Arariel had finally stopped snickering and caught her breath. "We're done, then? Lovely." She linked an arm through Belial's. "Then you can come have a drink and tell me exactly what you meant when you said I reminded you of Her Majesty."

Belial went along gracefully enough. "To be sure."

"Lucifer." Uriel came just close enough to both speak quietly and loom effectively. Lucifer's mouth twitched; he knew perfectly well what this was about.

"Let me guess," he suggested. "If Arariel comes to harm you'll wind my guts around your scythe handle." Not that he thought Uriel would actually do it. He was too soft hearted.

"More or less," Uriel agreed.

"After you hurt her already?" Lucifer prodded.

Uriel's eyes turned cold. "I know that she was hurt by my abandonment of my place in the heavens. If you, knowing that, hurt her the same way again, I will come for your soul myself. And not to stuff it in a sword, this time."

Lucifer was moderately impressed by the sincerity in Uriel's flat tone. He smiled slightly, looking around the small group as it split up again. "I gave my body and blood to make Hell habitable to those who followed me and were cast down with me. I didn't abandon them willingly. Besides," he shot a sideways glance at Uriel, "you give Arariel too little credit. She gave me her loyalty; she also demanded mine in return. She's nobody's fool. It's why I accepted her."

"Very well," Uriel said, after a long moment.

Lucifer shook his head as he followed his gossiping lieutenants back toward the way home. If his brother believed, after watching this Rube Goldberg alliance in action, that Lucifer truly wanted absolute rule over every faction of Abe, he would think a lot less of Michael's intelligence. However good a life Setsuna was having in Assiah, Lucifer couldn't help wishing Alexiel would hurry up and wake. Intimidation and keeping people guessing worked well enough, but Alexiel's careless compassion worked better.

TBC (eventually, maybe, sometime)

Wild

Pet Shop of Horrors crossover. While visiting the US, some of the tennis boys come across an unusual pet shop. This evolves, as such things do, into some strange situations for a few of them. Drama, I-2, Future PoT anime continuity, middling PSoH manga continuity

Ryouma strolled down the narrow street, trying not very hard to more or less keep an eye on most of his teammates. It helped that he'd expected for, weeks, to be doing this. He'd been roped into playing tour guide the last time it was the US's turn to host the Kantou vs. West Coast competition, too, so he'd been ready for it this time and only put up a token protest.

"Hey, Echizen!" Momo's hand emerged from the crowd and snagged Ryouma's arm, dragging him in front of a window display. "What are all these?"

"How should I know?"

...though he did spare a few moments to wish that the regular teams of the chosen players hadn't all managed to come watch. He might have gotten out of this altogether, if they hadn't. The only player from his temporary team who was along today, and not one of Seigaku, was Yukimura-san. Everyone else had split up like a handful of same-pole magnets as soon as the closing ceremonies were done. Tachibana-san was with his own team today; Sanada seemed to be hiding out in his hotel room; and Ryouma hadn't asked where Atobe was going. He did wonder why they all seemed so eager to get some distance again. After all, it wasn't like the coaches had done anything really cruel with the lineup this year.

Well, not to them, anyway. Pairing Tachibana-san and Yukimura-san for Doubles One had turned out to be pretty cruel to the other team. Ryouma didn't think he'd ever seen a match played so... fiercely.

"This is a busy part of the city, isn't it?" Fuji-senpai asked, appearing beside him. "And such a varied crowd! Did you ever come here to watch the people?"

"No."

Then again, he'd probably have been stuck anyway, Ryouma decided, watching Fuji-senpai slip through the clumps of people. If nothing else, Fuji-senpai would have latched onto him for a good audience to act all nonchalant in front of. Ryouma had been fairly impressed that Sanada managed to keep Fuji-senpai serious all through their match, but he'd known it wouldn't be permanent. Fuji-senpai liked to play around too much. On the bright side, at least Inui-senpai had carried Kaidou off to the Natural History Museum to look at bones, and Kikumaru-senpai had been dragged away by Mukahi and Oshitari-san.

He hadn't asked where they were headed, either.

Ryouma leaned against a shady bit of wall, hands tucked in his pockets, and relaxed while his teammates darted back and forth across the street, dragging this person or that to be shown the newest interesting shop. Having repelled the latest attempt at this, Tezuka-san leaned beside him.

"Good choice of location," he commented.

Ryouma grinned at his captain. "I thought so."

If anyplace could hold the interest of his senpai when they were determined to play tourist, he'd figured Chinatown would be it. Something was always happening.

"Risi, not that door!" a faint voice exclaimed. A few doors down, a bright bird with a long tail flitted into open air and nearly crashed into Yukimura-san. A quick snatch captured it, and he held it gently while it cheeped in protest.

"Hush, now," Yukimura-san told it, petting the small head with a fingertip. "I don't think the owner would like it if I aid and abet your escape." The bird eyed him for a long moment before it settled down in his hands with a coo and a ruffle of feathers.

"Well, at least she didn't go far." A young man in formal clothes emerged from the shop doors. "Although," he added, in Japanese, tipping his head, "I can't say I'm surprised she likes you."

"Really?" Yukimura-san's eyes narrowed a little, and his smile sharpened.

Ryouma wondered for a second whether they knew each other or something. Yukimura-san was usually impenetrably charming with strangers. He drifted toward them. Actually, everyone was gathering back around them.

"What a beautiful bird," Oishi-senpai said, softly.

The man smiled. "She's a very rare breed; the shop specializes in exotic pets. Would you care to come in and look?" He ushered them all inside, and accepted the bird back from Yukimura-san. "Now, are you going to behave?" he asked it. The bird cheeped and bobbed a few times, and he nodded. "Good." He set it on an open perch, where it settled down and started to preen its trailing tail feathers.

"Is it a songbird?" Fuji-senpai asked, coming to stand beside him.

"Oh, yes," the man answered, low voiced. "She sings at dawn." His smile looked very strange for a moment, and Fuji-senpai gave him a sidelong glance.

Ryouma observed that, while most everyone else was fanning out to make impressed noises over the animals, Fuji-senpai seemed more entertained by the proprietor.

"Dottybacks!" Oishi-senpai exclaimed from the cluster of aquariums one corner. "And is that one... a Cypho?" he looked over his shoulder at their host, wide-eyed. "How do you keep this many of them alive when they can see each other?"

The owner perked up. "Ah, you're familiar with the breed, then?"

"I would love to put together a coral tank, and maybe even keep a breeding pair of these." Oishi-senpai touched a finger to the corner of the tank, looking longingly at the tiny fish.

"Wow," Momo whispered, peering into the tanks, "look at those colors."

"But they're so aggressive," Oishi continued. "They'd take a lot of attention to make sure the young didn't all kill each other off. Not to mention they're worse escape artists than that bird." He made a deprecating face, and turned away from the tanks with a last, lingering look.

"Most fish owners simply take a certain percentage of loss for granted," the owner said in a very neutral voice.

"That's irresponsible," Oishi-senpai frowned. "Of course they can't be controlled completely, they're living animals after all. But when we take them out of the wild, we have a duty to do our best for them."

The owner gave him a long, measuring look and smiled slowly. He reached for pen and paper, and wrote something out quickly and neatly. "This is our address. If you think you might be interested in some of our animals, there are a few trans-Pacific shippers that I trust. Just let me know."

Oishi-senpai glanced around at the shop full of cheeping, growling, gurgling animals, at the sheet of paper and back at the owner, looking a bit dazed. "Thank you. I'll keep it in mind."

"You do seem to have a talent for keeping the peace between your tenants," Yukimura-san noted, looking down at a racoon sprawled asleep on top of a small bear, "Mr..."

"D," the owner supplied.

"Of course." Yukimura-san smiled. "This place has a very relaxing atmosphere." He turned. "Don't you think so, Tezuka?"

Tezuka-san was not, naturally, oo-ing and ah-ing. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes closed. "Very," he agreed, without looking up.

Ryouma blinked. Tezuka-san did actually sound relaxed. Fuji-senpai stopped beside their captain and asked something, softly. Tezuka-san leaned his head back against the wall and shrugged one shoulder. Fuji-senpai abruptly left off his curious examination of D and focused on Tezuka-san. Yukimura-san was looking very amused for some reason.

"The incense helps with that," D answered, drawing Yukimura-san's eyes back to him. "I blend it myself. That way I can always send a packet with the more sensitive animals, to give them something familiar while they settle into a new place."

Ryouma was really starting to wonder if he was missing something, because Yukimura-san was looking at D with wide eyes. "Send it with them?" he repeated, still staring.

"Oh, yes. It's very helpful." D smiled, and for one second it was sharp as a knife. And then he was looking cheerful again.

Yukimura-san gave him a tilted return smile, and his eyes glinted. "Indeed."

"So, who's up for dinner?" Ryouma put in. He figured hunger was probably making him lightheaded. The conversation would surely make more sense after he'd eaten.

A chorus of agreement answered him, Momo loudest of course. D recommended a restaurant down the street and waved them goodbye at his doors.

"Do feel free to stop in again, if you'd like," he called. "Any time."

D closed the doors after his visitors. "Well! That was something you don't see every day." He turned toward the back. "T-chan, you can come out now."

Tetsu shouldered through one of the curtains, grumbling. "Why couldn't I be out here?! What if one of them had gone nuts? Worse, what if one of them decided he liked you?"

D smiled indulgently at Tetsu's ferocious glare. "They were both wild, T-chan. Neither of them was likely to stay here."

"Yeah?" Tetsu bristled. "That tiger sure looked like he was thinking about it."

"Actually," D sighed, "I hope he comes again before he goes home. For his own sake."

Tetsu snorted, cynically. "And because you want to grill him about how he's managing to pass."

D chuckled. "All right, that too."

Kunimitsu walked down streets without really looking where he was going. He knew quite well that it was dangerous to wander a strange city alone, at night, but right now he was too agitated to care. In fact, for the first time in a very long time, he was almost hoping for the appearance of some lowlife who would give him an excuse to set aside his self control.

He scolded himself for the thought, but his heart wasn't in it.

Today had been more stressful than usual, and Yukimura's sense of humor hadn't helped. Who would have thought that they'd find someone who recognized them while out playing tourist? He'd spent the remainder of the day torn between the relief of knowing there was someone he might talk to, if he chose, who would understand, and the reflex terror that someone knew what he was.

A familiar sign caught his eye, and he stopped short on the sidewalk. Count D's Pet Shop. Kunimitsu snorted, silently. It seemed his instincts had had a destination in mind after all. Now, if he could just decide whether that was a good thing or not.

About to lock the doors, a faint sound caught D's ear. A chopped off rustle, very much like someone standing outside the doors and wondering whether he should approach or not. D smiled, and if there was as much darkness as sympathy in the expression, well, his visitor couldn't see him yet.

"Welcome to Count D's Pet Shop," he said, more softly than he would have for a human. "Please, come in." He opened the doors to meet the very level gaze of the young man outside, and his smile turned more cheery. "Would you care for some tea?"

Tezuka-kun's mouth tightened. "Thank you." He didn't sound grateful at all, but he did stalk inside. D stifled a grin, and closed the doors behind him before making a comforting and domestic fuss with the tea set.

"So," he said, as they sipped, "if I gathered correctly, you and the other young men here this afternoon play tennis?"

Tezuka-kun nodded, gazing into his tea.

"A useful outlet for competitiveness," D mused.

Tezuka-kun gave him a mildly exasperated look. D decided that one of his friends must have a habit of speaking obliquely, too. Very well, then, he would be a bit more direct.

"It must be very stressful, living in a city, among such crowds, when your instincts call for space," he suggested.

"There are adjustments that have to be made," his guest agreed, sitting back. D nodded. The scent of the shop was starting to relax Tezuka-kun again.

"Adjustment, adaptation," D nibbled a cookie. "They're the true wonders of the natural world. That which adapts lives. And animals are capable of the most amazing feats, really. Changing from rural to urban habitats; from being carnivores to being omnivores." He looked back up into the opaque brown eyes across the table. "From a range that consists of land to one that consists of people."

Tezuka-kun's eyes narrowed, and topaz flashed in them for a breath. Another observer might have thought it was only the lamplight.

"Yes, I thought that might be it." D sipped his tea. "Those others who were with you, they are your team?"

"Yes," Tezuka-kun said, and an edge of vibrato had entered the deep voice. He was tense again, coiled to move.

"I make no claim on them," D assured him, softly.

Tezuka-kun took a deep breath and sat back again, passing a hand over his forehead. "My apologies," he said, at last. D waved this off.

"It's only in your nature. Actually," his mouth quirked, remembering, "I was surprised that you and Yukimura-kun dealt so peacefully with each other, seeing that he was in the middle of your territory."

A shrug answered him. "He has his territory, and I have mine; we don't interfere with each other that way." Tezuka-kun's mouth twisted. "This week of being on the same team hasn't been especially easy," he admitted.

D was fascinated. "And it's all subsumed into this game. Territory and challenge, and all. Truly an amazing adaptation."

Tezuka-kun looked away, abruptly. "Maybe."

"Is there a problem?" D asked quietly, not pressing.

Tezuka-kun was silent for a long moment. "In school, there are times I can't properly mark or defend my territory. And after this year I will have to find another. As you said—stressful."

D considered this. No wonder Tezuka-kun was tense. His kind were not terribly social animals, and while he could ameliorate that a little by considering some humans his territory, humans didn't hold still the way landscape did. Stressful, indeed. Still, he thought Tezuka-kun might be overestimating his trouble; not uncommon in the young of any species.

"Surely your territory won't be entirely broken, even if you part ways somewhat," D pointed out. "That nice young man, Oishi-kun will never abandon you, I'm certain. And the quiet young man who smiled so much. Not to mention," D's mouth quirked, "the one who was rolling his eyes at everyone else."

That made Tezuka-kun look thoughtful. "Oishi and Fuji I might be able to keep, I suppose," he said at last. "Echizen, though, is almost ready to go looking for his own territory. I wouldn't do either of us any favors by trying to stop him."

D raised his brows. Interesting. It sounded as though Tezuka-kun regarded Echizen less as part of his territory and more as one of his own kind. Well, that had no bearing on the situation right now. "You should relax for a while, Tezuka-kun."

The look he got this time was completely exasperated. "In the middle of a city? Where?"

"I'll show you." D rose, and beckoned his guest through the door to the back.

A corner of Tezuka-kun's mouth twitched as they walked down the long halls, but he didn't bother asking how it was possible. His eyes did widen a bit when D finally opened a door and they stepped through into a cool, rustling forest. D set down the censer he had picked up, and settled on a patch of grass next to it. D saw Tezuka-kun take a deep, deep breath of the breeze, and laughed gently as longing crossed his face. "Run and hunt here as long as you like," he said. "I'll stay with you; follow my scent to come back to the door, here, when you're ready." He had to take his own breath in at the burning, wild desire in Tezuka-kun's eyes when they met his. Brown lightened to topaz, and Tezuka-kun turned toward the trees, and in a few steps he was bounding on four velvet paws.

D smiled as the jagged stripes in Tezuka-kun's fur blended into the forest. He had rarely been thanked so... thoroughly. He leaned back and inhaled deeply again, waiting for the scent of blood on the breeze.

Ryouma stalked down the streets that he hadn't necessarily shown his senpai during the day. He'd been restless after they all got back to the hotel. Not the only one, either. Tezuka-san and Fuji-senpai had both gone out, too. A day like this one should have left them all tired enough to sleep, but it looked like not. Ryouma felt a little wound up, actually. Not dissatisfied with the recent games, but as if he was ready for another right now. He'd considered prodding one of the others into a match in the hotel ballroom, but when he'd mentioned the idea he'd gotten a vehement veto from Oishi-senpai. So, walking it was. He didn't pay too much attention to where he was going, besides making sure to follow lit and crowded streets.

He didn't notice Fuji-senpai until they nearly ran into each other.

"Echizen," Fuji-senpai smiled. "Revisiting today's sights?"

Ryouma blinked at him, and then at their surroundings. A familiar sign caught his eye. Count D's Pet Shop. Of all the places to wind up.

"Not really," he answered. "You?"

Fuji-senpai eyed the doors. "I did wonder whether Tezuka had come back here. When I asked him if he felt all right, earlier... Well."

Ryouma gauged Fuji-senpai's worry by what he had almost said directly, and decided it was greater than he'd seen it since their captain injured himself. "The shop did have a nice, relaxing atmosphere," he offered.

Although, now he thought about it, he'd been feeling whatever he was feeling ever since they'd come out of this place. Well, there was one way to find out. He tapped on the doors, and pushed them open, hearing Fuji-senpai come in behind him.

The shop was empty of any humans, though the animals all eyed them with interest. The doors in the back wall were open. Ryouma glanced up at Fuji-senpai, who was frowning faintly. Part of Ryouma's head was pointing out that they should announce themselves, or find a bell to ring, or something, and just ask whether Tezuka-san had been in. The rest of his mind didn't seem to be listening, and when Fuji-senpai moved toward the back doors, Ryouma followed him.

He was positive that Tezuka-san was back there.

They made their way down a long hall, which, the logical part of Ryouma's mind pointed out, was a little peculiar, even for this part of town. Logic seemed to be fighting a losing battle, though. The hall dead-ended at yet another pair of tall doors. This was the place. Ryouma pushed them open.

The two of them stepped into a forest.

Ryouma felt only vaguely surprised, though it would occur to him later that he should have been completely freaked out. Fuji-senpai certainly seemed shocked, standing still as a stone, wide eyes darting around. Then he stiffened. Ryouma followed his gaze and saw Tezuka-san lying stretched out, uncharacteristically lax, with his head resting in D's lap. D's fingers carded through his hair, and Tezuka-san seemed to be asleep.

"Tezuka?" Fuji-senpai choked.

Tezuka-san stirred, and a tiger lifted his head from D's lap to blink at them.

D raised his brows at the two intruders. Well. He certainly hadn't expected them to follow Tezuka-kun—hadn't expected them to be able to. Fuji was shaking his head and staring very much like someone who distrusted the evidence of his senses. Echizen...

Echizen walked forward, grass swishing against his shoes. "Buchou," he said, with surety.

Tezuka-kun narrowed his eyes and growled, tail flicking twice. Echizen ignored this sign of displeasure as if he'd had practice, and kept coming. His eyes, now that D could see them, were very calm and a little distant, and, as he came closer, their bright brown flickered with gold. Two more steps, and another tiger paced toward Tezuka-kun.

Tezuka-kun tucked his chin down and his growl scaled up into a startled, inquiring sound. He glanced at D.

"I think you saw more truly than you were aware, Tezuka-kun," D murmured, thoughtfully. He was ready to swear that Echizen was entirely human, but the speed of this change said that the boy had a powerful affinity for the wildness in himself.

Tezuka-kun snorted, and stalked toward Echizen, glaring. Echizen twitched his ears and stood his ground, head tipped to one side. D put a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. Echizen either didn't really understand the language of his current shape or else liked living dangerously. The young tiger ducked Tezuka-kun's swipe, and made to nip the raised paw. A brief tussle of fur and growling resolved with Tezuka-kun lying on Echizen's shoulders and washing his ears vigorously. Echizen-kun sighed, and laid his chin down on his paws.

Footsteps sounded beside D, and he looked up to see Fuji staring down at him with hard eyes.

"Have we been drugged?" the young man asked, very calmly.

D sighed at this echo of his detective's favorite accusation. Humans. "You are under the influence of something," he answered, gesturing to the smoking censer, "but it isn't a drug."

"What is it?"

A corner of D's mouth curled up. "You might think of it as reality," he suggested.

Fuji looked from D to his two friends, and D could see reluctant understanding in his tight expression. He was actually a bit impressed with this boy's iron refusal to give way to panic or hysteria. His mind was evidently still working, in face of what must be very strange to him, and that was rare. Possibly troublesome, too.

"Tezuka," Fuji said, quietly, "why..." He gestured to D. Probably, D decided, asking why someone so strong willed had let another person meddle with his integrity. An honest answer, which he had little doubt Tezuka-kun would give, would reveal far too much. He really might have to do something about Fuji's interference.

Tezuka-kun leaned his forehead against Echizen-kun's fur for a moment and sighed before he looked up. "Because this is what I am, Fuji," he answered, his voice equally low. "You should forget."

Fuji gazed at him for one frozen moment before his calm broke into a glare and he stepped toward Tezuka-kun. "Forget?! Forget that you turned into a tiger? Excuse me?!" His sharp gesture of denial turned into an upsweep of wings, and he fluttered up to a branch where he assaulted everyone's ears with some very strident commentary.

Echizen-kun rolled onto his back, under Tezuka-kun's arm, and propped himself up on his elbows. "I'd have thought you'd be bigger, Fuji-senpai," he commented, with an insolent grin.

"Lovely markings, though," D cut in over a particularly piercing rejoinder. "The Eurasian variety of Lapwing is a lovely bird." He smiled up at Fuji, who had paused to cock his head in a remarkably skeptical manner. "Their common name refers to the irregular rhythm of their flight, a great fascination to bird watchers. They're also one of the breeds that will feign injury to lead predators away from their nests." Fuji flipped his wings at D, clearly not mollified much.

Echizen-kun, on the other hand, was bright-eyed and looking deeply amused. "Suits you perfectly," he prodded.

Fuji-kun spread his wings, looking ready to dive at his young friend, and Echizen-kun crouched, ears back, tail lashing. Tigers weren't technically able to grin, but he was definitely grinning. Fuji-kun flung himself off the branch, only to pull up at the last minute, and peck Echizen-kun soundly between the ears. Echizen-kun's claws parted Fuji-kun's tail feathers, for his trouble, and they were off through the trees, leaping and diving at each other. D was now very impressed with Fuji-kun's amenability to the wild when he finally acted.

Tezuka-kun put a hand over his face and laughed, silently. D laid his hands on Tezuka-kun's shoulders, urging him to lean back against D. Tezuka-kun gave in with a sigh. "He really should forget," he said.

"Perhaps," D murmured. "Your Fuji has more in him than is immediately obvious."

Tezuka-kun snorted, settling his head against D's chest, and purred as D combed his nails through Tezuka-kun's fur. D contemplated the evening's events, Echizen-kun's part in particular. The speed of his change was unusual. Normally, a little of the incense D blended merely enabled humans to see what they normally did not. It took a higher concentration for human consciousness to enter into that part of the world they regularly ignored, and higher yet for a full transformation to follow. Fuji-kun had followed that pattern, though the break in his temper seemed to release a transformation hard on the heels of the second stage. Echizen-kun, though... to move so quickly, and into the shape of Tezuka-kun's spirit...

D smiled down at the tiger snoozing on his lap. Tezuka-kun had had a good hunt, earlier, as D had hoped. He had brought Tezuka-kun here only to relax and refresh him from the strain of living among humans, but it might turn out that there was more for him to do tonight.

Tezuka-kun woke when the other two returned. Echizen-kun flung himself down in a pleased sprawl, panting. Fuji-kun landed on his head, ignoring the resulting ear twitching. Tezuka-kun sat up, adjusting his glasses.

"We should go soon."

Echizen-kun heaved a vast sigh, and hauled himself upright, too, crossing his legs. D held out a hand for Fuji-kun to flutter down to, and stroked one finger over his head. Fuji-kun stretched, lacing his fingers together over his head, and smiled cheerfully at Echizen-kun.

"Maybe next time," he suggested. Echizen-kun sniffed.

"That could be a bit difficult," Tezuka-kun pointed out, dryly.

Echizen-kun looked at him, biting his lip. "Not for you, though," he said, slowly. "That's what you meant, isn't it?"

Tezuka-kun nodded, silently. Echizen-kun pursed his lips, and looked from him to D with a question in his eyes.

"There are ways for a human to take on another nature," D told him, evenly. "They are not reversible."

"D-san!" Tezuka-kun exclaimed, sharply, and frowned at his protege. "Echizen..."

Echizen-kun looked up at him, solemnly. "If it's reality, like he said, why shouldn't I want it?"

"Echizen," Fuji remonstrated, softly, leaning to take the other boy's shoulder, "it can't be easy; and it must be dangerous."

Echizen-kun made a derisive noise, ignoring Tezuka-kun's definite nod. "Like pro tennis is easy and safe?"

"Tennis isn't something you have to hide from everyone you know," Tezuka-kun pointed out, approaching a glare.

"Not everyone," Echizen-kun answered, simply.

Tezuka-kun had to swallow and take a long breath. D folded his hands in his lap, hiding his sympathy for both sides of the argument. When Tezuka-kun seemed unable to speak, though, he felt compelled to add a practical warning.

"It is unlikely you and Tezuka-kun would be able to have much contact, outside of your competitions."

"No," Tezuka-kun put in, at last. "We could share to an extent." He shrugged, as D's eyes widened. "You spoke of adaptation. My family learned to take the females' way, when we started to take humans as mates, and share territory. Inside the family, at least."

"Remarkable." D felt the little bubble of joy that rose in his chest whenever he encountered some animal managing to win in spite of everything.

"I want this," Echizen-kun said, very firmly, looking both Fuji and Tezuka-kun in the eye.

Fuji sighed, and smiled wryly. "If you're that determined, I suppose that's all there is to it." He turned a sharper eye on Tezuka-kun. "And if you suggest, now, that I forget..."

Tezuka-kun ran a hand through his hair. "No, I won't suggest it again." His eyes softened a shade as he glanced at Echizen-kun. "The choice is yours."

Echizen-kun gave him a bright, wicked smile. "I know."

Tezuka-kun looked down his nose, and D chuckled. They would do well.

"Come here, then, Echizen-kun," he directed. When Echizen stood in front of him, D drew his finger along one sharp corner of the censer, cutting it. He marked Echizen with his blood between the eyes, on his palms and over his heart, and called. A sharp twist of wind and scent swirled around the boy, and he folded up, gasping. When it left, Echizen-kun looked back at D with gold eyes and arched his whiskers in question. D held out his hand, and Echizen-kun swiped the blood off his fingers with a long, rough tongue. A second later he looked mildly revolted, and folded his arms.

"Done?" he asked.

"Done," D smiled.

"Doesn't feel all that different," Echizen-kun observed.

"No, it wouldn't I imagine," D agreed. "You were half way there already. The result of accepting Tezuka-kun's influence, I believe."

Tezuka-kun blinked.

"I've never seen anything quite like it," D admitted, "but I have to wonder whether this would have happened, eventually, in any case." Tezuka-kun and Fuji both moved closer to Echizen-kun, who relaxed a little, probably calmed by their scents. D ruffled Echizen-kun's hair, getting a glower in return, and looked around at his three guests.

"It will be well."

Ryouma yawned his way through the breakfast buffet, weaving among hotel guests back to the tables his teammates had secured. Tezuka-san, of course, had already efficiently filled his plate and chosen a seat. Ryouma contemplated the high proportion of meat on Tezuka-san's plate, and then on his own, and sighed. At least his mother would probably be happy when his eating habits turned more to the Western food she prefered. Ryouma deposited his plate at the next place, glancing around to see who else was up and about, and ground to a halt.

"Echizen?" Fuji-senpai asked from behind him, setting down his own plate and laying a hand on Ryouma's shoulder. He'd been doing that a lot, since last night; Ryouma didn't mind, especially right now. Having Fuji-senpai's scent so close steadied him.

"You didn't mention that," he muttered through his teeth to Tezuka-san.

Tezuka-san raised his brows, and followed Ryouma's glance. "Ah. Yes. You get used to it."

"What do you see?" Fuji-senpai asked, softly.

"Yukimura-san is a dragon," Ryouma said, very flatly, not taking his eyes off the members of Rikkai who had just come through the door.

Fuji-senpai was silent for a long moment. "That could explain a few things," he said, at last, in a contemplative tone. Ryouma glared at him, but couldn't keep it up for long before his eyes were drawn back to Yukimura-san.

Who was now staring back at Ryouma.

Waving his team to an open table, Yukimura-san strolled toward theirs. Tension wound through Ryouma's whole body, as Yukimura-san's scent fanned over him, sharp and blue like lightning. "I see the reputation of that family for meddling is the truth," Yukimura-san said, looking Ryouma up and down with a slight smile.

Ryouma jerked his chin up. "It was my own choice," he snapped. He had a strong urge to claw that look off Yukimura's face. His tension eased again as Tezuka-san's scent folded around him. His captain had risen and stepped forward, nudging Ryouma just a bit behind him.

"Don't push him yet, Yukimura. He's still new to this."

"Of course," Yukimura-san murmured, stepping back. "I can wait." His eyes narrowed for one moment, wild and glinting, and then he smiled at them sunnily and turned back toward his team. Ryouma took a deep breath, throttling down his own fizzing aggression, and leaned against Fuji-senpai.

"So, eventually, I get to bite his throat out, right?" he asked.

Fuji-senpai laughed, and even Tezuka-san's shoulders twitched with what looked like suppressed amusement.

"Figuratively," his captain specified, sternly.

"Ok, I can work with that." Ryouma pulled out his chair and started in on his breakfast. As the comforting chatter of his team surrounded him, punctuated with Momo and Kikumaru-senpai stealing each other's bacon, he relaxed further. He could work with this.

It was reality, after all.

End

In order to make locations and participants match up, I have hypothesized that the coast v coast competitions take place on the high school level, as well as the junior high level.

What's in a Name

Belial and Kanzeon have tea. Drama, I-2

Belial took another sip of hir tea and aimed a glittering smile at the being across the table. "So. We've caught up on gossip, traded fashion tips, and one has flattered your latest blend. Don't you think it's time we got around to business?"

Kanzeon lips curled up in a smile. "I still say sheer is the perfect look for you."

"One will keep it in mind," Belial promised. "You'll see it the day one sees you in a hat. A curl-brimmed felt number with peacock feathers, perhaps."

Kanzeon laughed. Belial half lidded hir eyes.

"Did you do it on purpose?"

"Do what?" Kanzeon asked, innocently, immediately continuing. "I would never interfere in the working out of a Heavenly sentence."

Belial took a demure sip. "Excellent delivery," se judged. "Good form, not over-exaggerated. But the gleam in the eyes somewhat detracts from the sincerity."

"I'll make a note of it," Kanzeon promised.

"You gave them their original names back," Belial murmured.

"Only my nephew, who has, no one could argue, been making excellent progress. Barring that lingering taste for guns." Kanzeon leaned back and crossed hir legs. "I certainly can't be responsible for what two random humans name their children. Perhaps the mothers thought the names would be efficacious against the demonic blood from the fathers." Kanzeon's smile was angelic.

Which was to say, Belial reflected, it was vicious, ruthless and hungry. Se couldn't help approving, really. "Well, one will keep an eye on them, then," se said, rising. "Since they are, after all, the children of one's own people."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Kanzeon purred.

End

Sight

A bit of Tezuka's family background. Drama With Humor, I-2

In one of the few speeches Kunimitsu's father made that Kunimitsu's grandfather approved of, the man declared, "Everything is about connections - who you know, you notices you, and especially who you can rely on." His grandfather had declared the rest of the speech to be garbage, but that was hardly unexpected.

Tezuka had been eight at the time, and had therefore not felt that going to his mother to ask about what types of people he should know was inappropriate.

Tezuka Ayana gave her son a particularly bright smile and queried, "Why ask me rather than your father or grandfather?"

Kunimitsu looked at his mother gravely and replied, "I'll meet all their associates because I'm the only son. You have other friends." He stood and waited politely as Ayana nodded consideringly.

"Go and get your coat on," Ayana said decisively. "You can come with me on my errands and meet my friends, and some family." She shooed Kunimitsu off to get his coat.

Five hours later, Kunimitsu decided that his mother knew some very strange people. Especially the loud drunken lady who lived in the disappearing house. Though he had to admit that the toymaker with the tiny dolls was interesting, if insane, and the archeology professor seemed to be a man that even his grandfather would consider upstanding. He wasn't sure why they had visited a willow tree. His questions were mostly answered when they arrived at an apartment, where his mother knocked on the door.

"This is my younger cousin's home," she explained. "He just got back from China, so I wanted to give him a few hours to move in before saying hello." She smiled brightly as the door opened a crack, and didn't flinch when the person on the other side reacted to her presence with what could not be called a screech only for politeness's sake.

"Xiao Lang," Ayana said brightly, "It's wonderful to see you. I'm your cousin, Tezuka Ayana, remember?"

Kunimitsu noted that the boy didn't seem to be past his teens, certainly, and that the words seemed to calm him down. "You look like my oldest sister," he managed, taking in a deep breath. "...Uh, so why are you over here?"

Ayana gestured to Kunimitsu. "I wanted my son to be able to see like most of the family does. He has enough latent power for it, and he really needs to be on his guard for that sort of thing, especially now, doesn't he?"

Xiao Lang eyed Kunimitsu. "Is he...?"

"He belongs to his father's family," Ayana reassured him. "Don't worry about interference from me - I think you and that girl are adorable." She smiled brightly as this caused Xiao Lang to blush and sputter. "Can you help me?" she asked finally.

"...bring him in," the boy sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

Afterwards, Kunimitsu found that he did understand why they went to see the willow tree. He noticed many other things as well, and his mother explained, as they walked, that what Kunimitsu saw had been there already, but most people just didn't notice it. Most of her friends were people who could and did see those things, she went on.

Kunimitsu nodded, turning to catch a glimpse of a boy a year or two older than himself, who was running after a girl who had to be his sister. "That boy has wings," he commented.

"Probably an angel," Ayana said. "There have been a lot of them around, recently. No one knows why."

"An angel," Kunimitsu murmured. "I'll remember."

Zettai Ni

Kurai finds something odd in her realm. Drama, I-3

"Are you sure?"

Kurai sparred Noise a quick glance over her shoulder. Noise's one wing drooped noticeably, her eyes were dark with worry, and she chewed—cutely—on her bottom lip. She knew that she was asking a lot of her retainer, but she had a feeling that it would be best to investigate this newest anomaly within her realm on her own. Even if it did make Noise deeply and obviously unhappy.

"I'm sure."

"I don't like this."

Kurai laughed before she thought better of it. "I know. I'm sorry."

Noise sighed with great feeling and ran her hands through her hair, making it stand on end. "No, you're not. But could you at least avoid getting too damaged as I do not want to explain to those who care about you exactly what happened and why."

She put her forehead against her best friend and companions. "I can't make promises I can't keep. But I'll try." Without moving her head she locked eyes with Noise and grinned, "I wouldn't want you to deal with an unhappy Setsuna."

Noise tilted her head up and pressed a kiss against Kurai's head. "Be quick. Be safe."

Kurai could only nod. Anything else would have been too much and unnecessary. She turned away from Noise's worried eyes to contemplate the perfect silver bubble that had manifested on the out edges of her realm. The bubble touched Assiah, butting up against so closely that it seemed to rub raw the psychic skin keeping the planes apart. Staring at it she thought she saw flickering images of a castle, a forest, a cathedral, and for a moment, and endless plain of horizons. She didn't really know how she was going to get from the here of Gehenna to the there of the not quite real place inside that bubble. Not knowing what else to do she placed her hands against the silver, misty edge and pushed forward.

She heard Noise's yell and then a roar like the rushing of a thousand wings and then there was nothing.

"Why are you here?"

She looked up into eyes too dark a shade of green to be quite human and the way eternity echoed was definitely not human. The girl, on the edge of womanhood with the subtle swell of breast and hip just beginning, wore a short red shift and gold bracelets that looked more like shackles than jewelry watched with perfect neutrality. Kurai picked herself up off the gray, dusty ground as she considered her answer. The emptiness of the place, and the knowledge in her companion's eyes, makes her nervous.

"Because this place is in my realm."

The woman-girl cocked her head to the side, purple hair falling along the side of her face, half obscuring those inhuman eyes. "The place inside my head is much bigger than the place outside it."

Kurai did not know what to make of that comment, so she went around it. "Who are you?"

That seemed to give the woman-girl a pause. She fiddled with the gold bracelets—shakles—awkwardly as she thought about it. "I am the Witch."

"Witch?" Kurai repeated, tasting the term and the power inherent within it.

"Because I have no prince to save me, because I want no prince to save me, I am the Witch." The woman-girl said plainly. There was no sorrow in this statement, only simple fact. "My world is fractured," the woman-girl locked eyes with Kurai and she felt as if she were drowning in all the years of this creature's life on the endless plain of horizons, "I am fractured."

"Why?" Kurai managed to gasp out, because she could not stand under the weight of that self-knowledge. A distint rumble of what might be thunder rolled around inside the emptiness. The woman-girl turned so fast her hair spun out in tangled arch around her. The look of naked fear made Kurai reach to touch her, but she froze when the girl snapped back around with a movement so fast it could not have been mortal, maybe not even immortal.

"What are you?" she whispered.

The woman-girl grabbed her by the shoulders, staring down in Kurai's eyes with an intensity that chilled her to the bone, and said with fierce desperateness. "The swords are coming, you have to run."

"Swords?" Kurai echoed dumbly. She was so confused. Even when Alexial came back as Setsuna and the world turned inside out, and Heaven and Hell were in chaos, she had not been this confused.

The woman-girl shoved her away so hard she stumbled, nearly twisting her ankle. "RUN!" She screamed. The woman-girl couched down, hair falling over her face, obscuring those wild, inhuman eyes. "You have to run. The swords..." the woman-girl's voice broke.

Kurai turned to start to run as the ground under her feet began to fracture. Cracks forming underneath her faster than she could move, the constant shaking nearly throwing her to the fragmenting ground. She tried to scream as the ground vanished and she was falling into nothing, and then there was darkness that wasn't so much the abscence of light, but the abscence of everything.

"Oi! Are you alright?"

Bright blue eyes and bangs the colour of easter basket grass filled her vision, and Kurai could only gape.

She was flat on her back in the middle of a grass hill. The birds sang sweetly in the summer air and she smelled honeysuckle and roses. The girl leaning over her smelled of roses, tea, and something sharp and tangy. And the desolate, endless plain was gone. Kurai sat up and rubbed her head. "I ... I think I am alright."

The girl smiled brilliantly, "Good! I was worried for a moment. You started falling down the stairs and would have gotten hurt, but I caught you and brought you here."

Kurai stared at her. There was something around the edges of the girl. Something that shone like starlight. Like the woman-girl in the endless plain this one was not quite ... normal. There was a quality of eternity etched into her being like the runes etched into Alexial's sword. The girl's smile faultered for a moment and Kurai realized that she had been staring a little too long. "I'm ... I'm sorry. Where am I?"

The girl frowned, and Kurai realized that was a very odd thing to say. She forced herself to smile apologetically. "I'm new." She said by way of explination.

That seemed to clear up everything. "Yeah, the Academy can be confusing for new students." She stuck out her hand in what struck Kurai as a singularly straight-forward gesture. As if everything this girl did was direct, honest, and so innocent it hurt. "I'm Tenjou Utena."

"I'm Kurai." She reached out to take Utena's hand when the other girl was tackled by what appeared at first glance to be a low flying missile of some sort.

"UUUUUTTTEEEEEEENNNNNNNNAAAAA!" the missile sort itself out as a giggle girl with dark brown hair and the sweetest smile Kurai had seen since Setsuna. The girl nuzzled Utena, practically purring her head off. "MMmmmmm found you!" she giggled.

"Utena-sama," Kurai looked up to see the woman-girl of the endless plain. Except she was wrong. The echoing power, and the knowledge, and the intensity of person was gone—even if the decided otherness was still there. Her hair was contained in tightly bound crown around her head, and those inhuman eyes were hidden by glasses. But it was the girl, or at least part of her. Kurai chewed on her bottom lip.

Utena held the brown haired girl at arms length, but smiled gently at her. "Wakaba, I meet someone new."

That got the attention of both the not-woman-girl and the brown haired missile. "This is Kurai. And she's new to Ohtori Academy."

Kurai couldn't focus on the introductions that happened afterward. She felt too disassociated and confused and completely and totally out of her depth to take in any more information. Her mind was spinning. She found herself arm in arm with the bouncy, giggling brown haired girl and the sweetness of her soul overwhelmed everything. Being near the girl was like ... hot chocolate in winter or strawberries in the middle of summer. She could feel herself relax bit by bit, as the girl—Wakaba?—giggle up at Utena, tried to draw Anthy into conversation, and showed Kurai the landmarks of this place.

She could feel power underneath her feet, could feel the different flavours of it as she walked the campus. And she could feel a very subtle, very familiar taint to everything. A feeling of unspeakable foulness that lurked on the edges of everything and made her shudder.

It wasn't until the sky began to change colour into the first hints of dusk that Kurai realized that she should probably leave, go back to Noise, and the relative safety of her own realm. She gently disentangled herself from Wakaba, and politely thanked Utena. Who smiled, shook her head, and said that no, no she was glad to have been there to help. Utena helped her to her feet and Kurai felt for a moment the flicker of a thousand wings and the shine of starlight.

And she was unnerved.

But it was Anthy, with her dark eyes and quiet manner that unnerved her the most. And when she turned to leave, it was Anthy who caught her eyes, even behind the shadowed rescesses of her glass. It was in those dark green eyes that she saw that woman-girl, that she saw Witch.

The Swords

And then she was standing in her own realm, next to Noise, shivering as if she had walked into the dead of winter naked.

Unexpected Guests

How Ryouma's uncle came to be away from the temple. Drama with Humor, I-3

Temples and their priests got all kinds of visitors, some of them pretty odd. But the last thing Konzen had expected, when he opened the door to answer the bell, was for a tangle of limbs to land on and hug him while crowing "Sanzou!"

Konzen really didn't like to be touched, something his ex-wife had pointed out frequently. All told, his older brother's death and Konzen's inheriting the family temple had just been a handy excuse for the divorce. But back to the business at hand.

Konzen promptly hauled the intruder loose and threw it into the wall, where it resolved into a rather gangly, golden-eyed young man. "Don't be an idiot," he instructed. "There hasn't been a Sanzou for hundreds of years." He frowned. "And why would you be looking for one at a place like this?"

"Oh, right. So, what are you called, now?" The boy's grin hadn't dimmed at all, despite a landing that had cracked plaster.

"Echizen Konzen, the same thing I've been called all my life," Konzen said, brusquely, wondering whether he should inquire for escapees at the local mental hospitals. "Who the hell are you?"

"Again? Ah. Um." The boy scratched his head. "Well, if you don't remember, then this'll be kind of a long story." He looked up hopefully. "I don't suppose you have any food around?"

Konzen was staring and making a mental list of hospitals to call, when his daughter looked into the entryway. "Otou-sama? Do we have a visitor?"

A good question, since he still wasn't sure what this person was. Besides, now, gaping at Nanako, thunderstruck. Konzen hoped he wasn't a pervert, like Konzen's younger brother or a few of his college associates. But, no, because the boy turned, wide-eyed to ask, "You have a daughter?"

The thought drifted across Konzen's mind that maybe the boy really did know him.

He shook his head impatiently and barked, "Who are you and what do you want?"

"Well," the boy fidgeted, "like I said, it's a long story..." His stomach interrupted with a noisy growl.

Nanako put a hand over her mouth to muffle a giggle. "Why don't I get you two some tea and a snack?" she offered.

Konzen rubbed a hand over his face. "Might as well." He had a bad feeling he wasn't getting an answer until this... visitor got food.

A few hours later Konzen had a headache, and was considering the benefits of sharing it.

He pinned his visitor with a level glare. "Let me get this straight. You're an elemental spirit, and you knew me in a past life, and, because of the events of that life, you have a couple very powerful demons after you now."

"Yup!" Goku (he'd finally gotten the boy's name half way into the story) agreed, tossing another dumpling into his mouth.

Konzen frowned, rubbing his forehead. The thing was, it all sounded horribly familiar, though he had no idea why. The only memory he had that twitched at Goku's rambling recitation was a memory of someone laughing. He didn't even know if it had been a man or a woman; only that whoever it was had been really damn annoying.

"And you came here to hole up and get some rest," he finished.

"Yup!" The cheerful, absolute trust in Goku's eyes disturbed Konzen. He'd never been looked at like that in his entire life.

Not this life, anyway.

He shook his head sharply, wishing he could glare at his own thoughts. "Great. Fine. Sleep in the guest room. Tonight, at least," he added, over Goku's happy crow. Temples were supposed to have charity, his father's voice said, in his mind. Konzen mentally gave the old man the finger. Still, it would give him time to call the hospitals.

"Aah!" Konzen bolted up in bed, panting, jerked awake from the most vivid, and hideous, dreams he'd ever had.

Lately, anyway.

"Sanzou?! I mean, Konzen?!" Goku skidded into his room with a rather ornate staff in hand. Konzen's eyes nearly crossed as visions of this moment in dozens of other rooms slid through his mind. Visions that usually involved demons, too. Konzen winced and then growled as he heard that laugh again, echoing through his head.

It did make him think of something, though. "Goku, can any of the demons after you track you?" he demanded.

Goku blinked. "Um. I don't think so. Well, maybe except for that one..." he trailed off, face screwed up in thought.

"In other words, yes." Konzen threw off the covers. "That gun you said I had. Do you know where it is now?"

As Goku opened his mouth a tiny glow like a golden firefly dropped out of the ceiling. It grew to about head size and then vanished.

A handgun and a box of shells clattered onto the floor.

This time, the laughter was audible to everyone.

Konzen glared at the ceiling. He also, however, scooped up the gun. "I'm not having demons in my temple," he stated. "We're leaving tomorrow."

"Okay," Goku agreed. "I'll go get some more sleep, then. 'Night, Konzen." He trailed out, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

Konzen closed the door, flicked on the light, and sat down to write a couple letters.

"You shouldn't be alone for long, and in the meantime, send all the temple business over to Yoshimori," Konzen told his daughter. "And what is all this?" he added, frowning at the boxes and baskets strewn over the table.

"Lunch," she told him, serenely. "So you and Goku-san don't have to stop too soon."

One of Konzen's maybe-memories jabbed him, suggesting that this was a very good idea. "Fine." He sighed, aggravated. "I don't know when we'll be back, but I'll write when I can."

She smiled, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Don't worry, Otou-sama. And I won't either. Okay?"

He smiled in return.

As she waved him out the door, and he walked toward where Goku was head-down in the trunk of the car, exploring, Konzen reflected on how little his life seemed to have changed. The maybe-memories fit in with disturbing neatness. Those others who'd been beside him even reminded him a lot of...

He stopped dead for a long moment before common sense rescued him. No. That was ridiculous. It couldn't possibly be them.

Definitely not.

In any case, he sure as hell wasn't going to look up his college classmates to ask whether they'd been demons in a past life. He snorted at the very idea, and got into the car. "Goku! Hurry up."

Two weeks later...

Nanjirou sorted the mail, and raised a brow. A letter from Nii-san? He tore it open and read.

Dear Worthless Little Brother,

I have something to take care of that may take a while, so quit wasting your time over there and come mind the temple while I'm gone. Don't worry, Nanako will take care of the house.

Corrupt my daughter, and I'll put holes in you big enough to fit your tennis balls through.

Konzen

Nanjirou snorted. Yeah, that was Nii-san all over. As if Nanjirou were ever going to be conned into being a priest!

On the other hand...

Nanjirou tapped the envelope against his chin. They had always meant to go back some time. And Ryouma would be twelve soon, and the right age to start at Seigaku. It would be a free house, and someone to do the laundry. He strolled upstairs and stuck his head into his wife's office, caroling, "Honey? Got a letter you should see..."

End

Visiting Hours

Mad Hatter visits Yukimura in the hospital. Drama, I-3

An individual of duller perception might have assumed se was seeking younger patients to entertain. A fool might have lashed out in a misguided effort to drive hir away.

It was not Seiichi’s judgment that was numb, and no one could call him a fool. “May I help you?” he rasped, and it galled him to find himself grateful for the ability to speak. Moving a hand to the call button, just in case, would have given away his weakness, and gained nothing, so he kept his hands folded and seethed at his body’s betrayal.

Belial smiled. “One,” se said, “was inclined to ask you the same.”

There were a multitude of possible responses to that. Seiichi considered hir smile, and tilted his head oh-so-carefully to the side. “I’m listening,” he murmured. “Go on.”

Belial sat, and made hir offer.

In the end, neither was surprised that he accepted it.

Under the Knife

Mad Hatter and Yukimura start to get acquainted. Drama, I-3

Seiichi was never sure what, exactly, alerted him to Mad Hatter's presence. Se moved like a shadow. He always knew when se arrived, though, as though the air pressure had suddenly dropped and painted the breeze with a hint of coming clouds.

"Experimental surgery, hm?" he asked without turning away from the window.

"One could just snap one's fingers." Hatter's breath was warm against the back of his neck. "One gets the impression from your other visitors that a miraculous recovery would be only what's expected from you."

"Miraculous?" Seiichi repeated in dry question.

"That was one's business, as a Virtue. His Majesty would probably forgive one moonlighting, just this once." Seiichi could hear Hatter's smile, and the darkness in it, delicate and raw. Dangerous. Which was fine as long as it didn't go beyond the two of them.

"And have you had much to say to my other visitors?" Seiichi inquired, turning slowly around and trying not to grit his teeth too visibly over the clumsy way his feet answered him.

Belial gave him a bright and charming curve of lips that didn't match hir eyes. "They are delightful boys, aren't they? But one finds you by far the most interesting." Mad Hatter ran a fingertip down Seiichi's cheek to trace his lower lip before falling away.

Seiichi sharpened his gaze to the edge that would hold Hatter. "Good."

End

Offers

Michael talks to Tezuka. Drama with Humor, I-2

Tezuka was taking a break and drinking some water when he noticed the angel approaching. He was actually somewhat intrigued – this particular angel wasn’t doing anything to hide what he was, and had a look on his face that Tezuka recalled from constant dealings with Ryoma. He found himself somewhat surprised when the angel settled on the bench next to him.

“This is gonna be a weird question,” the angel said, “But do you believe in angels?”

Tezuka considered this question gravely, looking out towards the courts. He felt rather than saw the angel turn towards him and look at his profile. “I don’t disbelieve the possibility,” Tezuka said gravely, “But I’m not religious.”

The angel snorted. “Right. Well, hell and heaven exist, even though it’s not like most people say. Actually, and don’t ever tell anyone this, hell isn’t a bad place, with the management the way it is. But we have to keep some sort of standards, and that means that we all want the best souls, like you.”

Tezuka turned to look at the angel. “So you’re claiming to be an angel.”

The angel scowled. “Of course I’m an angel! What’d you think I was, a demon?”

Tezuka said with perfect serenity, “I wouldn’t think that most angels would be so enthusiastic about being under Lucifer.” He watched with interest as flames sparked around the angel’s head, and continued to watch as the angel got up to pace back and forth.

“I’m NOT interested in being…in being ruled by that bastard,” the angel snapped. “He has no business doing what he’s doing, and…Look, that’s not the point.” The angel brought his wings out. “See? Angel.”

Tezuka nodded. “I’m Tezuka Kunimitsu. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“…I’m Michael,” muttered the angel. He began to pace back and forth. “I’m not one of those people who schemes and does all that behind the scenes shit,” said Michael. “So I just want to ask you if I can fix your arm for you, get your team back on track…”

“No, thank you,” said Tezuka politely. “I rely on myself.”

Michael scowled and crossed his arms. “…fine, I can respect that. What about the rest of your team? Making sure that they’re not hurt? You know, like that kid, with the gold eyes and the cat.”

“Echizen is well the way he is,” said Tezuka sharply. “If you’d like to help someone else in need, Tachibana Kippei has had an injury recently.”

Michael nodded. “Fine, I won’t make an offer about Echizen. Good luck on the courts.” With that, the angel strolled off. Tezuka watched him leave, making a note to watch the other teams closely, once he returned.

Long Story

Belial introduces hirself to Rikkai. Drama, I-3

Masaharu nudged his partner. "Who's that?" he asked, nodding at the slight, lean figure in black lounging against the fence. Yagyuu finished a swallow of much needed water and raised a brow.

"I think that's Yukimura-san's visitor. The one from the hospital that no one ever quite managed to meet."

They both glanced over at Yukimura, who was laughing up at Yanagi. Masaharu smiled. He wasn't precisely pleased that he and Yagyuu had just been swept 6-2 by those two, but it was good to see Yukimura back in top form. Back to the question at hand, though.

"Oh, glorious leader," Masaharu drawled. "Did you invite the extra audience, today?"

For one heartbeat, Yukimura froze. "You noticed, then," he murmured.

Masaharu eyed their visitor's flamboyantly tailored tail coat and top hat. "A little hard not to."

Yukimura turned to face the watcher, eyes narrow. "Belial," he said, low and cold.

"Don't you think it's time one introduced oneself to your people?" the... man? Masaharu squinted... asked. Masaharu had to admit, he was impressed. He'd never seen anyone stand firm in face of an angry Yukimura, let alone stay so nonchalant.

"My people," Yukimura repeated, softly. "Yes."

"Of course, dear Seiichi-san, one wouldn't dream of interfering. Much." The man (?) brushed a rose in front of smiling lips, and Masaharu shared a startled glance with his partner. Where had that come from? Their visitor sauntered closer, running hooded eyes over all of them as the rest of the team drew closer to see what had caught their captain's attention. They received an extravagant bow. "So. Greetings. One is called Mad Hatter."

A frisson danced down Masaharu's spine as his gaze was caught by eyes blue as fire, and laughing. Laughing the way someone standing, somehow untouched, in the middle of catastrophe might laugh. His breath shivered in his chest, and he only realized that he'd taken a step forward when Yagyuu's hand on his shoulder jerked him to a stop.

"And under other circumstances," Mad Hatter murmured with a note of longing caress, "one would be delighted to have you for oneself. Ah well." He blew Masaharu a kiss, winked at Yagyuu, and turned back just in time to meet Yukimura's purposeful stride toward him with hands spread against their captain's chest. "One is most pleased to see you so fully recovered, Seiichi. One is sure the results will be well worth it."

And he was gone. Leaving Yukimura looking at the place he had been with a tangled mix of amusement and anger in his face.

"Who," Akaya asked, wide eyed, "was that?"

Yukimura passed a hand over his forehead and sighed. "Do all of you remember how my condition took a sudden turn for the better, a few months back?"

Everyone glanced at each other and nodded. Sanada and Yanagi, Masaharu noted, were hovering.

"Well, that was the deal I made..."

End

Unexpected Visitors

Michael encounters Setsuna at Fudoumine. Drama with Humor, I-2

The search for Tachibana led Michael to another set of tennis courts. Michael didn’t really see the attraction in this particular sport, though he understood the need to compete as the underlying principle of sports in general. He was about to walk over to the player called Tachibana when a familiar voice rang out behind him. “Oh, it’s you. Hey, what are you doing here?” Michael turned to eye Setsuna, not without a little surprise.

“I thought all of you left,” Setsuna continued. Despite his words, he was smiling easily, standing in his favorite slouched position. “So what’s up with you being here?”

“Belial is playing with souls, and I don’t want him to get a lot,” Michael replied shortly. He didn’t continue to say that he didn’t want Belial doing anything to benefit his brother in the long run, since Setsuna would assume it, anyway.

“Oh,” said Setsuna. “I’m just here to meet this guy I know, Tachibana Kippei. He’s kind of rough, but an okay guy. Good about protecting his friends.” Setsuna nodded over at Tachibana, who seemed to have noticed them and then dismissed the thought of them to continue practice. “We probably can’t catch him right now – they’re busy working for the nationals.”

Michael frowned. “So you’re friends with the guy Tachibana? Someone suggested that he might need some help.”

“Pfft. Not for his playing,” Setsuna declared, grinning. “Guy’s incredible on the courts. I love to see him kicking ass out there.” Setsuna frowned and shifted. “But yeah, if anything goes wrong with the shot he took to the head, he might need help.”

“Well, I could…” Michael paused, remembering his second’s warning about offering angelic assistance without considering the phrasing. “I could help him out, if that happens. If you really want me to.”

“Sure,” said Setsuna easily. “If you wanna help out a friend.” Setsuna waved to Tachibana again and turned to jog off. “Anyway, catch you later.”

Michael settled on the edge of the courts to wait for practice to end.

Facing the Music

Sanada's and Yanagi's reactions to the whole story about Belial. Drama with Angst, I-3

Saying that Genichirou and Renji were not happy simply did not address the magnitude of their feelings on the subject.

Seiichi found that he couldn't really blame them; his own feelings upon seeing Mad Hatter's hunger for Niou were comparable enough that chiding them would have made him a hypocrite.

“What's in it for him?” Genichirou demanded, after his explanation, in simple terms, of the nature of his deal with Mad Hatter.

“That,” Seiichi said, coolly, with the weight of his team’s eyes upon him, “is a private matter between me and Hatter-san.”

His team allowed the matter to drop, for the time being, but Genichirou and Renji fell in at his side as he locked the clubhouse after practice. They followed him home, making small talk about the club and the team’s preparations for Nationals, and lingered in the kitchen to make small talk with his mother while she prepared a tray of snacks for them before Seiichi led them upstairs to his room.

Seiichi took the bed, Renji chose his normal seat at Seiichi’s desk, and Genichirou paced back and forth. The pacing lasted for some time before Genichirou whirled, crossing his arms and glaring at Seiichi. “Were you going to at least tell us?”

“If the need arose,” Seiichi said calmly, sipping his tea. “Which it did, today.”

That set Genichirou to pacing again, while Renji took a cake and asked, “A deal with the devil?”

“Not the devil,” Seiichi corrected him. “Hatter-san is a lieutenant of the devil’s, if I understand correctly.”

“And what does the devil’s lieutenant want with a junior high student’s soul?” Renji asked.

“I haven’t asked. Hatter-san is not the type to give away unnecessary information.”

“And knowing what he wants with your soul isn’t necessary information, Seiichi?” Genichirou was verging on an explosion.

“Not particularly,” Seiichi said. “When you’re not certain whether your body is going to be able to draw its next breath, and you can’t lift your hand to scratch your nose, and the tennis courts seem so far away that they might as well be on another planet, you find that the concept of hell loses a great deal of its terror.”

Genichirou stopped mid-stride, and when Renji spoke, he sounded stricken. “It was that bad?”

“Worse,” Seiichi said.

Genichirou turned back to him. “I don’t like it,” he said.

“I’m not asking you to,” Seiichi said, “but it was my choice to make, and I have no regrets.” He met Genichirou’s gaze and held it.

Genichirou nodded, satisfied, or at least placated, before grabbing his bag and leaving abruptly.

Seiichi laughed, soft and wry. “He took that rather well, don’t you think?”

“Well enough, although I suspect he’s heading off to disembowel straw dummies,” Renji said, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me what the terms of your contract are?”

“That’s really a rather personal question, Renji,” Seiichi told him.

“If you tell me, perhaps I can find a way around it,” Renji countered.

Seiichi blinked, and then smiled honestly for the first time since Mad Hatter had revealed hirself to his team. “I doubt you’ll find one.”

“It’ll make me feel better to try,” Renji insisted.

“All right,” Seiichi relented. “I’ll see about getting you a copy of the contract, such as it is.”

“Thank you.” Renji stood. “I need to be going. See you in the morning?”

“Of course.” Seiichi stood as well, and saw him downstairs. After Renji had put on his shoes, he said, “Thank you.”

Renji looked back at him, and smiled. “You’re welcome,” he said, and left.

Parallel

Michael's offer to Fudoumine. Drama with Humor, I-2

“Are they allowed to do that?” the redhead wondered, after Michael had explained himself to the group of boys.

Michael shrugged. “No rules against demons and humans making contracts,” he said. “Kind of a long tradition behind it, really.”

The guy he was here to visit, Tachibana, seemed as pleased by the news as anything else. “So,” he said. “Yukimura will be playing at Nationals.” He practically glowed with anticipation.

“Yep,” Michael said.

“And you’re here because...?” the girl asked, eyes sharp.

“It’s hardly fair for Hell to go poking their noses into things without one of us investigating,” Michael said. He shrugged. “I’ve been given to understand that Fudoumine might be interested in some help.”

“We aren’t in the habit of looking for help outside our ranks,” Tachibana said, quietly. “Especially when help comes with strings attached.”

Geez, he sounded like Tezuka. Maybe it was something in the water. “I didn’t say there were strings, did I?” Michael retorted. “As it is, I’d be doing the favor for Setsuna as much as for you.”

The guys relaxed somewhat. “You know Setsuna?” the tall one with the bandanna asked.

“Oh yeah. Good guy to have at your back in a fight,” Michael said, grinning. “Look, if you don’t want my help, it’s cool.”

“Nii-san,” the girl said, quietly. “You’re still not fully recovered.” Her smile was sharp. “If Rikkai’s being helped by a demon, it’s only fair that you get a little help from an angel, don’t you think?”

That bit of logic coincided so neatly enough with his own that Michael had to grin. The boy with longish hair had something to say, too. “If we’re going to meet Rikkai at Nationals, you’ll want to be at your full strength,” he murmured, “especially if Yukimura is going to be there...”

The redhead grinned. “It’s almost like poetic justice,” he said, “don’t you think?”

Tachibana considered it. “It does seem appropriate,” he agreed, at length. “Very well; I accept your offer.”

Michael grinned. “You won’t regret it,” he promised, cracking his knuckles. “I’ll make sure of that.”

The Shine

Sanada and Belial talk about Seiichi. Drama, I-3

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

They had discussed it days before.

"Hatter. I want to talk to you."

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

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

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

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

"His soul," Hatter answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course it does."

Genichirou paused, staring up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End

Talking Sense

Kurai and Noise explain things to Sanada. Drama, I-3

“They are interesting; I’ll give them that,” Kurai said, after an afternoon of observation. “I can see what would attract Hatter.”

“They’re very strong-willed, for children,” Noise agreed.

“One would not let them catch one referring to them as children,” Belial observed, sliding out of a patch of shadow. “Have you considered one’s request, lovely Queen?”

Before Kurai could answer, Noise said, “This seems like an awful lot of effort just for a soul that’s already been signed away.”

Belial flattened a hand over hir heart. “One is a great believer in quality and thoroughness in one’s work.”

“I’ll just bet,” Noise grumbled. “...Kurai-sama?”

“I’ll do it,” Kurai decided. “Which one’s Sanada again?”

Belial indicated one of the humans. “That one.” Se paused. “One would mention that he is touchy.”

“And you have nothing at all to do with that,” Kurai said, absently, studying the boy in question.

“Perish the thought,” Belial murmured, as the boys began clearing the tennis courts. “Ah. It would appear that one has been noticed.” Se moved off to speak to the boy in question; Kurai and Noise trailed after hir.

“More friends?” the boy asked, with an assessing glance at Kurai and Noise. Kurai looked back at him just as critically, beginning to understand the attraction of this particular soul.

“Kurai, queen of Gehenna, and Noise, her retainer,” Belial said, with a sweeping gesture. “Your Majesty, Yukimura Seiichi.”

“And what brings you to my tennis courts?” Yukimura inquired, politely enough, despite the hint of steel in his voice.

“Hatter’s invitation,” Noise said.

Yukimura looked at Belial. “And are my tennis courts going to be a social clearing house for all sorts of demons now, Belial?”

Kurai felt her eyebrows hit her hairline, while Noise’s jaw dropped.

Belial waved a hand. “Not at all,” se said. “Her Majesty is here to relieve certain misapprehensions regarding her husband’s domain.” Se glanced pointedly in the direction of the boy se had indicated previously, who was standing a little ways off and obviously trying not to look too much like he was hovering.

Yukimura followed the glance. “Ah,” he said. “I see.” He looked back at Kurai. “In that case, welcome.”

“Thank you kindly,” Kurai said, drily. “We’ll try not to trouble you too much.”

“I appreciate it,” Yukimura said. He paused. “Your husband?”

“Hmph. We’re separated,” Kurai said, sparing a mild glare for Belial. “Hatter-san can explain, if you’re curious. Noise?”

“Ready, Kurai-sama.”

“Then we’re off,” Kurai said. She stuck her hands in her pockets and sauntered towards Sanada, Noise following close behind. “Hello.”

“And just who are you?” he asked.

Kurai hid a grimace, as Noise stiffened. Touchy didn’t begin to cover it. “This,” Noise said, “is Her Majesty, Queen Kurai of Gehenna.”

“Kurai’s fine,” she added hastily, placing a hand on Noise’s arm. “You’re Sanada, right?” He nodded. “Good. Now, it’s a lovely afternoon for a walk, don’t you think?” Without waiting for an answer, she linked her other arm in his. “Why don’t you walk with me for a ways?”

“What—” Sanada began to protest, but Noise seized his other arm, and the two of them managed to propel him forward while Yukimura and Belial laughed behind them and the rest of the boys stared in open curiosity. He struggled to free himself, and was remarkably strong for a human, but Kurai and Noise were demons and managed to keep their grips on him easily enough. “Let me go!” he hissed, as they pushed him away from the tennis courts.

“In a bit,” Kurai said, cheerfully. “First we need to talk.”

“I’m not interested,” he said, instantly. “I don’t want anything to do with your bargains.”

“Bargains?” Noise laughed. “You think we’re crazy enough to try and bargain with you after Hatter-sama’s declared you off-limits?”

Kurai silently applauded Noise. That had piqued Sanada’s curiosity enough to make him stop struggling for a moment. “Off-limits?” he repeated.

“Absolutely,” Kurai said. “And even if Hatter-san hadn’t, Yukimura-san’s expression when we arrived would have made it look like a bad idea. He seems very protective of what’s his.”

Sanada didn’t seem inclined to argue this. “If you’re not here to buy my soul, then what are you here for?”

“To talk,” Noise grunted. “At no small inconvenience to Her Majesty, I might add.”

“Not that much,” Kurai shrugged. “So, tell me, Sanada-kun—what do you know about Hell?”

“It’s where damned souls go when they die,” he said, promptly. “To be punished for their sins by demons.”

“Okay. And heaven?” Kurai said, encouragingly.

“Where good people go after they die,” Sanada said. “To be rewarded by angels.”

“Uh-huh.” Noise made a rude sound. “Those angelic bastards definitely have the better propaganda machine.”

“Like that’s news,” Kurai retorted. “But then, they’ve been playing a game rigged in their favor.”

“Who could forget?” Noise released her grip on Sanada, who had followed this exchange with a faintly confused expression. “Damned souls. Punishments. Rewards. Hah! Do humans ever get anything right?”

“Not often,” Kurai said, mildly. “I do hope you don’t have your heart set on that particular vision of Heaven and Hell, Sanada-kun. If you do, I’m afraid you’re going to be terribly disappointed when you die.”

“I will?”

“Oh yeah, especially if you’re planning on going to Heaven,” Noise muttered. “They’d soon kill you as look at you up there.”

Sanada blinked. “But... angels are good?” he ventured.

Kurai really couldn’t help the laughter, especially when he drew himself up, looking offended. “There’s no more saying that all angels are good and all demons are evil than there is saying all humans are good or all humans are evil,” she said, finally. “It’s a mix, just like it is with humans. Sure, the Host likes to pretend they have the moral high ground, but when it comes right down to it, all of us, angels and demons alike, tend to be bastards, really. Demons are just more straightforward about it.”

Sanada frowned. “He sent you here, didn’t he?”

“He?” Kurai echoed. Sanada jerked his head in the direction of the tennis courts. “Oh, you mean Hatter-san. He asked me to come, yes.”

“Then how can I believe a single word you’ve said?” he demanded. “Even if I were inclined to take the word of a demon?”

“I suppose you don’t have to believe us,” Kurai said, calmly enough. “It’s your decision, after all. Hatter-san is notoriously tricky.” Noise snorted, and muttered something under her breath. “But it seems to me that Hatter-san is going to extraordinary lengths to be reassuring.”

“Seiichi doesn’t need reassuring,” Sanada muttered. “He thinks everything is fine.”

“Not him, silly.” Kurai smacked him upside the head, but gently. “You. Hatter called us here on your account. She’d like to add you to her collection, but she’s abiding by Yukimura-san’s wishes, so she’s doing the next best thing and trying to make you see that it’s not as bad for him as you think. You don’t need to worry so much.”

“You’re a fascinating group of souls,” Noise observed, while Sanada looked flabbergasted. “Anyone in Hell—or in Heaven, to be fair—with an ounce of taste would be overjoyed to have you.”

“Have us?” Sanada managed.

“It’s fairly standard exchange—services rendered after death for favors received during life.” Kurai waved a hand. “Of course, I don’t know what terms Yukimura-san and Hatter-san have agreed to, but I doubt it’s anything exotic.”

“I still don’t know that I can trust a word you’re saying,” Sanada said, after a moment.

“Stubborn,” Noise muttered.

“I expect we should consider it part of his charm,” Kurai said. She unhooked her arm from his and stepped away. “In any case, I don’t believe we can say or do anything else to change his mind.”

“That’s probably true,” Noise agreed.

“Look, Sanada-kun. You trust Yukimura-san, right?” Kurai said. He nodded. “Am I right in saying that he has impeccable judgment?” Sanada nodded again. “Then trust that he knows what he’s doing. You’ll both be happier that way.”

Sanada considered this. “A question,” he said, finally.

“Yes?” Kurai waited.

“When you die, if you don’t go to heaven or hell, what happens?”

“Reincarnation, usually,” Noise said, promptly.

“In Yukimura-san’s case, he’ll probably serve in Lucifer-sama’s court, as retainer to Hatter-san,” Kurai added.

Sanada’s frown at this was less angry than thoughtful. “I see,” he murmured.

Kurai smiled. “I think we’re done here, Noise,” she said. “It was interesting talking to you, Sanada-kun. I do hope we meet again.”

He snorted. “I’m not sure I can honestly say the same yet, but—I do thank you.”

Kurai chuckled. “To be fair, that’s more than I really expected. Take care, Sanada-kun. See you around.” She gave him a little wave, and walked away.

Noise caught up with her after just a moment. “Think it worked?”

“Dunno, but we gave him plenty to think over,” Kurai said, with a little shrug. “Hatter-san can’t ask for more.”

“You never know,” Noise said, shivering. “So, home?”

“Well, we could go home,” Kurai conceded, “but since we’re in Assiah anyway, it couldn’t hurt to pop over and visit Setsuna, right?”

“And the real reason you agreed to this comes out,” Noise said.

“I prefer to think of it as being efficient,” Kurai said airily. “Come on, let’s see if we can find the Messiah.”

As they headed off, Sanada turned around and headed back toward the tennis courts, where Yukimura was waiting.

Engarde

Kurai is depressed and Hatter is curious. Drama with Angst, I-3

Kurai was used to walking her realm with Noise's steady presence at her back like a tether that kept her from flying apart from all the different directions in which her land, her people, her responsibilities pulled her. But today she walked the length and breadth of it alone. She did it to reminder herself that she, and her land, and her people, were not part of Assiah though they were so achingly close to it. Close enough that it rubbed against the softest skin until it broke and bled. She did it to remember that they were not angels, or demons—no matter how individual members might theorize or debate; that they were their own, a people apart. The forgotten and despised children of God.

It was the Witch's shattered realm that eventually drew her—with all its psychic pain and loneliness like a blackened mirror for her own.

She stood where she had stood that first time, the first time she had fallen through its silver borders. The first time she had seen Anthy as she really was, or was meant to be. Kurai knew the Great Angels, lords of Hell, Lucifer and the Messiah, and knew a fair number of their psychic reflections, but she had not—at least not yet—meet anything like Witch. Or like Utena.

Kurai placed her hands against the smooth dome of silver and leaned her forehead against it, careful to avoid thinking about going through the silvered glass-like stuff.

And it wasn't fair that she would fall in love, with one or both of them, when she couldn't have one or both of them. Just like last time—just like Setsuna.

It just wasn't fair. She wanted to know when she would find someone who loved her the way Setsuna loved Sara or Utena loved Anthy. Because she was tired of being in love, when no one loved her back.

"One thinks that one's lord's Royal Wife is somewhat ... distressed," Mad Hatter commented, hir voice sliding through the darkness like whiskey through rich coffee.

Kurai looked up to where se sat, lounged insolently really, on a twisted tree branch that she was fairly positive had not existed there moments before. "Hatter-san," she sighed resignedly. "What do you want?"

"Is it not enough that perhaps one wished to look upon Her Majesty's beauty and spend pleasant moments in her company?" Hatter asked sweetly. Cocking hir head to one side she managed to look both coquettish, innocent, and sly.

Kurai made a face. "I'm not beautiful."

"Oh, there you are very wrong." Hatter appeared before her. Clasping her chin with two fingers, se stared into Kurai's black and silver-blue eyes. "Her Majesty is quite lovely, and will only grow to be more beautiful with time."

"Stop it!" Kurai smacked hir fingers away. "Stop it..."

Hatter might have been angered and offended had it not been for the naked pain and distress on Kurai's face. So se dropped hir hand without further comment as se waited for the inevitable explination. Kurai wrapped thin arms about herself and looked away.

"You don't love me, or think me lovely, Hatter-san. You never have," she said without looking at her shadowed companion. Hatter's face was unreadable. "It was only ever a pretty lie to get the promise that you got." Kurai turned to lock eyes with Hatter, and despite the tears her face was hard. "You can stop lying to me now."

"This one does not always lie, Kurai. This one is honest and tells the truth when it needs to be said—and you are lovely..." Hatter stopped as Kurai shook her head violently, denying all se said. Se was not, perhaps, entirely sure what se would have said to Kurai, to make her believe. But it did not matter. Still shaking her head, and not looking at the demon, Kurai turned and plunged into the swirling silver mists.

Hatter placed one hand upon the border of the other realm thoughtfully. It hardened underneath hir fingers, and se got the very clear sense of no. Se could probably force hir way in, but it was not hir way to do so. Se cocked hir head to one side.

"What are you then, and what is our little Queen to you?" Se asked.

For a moment se saw the image of a girl with wild purple hair and emerald, inhuman eyes in a dirty and torn smock. Hir eyebrow arched. The girl mouthed only one word to hir.

Mine

~~~

It had not been one of her wiser ideas, Kurai determined in retrospect, plunging into the silvered mists that were steadily encroaching into her territory. But she had to get away from the Mad Hatter and all the pretty lies that simply were not true, no matter how much she wanted them to be. Ever since Setsuna had gone back to Assiah the weight of those lies—the ones she had told herself, the ones other people like Akane had told her—pressed against her until parts of her cracked from the strain.

Witch's realm was one of psychic eminenations. A maelstrom of seething emotions that shivered and changed, nearly physically tangible things that could rip and tear. It was an unsettling place to be even when Kurai was able to control herself, but when she was feeling shattered and beyond all protection it was unbareable. Emotions like shining lances, like glistening swords, speared her. Cut her open and left her to bleed.

She was rocking on the barren ground, hands pressed so hard against the sides of her head that her ears rang, trying to block out all the endless screaming that was as much her own as it was the the centuries of bottled emotions left in this place to howl. Kurai had the disconcerting feeling of falling and the sound of rushing wings. Then gentle fingers that were cold to the touch pried her hands from her head. Witch knelt next to her, emerald eyes bemused.

"You should have run from the swords."

Kurai resisted the urge to check herself for wounds. Somehow she knew that nothing here could hurt her body unless she believed it could. Rather than being reassured by the thought, she was terrified. She gripped Witch's slender arms. "Where are we?"

Witch shook her head. Pulling away from Kurai's grasp she walked a little ways away from the kneeling Dragon Queen and stared out at the endless horizons. "We are in the place inside my head that is larger than the place outside of it."

It was the same answer that she had been given before, but now it made more sense—and less. Kurai stood up slowly, as if pushing through heavy water. As she stood the decision she had start to make when she first stared into Anthy's strangely hopeful eyes clarified and solidified. "Come away from here."

Witch turned back to her. They were so close that whispers sounds like ringing bells, too loud, too likely to be heard. "Would you lead me from here?"

The air shivered around them, hinting at the return of the maelstrom. "We'll lead each other."

Witch's smile bloomed, blazing and fierce. It was the last thing that Kurai saw before the darkness claimed her and the rushing wind. When she awoke Noise was peering down at her with anxious concern. Past her worried retainer she spotted Mad Hatter who was staring not at her, but at the opalescent dome of Witch's domain. Kurai sat up, everything in her body screamed in protest, but her head felt strangely clear. As if she had been cleansed of the paralyzing depression. In its place was a hard determination.

She went to stand next to Mad Hatter, who glanced inquiring down at her. Without saying a word Kurai placed her hand against the silvered surface and thought: "Soon." It was enough.

Understanding

Lucifer visits Rikkai. Drama, I-3

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

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

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

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

"Immensely," she purred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interesting.

End

Declarations of War

Lucifer finally meets Michael at Fudoumine. Drama, I-3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then inspiration struck. “Actually,” Michael drawled, trying to match Lucifer’s bored tones, “if you wanna get right down to it, I didn’t get to them first.” When he was sure he had Lucifer’s attention, he grinned. “Setsuna did.”

The effect was every bit as gratifying as Michael could have hoped, and he etched the sight of Lucifer’s face into his memory to treasure. Of course, it did mean that Belial stepped closer to hir master and the atmosphere turned about ten degrees more dangerous, but then, Michael was a dangerous sort of guy himself. “Setsuna,” Lucifer said, finally.

“Mmmmhm,” Michael agreed, savoring the moment. “Really, I’m here as a favor to him.”

Then Tachibana’s hand dropped on his shoulder, the way he did sometimes when Kamio started getting excitable. “I take it you know Setsuna too,” Tachibana said, and immediately the atmosphere lightened somewhat.

Lucifer’s lips quirked. “I have found that Setsuna has a way of getting around.”

“No kidding,” Ann agreed, and Michael blinked, wondering when she had gotten herself part of the way between Belial and himself. “That guy knows everybody.”

Belial laughed. “That is possibly truer than you know.” Se surveyed the courts, where the rest of the guys had given up the pretense of practicing, and were ambling over. “One can see how he would be happy here.”

“Yes,” Lucifer agreed, and he had gone back to smooth and untouchable. Well, it had been fun while it had lasted, anyway. “Things seem to be well in hand here.”

“We’re so glad you approve,” Ann said, and while she wasn’t being ungracious about it, she definitely didn’t sound as friendly as she had. She was pretty cool, for a girl, Michael decided.

“One will be looking forward to seeing Fudoumine at Nationals,” Belial murmured, eyes sharp.

Michael stuck his chin out. “Don’t be in too much of a hurry,” he warned. “We’re gonna kick your asses.”

“One looks forward to seeing you try,” Belial said, amiably. “But one trusts you won’t destroy the stadium in a fit of rage when you lose.”

Michael hissed, but Tachibana squeezed his shoulder in warning, and Michael checked his temper somewhat. “Fudoumine looks forward to meeting Rikkai Dai at Nationals,” he said, calmly, and the guys had ranged themselves behind them in support. “Until then, however, we have a great deal of work to do.”

Belial looked to be impressed in spite of hirself, and Lucifer’s laugh rumbled low in his throat. “Our presence is keeping you from that work,” he said. “We’ll be going.”

“And good riddance,” Michael growled.

“And goodbye to you, too, Michael,” Lucifer said, and he and Belial vanished.

Ann let out a long breath. “That,” she said, “was interesting.”

Michael shrugged off Tachibana’s hand. “I fucking hate him,” he complained, to no one in particular.

“Those are Rikkai’s pet demons, huh?” Kamio asked, and when Michael looked over his shoulder at the guys, most of them were wearing thoughtful expressions. “What did they want with us?”

Michael shrugged. “To piss me off,” he said, trying for nonchalant and not quite making it. “Same as always. Sorry he interrupted your practice.”

“Things are certainly more interesting with you around,” Shinji observed, and nudged Kamio. “Come play a set with me.”

Kamio looked to Tachibana, who nodded, and followed Shinji to the courts. After a moment, the doubles pairs followed them, and began their own practice set. Tachibana watched them go and smiled. He glanced at Michael. “We’re strong,” he said. “We’ll definitely win.”

Michael grinned back. “Of course we will.”

Profession

Belial chats with Sakaki, who turns out to be an old 'friend'. Drama with Humor, I-3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End

Double Entendre

Kurai has a plan. Drama, I-3

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

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

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

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

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

"I am not yet Triumvirate, but I will be."

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

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

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

Games Without Frontiers

Yukimura decides how to deal with Belial. Drama, I-3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surely.

End

Such a Kicking

Constantine gets an invitation from the Witch. Drama, I-3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

"Well," Hettie said with immense satisfaction. "She's come Herself to give you an invitation."

"Great," said John "now if she'd only said where to."

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

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

And all you people heading somewhere
Well you donâ€™t know what youâ€™re missing
Cos there's nothing like the freedom
Of a place where no one listens

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

And all you people heading somewhere
Well you donâ€™t know what youâ€™re missing
Cos there's nothing like the freedom
Of a place where no one listens

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

Secondhand Angels

Ann discusses older brothers with Michael. Drama, I-3

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael blinked. "He can?"

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

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

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

"He does?" Michael boggled.

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

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

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

"Everything," he said, automatically.

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

"What?" he demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael bristled. "Secondhand—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That sucks," Michael said.

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

"...So what happened to the coach?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael snorted. "Yeah, right."

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

"Absolutely," he agreed, grinning.

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

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

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

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

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

Michael picked up the box and followed after.

... Damn, but he liked these kids.

Green Eyed

Raphael comes looking for Michael and gets a surprise. Drama with Humor, I-2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yup," Michael said, looking embarrassed.

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

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

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

"Why wouldn't it be?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tezuka, your shoulder—" Oishi began.

"My shoulder is fine," Tezuka snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relatives

Tezuka talks to relatives about his problems. Drama, Humor, I-2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I DIDN’T DO IT SUPPI DID!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the Family

Belial introduces the Fujis to the Mudous. Drama with Humor, I-3

Notes: Contains consensual sibling incest.

"Aniki, couldn't you have gotten Saeki-san to practice with you?" Yuuta asked.

The complaint was for form's sake, and his brother's smile said that he knew it perfectly well. Still. Their... reconciliation... was new enough that Yuuta would have preferred some time away from potential irritants and interruptions.

"Ah, Fuji-kun, what marvelous timing you have. One was hoping to introduce you."

Interruptions like that. Yuuta sighed, resigned, and then had to take a second look at the person who had hailed his brother. He didn't think he'd ever seen anyone dressed quite that flamboyantly outside a festival. Or, possibly, a circus. He was busy enough looking at the top hat that it took him a few moments to notice that his brother had paused beside the strange person, and was now standing on Yuuta's other side.

Between him and the strangers. Yuuta took a closer look.

There were, in fact, three of them. The other two looked far more normal. A young man and woman, both blond and looking alike enough they had to be related. So what was it about them that was making Aniki tense up?

"Friends of yours, Hatter-san?" his brother asked the oddly dressed one.

"One rather doubts it," the Hatter person answered, serenely. "Fuji-kun, this is Mudou Setsuna, erstwhile Messiah, and Sara, his..."

"Girlfriend," Setsuna put in, very firmly.

"Of course," Hatter murmured, "and this is Fuji Shuusuke, and his brother, Yuuta I believe it was?"

"Yes." Aniki's smile was starting to sharpen.

So, Yuuta tallied up in his own mind, this person who seemed to know his brother, and who his brother seemed a little wary of, wanted to introduce them to a couple who looked remarkably like relatives. He swallowed hard and tried to keep breathing.

"Aniki," he managed, "who is this?" And, more importantly, what did he know?

His brother stepped a little closer to him. "This is Mad Hatter. He's a demon."

Yuuta turned his head to look at his brother, who appeared to be serious. "A demon?" he repeated, just on the off chance he'd actually misheard.

"Quite," Hatter agreed. And a pair of black wings unfolded behind him.

Yuuta stared. "Aniki," he said, very calmly, "what did you put in my juice this morning?"

"One does assure you, it wasn't your brother," Hatter assured him, waving one wing.

"A demon," Aniki reiterated, "who isn't going to be having anything to do with you, Yuuta. Is he?" Hatter was now on the receiving end of a very dangerous look.

He didn't seem concerned.

"Ah, siblings," Hatter sighed. "They're so precious." He fanned his wings. "And entertaining. Why don't the four of you have a nice little chat, then? One is sure it will be good for all of you."

And then he sank out of sight into his own shadow. Yuuta stared at the sidewalk and reminded himself that it wasn't healthy to hyperventilate.

"So," Setsuna sighed, running a hand through his hair, "you've met Hatter before?"

"He can be entertaining company," Aniki observed.

Setsuna blinked at him for a moment before he burst out laughing. "I'll stop worrying, then!"

Sara swatted his shoulder. "Setsuna, cut it out. Maybe Fuji-san didn't know what he was getting into." She gave them a bright, sympathetic smile, and Yuuta relaxed in spite of himself. It might be nice to talk with her sometime, actually. If he was reading the situation right, she might understand a few things.

"You think?" Setsuna asked, raising a skeptical brow. "I bet he did. He'd probably get along with Hatter's boss, too." The thought seemed to amuse him.

Sara planted her hands on her hips. "Enough of that! You said you'd wait until we were both reborn to start playing politics with everyone again."

"Right, right," Setsuna raised his hands, placatingly. "Anyway, I think we'll probably see you at Nationals, Fuji."

"Really?" Aniki sounded only mildly curious, and Yuuta sighed. Some day, he'd figure out how his brother did it.

Setsuna grinned. "I'm a friend of Tachibana's."

"Small world," Aniki commented in an amiable tone.

"Gettin' smaller every day," Setsuna answered ruefully over his shoulder as his... sister?... towed him off with great determination.

"Are you sure we can't have a nice, calm day inside?" Yuuta asked, looking straight ahead, just in case any other weirdness was strolling by.

His brother laughed, softly. "That might be a good idea after all. Come on, let's head home."

End

Addition and Distraction

Yanagi talks with Belial. Drama, I-3

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

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

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

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

Renji waited for Hatter after practice.

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

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

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

"What is between you and Seiichi?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End

Regarding

A memo is mis-directed to Tsuzuki's desk. Humor with Drama

Most of Enma-chou's workers, if asked, would say that Tsuzuki never knew what was on his desk. Notices of meetings, memos about cases, budget forms, if any of them were attended to before it was too late, it was the talk of the department for weeks. According to the average Watari had worked out once to settle a bet in the cafeteria, Tsuzuki was only seen actually reading anything at his desk once every five weeks.

If asked, Tsuzuki would have pointed out, quite reasonably, that he knew exactly what was on his desk. He found out once every five weeks, on average.

"Late anyway, late anyway, closed last week, late anyway," he muttered, sorting through the pile of paper. "Late... hunh?"

"Is one of them actually still current?" Hisoka asked, acidly, not looking up from filling out next month's budget request form.

"Yes," Tsuzuki said, slowly, "but it's not from here."

Now Hisoka looked up. "What?"

"To all demons rank of Brigadier or Duke," Tsuzuki read aloud, "from the domain of Beelzebub. Angelic response to recent demonic acquisitions among mortals are reaching undesirable levels. Any demons who are free are encouraged to go, forthwith, to Assiah (e.g. Earth, the mortal realm) and rectify this. Sec'y, Choronzon."

Hisoka was staring. "There is nothing more blind than bureaucracy," he declared with conviction. "They can't possibly really think you'll participate."

"Well, no, of course not." Tsuzuki nibbled his lip. "But I do kind of wonder just what's going on."

"Not our business," Hisoka said, promptly.

"But we don't have a case right now," Tsuzuki murmured, fingering the memo. "We could go take a look. No harm in that."

Hisoka gave him a baleful look for a long moment before throwing up his hands. "Fine. Fine! Don't think you're going without me, though. Who knows what you'll get involved with if you go alone."

Tsuzuki smiled at his partner, pleased that Hisoka wanted to come, too. It would be good for Hisoka to get out more. "Of course."

"Tennis?" Hisoka said for about the sixth time. "Two of the Great Angels, a Demon Lord, the Messiah, Gabriel's reincarnation, and a Principality are all here on Earth, dancing around each other, stressing the fabric of reality, getting involved with tennis teams?"

"I'm pretty sure a lesser demon was hiding out in one of the boys, too," Tsuzuki added. "Some of them do have a lot of spiritual power, I suppose." He had to admit to being just a little puzzled, himself, though. Not that he couldn't see the fun in watching these boys play; they were very determined and earnest and involved. But he was fairly sure that high ranking celestials wouldn't be hanging around just to appreciate that.

Fairly sure. That Mad Hatter character was making him wonder.

"Maybe we should ask the Gushoushin whether this has ever happened before," Hisoka said, frowning. "This concentration of them on Earth can't be good."

"I do wonder what it might be doing to the boys, to be around this many celestials," Tsuzuki agreed, leaning on the fence to watch the latest team on their list. There didn't seem to be any demons around, or angels either, which almost surprised him. He could hear the church bells from further down the campus. One of the boys did seem to have a touch of... something, though. Tsuzuki squinted.

"Hisoka, can you get anything off that one?" he asked, gesturing.

Just in time for the boy to notice and take a few fast steps back, steel gray eyes wide. A tall, dark teammate came to him and asked something. After a short exchange involving some vigorous gestures they both approached the watchers at the fence.

"Oh, just great," Hisoka groaned.

"I'm sorry, but we don't allow spectators at club practices," the dark one said, politely.

Tsuzuki smiled as brightly and soothingly as he could. "We don't want to be any trouble, we just wanted to check that no one was bothering your team."

The gray eyed boy backed up a little more. "I was right, you are another of them!" he exclaimed.

"No, no," Tsuzuki protested holding up his hands, "we're not, really. Exactly."

Hisoka smacked him on the shoulder. "And now you've confirmed that we know exactly what he's talking about." He gave the wary boy a direct look. "We're not angels or demons. Shut up, Tsuzuki," he added, as Tsuzuki's innate honesty made him start to correct the technical lie. "Our work deals with the messes they leave behind a lot, and we just want to contain the damage this time."

The dark boy, who had listened to all this with his head tipped consideringly, asked, "So what are you?"

"Shinigami."

Both boys edged back this time.

"We're not here on a case," Tsuzuki hastened to add. "It's just... I think one of them has already touched you." He looked at the gray eyed boy.

The boy crossed his arms. "Aniki said Hatter would stay away from me."

"Yuuta." The dark boy put a hand on his shoulder. "Fuji Shuusuke is impressive, but setting him against a demon? This year has gotten strange enough; if it's affecting you we should do something."

Tsuzuki fished through his memories of the day for that name. Ah, yes, the watchful one at Seishun Gakuen. "I'm sure your brother will do all he can protect you. And it's true that Seigaku has its own guardian," Tsuzuki said, softly, "but the Mad Hatter has a reputation for power and subtlety. Your brother doesn't have the training to deal with that, and Raphael doesn't have the motivation. Celestials don't usually get involved with humans without an ulterior motive."

"So what, precisely, are you suggesting?" a new voice asked from behind them. Tsuzuki turned to see a slight boy with sharp eyes watching them.

"Mizuki-san," Yuuta greeted him.

"Yuuta-kun, Akazawa," he nodded, and turned his eyes back to Tsuzuki. "So?"

"To keep outside influences away," Tsuzuki said, simply.

Hisoka slumped against the fence and crossed his arms. "You said it was just to look," he reminded Tsuzuki. "Not that I believed it for a single second, but that was what you said."

"We can't just leave this," Tsuzuki answered firmly, knowing that his partner didn't genuinely disagree. Probably.

"Fine, fine." Hisoka raked a hand through his hair. "Just don't expect me to ask Kurikara to get involved in this. Though he'd probably laugh too hard to manage to be insulting, for once."

Tsuzuki smiled, and reached out with the warmth of his pleasure in place of actually touching Hisoka's arm, which his partner hated for him to do in public. Hisoka sniffed and gave him a sidelong look a little softer than usual.

"I see," Mizuki murmured. "Yuuta-kun?" Yuuta blinked. "It is your team, now," Mizuki told him, with a very significant look for such a simple statement.

Yuuta was still for a moment before his mouth tightened. "Yes," he agreed, not as though he enjoyed the thought right at the moment. "We accept," he told Tsuzuki.

"Great!" Tsuzuki beamed at him.

"Right," Yuuta sighed. "Excuse me, then, I need to get back to practice."

Tsuzuki fetched out a handful of ofuda, sorting through them, as the three boys turned back toward the courts.

"Mizuki-san, I understand why," he heard Yuuta saying as Mizuki came up to walk beside him, "but why them?"

"Because they seem like the most disinterested parties we're likely to get," Mizuki told him. "Besides, doesn't he have lovely eyes? You know how fond I am of purple."

"Mizuki-san!" Yuuta sputtered.

Tsuzuki decided, observing Hisoka's suddenly edged glare at Mizuki's back, that it would be better for all concerned if he pretended he hadn't heard that.

End

Marked

Somewhat troubled, Belial seeks out Yukimura. Drama, I-3

Belial found Seiichi on the roof of his own house, watching the sky from a nest of pillows and blankets.

"Here to watch the stars, Hatter-san?" Seiichi asked, after a moment, not looking around.

When Belial didn't answer, he looked. "Hatter-san? Come out."

Belial took a few steps out of the shadow, not far enough to show hir face. Apparently, it was still too many, because Seiichi stood, frowning, and came to hir. He took hir face between his hands and gave hir a long, searching look before taking hir hands and leading hir back to his pillow-nest. "You're here now; come watch for a while," he said, tugging Belial down.

Se still wasn't beyond being surprised that someone who fought so fiercely could be so gentle, and se gazed up at Seiichi's face as he curled up beside hir and propped his head on one hand. Belial had no idea what hir face might be showing, but whatever it was made Seiichi smile. He ran his fingers through hir hair, dislodging today's small, round hat.

"You've spent a lot of time and energy courting me, working to gain my willing compliance to go along with my binding signature," he said, softly. "Is it so hard to believe that you've won me?"

The pleasure of hearing Seiichi say it out loud was promptly followed by the confusion that had set Belial to wandering so restlessly this evening. "Won you... and yet you haven't left them," se murmured, trying out the taste and shape of the words. Just how much room did hir human have in his heart?

"No, I haven't," Seiichi agreed, brushing hir cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I don't leave those I care for. I won't leave you, either." He laughed, barely a breath in the night air. "After all, aren't souls immortal?"

"They are." To stay with hir, to not leave hir... The idea tugged at hir even more sharply than the glowing clarity of Seiichi's soul. Belial belonged to Lucifer-sama, there was no question about that. But se was having trouble denying any longer that Seiichi had gained a claim on hir also; at least he seemed willing to share. Se reached up to thread a hand through his hair, like ink marking hir fingers in the dark. Se drew him down to hir, and he smiled, coming willingly, folding the brightness of his presence around hir like wings.

"Have you ever lost?" se murmured against his lips.

"Very rarely," he replied before opening his mouth to hir kiss.

End

Family Reunion

The Messiah and the Adversary chat, and Lucifer drops in. Aziraphale and Crowley sweat. Humor with Drama, I-3

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

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

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

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

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

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

Setsuna chuckled. "No, no fish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He is," Crowley sighed.

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

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

"Godzilla," Adam said promptly.

"...okay." Setsuna waited.

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

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

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

Setsuna raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes?" Setsuna asked.

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

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

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

"Bonding," Aziraphale repeated.

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

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

And then Lucifer showed up.

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

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

"And I should be myself."

"Yup," Setsuna nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was indisposed," Lucifer interrupted, firmly.

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

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

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

"God," Aziraphale said.

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

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

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

"And I missed it?" Crowley sounded outraged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am?" Crowley looked at him blankly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't want bodyguards!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, you too," Adam said.

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

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

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

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

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

"Well... no."

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," Aziraphale said.

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

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

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

"And the Antichrist," Crowley said, helpfully.

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

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

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

"Hmph." Aziraphale shut up.

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

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

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

"And why not rule it for yourself?"

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

Lucifer nodded. "Very good," he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gracefully done," Aziraphale-san murmured.

"Oh, shut up."

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

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

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

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

"Cooooooooool," Jirou sighed.

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

At least tennis was wholesome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Adam!"

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

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

History Lesson

Belial talks to Rikkai about the past. Drama, I-3

"So?" Renji asked, as Genichirou and Seiichi returned to the courts. "How did the drawing go?"

"We're on the same side of the chart as Seigaku," Seiichi answered with a small smile.

Renji chuckled. "Well, then."

Genichirou made a disgruntled sound. "Tezuka cornered me to ask if we were sure we knew what we were doing, getting mixed up with a demon, especially this one." He glanced at Hatter. "I can't imagine how you got such a reputation."

"No, you probably can't," Hatter murmured, looking away. Renji sighed. She'd been in a distant and cryptic mood all day.

Seiichi frowned and touched her shoulder. "Belial?"

"One is not kind," she said, very precisely, without looking around. "Nor benign. One has corrupted lives and souls and cities. Most recently, one provoked the Host to attack an ally and caused the destruction of Kurai's kingdom and people. One led Kurai herself into a marriage that would have sacrificed her life, by lying to her at nearly every turn. You should remember this."

Seiichi was silent for a long moment. "There must be some reason Kurai-san has forgiven you."

"She is a queen and a demon," Hatter answered, coolly. "She understands expedience." Her hands were clasped hard enough to whiten the knuckles, Renji noted. "Our lord was gone," Hatter added, far more quietly. "One did what was necessary to preserve Hell. Whatever was necessary"

Renji was not entirely surprised to see Genichirou pause, arrested.

"Yes," Genichirou said, at last. Hatter glanced at him. "I understand. We won't forget."

Hatter looked at him, head to one side. Finally she nodded.

Genichirou crossed his arms. "Watching tennis isn't about to calm you down, today, is it? Come on." He turned away and then looked back over his shoulder. "Live blades, if you want."

For the first time that day, Hatter smiled.

End

Willing

Sakaki gets what he wants. Drama, I-3

It was not, Tarou reflected, unusual for Keigo to sit in the window when he and his coach were discussing the tennis club. Tarou gave him that much latitude, because Atobe Keigo's willing obedience was a valuable thing. Normally, however, he paid proper attention, no matter how he lounged.

Today he was looking out the window.

"Sensei."

Tarou arched a brow. An unusual day, indeed; Keigo didn't often call him that anymore.

Keigo leaned his head back against the casement with a faint thump. "Is all this really... real?" he asked.

Ah. So that was it.

"Yukimura selling his soul to a demon," Keigo continued, tone almost dreamy. "Tachibana practically adopting an angel. Tezuka attaching another one. Not to mention that... person he foisted on us. And Jirou..."

Tarou sighed. He really should have expected it. Keigo was a dyed-in-the-wool empiricist. And Hiiragizawa was hardly the sort of person to reassure an empiricist; even when he showed his magic openly, the form of it was far too easily attributable to hallucination. Fortunately, Tarou had an answer for the problem. "Atobe, come away from the window," he ordered, rising from his desk.

Keigo blinked, but slid down readily enough.

Tarou unfolded his wings. Keigo's eyes widened and he swallowed a bit hard. Tarou shrugged and swept his wings forward.

"You can touch them. Carefully." He needn't have specified. Keigo barely touched his fingertips to the leading edge before he drew back to regain his composure. Tarou had faith in his protege's self control, when he chose to exercise it, and left Keigo to it, refolding his wings and seating himself again. "Jirou does not seem to have been possessed as such," he supplied when Keigo had regained some color and was looking him full in the face again. "Rather, Crowley seems to be hiding in his consciousness. The snake has always been good at hiding."

Keigo took a deep breath and let it out, perching on one of the office chairs. "Is this going to interfere with the games?"

Tarou almost smiled. When Keigo thought something was important, he could be relied on to swing back to it like a compass needle. It was one of the traits that had first recommended him to Tarou's attention, even as a child. "I doubt it. Not," he added, "that the others wouldn't do it. But the players themselves would protest. Wouldn't they?" He gave Keigo a significant look.

Keigo's chin came up. "Of course."

"Well, then." Tarou folded his hands, examining Keigo. "I hadn't intended to mention this until you were older, but I've been planning to offer you something similar."

He waited for Keigo to decide how to take that.

"Like... a contract?" Keigo asked, slowly. Tarou was pleased, though not surprised, that he seemed wary of the idea.

"Bonds between angels and humans are rarely that structured," he noted. "Your word and mine are sufficient."

"Why?"

A good response. Perhaps, one day, he would actually teach Keigo to curb his impulsiveness on the court, too, Tarou reflected. It wasn't as if the boy couldn't think things through when he wanted to. "When the factions of Heaven come into conflict," he explained, "a strong will is the most valuable weapon anyone can have. Rociel demonstrated that conclusively, as did the Messiah in opposition to him. And while the management, as Mad Hatter puts it, has changed, the nature of angels hasn't. Any more than the nature of humans."

"I see."

And he might very well see. Tarou hadn't chosen this human for nothing. "Think about it," he directed.

"I will," Keigo said, quietly.

When, not too long after, Keigo came to him with intent burning in his eyes, Tarou was hard pressed not to smile smugly.

Two Great Angels, three if you counted Gabriel, plus that interfering Principality, on Assiah, and he'd gotten his human first.

End

Over the Bone

Sanada and Belial spar a bit, verbally and otherwise. Drama, I-3

Genichirou had known it was dangerous to invite Hatter to spar with edged weapons. He had, however, been confident that Hatter wouldn't kill him, or even significantly damage him. He didn't normally like the idea of handicaps, but in the case of a demon he'd take it.

He was coming to the irritated realization that, even restraining himself, Hatter was fast enough to touch him.

After the third sting, he abandoned any thought of drawing Hatter out and lunged at full speed, hoping to at least gain a little maneuvering room. There was a sharp blow against the back of his ankle, and the next thing he knew Genichirou was staring at the ceiling with Hatter leaning over him.

Grinning.

Genichirou glared, trying to calm his breathing.

"Thank you, Sanada-kun, that was delightful," Hatter purred.

Genichirou opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. He was not rising to the bait this time. Hatter took his wrist and lifted his arm to examine the shallow slice along it.

"One is actually moderately impressed," he added. "One didn't think you would be able to avoid so many of these." He laughed at Genichirou's skeptical look. "It's true. Actually," a more considering expression, "one hadn't intended to cut quite so deeply." Hatter bent his head to Genichirou's arm and licked the blood from his skin.

Genichirou stopped breathing entirely.

It wasn't Hatter toying with him that alarmed him; he'd had time to get used to that. It was the shiver that the gesture dragged through him. When Hatter knelt over his hips and leaned down to the cut across his chest, Genichirou shuddered under the warm touch. His thoughts scattered, even as he tried to come to grips with Hatter's action, and his own reaction.

When Hatter's tongue moved over the cut on his collar bone, when Hatter's lips closed over it to suck gently, Genichirou finally grabbed Hatter's shoulders and pushed him away.

"Hatter," he gasped, "stop!"

Hatter's eyes were dazed for a moment before their usual mocking light returned. "Of course," he murmured and stood. After a moment, Genichirou accepted the hand Hatter held out to help him up.

"Don't tell me demons get drunk on blood or something weird like that," Genichirou said, suspiciously.

Hatter laughed. "Not exactly. Though blood can be a carrier for some... intoxicating things." He traced two fingers to either side of the cut on Genichirou's collar bone. "That will leave a mark."

Genichirou gave him a disgruntled look. "That's something you like doing, isn't it?" he asked, a bit snidely.

"Only sometimes." Hatter stepped back against the wall and faded into the shadows. Genichirou snorted, and started to collect his things.

It wasn't until much later that evening that he noticed the two shallower cuts were completely healed.

End

Compassion

Mizuki has to deal with Tsuzuki's unexpected perception. Drama, I-3

"Okay, so let me get this straight," Tsuzuki said, nibbling one fingernail in concentration.

Hajime tried not to laugh at the rather cute picture the man made.

"Because St. Rudolph isn't participating in the tournaments any more, all the third years are supposed to retire from the team and pay attention to studying for exams."

Hajime nodded agreeably.

"And you and Akazawa-kun are not doing this because you feel like you have an obligation to be good examples to Fuji-kun for as long as you really should have been able to had fate not conspired against you in inexplicable ways," Tsuzuki recited more or less verbatim from Hajime's explanations.

"That's right." Hajime crossed an ankle over his knee, watching Yuuta practicing doubles with Kaneda. Kaneda's natural flair for it just about made up for Yuuta's stubbornness.

"And how is breaking the rules a good example to him?"

Hajime snorted. Tsuzuki had a talent for asking questions like that while sounding honestly curious. "Knowing when to abide by the rules and when to bend them is a valuable lesson," he noted. "Not that Yuuta-kun hasn't learned it very well already," he added, casting a look of possessive pride on the new team captain.

Tsuzuki gave him a cheerful smile. "For someone who hates surprises as much as you do, Mizuki-kun, you have an odd taste for unpredictable people."

Clearly, Tsuzuki had heard the whole story of St. Rudolph's matches against Seigaku, and Yuuta's insubordination. Hajime leaned back on the bench, brows raised. "I like a challenge as much as the next person, Tsuzuki-san," he murmured.

Tsuzuki directed his smile out over the courts. "Why tennis?" he asked after a minute.

Hajime was genuinely surprised, now. "What do you mean?"

Tsuzuki blinked at him innocently. "Well, I would have expected you to chose debate or something like that. Politics, perhaps. It seems a lot closer to what you actually like doing."

Hajime looked away, reminded sharply of Tsuzuki's disconcerting perceptiveness. "Where's the fun in meeting people head-on, when they know where you're coming from?" he asked, lightly.

Tsuzuki's voice gentled, and he rested a steady hand on Hajime's shoulder. "Just because you change your mind that doesn't mean your life is out of control, Mizuki-kun. You can always choose again, if your first choice isn't what you hoped for."

That cut too close to the bone. "Which is, of course, why you stay in your current occupation when you dislike it so much," Hajime shot back.

"That's because he's a masochist," Kurosaki said, briskly, from behind them. "Tsuzuki," he added, as if Hajime wasn't there, "you have a call from Watari-san."

Tsuzuki winced, suddenly looking far less piercing and far more hangdog. "I'm on assignment, he can't test anything on me while I'm on assignment," he muttered, sounding more forlorn than hopeful. He reached for the phone, and paused, glancing back and forth between the distinctly cool look Kurosaki was giving Hajime and Hajime's amused smile.

Hajime folded his hands ostentatiously. "A challenge, I said, Tsuzuki-san," he repeated, smoothly.

The suppressed laugh in Tsuzuki's eyes said he understood the implied comment on Kurosaki's straightforward nature. Tsuzuki's hand brushed over Hajime's hair as he stood. "Trust yourself. You don't need to control everything to win," he said, softly.

Hajime bit his lip, trying not to react to the sudden shiver of warmth in his chest. He heard Kurosaki sigh as Tsuzuki took the phone and they moved away.

"I swear, you'd pick up every stray we met if I let you..."

Hajime settled comfortably into his irritation at the insult. It was much easier than dwelling on the ache of Tsuzuki's unexpected sympathy.

End

Sealed With A Kiss

The seal of the contract. Drama, I-3

Seiichi remembered when Belial had set the seal of their contract.

Marui leaned back against the sheets.

Masaharu gazed up into blue eyes that burned in the darkness.

Akaya bit his lip as Hatter's fingers brushed over his cheek.

Hiroshi was silent as Hatter delicately moved his shirt aside.

Renji gasped at the coolness of Hatter's hands sliding cloth down from his hip.

Jackal took a deep breath at Hatter's teasing whisper to relax.

Genichirou bit back a moan at the burning heat of lips against his skin.

And it was done.

End

The Morning After

Some embarrassment over the seal. Drama, I-3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mostly," he said, and shrugged..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jackal blinked. "What, Sanada's?"

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

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

"How remarkably benevolent of you," Jackal murmured.

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

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

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

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

Seiichi smiled. "No, for being you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Genichirou just laughed, and headed for the court.

Baiting

Rikkai encounters shinigami at Nationals. Drama, I-3

The day was clear and hot, good weather for their first match at Nationals. Renji supposed it was cosmic parity for something else to go wrong. He sighed when he saw Hatter's eyes brighten, as the team made their way toward their assigned court. What had caught her attention this time? He looked in the direction she was starting to edge in and suppressed the urge to put a hand to his forehead. Of all the people for Hatter to decide to tease, of course it would have to be Fuji Yuuta, and, by extension, Fuji Shuusuke.

His concerns about stirring up the opposition unnecessarily were preempted rather abruptly, though, when two people materialized between Hatter and the increasingly nervous younger Fuji. Not that long ago, Renji mused, that would have startled him. "People you know, Hatter?" he asked, examining the newcomers. A young man, probably not too much older than they were, with very sharp green eyes and an older man with messy dark hair who probably looked sweet most of the time.

At the moment he looked both tense and angry.

Not that this appeared to concern Hatter.

"Ah," she tapped a fingertip against her lips for a moment, "Tsuzuki isn't it? How nice to finally meet you in person." She eyed the St. Rudolph contingent behind him and shrugged. "You can have them, if you like. It's not as if one doesn't have one's hands pleasantly full."

Tsuzuki now looked like he didn't quite believe he'd just heard the very clear sexual innuendo. His friend looked highly suspicious. And St. Rudolph's Fuji looked like he was considering making a run for it. Renji couldn't quite blame any of them. Hatter did often take people like that.

"Besides," Hatter added, thoughtfully, "One did say one wouldn't interfere with the games, and destroying all the courts probably counts." She glanced at Genichirou, brows raised, and got a glare. "One thought so. Which is the most likely outcome if we got into a tiff over the boys."

"That hasn't stopped any other demon I've met," Tsuzuki said, slowly, easing back just slightly anyway. Someone who would rather talk than fight, Renji noted.

Hatter sniffed. "One outranks you considerably, young one, so there's no need to kill you for that consideration. Equally, one has no intention of forgetting the strength of your bloodline. Sargatanas was an idiot and got exactly what he deserved. One laughed for days when one heard." A thin smile curled her lips. "Astaroth simply isn't having a good century. His lesser demons still, clearly, haven't learned anything from their fellow's destruction; no forethought among them at all. Please do feel free to kill them off. You can think of it as your contribution to the good of all our kind, if you like." She adjusted her hat with eloquent disdain.

Renji's attention sharpened as Tsuzuki and his friend both stiffened. "I'm not a demon," Tsuzuki said, low and hard. His friend took a step closer to him.

Hatter's expression turned tolerant, the way Renji had seen it when Kurai was around. "Far be it from one to interfere in someone else's denial. Take your time."

Renji was genuinely surprised that it was Mizuki who stepped forward and fixed Hatter with a sharp gaze. "Please don't think I don't appreciate the artistry of your goading," Mizuki drawled, "but is it not the case that celestials, just as much as humans, can choose their own paths whether for good or evil?"

Hatter laid a slim hand over her eyes. "Oh, tell one you're not thinking that we could only have Fallen through free will because God isn't enough of a bastard to have doomed a third of His own angels to that fate?"

"Oh, hardly," Mizuki assured her with wide, ingenuous eyes. "According to Raphael-san, He was exactly that much of a bastard."

Hatter took her hand away and tipped her head. "You've done your research. An advance on most demons. One doesn't suppose..." She trailed off, invitingly.

Tsuzuki looked indignant, while his friend looked suddenly thoughtful. The younger one must be rather territorial, Renji decided. Both Akazawa and Yuuta looked distinctly unsurprised.

"Thank you, but I think not," Mizuki replied, charmingly regretful. He was clearly enjoying himself, and Renji was starting to be amused. Then the dark eyes narrowed. "The point is that, while you may entertain yourself by implying otherwise, Tsuzuki-san's nature no more dictates his actions than mine does."

Tsuzuki blinked. And relaxed. For someone as powerful as Hatter implied he was, Renji mused, Tsuzuki didn't seem to have put much thought into his own strength or the presumed causes of it.

Given that, Renji wasn't entirely surprised that it was Seiichi who answered Mizuki. "Yes and no."

Hatter looked around, brow raised. "Seiichi, one hadn't thought you enjoyed these kind of games."

"I don't," Seiichi said, dryly, laying a hand on Hatter's shoulder, "so hush for a moment, Belial."

Renji had to stifle a laugh. That casual command earned some stunned expressions on the other side.

Seiichi took no notice, focused on Tsuzuki as if they were the only two present. "Having a nature beyond the ordinary doesn't make for an easy life," he said. "But denying your nature won't do you any service in the long run. The only way to deal with it is to claim it, to declare it. And to fight for it."

The words passed through the Rikkai team like a tangible thread, drawing them together. The young man's green eyes widened and he rocked back from them as if he could see it happening. Tsuzuki shook his head, though.

"No," he whispered.

There was kindness in Seiichi's gaze, but no mercy. "Then it will destroy you, and likely those close to you."

Tsuzuki flinched, and his friend shook off his surprise and stepped in front of him, eyes blazing. "Enough!" he bit out, slashing his hand down. His mouth, Renji noted, was tight, as if with pain.

Tsuzuki started. "Hisoka," he said, hesitantly.

"Be quiet," Hisoka snapped at him, "I'm fine. You're not." He turned his glare back on Seiichi. "You will stop," he stated.

"Yes," Seiichi agreed after a long, considering moment. "You should think about it though." He turned Hatter around with him and gestured to the team. "Come."

"You let him go pretty easily," Genichirou observed, as they walked on.

"Mm." Seiichi glanced over. "Renji? What did you think of Hisoka?"

"I think he could tell what people were feeling," Renji said. "His responses were too strong for someone just picking up on body language." That, too, was an answer that might not have occurred to him a short time ago.

Seiichi nodded. "He really wouldn't have let me push any further. And the seed is planted, now."

"For your second career, perhaps you should consider becoming a therapist," Hatter jibed, probably disgruntled that her fun had been cut short.

"If he's going to come to us eventually," Seiichi returned, coolly, "he should come well disposed and not insane, yes?"

Hatter's stride hitched, and she looked at him with suddenly wide eyes. Renji smiled. Every now and then Seiichi could still surprise Hatter by the unthinking ease with which he acted in her support.

"So what, precisely, were they?" he asked, hoping to distract her. Hatter liked it when Seiichi showed his cold streak, and left to her own devices tended to express her appreciation in ways that caused bystanders to stop and stare. It didn't help, he reflected, that Seiichi encouraged her if he was in a sharp enough mood.

Hatter eyed him sidelong, but consented to be distracted. "Shinigami. You asked once," she added to Genichirou, "what usually happens to human souls. Those two are part of the answer. Most souls pass through either Uriel's hands or Enma's offices and go on, but some do stay to be employed."

"They used to be human, then?" Yagyuu put in. "Well, mostly," he amended.

"Yes. Humans with strong spirits, of course, or they wouldn't have their current jobs." Hatter paused and looked thoughtful. "Seiichi," she said, slowly.

Seiichi raised his brows.

"How would you like to learn magic?" Hatter asked with a wicked smile.

Renji wasn't the only one blinking at that.

"Um," Seiichi started.

Hatter waved a hand airily. "After Nationals, naturally."

A laugh ran through the team. "Naturally," Seiichi agreed, smiling as they reached the court. "I'll think about it."

End

Answers

Sakaki meets an old acquaintance. Drama, I-3

He was, Keigo reflected, getting better at spotting the angels. It was something in the way they held themselves, apart from any mortal excitement around them. At a place as excited as the courts hosting Nationals, they stood out. The one that seemed to have caught Kantoku's attention today, though, was a bit different from the usual run.

For one thing, he wasn't making Kantoku's shoulders fall in the especially straight line that meant their coach didn't get along with him. That was unprecedented, to date.

For another, he looked different. Tall and solid and dark, instead of slim and fair. All of this made Keigo curious, so when their coach turned aside toward the new angel, Keigo waved the rest of the team on and followed. Sakaki-san didn't send him back, and that was as good as permission. Still, Keigo decided it would be tactful to stay unobtrusive. He picked one of the trees lining the walk to lean against while he watched.

Sakaki-san stopped arm's length away from the, really, very tall angel and bowed, expressionless. "Uriel-sama."

Keigo blinked. He'd never heard Sakaki-san offer that kind of respect to anyone.

"Israfel," Uriel said, softly. "It's good to see you again."

Sakaki-san gave him an extremely level look, the kind of look he gave a Regular who had just lost inexcusably. It didn't exactly match with the way he'd greeted this angel, and Keigo started a mental list of questions to ask his mentor later; he could usually get answers if he picked the right time. Uriel, though didn't seem too taken aback by the expression, and only sighed.

"Arariel had a few things to say to me about my absence, and those injured by it. She mentioned you."

Sakaki-san sniffed. "Did she mention herself? I won't say I was pleased to have the majority of my power sealed, but it was better to come to Assiah and work than to stay in Heaven and deal with the likes of Sevothtarte." There was little variation in his deep, even voice, but Keigo watched his eyes and they were narrower than usual. "Humans and angels should not be apart. We were created for each other. I had, at least, the satisfaction of saying so to those who had forgotten their purpose."

Uriel moved a step closer, looking down at Sakaki-san soberly. "You have a right to your anger with them; and with me as well. But you don't regret your exile, then?"

Sakaki lifted one brow. "I occasionally regretted the company; I was initially directed to Aziraphale while I acquainted myself with the mortal world. But no. I have not regretted my time here."

Uriel turned his eyes on Keigo, and Keigo was startled at how close he came to drowning in them. Dark eyes that didn't challenge the way Raphael's or Michael's did, or mock the way Mad Hatter's did. Perhaps he didn't have to ask why Sakaki-san respected this stern, quiet person.

"From the binding between you and this young man, it seems you're thinking of returning soon?" Uriel asked, not looking away from Keigo.

"I am."

Keigo didn't have to be looking to tell that Sakaki-san had slow, hot fire behind his eyes now. It was the way he got when something he wanted was in sight.

Uriel seemed to hear it too, or heard something that made his lips quirk. "Well, then." He turned back to Sakaki-san. "It won't do for you to return with less than all your power." He spread one long hand against Sakaki-san's chest, and wings unfolded behind him, the color of last year's leaves. Keigo found his fingers itching to run though that rich darkness; bad manners, he reminded himself.

Sakaki-san's eyes widened and his breath stopped as something crackled around him, something Keigo thought he might have seen had he looked just from the corner of his eye. When Sakaki-san's wings spread in answer, Keigo saw the something far more clearly. It wrapped around the angel who had taught him music and tennis and excellence, like heat haze that had coaxed a rainbow down to play with it.

"If you return to our order," Uriel said, as Keigo blinked away formless after images, "return as yourself, Israfel." He folded his wings and nodded a farewell that encompassed Keigo.

"Uriel-sama," Sakaki-san called. When Uriel paused and looked back, he bowed deeply. "Thank you."

Uriel smiled.

"So," Keigo mused as he followed his coach back toward their team, "you aren't actually a Principality."

"Not any more."

Keigo didn't think it was his imagination that Kantoku sounded smug.

"What is your Order, then?" he asked, when it was clear the answer wasn't going to be volunteered.

"The Dominions."

Keigo recalled what his research had had to say about this, and smiled. "Those who judge and order. I suppose I might have guessed."

Kantoku slanted a glance at him. "You have something to say, Atobe-kun?"

"Not at all," Keigo replied, airily.

The future, he decided, was looking better all the time.

End

Practicalities

Hisoka gets help from an unexpected source. Drama, I-3

Hajime had figured out some time ago that Kurosaki could feel what other people felt, especially if they felt it strongly. It was equally obvious, to anyone who watched carefully, that Kurosaki didn't have perfect control of this 'gift'. Accordingly, Hajime had dropped a few hints about Nationals, how many people showed up, how excited everyone got about the matches. A few neighborly cautions.

He was starting to think both his team's self-appointed guardians had completely missed them.

Kurosaki had been fine until the matches started heating up. Now he was a bit glassy-eyed, and swayed every time the crowd shouted. It probably didn't help, Hajime admitted, that they were currently watching Fudoumine playing Hyoutei. Being in the vicinity of Atobe's club, once he'd finished winding them up, was probably like getting hit over the head with a hammer, for Kurosaki.

Hajime watched with scientific curiosity to see how long Kurosaki would hold out before he fell over.

"Hisoka?" Tsuzuki murmured, putting a hand on Kurosaki's shoulder.

Well, yes, that had been the other major possibility.

Kurosaki bit his lip, hard. "I'm not... it's..."

Now even Yuuta and Akazawa were noticing that Kurosaki was having problems. Hajime considered Kurosaki's prickly pride and whether Tsuzuki would hold off any expressions of concern because of it. Extremely unlikely, he decided.

Sure enough, Tsuzuki ignored the people around them and actually pulled Kurosaki into his arms. Hajime was a bit surprised that Kurosaki only muttered a protest and didn't pull away. In fact, he even let Tsuzuki press his his head down to Tsuzuki's shoulder and some of the piano-wire tension eased out of him. Of course, now he was shuddering intermittently, but that was all right; Tsuzuki had a good grip.

Hajime adjusted a few of the assumed values in his mental equation of Tsuzuki's and Kurosaki's relationship. Apparently the threshold of distress for Kurosaki to accept Tsuzuki's help or protection was a good deal lower than Kurosaki's snapping and growling suggested. Kurosaki could, it seemed, be practical about some things after all.

"Does he need to be away from here?" Akazawa asked. Another one, Hajime reflected affectionately, with a broader practical streak than the casual watcher might expect. It was a good thing that Hajime wasn't a casual watcher.

"I'm fine," Kurosaki said, a bit muffled. And then flinched as Tachibana drove the ball past Atobe and every spectator roared. His fingers clenched, white knuckled, in Tsuzuki's shirt. Hajime shook his head. Kurosaki could give Yuuta lessons in stubborn, and that was saying something.

"Excuse me," interjected a new voice. "Here."

When a complete stranger closed his hands firmly on Kurosaki's shoulders, Hajime braced for the explosion. He'd never met anyone as fanatical about his personal space as Kurosaki.

The explosion didn't come. Instead Kurosaki slumped against Tsuzuki, suddenly breathing easily again. And Tsuzuki, who had been reaching for a pocket, and presumably some of his ofuda, paused and looked down at his armful of exhausted partner, wide eyed. "Hisoka?"

"It's good," Kurosaki answered, sounding quite relieved, and pulled himself upright. "Who...?"

The newcomer smiled as Kurosaki turned to face him. "Raziel. Pleased to meet you. They are a little overwhelming, aren't they?"

Everyone stared at the bright wings folding back away. Hajime simply had to pause a moment to chuckle over the irony. Tsuzuki and Kurosaki were hanging around St. Rudolph to guard the mortals from undue celestial influence, and here it was an angel who managed to help Kurosaki when he was incapacitated by a crowd of mortals. Delicious.

Kurosaki blinked a few times. "How did you know...?"

Raziel shrugged casually. "I used to get like that, too, before Zaphkiel-sama taught me how to turn down the intensity." He looked down at the match with obvious curiosity. "And they're pretty intense about this."

"Are you associated with any of them?" Tsuzuki asked, cautiously.

Raziel laughed. "Oh, no. I just came to see what could possibly be keeping all of the Great Angels here. Not," he added in a dry tone, "that is isn't quieter with them gone."

"It was that demon that's hanging around Kanagawa, the one that dresses weirdly," Kurosaki supplied, clearly regaining some of his usual snap.

"Mad Hatter," Raziel sighed. "Of course it was." He paused and eyed Tsuzuki for a long moment. "Bet he had some fun with you."

Kurosaki bristled, and Raziel waved a hand. "I don't play those kind of head games, don't worry. But my organization keeps an ear out for rumors, and you've been a pretty popular rumor for a while now, Tsuzuki-san."

"Mad Hatter," Tsuzuki said tightly, "is operating under some mistaken assumptions, the first of which is that I have any interest in that part of my blood."

Raziel grinned. "Well, you could always join us instead."

Hajime had been wondering how long it would be before someone made that suggestion. He nudged Yuuta to keep quiet and folded his arms, watching.

"I could what?" Tsuzuki asked, after a second.

Raziel's mouth took on an exasperated twist. "Look, a third of the demons are angels, or at least were. And the rest are descended from angels. Either from the Grigori who took human lovers or from the children of Lilith and Lucifer. The angels like to make a lot of their perfect forms, but that's just labwork and killing off the 'imperfect' ones. The children of two angels have just as much chance of being altered by their power as the children of demons. Take it from me." The green eyes that had been cheerful were chill now. "It's all the same blood in the end."

Tsuzuki looked stunned, and Hajime put a hand over his eyes. "Do you honestly mean to say it never occurred to you, Tsuzuki-san?" he asked. Surely that particular connection was obvious to anyone who had the most passing acquaintance with angels and demons.

Tsuzuki just blinked at him. Hajime shook his head, ruefully.

"You're a menace to yourself," he informed Tsuzuki. "You need a manager. I'd volunteer out of humanitarian considerations if I weren't already committed."

Kurosaki glared fiery death at him and edged between Hajime and Tsuzuki. Hajime smiled his most urbane smile back and chalked up another success. What he'd told Tsuzuki was true; Kurosaki wasn't a challenge. He was, however, extremely entertaining.

Raziel seemed to be trying not to laugh. "You, on the other hand, would fit in very well somewhere else," he noted.

"Yes, I got the offer already," Hajime murmured.

"Mizuki-san," Yuuta said, at last, giving Hajime the look that meant he wasn't going to hang around in the cross-fire of one of Hajime's games for much longer.

Hajime patted his shoulder. "Of course, Yuuta-kun. Of course."

Raziel shook his head and turned back to Tsuzuki. "I'm not really joking, though. The Third War upset the basic structure of Heaven and Hell. I'm not truly surprised that the powerful ones who survived are looking for new sources of influence and power. To be honest, I expect a major influx of human souls fairly soon. If you want to come, the Anima Mundi will have a place for you and your partner; and your spirits, too. Think about it." He smiled at Kurosaki. "And good luck with your gift." He turned away, strolling on through the crowd.

Hajime looked after him. "I think recruitment must be some kind of genetic predisposition in celestials," he mused. "And Tsuzuki-san," he added, without looking back, "I think you, too, may need to choose again. Or, perhaps, choose for the first time. You won't have any peace until you do."

"Is that your analysis of the situation?" Tsuzuki asked, quietly.

"Gratis," Hajime agreed. "Consider it repayment."

Behind him, Tsuzuki chuckled, and Hajime was hard pressed not to start when his hair was ruffled. "Friends don't give help expecting a return, Hajime-kun."

Hajime sniffed skeptically and did his best to ignore the amusement in Akazawa's face and the suspiciously pleased smile on Yuuta's. Even Kurosaki wasn't glaring at him properly.

Honestly, some people just had no sense of propriety at all.

"Rumors," Tsuzuki muttered. "Information." He glanced at Kurosaki. "Maybe I will think about it."

End

Post-Game

Michael taunts Belial about winning and Lucifer gets involved. Drama, I-3

"Hah!" Michael took his opportunity, as the teams filtered past each other on the way out of the stadium, to taunt Mad Hatter. "Told you we'd kick your asses."

Ryouma stopped to watch, Fuji-senpai and his brother pausing beside him.

Hatter looked Michael up and down with a glint in his eye. "Technically, in fact, you have not."

"Hiding behind technicalities, now, huh?" Michael was obviously enjoying himself a great deal. Tachibana-san was rubbing his forehead, though his small smile said he wasn't as exasperated as he tried to sound.

"Michael-kun..."

"What?" Michael grinned. "It's true."

Hatter flexed fingers that were suddenly full of... playing cards? Ryouma frowned, puzzled. Yukimura-san, though, made a fast snatch for Hatter's wrist. Hatter gave him a deeply disappointed look.

Yukimura-san shook his head. "I'm pleased with the performance of my team, Hatter-san. If the results don't entirely satisfy us, then we'll have to make sure they come out differently next time. It's well."

Hatter sighed, and the cards vanished. Ryouma was really starting to wonder how he did that.

Michael's brows were nearly in his hair. "Never thought I'd see the day you had two masters, Hatter."

One corner of Hatter's mouth lifted in something that was not a smile, and he turned slowly back to face Michael.

"I wouldn't borrow too heavily on reflected glory if I were you, Michael," Lucifer said from behind the smirking angel.

Michael whirled with a snarl. "You looking for another fight right now?!"

Lucifer lifted a brow, the curl of his mouth far more amused than Hatter's had been. "If you like. Little brother." Four black wings swept open behind him.

Ryouma sighed. This would have been the perfect opportunity for Lucifer to take his advice. Oh, well.

Michael tensed up even more, and his wings unfolded, too. Fire licked around him.

"How... tense. Brothers, hm?" Fuji-senpai stirred beside him, looking speculatively at the two. His step forward, however, was checked by Yuuta's very tight grip on his arm.

"Aniki, you're not allowed to get yourself killed before I beat you at tennis," Yuuta stated, not taking his eyes off Lucifer and Michael. "So don't suggest what you're about to suggest, okay?"

"You have to admit, it works," Fuji-senpai said, reasonably. But also quietly.

It looked like they had noticed anyway. Lucifer looked from Fuji-senpai and Yuuta back to Michael, and laughed softly.

Michael's jaw dropped. "You... what... what the fuck?!"

"Hm." Lucifer took a long step towards him and cupped the side of Michael's face with one hand.

Michael vanished in a skyward flash of wings and sputtered swearing. Lucifer calmly folded his wings back in.

"Excellent suggestion," he murmured, glancing sidelong at Fuji-senpai. "I can see why you like this one, butterfly."

Hatter smirked, leaning against Yukimura-san, and Fuji-senpai looked like he was considering whether to take that as a compliment or not. Tachibana-san, on the other hand, had his arms crossed and was looking disapproving.

"That was unnecessary, Lucifer-san," he said, quietly.

Lucifer tilted his head, examining Fudoumine's captain. "Perhaps. But if he truly wanted to fight me again, he could have done it by now." He turned and walked away, merging into the crowd just as a blond man and woman fought their way out of it to congratulate Tachibana.

Ryouma shook his head, sparing a moment to be glad Seigaku's angel didn't have as many Issues as the rest of them. Maybe he should add some psychologists to The Plan.

End

The Dangers of Boredom

Someone takes an interesting walk. Drama, I-2

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

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

Which probably meant fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A cat?"

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

Interesting Times

Kurikara and Michael hit it off. Drama with Humor, I-2

Kippei really did hope that at some point his days would become less interesting.

"So, lemme get this straight." The short, glowering redhead who had appeared on his courts put his hands on his hips. "You summoned me to deal with him?" He waved a hand at Michael, who was also glowering, dividing his attention between the newcomer and Lucifer.

Lucifer, having set his brother off in the first place, with no regard for visiting shinigami, lounged on the sidelines watching the show.

The younger of St. Rudolph's two guardians glared right back. "Who else were we supposed to summon for something like this, Kurikara?" he snapped. "Suzaku? She'd make it twice as bad. Souryuu? Give me a break!"

Kurikara paused judiciously. "Well, all right, you might have a point. Though it could be kind of funny watching the cold fish deal with this."

"Why are you in that form, though? You should have two wings in this world, not two legs," Tsuzuki cut hurriedly over whatever his partner had been drawing breath to say, for which Kippei was grateful; he hadn't noticed Kurosaki being very moderate in his temper at the best of times.

Kurikara gave him a withering look. "Between them," he gestured to Michael and Lucifer, "and your knee-jerk habit of casting wards at the first sign of trouble we're not precisely standing in Ningenkai, if you haven't noticed."

Tsuzuki blinked. "Oh."

Kurikara slapped a hand over eyes. "I'm surrounded by idiots," he growled, and then paused, glancing at Kurosaki. "Okay, not complete idiots, a complete idiot really would have called in Suzaku and the whole city would be burning." He eyed Michael, and the scorch marks from where he'd lost his temper at Lucifer's arrival. "You remind me of her, some."

While Michael was deciding how to take that, Lucifer stirred from his slouch against the fence. Kippei braced himself for a new round of explosions. Lucifer's tone, however, was academic when he spoke.

"Of course he does. We are, after all, reflections of each other in our different planes." Lucifer pushed himself upright, and paced across the court, not to Michael, but to Tsuzuki. Kippei settled back, watchfully. Lucifer took the man's chin in his fingers, holding him still for a searching examination. Just when Tsuzuki was starting to look tense and Kurosaki was looking as incendiary as Michael, Lucifer let him go. "You have some of the same heart as the Messiah," he said, "but your power is broken. A shame, that. If you were whole you might be able to free your little human with your own strength." He didn't wait for an answer before turning away, which, to Kippei's eye, was a good thing. Tsuzuki looked stunned.

"Enjoy yourself, Michael," Lucifer told his brother as he walked away from them all. "Try not to destroy the entire world."

Michael's jaw dropped, and Kippei sighed. He'd known it was coming.

"Try not... world... you... You asshole!" he howled at Lucifer's departing back. "I'm not the one who tried, even if it didn't work!" Fire was snapping around him again.

"Michael-kun," Kippei said, firmly.

Michael swung around. "What?!" Kippei waited, and after a moment Michael deflated a little, and the flames faded. "Sorry," he muttered.

Kippei, now that he wouldn't be singed, clasped Michael's shoulder, hoping to lend him some calm.

Kurikara gazed after Lucifer. "So," he remarked, "that was the Lord of Hell, hm?" He looked contemplative for a moment before he snorted. "What a jerk."

Michael stopped brooding and turned a brilliant smile on him. "I like him," he declared to the court at large. "What was your name again?"

"Kurikara, RyuuOu."

"Michael, Angel of Fire. Pleased to meet you."

Looking at the two of them grinning at each other over clasped hands Kippei couldn't help thinking, though he was careful not to say, that Lucifer really did know his brother pretty well. Michael probably would enjoy himself with Kurikara. He turned back to his other guests, only to find Kurosaki looking at him intently.

"Tsuzuki, I really don't think we should interfere here," Kurosaki said.

"We know this team is picking up some serious influences from Michael, though," Tsuzuki objected. "That's going to mess up the bookkeeping, and they always blame us for that."

"They'll live," Kurosaki replied bluntly. "I'll speak to Tatsumi-san, if there's trouble. As long as Tachibana-san is here, it will be all right. We shouldn't interfere."

"Oh?" Tsuzuki's glance at Kippei was suddenly more measuring. "Oh. Well, in that case..." He was interrupted by the increasing volume of Michael and Kurikara's discussion.

"...you got to toast him yourself?" Michael was exclaiming, gleefully. "Awesome! I was on the other side of the building when Setsuna and Ani-ue were killing God; I was so pissed off."

"It was great to finally get my claws around the Emperor's neck," Kurikara agreed, with a look that would have been beatific with fewer sharp teeth. "It was almost as much fun as pounding Souryuu into the ground like a tent peg when I finally got loose again."

Michael looked enthralled. Kippei sighed. He could have wished for Michael to acquire a calmer friend, but at least Kurikara seemed to have decent control of his temper. A muffled chuckle from Kurosaki brought his attention back to the shinigami. Kurosaki was regarding him with the kind of sympathetic amusement that suggested he had just heard Kippei volunteer to babysit his neighborhood's greatest brat.

"I wouldn't have your job if they paid me," Kurosaki said. "Good luck. Come on Tsuzuki."

"Um." Tsuzuki glanced at Kurikara.

Kurikara glanced back and waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah. So, Michael, I'm really not supposed to stay in this plane without anything to do, and as soon as Tsuzuki takes back his wards I'm going to be a really big flaming dragon anyway. Wanna come back to Gensoukai with me?"

"Sure," Michael agreed, and then paused and looked at Kippei.

Kippei smiled at him; Michael still needed a good deal of reassurance. "We'll still be around when you get back, Michael-kun."

Michael looked away and shrugged. "Of course."

Kurikara gave him a wry look, winked at Kippei, and threw an arm over Michael's shoulders. "Let's go then! Beer and stories!" They both vanished in a flicker of fire.

Kippei shook his head at the space where Michael had been. Someday, maybe, his life would stop being quite so strange, but he wasn't betting on it.

End

The Devil Went Down to Hyoutei

Mad Hatter tempts Ohtori and tweaks Sakaki's nose. Drama with Humor, I-2

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

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

Whoever-it-was kept playing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes danced. "So warm up."

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

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

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

"What is the meaning of this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choutarou shook his head. "No."

Kantoku's frown deepened. "No? Nothing?"

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

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

"Yes, sir," Choutarou agreed. He bit his lip. "I suppose I can't let myself be borrowed?"

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

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

"Good. We'll begin tomorrow. Meet me in here at seven." Kantoku turned on his heel.

"...sir? Why?" Choutarou called after him.

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

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

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

end

Logical Conclusion

If the seal broadcasts sensation... Porn with Drama, I-4

One

"Niou," Sanada said, carefully, "are you really suggesting an... orgy?"

Masaharu gave him a patient look. "Okay, let's go over this one more time. When Yukimura takes Hatter to bed, or Hatter jumps you what happens?"

Sanada looked uncomfortable. Yukimura looked sympathetic, though not repentant in the least.

"And it isn't any better when Hatter gets in a mood and decides on Masaharu instead," Hiroshi added.

"Well, not for you, no," Masaharu allowed. "I don't think Akaya gets it quite as bad then." Akaya, despite not being able to meet anyone's eyes, nodded. "Anyway, the point is, since we're all participating anyway, why not close up the gaps in the formation?"

Marui grinned. "I'm suddenly picturing this as a new play style."

Jackal closed his eyes. "I didn't hear that," he declared.

Yanagi frowned, thoughtfully. "Niou, do you really have any idea how much choreography it takes with more than two people?"

"Renji!" Sanada protested.

"Genichirou," Yanagi returned, "do you have any idea what it's like when you're with Hatter? I never suspected your definition of sparring was so broad."

Sanada flushed. Yes, indeed, Masaharu reflected, it didn't do to forget who The Master was.

Hatter tapped on the door and leaned through. "There you all are. One was wondering. Planning anything entertaining?"

Masaharu grinned. "Well..."

Two

Belial sank into the water until it was up to hir chin and wriggled hir toes happily. "Whose idea was it to stage our little experiment at a hot springs?" se asked, leaning hir head back against the edge.

"Mine," Niou supplied waving a dripping hand without opening his eyes.

"Remind one to thank you, later," Belial sighed.

The team filtered back into the room in ones and twos and settled down, remarkably spread out for such a relatively small space. Seiichi's mouth quirked, and when he noticed Marui and Akaya fidgeting nearly in unison he couldn't help a laugh.

"It really isn't as difficult as all that," he admonished, coming to stand in the center of the room. "Belial," he called, softly.

"Yes?" Belial answered behind him.

Seiichi turned, smiling, and lifted a hand to run through Belial's bright, wild hair. "I think it's up to us to start." He leaned in and kissed their demon, coaxing, and Belial swayed against him, opening hir mouth to nip at Seiichi's tongue. It was an easy, laughing, flirting kiss; a good place for them all to start, Seiichi thought.

Belial shivered abruptly, and Seiichi drew back to see Genichirou standing behind hir, sliding the robe off hir shoulders. Genichirou's own robe was already undone, and Belial made a small pleased noise as se leaned back against his body.

Watching Sanada-san's hands stroking down Hatter's arms was making Akaya's breath shorten. Though not nearly as much as when Yukimura-san stepped back from those two and turned toward him, holding out a hand.

"Akaya."

It wasn't a command, and that might have been what made Akaya shiver. For Yukimura-san to ask him...

Someone was standing beside him, and Akaya looked up to see Yanagi-senpai looking down with a calm, familiar smile. "It's all right," he said, and moved past Akaya to where Hatter was arched back in Sanada-san's arms, one hand tangled in Sanada-san's hair, dragging his head down to Hatter's. Yanagi-senpai's fingers brushing along Sanada-san's jaw lifted his head again, and they smiled at each other. Akaya blinked to see such a light expression on Sanada-san's face.

Hatter laughed and twined his arms around Yanagi-senpai's neck. Sanada-san leaned forward to kiss Yanagi-senpai slow and deep before stepping back. They made it look very simple. Akaya looked back at Yukimura-san and swallowed. Yukimura-san was waiting for him.

Akaya stood, just a little shakily, and stepped forward. Yukimura-san drew him close, folded his arms around Akaya, whispering against his ear, "It's all right."

Akaya nodded and tried to relax into Yukimura-san's fingers rubbing his neck, Yukimura-san's mouth covering his. The closer Yukimura-san held him, the easier it was, and when Akaya finally let himself sag against Yukimura-san's support he was lowered to the floor.

Trailing his fingers one last time down the curve of Hatter's bare spine, Sanada stepped back. Masaharu suppressed a sigh of disappointment, because those three together made a very, very nice picture. He might not have suppressed it quite enough, though, because Sanada spoke without turning.

"Niou."

Masaharu made an inquiring sound, lounging on an elbow, and Sanada turned his head.

"What do you like?"

Masaharu's eyes widened a bit, because there was a glint in Sanada's eyes that he'd never seen there before. A light of amusement where usually determination ruled alone. Something about that glint suggested Sanada might already know at least a few of the answers, and Masaharu grinned as he replied, "Power." He wasn't quite crazy enough to answer Danger.

Not yet.

Sanada's lips quirked, and when Masaharu accepted the hand he held down, Sanada pulled him up fast and hard against his body. Looked like Sanada did, indeed, already know about the danger part of the answer. Masaharu bared his teeth, wrapping one leg around Sanada's hip. This promised to be interesting.

Jackal scooted over to where Hatter was curled in Yanagi's arms, nibbling on his shoulder. "Care to trade?" he asked, smoothing a hand down her shoulder blade."I think Akaya needs Yanagi."

Hatter raised her head, and they all looked over at Akaya, lying spread out and moaning helplessly under Yukimura's hands and mouth.

"You may be right," Yanagi agreed. He pressed a kiss to Hatter's brow and brushed another across her lips. "Would you mind?"

"We wouldn't want Akaya to be scared off from participating next time," she purred, stretching.

Yanagi laughed, and crawled the couple feet over to Akaya, sliding a hand under his arched back and murmuring to him in a soothing tone. Hatter smiled and leaned, bonelessly, against Jackal. He gathered her close and dropped a soft kiss on her neck, stroking her hip and back slowly.

"You're all so gentle with one," she sighed.

"I can not be, if you'd rather," Jackal offered, curious. "Do you like it better rough?"

Her eyes were just a little distant, just a little blank, as she looked at him. "One doesn't know. One never really paid much attention to one's own pleasure."

Jackal sucked in a sharp breath and held her closer. "And you have to ask why we're gentle with you?" he asked, softly, against her blood colored hair.

"Mm." Hatter pressed against him.

Hiroshi leaned over Marui's shoulder. "You're starting to drool," he murmured.

"Am not," Marui contradicted, not looking away from Masaharu, who had laced one hand with Sanada's and was sucking on Sanada's fingers. Looking him in the eye the whole while, of course. Hiroshi's partner did have a talent for provocation.

"You like to watch?" he asked.

Marui leaned back against him, grinning. "I like a lot of things."

"Hm." Hiroshi reached down and folded Marui's robe aside, closing a hand between his legs.

"Ah!" Marui arched, legs spreading. "Damn, you move fast!"

"You prefer slower?" Hiroshi inquired, squeezing.

Marui groaned. "Of course not."

Yagyuu laughed. Marui was Marui, whether on the court or in bed.

Masaharu moaned when Sanada's fingers pressed into him. It was swallowed by Sanada's mouth.

He arched against, or maybe it was into, that rough hardness thrusting into him bit by rocking bit. Sanada's arm around him held him still.

He panted and shivered as Sanada's fingers worked him open, and felt Sanada's lips curve against his neck.

When Sanada's fingers slowed, Masaharu growled a little. No fair setting him up for something hard and then not following through. Following Sanada's gaze, though, he had a hard time blaming him, and, in fact, couldn't help a little smile of proud pleasure.

Hiroshi had Marui down on his knees and elbows, head bent to the floor, while Hiroshi's tongue flickered over Marui's entrance. Masaharu could tell when Hiroshi actually thrust in by the breathless way Marui moaned. It probably didn't hurt that Hiroshi's hand was between Marui's legs, pumping him slow and strong, but Masaharu knew from experience that Hiroshi's tongue was enough to hold anyone's attention all by itself.

Hiroshi also hadn't bothered to strip off Marui's robe, merely lifted the hem over Marui's hips. Hiroshi's own was hanging open. They made an incredibly wanton picture, and Masaharu rubbed his hips against Sanada's just watching. Sanada's fingers curled, inside him, and Masaharu gasped.

At first he thought the wash of tingling heat was just from that, but it kept going, and he looked again to see Marui coming in long, hard shudders under Hiroshi's hands. Sanada's hold on him tightened enough to drive his breath out, if he'd had any left.

Jackal caught his breath against Hatter's mouth, and she melted against him with a long, low sound of pleasure in her throat.

Akaya tensed, where he knelt over Yanagi-senpai's folded legs, felt Yanagi-senpai's hands on his back dig in, felt Yukimura-san's fingers inside him twist sharply, felt Yukimura-san's teeth close on his neck. He buried a trembling moan in Yanagi-san's shoulder as fire plucked at his nerves.

Hiroshi had never come just from bringing his partner off before, but he was very close to it now, as Marui relaxed in his hands.

"Wow," Marui mumbled, pillowing his cheek on his folded arms.

"Very," Masaharu agreed, flexing his body against Sanada's. "So what are you waiting for, Sanada?"

"An invitation," Sanada answered, showing his teeth.

Masaharu was moderately impressed with how quickly he found himself naked and on his knees, with his back pressed against Sanada's chest. "Don't get to be this aggressive very often?" he suggested, slyly.

"Depends on what mood everyone's in," Sanada returned, and nibbled on Masaharu's earlobe.

Good instincts, Masaharu reflected, sagging back against Sanada's support. Though he couldn't help laughing when Hiroshi fished a tube out of his robe and tossed it over. His partner always planned ahead.

The feeling of Sanada pushing into him, opening him long and slow left him open mouthed and breathless.

He did make a strangled sound when Marui, with a grin, squirmed around in front of him and closed his mouth firmly around Masaharu's cock.

Hiroshi chuckled. Masaharu was trying to flex forward and Sanada's hold wasn't letting him. Which was not to say Sanada was going slowly, now he had Masaharu where he wanted him. His partner was in good hands, Hiroshi decided. Very good hands, if the surge of fever heat running through Hiroshi was any indication.

He glanced over at Yukimura and Yanagi, who were going slowly with Akaya, and probably just as well. He could see from here that Akaya was shaking just a little, in Yukimura's arms, as Yanagi rocked into him slow and careful. Or possibly he was shaking because of the way Yukimura was kissing him. Hiroshi suspected that Yukimura had it in him to be an utterly overwhelming lover. He looked forward to finding out.

For now, though, he thought the hunger in Jackal's eyes was stronger than his curiosity.

Jackal raised his brows as Yagyuu edged over to them and wound an arm around Hatter.

"You want to go to Yukimura," Yagyuu noted. "Hatter and I will be fine."

Hatter looked him up and down, eyes bright and languid. "Are you quite sure of that?" she purred.

Yagyuu smiled at her, his usual small, calm smile, made a bit disconcerting by the sharp, ice colored eyes that emerged as he folded his glasses. "Reasonably."

Hatter laughed, twining around him, and Jackal shrugged. Yagyuu was right, after all. He slipped up behind Yukimura and stroked a questioning hand down his back. Yukimura lifted his head from marking Akaya's neck and glanced back, smiling welcome.

He made a soft, enticing sound in his throat when Jackal pressed wet, open mouthed kisses down his ribs and over his hip. When Jackal slipped around him to continue between his legs, though, Yukimura's moan was full voiced, and Jackal liked that even better.

Hiroshi let Belial bear him down to the floor, cradling hir body with his. He'd been half expecting hir to want to turn the tables some time soon, and tipped his head back easily when se nipped at his throat. The strong, slim back under his hands curved sensuously as Belial pressed against him, and the lines of hir against his palms were one more source of enjoyment.

Se arched over him, caging him under hir body, laughing, and Hiroshi laughed with hir. He reached up, sliding his hands over hir chest, ribs, thighs, taking in the texture of hir. He had no trouble believing this was the one who had seduced whole cities.

"Yours," he murmured, brushing his fingertips over hir lips, and Belial leaned down to him, eyes heavy with pleasure.

Genichirou had positioned himself where he could see all of the others, though it had gotten a little difficult to concentrate on anything but the flex of Niou's body against his and the hardness of Niou's thighs spread over his. Niou's wildness teased Genichirou to be harder, rougher than he usually was. Genichirou was careful of his strength, unless he truly lost his temper. Niou...

Niou wasn't careful.

Genichirou made a harsh sound into pale, tangled hair as Niou drove back against him, skin sliding against hot skin.

Belial gasped against Yagyuu's mouth as his fingers stroked, lightly, between hir legs. Seiichi must have been telling hir secrets, se decided. Yagyuu wasn't hesitant enough to have been ignorant of Belial's body beforehand. Few people had ever bothered to discover, or been allowed to discover, that, just because the nerves weren't in either of the two standard arrangements, didn't mean their density or sensitivity was any less. And Seiichi was the only one of those people nearby.

Or, for that matter, still alive.

Se moaned softly as Yagyuu slid down hir body and his tongue followed the path of his fingers. It felt good; hot and smooth, with a bright shiver to the sensations that fluttered through hir. Good enough that Belial was panting for breath.

Seiichi had definitely been telling.

"Yours," Hiroshi whispered to hir again, "so relax for me."

Or perhaps they just all thought alike.

It was true, though. They were hirs, and the liquid echo of their pleasure in hir body was the proof of it. So Belial did relax, letting Hiroshi tease hir nerves and feed hir desire until se felt like fire was dancing over hir skin.

And then under hir skin.

And then Belial was arching into Hiroshi's hands as ripples of pleasure washed through hir, hot and sleek and brilliant.

Marui tossed his head back with a shiver, drawing away from Masaharu, and Masaharu might have protested that, except that the humming tingle of other people's sensations suddenly had an edge. The first wringing heat was already clamping down on him when Sanada surged forward, thrusting into him fast and hard, and Masaharu lost track of the world outside his skin for a while.

Renji sucked in a sharp breath as someone else's climax crested through him, jerking his hips up, wringing a desperate sound from Akaya. Renji's hand, which had been clasped loosely around Jackal's cock, tightened and Jackal bucked into it with a low, vibrant moan. Seiichi shivered and tensed, trying, Renji knew, not to thrust into Jackal's mouth, but he was swept along, too. His teeth against Akaya's throat made Akaya start, body tightening around Renji. And then again. And again. And Renji closed his eyes and let the heat drag him out of himself.

When Seiichi recovered enough breath and wits to untangle himself a bit, Belial promptly twined hirself around him. Purring. The content little humming noises in hir throat made Seiichi chuckle.

"One knew you were a good idea," Belial murmured.

"Have to agree with you there," Niou yawned from where he was lying with his head on Yagyuu's stomach.

"Mmm," Akaya put in, sounding a bit dazed.

"You didn't break him, did you?" Belial asked, eyeing Akaya. He revived enough to give hir a dirty look.

"Don't be silly," Marui yawned. "Just because Akaya was the only virgin here..."

Akaya made to get up, probably to go strangle Marui, only to pause with a wince and a dubious look.

"Asprin first," Renji told him, amusement lurking behind his practical tone, "and then a hot soak. Retribution later."

Belial collapsed on the floor, in the middle of them all, laughing. "You were all a good idea," se declared, looking immensely pleased.

Three

It was pure luck, really. Akaya happened to be the only one in the room when Genichirou woke from his nap. And Genichirou happened to be looking in the right direction to notice the covert glance Akaya gave his bare skin, and the faint flush that followed.

He did find it amusing that Akaya was still shy after the last forty-eight hours.

Genichirou considered his immediate urge to invite Akaya over to have a closer look. He had certainly had his own inhibitions lowered in that time period, hadn't he? But, after all, he and Akaya had not had, as Niou insisted on putting it, quality time together yet. Now seemed like a good time. "Akaya," he called, low-voiced, and held out a hand when Akaya looked sidelong at him.

Akaya was still for a long moment before he rose and approached. His eyes were wary, but also brightening, the way they did when he played practice matches against Genichirou. Especially matches that got just a little serious. The brightness pleased Genichirou, but the wariness made him sigh, silently. Seiichi had told him he would have to address that sooner or later. And while he'd managed to side-step the issue until now, Genichirou didn't much like the idea of a bedmate being afraid of him.

Nor did he deceive himself that this retreat would be a one time thing, not with Hatter, Niou and Seiichi all involved.

So Genichirou drew Akaya down and gathered him close, the way he held Renji or Seiichi when they were upset or troubled. He almost winced at the stiff surprise in Akaya's body. Genichirou stroked his neck and back, seeking to quiet him, and slowly Akaya relaxed. Bit by bit the tension in him uncoiled and he leaned more heavily against Genichirou's chest until, at last, he rested his head on Genichirou's shoulder with a faint half laugh.

"Sanada-san," Akaya said, breath warm against Genichirou's neck, "I know."

"Hm?" Genichirou inquired.

Akaya ducked his head down a little further. "I know. When I lost to Fuji and you let me go... I knew then. It's all right."

Genichirou was slightly shamed by Akaya's ready forgiveness. "Thank you, Akaya."

"Mm." Akaya ran his fingertips down Genichirou's chest, not looking up.

The shy touch reminded Genichirou of his initial intention, and he set a hand under Akaya's chin to lift his head. Akaya caught his breath under Genichirou's kiss, pressing against him. Akaya was tense again, in a different way, now, and he shivered as Genichirou eased the robe off of him. Genichirou was pleased with this responsiveness, but for this first time between them he didn't want tension of any kind. He wanted to reassure Akaya. Wanted Akaya to feel safe enough to answer him properly. So instead of pushing Akaya down on the sheets, he leaned back and drew Akaya along to lie over him.

Akaya made a small, surprised noise and wriggled a bit to get comfortable. And then he paused and stretched more slowly, eyes drifting half shut as their bodies pressed together, lean and hard and warm. Genichirou chuckled and wound his fingers into Akaya's hair, guiding him down to be kissed again. He swept a palm, slowly, up and down Akaya's back, over his shoulders; Akaya's legs tightened against Genichirou's hips when he rubbed his thumb, gently, over a nipple. When Genichirou slid both hands down to knead Akaya's thighs and rear, Akaya turned into a boneless sprawl and Genichirou had to laugh.

"You like that?" he murmured.

"Mmm," Akaya agreed against his neck.

"Good." Now Akaya was closer to where Genichirou wanted him; lax and pliant and ready to be pleasured. Genichirou fished briefly in the tangled sheets for the bottle of oil someone had dropped there. That addition to his touch drew some interesting noises from Akaya, half gasps and little murmurs caught short. The murmurs turned to genuine moans as Genichirou's fingers spread Akaya open and massaged his entrance. Akaya wouldn't stop moving, now, tiny twists and stretches that brushed his skin silkily over Genichirou's until Genichirou had a hard time remembering to go slowly.

When he finally pressed his fingers into Akaya, Akaya released a long breath. "Sanada-san," he whispered, soft and rough. The sound of it was enough to make Genichirou rock his hips up against Akaya's as his fingers thrust deeper. This time the sound Akaya made had no words.

Genichirou didn't think Akaya noticed at all when the door slid open. He, however, was well placed to meet Seiichi's eyes as they widened and then gleamed with a reflection of Seiichi's sudden, considering smile. Genichirou's lips twitched. Seiichi wanted to join the fun, hm? He didn't think Akaya would object; Genichirou knew he didn't.

Genichirou raised his knees and spread his legs, inviting Seiichi. Akaya gasped as Genichirou's legs pressed his own wider apart, shivered as Genichirou withdrew his fingers with a final, firm caress.

"Have you been wondering what it would be like to have Seiichi inside you, Akaya?" he asked, keeping one eye on Seiichi's amused expression as he came and knelt, silently, between Genichirou's legs.

Akaya shuddered. "Yukimura-san... he... yes," he stammered, tucking his head down deeper against Genichirou's shoulder.

"You have good instincts," Genichirou noted, dryly. "He can be rather intense. It helps to have someone else there. Someone else to hold you."

Akaya stilled. "Yukimura-san?" he asked, very softly, after a moment.

"Yes," Seiichi answered, laying his hands gently on Akaya's back. "I can leave the two of you alone, if you'd rather, Akaya."

Akaya shook his head quickly, though Genichirou could feel that his face was hot. He pressed against Genichirou, breathing fast, and Genichirou closed his arms around Akaya, anchoring him. He waited for Akaya to relax against him again and nodded to Seiichi. Seiichi shed his robe and settled between Genichirou's spread thighs. He took in a sharp breath as Genichirou reached down to slide an oiled hand down his hardening erection until Seiichi laughed and caught his wrist.

Genichirou smoothed his hands over Akaya's rear, spreading him open again, and Seiichi leaned down to place a soft kiss at the small of Akaya's back.

"Ready?"

"Ready?"

Yukimura-san's voice was gentle, as reassuring as the firm touch of Sanada-san's hands and body. Akaya managed to vocalize a "Yes," albeit a shaky one. Not that he was reluctant at all; he didn't think he'd ever been more ready for anything in his life. The careful strength of Sanada-san's hands had nearly dissolved him into warm, slack pleasure. And now the steady pressure of Yukimura-san sliding into him, opening him, pressing him harder against Sanada-san's body, nearly stopped his breath. By the time Yukimura-san drew back and pressed in again, slow and even and unstoppable, Akaya was panting in quick gasps.

"Easy, Akaya," Yukimura-san whispered to him, still moving with that unbearably even rhythm.

Akaya bit his lip. "Yukimura-san..."

Sanada-san's hands slid down his thighs, squeezing tension out of them, and Akaya's voice broke as his control washed away, again, under those hands. "Harder, Seiichi," Sanada-san said, voice husky. "Give him something to hold on to; Akaya won't break."

Akaya's next breath was almost a sob of relief as Yukimura-san's rhythm turned sharper, more powerful. He was moving now, too, hips flexing against Sanada-san and the solid heat of Sanada-san's body between his legs steadied him. The sensation flickering through him was raw, though, and the touches against him, inside him, were insistent. Demanding as the sparks flashing down Akaya's nerves. It wasn't long at all before shuddering heat raced up him, overtook him. He felt like it might have drowned him except for the two bodies pressing him between them. Held by their strength, Akaya jerked wildly with the bursts of pleasure, let Sanada-san's mouth muffle the sounds he was making, let Yukimura-san's weight pin him down until his muscles went slack and liquid.

He could barely moan at the hot, rough feeling of Yukimura-san thrusting against his body's lingering tightness. He did manage a small murmur when Yukimura-san's forehead finally came to rest between Akaya's shoulder blades, one hand stroking Akaya's side as if to soothe.

It took him a little while to remember that they should not, really, be done yet.

"Sanada-san?" he asked, a little hoarse, lifting his head.

"You can move again already?" Sanada-san asked, sounding both amused and just a bit strained. "I'm impressed."

"Well," Yukimura-san said, voice suddenly silky in a way that made Akaya shiver, "if Akaya is recovered enough to move a little, we can see about making you more than just impressed."

Sanada-san's smile showed his teeth.

"Wait." Akaya glanced down at Sanada-san, hesitantly. "Would it... is it all right if... um."

Sanada-san looked up at him, questioning. "Akaya?"

"What you started," Akaya said, softly, "would you... finish it?"

Sanada-san's brows rose.

"Akaya," Yukimura-san said, winding his arms around Akaya's shoulders, "if we do that you'll be very sore after."

"I'll be all right," Akaya insisted. "I just... I want..." He bit his lip.

Sanada-san's thumb tracing over his mouth coaxed him to stop. He drew Akaya down and kissed him until the tension Akaya hadn't noticed left his shoulders again, chased away by the wet heat of Sanada-san's mouth. "If you like," Sanada-san agreed.

"Yes," Akaya breathed, and then, as an afterthought, added, "Please."

Sanada-san's lips curled up. "I very much do," he said, voice deeper than usual.

Yukimura-san was laughing as he pulled Akaya up to lean back against his chest. Akaya let his head fall back on Yukimura-san's shoulder, reminding himself to relax, as Yukimura-san's hands guided Sanada-san against Akaya. Into Akaya. Stretching him open again, and it did ache a little but Akaya didn't care. He'd been right. It felt good when Sanada-san rolled his hips up, thrusting deep into Akaya. Even without the urgency of orgasm pushing at him, it felt good to be opened. Filled. Fucked slowly, and he could see in the line of Sanada-san's mouth that he was fighting to be slow, to be careful.

Yukimura-san seemed to have other ideas. "Doesn't he feel good inside you?" he whispered in Akaya's ear. "Do you like the stretch when he slides into you? The hardness of him?" Akaya shuddered. Oh, yes. He did like it. He thought, fuzzily, that the hot tingle of Sanada-san's pleasure in Akaya's own body helped; but he'd like this even without it. "Doesn't he feel good, Genichirou?" Yukimura-san asked Sanada-san in turn, and Akaya could hear the smile in his voice, could almost feel it in the hand Yukimura-san slid down Akaya's chest. "Hot and taut and yielding. So willing."

Akaya's breath stuttered. He didn't think he'd ever heard anyone sound so sultry. So suggestive. Eyes wide, he saw Sanada-san swallow hard, felt his hands tighten on Akaya's hips, felt him drive up harder. And then Sanada-san's rhythm broke into short, quick thrusts, and Akaya groaned with him.

This time, Akaya really did collapse completely, and was entirely content to let Yukimura-san and Sanada-san arrange him in between them on the futon.

"You've gotten your way all around, haven't you Seiichi?" Sanada-san noted as he leaned over to collect a kiss from Yukimura-san.

"Have I?" Yukimura-san asked, lightly.

Sanada-san snorted. "This," he ran a hand over Akaya's shoulder, "is how you've always regarded our team, isn't it? As devoted as any lover. And now you've charmed the rest of us to your way of thinking."

"It is pleasant that it worked out that way," Yukimura-san admitted, curling an arm around Akaya's waist. "Are you sure you're all right, Akaya?" he added, as Akaya shifted a bit.

"I'm fine," Akaya said, quickly.

Yukimura-san's hold tightened. "Akaya." His voice in Akaya's ear was soft, but edged with unmistakable command.

"All right, a little sore, but I really am fine," Akaya insisted.

"Hm." Sanada-san combed Akaya's hair back with his fingers. "Why are you blushing then?" he asked.

Akaya growled. He hated his complexion, he really did. He burrowed, grumpily, into the tangle of covers. "I wanted to make sure," he muttered. "I did. It's fine."

There was a little rustling over his head, and then Yukimura-san pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "I'll be right back."

"Make sure of what?" Sanada-san asked, as Yukimura-san's footsteps receded.

Akaya turned one eye up to him. Sanada-san looked curious; he also looked unusually patient. Akaya sighed. He was almost as bad at resisting Sanada-san, when he was calm, as at resisting Yukimura-san any time. "Sure of what it was I liked," he supplied. "I liked it when... one of you was... inside me." He hunched his shoulders in a tiny shrug.

Sanada-san pulled Akaya to him and held him tight enough to drive his breath out. "Good," he said, definitely. The heat and velvet in his voice were enough to compensate Akaya for the embarrassment of saying it out loud. "I know what you mean, though," Sanada-san added, relaxing his hold.

Akaya looked up at him, surprised. "You do?"

Sanada-san gave him an ironic look. "Yes, I do."

"Oh." Akaya settled down in his arms, smiling a little.

"Here," Yukimura-san said, coming back to their side, "turn over for a minute, Akaya."

Akaya started and then sighed at the cool damp of the cloth Yukimura-san stroked him with. Maybe, he decided, Hatter was right and all this really was a good idea.

End

Home Again, Home Again

Konzen gets home and he and Ryouma finally meet. Humor with Drama, I-2

Ryouma was fairly used to uproars around the house every now and then, especially when Nanako found his dad's latest stash of magazines or one of his noisier senpai stopped by for a game.

This, however, sounded a little different.

He ambled down the stairs to find a scowling blond man standing in the entry way, and a younger man dragging in the door under a pile of bags.

"Nii-san," his dad called, wandering in, followed by Nanako with a pleased cry of "Otou-sama!"

Ok, so this was his uncle. Ryouma came the rest of the way down the stairs, and stood at the bottom while his uncle accepted Nanako's welcome home and traded sneers with his dad. This could be interesting; he'd heard stories about Konzen-jisan

"Worthless as ever, I see," his uncle pronounced, looking Oyaji up and down.

"Bad tempered as ever, likewise," was the return. Then his dad eyed the other young man. "You hired a porter?"

"Goku-san," Nanako supplied, smiling. "Here, let me help with those. I'm afraid we're down to the smallest room, for you," she said, as they passed Ryouma and headed down the hall. "Or should I spread a futon in Otou-sama's room?"

"Or did you hire a something else?" Oyaji added, leering.

Ryouma's uncle fetched his dad a quick swat across the back of the head. "Don't be an idiot."

"Sheesh, you really haven't changed," Oyaji complained, rubbing his head. His eye lit on Ryouma, who had to supress the urge to take to his heels. That was the bright-idea look. "That's right, you haven't met your nephew yet!"

Ryouma wondered why his uncle twitched at the word 'nephew'. And then he wondered how this person could be related to his dad, as he was practically pinned to the wall with a long, level stare. The stare ended when his uncle smacked his dad a good deal harder than before.

"Are you completely blind?" Ji-san barked. "The curse is bad enough, but that..." he squinted at Ryouma again. "Did you sign anything?" he demanded.

Ryouma blinked. "You're not one of them, too, are you?"

His uncle closed his eyes as if in pain, right hand flexing just a bit ominously. "No, I'm not," he said, flatly.

"Ah." Ryouma couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a gun tucked away at Ji-san's waist. On the same side as that hand. "I'll go get my copy and show you," he suggested, and slipped up the stairs without waiting for an answer.

When he came back down his uncle was settled at the table contemplating a cup of tea while the other one... Goku?... chattered at him. Ryouma was reminded a little of how Atobe-san was with Jirou-san, at least when Jirou-san was awake. "Here," he offered, spreading out the scroll. "It isn't exactly a deal with anyone in particular; just saying that I'll be there in return for my own realm."

"Your own realm? Oh, hey, cool!" Goku chipped in, leaning over Ji-san's shoulder. Ji-san shoved him off, absently, scanning the contract. At last he leaned back, and pulled out a cigarette.

"All right," he declared, after a long drag. "Maybe I'm not completely embarassed to admit you're related to me."

"That's nice," Ryouma agreed. "Now, what was that about a curse?"

Ji-san smiled a rather scary smile around the cigarette. "Not sure who did it, but I bet I can tell you why..."

End

Hard to Get

Ryouma is still chasing Tezuka. Humor with Drama, I-2

Kunimitsu picked up the next in his stack of birthday cards, and smiled faintly. This one was bound to be amusing.

Dear Buchou,

Happy 40th. Heard you passed the Park Ranger certification; congratulations. Hope bears don't eat you.

On that subject, finally got Sengoku to sign on, and Lucifer says mountains no problem to add. Are you sure you won't come?

Cheers, Echizen

Kunimitsu chuckled softly.

"Is that one from Echizen?" Uriel asked from the couch, sipping his tea.

"His annual campaign speech, yes," Kunimitsu answered. "Do you happen to know how he secured Sengoku for the afterlife?"

"If that's the redhead," Uriel sighed, "Echizen seems to have maneuvered him and Raphael into proximity at the last Australian Open. They had quite the lively chat, from what I hear. Raphael came back smirking so hard Barbiel made him sleep on the couch on general principles." He shook his head. "For such a straightforward person, Echizen can be very cunning."

Kunimitsu pulled over a sheet of writing paper. "Echizen has a very good sense of people, once he's had a chance to judge them on the court."

Uriel leaned back. "These people are still your friends. Are you sure it wouldn't be better to join him, rather than going through me?"

"If Echizen doesn't have goals to meet, challenges to overcome, it won't be good for him," Kunimitsu returned, absently, as he wrote.

Echizen,

Thank you for your good wishes.

Mountains are a fine addition; they'll make a valuable training location. I'm sure the domain will do well, with you thinking so far ahead.

Tezuka

"Besides," he added, folding the paper, "I enjoy your company, and you can use my help more than Echizen. In the end, I expect he'll be pleased that I'm next door, as it were, and not interfering with him."

"And it isn't, after all, as if you won't be visiting," Uriel suggested, smiling.

Kunimitsu sipped his own tea, quite calmly. "Of course."

End

Strategy

Kirihara meets Yanagi while out studying, and they chat about literature, history, psychology and teammates. Drama, I-2

A current of cold air passed over Akaya where he sat, sideways, in one of the University Cafe's few booths, and he looked up. In part, he wanted to make sure the newcomer wasn't a college student who would evict him from his spot, this being their proper territory after all. Akaya had only kept his place so far because so few students had stuck around campus for such a cold, wet weekend.

Of course, in the past few weeks Akaya had also learned that if he didn't look up when the door opened he was liable to find himself lassoed by Niou-senpai's scarf or pounced on by Marui-senpai, who turned out to be a lot more solid than he looked.

This time he was lucky. It was Yanagi-senpai. Akaya waved without hesitation. Yanagi-senpai was a lot less extreme about the whole 'keeping in touch with Akaya' thing than the rest of them. It had recently occurred to him to be very, very grateful that his birthday had fallen before the project got going.

Akaya swore to himself that he would never be such a trial to his own kouhai.

"I didn't expect to see you here on a weekend, Akaya," Yanagi-senpai noted, as he settled across the table. "Were you hoping for some company? Or," his mouth curved just a bit, "did you hope to avoid everyone by coming here when they would expect you to be at the arcade?"

Akaya shrugged, riffling the pages of his book with a fingertip. "I've just gotten used to coming here. It's a nice place to study. Not so quiet I can't hear myself think, like the library."

Yanagi-senpai tipped his head, examining the spine of the book. "Ten Nights of Dreams? They gave you that for homework?"

Akaya snorted. "We have to write a report for Japanese, and I asked if I could do this instead of Botchan. Which I've read before anyway, and this is on the alternate reading list, so Yoshimura-sensei said it was all right." He sighed. "Couldn't get out of the boring books for History, though. I don't suppose ... " he trailed off hopefully.

Yanagi-senpai's lips quirked strangely. "I might not be the best person to ask for help just now, Akaya. I've been working on a comparison of the old History text with the new one. I wouldn't want to confuse you with references you won't need for your own tests."

Akaya blinked. "Is it a class project?" It didn't sound like one, but every now and then weird things popped up in the elective courses.

"Purely for my own interest. The differences in the editions are politically instructive. Genichirou says I have too much taste for contention, but it's a fascinating study. In any case, Genichirou is the one you should speak to about Japanese history."

"Mmmm." Akaya poked at the crumbs of his snack from earlier in the afternoon.

"Since I'm here and he's not, though," Yanagi-senpai went on, "what's giving you trouble?"

Akaya eyed Yanagi-senpai through his lashes. He'd been wondering when the loaded questions would start. "It isn't that I don't want," he started and paused. "I just," he tried and stopped again, frustrated at the clumsiness of all the words suggesting themselves to him. He was supposed to be good with language, he reminded himself.

"I know," Yanagi-senpai told him, quietly. "Don't worry too much, Akaya. It wasn't entirely unexpected."

Akaya blew out an exasperated breath. "If you knew I was going to have trouble when you guys left, you could have warned me," he muttered.

"It wasn't sure, and if it wasn't going to happen I hardly wanted to suggest it to you," Yanagi-senpai pointed out, reasonably. "One of the hazards of prediction."

Akaya raised his head, staring as a sudden thought leaped up. "Is that why you say it out loud on the court?"

Yanagi-senpai smiled.

Akaya leaned back, unsettled. "Maybe I'll start with catching Sanada-san, instead," he murmured, mostly to himself.

"You style is, perhaps, better suited to overcoming him," Yanagi-senpai agreed.

Akaya made a note of that "perhaps" to chew on later. When Yanagi-senpai used such smooth qualifiers it usually meant he was bluffing. But Yanagi-senpai probably knew by now the kinds of things Akaya noticed, so maybe it was a trap. Akaya sighed. Definitely start with Sanada-san; the head games with Yanagi-senpai would just make him dizzy.

"Enough of that," Yanagi-senpai said, chuckling. "We can play again later, if you like. I don't want to distract you too much from your work." He nodded at the book, now fallen closed on the table. "Do you know what you'll say about it yet?"

"That the spirit is eternal and love kind of sucks," Akaya answered, promptly.

Yanagi-senpai laughed out loud. "Anyone would certainly think so after reading Soseki for a while," he allowed, "but you should probably concentrate on the first part, for the teacher's benefit."

"Figured," Akaya shrugged.

"So classes are going well. What about your team?"

Akaya sprawled back down on the table, groaning. "Yanagi-senpai, please, please tell me both your doubles pairs are nice and stable and not going anywhere. Please?"

"I take it yours are not entirely stable at the moment?" Yanagi-senpai asked with only the faintest wobble of amusement in his voice.

Akaya buried his fingers in his hair. "I've never seen dramatics like this outside of afternoon television," he declared. "Kuwabara didn't take it too badly when Tsunoda threw him over to pair with Sakamoto instead. Well, not too badly considering he got upstaged by a first year; I'm surprised you didn't hear him bellowing all the way across campus, but he didn't break anything. But now there's Niiyama, who was pairing with Sakamoto, all in a snit, and he challenged Ueda this week and won. So now I've got him sniping at Tsunoda over Sakamoto, and half the second years getting pissed off about two first years being Regulars, and Sakamoto doesn't seem to care who he plays with as long as they hammer the other side six feet into the ground, and Niiyama and Tsunoda are making a personal competition of who can make him happiest!" He paused to catch his breath.

"Sounds like a fairly standard restructuring period for the team," Yanagi-senpai murmured.

Akaya looked up at him, blankly. "Are you joking?" he asked, finally.

"Not at all, Akaya. That doesn't sound all that unlike how Niou and Yagyuu came to be a pair."

"It is?" Akaya sat back, blinking. On the one hand, it was a bit comforting to know his pack of crazies wasn't some kind of karmic punishment for him personally. On the other ... "Yukimura-san let them?"

Yanagi-senpai turned a hand palm up. "When the players balance each other's strengths and weaknesses, it's usually best to let them sort it out. Only when they are unbalanced do they need their captain to step in and provide the counterweight."

Akaya considered this. "Maybe they do balance out," he said, slowly. "At least ... Niiyama never lets Sakamoto actually go too far. I thought he would, but he doesn't." They were silent for a while before Akaya nodded. "Thanks, Yanagi-senpai."

"My pleasure," Yanagi told him with a wry smile. "I think we're more than just teammates after this past year. Friends look out for each other."

Akaya smiled back. The words "more than just teammates" sparked another thought made him look down again, though. "Yanagi-senpai, does Sanada-san ... " he paused, fishing for the right word. Understand, he supposed. He knew Yukimura-san understood, but he hadn't seen Sanada-san at all lately.

"He understands," Yanagi-senpai offered, hand resting briefly over Akaya's. "He's been staying away from you for many of the same reasons you've been staying away from him."

Every now and then, he didn't mind so much that Yanagi-senpai knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"So," Yanagi-senpai said in a brisker tone, "what part of History has been giving you trouble?"

"Not trouble," Akaya protested. "It's just so boring it's hard to remember sometimes."

Yanagi-senpai's mouth curled up at one corner. "Ah. What you really want is to ask Niou, then. His historical narratives are anything but boring."

Akaya gave him a flat look. "I'm sure they are, Yanagi-senpai, thanks very much." Did anyone else know Yanagi-san was this evil?

"Oh, very well," Yanagi-san said, tolerantly, "let me get some tea; pick a period, and I'll tell you about it. Did you want anything?" he added, rising.

"Hot chocolate!" Akaya tucked away his book as Yanagi-san made his way to the counter, and prepared to listen.

He was glad he'd come here today.

End

Wildflower

Yukimura, a bit troubled over Kirihara, talks first with Tezuka and then with Suzuoki. Drama, I-3

Seiichi didn't come out to Makuyama Park very often. The harshness of the landscape didn't generally appeal to him. But today he needed to remind himself of a few things, and Makuyama suggested itself. In January there were few other people there, and Seiichi wandered among the plum trees, thinking.

He was troubled over Akaya. He wanted to give his successor all the time he needed to get his feet under him. But the way Akaya was still shying away from him worried Seiichi. On the other hand, he couldn't very well interfere when he himself seemed to be the problem. That fact still annoyed him greatly. Renji teased Seiichi about being possessive, but Seiichi didn't think he was. Not the way Renji meant, at any rate. Seiichi chose a sunny shelf of rock to settle on, and looked up at the spray of branches that hung over it. This one was almost ready to blossom, lavender buds showing brighter rose at the edges as it prepared to unfurl.

"You don't care, do you?" he asked, reaching up to touch a branch. "Not that you're growing on volcanic rock, not that it's winter. You just keep growing." He sighed and smiled, a little crookedly, at the tree.

"Yukimura?"

Seiichi looked around to see, of all people, Tezuka standing near. "Tezuka," he greeted, a little surprised to see him out here. "You're rather early for the tourist season in this park." He was amused to see how much distaste a single shrug could convey.

"I'm not fond of tourist season."

"I'm not either," Seiichi admitted. "I wonder if they mind." He stroked the branch, lightly.

Tezuka tilted his head, consideringly. "They seem to keep growing, regardless," he said, at last.

Seiichi had to laugh. "That was why I came out here today, actually." He leaned back on his hands and gazed out across the trees. "Sometimes, when one of the plants in my garden isn't doing well, and I can't figure out why, I come out to one of the parks. It reminds me that plants are a lot tougher than most gardeners like to think they are. They survive just fine on their own." He took a deep breath and ordered the tightness in his chest to go away. "I do wonder, sometimes. If my plants could talk to me, would my seedlings tell me I'm jostling their roots, and to stop fussing over them?"

Tezuka didn't answer, but he didn't move off, either. When Seiichi glanced at him, he was simply waiting, a little the way Genichirou did when he knew Seiichi wanted to talk about something. Only less patiently. Seiichi chuckled again. Tezuka's presence was a silent offer to keep listening, but the crossed arms and faintly quirked brow said that obscure whimsy would not be tolerated. Genichirou tended to be amused by such things, and would reflect them back as poetry if Seiichi caught him in the right mood. Somehow, Seiichi doubted Tezuka wrote poetry. Which made his implicit offer a bit of a mystery. Maybe he was feeling a little bereft, too, without his own team.

And perhaps it would help to talk with someone outside his team, Seiichi reflected. More than that, to talk with another captain. So.

"Do your seedlings ever cause you worry, Tezuka?" he asked. "Momoshiro. Echizen."

"Sometimes," Tezuka said, brows raised. "We both had rather willful teams this year, Yukimura."

"Now there's an understatement. I find myself worrying more, now that I have to leave one of them behind."

"There will still be someone there to oversee the ones I'm leaving," Tezuka said, slowly. "It helps. Ryuuzaki-sensei is a good teacher. If I've gotten them to start on their own paths, I can trust she'll see that they keep going. A good coach provides a great deal of continuity."

"A good coach," Seiichi repeated, hearing his own voice chill. From the watchful expression on Tezuka's face, he knew his had probably turned hard and cold. "I found those in short supply, and declined to have any interfering with my team. Though one has found his way to Akaya."

"Is he any good?" Tezuka asked, calmly.

Seiichi felt his fingernails scrape against stone and forced his hand to unclench again. "I have no idea. I've never dealt with him; he worked with the high school division until this fall."

Tezuka was silent for a long time, which was probably just as well since Seiichi was busy trying not to snarl at the thought of the tennis club's faculty advisor taking the same tone with Akaya he had once presumed to take with Seiichi.

"Yukimura," Tezuka said, at last, "do you trust Kirihara?"

Seiichi blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Even if Ryuuzaki-sensei wasn't there, I don't think I would be afraid for Momoshiro or Echizen." Tezuka waved a hand at the plum trees surrounding them. "They're strong. I know that. So do they."

Seiichi felt something in him relax. Not all the way, but a little. It helped, to hear the logic that had drawn him here today stated in someone else's voice. "I do trust Akaya," he answered, softly. And perhaps, he thought, ruefully, Akaya would trust himself more if Seiichi could offer a better example of confidence in his own teaching. And then he smiled up at Tezuka. "I suppose Echizen never has accepted any fussing over himself. But, then, that doesn't seem like a mistake you're prone to."

"It isn't something he's ever complained about, no," Tezuka agreed, in a dry tone. "The only regular complaint they make is of overly vigorous pruning."

Seiichi stared at him for a long moment, before he laughed with genuine delight. Perhaps he'd been right, and Tezuka was in the same place he was, missing the connection of a team collected around him. He couldn't imagine many other things that would bring such a reserved person to trade metaphors with him. He clasped his hands around one knee and leaned back against them.

"I think next year will be difficult," he said. "For all of us. Our teams this year ... were something special. And now we're broken apart. Nor am I at all sure our senpai will be pleased to see us again."

Tezuka's eyes were shadowed, as he looked down at Seiichi, and Seiichi decided he had, indeed, been right.

"Will you be there, next year, Tezuka? You and Fuji?" Something to look forward to; something to keep him going.

"Yes." Iron rang in Tezuka's voice, the tone of someone who had never backed down from any challenge.

Seiichi closed his eyes, and tipped his head back to feel the sun against his face. It was simply warm, now; but come summer it would be bright and hot and dangerous. Yes. He would look forward to summer. "Good. We'll be there, too."

The one question Tezuka had asked him that Seiichi hadn't been able to answer nagged at him over the next few days. Was Suzuoki a good coach? He didn't know. And Seiichi was aware enough of the irrationality of his prejudice that it made him uncomfortable.This was what had led him to one of the halls he didn't normally frequent.

Seiichi knocked on the frame of Suzuoki's door. The man barely glanced up.

"Yukimura-kun, I was expecting you sooner. Come in."

Points for observation, Seiichi noted. He also filed away the thought that Suzuoki was the sort who liked to unnerve his opponent. Well, then, bluntness in return for bluntness—Seiichi hooked a chair around to face Suzuoki and seated himself without waiting for an invitation.

A thin smile crossed Suzuoki's face as he took his cigarette out of his mouth. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

Seiichi considered for a moment. Clearly, this one would not be susceptible to the same kind of intimidation that had worked in the past. Suzuoki knew what this confrontation was about, and was prodding Seiichi to show his hand first. A cautious approach seemed called for.

"I was wondering," he began. "I hear you've been working with the high school division for years. Was there a particular reason you switched, now?"

"It would certainly have been interesting to stay and deal with you, instead, Yukimura-kun," Suzuoki allowed, smoothly. "But both rumor and results say that you have all the help you need. The junior high division, however, is losing that support. As a coach, it behooved me to offer some help to the new captain." He paused, and snorted. "Who actually accepted it, to my increasing surprise the better I get to know him."

The abrupt shifts from bluntness to reticence and back were enough to set even Seiichi off his pace. Caution, definitely. "Surprise?" he probed.

An eyebrow lifted. "You have a reputation as a perceptive young man," Suzuoki noted. "It can't have escaped you that Kirihara-kun is a spitfire. To put it mildly." And then sharp eyes glinted. "Or perhaps it did escape you."

Seiichi kept a firm hold on the flare of anger that answered that suggestion, that he might not know the measure of one of his own team. He felt his focus start to narrow, as it did when he faced a good opponent on the court, and answered Suzuoki's provocation with the waiting poise that had swallowed so many challengers before. "I am familiar with Akaya's temper," he returned, coolly.

Rather than pressing in, though, Suzuoki eased off. He blew out a long breath and leaned back, shaking his head. "No wonder the kid's so tangled up."

Seiichi's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I'll bet my next pay packet that he's spent two years being overshadowed by you," Suzuoki answered, apparently not affected at all by Seiichi's increasing sharpness. Suzuoki flicked his fingers, trailing cigarette smoke through the air. "It isn't always a bad thing. But he's always had your control to rely on, hasn't he?"

"Akaya has learned to control himself, or I wouldn't have made him the next captain," Seiichi returned, firmly.

Suzuoki blew a stream of smoke at him. "I'm not surprised you don't see it. He's probably too close to you. You defined the edge of acceptable temper for him, Yukimura-kun. Your self control is the pattern he's blindly followed; it's obvious in the way he relaxes when he's with you. Now he's having to find that stopping point for himself, and relaxing is the last thing he can afford to do."

Well, this certainly answered Seiichi's questions about the quality of help Akaya had attracted. Suzuoki was right, and Seiichi did, in fact, know it. That left only one question outstanding, and answering that one would require different tactics. So Seiichi relaxed, disengaging from the focus of confrontation, and smiled.

"I trust Akaya's strength," he said, quietly.

A momentary pause, followed by a one sided smile, said he had caught Suzuoki by surprise. Seiichi waited, holding off his tension, for the response.

Suzuoki's smile gained ground, though it was still rather tilted. "Actually, so do I. At least," he added, "I think he has the potential. I'd rather like to see him succeed."

It really was amazing, Seiichi reflected, the variety of people Akaya managed to capture without seeming to intend it. "Would you?" he asked, teasing just a little, now that he was more sure Suzuoki was on the right side.

Suzuoki gave him a narrow look. "I have to have a very good reason before I'll put up with the kind of mouthiness that kid gives me on a regular basis," he stated, dourly.

Seiichi bit back a laugh, but knew his amusement was probably showing anyway. "Akaya is a good reason," he said. "Thank you for taking care of him, Suzuoki-sensei."

Suzuoki's look turned sardonic. "Thank you for leaving him alone, this year, Yukimura-kun."

"Hm." Their glances practically rang off each other. One pass made it quite clear that, just as Seiichi had no intention of leaving Akaya wholly to his new coach, Suzuoki had no intention of backing down. "Well enough," Seiichi said, softly, and turned toward the door.

Seiichi was not, after all, the only one from the old team who was interested in Akaya's welfare.

"Yukimura-san?"

Seiichi turned from closing the door to see Akaya standing in the hall, looking startled. His glance flicked from Seiichi to the office he'd just come out of and back, and widened. Seiichi laughed.

"Everything's all right, Akaya."

Akaya examined him for a moment longer, and nodded, relaxing.

And visibly caught himself back.

Seiichi tipped his head to one side, contemplating his protege. Akaya had a little over a year to settle this thing for himself. Would that be enough? Seiichi knew Akaya was phenomenally capable, when he needed to be. Look how far he had come in a year and a half, starting from the simple decision to overcome Seiichi and Genichirou and Renji.

Seiichi thought about that.

"Akaya." When Akaya looked up at him, Seiichi smiled the way he did when inviting Akaya to play a serious game against him. "I'll be waiting."

Akaya's head came up, sharply, and his eyes focused, darkened. "I'll find you, Yukimura-san," he answered.

"Good." Seiichi took himself off, and only barely caught the exchange behind him.

"You look like you've been standing in a fire," Suzuoki commented.

"Did I ask?" Akaya snapped back, irate and fearless, before the door closed.

Seiichi chuckled all the way down the stairs. Yes, he believed that Akaya would do fine.

End

The Other Side

Kirihara deals with a stressful practice and finally snaps. In a good way. Drama, I-3

"We would have won if I'd been playing with him!"

"Don't be ridiculous. You don't have the reach to counter Chiba."

"You don't have the speed!"

Akaya tried to unclench his teeth before he gave himself a headache. "Both of you be quiet," he growled. Niiyama and Tsunoda shut up but didn't stop glaring at each other, Niiyama's eyes fiery and Tsunoda's chill. Akaya throttled down the urge to whack them both over the heads with his racquet, and never mind that Tsunoda was tall enough he'd have to reach for it.

Sakamoto leaned against the fence, staying out of it for all he was worth, and Akaya wished once again that he knew whether that was because Sakamoto didn't care or cared too much. He'd really like to figure out whether he could use Sakamoto to quash these fights or not. Right now he was stuck doing all the work himself, and it was getting old.

"I don't suppose, just possibly, for the good of the team you're both allegedly a part of, you could actually agree to share Sakamoto's time instead of using him as your tug-of-war rope?" he asked with tired sarcasm, raking a hand through his hair.

"Yeah," Furuya muttered from where he was fetching a water bottle, "after all, you had really good examples of sharing this past year, right?"

Akaya knew it had been a long practice, and that everyone was tired. He knew that when Furuya was tired he sneered more than ever. He knew it was now his responsibility to keep his temper when everyone else didn't. But in the shocked silence following Furuya's remark, Akaya could hear the singing rise of his own blood pressure and feel the clenching tightness in every muscle that meant he was going to break something very soon.

"Furuya," he gritted out, enunciating carefully, "you will not say things like that, here."

Later, Akaya would place the look on Furuya's face as nervous bravado. At that moment, though, he saw only defiance and it tinged his vision in red. It had been more than a long day, for him, it had been a long four months. Rage hovered in the back of his mind, bright and gleeful.

"Or what?" Furuya shot back. "You'll get Sanada-senpai to come down here?"

Akaya's pride reared up, hauling him away from the edge. He would not be less than those three, and this court was his now. These people belonged to him, and it was his choices that would steer this team. Suddenly Furuya's question, his doubt, was another opponent, and Akaya's focus snapped around the question the way it closed around an opponent's game. Ice washed through Akaya's mind, replaced the red with stark clarity. "I am the captain of this club," he said, very softly. "You will not say things like that in front of me."

Furuya gave back a step and glanced away. "Yeah, fine." His expression was unnerved, now.

Akaya turned away, dismissing him as the cool edge of his thoughts suggested something about the original problem. He swept a look over the three in front of him.

"Niiyama," he said, at last, "I'm pulling you out of doubles. Your skills are solid enough there, you need to work on singles for a while. When I'm confident you've made a good start," he continued over Niiyama's choke of protest, "I'll rotate Sakamoto out to singles and we'll see how you and Tsunoda do as a pair."

"What?!" Niiyama nearly screeched, blue eyes a bit wild. The look on Tsunoda's face wasn't any more sanguine.

"You're the one who wanted a place on the team so badly," Akaya rapped out. "Act like it. Or was I wrong about what you want? Because if I am you can leave now."

Niiyama inhaled sharply and his chin came up. "Yes, Kirihara-buchou," he said though his teeth.

Akaya swung his racquet up to his shoulder. "Good. Then come play a set with me."

Niiyama's eyes widened and then narrowed, and he followed readily. Akaya nodded to himself; better Niiyama focus that competitive streak on him than on Tsunoda.

And it did seem to do some immediate good. Niiyama's game was as flamboyant as ever, but more efficient than usual. A stronger opponent drew him out. Akaya thought about that as he pulled out a ball for his next serve. Was this what Yukimura-san had seen, looking at him?

For one moment he was disoriented, as if he had stepped around the other side of a one-way mirror and seen a familiar room from a skewed angle. How had he gotten to be on this side? Akaya took a deep breath and pushed the strangeness away. He had a player who needed him to do this, to stand back and watch and think how to teach Niiyama something he might not want to hear.

Hmm. That did suggest something, though.

Akaya looked across the net and let himself lean into Niiyama's anger and aggression. The edges of the world tucked in around them. "Niiyama!" he called.

"Yeah?" Niiyama shot back, eyeing him.

"Focus," Akaya ordered. "Because I'm not holding back with you today."

Niiyama's eyes widened and whipped around to follow the serve as it tore past him, and snapped back to Akaya. His lips tightened, and Akaya saw it—the first surge of Niiyama's intent pushing back against him.

"Much better," he murmured to himself.

Suzuoki was waiting for him when they came off the court and Akaya dismissed practice. "Very nice," he observed.

"Mm," Akaya answered, taking a long drink. In the end, Niiyama had pushed him harder than he'd expected. "It'll do for now. Though I wonder what will happen when I pair him with Tsunoda."

"They'll do well, as long as they have a reason to," Suzuoki predicted, watching those two fall in on either side of Sakamoto. "You might consider arranging some practice games against rival teams for them."

"Now there's a thought." Akaya tallied up teams that still had seasoned pairs in his head. "Wonder if Fudoumine still wants to draw and quarter me."

Suzuoki snorted, having gotten that whole story out of Akaya weeks ago. "Well, how good are you at pretending to be reformed?"

"Hey!" Akaya glared. "Though, you know," he added as Suzuoki chuckled into his cigarette, "I wouldn't mind playing him again."

Suzuoki's glance sharpened. "Tachibana?"

"Yeah. I feel like I got short changed, after what I saw of him at Nationals." Akaya frowned. He'd like to know why Tachibana hadn't shown his strength during their match, too. "Besides, I need someone besides my own team to practice against," he concluded.

"Good call," Suzuoki approved. "Though it wouldn't hurt you to depend less on your opponent's spirit to raise your own." He smiled, dryly, as Akaya blinked at him. "Consider it, Kirihara-kun."

Akaya made a mental note of it, but most of his thoughts were on the bus schedule to Tokyo. Good competition, that would help. That would make him feel more familiar to himself, again.

End

Mock Battle

Kirihara sets up some practice matches with Fudoumine, to the general annoyance of most concerned. Drama, I-3

Akaya trudged across the campus of Fudoumine feeling put upon. Why couldn't Suzuoki have set this up? Why did it have to be him? Fudoumine as a whole wanted his guts for garters. He knew it was, in the final analysis, his own fault, which didn't help in the least. It helped even less when he finally reached the tennis courts only to see that Tachibana was there along with Fudoumine's proper team, albeit not in uniform. What was it, he thought crankily, with pushy senpai who couldn't retire properly when they were supposed to?

A slightly more charitable corner of his mind noted the stifled conflict in every line of Kamio's stance beside his ex-captain. It looked like Akaya wasn't the only one dealing with standing in someone else's shadow, this coming year. He really did sympathize.

"What are you doing here?"

Sympathy evaporated in face of that challenge, and Akaya eyed the girl now standing at the gate. Tachibana's sister, wasn't it? He'd heard stories about her.

"I'm not here to talk to you, that's for sure. So, if you'll excuse me." He edged around her and gauged his welcome from the people he was here to talk to. Not much of one from what he could see. Measuring cold from Ibu and Kamio both, a couple growls from the others, some muscle-flexing from the tall one especially; probably a good thing one or two seemed to be missing or they might have succeeded in causing him to combust in the collective glare. Tachibana himself was the most neutral.

Which meant that Akaya was in a receptive mood when the imp of the perverse made a suggestion. He leaned in the gateway and let his mouth quirk.

"So, who's actually in charge, here?" he needled, with a meaningful glance at Kamio.

Score. The lines around Kamio's eyes and mouth tightened in a way that would probably look familiar if Akaya had spent more time looking in the mirror this winter. When Tachibana was the first to speak Akaya had to bite back some fairly black laughter.

"What is it you're here for?"

"To see about arranging some practice matches," Akaya shrugged.

Now Kamio stepped forward, and the fact that he didn't seem to think about it first raised his credit in Akaya's eyes. "Between Fudoumine and Rikkai?"

"Mm. Between one of my doubles pairs and one of yours, in particular," Akaya expanded. "You and Ibu, for preference, but I'm not terribly picky."

From behind him the girl muttered something about not being surprised, and Akaya hid a grin. She was even easier to get worked up than Sanada-san was. Come to think of it, she glared a lot the same way, too. Only from a lower angle.

Kamio had the distant look of someone paging through a calendar in his head. Akaya was pleased that he'd accepted the idea so readily; at this rate he might actually end up respecting his opposite number before he left. A little, anyway. Kamio looked at Ibu. "Thursday?"

Ibu nodded, silently; he hadn't taken his eyes off Akaya for one second. It felt unnervingly similar to having Yagyuu-senpai's eyes on him, and Akaya made a mental note to be a little careful about this one.

"Works for me," he said, pushing upright. And then he paused and heaved a sigh. He was here; Tachibana was here. He might as well get it over with. "Tachibana-san."

"Yes?" Still the neutral tone.

"I apologize for what happened during our last match," Akaya said, managing to be only a little stiff.

He was less successful in not rolling his eyes at the looks of surprise and, in a few cases, outrage on the faces of the Fudoumine team. Behind his shoulder, Tachibana's sister growled.

"Accepted, of course." Tachibana's quiet voice cut across the less cordial reactions.

"Tachibana-san ... " Ibu murmured.

Tachibana shook his head. "It would be... inconsistent to hold the past against him, Shinji." He held Ibu's gaze until Ibu nodded his assent, still looking displeased about it. "I'll look forward to another match at some point, Kirihara-kun," he concluded.

Akaya's shoulders relaxed. "I'd like that." He cocked his head. "If you're not holding back next time." He was still kind of pissed off about that.

Tachibana's expression slipped out of its neutrality into a faint, rueful smile. "If it isn't to be a repeat, both of us will have to hold back on at least one front."

An odd hint of sympathy lurked in Tachibana's eyes, and Akaya added that to the things he'd heard from Yanagi-san. Yeah, he'd thought the rumors about Tachibana having been a violent player were probably true, after the way Tachibana had performed at Nationals. Akaya's eyes narrowed. "I don't hand out anything I can't take, Tachibana-san. One way or another."

"A good thing to know," Tachibana returned coolly. But there was a spark in his eyes, and Akaya smiled. The next match should be worth it.

"See you Thursday," he told Kamio.

As he turned to leave, though, he came face to face with two more members of Fudoumine, carrying baskets of balls. One he was vaguely familiar with. Sakurai, the tall one's doubles partner. The other was far more of a surprise.

"Fuji Yuuta?" Akaya resisted the urge to rub his eyes and double check the uniform. There was no question it was the Fudoumine uniform. "Well, well, isn't this interesting?" Akaya purred, almost to himself. He hadn't really hoped for a match with the younger Fuji; no one expected St. Rudolph to advance past Prefecturals in the upcoming season. But wouldn't that be a nice jab at the older Fuji? To give him a heart attack after the fact, when he heard his precious brother had been playing someone with Akaya's reputation for brutality? The idea appealed mightily to Akaya's sense of mischief. He grinned at Yuuta. "I'll see you Thursday, too, I hope."

Bounce was back in his step as he left.

"... can't believe you're making us play an actual match like this," Niiyama grumbled, as he'd been grumbling under his breath the entire way to Fudoumine.

"If you don't stop complaining, I'll find something even worse," Akaya threatened, very evenly, casting a quick look over the courts to see if Tachibana or his fire-breathing sister were present. Fortune smiled on him; they didn't seem to be.

Niiyama shut up, just in time for Akaya to greet Kamio with some dignity. Had he ever given Sanada-san this kind of trouble? Well, all right, his sense of justice forced him to add, had he been this much trouble before Sanada-san took him to bed? He honestly didn't think so.

On the other hand, Niiyama's snippiness did mean that Akaya felt far less guilty than he might have about what he was doing. A thin smile tugged at his mouth as he watched Niiyama and Tsunoda set themselves across from Kamio and Ibu. He didn't expect his players to make any foolish mistakes; they were both experienced in doubles. But Kamio and Ibu had been through a much hotter fire, and their rapport was seamless.

Sure enough, Kamio and Ibu took three games in quick succession. Akaya grinned as he noted that Niiyama and Tsunoda's glares were shifting from each other to their opponents.

"You look awfully cheerful," a voice noted beside him.

Akaya glanced over to see Fuji Yuuta leaning against the fence watching the match. "Moderately," he agreed.

Yuuta shot him a sidelong look. "Are you that confident they'll make a comeback?" He didn't sound like he believed it. Nor, for that matter, did the rest of Fudoumine, from the pleased sound of the remarks a little further down the fence.

"It's possible," Akaya said, watching one moment of clear understanding flicker between his players as their eyes met before Tsunoda fell back to support a series of Niiyama's quick drives. Not entirely likely, but possible. Either way it would work out, and these two would get a wake up call.

Yuuta's eyes darkened. "You've got a real ruthless streak, Kirihara."

Akaya was mildly surprised that Yuuta had unraveled the purpose of this exercise. Of course, he couldn't actually be an inattentive player, if he'd played a good game against Echizen; but his reputation was more for power than finesse or analysis. Another note for the mental files. "As if you have any room to talk," he returned.

"Only with myself," Yuuta countered, disapproval in his voice.

"You think a team captain has that luxury?" Akaya asked, curious. He had wondered what Yuuta was doing here, when he had been expected to take over the St. Rudolph team; maybe now he knew.

"Hm." Yuuta declined to spar any more and turned his attention back to the game.

In the end it went the way Akaya had expected, and even a bit more so. The final score was 6-4, thanks to an edge of brilliance and viciousness in Ibu that he didn't remember seeing before. He made a note to talk to Suzuoki about Ibu later. For now, he had a lesson to round off. He pushed away from the fence and waited for Niiyama and Tsunoda to come to him.

"Well?" he asked, coolly.

Niiyama's spine straightened, and his eyes glinted, daring his captain to censure him. "We won't lose again," he pronounced.

Tsunoda was quiet, but the same determination showed in his level gaze. They were, Akaya was pleased to note, standing shoulder to shoulder instead of turned warily toward each other the way they normally did.

"I expect not," Akaya answered, softly. Success! He left Hiiyama to give the pair notes on the match and looked over the Fudoumine team. "Anyone else up for a match?" he inquired.

Ishida stepped forward, just enough to loom a bit. "Sure."

Akaya considered what he knew about Ishida's style. "Sakamoto. Your turn."

"Me?!" Sakamoto squawked. Ishida blinked a bit, too, taking in Sakamoto's small, slight build.

"Yes, you," Akaya confirmed, impassively. Sakamoto wasn't training in singles right now purely so that Akaya could metaphorically handcuff his two regular doubles partners together. Akaya had every intention of developing all the skills his team had as far as they would go. Sakamoto was a perfectly capable singles player, and Akaya wasn't about to let him slack off. Besides, Akaya had pulled out the small-and-cute card on his teachers too often not to notice when someone tried to play it on him. Sakamoto's glare, as he fished out his racquet, hinted that he was catching on to this fact.

"Kirihara-buchou, I really hate you. Just so you know," Sakamoto told him, in the petulant tone he only ever used with the team.

Akaya's lips twitched. "Yes, I know. Now get going."

"Going, going," Sakamoto grumbled, stalking past a bemused Ishida.

"Interesting team dynamics you've got, Kirihara," Kamio remarked dryly.

Akaya shrugged, carelessly. "It works for us." Sure enough, Sakamoto was the one who was pushing the pace right from the start, aggressive enough to rock Ishida back onto the defensive. "You know, Hiiyama," Akaya murmured to his vice-captain, "it's too bad you don't play doubles. You and Sakamoto would be an unstoppable pair. Just like a pair of explosive little super-balls bouncing around the court."

Hiiyama shot him a dark look. "Your sense of humor is going to be a bigger legend than your temper at this rate," he muttered.

Akaya had to admit that this was probably true. Which only encouraged him, really. At that thought, with what could only be fated timing, his eye fell on Yuuta, still observing from the side. Ah, yes. A bubble of amusement lightened his voice. "Fuji. You look bored. How about a match?"

He almost laughed at the ripple of unease that passed through Fudoumine. Well, all of them except Yuuta. Yuuta looked distinctly suspicious. Akaya offered his most engaging smile. "Come on, you know you want to."

He caught an exasperated look from Hiiyama, and knew that he would be hearing, later, about the proper dignity of a captain. Akaya tossed him a wink, just to be provoking. Niiyama's eyes were a little wide, as he watched, never having seen Akaya like this from up close before, but Tsunoda just shook his head and nudged his reluctant partner back against the fence, out of the line of fire.

Yuuta's suspicion didn't fade, which, thinking about it, Akaya didn't find surprising; Yuuta was smiled at by an expert on a regular basis, he was sure. The suspicion was joined, however, by a certain hungry light. Yuuta glanced at Kamio and raised an eyebrow. After a moment Kamio nodded.

It was different from his usual games, and maybe this was what Suzuoki had meant. Akaya found himself wavering, rather uncomfortably, back and forth over the line of complete engagement. Yuuta was too strong a player to deal with lightly; his shots were precise and powerful, and his counters annoyingly effective. But never so much so that Akaya could just relax and respond automatically, or stretch out to his limit without thought. For someone who was supposed to be bullheaded, Yuuta was a very deliberate player, and it ruffled Akaya that he couldn't automatically find the right rhythm to deal with him.

As he set himself to serve he closed his eyes for a moment, searching for stillness he had learned under pressure from Yuuta's brother, hoping that would work where his usual fire hadn't. Looking across the net into suddenly attentive eyes he felt the catch, like a spark against bare skin. Yuuta was moving, even as the serve arrowed in, to catch it and throw it back. The edge of wariness between them dissolved, and Akaya almost laughed. Much better.

The second half of the match was brutally fast, and they were both breathing hard when they met at the net. "Good game," Akaya panted, grinning. He had won 6-4.

"Yeah, it was," Yuuta agreed, and Akaya had to suppress the urge to make a face at the hint of surprise in his voice.

"So just how did you wind up here, anyway?" he asked, instead.

The openness in Yuuta's gaze folded closed again. "The St. Rudolph team was Mizuki-san's. Without him, it's a different thing."

"It's a thing that would have been yours," Akaya suggested.

Yuuta's eyes never flickered, and the line of his mouth was proud. "I like this thing better," he said, waving a hand at the courts around them.

Akaya was impressed, not that he was going to admit that.

As they rejoined their teams, Hiiyama gave him the raised brows, asking whether it had been worth it to show his game that openly. His vice-captain had very expressive eyebrows, Akaya reflected. "Don't worry about it," he said, under his breath.

Hiiyama snorted.

"It isn't worth it unless it's for real," Akaya said, firmly.

Niiyama stirred, against the fence, expression more thoughtful than was typical for him. Akaya hid a smile; extra dividends, how nice. He kept half an eye on Niiyama through the parting courtesies, wanting to know where that expression was leading. They were half way home before he got an answer.

"Kirihara-buchou."

"Yes?" Akaya nodded to the seat beside him.

Niiyama sat, slowly. "What did you mean, 'for real'?" For once he sounded serious, though serious looked just as intense on him as any other emotion.

Why the hell did Akaya feel old, all of a sudden?

Akaya leaned back. "When you have a good opponent and you're not paying attention to anything else—when nothing but the game exists for right then and it takes up everything you are—that's when it's real. When you've been there once it's hard to stay away." Not that he intended to tell this particular audience about the permutations of that passion, the way it could twist, especially when you were in pain. Niiyama didn't need to know about the details of that, and Akaya didn't like to think about it. He shot a sidelong glance at Niiyama's thoughtful attitude. "It works better when you're not wasting your attention showing off for your partner," he added.

Niiyama opened his mouth with an indignant expression, but Akaya overrode him.

"If you were a dedicated doubles player it might be different," Akaya conceded, thinking of Niou-senpai and Yagyuu-senpai. "But this little competition you and Tsunoda have going is distracting you. You can play better than that." Watching Niiyama wondering about what a real game meant had convinced Akaya of that much. And it was, he reflected, a damn good thing Niiyama hadn't been around to see what Akaya had been like as a first year, himself, or he'd probably have been accused of total hypocrisy by now.

After a long, fraught, moment, Niiyama lowered his eyes. "Yes, Kirihara-buchou."

Akaya made a shooing gesture. "Go think about it, then."

As he slouched down in his seat a little further and closed his eyes, he considered his own first year again, and wondered whether he should write a letter of apology to Yukimura-san when they got home.

End

Sunrise

The new year starts, unsettling Kirihara a bit until he talks with Jackal. Drama, I-3

Akaya thumped down into the grass under the stand of chestnut trees at the edge of campus. For a long time he just lay, looking up at the sky, which was a lovely, clear blue that day, just about as empty as his mind. With luck, no one would notice him for a while.

Luck clearly thought that he'd gotten enough favors lately, though, because he heard footsteps well before he had recovered himself.

"You look dazed."

Akaya levered himself up on an elbow to make sure that was who it sounded like. "Jackal-senpai." Who looked rather amused. He let himself thud back down. "That'd be because I feel dazed. I mean," he rambled on, "there have got to be eight billion new first years running around today, and half of them are in the tennis club, and they're all calling me Buchou."

Jackal-senpai leaned against one of the trees, humor hovering at the corners of his mouth. "Surely you're already used to that, Akaya; everyone has been calling you that for months, now."

"It's different," Akaya muttered. He sat up and folded his arms around his knees. The second years he could handle; he had earned what he saw in their faces when they called him Kirihara-buchou. Respect or fear or pride, he had earned it. But the glow in the first years' eyes, the awe in their voices when they whispered to each other about him, that made him twitchy.

"Hm." Jackal-senpai sat down next to him, but didn't speak for a while. "You know," he said, finally, "this is one of my favorite places on campus. It's where I used to come when culture shock was getting to me."

Akaya rested his head on his knees, looking sideways at Jackal-senpai. "Culture shock?"

"When you feel unsettled and out of place. When you feel like either you or everything around you is changing and you're not sure which it is. When you don't feel like you can connect." Jackal-senpai leaned back on his hands. "This is a nice, quiet place to calm down again."

Akaya bit his lip, hard, as his stomach lurched. Disconnected. Yeah. But it wasn't like he was alone, was it? He had his team, just a different one this year. And next year he could go back.

Couldn't he?

Out of place... no, that wasn't exactly the problem anymore. "What do you do when you're in place and it's a different place than it was?" he asked, softly.

A crooked smile twisted Jackal-senpai's mouth for a moment, more like one of Niou-senpai's than his own. "Ah. That's what comes next. When you get there you just have to stand as firm as you can."

He could do that, Akaya was pretty sure. The first years didn't make him twitch because he thought he couldn't live up to those looks. Actually, he picked at his feelings, slowly unraveling them, he was twitchy because he was so sure he could. He sighed at his own total illogic. "I'm an idiot," he said to his knees. "There's no such thing as being too good."

"Wouldn't think so," Jackal-senpai agreed. "But you've had two years under Yukimura; none of us will be surprised if it takes you a while to get used to being on your own."

Another cold shiver grabbed Akaya's insides, and he grimaced. This was ridiculous. He wasn't afraid of catching up to Yukimura-san. He knew he wasn't. He didn't need to lean on Yukimura-san. He knew he didn't. He just...

He just wished he did.

"Complete idiot," he muttered to himself.

Jackal-senpai made a questioning sound, though, when Akaya lifted his head, he turned out to be looking up at the sky. A breath of a laugh caught Akaya by surprise. He was getting to appreciate that kind of tact more every day he had to deal with Niiyama and Sakamoto.

"I miss it," he whispered. Missed the comfort of not being the strong one.

Now Jackal-senpai looked at him, steel eyes level. "Yes. And it won't be quite the same when you go back. But that isn't something we can help, Akaya. Any of us." Suddenly he smiled—his own smile, serious and kind. "But I really don't think anyone is going to toss you back out the door; my aunts and uncles certainly don't, though the comments on how much I've grown since they last saw me almost make me wish they would."

Akaya had an absurd mental image of Yukimura-san pinching his cheeks the way his own aunts did when they visited, and broke down laughing.

Jackal-senpai reached over and ruffled his hair, a rare casual gesture from him. "It'll be better when the tournament season starts and you have other things to distract you," he assured Akaya.

Akaya snorted a final laugh. Come to think of it, the tournaments probably would cure him of this irritating introspection, if only by providing him with opponents to take away any silly qualms about winning. And winning. And winning some more. He smiled, feeling better just thinking about it.

Summer would be a good time.

End

Distance

Inspired by ep. 174, and the anime version of the Rain Scene. Just how might Fuji answer the demands Tezuka is making? Drama with UST, I-3, anime continuity

Chill radiated from the glass behind Shuusuke's head, creeping through the dampness of his hair. He searched for words to explain why he played matches like the one just past. "Tezuka. I don't really think I have the passion for winning."

"Fuji." There was startlement, maybe even apprehension, in Tezuka's voice. Shuusuke tried not to react.

"I think I just enjoy the thrill of seeing my opponents play to their limits." He looked up at Tezuka, searching for understanding in dark, guarded eyes. "What about you?"

The stern focus of Tezuka's gaze on him never wavered. "What do you mean? I'll win; regardless. Winning Nationals is all I can think about right now."

Ah. Everything for the team. Yes, that was their captain all over. Strictly responsible—the leader, the teacher, taking nothing for himself anymore. Shuusuke's eyes fell. "If it is a mark against me, then please remove me from the Regulars."

Now Tezuka stirred. "Don't let that happen."

The fresh edge in his voice pulled Shuusuke's eyes back up, for all that he didn't want Tezuka to see the helpless frustration he was sure showed there. He couldn't go against his own nature, so what did Tezuka want from him?

He remembered enjoying the silent pleasure with which Tezuka watched his games. Remembered seasons of offering Tezuka his encouragement, and learning that particular angle of brow and faint curve of mouth with which Tezuka returned it. He wished he understood why he was losing these things this year.

He held a hand out to Tezuka, though he wasn't entirely sure what he was asking for or offering any longer. Finally, Tezuka's eyes softened, only serious and not hard—the eyes of his friend. Tezuka touched Shuusuke's fingers, lightly, before their hands fell apart again.

"Fuji," Tezuka said quietly, "I am the captain of this team, now."

Meaning, of course, he would not, could not, lessen his demands even on a friend. Shuusuke closed his eyes. "I know," he whispered.

They flickered open again, wide with surprise, when Shuusuke felt a hand, still cool from being rain drenched, touch his face. Tezuka was standing much closer over him, now. Shuusuke's breath caught; it was so rarely Tezuka who moved close.

"Is there anything you do have passion for?"

A shaky laugh escaped from Shuusuke. "You're asking me that right now?"

Tezuka's brows tipped up, and Shuusuke smiled up at him, a little rueful for that unthinking admission.

Tezuka's hand slid over his shoulder, down his arm, caught Shuusuke's wrist and pulled him to his feet. An arm tightened around Shuusuke's waist, drawing him snugly against Tezuka's body.

"Show me."

The moment fractured in Shuusuke's senses as his thoughts froze. Little things stood out: Tezuka's fingers, closed lightly around his hand; rough, damp creases of cloth, pressed between their bodies; the lag between a flash of lighting and the rumble of thunder that followed it.

He didn't think he could speak to save his life. So he abandoned words for the time being. It was easier, and surely clearer, to slide his free hand into Tezuka's hair, ruffling it even further than Tezuka's rough toweling had. Clearer to lift his face and open his mouth under Tezuka's. Surely nothing could be clearer than his moan, as Tezuka's grip tightened.

"Show me," Tezuka murmured again, against his lips, and Shuusuke shivered. He wanted to. He tugged his hand free of Tezuka's fingers and wound that through Tezuka's hair too, threading his fingers into the strands drying in messy spikes. He smiled at the stray thought that the chance to disorder Tezuka didn't come along every day. Shuusuke kissed him fiercely, searching, asking, and was answered. Both Tezuka's arms closed around him, hard enough to lift his weight off his feet, and his breath left him on a pleading sound. More than Tezuka's tongue stroking against his own, that firm hold occupied Shuusuke's mind and defined the world for him at that moment. It was so unmistakably Tezuka holding him. Powerful, demanding, overwhelming. He felt so light in Tezuka's grasp, as if Tezuka might breathe him in.

Shuusuke pulled away and buried his head in Tezuka's shoulder, panting. "Tezuka..."

Immediately, Tezuka's hold gentled. A hand lifted to settle on Shuusuke's hair. "It's all right, Fuji," Tezuka told him, evenly.

Tezuka stroked his hair while the thunder died away into the distance.

End

Given

The start of the new year gives Fuji some new problems to deal with. Yamato-buchou is his mildly evil self. Drama, I-2

Shuusuke regarded the lineups for the first ranking matches of the year as though the board might bite him. In a sense, it already had, actually. He had expected to see Tezuka's name there. No one would argue, any more, that it didn't belong there. What he hadn't expected was to see his own, in the same block. He looked back down at Yamato-buchou, who was leaning back in the chair behind the table, apparently quite relaxed. He raised his brows in inquiry at Shuusuke's suddenly rather tight smile.

"That wasn't a very kind thing to do, Buchou," Shuusuke noted.

"Wasn't it?" his captain mused, twirling a pen through his fingers. "Perhaps not. But if you choose to keep going, Fuji, you're going to have to face Tezuka in competition sooner or later. Isn't it better to start now than be surprised in a professional setting?"

Shuusuke's mouth tightened a bit further, and he didn't answer. He and Tezuka had played each other, over the winter and spring, as often as studying for exams allowed. He had started, and this was just gratuitous. But he knew perfectly well that Yamato-buchou was remarkably stubborn for someone who seemed so easygoing, and that nothing Shuusuke could say was likely to change his mind.

So he murmured an acknowledgement, and resigned himself to it. He would wade through the second and third years, and he would play as a Regular this year; he would likely incur some resentment, but that had never really bothered him in the past. He would give the team his best, and if that failed to reconcile any of the club members to having yet another younger player pass them by, well, then their opinions weren't worth being bothered by.

And he would play seriously against Tezuka when they faced each other, here. Despite his continuing dislike of exposing himself. He couldn't do any less, not anymore, not without hurting his friend badly. Yamato-buchou really was too perceptive for other people's good, sometimes.

Two days layer, he was having a hard time not glaring at the murmuring club members gathered around the court as he and Tezuka met at the net. Yes, it was a new thing for him to show himself so clearly; yes, he was better than they had thought; yes, this would be an interesting match, thank you so much, and would they please shut up already? There was a gleam of amusement behind Tezuka's calm expression, and Shuusuke indulged himself and did glare at Tezuka for a second.

"On edge?" Tezuka asked, quietly.

"Irritated," Shuusuke clipped out.

"Mmm."

Too ruffled, and too busy not showing it, to pursue what was on Tezuka's mind, Shuusuke set himself and waited for Tezuka's serve.

It was not the best game he had ever played.

It was harder than usual to focus on Tezuka the way he needed to, to match Tezuka's game. This was unlike Nationals, where challenge and need had taken up all his attention, unlike their games alone, where nothing but the contact between them mattered. Now, awareness of the watching eyes prickled at him all the time, and he found himself having to fight his own long-standing reflex toward concealment. He had to remind himself, constantly, that he wasn't playing that kind of game anymore, couldn't play that one if he wanted to stand against the person on the other side of the net.

Tezuka won cleanly, 7-5.

Frustrated with the audience, with Tezuka's forbearance in not asking what was wrong with him, and with himself in particular, Shuusuke favored his captain with an unusually sour look when Yamato-buchou strolled over to them.

"Impressive," Yamato-buchou said.

Shuusuke barely pressed a snarl into a smile.

Yamato-buchou shook his head. "I mean it, Fuji-kun. To play aggressively was never your preferred style, mentally or technically; you're making quick progress. You just need to remind yourself that no one watching can make much use of what you show them."

A valid point, Shuusuke had to admit. Still. "That won't be true when outsiders are watching," he pointed out. "Especially at competition matches." And, really, he was just being contrary, because he already knew that, in a competition match, he was far less likely to care. Still. He didn't feel like letting Yamato-buchou off easy.

"That's true," Yamato-buchou admitted, "but it still doesn't matter."

Shuusuke blinked.

"Fuji, if you intend to play seriously, you can't afford to spend any game second guessing yourself. Play to the extent the opponent demands you play. If you lose a match because you were thinking twice about a potential future opponent, then your caution will have defeated itself, won't it?"

The words sank into Shuusuke's mind and rang there, because he knew they were true. So much for being contrary; he should know better, with Yamato-buchou, he supposed. He took a deep breath and let some of his tension go. His captain smiled and patted his shoulder, which Shuusuke took half as reassurance and half as an admonishment to get it right next time. He offered a slightly crooked smile back. "Yes, Buchou."

"Good! If you have more trouble acclimating to an audience, just let me know. I'm sure we can come up with some exercises to help."

"I'm sure it won't be a problem," Shuusuke said, with as much confidence as he could inject into one sentence. He crossed his mental fingers, hoping this would be accepted. He had enough interest in his life right now without Yamato-buchou's often quirky ideas of useful exercises.

"Excellent," Yamato-buchou declared, not looking deceived at all. "And Tezuka, watch that side step. You're stepping wide on your push-off; it will set your balance off if you do that when you play someone besides Fuji."

Tezuka acknowledged this with a respectful nod. Shuusuke looked up at him, surprised. He hadn't realized they had been playing hard enough today for that. Tezuka shrugged, minimally, one corner of his mouth quirking. Shuusuke's smile softened. He knew that was exactly what Tezuka loved about their games.

Shuusuke walked for a long time after practice that day. Wandered might be closer to the truth, he reflected, as he sauntered down dark sidewalks. He had a lot to think about. He fetched up, eventually, at the street courts by the park, watching the matches under the floodlights. Some of the players were just here for fun, and won or lost with a laugh. Some were clearly serious, and focused on their opponents in a manner he found familiar, though they fell far short of the intensity he was used to seeing. He found himself remembering something he had seen and heard over and over again: someone mentioning that they had been saving a particular move for later, but would use it prematurely rather than lose. It had never entirely made sense to him, not viscerally. He'd never had to do any such thing. He'd rarely been driven to develop new moves. Now...

Now, he thought it would happen far more regularly.

He had unfolded himself, opened his talent out as far as it would go and found himself among the very best. But the very best did drive themselves forward; he'd seen it. And they would overtake him if he stood still. It was a precarious feeling. Yamato-buchou was right; he would have to show himself, and watching opponents would plan and work and develop based on what they observed in order to defeat him, and he...

He would have to do the same.

A tiny shiver tracked down his spine, and he laughed, breathlessly, to himself. Precarious, yes, but also thrilling. A challenge.

A familiar tilt of head caught his eye, down on one of the benches that surrounded the courts. Shuusuke's brows rose, and he picked his way through the onlookers.

"Kirihara. You're a ways from home tonight," he greeted, coming to stand beside him.

Kirihara shot a quick look up at him before turning back to the match in progress. "Yes, I am," he agreed, sounding very pleased with this condition.

"A bit below your level, isn't this?" Shuusuke prodded, curious.

"As if you have room to talk," Kirihara snorted.

"I hadn't thought to play here." It was entirely true, but Shuusuke was arrested by a sudden thought. He eyed Kirihara, and the courts at large. Opponent. Audience.

Opportunity.

"Would you care to play a match against me?" he asked.

Kirihara's head snapped around, eyes wide. "Now?"

"Yes." Shuusuke gave him the kind of bright smile he knew would be annoying. "We're not, technically, in opposing teams this year, so there shouldn't be any problem, right?"

A little to his surprise, Kirihara didn't bristle, merely gave him a long, serious look. "For real?" he asked.

Shuusuke had to admit, he was somewhat impressed. Very few people could stand him being cheerful at them with equanimity. Kirihara seemed to have gotten a better grip on his temper, if nothing else, this year. "For real," he agreed.

It wasn't as difficult as Shuusuke had thought it might be, to put the watchers out of his mind and concentrate on what the match demanded. By the end of the second game he had to start wondering whether his own club actually made him more nervous than potential rivals. He tucked the thought away for later.

Already thinking about the shape of his own game, Shuusuke noticed some interesting changes in the shape of Kirihara's. For one thing, Kirihara was silent. When Shuusuke caught himself on the edge of fidgeting, waiting for Kirihara to prod at him and give him an opening to bait back, he had to laugh at himself. Yamato-buchou was right; the habit of playing defensively was one that could get him in trouble if he let it get out of hand and distract him from the other possibilities.

The other thing Shuusuke noticed, he wasn't quite sure what to do with yet. Kirihara relaxed, as the match went on, even when Shuusuke gained a two-game lead. It made Kirihara's game smoother than the tension of their last match had, but Shuusuke wasn't at all sure that was a deliberate adaptation on Kirihara's part. His curiosity was piqued, especially since Yuuta's account of his own practice match against Rikkai's new captain had hinted at something similar. Perhaps he could have another chat with his brother about this particular player.

Kirihara was out of breath as they met at the net, but still held his head high.

"Good game," Shuusuke told him, offering his hand.

Kirihara snorted as he extended his own hand. "I'll catch you, too."

"Considering who else you have on your list, I'll take that as a compliment," Shuusuke answered, lightly.

He turned the match over in his head, as he walked home. It was possible, he thought, that Kirihara's play style was shifting. Where he had previously relied on his strength and speed to break past any opponent, this new relaxation might be the start of a move toward a more rounded style. Not that the boy was any less aggressive, to be sure. That was all the more obvious in comparison to the match Shuusuke had played with Tezuka, today. The stillness at the core of Tezuka's game made a stark contrast to the reaching outward that characterized Kirihara.

That was something he could use, Shuusuke mused. The stillness of Tezuka's techniques was, he thought, based on the perfection with which Tezuka controlled the ball. Equal precision could answer that, making the competition between them a matter of who could achieve the finest degree of control.

A thought struck him, making Shuusuke pause under one of the streetlights. He was already making the kind of plans he had told himself he would have to start making—had already accepted the challenge, at least in one case. A certain smugness followed on the heels of that realization. Yamato-buchou might have been right, but so had Shuusuke. That made him feel much better about taking his captain's advice.

Tezuka would probably give him an exasperated look, if Shuusuke told him about this.

He continued on his way, chuckling at himself.

End

Warming Up

Tournament season starts, and Kirihara gets a present from his coach. Drama, I-2

"That was boring."

Akaya shot a glance at Hiiyama, sunk, arms crossed, in the next seat. From anyone else that would have been a complaint; from his vice-captain it was just a statement. Albeit not a very happy one.

"You can say that again," he agreed, easily. "Prefecturals was boring last year, and it was boring this year."

"You might want to speak to the team about that," Suzuoki murmured from behind them.

Akaya turned to prop an arm over the back of his seat and raise his brows at their coach.

"Considering that there are real challenges coming up," Suzuoki expanded with a sigh that said Akaya should have thought of it himself.

Akaya gave him an evil look, but had to admit that he had a point. So when their bus rolled in to Rikkai's parking lot and his chattering team members piled off, he hauled them together one last time.

"All right, we've had a pretty good warm up," he told them. "We're about to have some good competition. Regionals are around the corner. This is where the real thing starts for us. Fudoumine will be waiting for us there; also Seigaku and Hyoutei. We'll face two of them, the way seeding is most likely to fall. Provided no one gets over-confident and screws up." He gave them a medium stern look and was pleased that they looked back with serious expressions rather than offended ones. "Good. Get out of here, then; I'll expect everyone to be focused on Monday."

The team scattered, but Suzuoki snagged him before Akaya could follow. "Apropos of which," he said, "come say hello to your visitor."

"What visitor?" Akaya asked, a bit suspiciously.

"The one I arranged for you," Suzuoki answered, imperturbably. "Come on." He steered Akaya toward the courts.

Since Akaya's imagination suggested any possibility, from some pro friend of Suzuoki's to Yukimura-san, he was relieved that the person waiting for them by the courts looked like a normal sort of student; high school or college probably.

"Sasaki-kun, it was good of you to stop by," Suzuoki called, sounding so amiable that Akaya's suspicions instantly doubled.

"Always glad to do a favor for my ex-coach," Sasaki returned with a wry smile. "Besides, you made it sound interesting."

Akaya turned a glower on Suzuoki, silently demanding to know what he was up to this time. Suzuoki smirked at him. "You got to play exactly once this weekend and last. You should unwind a little. Besides, you could use an actual challenge."

Since Akaya couldn't argue with any of that, he turned back to the visitor and offered him a resigned greeting. "Kirihara Akaya; pleased to meet you."

"Sasaki Kouji." A wry smile. "Likewise."

"Sasaki-kun was captain of the high school team last year," Suzuoki tossed over his shoulder. "He's on the university team, now, which may, if he's patient, finally result in playing on the same team as Sanada-kun."

"I expect Sanada-kun to go professional straight out of high school," Sasaki contradicted briskly. "If we ever play on the same team it will be longer than three years from now."

"You know Sanada-san?" Akaya asked, slowly.

Sasaki's smile crooked oddly. "I played with him last year. He came to the tennis school I practice at sometimes, looking for someone to sharpen his skills on. He's a very powerful player; it was exciting."

Akaya had to agree, though he found his mind wandering down side paths it really shouldn't be at the moment, and hauled himself back on topic. He hoped he wasn't blushing, now. The sudden hint of speculation in the angle of Sasaki's brows didn't make him hope very hard. Sasaki didn't ask, though, for which Akaya was very grateful.

"So, Prefecturals were as boring as usual?" he asked instead.

"Deathly," Akaya agreed, sourly, now that he didn't have to set an example for any teammates.

Sasaki laughed. "So come play a more interesting game," he invited with a grin.

And it certainly was far more interesting than the past few weeks had been. Sasaki was a very good player, indeed, and Akaya relaxed against that strength with a shiver of relief. It was good not to have to think about little details every second, good to let go and stretch out against an opponent he absolutely had to throw everything at.

Sasaki was smiling even more brightly when they met at the net. "Impressive."

Suzuoki grunted from the sidelines. "Perhaps. But it's still a bad habit." He snorted when they both cocked their heads at him. "The techniques of not-thinking are strong ones, Kirihara-kun, and you learned them from players who use them well. But if thinking about your game is always a burden to you that will be your weakness."

"So why did you arrange an opponent I could not think with?" Akaya wanted to know, feeling slightly guilty and exasperated by it.

"Because you're not ready," Suzuoki told him, bluntly.

"All right, I take the point; I'll work on it," Akaya grumbled, and looked a bit wistfully up at Sasaki. "Can I still play Sasaki-san sometimes, though? I mean," he added, directly to his not-quite-senpai, "if that's all right?"

"I'd like that." Sasaki gave him a sympathetic look before turning questioning eyes on Suzuoki.

"I suppose so," their coach agreed, grudgingly. "He needs someone stronger to work against; you'll do for now."

"I'm so flattered," Sasaki shot back, dryly.

"Nice to know he's like this with everyone," Akaya muttered.

"Oh, no," Sasaki corrected, quite serene. "He's only like this with the very best. You know," he leaned on the net pole, frowning thoughtfully, "I'd rather have liked to see what he would be like with Sanada-kun and your Yukimura-kun."

"No you don't," Akaya stated, with a shudder at the very idea. "Really." He set the horrifying thought away quite firmly and gave Sasaki a hopeful look. "Can we play one more set?"

It was not, he reflected as they set themselves across from each other again, quite as good as playing Sanada-san. But there were enough similarities to make him happy for now.

End

The Rush

Kirihara's second spin through Regionals, and Nationals, as a captain this time. Drama, I-3

The pace of what Akaya couldn't help but think of as the real tournament season had two very different parts. There was the daily practice with his team, which, while demanding and sometimes intense, had a smooth swoop to it. And then there were the actual tournament matches, that sprinted along like a heartbeat after an adrenaline spike. Aside from the pressure of the matches themselves, he finally decided it was the people that made the difference. His own team was familiar; he knew them. Other teams were always a bit of a question mark.

Akaya could feel the difference, pacing down the sidewalks of the grounds hosting Regionals. Rikkai Dai didn't have quite the same edge of cool confidence they'd had last year. The ready fire that had replaced it pleased him, though, even if it did mean keeping an eye out for trouble.

The first bit of trouble turned up, right on schedule, when they came face to face with Fudoumine in front of the match chart.

"Ah, the almost-Champions are here," quipped one of their doubles players, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Ready to defend your second place title?"

Akaya stifled a sigh. Being responsible and captainly and not breaking people like that into little pieces was such a pain. He kept his gaze on Kamio, who, to his credit, looked a lot less cocky and more serious than the one who'd spoken.

Sakamoto was bristling. "Like you have room to talk, Spectator-san," he snapped.

The other player (Mori, wasn't it?) straightened up. "Not this year."

Akaya held up a hand to cut off any escalations from his team. "We'll expect to see you at the final round, then," he told Kamio, and waved Rikkai on. He did take a bit of satisfaction from the disgruntlement on Mori's face at being deprived of any openings. Akaya knew from his own experience just how annoying that could be, when you were geared up to provoke someone. It made his day a little brighter.

Tsunoda, who had taken the opportunity to examine the chart, came up beside him. "Do you think we will see them there? They'll have Rokkaku, Yamabuki and Hyoutei to get through."

"We'll see." Akaya glanced up at Suzuoki. "There shouldn't be anything very urgent on our plate today. Can you take a look at the competition for me?"

"Certainly. Anyone particular you have in mind?"

Akaya huffed with exasperation at the slight curl to their coach's mouth. Everything had to be a test, with Suzuoki. "We know something about Fudoumine already," he sorted teams out loud. "And Hyoutei is across the chart. Seigaku first. Then Hyoutei. I'd like to know something about Rokkaku, this year, too, but there isn't time."

"Send Hisakawa," Suzuoki suggested.

Akaya gave him a sharp look, and nodded slowly. Hisakawa was a good observer. With some experience he might be the analyst of next year's team. Which, of course, was exactly what Suzuoki was suggesting. "Can you tell him some of what to look for?"

"Of course." It was annoying, sometimes, how Suzuoki could sound so disinterested.

"Then I want him to look in on Midoriyama, too." Akaya smiled; that had gotten Suzuoki to look at him straight on. "They still have most of their people from last year. And Seigaku lit a fire under them, then. I want to know how they've turned out."

"Of course." Suzuoki was grinning his thin, sharp grin when he said it this time.

Akaya watched Tsunoda starting to flag. He'd expected that. Kaidou really did have phenomenal staying power. Momoshiro had been wise to put him in Singles Three, the turning point of their matches. Again.

Suzuoki, leaning on the rail behind him, blew smoke past his ear. "Worried about a repeat of last year?" he asked, low voiced.

Akaya snorted. "No."

When he returned to the bench, drenched and panting from his own match with Echizen, Suzuoki smirked at him. "Still not?"

Akaya glared. "No." He thumped down on the bench, and beckoned to Hiiyama. "I'm not worried about you winning this," he said, quietly. "But don't underestimate Momoshiro. He's an analytical player, and a tricky one. Think like you were playing Niou-senpai."

His vice-captain nodded, silently.

Akaya sat back to watch.

"Kirihara-buchou?" This time it was Niiyama leaning on the rail behind him.

"Yes?"

"Did you take Singles Two so you could play Echizen?"

Akaya cocked his head at Niiyama. "Hm. Caught your attention, did he?"

Niiyama looked aside and shrugged. Akaya smiled. He could come back to that later; now looked like a good time for another little push. "Well I didn't object to the idea, that's for sure. But it was kind of a gamble. If Momoshiro had placed Echizen in Singles One, the match would have ended with that last set, because Momoshiro isn't strong enough to beat me." He fell silent, waiting to see how Niiyama would take that.

The look on Niiyama's face was a little sour. "That's kind of... well..."

"The kind of tactic the weaker team uses?" Akaya finished, softly. "It could have looked that way, yes. But strategy is also part of the game; and a good strategy lets you win either way." Words of wisdom from Niou-senpai and Yanagi-san both.

"Mm." Niiyama frowned, and Akaya left the lesson at that. "Buchou, do you think..." Niiyama paused, and Akaya raised a brow. "Do you think I might get a chance to play Echizen?"

"Almost certainly. Next year," the spirit of bedevilment prompted Akaya to reply. He relented, though, at Niiyama's unamused glower. "It's possible." There was, after all, a certain precedent for practice matches. It could be good for Niiyama.

After he'd polished his game a little more with Fudoumine, perhaps Akaya would set it up.

Akaya leaned against the fence beside Momoshiro, wearing a rueful smile. Echizen was hammering Niiyama into the clay.

And they were both grinning.

"Your player looks like he's having fun," Momoshiro observed, sounding amused.

Akaya shrugged. "He asked to play Echizen, after our Regionals match. I wouldn't have agreed if I didn't think he'd get something out of it."

Momoshiro cocked his head. "Is that why you threw him in against Fuji Yuuta, when you played Fudoumine?"

Akaya reminded himself to take his own advice and not underestimate Momoshiro. "It's good to play a variety of opponents," was all he said.

"Yeah," Momoshiro snorted, "how else could you and Echizen pick up so many weird moves to throw at each other."

That, Akaya didn't answer at all. Anything he said would give too much away to an analyst as sharp as the one standing beside him. He didn't really want the people they might still face at Nationals to know that he'd finally learned what Suzuoki-sensei meant, and had figured out exactly why he'd lost to Seigaku's Fuji last year.

It was fun, all right, to toss techniques back and forth with Echizen, playing in a hall of mirrors where anything either of them used might be reflected back again. But it was ultimately useless unless he kept enough awareness to gauge his own strength and movement, and plan accordingly.

Niiyama, now... Akaya watched as he dashed to catch a Drive B. Niiyama would have to come at it from a different angle, he thought. Niiyama tended even more to the straightforward than Akaya had; his best path might simply be to find the strength to support that. If Niiyama found the point where he just acted, Akaya suspected his game might become pure enough to approach even Echizen's. Not that he'd likely be around to see it. "It's really annoying that the High School and Junior High divisions have tournaments at the same time," he remarked with a sigh.

Momoshiro made agreeing noises, apparently following Akaya's train of thought. "There's always video, but it just won't be the same," he mourned.

Considering the possibilities running in the other direction, though, Akaya decided he wouldn't complain too much. He wanted to have a little edge of surprise on his senpai, after all. He smiled as Niiyama drove back a smash. Let Niiyama try to catch him by surprise, too. Fair was fair.

Akaya bounced the ball, eyeing Ibu across the net. He wasn't really surprised that the last round of Nationals had gone to Singles One, though he hadn't expected it to be because Chiba and Furuya slipped up. Clearly, winning against Fudoumine at Regionals had made them cocky. He was going to have a talk with them about overconfidence, as the pair's rather hangdog expressions showed they knew.

He could feel Ibu's focus on him, like the edge of a knife laid against his skin. Not unexpected—he'd known Ibu would be all the more dangerous for having lost once. Now it was time to see who could keep better control of his temper. That was still the crux when he and Ibu played.

As his first serve came back at him, low and fast, it crossed Akaya's mind to be grateful that the final round was against Fudoumine, not Seigaku. Playing Echizen was a rush, albeit with a frustrating aftermath when he came down and realized he'd lost again. But Echizen was too bright, and he dragged people along with him. Ibu played fiercely, but colder, and against him Akaya could find the place he needed, sink down and ride the edge of not-thinking without losing himself in it.

Unlike their last game, this one was silent. Silent and deliberate, for all their speed. Ibu's play was quicksilver, slipping aside from direct attacks only to slash straight in through the slightest gap in attention. Quite like their last one, though, Akaya reflected, as he caught a vicious ankle shot and dropped it back over the net, they were still taunting each other. Body shots and shots that were just barely misses, silent threats and provocations, flew between them—a contest of precision and anger and temptation.

It was, he decided, a damn good thing he wasn't trying to injure Ibu, or he would have been caught in the spiral and pulled off his focus just the way Ibu wanted him to be.

In the end, Akaya wondered whether it wasn't Ibu's own disbelief that Akaya could resist that lure that gave him the edge he needed. He tucked the lesson away in his mind and returned Suzuoki's smirk with an even look, as the referee declared game, set and match.

This year's award and closing ceremonies seemed strange to Akaya. What supported him, as they waited through speeches and stood for pictures, was not a sense of triumph, as when he was a spectator in his first year. He felt triumph, certainly. But what he felt most was quiet satisfaction.

"Dazed?" Suzuoki asked in a low voice as they wound their way through the dispersing crowd.

Akaya snorted out a half-laugh. "Maybe just relaxed; not sure I could tell the difference."

"Hm." They walked in silence the rest of the way, and it wasn't until they were watching the team file onto the bus that Suzuoki spoke again. "You've done well."

Akaya blinked at this rare bit of praise, and smiled. "Yeah," he agreed, softly. "We did."

End

Change

After the tennis season ends, and the third years retire, Kirihara finds himself at irritatingly loose ends. Drama, I-1

When Akaya found himself wandering down the hall where Suzuoki's office was, he knew it was going to be bad. He stood and stared at the door he really hadn't intentionally moved toward at any time that afternoon, finally giving in and thumping his head against it a few times.

"Come in," Suzuoki called in dry invitation.

Akaya toed the door open and leaned in the frame. "Have I forgotten anything?" he asked, unable to keep the plaintive note out of his voice.

Suzuoki eyed him with sardonic amusement. "Hard time letting go, hm?"

"It's not that!" Akaya protested. "It just feels like there must be something I forgot, or something I have to do." He trailed off and crossed his arms, frowning at the tile floor.

"There isn't and you don't," Suzuoki told him bluntly. The twist of his mouth spoke of sympathy as well as amusement, though. "It's going to be uncomfortable for a while, Kirihara-kun. But this is a good time to start learning from Yukimura-kun's example again, and trust that Niiyama-kun will do well by the team."

Akaya grumbled under his breath as he stalked out of the building and across the school grounds. He knew all that, it just felt all wrong, and... His thoughts slid into silence as he noticed who was leaning against the gates.

"Yukimura-san."

Yukimura-san looked up and smiled. "Akaya." He pushed off from the wall and fell into step beside Akaya, who stole tiny glances from the corner of his eye, wondering.

"I thought you might be feeling a little dazed today," Yukimura-san said, at last.

"It's just weird not to be so busy anymore," Akaya muttered.

"That, too," Yukimura-san agreed, quietly.

After a few more minutes of walking in silence, Akaya sighed. "It's hard. To just stop."

A rueful chuckle answered him. "It nearly drove me crazy, last year," Yukimura-san agreed. "Do you trust the one you've left behind?"

Akaya stuffed his hands into his pockets, slightly grumpy again. "Of course I do." He'd made as sure as he could that Niiyama was ready, after all.

"Well, it won't stop you worrying," Yukimura-san told him in a factual tone, "but it will stop you from going completely insane. As long as you remember it." He gave Akaya a fond smile. "I speak from experience."

Akaya almost missed his next step and felt his face heat.

"I'll be glad when you're back with us, next year," Yukimura-san finished, tactfully looking straight ahead, though the corners of his mouth tweaked up.

Akaya didn't answer but he did feel, as they walked along, a little less as though he had run into a brick wall this week. He tucked his hands into his pockets.

"So how are the classes in the High School, Yukimura-san?"

End

Promise

Knowing the history of Byakuya's promises, Rukia makes one of her own, and hopes Renji can accept it. Drama with Angst, I-4.

Rukia walked to cool down, through the streets and lower courts, circling until she caught her breath and her muscles stopped burning. When her hands finally agreed to close firmly again she climbed up to the roof of the Thirteenth Division offices to watch the sunset. It was a familiar thing to do. She couldn't decide whether it comforted her or just made her feel more alien now, with everything so changed.

The sunset itself was beautiful, though.

"Ah. I wondered if I would find you up here." Ukitake-taichou settled, soundlessly, beside her.

"Did you need me for something, Taichou?" Rukia unclasped her arms from around her legs and straightened.

"No, no, relax." Ukitake-taichou smiled down at her. "No need to spoil the sunset; you always did like coming up here to watch."

Rukia was worn out enough to take him at his word. They watched the sky until the last hint of teal faded away and the stars were out. Finally, though, Rukia sighed and cupped her hands together, whispering the words for light. She released it over their heads and turned to face her captain. "What is it, Taichou?"

Ukitake-taichou gave her a wry look. "Can't fool you, can I?" He eyed the captured seed of brightness above them. "I forget, sometimes, just how great a volume of kidou you know. Sometimes I wonder if you shouldn't have gone into the Second Division, where you'd use more of it on a regular basis."

Second? Rukia felt a cold grue crawl down her spine. The only division she would less want to be in was the Twelfth! She shook her head. "I'm happy here."

"That's good to hear." Ukitake-taichou leaned back on his hands. "You've been practicing with Abarai so much, lately, I was starting to wonder if you wanted to transfer to your brother's Division."

"No!" Rukia bit her lip as Ukitake-taichou started upright. Less vehemently, but still firmly, she repeated, "No. I'm happy here. And I wouldn't do that to him."

Her captain cocked his head. "Which him?"

Rukia blinked. "... either of them," she answered after a long pause. She tossed her head as if to shake off her thoughts. "I practice with Renji because he's the only one who doesn't treat me like either an avatar or an idiot. Well," she added, "he does still treat me like an idiot, sometimes, but that's just Renji."

"He does seem very fond of you," Ukitake-taichou chuckled.

Rukia flinched.

"It's like that, is it?" her captain asked, softly.

Rukia looked away. "I won't ask Nii-sama to break his promise," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "I won't put him between his promises again." If her adoption was the last rule to be broken in the house of Kuchiki... then so be it. Her knuckles whitened.

Ukitake-taichou sighed and reached out to ruffle her hair. "If that's your choice. Just let me know when you're ready, then. I'll clear a court for the day and grab someone from Fourth, for your poor unsuspecting division-mates."

Rukia stared. Ukitake-taichou laughed out loud. "Oh, come now. It's obvious what you've been training toward." He smiled at her, gently. "I'm glad to see you've finally found the heart to advance seriously." He stood and stretched. "I'll look forward to watching."

"Thank you, Taichou," Rukia whispered to the breeze he left behind him.

Another day, another walk. This one not to cool down, but to compose herself. She focused on one detail after another, as she walked through the halls of her house. Steps measured. Hands steady. Expression calm. Breathing even. At last she stood at the door of her brother's room. One more breath.

She knelt and slid the door aside.

Byakuya-nii-sama didn't move from where he sat looking out into one of the gardens. "You challenged for a higher seat today," he remarked.

Rukia's mouth quirked before she schooled her expression again. News had traveled fast. "Yes," she agreed. "I am now seated third in the Thirteenth Division." A great ways to advance in a single day. A single, very long, day. She ordered her leg muscles not to start shaking again.

"Good," her brother stated. "How soon will you rise to fuku-taichou?"

Rukia lifted her head, proudly. "Within two years," she answered, prompt and firm.

Now, Nii-sama turned his head, brow lifted. Rukia held his gaze, shoulders straight. Perhaps she wasn't the prodigy that her brother was, and perhaps she hadn't driven herself as hard as Renji had. At least, she hadn't used to. But if she had a cause to put her strength toward, she believed she could do it.

A subtle softening passed over her brother's face. Nothing so overt as a smile, but Rukia brightened to see it. I'll make our house proud, she assured him silently. I will. I promise.

"Good," he repeated, voice a shade warmer.

Rukia bowed and withdrew, breaking into a grin as she ran back to her own room.

Rukia was happily off-duty and lying in the grass trying to blow all the fluff off a dandelion when Renji tracked her down.

"So!" he thumped down beside her, cross-legged, sake bottle a smaller thump a second later. "I hear you advanced. About time you got your lazy ass in gear."

"As if you should talk, Mr. Brow-nosing Social Climber," she shot back, lazily.

"Me!" he protested. "Who's the noble house girl, again?"

She grinned at him with a wicked gleam in her eye. "I'm not the one who acts like a noble house-boy."

"You little," he sputtered and swatted at her. She ducked, laughing.

"Yep. Little and fast, not a big, clumsy oaf like some people I could mention."

Renji flopped back in the grass with a groan. "I forgot what a mouth you've got on you, when you're in a good mood." He took a swig from the bottle and held it out to her. "Here. Drink up. You'll be too busy to celebrate soon, I bet." He leaned up on an elbow and eyed her with an evil grin of his own. "You did remember, didn't you, that Third Seat in your division gets to do all a vice-captain's work without any of the advantages?"

Rukia tipped the bottle back for a healthy swallow. "Of course I did." She shrugged. "Ukitake-taichou deserves a break from those two maniacs."

Renji's toothy grin softened. "Always you do it for someone else." He shook his head and snorted. "Well," he added in a more normal tone, "I bet Kuchiki-taichou was pleased. Not that he'd have said so. No, I bet the first thing he said was 'So when are you getting the next level?' Wasn't it?"

Rukia drew herself up and looked down her nose at him. "It was not."

"Oh?" Renji arched a skeptical brow.

"It was the second thing he said," Rukia informed him with dignity. "The first thing he said was 'Good.'"

"Wow," Renji marveled with mock-amazement, "he must be going soft in his old age."

"Maybe he is." Rukia brushed her fingertips over the now-uneven fluff of the dandelion. "I used to think he didn't care. Now," she paused, "now I think he just tries not to." She folded up her knees and wrapped her arms around them, a little of her old forlorn feeling trying to creep back. "Knowing the whole story... I'm amazed he doesn't hate me. Can you imagine? Your wife spends her marriage to you distracted by someone else, and then her dying wish is for you to find that someone and take them in?" She shivered.

"Yeah," Renji agreed, slowly. "That must have hurt."

Rukia hugged her knees tighter, words becoming muffled. "Why does it seem like everyone misses love by looking the wrong way? They ignore it while they have it, or they don't notice it when they find it. Or they find it when it's too late."

Renji frowned. "Rukia..."

"You know," she hurried on, "while I was in the human world... I remembered how much I missed having a friend. Someone I trusted enough to yell at and argue with. A real friend." She looked up, biting her lip. "I missed you."

Renji's face was still. "Yeah, me too," he answered at last, quietly. He leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky. "You think Kuchiki-taichou trusts anyone?"

He did understand. Rukia gave him a shaky smile of gratitude. "He's starting to." She cleared her throat to dislodge the catch in it. "A little." Her smile steadied. "Hard for even him to deny it after admitting he cares in front of half the captains and vice-captains."

"Ha!" Renji's bark of laughter sounded a little like her throat clearing. "If anyone had the brass balls to deny it, it would be him."

"Yes," Rukia said, softly. "Nii-sama believes very much in propriety." Which did not include another commoner marrying a member of Kuchiki. Even if that member had started as a commoner herself. "Pass that bottle over, Renji. Quit hogging the sake."

"You're an idiot," Renji told her, tossing the bottle to her. "Not as much of an idiot as me, but damn close. You always put everyone but yourself first."

"You can't put everyone first," Rukia whispered. "One person has to come before another." She took a long swallow, letting the burn of alcohol loosen the knot in her chest. "And who says I'm not as much of an idiot as you?" she managed. "You and your competitive streak."

"In some things, I am indubitably superior," Renji enunciated, waving a hand to get the bottle back.

Rukia eyed him measuringly. "I suppose I have to let you have this one," she allowed. "After all, I'm not enough of an idiot to lie with my hand behind my head right next to someone who knows... " she grinned evilly, "all my ticklish spots." She darted a hand between them and tickled his ribs.

Renji squawked and flailed. "Damn it, Rukia! That's cheating! Cut that out!"

Rukia sprang back out of reach, laughing. Renji glared at her, panting for breath. "Not only," he growled, "do you pull a sneak attack, but you keep all the sake! This means war!"

"Hmmmm." She pulled a thoughtful face. "So, if I buy you a bottle of your own, will that mean truce?"

Renji hauled himself to his feet, looking as dignified as he could with grass in his hair and a smile twitching at his mouth. "Always knew you'd be good at diplomacy."

They walked close, as they turned back toward the city, but Rukia noticed Renji was careful not to even brush against her shoulder.

Maybe she'd get another bottle for herself, too.

Nii-sama...

End

Patch

Renji gets an offer and wibbles hesitates over it; Byakuya pounds talks some sense into him. Drama, I-3

Renji eyed the messenger, entertained, in a detached kind of way, at how out of place he looked in the middle of the muddy practice ground behind the south sixth court. Though Kuchiki-taichou would undoubtedly approve of the poor guy's formal words and poker-up-the-ass posture.

"... so, that being the case, a quorum of the Thirteen—" the messenger's voice stumbled, "of the... remaining Thirteen division captains call you before them to receive their acclamation as captain of the Fifth Division."

Renji's hand twitched once toward the paper held out by the messenger, before he closed it into a fist by his side.

"I can't accept it," he said quietly.

"Then please come at once to... you what?!" The messenger gaped at him, poise blown away. A wry smirk curled Renji's mouth, imagining his captain's expression of chilly disapproval, now.

"You deaf?" he prodded. "I can't accept it." Humor drained away again, and he added, soft and hard, "Not yet." The messenger opened and closed his mouth a few times, waving the paper at him, and Renji wheeled around and stuffed his hands into his sleeves to keep from reaching for it after all. "Don't you have work to be doing?" he growled over his shoulder.

"I... I'll... take your... your refusal... to the captains then," the messenger stammered, sounding dazed. "Um. Yes."

Renji caught some pretty uncomplimentary muttering as the messenger took himself off, and snorted. "I can't accept it," he repeated to empty air. "Not yet."

Lifting his eyes, he caught Kuchiki Byakuya's expressionless gaze for one moment before his captain was gone from the balcony where he'd been listening.

Renji liked to think that he stayed alert for anything, even when he was at home.

Anything, however, didn't usually include a tiny brat of a fellow vice-captain landing on his shoulders and pounding him on the head with a small but very hard fist.

"Renji, you idiot!"

"Ow!" Renji's chin hit the tatami before he managed to haul her off. "Yachiru, what the hell?!"

Yachiru dangled from his fist, glaring at him. "What do you think you're doing, disobeying your captain's orders?"

Renji squinted at her, wondering if Rangiku had invited Yachiru over for sake again. He thought they'd all learned better, after last time. "What the hell are you talking about? I haven't disobeyed orders!" He paused. "Well, not recently." Then he howled as Yachiru kicked him in the elbow and squirmed out of his grip to stand in front of him with her arms crossed, tapping a toe.

"Your promotion," she snapped. "Who do you think nominated you?"

Renji blinked at her while his brain worked through what she'd just implied. It took a while. "Kuchiki... taichou?" he said at last, voice thin with disbelief.

"Exactly!" She walloped him another one while he was distracted.

"But," Renji protested, with his hands over his head, "but I'm not... I still have to..." He stopped as Yachiru's glare cranked up another notch. When she spoke her voice was very calm and Renji sat up straight. When Yachiru got serious, smart people listened up.

"Three captains are gone. Hisagi can temporarily take the Ninth; they're shaken, but they all know him and trust him. The Third and Fifth, though," she shook her head, eyes shadowed. "They're broken. And Momo and Izuru... they... " she bit her lip. "Even Unohana-taichou can't say when she might recover, and he's... not doing well." She jammed her fists on her hips and stomped closer, until they were nose to nose. "So quit acting so stupid and take the promotion! It's your duty to the divisions, and to your captain, who obviously knows which way is up even if you don't!"

Renji veered off from that last bit and picked something else to argue with. "So they can advance Ikkaku-san," he told Yachiru, stubbornly. "Anyone can tell he's half past ready, for all he's been slacking up till now. And Ayasegawa can go along as his vice-captain. They'd be a good change of pace for the Fifth."

"They're moving to the Third, already," she shot back.

"They should move Rangiku to Third," he grumbled. "It'd be good for them and for her, both."

"She's not ready to move up," Yachiru said, flatly. "And Hitsugaya-taichou is good for her already. You know she needs someone to look after her."

Ticking down the list of vice-captains, Renji had to admit that the only people who were really ready to move up were him and Yachiru. And one look at the glint in her eye decided him that he wasn't crazy enough to suggest that Yachiru leave her captain.

"All right, all right!" he exploded, at last. "Get out of here and leave me alone, you little brat! I'll think about it."

Yachiru beamed at him, serious look evaporating. "Sure thing, Rakugaki!" She hopped out his window with a cheerful wave. Renji growled after her. She didn't have to look so sure she'd won, already, did she?

He sprawled out on his back, staring up at his ceiling blankly. "Taichou," he murmured. "Did you really?"

Renji spent the next day shooting thoroughly weirded out looks at his captain. It was hard to tell for sure, but he thought Kuchiki-taichou was amused by it.

There was a suspicious lack of any one else getting promoted to the Fifth that made Renji grit his teeth every time he noticed it. Now, on top of his urge to press forward and the pride that demanded he catch Kuchiki-taichou first, he had the urge to be contrary and tell them to all fuck off piled into the mix. It didn't make for a peaceful day.

When he realized he was thinking about tracking down that Ichigo for a really good fight, Renji decided he had to do something. Maybe he could talk it over with Rukia...

He stormed off to the dojo and yelled at the Captain-General until the old man agreed to a match, instead.

"Finding excuses to slack off of your duties?"

Renji craned his head to see Kuchiki-taichou standing in the doorway before Yamada hauled his chin back around.

"Hold still, Renji-san," Yamada told him, firmly, shining a light in his eyes.

"I'm fine," Renji grumbled, trying to bat the light away. "Just got a little knocked around. And I finished the paperwork before I left," he added to his captain.

Kuchiki-taichou's eyes narrowed a fraction. Renji stifled a wince. Okay, so the paperwork wasn't what the Captain was talking about. He hunched up a little, as far as the bandages would let him; it wasn't that unreasonable that he wanted to kick Kuchiki-taichou's ass into next week before advancing, he thought mulishly. There were things a man had to do for his own pride.

Yamada smacked him on the shoulder with two fingers, and tried to look stern when Renji goggled at him. "Stop that, Renji-san. I haven't finished with your ribs yet." He turned to face Kuchiki-taichou, and Renji figured he was probably the only one close enough to tell that the poor guy's knees were shaking. "Kuchiki-taichou, your fuku-taichou will be released in two hours."

Yamada clearly didn't quite have the guts to tell Kuchiki-taichou to take a hike. Renji didn't blame him, not with the cold stare he was getting.

"I see."

Renji snorted as Kuchiki-taichou turned and swept back down the hall, and Yamada slumped against the examining table. "Entire damn place has lost its mind lately," he muttered, clouting Yamada on the shoulder. "Don't worry. He's a stickler for protocol; wouldn't kill anyone who isn't in his own division."

Renji couldn't help remembering that he was, in fact, in Kuchiki-taichou's division, when he was released from the clutches of Fourth Division only to find his captain waiting at the door.

"Come," Kuchiki-taichou ordered, briskly.

Renji followed along, sighing. At least whatever deadly dull penalty job his captain had in mind would probably keep him busy.

They finally stopped at one of the practice fields. Renji, figuring that he was about to be assigned to cut the grass with nail-clippers or something, felt his jaw drop when Kuchiki-taichou undid the bundle under his arm and tossed Zabimaru at him. "Taichou?" he asked, slowly, staring at his zanpaku-tou.

"The Thirteen Divisions have no use for deadwood," Kuchiki-taichou stated, drawing Senbonzakura.

Renji's brain scrambled to make sense of the whole situation, but his body already knew this was a fight and was more interested in not dying. He drew Zabimaru. After this long under Kuchiki-taichou, Renji knew for a fact that he was serious. He was always serious. Icicle-bastard.

"Prove that you are not ready, and I will revoke my nomination," Kuchiki-taichou told him, evenly. "Hold back and I will kill you.

"Scatter..."

Renji came to starting at the sky, covered in slime, with Unohana-taichou standing over him as she sealed her zanpaku-tou. "That was reckless, Kuchiki-taichou," she scolded, mildly.

"It was necessary," his voice corrected.

Renji managed to turn his head and squint up at the figure looming on his other side. Kuchiki-taichou looked down at him, detached as always. "Closer," Renji rasped. "This time."

One brow tilted slightly. "Perhaps," Kuchiki-taichou returned. "In any case, my nomination stands. You will report to accept it." He turned away while Renji was still trying to muster the energy to scowl.

Two steps away, though, he stopped. "I have only fought four others who have come closer since I became captain myself. Stop wasting time arguing your fitness. Abarai-taichou."

Renji felt his face heat. Oh, he was not... he was not blushing. No. No way. He made an uncomfortable sound, flailing for anything he could say that wouldn't result in yet more embarrassment. Unohana-taichou had a hand over her mouth, and her eyes were sparkling. Renji squirmed.

Kuchiki-taichou looked over his shoulder. A faint curve marked one corner of his mouth. "Someone to chase, to get stronger, wasn't it? What made you think that would change? It would take considerably more than a promotion to make you my equal. Work for it."

Renji stared, and then laughed, and then coughed as the laugh caught on the pain still running through his chest. "Ah," he gasped, at last. "Then I'll just have to do more, huh? Taichou."

Kuchiki-taichou's dismissive glance, raking him up and down before he turned away again, made Renji hold his stomach as another laugh clawed its way free. He grinned through clenched teeth at his captain's retreating back.

"More it is, then."

End

A/N: Rakugaki means scrawl or scribble or graffiti. It seemed a likely nickname for Yachiru to use for Renji.

Tea

Rukia campaigns against her brother's stoicism. Drama with Fluff, I-2.

Rukia drew some odd looks, marching through the main offices of Sixth Division with a tray of tea. She smiled back, cheerfully, at the ones who seemed most nonplussed, but that only made them edge away from her.

Perhaps "cheerful" plus "determined" was a bit unnerving.

Well, so much the better. Nii-sama should know she meant business. Rukia called her entry at his door and set down her tray beside his desk. "Good evening, Nii-sama."

Her brother regarded the cup of tea she poured and set in front of him as if it were a new subordinate of questionable ability. "You have your own captain to take care of, Rukia," he said, at last.

"I already sent Ukitake-taichou home to his tea," she shrugged. "You're more stubborn than he is, so I thought I had better bring the tea to you."

Her brother gave her a cool look. Rukia returned it with a serene one, not giving an inch. Something that might have been amusement and might have been resignation flickered over his face, and Rukia had to stifle a broad grin as he set down his pen and curved his hands around the hot cup. She turned aside to be sure she hid it, pouring another cup for her brother's new vice-captain.

"I expect you should take a break, too, Kira," she told him gently. The way she set his cup down squarely on top of the papers he'd been working on was a good deal less gentle. He eyed her, looking rather bemused.

"Thank you..." he started, slowly.

"Rukia," she broke in, firmly, before he could evolve a properly elaborate form of address for her. "Just Rukia. Rukia-san, if you must; we were classmates, after all. Renji's right, you know, you're too formal sometimes."

A smile twitched at his mouth. "Rukia-san."

She smiled back, pleased.

Turning, she caught a glint of approval in her brother's eyes. Kira must have been more withdrawn than she'd though, if Nii-sama's relief at this small liveliness in his vice-captain overrode his disapproval for Rukia's informality.

"Rukia. Do not make light of the noble houses," he reprimanded.

... even for a minute.

"Yes, Nii-sama." She patted Kira's hand in reassurance as she turned away. Nii-sama looked slightly taken aback by her calm response, she noted with some satisfaction.

It was a start.

Rukia settled herself on one of the cushions in her room, just a little gingerly. It had been a vigorous training session today, since Ukitake-taichou had gotten Kyouraku-taichou to come work with her. She was grateful, but even a long hot soak hadn't been able to get rid of all the aches afterwards.

A low voice at her door made her start a little and then wince at the twinges through her shoulders. She blinked at the figure in the doorway. "Nii-sama."

With a tray of tea.

Rukia smiled as he came to sit with her, accepting a cup carefully. Her hands were still tingling slightly. The heat of the cup soothed them, and she sighed with relief. "Thank you."

Her brother nodded, quietly. "You're making good progress," he said, after a while.

Rukia had to blink back sudden wetness in her eyes. "I want to make you proud, Nii-sama," she said, just a little husky. She looked down at her tea. "I know it probably hasn't looked like it, in the past."

Nii-sama was silent for a long moment. "I believe you will," he answered, at last.

Rukia took a quick sip of tea to clear her throat. "So. How was your day?"

Nii-sama looked a bit amused at the terribly domestic question, which pleased her.

Rukia leaned in the doorway, watching her brother. To a surface glance, he was the image of tranquility, sitting with a cup of tea and looking out at the stream that ran behind the east wing of the house. It was the tiny, subtle clues that gave him away. Shoulders a little too straight, arms a little too rigid, mouth a lot too tight.

She'd been afraid of him for a long time, seeing his helpless rage and not knowing where it came from or when it might be directed straight at her instead of brushing past. Now...

Rukia came, soft footed, to sit at his side and rested her head, lightly, on his shoulder.

The shoulder under her tensed and she sighed, closing her eyes. Against the back of the lids she saw the three graves of her first family. "I won't leave you, Nii-sama," she whispered.

After a still moment he stirred, lifting a hand to rest on her hair. He spoke very quietly. "Don't make impossible promises."

"I'm not." Rukia let her eyes follow the sun-sparks on the water. "I might be taken from you. I know that. But I won't leave you."

Nii-sama was still for a moment before he took her shoulder and turned her to face him. He had the most alive look Rukia thought she'd ever seen on his face. Not an entirely happy look; for all that his lips had curved up his eyes were sad. But alive. She lifted a shaking hand and touched her fingertips to his sleeve. He captured the hand in his own.

"Thank you, my sister," he told her, and Rukia bit her lip at the note of warmth buried in that deep voice.

"Nii-sama..." She took a quick breath. "Will you come walk with me, for a little?"

It wasn't until she had him out in the sunshine on the other side of the stream that she let herself grin, for the half-cup of tea he had left haphazardly on the excruciatingly neat floor behind him.

End

Marks of Time

Renji deals with his new job, and the echos of his old one. Drama, I-3

Renji collapsed into his desk chair with a groan. "Who knew I'd ever appreciate paperwork?" he muttered, slumping over. Paperwork, at least, didn't explode or kill anyone or change into weird, unpredictable hybrids. It was peaceful and unassuming and just sat there, not making any trouble or even (directly) demanding anything.

A tentative tap came at the door, and he glared at it. He knew he should have taken the time to barricade it. "What now?" he growled. His vice-captain stuck his head, with exaggerated caution, around the frame.

"The eighth squad is back," Tsumura reported quickly. "They're all in good shape."

Renji felt a bit of tension unwind from his shoulders. Of all the good and bad aspects to his new job, the one he hated worst was having to wait, so often, to hear back about the people he sent out. Especially hunting Hollows that made it here, into Soul Society. It didn't help at all that Rikichi, the little idiot, was in eighth squad.

If he had ever doubted that Kuchiki would find a way to punish him for his rampant insubordination during the craziness over Rukia, he didn't doubt it any longer.

"Is that everyone?" he asked, frowning.

Reassured that his captain was too exhausted to do any yelling today, Tsumura came into the offices and shut the door behind him. "Yes, that's everyone back and accounted for. I have their reports," he waved a fresh sheaf of papers, and then eyed the stack already on Renji's desk. "Shall I see to them?"

"No, give 'em here. You can take care of the damn requisitions." Renji traded off paper piles with a toothy if tired grin at Tsumura's woeful look. Material requisitions was the most boring and most never-ending paper stack of the whole lot.

Sorting out what could be filed straight off and what needed to be passed on to other divisions, on the other hand, was soothing. Monotonous but soothing. The steady scratch and shuffle from the other desk helped. In fact, it helped so much Renji found himself rubbing his eyes.

"Taichou," Tsumura said at last, quietly, "I can take care of the rest of this. You should get some rest."

"I'll just have to read them later anyway." Renji clenched his teeth on a yawn. "And if I get behind on them I'll never catch up; there are more every day."

Tsumura frowned, dark and sudden. That was unusual enough, in his sunny vice-captain, that Renji paused with brows raised.

"There are," Tsumura said slowly. "Abarai-taichou... does it seem to you that Fifth is getting more assignments than the other divisions?"

Renji leaned back in his chair, considering. He'd been putting the frantic pace down to his nervousness about his new position, but looking at it objectively there were more than he'd been used to seeing with Sixth Division. "Could be," he agreed, thoughtfully. "Kind of hard on you and me, but it does keep everyone else busy and distracted. That might even be why."

"Oh." Tsumura relaxed and brightened again. "Of course; I should have thought of that. The Captain-General is very thoughtful."

Someone was thoughtful, Renji decided, as Tsumura bent over his papers again. As for who it was and what they were thinking... he'd find that out.

"Kuchiki-taichou?!"

The Captain-General blinked at Renji benignly. "Yes, of course. I thought you knew. But perhaps Byakuya-kun didn't want his protÃ©gÃ© influenced by expectations."

"ProtÃ©gÃ©?" Renji stared with his jaw hanging open. He hadn't just heard that. Really, he hadn't.

But why the hell would Kuchiki be doing this? What did he gain by pushing Renji to do more than any other newly promoted captain was expected to? To do...

...more.

Renji's eyes narrowed, glaring at air that he fondly imagined filled by his ex-captain.

"Excuse me, Captain-General," he gritted between his teeth.

"Of course." The glint of amusement in the old man's eyes didn't help Renji's temper in the least as he stalked out. By the time he left the inner courts he was running, and by the time he slammed open the door of the Sixth's practice floor he was ready to breathe fire.

Kuchiki-taichou paused in his solitary practice, glancing aside at the intruder with every bit of his usual chill disinterest. "Abarai-taichou."

"Just who the hell appointed you my career manager?" Renji bit out.

Kuchiki's eyes narrowed. "Are you ready to challenge me again, then, Renji?"

Renji jerked back, stung. It was completely unfair to turn his own determination, his own promise to himself, around on him like that, especially after forcing him to compromise it. He fumed. "Son of a bitch," he muttered at last, with deep conviction.

"Come back when you are, then." Kuchiki-taichou turned his gaze back ahead and took the next gliding step in his form.

Renji growled low in his throat. "I will." He strode back out, vibrating with thwarted frustration.

"... and last, the Divisions extend their recognition and thanks to Abarai for bringing the Fifth back up to full strength and more. That's all. You are dismissed."

Renji spared a fulminating look for the Captain-General before he had to turn away to deal with Kurotschi's needling and Kyouraku's knowing grin.

"You've got no idea how glad I am it's you, now, instead of me," Hitsugaya muttered in passing. If Renji had been able to spare the time and attention he could have explained at length that he had a very damn good idea. The shreds of his dignity barely kept him from grabbing Ikkaku-san, who was tiptoeing out the door, by the back of his coat and hauling him back into the hall to face his fair share of the successful-new-captain attention.

On the other hand, Ikkaku-san didn't have Kuchiki Byakuya driving him on. Renji slipped an evil look at his ex-captain only to stop dead, blinking, as Kuchiki... smiled? Yes. He was smiling. Not much but enough for anyone who'd spent a lot of time around him to see it.

Renji shook himself and turned away with a snort. ProtÃ©gÃ©. What a load of crap.

At this rate, he'd start believing Rukia when she said the icicle-bastard really did have a heart.

He firmly ignored the tiny warmth in his chest that answered Kuchiki-taichou's faint smile of approval.

End

Only A Story

Byakuya and Rukia speak of regrets and possibilities. Drama with Romantic Angst, I-4.

"Tell me about Hisana."

It was starting to have the comfort of ritual, for them. Rukia thought of it, irreverently, as her bedtime story. Whenever she and her brother shared an evening, she asked.

"She loved growing things," Nii-sama said, tonight. Perhaps the gardens had brought it to mind, for him; Rukia had insisted he come tell her what kind of flower was blooming, tiny and blue, on one of the bushes. He trailed his fingers through the leaves and flowers, releasing more of the light, sweet scent into the evening. "Many of these, she chose."

Rukia smiled, kneeling by the bush. She liked finding things she had in common with her sister. Though she doubted she'd ever have the patience to actually choose and arrange a garden.

"Her love of life was more contained than yours."

Rukia looked up just a bit guiltily, wondering how much of her thought had shown on her face. Nii-sama wasn't watching her, though; his eyes were distant.

"I've often thought that was why she died, in the end," he said, voice fading into the dusk. Rukia bit her lip. When he finally looked down at her his eyes were sharp again, though. "How much theory of spirit and form did you have before I took you from the Academy?"

"I had the basic course. I was thinking of the advanced one, but..." Rukia shrugged. "Ukitake-taichou taught me a little more."

Nii-sama's tone turned precise and scholarly, the way it did when he explained anything. Rukia hid a smile; she sometimes thought it was a shame that he couldn't have become a teacher. Though he'd have scared his fainter-hearted students half to death, no doubt. "In the human world, spirit is a function of bodies. In our world, bodies are a function of spirit," he began, and she nodded. That axiom she was familiar with. "Even among humans, regret and despair can kill, if they're strong enough. Among us..." Rukia's eyes widened and she reached up to touch her brother's hand. "They do not have to be as strong," he finished. His fingers tightened on hers for a breath.

"The stronger the sense of spirit and self, the greater the power," he continued eventually. "What you may not have learned is that those two things do not always go together. Hisana had a strong spirit. Her sense of self, though, was... injured." He looked down at Rukia, and the tight line of his mouth softened. "You are strong in both."

Rukia stood and gazed up at him solemnly. "I won't leave you."

An unaccustomed hint of humor quirked up the corner of his mouth and his hand brushed her shoulder as he stepped past her. "You're also more stubborn," he remarked. "Though perhaps I'm not one who should say it, when we're speaking of Hisana. It was my own stubbornness that brought us together. Even had I not been the head of the house, even had I been able to marry, more properly, from the house to be with her... that kind of thing is only appropriate with a spouse of high rank. Or sufficient honor."

There was something in his tone, tonight, a weight of meaning, of implication, that was unusual. Stubbornness, propriety, marriage from the house... a spouse of sufficient honor. Rukia stared at his back as she worked through the parallel he might be offering her. "Nii-sama," she managed, at last.

His voice was soft. "The fact that you are strong enough to bear regrets does not mean that I wish you to do so, Rukia."

She came to his side, then, and caught his sleeve, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Either way, there are regrets," she whispered.

His arm came up around her lightly, silently, in the dusk.

End

Stare at the Sun

Renji catches a glimpse of Rukia dealing with her own new position. Drama with some Angst, I-3

"Are you sure it isn't a problem to do this right now?"

Not, Renji had to admit, that the Thirteenth Division seemed any less motivated because their captain was sitting on the sidelines talking personnel instead of directing. At least not the handful of squads involved in this exercise. The shinigami side chased the Hollow side good and sharp.

Maybe it had something to do with who was standing in for Ukitake-taichou. Renji thought he'd probably jump, too, if Rukia was barking at him like that.

It was good to know she hadn't lost any of the edge off her vocabulary after all those years in a noble house.

His grin lingered as he turned back to Ukitake, who was waving a dismissive hand.

"No problem at all. Might as well get some work done while I'm sidelined." He frowned a bit. "Are you sure you want to let this one transfer, though? With his battle record...?"

"Very," Renji growled before he could stop himself. "I mean... ! I'm sure I'll be able to work around it. That's a captain's job, right?" He didn't think his attempt at a hearty laugh fooled anyone. Ukitake's eyes were twinkling, for pity's sake. Renji sighed, wondering who else he could palm off Sukikase on. He'd already been in and out of all the other Divisions. Back to Eleventh, maybe, and hope Zaraki killed the man, this time?

"Captain!" A booming bass exclamation interrupted them. "I have the medication you left behind today! Please accept this sign of my great respect!"

A screech answered. "Kotsubaki, you cheater! I was going to say that! Give me that bottle, I'll deliver it to the Captain!"

Ukitake sighed, and Renji eyed the approaching scuffle. He really, really hoped Ukitake wasn't as evil-minded as, say, Rukia, for example, was. Because if he were then he'd offer to trade these two for Sukikase.

Rukia's head swiveled to fix the pair with a stare to do a basilisk proud. "Kotsubaki! Kotetsu!" Her voice cracked out like a whip.

Even Ukitake jumped a little, and his two fourth seat officers froze—with Kotsubaki's hand jammed in Kotetsu's face to hold her off while she flailed for the bottle and Kotetsu's foot drawn back to kick him in the shins. They blinked at Rukia.

"You embarrass our division and our captain, acting like this," she rapped out.

They wilted under her stern look, shooting hangdog glances at Ukitake as they shuffled upright, straightening their uniforms.

"Yes, Rukia-san. Sorry."

"My apologies, Rukia-san."

Renji had to stifle a laugh, and a comment of Bossy as ever. Those two looked like little kids called on the carpet for getting their best clothes muddy or something. And then their expressions changed, and he started.

Kotetsu gained a small, shy smile. Kotsubaki looked down at his toes before glancing back up, and Renji could swear he was blushing. He turned to look at Rukia, wondering if she'd cast some spell he'd never heard of on them.

And maybe it was magic, but it wasn't one he didn't know. Rukia was smiling at them, gentle and warm. A fond look that lit up the air around her like the sun had suddenly come out.

"Why don't you two go help the Hollow side?" she suggested, taking the medicine with, he couldn't help noting distantly, a thief's deft snatch. "I think the shinigami side is having too easy a time." She deposited the bottle beside Ukitake and herded Kotsubaki and Kotetsu off to join the exercise.

Renji sat down with a thump.

"Abarai-kun?" Ukitake asked, mid-swig. "You look like you could use some of this stuff yourself. Is something wrong?"

"She used to smile like that." It came out in a whisper as he stared after Rukia, feeling like he couldn't catch his breath. "She used to." Before they became shinigami, before she was Kuchiki, before...

Ukitake cocked his head, hair sliding over his shoulder. "So?" he said, softly. "Now she does again? She's gained things. Family. Friends. That's something to smile about, isn't it?"

Family. A brother; Nii-sama. And friends. Best friends; just friends. The words echoed in his head, and the echos hit him like rocks, and Renji turned a glare on Ukitake only to find Ukitake's eyes dark and serious, not mocking at all. Renji turned away sharply. "Yeah, it is." He cleared his throat, hoping to clear the harshness from his tone. "So about this transfer."

"I'll take him," Ukitake agreed. "As long as Kuchiki is here, Thirteenth can handle all its problem children just fine."

Renji's mouth curled in an unwilling smirk. "Yeah, I'll bet."

She was back, he told himself, sternly, as they scrawled signatures on all the necessary lines. The Rukia he had grown up with was back, here in the middle of the Court of Pure Souls, kicking ass and taking names and besotting everyone around her again, and he had no place being upset about a freaking miracle having taken place.

Even if he wasn't the one who had made it happen.

End

Chocolate and Flowers

Byakyua watches Renji and Rukia, and tries to plan a future. Drama with Maybe Romance, I-3

Byakuya stood in the shadow of a roof peak, watching his sister and her suitor.

Not that she would call him her suitor. Rukia didn't take enough care for her own interests at times. Well, that was his business, as her brother, to look after.

When he could.

He pushed the thought away with an impatient toss of his head and stilled himself to watch again.

It never failed to amuse him how hesitant Renji was with Rukia, sometimes, as if he thought her fragile. On at least one occasion he'd seen Rukia hit him over the head for it.

They played like children.

Well, perhaps not quite like children, he amended, watching with a certain pleasure as Rukia, the chased in their current game of tag, ambushed Renji with a cleverly held binding spell. But they weren't chasing each other for practice, today. When they practiced together they were more serious.

Renji was more serious much of the time, now, which also gave Byakuya some pleasure. For a long time, Renji had walked at his heels, as if tame, always watching but never challenging.

He was no longer tame, and thus became worthy of consideration.

And Rukia wished to consider him; wished, even, to accept him. That much was clear, to Byakuya if not to Renji. But she held herself to the standards of her House.

To her brother's standards. To her brother's side.

And in doing so, she sacrificed this love of hers. Byakuya, as the head of Kuchiki, could only approve of her choice. It was proper and fitting to her place in the House. But when he watched the brightness in her eyes as she sat beside him in the evenings, he knew that was not her reason. She chose for his sake alone—to put his conscience and sense of duty at ease. Watching her laugh, as Renji barely evaded her and left his hair-band in her hands, Byakuya had to swallow guilt that she denied herself exactly the choice he had made for himself.

"Not going to stop them?" a new voice prodded from behind him. "Call her away from the low-life?"

Byakuya rigidly suppressed a twitch. Kyouraku, he reminded himself, liked to get a rise out of anyone who looked imperturbable. Byakuya felt vindicated, once again, in his choice not to have Rukia placed in Kyouraku's division, despite the fact that Ise Nanao would have made a good role model.

"Or are you planning to throw her to him?" Kyouraku continued, when Byakuya didn't answer. "Have you really gotten that much political savvy?"

That got a raised brow. "What?"

"Didn't think so," Kyouraku sighed, bracing an overly familiar elbow on Byakuya's shoulder as he leaned forward to watch Rukia tackle Renji, to very little effect, below them. "I swear, Rukia-chan practices better politics and diplomacy just by breathing than you ever could by making speeches."

Speeches? Byakuya gave his fellow captain a chilly look. What was the man talking about?

"Not that you ever would," Kyouraku allowed, in face of the disdain directed at him. "But the point stands. People gather to Rukia-chan. She can bring together the most unlikely sorts."

Considering how his sister seemed to be handling Kotetsu Kiyone and Kotsubaki Sentarou, Byakuya had to admit that this was undeniably true.

"Which is a good thing, considering how many of our captains come from Rukongai, these days," Kyouraku continued, in a meditative tone. "It'll be interesting to see who all winds up in the Chamber of Forty-six, this time."

Byakuya stiffened.

"Well! It was nice talking at you again, Byakuya-kun." Kyouraku gave him a hearty clap on the shoulder that failed to budge him, and was gone.

Byakuya forced his breathing even, staring blindly down at the two below him. Kyouraku couldn't possibly think that commoners would enter... that the noble houses would have to makes such accommodations...

Surely not.

Others might, though. And Byakuya's gaze downward sharpened. If others thought so... perhaps there was a way. A way to keep his sister and yet give her what she wanted so much.

Renji turned at bay and caught Rukia against him, for a moment, and their play drowned in a long stare before they both broke away and looked elsewhere.

Perhaps.

End

Conspiracy

Ukitake and Kyouraku discuss the general success of their plans. Drama, I-2

Juushirou leaned back with a sigh, waving off the fourth cup of sake Kyouraku offered. "Do you really think this is going to work out?" he asked, frowning.

"Of course it will." Kyouraku emptied his own cup. "Rukia-chan is brilliant at this kind of thing." His eyes glinted under the mess of his hair as he slanted a small smile at Juushirou. "Kind of like you; after all, how many other people can actually call themselves Byakuya-kun's friend? Besides," somehow a full cup was in Juushirou's hand again, "she has powerful potential but she just doesn't think like a warrior. That whole mess with the Kurosaki boy would never have happened if she did. This will be the best thing for her."

Juushirou took a distracted sip of sake, and paused as the taste on his tongue reminded him that he'd been going to stop. He gave his friend a rueful glance. "Yes, well, you're not bad at it, yourself, one on one at least." His lips quirked. "Though I'm not sure you could have been more obvious with Byakuya unless you'd hit him over the head with a hammer."

"He's got a thick skull when it comes to new things." Kyouraku's airy wave didn't spill a drop. "Now. How long before you think Rukia-chan will be ready?"

"She'll be promoted, formally, within the next year, at this rate," Juushirou mused. "Give her a little time as a vice captain, to become better known to the officers of other divisions. Hmm. I don't think we can really expect to get her appointed in less than five years." He chuckled, remembering. "Not that she isn't capable, now. You should have been there yesterday. I've never seen anyone besides Unohana herself calm Isane down that fast."

Kyouraku grinned. "That's our Rukia-chan."

Juushirou rested a meditative look on the water visible through his open door. "Can we keep this up, though? You know Genryuusai-sensei doesn't like the Court Guardians interfering in politics."

Kyouraku snorted into his cup at this perennial reminder. "It's a little late for that, now. As soon as the Forty-six were murdered we were all in it up to our necks. The old stick-in-the-mud just doesn't want to admit it." Exasperation and affection mixed about equally in his face as he grabbed the sake jug. Juushirou smiled.

"Perhaps he's just cranky because the crisis interrupted his retirement plans," he offered. "I still think he was planning to pass the title on, in the next century or so. And he certainly can't choose either of us for that, now, no matter how right we turned out to be."

Kyouraku's eyes softened into the speculative haze that usually preceded his most innovative and trouble-making ideas. Juushirou braced himself.

"It's really to bad that the Kurosaki boy is still living as a human. He'd be a great successor as Captain-General," Kyouraku murmured, dreamily. "Him for the militant side, and Rukia-chan for the basic ruling and policy. He's got charisma to match hers, in his own way. It'd be the perfect division of talents."

Juushirou stared at him, wide-eyed. "Kurosaki..." he repeated, a bit weakly, "as Captain-General..."

"Well," Kyouraku said reasonably, "he does think like a warrior, his potential is ridiculously high, and his allegiance to the shinigami is unshakeable. He's the star of Rukia-chan's portfolio, on that count."

Juushirou gave in and held out his cup, wordlessly. Kyouraku grinned as he refilled it.

"Still," Juushirou persisted, a bit raspily having tossed back the entire cup in one go, "you think the Kuchikis will get through this in one piece? I shudder to imagine how Byakuya-kun will choose to go about it, now he's got the idea in his head." He paused, considering. "And I shudder even more to imagine how Rukia will react."

"She's his match in stubbornness," Kyouraku agreed easily, "but she couldn't manage to kill him yet. I'm pretty sure."

"You're so reassuring," Juushirou muttered.

Kyouraku's laughter floated out over the water.

End

Easier

Renji broods on his relationship to the Kuchiki family. Drama, I-2

Life would be so much easier if he could just hate the bastard.

Hate him for being a cold fish. For having stifled Rukia's light, her life, for so long. For having damn near killed her with his idiotic, stick-up-the-ass notion of a noble's honor.

Hate him for not giving a damn about the rest of the world. For not even noticing anyone without a noble name. For his terrifying strength and infuriating sureness.

It would be easier.

It just wouldn't work.

Renji leaned back on his roof, folding his arms behind his head, watching a puff of cloud creep across the sky.

Nothing was ever easy, with Kuchiki Byakuya. Rukia had been hurt already, when he'd taken her in, and he'd only hurt her worse. Renji was still angry about that. But he couldn't deny that it was Kuchiki who had healed Rukia, too.

On especially sympathetic days, Renji could even admit that if he had had Rukia and then lost her, the way her sister had gone, he might have gotten just as irrational as Kuchiki. Possibly even for just as long.

Days that sympathetic didn't happen very often, but they did happen.

Which might just be the part that infuriated him the most.

This was Kuchiki Byakuya they were talking about, after all. The captain who'd treated Renji like a handy piece of furniture for putting paperwork on. The man who blithely assumed Renji would obey his every order without question.

Actually, no, Renji decided, what pissed him off the most was that he'd been chicken enough to let it go on for so long. After all, it was obvious, now, that Kuchiki would give him a measure of respect if Renji stood his ground and didn't back down.

Ok, so he'd nearly died finding that out. If that were pointed out to Kuchiki-taichou, he'd probably give the person The Eyebrow and call it having standards. The thought made the corners of Renji's mouth curl up.

And that made him groan and bang his head against the roof tiles a few times.

Never, ever, easy.

He sighed and pulled a piece of paper out of his sleeve, flicking it open one more time. It was a request, albeit a damned stiff-necked one, for his presence at the Kuchiki compound. A request, not an order.

And that alone guaranteed he'd be there, more surely than any order might have when Kuchiki was still his captain.

Renji stuffed the paper back away with a growl. It would be so much easier...

End

Representatives

Rukia and Renji, and, in fact, most of Soul Society, prepare; plotting continues. Drama with Romance, I-3

Two weeks before the betrothal, Rukia found herself drawing duties that could be done well even with a distracted mind. She couldn't decide whether she was amused or annoyed. Today she was on, she thought, a perfectly innocent walk with her captain, escorting him to see Unohana-taichou.

Or she would have thought it was innocent, except that they kept just happening to pass doors and windows in time to hear gossip about her coming engagement. She was starting to wonder about Ukitake-taichou's apparent taste for eavsdropping. Suspicion, of course, didn't keep her from listening.

Rangiku-san's throaty chuckle caught her ear from the window ahead of them. "I never thought I'd be a mother," she was saying, sounding amused.

"Could be worse," Hitsugaya answered absently. "They could have chosen one of us to stand as his father, too, and it would almost have had to be Zaraki, and that..." The rest of the sentance was lost in Rangiku-san's gales of laughter. "Anyway," he continued, with an edge of irritation that probably meant he was glaring at his vice captain, "the whole thing just drips with politics. I suppose we all could have guessed that Kuchiki would use an adopted sister as a pawn. Probably would have even if she were his blood sister."

Rukia stiffened.

"I don't think that's all it is," Rangiku-san said, slowly, as they passed out of ear-shot.

Rukia fumed over the insult to her brother for another few steps, only to break off in surprise when she caught a glimpse of Ukitake-taichou's expression. Her captain looked extremely smug.

"Taichou?" she asked, eyeing him.

The smugness vanished instantly into complete innocence, which only made her more suspicious than ever.

"I'm just pleased to know that Matsumoto-san, at least, is aware of your genuine feelings. And Renji-kun's," he assured her.

"Of course," Rukia murmured. It was time, she decided, to start keeping an eye out for hidden motives, lest she get caught up unawares in someone else's scheme.

Again.

Scratching at her window brought Rukia's gaze up from the... script her brother had given her to read. A quick glance at the clock told her who it probably was, and, sure enough, as soon as she slid the window open, Renji hopped over the sill.

He immediately started pacing.

"Can you believe this?" he asked with hushed outrage, waving a handful of papers. "Little bitty fake trees? A tortise? Yet more sake?!" He thumped down to sit on the floor, glaring at the innocent paper. "With this much sake moving around, why the hell can't we get more of it to actually drink? I, for one, will need it. Three changes of clothing? I mean... three?" He looked up at her with entreaty. "Are you sure I can't just stay the third morning?"

Rukia leaned against the sill, grinning. "Sure you can." She waited for hope to dawn before going on. "As long as you're the one to go around and tell everyone involved that they've planned all this for nothing. Including Nii-sama, of course. Besides," she added, as he glared, "I have five changes, and all my robes have more layers, so what are you complaining about?"

Renji slumped back, glowering at thin air. "It's embarrassing," he growled, at last.

Since they'd already covered the gifts, the salutes, and the clothes, Rukia decided he probably meant the company. "I know Rangiku-san is standing as your mother," she mused. "Who's chosen to stand as your father?"

Renji slumped down a little further, and muttered, "The Captain-General."

Rukia choked back a burst of laughter at the mental image. "Ah," she managed, voice slightly strained, "well, he is the logical choice to, er, take responsibility for a captain..." Renji growled some more, and she relented, kicking a pillow over beside him to sit down on. "It could be worse," she offered. "They got Shiba Kuukaku to stand as my mother." She contemplated the prospect of Shiba-san and Nii-sama sitting side by side for any length of time and shuddered.

When she glaced at Renji, though, he was frowning, more serious than he had been while he was complaining.

"Maybe Kira has a point about the politics thing," he muttered.

Rukia stilled. If Renji was seeing it, too... "What about it?" she asked, abandoning the scripts and dressing directions.

Renji crossed his legs and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, while he counted off on his fingers. "Kuchiki, head of the first noble family; Shiba, head of the noble family furthest outside, the most rebellious; the Captain-General, the only real authority left to the Court; Rangiku, the most senior commoner officer, if you go by tenure instead of rank." He looked at Rukia, eyes narrow. "And then there's you and me. A commoner Captain, and the adopted noble. This thing sounds like the roll call for some diplomatic meeting."

"Every faction represented," Rukia agreed, slowly. "For a marriage. An... alliance of factions. And you and I the result of it." They looked at each other silently for a long time.

"Rukia," Renji said, at last, quietly, "what is your brother trying to do?"

Nii-sama? No. Rukia smiled, as the question answered itself in her heart. "Nii-sama is finding an excuse for me to be happy. He'd never believe an alliance like that would really be neccessary."

Renji snorted, relaxing. "You have a point, there."

Rukia's voice chilled and hardened. "That doesn't mean someone else might not be using my brother's insistence on tradition and appearances to get what they want."

Renji's eyes measured her, and he nodded. "Who?" His tone had darkened to match hers, and Rukia smiled.

"We'll find out."

"Rukia, are you sure?"

Since Renji didn't hesitate at all, walking beside her, Rukia thought he might be asking for her sake rather than from any doubts. "I'm sure that Ukitake-taichou and Kyouraku-taichou are the ones I've seen looking happiest about the betrothal. Whether they're happy for us or for themselves... is what we're here to find out."

There wasn't time for anything more. Kyouraku-san strolled out of Ukitake-taichou's lake rooms and gave them a lazy smile. "Rukia-chan! Here to see your captain?" He cocked his head. "Why don't Renji-kun and I let you two talk, then?" He sauntered past, heading back toward the shore. "Surely you have time for a cup or two with me, Renji-kun?"

Rukia wavered in face of his friendly, conversational strong-arming, poised between letting Kyouraku dictate this much and seeing where he was headed, and a more familiar urge to refuse. To balk, and force this dance of secrets and implications over on its side so she could see what it was. Renji's hand closed on her shoulder, and she glanced up to see a question in his eyes. He would follow her choice, on this.

His trust steadied her confidence. "If you don't mind, Kyouraku-taichou," she murmured. "I'm sure you and Renji can entertain each other?"

Renji's hand tightened before he let go and sauntered to join Kyouraku-san. "Sure we can."

Rukia nodded and stepped forward into Ukitake-taichou's rooms, only to pause and blink. Ukitake-taichou was flopped back against a cushion, rubbing his forehead.

"Please forgive Kyouraku, Kuchiki," he said, a bit muffled. "He doesn't mean to be infuriating all the time; it's just habit."

"This is more serious than just annoying Ise-san because he thinks she's pretty when she's mad," Rukia pointed out, dryly. "Isn't it?"

Her captain looked up at her, eyes dark but also clear. "Yes," he agreed soberly, "it is."

Rukia chewed on her lip for a moment, watching him, before she came inside and sat down across from him. "Taichou. What are you doing?" she asked quietly.

"We are hoping to see you happy," Ukitake-taichou smiled. There was a faint, crooked edge of sadness to it.

Rukia nodded, and waited.

"And we hope to help you along the path you've chosen to walk." He gave her a slightly rueful look. "I admit it was Kyouraku's idea at first. I'm ashamed to say I didn't see it in you until just recently."

Rukia frowned, puzzled. Didn't see what? "Taichou, what are you talking about?"

He folded his hands over his knee and leaned back. "Tell me, Kuchiki," he said, in a tone that echoed of late-night sake-speculation to her ear, "if you were guaranteed all your wishes would be granted, what would you wish, for Soul Society?"

"Um." Rukia stared at him. "First tell me that there isn't any way to grant all of anyone's wishes?" A person never knew, these days.

Her captain's smile was brilliant. "Good thought. There isn't."

"All right," she said, slowly. "Then... I suppose I would wish... for a little more common sense." Ukitake-taichou made inquiring sounds and she tried to pull her scattered thoughts together. "Everyone seems so distracted by pointless status games, or political manipulation..." she shot a doubtful look at him, and he smiled and bowed his head. "Or things, like the Research Institute, that are just... evil." She shivered. "I'd wish for everyone to remember what our duty really is. And pay attention to it again, and stop wasting their time like that."

"You set a very fine example of that to us all, Kuchiki," he told her, softly, and Rukia couldn't stop a faint blush. "All we want," he continued, "is for your example to be seen as it deserves. Seen by all."

"Do you think I should train toward becoming a Captain?" Though Rukia couldn't imagine that such traditional patronage would require all this sneaking around, and what could it possibly have to do with her betrothal?

"More than that." His smile was sad again. "The Fourty-Six are dead, Kuchiki. Where do you think their replacements will be drawn from?"

Rukia sat frozen for a long moment before she surged to her feet. "No!" She was breathing fast. "Locked away in the innermost Court, making decisions without knowing, never free again... No. I could never live like that." It would be just like being back in that tower with the weight of stone holding down her spirit.

Ukitake-taichou's voice was gentle and implacable. "Who but one of the Fourty-Six could change that? One of the Fourty-Six with the backing of all the noble houses from first to last, who knows the needs of the commoners as well? One with the personal loyalty of many of the Court Gardians?"

Rukia sank to the floor again, shaking her head silently, eyes wide.

"Besides," he added, "they would hardly try to isolate you from your husband, and he can't be taken from his duties. That's the best part."

He was just holding up a hand, probably against the start of a snarl that was curling Rukia's lips, when he paused with his mouth open, staring at the door. Rukia turned to see a slightly dishevelled Renji standing there with a straw hat impaled on his sword.

"What's wrong?" Renji asked, sharply, looking back and forth between them. "You shouted."

"Sorry, Ukitake," Kyouraku-san put in over his shoulder. "But love conquers all. Including senior captains when their sneaky juniors get the drop on them."

Renji glowered at him, sword point lifting.

"They want me to be one of the Fourty-Six," Rukia told him, too stunned to be anything other than blunt.

Renji opened and closed his mouth a few times. He shook the hat off his sword, sheathed it and planted his fists on his hips. "Ok. First, better you than a lot of other people I can think of. Second," he glared at the other two captains, "no one is locking you up where I can't get to you." After another few moments of glaring, though, a wicked smile crept over his face. "Third, if you two want to be the ones to tell Kuchiki-taichou that you want to wreck his plans for his sister and make her unhappy again... it's been a pleasure to have known you."

"No, no, no," Kyouraku-san protested, dusting off his hat. "We'd never want Rukia-chan to be unhappy! Lovely girls being unhappy is a terrible thing."

The other three all rolled their eyes.

"Rukia," Ukitake-taichou said, seriously, "surely you see why we said nothing to you about this. Nothing is sure. Aside, perhaps," he smiled, "from your wedding. We're only holding the door open, in case you choose to go through it."

Rukia rose and bowed to both of them silently. She needed to get out of here and think about this. "I will consider what you have said," she replied, quiet and formal.

Kyouraku-san stood aside from the door with a serene smile of his own, for Rukia to pass. Renji waited until they were on the shore before he cocked his head at her, questioning. She glanced back across the still water of the lake and closed her hand around his, twining their fingers together determinedly.

"Whatever anyone else is making of the circumstances around it," Rukia said, tightly, "our marriage is exactly that. Ours."

She stalked away down the shore, hauling a grinning Renji with her since she wasn't about to let go of him.

Not ever.

End

Extra - Rematch

Kirihara finally gets that serious match he wanted out of Tachibana. Drama, I-2

Akaya flipped restlessly through the pages of his book, cursing the English language and the educators who thought it was a good idea to make Japanese schoolchildren learn it. The voice that interrupted him wasn't one he especially wanted to hear, most times, but at the moment even Seigaku's terrifying old lady coach would have been welcome.

"Kirihara?" Tachibana stopped beside him, eyeing the stack of books on the park bench. "You've come a long way to find someplace to study." He sounded amused, and Akaya growled, totally out of patience with everyone who had already gotten past the high school entrance exams.

And this was just the start of the study season, he reflected glumly.

Nevertheless, he had a sufficient fingernail-grip on his manners to answer without actually spitting. "If I'm doomed to study, I might as well do it in the sun."

"Ah. I find a study partner often helps, too," Tachibana offered with mild sympathy.

That made Akaya snort a little with laughter. "Yeah, well. My study partner threatened to nail my feet to the floor and tape my hands to the book if I didn't stop fidgeting. A break seemed like a good idea for both of us." School work tended to flatten out Hiiyama's always subtle sense of humor completely.

That got a brief laugh out of Tachibana, too. "That bad, hm?" Akaya could tell the moment Tachibana's eye lit on the tennis bag Akaya had taken along out of habit, because his smile suddenly turned considering and far less impersonal. "How about a game, to work off the jitters, then? Since we're both here."

Akaya shut his book with a clap and shoved the whole stack back into his bag. "That would be fantastic," he agreed with enthusiasm.

Four games later, he was getting annoyed again.

He stood in the middle of the court with his hands on his hips, giving Tachibana a very displeased look. "I thought you said you would play for real the next time we played, Tachibana-san."

He got a cool once-over in return. "Are you saying I'm not, Kirihara?"

"Yes that's what I'm saying!" Akaya snapped. He stalked to the net, glaring. "I saw you play at Nationals. This," he waved a hand, "is you holding back!"

Tachibana stood still, considering him for a long moment. "You're restraining yourself as well," he pointed out at last, quietly.

Akaya was now thoroughly aggravated. "I can't do anything else while you're playing like this! It wouldn't..." he broke off, chewing on his lip. "It wouldn't be right," he mumbled finally, looking aside. Tachibana broke into a brilliant smile, and Akaya glared again. "Yeah, yeah, fine, I get it, all right? Now can we play for real?" It must be some kind of disease captains caught, wanting to reform players, he decided grumpily. At least he restrained himself to only picking on his own players.

"For real," Tachibana agreed. "Your serve, Kirihara."

This time the return nearly took the racquet out of Akaya's hands, and he smiled. That was more like it. Still concientiously trying to remember Suzuoki's advice, he edged toward greater intensity instead of diving headlong. Every step he took, though, every increase in strength, in speed, in ferocity, Tachibana met and passed, daring him to keep going. By the time the last point slammed home, Akaya was shivering with the effort of not matching the taunting undercurrent of violence in Tachibana's game, too. That, he hadn't expected.

"Are you all right?" Tachibana asked, voice concerned, as they met at the net.

"Yes." Akaya breathed in and out, carefully. "Can we do that again?"

Tachibana blinked at him. Akaya knew it wasn't exactly approved of, to train with someone from another team, but... how else could he really learn to deal with that part of his game? Instead of just supressing it.

And for that matter, how else could Tachibana learn to do it?

... all right, so maybe Akaya didn't confine himself to his own players.

"It's the time of year for studying," he offered, obliquely.

One corner of Tachibana's mouth curled up wryly. "I suppose it is." He gazed at Akaya for a long moment before nodding. "All right. Give me a call the next time you have a study date around here."

Akaya grinned at the sardonic note in Tachibana's tone. "I will."

This might be fun.

End

For the Third Time

Very memorable ceremonies. Drama with Romance, I-3

The whole thing was... memorable. But some moments stood out more than others.

Renji would, of course, treasure to his grave the momentarily flummoxed look on Kuchiki's face when Shiba Kuukaku showed up for the betrothal in her version of dress clothes. Renji hadn't known it was possible to roll up the sleeves of a formal kimono, and that was just for starters. But to be honest most of the highlights clustered around the wedding itself.

Renji tugged loose his hair tie, grinning as he considered the past twenty-four hours.

Renji had thought they might be in the clear. The bonfires hadn't burned any buildings down, Rukia's litter hadn't tipped over, bringing her here, neither of them had tripped on their own clothing and broken their necks. So far, everything had gone remarkably smoothly.

Clearly even thinking that was tempting fate.

Rukia was taking her first sip in the series of pledges to seal their declarations when Yachiru's voice piped up. Yachiru's very carrying voice.

"So getting drunk together makes them married? Ken-chan, how many men is Rangiku married to?"

Renji stopped breathing. If he moved a muscle, he was sure he'd lose it and start laughing, and then Rangiku would try to kill him, and he couldn't run very fast in all these layers. A wave of snorts and muffled whoops swept the hall, along with a thump Renji thought was probably Hisagi's forehead meeting his palm.

Rukia didn't choke, didn't spit sake all over him, didn't even bat an eyelash. She finished the three measured sips and set the cup back down with a perfectly serene smile. Renji had never been more impressed.

And, as he took the next cup, he was very, very careful not to look at the wicked light in her eyes. Rangiku had much too clear a shot at his back if he snickered very loudly.

Rukia set the last sake cup down on its stack with a tiny clink that sounded through the whole hall, and Renji finally exhaled. It was done. It was real. They really were...

Rukia smiled at him and he lost his train of thought.

"You guys done being goopy at each other?"

They both started at Shiba-san's voice, and Renji looked over Rukia's shoulder in time to see Kuchiki-taichou giving his symbolic co-parent a quelling look. It didn't seem to be working. Shiba-san just raised an eyebrow at them, waiting.

"Yes?" Renji hazarded.

Her grin would have suited a shark. "Well, then." She pulled an innocent looking tube out of her belt and yanked the string hanging from it.

"Party time!"

Balls of colored sparks exploded over everyone's heads, raining down on the witnesses, a snickering Rangiku, an amused Captain-General, and a totally unmoved Kuchiki.

Rukia laughed and held up her hands to catch them.

"Yo."

Renji nearly jumped out of his skin, and whipped around to see a slim, dark, wickedly grinning woman lounging behind him, who hadn't been there two seconds ago. "Shihouin-san!" Rukia turned, too, wide-eyed.

She waved a dismissive hand. "Yoruichi is fine. Figured I'd stop by and drop off congratulations and gifts from me and Uruhara and Ichigo, and all." She tucked a handful of bright envelopes in the front of Renji's kimono while he was still blinking.

"How did you..."

She snorted. "Even if any of you puppies could catch me, everyone but a skeleton guard is around here somewhere, celebrating. Or, at least, getting drunk." She frowned out at the crowd spilling out of the courtyard, off tables and occasionally off the roofs. "Except Soi. I should go goose her or something; girl has to loosen up some time."

Rukia raised sparkling eyes from the space where Shihouin had vanished, and Renji could tell she was imagining the intense and straight-laced Soi Fong getting pinched. They grinned at each other, listening for the squawk.

Some time after midnight Renji wondered if it was a bad sign that most of the Eleventh seemed to be calling Shiba-san "Aneki".

Kyouraku seemed very amused by it all, but that could have just been that Ise had drunk enough to fall asleep on his shoulder.

It was late, or maybe early, when they finally retreated inside, and Renji made a fuzzy mental note to get nice thank-you gifts for the men and women of Kuchiki House, and the handful of his own division, who had cleared out the ceremonial trappings from the bottom floor. Navigation was hard enough at the moment, he didn't need to be tripping over strange furniture.

"Hang on a minute, Renji."

He wobbled as Rukia slipped out from under his arm. He might have protested, but it was Kuchiki, standing in the shadows by the door, she was heading for, and he wasn't nearly drunk enough to try to come between them. He doubted it was possible to be that drunk.

He pretended to watch the nearest heap of snoring shinigami.

"I'll see you in three days, Nii-sama."

"Of course."

They were silent for long enough that Renji snuck a glance out of the corner of his eye. They were just standing there, looking at each other.

At least until Rukia made a small, inarticulate sound and stepped forward to wrap her brother in a swift hug.

His hands came up to rest on her shoulders, and only someone as close as Renji was could have seen him press her closer for a moment, before setting her back again.

"Thank you, Nii-sama," she whispered, and the shadow of a smile answered her.

She was blinking a little extra brightness away, as she came back to his side. Renji eyed Kuchiki and found himself being eyed back. Cool and uncaring as always—at least in dim lighting.

It wasn't easy to bow at a respectful angle while keeping one's arm around another person, but Renji thought it was worth the trouble, to see the flash of pleasure in Kuchiki's eyes before he sniffed and turned away. And Rukia's silent laugh, against his side.

But however much of a pain parts of it had been, it all came down to this. To he and Rukia, having escaped from the layers of their formal robes and elaborate hair ornaments, down to a yukata apiece, in a dim bedroom that belonged to them.

Rukia curled up on the futon, by the window, leaning her chin on folded arms to look out. Sitting like that, without their uniforms, she didn't look much older than she had when they'd met, and Renji had to smile.

"There's a better view from over here," he offered, sliding down against the wall at the head of the bed and balling up a pillow behind him. Rukia, looking curious, scooted over next to him, punching the other pillow into place.

"Oh," she murmured.

The two windows almost became one from this angle, and though them they could see a high-peaked roof, alone against the sky. A faintly colored moon hung over it, a slice away from full, turning the lines of the roof sharp and black. Rukia sighed, happily.

It all came down to this. To Rukia leaning easily in the curve of his arm. To showing her a moment of the beauty she loved, instead of just thinking how much she would like to see it. To sitting on a bed that belonged to both of them, in rumpled yukata, hair ruffled by the night breeze.

Rukia smiled at him from the corner of her eye, and tangled her fingers with his, and rested her head on his shoulder.

When Renji could breathe again he lifted her fingers, hesitantly, to his lips.

The moon would wait for them.

End

Break Down the Door

Rukia talks to her brother about career plans. Drama, I-3

Most of the traditions and symbolism surrounding her betrothal and marriage, Rukia had merely tolerated. She and Renji had both found the tokens exchanged at the betrothal, the carved tortoise in particular, a bit ridiculous, and figuring out how to hold the hair ornaments and veil in Rukia's short hair had been a trial.

This one, though, she rather liked.

Renji had grumbled over having to add yet another outfit to her accumulated pile, to say nothing of coming along for an overnight visit to her erstwhile home, but when he'd handed over this kimono she'd had to smile. The pattern of white flowers was smaller, now, only winding up the hem and over her shoulders, but the blue of it, and the red obi, exactly matched her best kimono from when they had last been together.

She smoothed it over her knees as she sat next to her brother, looking out at the stream.

"So, they wish to embroil you again," he mused, eyes cool and distant.

"Is it even possible for someone as young as I am to be chosen for the Forty-Six?" she wanted to know. It still seemed... fantastic to her.

Her brother waved a dismissive hand. "There are ways. It isn't all that unusual for judges to come from among the Court Guardians."

Rukia perked up. Now there was a thought that hadn't occurred to her. A much more plausible one, in her opinion, than trying to hang a sign that said Sage around her neck. "And only two of the six judges have been chosen," she agreed. "That makes more sense."

Nii-sama looked sidelong at her. "A vice-captain would have the rank to qualify, even without great seniority," he observed. "Particularly with a sufficiently influential sponsor."

Rukia laughed softly up at him. "Then I won't need any sponsor but you, will I?" She held back another laugh as he settled, a hint of smugness at the corners of his mouth.

It was true, though. Kuchiki was her House, just as Rukongai was her past. And neither a survivor of Inuzuri nor a daughter of Kuchiki needed anyone holding open doors for her. She'd open her own damn door.

Open it wide.

She had another question, the next morning at breakfast.

"Nii-sama? Was Urahara a good captain?"

Her brother's tea paused for a moment on its way to his mouth. A contemplative silence lay over the table while he sipped slowly. "No," he said, at last. "He was brilliant and powerful. His conscience grew, perhaps, above the average. But he did not suit the position of Captain."

"Hm." Rukia took a thoughtful bite of rice. "Since Yoruichi-san already seems to have him in hand, perhaps we should leave him in her preserve, then." She nibbled her lip for a moment before asking, more quietly, "Did you approve of what he grew to be, Nii-sama?"

"That is not something a Captain should comment on." After a stern look, though, her brother nodded once, silently.

Rukia smiled, relieved. "And I know you liked Yoruichi-san. Good. Then there won't be any problems when I go to overturn the judgments that exiled them."

There was yet another pause in the conversation while Renji choked, and she pounded his back helpfully. When he recovered, it was her brother he directed a look at. "Do those two have the slightest idea just what they're bargaining for, here?" he rasped, pointing at Rukia.

A faint gleam of satisfaction lit the back of Nii-sama's eyes. "It isn't likely."

"Didn't think so." Renji shook his head, grinning at her. "You've gotten bigger goals since we started, that's for sure."

"Have I?" Rukia ran a finger around the rim of her cup. "We have enough to eat, here, all right. But the safe place to sleep... that's still a problem. Isn't it?"

Renji's eyes darkened, and his voice dropped to a growl. "Yes."

"And that's what the noble houses are supposed to make sure of, really." She looked at her brother. "Isn't it?"

"We serve," he said, voice low. "We fight." After a long moment, his chin lowered and he looked at his folded hands. "You may be right."

"Then I will go forward," she said, steadily.

Renji's face lit with a dangerous smile. "Not alone, you won't," he told her, foot nudging hers. "Somebody's got to protect you, after all." She made a horrible face at him, and then blushed as her brother cleared his throat. She hurriedly smoothed her expression and gave him an apologetic look from under her lashes.

"Our library has the texts you will need to study," he noted, straight and composed as ever except for a lifted brow at their antics. "Rest assured that I will not sponsor your advancement until your knowledge is adequate."

That was a Nii-sama sentence if ever she'd heard one, and Rukia smiled wryly. "You never have, Nii-sama," she agreed, softly.

"You know," Renji mused, as they made a leisurely stroll of their walk home, "it's a shame you won't be going on with your training as an officer. I mean, you'll be a great judge. But I bet you could have reached ban kai. Your potential was always higher than mine." A corner of his mouth curved up as he glanced down at her. "Even if you are a shrimp."

Rukia laughed, low in her throat, not rising to the bait. Well, not the way he expected, at least. "What makes you think I'll stop training towards it?" she asked, lightly, and tossed a grin over her shoulder at Renji, who had frozen in mid-step. "I have two captains to work with, don't I? And two more I can tap if I need to. So come on, Renji." She held out a hand.

She'd been wrong to think a shinigami's life would be that different, she decided, watching the flash of teeth as he laughed and caught her hand. They were planning to steal something a lot bigger than water jars, this time, but the way they smiled and dared each other with their eyes was the same. And she had to learn to fight fast and hard, because the adults were bigger, still.

This time, though, she thought, smoothing the blue fabric of her sleeve, this time she was going to keep her family alive.

End

Extra - The Fairest

The new year begins and Kirihara suffers a bit of culture clash. Drama, I-3

First day of tennis club practice for the new year.

Akaya wasn't precisely nervous, but there was no room in his mind for any thought but that one, running in echoing round. The ramifications of that thought occupied him even more than they had three years ago; this time he knew what was waiting for him.

Despite his preoccupation, he was aware that Hiiyama had probably chosen deliberately to walk ahead of him and clear people out of the way. At least, that was the effect he was having on the other students around them, and Akaya thought Hiiyama was likely wearing one of his Irresistible Force looks. They weren't glares, but nevertheless managed, in a very deadpan way, to convey the idea that the recipient could either move or be mowed down.

They had changed and were almost at the courts before Akaya thought to say thank you, though.

Hiiyama snorted, looking up at Akaya from the corner of his eye. "Go on and get it over with," he ordered, gruffly.

Akaya smiled and reminded himself to breathe. Why was he so wound up about this? He'd played his senpai dozens of times before. Busy thinking about this he paid even less attention than usual to the run-of-the-mill senpai around him, and started when one of them suddenly blocked his way.

"Where do you think you're going? First years are gathering over there." The obstruction jerked his chin toward the growing cluster of Akaya's yearmates.

Akaya eyed the interloper up and down. Not someone he recognized. "Yes, I noticed," he drawled, in answer, and didn't budge.

The other player's eyes narrowed. "Who do you think you are?" he growled.

Before Akaya could decide just how to answer that, a familiar laugh came from behind him.

"Making trouble already, Akaya?"

Akaya glanced back. "Niou-senpai, who is this?" he asked, pointing his racquet at the player in front of him.

"Saizen Tadahisa, second year," Niou-senpai waved in a vaguely introductory manner, "meet Kirihara Akaya, first year."

Akaya tapped an impatient foot. "So is he any good or not?"

"Not too bad," Niou-senpai said, judiciously, while Saizen-senpai gaped at them.

"That'll do," Akaya decided, and turned back. "If you're not to scared to take a challenge, senpai, play me a game and I'll show you who I think I am."

Niou-senpai was right; Saizen-senpai was fairly good. He kept two of his service games.

"Thanks senpai," Akaya said, when they were done. "That was a good warm up."

"And what is it that you needed to warm up for?" asked the voice Akaya had been waiting for, from the side of the court.

He breathed in and out, carefully, stomping on the shiver that tried to wind up his spine. "Yukimura-buchou." He turned to see all three of them there, Yanagi-san looking discreetly amused, and Sanada-san looking, for him, only mildly disapproving. Yukimura-san ...

Yukimura-san's eyes sharpened as they met Akaya's, and his gentle smile turned bright.

"Please," Akaya said, quietly.

"Of course. One set." Yukimura-san paced to the other side of the net, Saizen-senpai nearly scuttling back out of his way.

The sound of the club members watching, which had been a mixture of amusement and grumbling, changed tone. No sooner had he noticed, though, than they faded from Akaya's attention. He had occasionally wondered, during the past year, whether his perception of Yukimura-san was simply a matter of inexperience—whether it would be different now. And in a way it was different; Akaya no longer felt completely out of control as they played.

But Yukimura-san's brilliance was still enough to burn everything but the game, the now, the collection of movement that was the net and the ball and the two of them, from Akaya's mind. Still the thing that could draw him further than he thought he could go and leave him rushing madly to keep his own balance.

In the end, Yukimura-san took him six games to four.

As Akaya hauled himself upright the sound of the club around them returned to his ears. Now it was a soft, incredulous buzz. He would have laughed if he wasn't panting so hard for breath.

Yukimura-san was laughing for both of them, softly, just a bit breathless, as they met at the net. "Soon," he said, and then added with a teasing gleam in his eye, "So, did you want to keep up your first year tradition with the other two? You should start getting used to multiple sets, you know."

Akaya contemplated this. "Ten minute break, first?"

"To start with," Yukimura-san agreed.

Before he could accuse Yukimura-san of developing sadistic tendencies they were interrupted by the last person Akaya had expected. "I see that my suggestion of some matches to fit the first years into the current rankings has been pre-empted."

"What are you doing here?" Akaya exclaimed, wide eyed.

Suzuoki blew a stream of smoke at him. "The coaches drew straws to see who would stay with each division this year. I got the short one."

Akaya tried to remember some of the French swear words Marui-senpai had taught him one slow afternoon at the Cafe. He snatched a quick look at Yukimura-san and winced. His captain's eyes were cold. Suzuoki didn't normally say things that stupid ...

Oh, hell.

Akaya drove a hand through his hair and growled under his breath in frustration. "You," he pointed at Suzuoki, "cut it out. And yes, I'll do it," he answered the slightly elevated brow, "so get lost for a little."

"Of course." Suzuoki smirked and strolled away, waving his clipboard in a careless farewell.

Akaya spun back to put himself square in front of Yukimura-san. "Yukimura-buchou. Please." He made himself not back up as Yukimura-san's eyes tracked back to him. Instead, he talked fast. "Look, on the one hand, there are times when I hate his guts, and today looks like it's going to be one of them, but, on the other hand, he's a good coach. He can see what people need to do, and he can get people to do it."

Yukimura-san was silent for a long moment. "Can you give me an example, Akaya?" he said at last.

Akaya chewed on his lip. "Well ... like right now, for example, when I'm pretty sure he provoked you to make me speak up." He looked down. "Even if it isn't quite what you want to hear." And Suzuoki, that bastard, knew part of Akaya had been hoping to go back to the way it had been, hoping to relax again. So much for that. He sighed and raised his head again. "He can be useful, Yukimura-buchou. Even to you."

Finally Yukimura-san's eyes warmed again and his lips quirked up. "I see. You make a convincing argument. I'll consider it." The faint smile became a broader and more mischevious one. "Now walk around some so you don't stiffen up to much for your match with Sanada."

He raised his voice to assign exercises to the club, most of whom had gathered to watch by now, and Akaya tried to discreetly shake the trembling out of his legs while he moved and stretched obediently. From now on, he swore, Suzuoki was on his own with Yukimura-san. He snorted.

Short straw, indeed!

The club spent the rest of the week hammering out rankings. There weren't many surprises, and the quiet time gave Akaya a chance to get reacquainted with how his senpai played tennis and find his feet and relax some.

He should probably have known better.

Thursday afternoon his match against Marui-senpai was interrupted by the suddenly raised voices of Furuya and Tsunoda. Akaya blinked at them, as Tsunoda, for once, abandoned his cool attitude to yell back and Furuya rocked forward on his toes like he was about to jump on his teammate. He'd been expecting something from Furuya ever since this morning, when Chiba had turned up absent, but not this!

"Furuya! Tsunoda!" he snapped, without thinking. The yelling stopped, but they still looked five seconds away from ripping eachother's throats out. "Excuse me for a moment, please, senpai," Akaya said, abandoning his match. "Tsunoda," he said, quietly, coming between them, "go get a drink and calm down."

Tsunoda closed shadowed eyes for two long breaths before he spun on his heel and walked away. Akaya let his own breath out.

"All right, what was that?" he asked. Furuya didn't look at him and Akaya fought down the urge to grind his teeth. "Damn it, Furuya, I know you can still control your temper when Chiba isn't around, why aren't you?"

Furuya rounded on him, and Akaya found himself on his own toes, ready to move, because he recognized that tension—that snap that was ready to aim at someone. Furuya met his eyes and froze.

"Yeah, that's right," Akaya murmured, "remember who you're talking to."

Furuya's hand flexed around his racquet. "Mamo is in the hospital," he ground out at last.

Akaya's tension redirected itself at once. "What happened?"

"I don't know!" Furuya yelled before stifling himself again. "All I know is he was out with his little sister and got into a fight with some kids who were teasing her, and now ... " he broke off, lips pressed into a pale line.

"Go find out, then." Akaya sighed when Furuya blinked at him. "You'll be worse than useless around here until you know. I'll take care of things. Go."

Furuya's shoulder slumped. "Thanks," he said, softly, and nearly ran for the gate.

Akaya planted his hands on his hips. "What a mess."

"What mess is that, and where is Furuya going?" Sanada-san asked, suddenly at his shoulder.

"I need to talk to Yukimura-buchou," Akaya answered, distracted. Tsunoda was already edgy, separated from his partners, and if Chiba was seriously injured that would both suck in its own right and make Furuya unmanagable. He really didn't need this ...

Akaya's thoughts jerked to a halt, as he remembered that he was not their captain this year.

Oops.

He glanced up at Sanada-san warily. A hint of surprise looked back at him. "Yukimura is coming," was all Sanada-san said, though.

Indeed, Yukimura-san was arriving. "What's going on?"

Akaya bit his lip, guiltily aware that he had seriously overstepped his authority. Really very seriously. "Furuya's partner, Chiba, is in the hospital; Furuya hasn't had a chance to find out why or how bad it is; he was distracted and upset enough to be a problem during practice, so I told him to go see Chiba." He bowed, which had the added benefit of hiding the flush of embarassment he could feel in his face. "I apologize for my presumption, Buchou."

After a pause long enough to make him squirm, Yukimura-san spoke. "I trust your judgement, Akaya."

Akaya straightened in surprise. Yukimura-san smiled at him. "Just make sure you tell me about it, when it affects the club," he added.

Akaya had to swallow a few times. "Yes, Buchou."

Yukimura-san nodded in a that's settled, then manner and moved back toward the matches he had been overseeing. Akaya stared after him for a few moments before looking up at Sanada-san who was still beside him.

Sanada-san wore a thoughtful look. "You've grown," he said, at last.

Akaya's eyes widened; Sanada-san moved off as well, touching his shoulder in passing. Akaya stood, rather dazed, until Marui-senpai came to collect him so they could resume their match.

And here he'd thought this year would be simpler than the last.

End

Touch And Go

Kirihara's relationship to Sanada and his temper. Drama, I-3

1

The first time wasn't really a surprise. Even one summer of observation was enough to tell anyone that Sanada-senpai had no sense of humor. But the frown he had been wearing at the end of Akaya's smash practice was too good to resist.

"Sanada-fukubuchou," Akaya said, as solemnly as if he were imparting the secret of immortality, "if you're not careful, your face will freeze like that."

The expression didn't change one bit as Sanada-fukubuchou fetched Akaya a brisk swat across the back of the head. "Your grip is too light. Work on that," he directed, as if Akaya had never spoken.

Akaya's mouth quirked. "Yes, Sanada-fukubuchou."

2

The second time, Akaya ducked out of range and the swat missed. Sanada-fukubuchou gave him a steady look.

"Two hundred laps. Now."

Akaya made a face at Marui-senpai, who was laughing, and started running. Easier not to duck, he decided.

3

It was another three months before he stopped trying to get a rise out of his vice-captain and Sanada-fukubuchou stopped letting him.

In December.

4

"Is it really spring? It's too cold," Akaya complained, wrapping his jacket around him as the team finished changing. He admitted to himself that it might just be the atmosphere, with Yukimura-buchou gone, but he wasn't about to say that out loud.

"Should we bring you flowers to cheer you up?" Niou-senpai tossed over his shoulder. "Didn't know you liked spring so much, Kirihara."

Akaya gave his smirking senpai an evil look. "Well, I guess that depends on how much you're selling it for, Niou-senpai," he drawled.

The faint sting of a cuff across the side of the head made Akaya start. It had been months since that had happened. He blinked at Sanada-fukubuchou, who was giving him a look of distinct disapprobation. The entire team was still for a long moment, and then sound rustled through them as everyone seemed to let out their breath at once. A faint grin tugged at Akaya's mouth.

Yeah. It was spring again.

5

Akaya stood silently as Sanada-fukubuchou approached. He was distantly aware that he was in shock; he had never lost to anyone but those three. And now... an unofficial match with a first-year from the school they were about to play in tournament. He could tell when Sanada-fukubuchou saw the scoreboard by his abrupt stillness.

"I lost." The words brought it home, made it real, and the sharp impact that jarred him off his feet was a strange kind of relief. Even the ache along his jaw, when it caught up with him a moment later, helped. It snapped the world back into focus, and Akaya actually felt the hard clay under him and the small scrapes on his palms where he'd caught himself.

When he looked up the flash of hot rage in Sanada-fukubuchou's eyes was already fading back into tight, measured determination. His gaze rested on Akaya with hard question, and Akaya bit his lip and nodded shortly.

He would not fail again.

6

Akaya watched the suppressed exasperation with which Sanada-fukubuchou dusted Akaya's footprints off the coach's bench, and ignored both Yagyuu-senpai's tolerant look and Marui-senpai's snort; he just pushed the hair back out of his eyes from where it had fallen when Sanada-fukubuchou swatted him.

It was good to know he was definitely forgiven for the other day.

7

Akaya felt like he couldn't breathe. There was no tension between Sanada-fukubuchou and Yanagi-senpai, as they spoke; all the tension was in Akaya, watching them.

This was wrong.

It was one thing for Sanada-fukubuchou to strike Akaya for being an idiot, and careless enough to lose. But Yanagi-senpai... okay, maybe he had let his feelings get in the way, but...

But they were the center of Rikkai! The three of them together. For Sanada Genichirou to strike Yanagi Renji... it was wrong. No matter what Yanagi-senpai said about setting an example for the club.

That feeling of wrongness had already pulled Akaya to his feet. The tightening line between Sanada-fukubuchou's hand drawing back and Yanagi-senpai turning his head with quiet acceptance snapped Akaya into motion before thought could intervene.

Under other circumstances, the startlement of his senpai, as they both stood there looking down at him and his interposed racquet, would have made him laugh.

He half expected to feel the brief clip of Sanada-fukubuchou's hand that his insolence usually got him. All he got, though, as he skipped out from between them again, was the weight of thoughtful eyes on the back of his neck.

8

Akaya didn't remember losing, this time. Didn't remember the end of the match at all. But Sanada-fukubuchou's statement of the score echoed through his head.

He had failed.

Again.

Could he even call himself Rikkai, anymore?

Choking shame threw him out from under Yanagi-senpai's hand and over the rail to stand before Sanada-fukubuchou. But his half-frantic demand for the reprimand that a team member could expect for such a loss dropped without a ripple into Sanada-fukubuchou's considering look.

And then he was stepping past Akaya with only a quiet "Sit down."

Akaya did as he was told.

9

Sanada-fukubuchou's hand on his shoulder as they left the courts that day reassured Akaya. But it reassured him a lot more when, a week or so later, he collected a swat for taking a nap on top of Sanada-fukubuchou's uniform jacket.

End
Note: "Selling spring" is a Japanese euphemism for selling sex.

Zoology and Mythology

Some friendly bickering within the Rikkai team. Drama, I-2

Yagyuu started the game, not to any of Masaharu's surprise. Successful surgery or not, the bus ride back from the hospital needed some distraction, and Yagyuu had these flights of fancy. This one was abundantly suggested by Jackal's remark that Marui reminded him of a hummingbird: voracious and viciously territorial, but pretty enough to watch that almost no one noticed those parts.

While Marui tried to decide whether he was insulted or complimented, Yagyuu smiled. "What animal would you be, then, Jackal-kun?"

"Should be a horse," Kirihara put in. "They like him because he's just as strong as they are." Masaharu's lips twitch, recalling that the horses had not gotten along quite so well with Kirihara.

"Nah." Marui shook his head. "Lizard. You should see him basking in the sun some time."

"So what's Sanada-fukubuchou?" Kirihara asked with a grin. Sanada gave him a dark look, but it didn't have quite the usual weight.

"A tiger, perhaps," Yanagi mused, ignoring Sanada's snort.

"Prickly and dangerous, and really good at glaring," Kirihara agreed, secure in the two bus seats separating him from Sanada.

"Does that make you the deer then, Akaya?" Sanada inquired, and returned a sardonic look to Kirihara's glower.

"Akaya's an otter," Marui corrected. "Always showing off."

"All right, then, what's Yanagi?" Jackal asked, over Kirihara's indignant Look who's talking!

"A turtle," Sanada answered, finally entering the game in the name of payback. "All observation and deliberate movements."

Yanagi simply laughed softly.

"And Niou-kun?" Yagyuu asked, in the tone of someone baiting a trap. Masaharu snorted and lifted a brow, placing a small bet with himself.

"Fox," Kirihara said, decidedly.

Yes, he'd rather thought that would be it.

"Perhaps also the snake," Yanagi offered. "Given how rarely he does anything in a straight line."

"That should count for Hiroshi, too, then," Marui pointed out with a thoughtful bubble.

"Their combination is a snake?" Yanagi sounded amused. "So what is Hiroshi alone?"

The whole team paused, considering. "A bear," Jackal said, at last. "Powerful. Needs a large range. Extremely dangerous if provoked. Very communicative, if you know how to read their body language." He traded a slightly sheepish smile for Marui's astonished look. "I took my brothers and sisters to the zoo last weekend."

Masaharu leaned back in his seat. "What's Yukimura?" A much longer pause followed his question.

"A crane?" Kirihara suggested, at last. "His game is graceful enough."

"A butterfly would seem most appropriate to his emergence, just now," Yagyuu murmured.

"A dragon," Sanada said, quietly, looking out the window.

And the game ended on a rustling sigh of agreement.

They were all getting off the bus, stretching and exchanging dinner plans, when Masaharu heard Yanagi ask Kirihara, softly, "So which are you going to be, Akaya? A tiger cub, or the boy who swallowed a dragon pearl?"

Glancing over his shoulder he saw Kirihara looking up at their strategist with an expression caught halfway between question and decision.

"I'm going to be the thunder."

Masaharu tucked away the glint of approval in Yanagi's smile to think about later.

End
Note: See this site for several versions of the story of the boy who swallows a dragon pearl.

The Quality of Mercy

Yukimura's reaction to his team's behavior during his absence. Drama, I-3

Yukimura

The day of his return to the tennis club, Seiichi held the Regulars back for a moment at the start of practice.

Standing and watching them, arms folded, Seiichi could see the signs of release. Stifled yawns and strained eyes from late-night celebrations, or possibly hysterics; but also the relaxation in their grips on balls or racquets, the easier lines of their mouths. He could sympathize entirely.

Which didn't change one word of what he was about to say.

"I've watched the video taken at Regionals," he started, evenly. The entire team paused, as if they all held the same breath.

"I was not impressed," Seiichi continued, letting a bite come into his voice. "Too many of those games were sloppy, and too many were aimed at cheap victories that were unworthy of you. We are Rikkai. We are the best." His eyes narrowed. "We don't need to win by default. Ever."

Niou merely gave him a faint shrug, shifting closer to his silent partner, but Akaya hunched up and Sanada's gaze flickered aside.

"Remember this," Seiichi stated, quiet enough that they all leaned forward, "we win because we are the superior team. I will not permit anything less. I will not allow you to make anything less of yourselves, or of Rikkai. Understood?"

A subdued chorus of assent answered him, and he nodded. "Then start running some laps to warm up." He glanced at Niou and Yagyuu. "Or, possibly, to cool down. I'll tell you when you're done." A few winces met that last statement, but he could also see a wry familiarity in their glances as they turned away. A comfortable familiarity.

So much for the easy part. As the team set off he held Sanada back with a look, and set a hand on Akaya's shoulder. "Akaya."

Kirihara

Akaya tried not to flinch as his captain held him back. Getting chewed out by Yukimura-buchou was one of his personal definitions of not-fun. To be honest, he preferred Sanada-fukubuchou's reprimands; they were over sooner and they hurt less. And even when it was a hundred laps, at least it was simple and defined and you could see the end of it. Yukimura-buchou's reprimands were... more difficult.

But he knew that he had played too loosely, with Seigaku's Fuji at least, and Echizen too, really, and probably deserved it. So he took a breath and straightened his shoulders. "Yes, Yukimura-buchou?"

Yukimura-buchou's eyes were sharp. "During your match with Fuji you found something new in your own game, didn't you?"

Akaya blinked. That was not what he had been expecting. "Yes," he answered, hesitantly.

"Do you think you can find it again?"

Akaya thought back, and stole a look at the vice-captain, waiting silently beyond Yukimura-buchou's shoulder. "Yes," he said, slowly. "Sanada-fukubuchou showed me. At the start of his match with Echizen."

"Good, then work on it," Yukimura-buchou directed, briskly. "A technique you can call on deliberately, that doesn't depend on you losing, is one that may actually let you win. I'm pleased to see you coming at this from the right direction, finally."

Akaya blinked some more, opened his mouth and closed it again.

Yukimura-buchou's mouth curled up in a crooked half smile. "Mere uninhibited play will never defeat us, Akaya. Or Tezuka." His eyes glinted. "Or, it seems, Fuji and this Echizen."

Now there was a motivational thought. "Yes, Yukimura-buchou," Akaya answered, voice firm now.

"Good," Yukimura-buchou repeated, softly. "Because I don't want to see such inferior tactics from you again."

This time Akaya did flinch, and ducked into a bow. "Yes, Yukimura-buchou," he said, slightly stifled, feeling blood rising to his cheeks.

"You were chosen for this team for your strength, Akaya," his captain stated. "I will not accept you falling short of that." A sigh made Akaya look up again. Yukimura-buchou's expression had softened just a bit. "Though I don't believe it was entirely your fault, this season." Akaya's eyes widened, and Yukimura-buchou snorted faintly. "Don't get too far ahead of yourself, Akaya. You're our responsibility, still." He gave Akaya a small push after the rest of the team. "Laps. Get going."

Akaya took off, still feeling the sting of Yukimura-buchou's censure, but also holding a new bit of hope. Which was fairly standard, after Yukimura-buchou was done with a person. He sighed and fell into stride with Jackal-senpai who at least wouldn't tease him about the flush still on his face.

Sanada

Genichirou stifled an unworthy desire to take off running along with Akaya.

He'd known this was coming. Euphoria had touched everyone, in the wake of the surgery's success, and Yukimura had forgiven them easily enough for their loss to Seigaku, simply agreeing with Genichirou that they would keep their pride and focus, now, on Nationals. That, however, had been before he'd seen the videos, and Genichirou had been waiting for the axe to fall ever since he'd delivered those disks. His loss had been unforgivable, and he knew it. He stood, now, to hear what punishment the captain of his team would assign.

"I don't believe it was entirely your fault, either," Yukimura murmured, dryly, watching the team complete another lap. "So I don't want you taking it on yourself to run laps until you collapse. You will keep your own training menu in balance, and focus on advancing strength, precision and endurance in step with each other, as usual."

Genichirou nodded silently, still waiting.

"You got a bit out of control, yourself, Sanada," Yukimura mused. "Along with Akaya. You two remind me a good deal of each other, at times. Though, with your experience, you should have known better. Whether it was distraction or too much focus, misdirected, you lost sight of why we are the best, and let yourself get blindsided by someone who remembered."

Genichirou's mouth tightened as he restrained the urge to ask Yukimura to get on with it, already. He stood a little straighter as Yukimura finally turned to look at him, level and measuring. And with that uncanny knack of his, Yukimura's next words reflected the heart of Genichirou's thoughts back at him.

"Given that, do you deserve mercy, Sanada?"

Genichirou turned his face aside. "No," he stated, flatly.

Yukimura's gaze, resting on him, was dispassionate. "You lost, and you know why. That is the only punishment you will get."

Genichirou's jaw clenched, and he closed his eyes for a breath. The message, between the two of them, was clear as morning light. Simple expiation was denied to him—it wouldn't be that easy. "Very well," he managed, at last.

"I want you to work with Akaya," Yukimura continued. "He won't be able to use the technique as cleanly as we do, but take him as far as you can." He paused and pursed his lips. "Was it Renji's suggestion to turn him loose against Tachibana?"

Genichirou nodded. "As soon as Renji turned up Tachibana's history."

"Renji will explain his reasoning to Akaya, then. There's no excuse for leaving him ignorant of why facing a violent player set Tachibana so off his game; especially since I doubt it will work twice." Yukimura's mouth quirked. "Renji, I trust, is already sufficiently motivated not to repeat his own mistakes?"

"I would say so." Genichirou could feel months of desperate tension, of sole responsibility for the unruly tangle that was a tennis team, easing out of him. If Yukimura refused to give him answers or allow amends for Genichirou's past mistakes, at least he wasn't making Genichirou continue to play the part of leader alone.

Yukimura nodded. "Good." After a moment he added, "You will also come with me on my training runs in the evenings. There's a good deal of condition I need to regain quickly; I'll need someone to pace me."

Genichirou bowed his head. That was the offer of his friend, more than the order his captain—the offer of time when wider responsibility didn't bear down on either of them. That was the compassion that turned the team's respect, which Yukimura's ruthlessness alone would have won, into devotion. "Of course," he said, quietly.

Yukimura

Seiichi shook his head a little, hiding a smile. For years he'd waged a silent tug-of-war with Sanada's grandfather, and for years Sanada-jiisan had been winning. Sanada played tennis as with as much passion as Seiichi could wish, but he had always carried with him the strict formality and discipline of Kendo, and an air of faint disapproval for the freewheeling manners and fluid ranking of the tennis world. Seiichi had not been surprised when Sanada, having to stand as captain, had been pressed even deeper into the system he knew best.

The two players he had been proudest of, after watching the videos, were Akaya and Sanada. Akaya, for finally starting to grasp his true strength, and Sanada...

Sanada for finally leading the team, after their loss. For reaching past his personal shame to give the team a confident center and a way forward again.

He was not going to let Sanada lose that, and lean on the simple, rigid rules of tradition again. He gestured Sanada to follow him, joining the team on their next lap.

"Let's go."

End
Note: This was written before issue 300 came out, and should be considered Divergent Future.

Essential

Sanada practices, and considers connections between sword and tennis. Drama, I-2

Sometimes intense focus shut out the rest of the world; sometimes it only brought the world closer.

Sometimes, especially during kata when he attended to the essential line and nature of each movement, Genichirou found moments of connection between the sword and his other passions. They didn't come as thoughts, they had no path, no start or finish; they were moments of knowing, moments of fact, present and then gone like a reflection in some window he walked past.

Yukimura would use this low guard, that tempted the unwary to make an overhead attack, and then step in, light and flowing, and make this strike full across the body, inexorable destruction smooth as running water.

Renji would make this step, that turned out of the way with such simplicity and hard calm, and allowed attack or retreat with the same poise.

Akaya would always take the outside, like so, the powerful, rounded attack that cut through where the opponent thought he was strongest, a challenge to the one who used it.

Tachibana would use this strike, overhead and centered, ferocious and direct.

Atobe would take this step, sliding under a high guard into a low, efficient cut.

Fuji would favor this straight thrust to the center, the one that demanded patience until its moment came to drive through the inside guard as though nothing had ever impeded it.

Tezuka would use this stance, the one that appeared so stable and unmoving to the thoughtless, motion spiraling up from the feet, invisible and contained through the body, a riptide released only once it was focused.

Pieces of his own team, pieces of other players, if Genichirou only watched and didn't wait they showed themselves in flickers, bright and passing and true as sun glinting on the spine of his sword.

No movement in a kata had reflected Echizen, yet.

What came to Genichirou, as he stood and breathed in stillness, was that if he ever followed the sword far enough to use a live edge outside of kata and tameshigiri then he might find Echizen there.

"What are you thinking?" Yukimura asked, from where he leaned in the doorway.

"Nothing," Genichirou answered with perfect honesty.

A low laugh tumbled through the warm air. "And what does nothing look like today?"

Sometimes Genichirou wondered how Yukimura learned these things about him without ever being told. He considered for a moment. "The first thing it looked like was you," he stated, at last.

Yukimura smiled, and all of the day's moments of fact rearranged themselves around that fact.

End
Note: tameshigiri is cutting practice with a live blade, a la Iaido, generally done with straw mats or rolls or bunches. This is, if I'm not mistaken, what we see Sanada doing in the manga.

Long Enough - One

Scar's experience at Lior, and after. Drama, I-3, spoilers ep 42.

One

The world was red. Red with blood. Red with pain clawing through his body. Red with the light rising around him. He watched it brighten, growing as each breath slowed, until one last breath felt like it wasn't air any more. The world was red, and he was red, light and hollow and and rising like the glow.

The light flickered. Faltered. He blinked and didn't feel his eyes. Was it finished already? Shouldn't it be longer, for all the soldiers to die, like he was dying? Like he was...

An image hit him like a hammer, of the circle over the city, completed by his body.

His body.

The last length of the array wasn't inscribed. It was only... filled. And now it was being emptied as the array consumed him along with everything else.

Now he struggled. Now he grasped after that last length of the pattern with hands that only existed any more in his mind. His will. He had to hang on. He had to stay, or the circle would fail. He had to stay just a little longer.

Revenge. Lives. Solid life, condensed into Stone. Into flesh. Into metal. His remaining flesh had to stay or it would all be for nothing. The lives that the army had eaten. The life that his brother had given him. The life and chance and curse he had passed on to Alphonse Elric.

He clutched at solidity, at presence, fighting against the rising current of red. He had to stay just a little longer. Just long enough. He had to hold on.

Hold on.

He felt his fingers digging into the dirt and the light surged up. Red speared the sky. The world was red.

Black followed after it.

Long Enough - Two

Scar's experience at Lior, and after. Drama, I-3, spoilers ep 42.

Two

The cool hardness of shaded sand was under his head. Under his back. Under his hands. There was a reason this shouldn't be so. His eyes drifted open as he tried to remember what it was. The black-haired woman who was not her sat near with her back to a rock and her knees drawn up, watching him. She stirred as his eyes found her.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by now," she said, clinically. "You're the most willful human I've ever met. Though the Fullmetal boy could give you competition." Her mouth twisted. "Perhaps we've been selecting the wrong workers all along."

Fullmetal... Elric. The little brother. The city. He sat up abruptly, clutching at the sand under him as his head swam and the world swayed in a dizzy circle. Circle.

"Why am I still alive?" He frowned at her. "Did you...?"

She leaned her head back against the broken stone and laughed, sweet and cold. "We can't do alchemy; only humans can. I couldn't have interfered in a transmutation if I'd tried." She left her head tilted back, staring up at the sky. "I just found you afterwards."

He levered himself up to his knees to look around and stopped as he felt his hands, his arms under him. Shock froze his lungs. He lifted two hands up and watched them shake. "What?" He didn't recognize his own voice.

She glanced back at him and her bare shoulders shifted with a short breath of amusement. "You were in the middle of the transmutation of the Philosopher's Stone. What surprises you?" She stood and looked down at him. "Now it's really goodbye."

Later he would remember her fingers brushing through his hair as she walked out onto empty sand and away.

End

Once More...Dear Friends - Prologue

Roy wakes up in the hospital. Drama, I-3

Roy woke far more slowly than usual, which would have been his first clue that something was wrong, had he needed a clue. The distant ache that dragged him to consciousness had already sent him a full report on wrongness, however, and clues were superfluous.

By the time he pried an eye open he was also fairly sure he was drugged.

Once he blinked the glare away he was presented with a ceiling. It could be a hospital ceiling; it seemed likely. The first question was traditional, though, so he asked. "Where am I?"

Or, at least, he tried to ask. He was surprised to hear it come out as a mumble. The dry mouth might have something to do with that, and he would have preferred not to have noticed because now he really, really wanted a drink.

"Roy?"

The whisper came from his left side, and his left eye seemed to be covered for some reason. He turned his head and winced as the ache in his forehead became much less distant. Now he could see who had said his name, though, and that distracted him. Hawkeye was sitting forward in a chair beside the bed, eyes wide. She looked... different.

Well, she was out of uniform, but he'd seen her out of uniform before. There was something else.

"Taisa?" she asked, voice more urgent this time and less fragile.

That was it! She had sounded... breakable. Something he had never heard her sound before. And she looked the same way. Pale. Taut lines pulled her mouth thin. He'd seen her frown before, seen her worried. But he'd never seen fear in her eyes.

Roy frowned, and then winced again and unfrowned hastily. That really hurt. "Chuui?"

"Yes. Don't move too much, you were shot," she added, quickly, pressing a light hand to his right shoulder.

Shot? Bradley had used his sword, though. "Came out of the cellar," Roy retraced his path out loud. "Had the boy. Made it out the door..." This time the frown was barely a twitch before he caught it and stopped. There had been someone outside the door, yes. "Who?"

"Archer," Hawkeye supplied, voice flat.

Roy groped, in his mind, after what must have happened. But nothing came. "I don't remember."

"I'm amazed you remember the cellar," Hawkeye snapped. "He shot you in the head! The bullet clipped you, probably while you were turning, and shattered the orbit of you left eye; if you'd been any slower, if you'd turned the other way to dodge, you wouldn't be alive and the doctors have been saying you might not ever wake up anyway!"

That did explain why it hurt so much whenever he tried to frown. And also why his left eye was covered, now he thought about it. This would probably alarm him when his thoughts were running more straightly. "I suppose the paperwork will accumulate a great deal before I get back to it, then," he murmured with reflexive sardonicism.

She sagged back in the chair. "You're all right." She pressed a hand tight over her mouth and closed her eyes for a long moment, and Roy blinked.

For the space of two long breaths she was not his professional aide. She was a woman, years younger than he was, her normal steel stripped down to iron by exhaustion.

She was beautiful.

On the third breath she straightened again, First Lieutenant Hawkeye again, and reached for the call button. "You still have a lot of morphine in your system, so pay attention and remember not to say what you were really doing that night, while the doctors are checking you over," she told him briskly.

"Of course," Roy agreed, and lay back, bemused, as medical personnel flooded the room and Hawkeye stood back against the wall.

He'd accomplished his goal, which was good. Now, what was he going to do about this?

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - One

Roy recovers and Lisa keeps watch. Drama, I-4

It was the smell again.

It was different this time, though, not just the smell of cooked meat, but something else, too. Something that caught in the back of his throat like burning oil.

Blood slid under his fingertip, always thinner and more watery than he thought it should be.

And he choked and reached again for the pattern in his mind. And again. And again.

But it wasn't a skull in his hand, it was a gun; and there were two bodies on the floor in front of him.

Roy started awake with a jerk that set his head throbbing. Someone was cursing vigorously, and he heard the slithery thump of books being kicked aside. Hawkeye trod carefully into the faint lamplight glowing through the window, and looked down at him. "Bad one?" she asked quietly.

Roy shrugged, trying to find some spot on the pillow that would hold his head still enough for the left side to stop throbbing. The doctors swore the bones had reknitted, but Roy had his doubts when he woke up like this.

Hawkeye looked him over, gaze measuring in the half-dark. She plucked a sprig of hyacinth from the vase on one of the shelves and set it casually by his head as she sat down in the chair beside his bed.

Her chair, these days.

The scent of the flowers was sweet and strong and clean, and Roy closed his eye and inhaled deeper.

Hawkeye crossed one slippered foot over her knee and rubbed her toes. "I should have kept you at my apartment longer," she said with some asperity. "At least I could walk across my guest room without tripping over anything."

"I imposed on you for long enough," Roy murmured. He was glad it was spring. The hyacinth had a gentler scent than the potted rose she'd silently deposited next to the guest bed early on during his stay with her.

A soft snort answered him. "There's barely room in this flat for all of your things plus you," she pointed out. "There's a bookshelf in your kitchen, and the only real open space is the floor of your workroom. You should get a house. It isn't as though you've used much of your salary for anything over the years; you can afford it."

The commonplace discussion calmed the tension through Roy's chest and stomach, and his next breath was freer. "I have no idea how to go about finding a house," he observed, just to keep the conversation moving. "I gather one needs to be a bit careful, not to get stuck with anything unsound."

"So take Hughes with you. I'm sure he's had plenty of experience, by now, in what to look for."

Roy imagined asking his best friend to go house-hunting with him. Then he imagined Hughes' glee at the supposed breakdown of Roy's bachelor ways, and the gleam in Hughes' eye as he got out the pictures again to illustrate the joys of married life. And then he shuddered. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in coming along instead?" he asked, trying to stifle the undertone of dread.

Hawkeye became so still he looked over at her. She was staring out the window. "I suppose so. If you like."

The night shifted like a ball rolling a quarter turn; the new resting point was becoming familiar to him. "I would like it. Yes." He wanted to reach over and touch her hand. He wanted to say something leading about how she would be spending so much time there she should have a say in the house. He wanted to address the woman sitting beside him with her light hair hanging loose over the shoulders of her fuzzy cinnamon colored robe, a little tangled from sleeping on his couch as she had been for most of this month.

Every time he did that, though, she got that distant, tolerant, Hawkeye-chuui, look in her eyes and stood up. Or asked him what book he was reading. Or stuffed a chunk of apple in his mouth. So this time, in this quiet dim time, he made himself stop and wait for her.

After a long moment she looked back down at him. "Then I'll come." This time, her smile wasn't distant. Now he let himself smile back.

"Thank you."

It was, Roy felt, completely in keeping with his life that the letter arrived the next day.

TBC

Counterpoint - Unresigned

Lisa gives her old job the boot, much to the puzzlement of those around her. Drama, I-3

When General Hakuro popped out of an office right in their path Lisa knew he'd been waiting for them, and tensed. There were a lot of unpleasant ways this meeting could go, and she could tell by the number of teeth in Hakuro's smile that he had at least one of them in mind.

"Ah, Chuui. I was hoping you would come along today; do you have a moment?"

Now she could feel Roy tensing and took a smart step forward to stand in front of him. He no longer had the rank to shield his subordinates and his too-straight shoulders showed he was still off balance about that. She wasn't sure if he was off balance enough to resort to more direct means, but better safe than scorched.

"Of course, Sir," she said, in her best calm-and-capable, superior-soothing tone.

"Well, just in here for a moment, then." Hakuro held open the office door, and directed his teeth at Roy. "We won't be long, Mustang."

He might as well have just added you civilian outsider out loud, Lisa reflected. Hakuro did not, however, say a word of protest when Roy caught the closing door with his foot and leaned against the doorframe. In fact he seemed to ignore Roy's presence completely, and Lisa's jaw tightened.

"I just wanted to ask whether you intend to resign your commission," Hakuro told her, seating himself behind the desk.

If he meant it as a threat it misfired, and Lisa almost smiled at the wall over his head. "I do, yes Sir."

"Ah." Hakuro paused for a moment before the smile broke out again, twice as gleaming. "Of course, it's only to be expected. Everyone knows of your devotion to Mustang; you couldn't be expected to continue as an officer now that he's gone." His voice oozed condescension, and Lisa had to swallow a snort. She wasn't home free yet, no sense in antagonizing him by laughing at his attempted insults.

"Yes, Sir."

Hakuro whipped a slim sheaf of papers out of his jacket and slid them across the desk. "No sense in delaying, then!" he said, brightly. "Just sign here and we'll have you processed out by the time you finish packing up."

One did not contradict senior officers, Lisa reminded herself as she signed, no matter how absurd their statements. One left that to the officer's senior sergeant. Perhaps someday, some benevolent NCO would tell Hakuro that Personnel never processed anything in less than forty-eight hours, and he would stop making a fool of himself by saying such things in public.

The prospect of not having to deal with all that idiocy anymore put a faint smile on her face as she exchanged, theoretically, final salutes with Hakuro. When she turned, though, it slipped a bit.

Roy's eyes were black with rage and his fingers were curled in a way that made her glad his gloves were in his pocket not on his hands.

Of course. He had chosen a career as a soldier because most of a soldier's life appealed to him. Why should it occur to him that Hakuro had taken nothing from her that she valued? She had never told him.

And she wasn't going to tell him now. Which left her with a bit of a problem.

She stepped toward him quickly, cutting across whatever Hakuro was drawing breath to say. "Shall we be going then? I'll find us two boxes."

Roy's mouth tightened, but he let her herd him out of the office and stalked down the hall, cane stabbing the tiles as though he had a grudge against the floor. Lisa paced beside him, turning over methods for damage control in her head.

"It could have been worse," she said, quietly, once she was sure they were out of Hakuro's earshot.

"Could it?" Roy's voice was sharp.

"He could have refused to let me go," Lisa pointed out.

Roy's stride hitched for a moment and his eyes widened from their fixed glare as they darted toward her. Lisa stifled a sigh of relief that the momentum of his anger was broken, and proceeded to deliberately misinterpret his surprise.

"It would have been stupid. Only an idiot keeps unwilling officers around. But it's wartime and he could legally have refused to allow me to resign my commission." She watched out of the corner of her eye as her matter-of-fact tone refocused his thoughts away from his outrage and onto his puzzlement.

"You... don't mind?" he asked at last, slowly.

Lisa hesitated. She'd put a certain amount of work into making sure he never asked her anything like this, so she'd never had to consider just how frankly to answer. His choice of career and her choice to support him and his plans were no longer at stake, of course, but still...

"I didn't enter the army because I like the way it does things, Sir," she said, at last. The truth. Just not the bluntest one.

"I see."

A corner of Lisa's mouth twitched. He didn't sound like he saw. But he did sound thoughtful; it was a start.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Two

What does a career soldier do when he loses his career? And what do his friends do about him? Drama, I-3

Roy's past slid through his fingers into a box: a folded "portrait" of him, product of Elysia's first finger paints; a box with his captain's insigniaâ€”so that's where it had gone; two letter openers, one of them an old knife of Hughes'.

"I can't believe they actually cashiered you," Havoc muttered, leaning against Hawkeye's desk. She shoved him out of the way to get at the last of her drawers, tucking a handful of letters into her own box.

"Oh, I'm not cashiered," Roy said, lightly, feeling around the back of his flat drawer. Something had been rattling back there, he was sure of it. "I'm honorably discharged to enjoy a well-deserved retirement in light of both my service and my injuries. The letter said so in black and white." Havoc's long mouth twisted around his cigarette, and none of the rest of Roy's officers looked any happier.

Roy's erstwhile officers, that was.

His fingers hit something hard and square and Roy fished out a rectangular box. It was a folded chess board. Roy brushed the dust off it gently, and for the first time that day his smile softened. "Stop worrying so much," he told them without looking up as he stowed the chess set carefully where it wouldn't get scratched. "It's the price I expected to pay."

"So... what will you do, now, Sir?" Fury asked, wavering between looking hangdog and a rather unsuccessful attempt at optimism.

Roy wasn't about to admit that he didn't know; that kind of thing was bad for his image. Not to mention their morale. "Back to my alchemical studies, perhaps. There's plenty of reading in the field that I haven't been able to keep up with, all these years," he murmured. He folded his box shut and caught the roll of tape Hawkeye tossed him. The noise of shearing off a long strip made a good excuse not to expand on his alleged plans.

"Hmph." Havoc folded his arms. "Maybe I should go track down Hakuro myself, while he's still in the mood, and see if he'll let me resign my commission, like he did Hawkeye. I could use a less dangerous job."

Roy looked up at that. It would take a finely tuned ear to hear the genuine offer and question buried in Havoc's careless tone, but he'd listened to Jean Havoc for years. "No. Shoui." He straightened. "You're due for promotion, and the army needs good officers."

Havoc blinked, probably at being called a good officer, and looked aside, resettling his shoulders. "If you say so."

"I do say so," Roy agreed easily. "So there you are."

Besides, letting Hawkeye go had been an insult to her from Hakuro, and if Roy had to think about that vindictive gleam behind the bluff smile being directed at any more of his subordinates he was going to forget all the fancy daydreams about setting Hakuro's ribbons on fire and just punch the bastard. He raised an eyebrow at Hawkeye and she nodded, hefting her box. Roy gathered up his own and stepped toward the door.

"Taisa!"

Roy looked back, with a wry smile for how quickly he responded to a rank that was no longer his, even on his retirement papers.

His staff drew themselves up and gave him salutes so sharp he could have shaved with them. After a long moment Roy set down his burden and returned them, just as sharp and clipped. "Carry on, gentlemen," he said, quietly.

They remained at attention as he left.

"Stop staring at that box."

Roy raised his head and managed to smile at Hawkeye with an edge of teasing. "Is there something more interesting I should be staring at?"

"Yes," she told him briskly, and tossed a newspaper sheet over the offending item. "Look at this."

Roy looked. And then he chuckled as he read down the list of properties for sale. Ever organized, Hawkeye had underlined a handful of them in red. And then numbered them. "Shall we go shopping, then?" he suggested, still slightly bemused by the whole idea of shopping for a house the way he usually went shopping for a good cut of beef.

He should have known it wouldn't be quite that simple, of course.

"... and we just replaced the plumbing last year, it won't give you any trouble."

Hawkeye applied a firm toe to one of the shiny steel pipes. Rust sifted out of the socket where it curved, followed by a trickle of water. She gave the owner a cold look, and he smiled weakly.

"Eheh."

"...hasn't been a flood for years, and we cleaned out all the rotted plaster, you can hardly smell it any more except in the summer..."

"The neighbor's dog is a bit loud," the owner admitted, as they walked through the yard and a burly, black and tan dog in the next yard flung itself against its leash barking with rage that it couldn't reach to take off anyone's leg. "But she always keeps him tied up."

Hawkeye turned a stern eye on the dog and walked toward the fence.

"Miss, you might not...!"

"Sit!" she ordered.

The dog paused, one paw in the air, considering. Then it sat down and regarded Hawkeye with ears forward.

"Good dog."

The owner's mouth opened and closed silently, and Roy smirked.

Roy stared. "Chuu... Hawkeye," he murmured. "Is this room, in fact, lime green?"

"I'm afraid so," she returned just as softly.

"Ah. Good. At least it isn't some fresh complication with my vision."

"I don't think even trauma could produce purple carpet to go with it."

"Thank God," he whispered fervently, as the owner shepherded them, cheerily, into the next room.

Roy was both thoroughly distracted, and also starting to have second thoughts about whether more space was worth this kind of trouble, when they found it.

He stood in the middle of the living room and turned in a circle, laughing under his breath. The white plaster walls were half covered with bookshelves running from the wood floor to the high ceiling. Another room on the ground floor and two upstairs had still more shelves. And there was an apple tree in the back yard that had made Hawkeye smile and reach up a hand to touch the first pale blossoms.

"What do you think?" he asked her.

"There's certainly room enough," she observed in an approving tone. "And everything on the list Gracia gave me checks out. The windows are tight and everything stands square."

"Well, yes, but do you like it?"

Uncertainty flickered over her face, an uneasy fit on her clear eyes and firm mouth. "I think it's a very nice house," she said slowly.

Roy found himself momentarily at a loss for how to go on. He'd figured out that Hawkeye didn't like it when he flirted with her, or even complimented her in passing, so teasing wasn't going to work. But if he just came out and asked...

No. Not until he found out why she kept brushing him away.

"I just wondered if you might like to choose a room for yourself, instead of resorting to the couch." He looked out the large front window, hands tucked casually into his pockets. "It only seems fair, since you helped me find this place." His mouth curled up suddenly. "An even trade."

Hawkeye seemed to relax, when he put it in those terms, and Roy dared a little further.

"Actually, a really fair trade would be to offer you a half share of the house." As her eyes widened he added, "Since you shared your house with me all winter."

"I suppose... the room at the back of the second floor is shaded nicely." Her smile was a bit crooked. "If you really want to give up the space right after finding it."

"Company is more interesting than space."

There was something unusual behind the long look she gave him. Something he would have called wariness, if that weren't ridiculous. But her chin lifted again and she nodded.

"All right."

Roy's attempt to pack up his own library was instantly vetoed by Hawkeye on the grounds that that was heavy lifting and he wasn't medically cleared for that, yet. After a few overhead reaches started his shoulder twinging again, he gave in and agreed, but that left him without anything to do while movers boxed up his life around him.

Nothing but try to figure out what he was going to do with his life, now. Watching all the layers be stripped away didn't help. He kept finding things that reminded him of why he had chosen a military career.

Of why he had stayed.

A copy of his letter of application to officer's training, pressed in the first pages of Ruland, earnestly explaining that he wanted to put his alchemical abilities at the army's disposal in the field. His commission, carefully framed, now dusty from having been stuffed into the bottom of a bookshelf for years. A squared off chunk of pale eastern sandstone with glassy streaks through it where his own fire had melted the silicon. A folded, fading piece of notepaper, tucked loosely into his sole cookbook, listing all the living generals from eight years ago and marking how much time it had taken each to reach his rank. A yellow newspaper clipping, slipped between two of his old coded notebooks, attributing the stability of the annexed Northern territory to the State Alchemist who served under the military governor.

Some things were older. His copy of Hollandus, and Vaughn's works, both of which he had inherited from his first teacher in alchemy. His aunt's round, black teapot that she had given him when he moved to Central City, the one whose reflections had fascinated him as a child. Even among those, though, he kept finding echoes of his choice.

When Hawkeye walked in to find him turning his father's Iron Cross over and over in his fingers she called up Hughes. Roy made a personal note that Hawkeye had no reservations about fighting dirty.

"Funny how it all takes up more room in boxes, isn't it?" Hughes commented as he picked his way through the piles of cardboard. He eyed the dust smears all over the couch and took a seat on one of the boxes instead. "Here." He plunked a bag down beside him and pulled out two bottles of beer, tossing one over.

Roy smiled to see that it was their compromise brand, the one that was light enough to make him happy and full enough to satisfy Hughes.

Hughes held up his bottle. "Here's to you, ex-Junsho."

Roy clinked his bottle against it. "And to you, ex-Junsho."

They drank and Hughes sighed. "I really thought he wasn't going to be able to get you, too." Then he snorted and his voice trailed off into a now-familiar mutter. "... dereliction of duty. I return from the dead, and all he can say is 'dereliction of duty'!"

Roy shrugged. "As far as he knows I murdered our commander for personal ambition. Even if he can't quite prove it."

Hughes gave him a sharp look. "He wouldn't have pushed it the way he did unless it was personal."

"Of course not." Roy examined his bottle thoughtfully. "But it's why he actually got me discharged. If it was just personal he'd have demoted me and kept me around to gloat at." If nothing else, the forced introspection of sorting through his things had reminded him that Hakuro actually was a good solider, albeit an idiot in a lot of other ways.

"Mmm." Hughes took a long swallow. "Think you'd have preferred that?"

"It's something that happens when you play the promotion game," Roy said, at length.

"Something that happens to a soldier?" Hughes translated, quietly. He leaned an elbow back on the boxes behind him and stared up at the water stains on the ceiling. "And now we're not."

Roy's mouth tightened and he made himself nod. Now he wasn't.

So what was he?

Hughes narrowed his eyes. "As an alchemist you still have influence," he pointed out. "You can still protect this country." Then he frowned. "Are you still a State Alchemist?"

Roy blinked. "Technically, I suppose I am," he said, slowly. "At least... Hakuro never asked for the watch back, and I didn't think of it." He frowned in turn. "That won't do. There's no real leverage without a commission, too."

Hughes threw his head back and laughed. "Drink up, Roy, you'll be fine." A gleam lit his eye. "Though, if you're giving it back... "

Roy recognized that look, and couldn't help the smirk that spread over his face. "Slingshot?" he suggested.

"Not nearly fancy enough," Hughes protested. "We have reputations to uphold, here, Mustang." He pulled out more bottles. "Now, let's think about this."

"You melted the watch." It was a statement, not a question. "On Hakuro's desk."

"Er. We were drunk?" Hughes offered, with a winning smile.

Hawkeye gave them a cool, unimpressed look. "And you got in without an appointment how?"

"We told them the truth." Roy settled back on his box-chair smugly and crossed his legs. "That I was going to return the watch. They let us right through."

"And now Hakuro has a silver paperweight shaped like a hand? Your hand? Snapping?"

"A very fine piece of work, if I say so myself." Roy and Hughes grinned at each other.

Hawkeye was silent for a long moment before she nodded sharply. "Excuse me. I have to go pack the rest of my things."

Roy blinked after her as she strode out and then frowned at Hughes. "She won't move in because I ask her to, but she will because she's annoyed at me?"

"Women," Hughes said wisely. "Have another beer."

TBC

The Iron Cross is a German military medal.

Counterpoint - Breaking Eggs

Lisa gets some good advice from Gracia. Drama, I-3

It wasn't until she tried to separate out some things specifically to keep at Roy's that Lisa realized just how many of her things had already found their way over. About a third of her dresser seemed to be gone. So were her spare cleaning kit, her favorite boots, the extra bag of dog food, her small frying pan and her cheese grater, of all things.

Actually, she remembered taking over the cheese grater, after one attempt to make a decent omelette with cheese chopped into bits. How she had wound up with her spare toothbrush at home, she was less sure of.

She sat down on the floor of her bedroom, tossing her more ragged slippers into the corner in exasperation, and laughed helplessly as Black Hayate promptly retrieved them for her. "I bet you'd like to move, wouldn't you?" she asked him, rubbing his ears. He panted happily at her. "Yeah, you're just as hopeless as I am."

A knock at the door pulled her away from her attempts to locate all her belongings, which was probably just as well.

"Gracia!"

The sweet-faced woman at her door smiled and leaned against the frame. "Since you had to call Maas in on Roy I thought perhaps I should stop by and see how you're doing, yourself."

Lisa snorted and led the way to the kitchen to light the stove under her teakettle. "It's not like I'm going to be heartbroken over losing my job," she pointed out, waving Gracia to the table. At least her kitchen table and chairs had stayed where they were supposed to be.

Gracia leaned her chin in her hands, smile turning just a touch wicked. "It wasn't you job I expected you to be heartbroken over."

Lisa set down the teacups with a bit more force than necessary. "I'm not heartbroken over anything."

"And that would be why your home looks like Black Hayate just finished chasing something through it?" Gracia took the tea set away from Lisa and measured tea into the pot with a gentler touch. Lisa sat down with a small thump and sighed.

"That's... well, you know about the new house?" Gracia nodded and Lisa folded her hands on the table and looked down at them. "Roy. I think he wants me to move in."

Gracia tipped her head to the side. "You're not happy about this?"

Lisa's eyes narrowed. "Happy that he looks at me like I'm just another one of those fluff-heads who flutter over him because he smiles at them and then ignores them? Not especially."

Gracia blinked. "Does he look at you like he does at them?" she asked, slowly.

"He's been flirting with me! For months!" The kettle began to whistle and Lisa got up to fetch it. "That was one of the reasons I was so ready to let him move back to his place, even though it meant going there to make sure he was doing his exercises and not straining that shoulder or forgetting to eat or anything idiotic like that."

Gracia's chin was in her hand again as she watched Lisa. "And when he does flirt, what do you do?"

"Act like a professional." Lisa brooded over the rising steam. "I've always had his respect as a professional, and I'm not giving that respect up."

"If you keep acting like nothing but his second, he won't look at you the way you want him to," Gracia reminded her softly.

Lisa shrugged and poured the tea with a steady hand. "It doesn't seem that he's ever going to look at me the way I want him to."

Gracia sighed. "The two of you." She blew across her tea and took a sip. "You're probably confusing the life out of the poor man." Her lips crimped. "Which is good for him. But I don't think you should give up, just yet."

Lisa tried not to feel too much hope, but Gracia had known Roy longer than any of the rest of them. Surely she would know? She nibbled on her lip and looked the question at Gracia.

"He isn't very likely to figure it out on his own," Gracia allowed, "but neither of you has really had a chance to give it a decent try. His injury and recovery, and now the discharge... he hasn't been thinking clearly too often, I expect." She gave Lisa a stern look. "And I'll bet you haven't either, as wound up in him as you are."

Lisa studied her teacup with great attention.

Gracia sat back and shook her head. "Let him get back to himself. When he is... you've already seen what will work, haven't you?"

Lisa blinked. "I have?"

"You're missing the obvious. He treats you as whatever you act like." Gracia gave her a bright, mischievous smile. "So act like what you want him to treat you as."

Lisa turned that over in her head. So. If she wanted Roy to not treat her as either another light conquest or as only his second... "When he's back to himself, hm?" Slowly, she smiled back. "Thank you, Gracia."

Gracia patted her hand. "No problem. Now, why don't you tell me about the new house."

Lisa shuddered faintly. "For starters, it is not purple and green..."

TBC

The Best

The husband and wife conspiracy team. Drama, I-2

Gracia looked up with bright eyes as her husband strolled into the kitchen humming. "How's Roy?"

"Very much himself." Maas dropped a kiss on her cheek, and another on her ear for good measure, making her giggle. "So? Did it work?"

"Of course it did." Gracia smiled, just a touch complacently.

Maas folded his arms around her, beaming. "I'm so lucky," he sighed. "Not only is my wife beautiful, smart, sweet and amazing, she's also the best secret agent I've ever seen."

She leaned against him laughing. "In a good cause. After all, there's no earthly reason for them not to, anymore. Now," she gave the potatoes another stir, "you haven't seen your daughter all day, and she says she wants to play on the swing."

Maas drew himself up to attention and saluted her smartly. "Yes Ma'am! Right away, Ma'am!"

Gracia shook her head as he about-faced and marched out of the kitchen toward the back yard. She really did hope Lisa would be as lucky in her love as Gracia had been.

And Gracia Hughes didn't leave her hopes to chance.

TBC

Counterpoint - Deadly Force

Some reflections, while Hawkeye cleans her guns. Drama, I-3

Lisa was cleaning her guns. Cleaning them thoroughly enough that she could store them when she was done.

Oil streaked her hands, and she knew she had a smudge of it on her cheek, where her wrist hadn't been quite clean enough to brush aside her hair without smearing. It didn't bother her. There were things you couldn't clean without getting dirty. Attics. Guns.

Countries.

She held the mainspring of her second pistol up to the light; no, that was just a bit of uneven oil, not scoring. She wiped it down carefully.

She liked her guns. Killing made her reluctant to eat for a day or two, but the guns themselves were clean and precise and definite at all times. They were solid. And if she was fast and accurate, then so were they. She didn't have quite the... relationship with them that a lot of the other sharpshooters did. But, then, she hadn't been there for the same reason most of them had.

Lisa knew she'd been lucky. She could easily have been assigned to some command other than Roy's. As it was, she had been able to fire most of her bullets in direct defense of the handful of people she knew and valued in that army.

She wiped her hands and started reassembling the parts.

She didn't understand the other way; didn't comprehend how anyone could shoot just because they were told to, with no personal reason of their own. It was some strange kind of abstract insanity, as far as she could tell.

She fished out her second screwdriver, the one Winry-chan had re-ground to make the perfect fit more so, and delicately tightened the screw. One last careful pass with the oil cloths and she slid the guns into their holsters. She hesitated when she started to put them in the storage box, though.

Roy understood the other way.

Slowly she put her guns back on the rack in her front closet.

TBC

Housewarming

Havoc watches and worries a bit about his friends, as he moves them in. Drama, I-2

"I thought housewarming was supposed to happen after everything is moved and unpacked."

Jean snorted into his beer at Farman's rueful observation. "Yeah, well. At least they supplied the drinks. Besides, when was the last time we got any kind of normal assignment from Mustang-taisa?" he added with a wry grin.

"A good point." Farman stood up as the last load of boxes from Hawkeye's place pulled up.

Jean followed more slowly, and not just because he wanted to get the last few swallows of his beer. The Colonel and Hawkeye were converging on the car, and the two of them had been worth watching all day.

Of course, they'd always been kind of fun to watch. Anyone with eyes knew Hawkeye'd had a thing for their superior officer since day one. Well, anyone with eyes who wasn't Roy Mustang, but Jean had never been sure that wasn't deliberate ignorance. It was actually a pretty impressive show to watch them dancing around it.

The steps seemed to have changed, today, though.

They were acting like two cats who'd just met. One of them was always watching the other, but only when the other wasn't looking. They didn't quite go so far as to start washing when the target looked around, but Jean had collected quite a list of other elaborately innocent gestures, over the course of the day.

"These three go up to my room, the rest go to the kitchen." Hawkeye tapped the first set of boxes with emphasis. "Open these, and die."

The uniformly male box-carrying contingent voiced vigorous agreement, and Jean snickered. Poor Fury was still traumatized from having opened a box of her underwear and Hughes-san was kindly keeping him occupied unpacking books. He'd never seen Lisa turn quite that shade of red, either.

She gave him a dark look, now. "You can take the plates."

The heaviest box, of course. He was happy enough, though, since it finally gave him a chance to talk to her alone. "Are you really sure about this?" he asked quietly, as they ripped open boxes on the kitchen floor.

"Sure about what?" Her tone was quellingly brisk, and Jean eyed her with exasperation.

"About moving in with him, Lisa. I mean, you're not," he waved a hand, "like that yet, right?"

Her lips thinned and she paused in putting away glasses to direct a paint-stripping glare at him. Jean sighed. "Look, I'm not prying. It's just... are you sure it's a good idea?"

Her hands stilled, resting on the counter. "No, I'm not sure," she said, at last, softly. "But I do know nothing will ever change if I'm not the one to push it. Not the way I want it to."

Jean looked at her for a long moment, and a corner of his mouth curled up. "About time you went after what you want." She blinked at him and he chuckled. "Oh, come on. You're one of us; you know we're all rooting for you, right?"

Her eyes softened. "Jean..."

"Besides," he took a reflective drag on his cigarette, "once you put a leash on him, he'll stop stealing girls from all the rest of us. Win-win situation, I say."

The rest of the box carriers came back downstairs to find Hawkeye leaning on a chair laughing while Jean innocently put away plates.

TBC

Counterpoint - Pick Up Sticks

Lisa chooses a new direction to move in. Drama, I-3

Lisa rolled her favorite pen between her fingers, smoothing her thumb up and down the cool, green enamel. It had been a present, years ago, from her mother, and she had never found another that weighed as well in her hand.

Today it seemed a little heavier than usual.

She rested her chin on her fist and stared down at the blank paper in front of her.

Roy would be in motion again, soon. He probably didn't know it, yet, but she was sure of it. She had watched him recovering from his physical injuries, and the progress of the wound that his discharge had dealt him wasn't all that different. He was still drifting; but he was drifting closer and closer back to the current of pure idealism that had carried his cold and ruthless manipulations along at such an incredible speed.

And when that current took him again, it would take her, too.

Lisa tapped a nail against the pen, each click firm and clear. She'd decided, about a year into her tenure as Roy's second, that her life would be far easier if the reasons she loved him were different from the reasons she followed him. Everything would be simpler if she could separate the two. But the brilliant, wild, arrogant precision that had caught her intellect, and the rage and compassion that had captured her loyalty, were the same things that fascinated her heart. And that was that.

Act like what you want to be to him.

It would be easier to follow Gracia's very good advice if there were fewer things she wanted to be to him.

Act like what you want to be...

Lisa's head came up, and she took a grip on her pen and pulled the paper toward her. What she wanted to be was the kind of person Roy Mustang would be proud to stand beside. Whether he ever noticed it or not was beside the point.

She would be that kind of person because it was what she wanted.

And if her own past could serve that goal, then she would use it.

She lifted the pen her mother had given her and wrote down an address she hadn't visited since she was eighteen.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Three

Roy comes to some realizations and starts to move again. Drama, I-3

Roy looked up, as Lisa scuffed through the kitchen door, and backed into the corner by the sink with an amused smile.

He'd been rather startled, at first, to find that Hawkeye was not, of her own accord, a morning person. She had the talent of waking up quickly when she needed to, but left to her own devices she was never up before sunrise and joined the world of the living gradually. Her eyes were open by the time she got downstairs, but both her four-legged housemate and her new two-legged one knew to stay out of her way while she more or less sleepwalked through her morning routine. Roy felt a certain scientific curiosity, watching her, about what would happen if he moved, say, her tea-strainer from its usual home one morning.

Today it looked like he might find out. She stopped in front of the empty fruit basket and stood for several breaths blinking at it sleepily.

"We're out," Roy pointed out, helpfully.

"Oh." It took another moment, but apparently her response to missing items was to skip that step. She collected her tea and toast and settled at the table. Roy gave her a fond look behind her back and slid the second half of the eggs onto one of her plates before he went back to putting away his own dishes.

Segregated dishes weren't exactly the kind of thing he'd had in mind, when he first mentioned sharing the house with her. Nor had he quite known what to make of the fact the she'd stenciled her name in neat, white paint on the underside of all her furnitureâ€”the kitchen table, for example. But he had to admit, it saved argument over whose turn it was to wash up. And, recalling a few of Hughes' and Gracia's early spats over the definition of a clean dish, perhaps it was just as well.

Not, he thought, a bit disgruntled, that his relationship with Lisa merited any kind of comparison to Hughes and Gracia.

She stretched and leaned back in her chair. "So, fruit. We also need more eggs and milk. The honey is close to out. We'll need more rolls by tomorrow. More meat, too; maybe chicken this time. I was going out today, anyway, I'll pick things up."

Roy checked the level of her teapot. All that before her second cup and without checking the pantry; he was impressed. She'd make any quartermaster green with envy. The thought still twinged a little, and he turned away from it. "It's a beautiful day out," he observed, instead. "We might as well both go; we could take Black Hayate along."

Black Hayate emerged from under the table to perk his ears at them, hopefully, and Lisa smiled. "All right."

Ha. Maybe he really was figuring her out. Casual was the ticket. Roy was whistling as he went to fetch his shoes and cane.

Watching her emerge onto the front step and turn her face up to the sun and draw a deep breath, Roy took a moment for purely aesthetic appreciation. The light jacket and skirt suited her well. He grinned, wondering what would happen if he suggested that a shorter skirt would suit her even better, and whether it would involve him having to duck. But as they walked, and he listened to her cheerful greetings to neighbors and shopkeepers, his thoughts turned more serious.

Lisa had been a sweet, cheerful girl, when he'd met her. But she'd been seventeen at the time. He hadn't been surprised that she'd become more solemn, when she showed up as his new Second Lieutenant two and a half years later. People changed as they grew up. And Hawkeye had still been kind, as well as formidably capable. It was the capability that showed first, by then, and the new seriousness suited it. He'd thought it was natural to her, and thought nothing more of it.

Now...

"Peaches!" She leaned over a bin to inhale lovingly. "They'll be perfect in a few days. Let's get some!" She tossed her hair over her shoulder to look back at him with a laughing smile. Roy could feel his expression softening in return, but his chest twisted.

She was beautiful. Bright and beautiful and... free. No matter how he tried, he couldn't quite evade that word when he saw her like this.

They were on their way back to the house before he made up his mind to speak.

"Hawkeye," he started, quietly, drawing her attention back from Black Hayate's frisking around, "why did you enter the military?"

Abruptly all that brightness looked more like sun shining on steel. "Because what you wanted to do was right," she pronounced, looking straight ahead. "And you needed someone to pay attention and watch your back."

"You weren't happy there at all, though, were you?" he asked, still more quietly. Not that he had noticed until the present contrast hit him over the head with it, and maybe she had a point when she brushed off his small attempts at courtship.

For a few moments he didn't think she would answer, but eventually she stopped rearranging the bunches of lilacs in the top of her bag and looked over at him. "No. I wasn't. But all of us did things we weren't happy doing, to get where we wanted to go."

Roy had to swallow before he could reply. "We did." He hesitated a moment. "Lisa. Thank you."

Her eyes warmed, and this smile almost made him trip over his own feet.

Maybe he owed Hughes an apology for all the ragging he'd given the man over mooning around, when he first started seeing Gracia.

It didn't take long, after Hawkeye left for her appointment, for Roy to return to brooding. Edward Elric might be the most obvious of the lives lost to Roy's plans and ambitions, but clearly it wasn't the only one. And after all that, all he had done was to remove a single betrayer. The keystone, perhaps, but in the doing he'd lost the chance to do more. It wasn't enough to balance the losses. His dark thoughts were only interrupted by Hughes' arrival on his doorstep.

"Well, looks like the two of you have settled in all cozily," Hughes commented, sprawling down on the couch.

Roy glared at him. On second thought, apologies were out of the question. Maas had earned every bit of grief Roy had ever given him, at one time or another. "If you don't have anything useful to say..."

Hughes waved a hand. "Patience, patience. Actually I have a job prospect for you."

Roy's brows rose. So far, he had been completely unable to come up with any job he was well qualified for, outside of the military, besides maybe factory work. He'd sooner hire on with a road crew, except that he still needed the damn cane to compensate for his lost depth perception.

Hughes smiled, and propped his elbows over the back of the couch. "How'd you like to work for the government, Roy?"

Well, that was a possibility he hadn't really considered. Roy sat back and made go-on motions.

"You know there's still no Minister of Defense?" Hughes' voice was casual; his eyes were anything but.

Roy's mouth tightened. There had, in fact, been an article in the paper just this morning about Parliament's increasing pressure on the Chancellor to select a Minister to oversee the military. He nodded silently.

"Did you know the Chancellor is going to be present for Professor Gauss' lecture at the Central University tomorrow night?"

"And the point of this information?" Roy asked, a bit cautiously. "Hughes, you know what Gauss thinks of the State Alchemists. He'd throw me out on my ear if I attended, and what good would that do anyone?"

"He'd certainly speak to you, it's true," Hughes allowed beaming. "Quite vehemently, I imagine. Very difficult to ignore, that."

Roy narrowed his eyes at his friend, mind ticking over. "Are you suggesting that I come out in support of separating the state funded alchemists from the military?" he asked, softly. It was the only thing he could think of that would make the right kind of stir at a gathering like Gauss' lecture.

"The Chancellor seems to approve of the idea," Hughes observed. His own gaze sharpened. "Do you still want to make sure that what you wanted to do gets done?"

Roy took a fast breath. Could he? Could he really make all the sacrifices mean something more? Carry the trust of the lives lost, one way and another, a little further? "Yes," he said, fiercely.

Hughes' answering smile was just as fierce. "There's our Roy Mustang." He pulled a folder from under his jacket and tossed it into Roy's lap. "Here's your hook, then. Everything I could find on Chancellor Ebert. It isn't as much as it would have been a year ago," he added with a sour face, "but there are still people who tell me things if I ask nicely. Up to you to reel him in."

Roy laughed out loud. "I will."

TBC

Counterpoint - Trading

Lisa goes back to her roots. Drama, I-3

The door hadn't changed at all.

It was the same strong-grained wood, glossy and polished with no signs of scuff marks or wear. The brass plate by the door still gleamed and the name Holbeck still marched across it in elegantly engraved letters. The name's owner stood as Lisa was ushered into his office and held out a hand. "It's good to see you again, Madam! What can we do for you today?"

Lisa smiled at the accounts manager, shaking his hand firmly before taking one of the deep, cushioned chairs. "For once, I actually have some work for you. How are my accounts doing?"

Holbeck whisked open the lone folder sitting in the middle of his desk and extracted two pieces of paper. He passed them over to her and sat back, hands folded. "As you can see, the account for your military salary is declining; am I correct in thinking there will be no more deposits into it?" He made a small harumph when she nodded. "Well. Your family allowance account is still accruing, of course. There was a bit of a dip, earlier this year, what with the panic over change in government, but things have smoothed out again."

Lisa ran a quick eye over the figures, but Holbeck's summary was really all she needed. A corner of her mouth twitched as she wondered what Roy would think if he knew that she'd learned half her officer skills from her family's bank manager.

"Leave the salary account as it is; I'll be drawing daily expenses from that until it's gone. The allowance, though..." Lisa let out a slow breath. "I want to invest the whole thing."

Holbeck blinked at her for one moment. She couldn't blame him for taking a while to adjust; she'd been... vehement in her refusal to touch the money her family doled into that account. Totally aside from her support of Roy's goals, it had been a matter of principle to succeed on her own merits and resources, as an officer.

"Of course, Madam," Holbeck said, recovering. "Do you know where you wish to invest?"

Lisa handed over a sheet of her own. "I want to divide it evenly between these two companies, for now."

Holbeck made professionally considering noises as he read. "Ah, yes, one of the building companies that's involved down in Lior, excellent choice. And..." He hesitated and glanced up at her. "Cary Munitions? You're sure, Madam? They don't have any major contracts..." He trailed off as Lisa smiled.

"They don't yet," she agreed.

A gleam of anticipation lit Holbeck's eye. "I see." He tucked the paper into her folder. "If I may say so, Madam, you are your father's daughter."

Lisa's smile tilted. "Yes. I suppose I am."

And now the skills her father had taught her would serve the ends of the man she had chosen to follow. The man Jordan Hawkeye had insisted was unworthy of his only daughter.

"On that subject," Holbeck added in a suddenly cautious tone, "we have, as you directed, answered all your family's inquiries about your allowance account. Do you wish to change that policy now?"

Lisa sighed. "No. If you suddenly stop answering their questions they'll just come bother me." Even she could hear that her laugh was brittle.

"As you say, Madam," Holbeck murmured.

She knew Holbeck had been worried and saddened by the chilly silence between his best clients and their daughter, the girl who used to sit on the floor of his office and make pretend ledger entries on the backs of old bills while he did business with her parents. Lisa summoned a more genuine smile for him. "I imagine I'll be seeing you more often, now, Mr. Holbeck."

"Indeed." He brightened. "I'll look forward to it. We all will."

They parted cordially and Lisa paused on the steps of the bank to look up at the tall stone arches. This was her family's world. She wasn't sure she was ready to come back to it. But she was sure that she had agreed with Roy Mustang seven years ago, and that she still did now. For her, nothing had changed. One method she was uncertain of had been replaced by another. The fight went on.

Her shoulders straightened and she turned down the steps to head home.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Four

Roy stirs things up and gets a new job. Drama, I-3

Roy lurked by the wall, watching the reception get into swing. The long, windowed hall was bright with lamps and starting to echo with the rise and fall of voices commenting on Professor Gauss' presentation. It was worth comment, Roy thought. Gauss was not known as a good teacher, but he did have the gift of framing his conclusions clearly and completely, and any lecture of his was worth attending.

Of course, Hughes had failed to mention that this presentation would be about the ethics of civilians doing alchemical research for the military. Roy would have to think of a suitable way to thank him for that little surprise.

The small cluster around Gauss moved toward the buffet table, looking like it would cross into the Chancellor's sphere where he leaned against a wall of his own. Time to move.

Roy couldn't help a faint smile when Gauss stiffened at the sight of him; fortunately a bit of smugness would only start things off on the right note. He nodded cordially as he picked up a glass of wine. "Professor Gauss. An excellent presentation, as usual."

"Mustang!" Gauss nostrils pinched. "I hardly expected you to attend. Surely you can't have any interest in the subject of alchemical ethics."

"On the contrary Professor," Roy returned coolly. "I've had a great deal of interest in it for a long time."

Gauss' mouth worked like he wanted to spit. "You! What interest could someone like you, who willingly uses your abilities as an officer of the military, claim to have?"

"Because I was an officer, Professor." Roy let his voice drop, relaxed for once and let some of the passion he rarely allowed in public view to show. "Only those who are willing to give themselves wholly to the service of their country and abide by the restrictions of an officer's training and discipline have any place practicing alchemy for the military. Only those who can make no pretense to themselves or others that they have not chosen to kill with their power." Roy lifted his chin and stood straight, offering no apology for his own choice.

Gauss eyed him with suspicion, but also, perhaps, a hint of grudging respect for that honesty. "That wasn't what your precious military did, though."

Roy's mouth quirked. "No. One of the drawbacks of being an officer, I admit, was the requirement that I obey my superiors. Even when I thought their policy was wrong. All I could do under those circumstances was shield those under my own command. And seek enough seniority to affect policy myself." He shrugged.

Gauss examined him for a long moment. "If I hear right, you won't be affecting much of anything now, will you?" he asked at last, conversationally. Roy stiffened.

"If we are fortunate," he answered, slightly stifled, "our new government will make it less necessary."

"I suppose we can always hope," Gauss snorted.

They exchanged wary nods and Roy took his drink and retreated to a window. He leaned his head against the cool glass and took a slow breath. Speaking, however vaguely, of the events that led to his discharge had spilled a box of memories that he tried to keep closed these days. Bright, clear, cutting moments recalled themselves: his own flame spreading like a live thing over the stones of Ishvar; excusing himself to run and empty his stomach when he met Tucker's first chimera; the Elric brothers and their search, and Hawkeye's voice telling him of Edward's sacrifice and what it had accomplished.

Silently, he apologized to those memories for stopping. Another breath, and he straightened. He was moving again, now.

Hawkeye was sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in her robe, one leg tucked up under her, when Roy got home. She had the big teapot steaming in front of her, and one of Roy's teacups was set out at his place. "How did it go?" she asked, nodding toward it.

Roy poured out a cup for himself and wrapped his hands around its warmth with a sigh. "Just the way I expected it to. The Chancellor definitely noticed." His mouth twisted. "The entire room noticed, I imagine. Now we'll see if it was enough."

She took a sip from her cup, eyes steady on him over the rim. "Will you really be satisfied with this?" Roy blinked at her and she snorted softly. "Just because I didn't particularly enjoy being a soldier doesn't mean I didn't notice that you did."

The thing that gave him hope, no matter how puzzling Lisa was to him, was that she so obviously cared. That probably wasn't what he should be thinking about right now, though, and Roy made himself consider her question. "If I understand the position correctly, yes. I think it will be quite satisfying," he answered, softly.

She nodded briskly. "Good." She set her tea down with a clink. "Then all we can do now is wait. In the meantime, you can help me prune the apple tree. It looks like it will put out a lot of fruit, this year. If we want any at all next year we should trim it back, according to Renata. "

The new topic was welcome, even if their next door neighbor, Renata, wasn't his very favorite source of advice. Roy wrapped prosaic home-concerns around him like a blanket against the cold of uncertainty. "Do we have heavy enough shears for that?" he asked dubiously, tallying up their accumulated yard implements. There weren't many, so far.

"No," Hawkeye said calmly, "but we do have two spare shovels and an alchemist, which should amount to the same thing. Maybe you can even get a new name out of it—the Household Alchemist."

And then she giggled, probably at his expression.

Four days later Roy ran a slightly paranoid hand through his hair, as he followed a Chancellery Guard, to make absolutely sure there were no apple leaves or twigs still stuck in it. He was fairly sure his appearance wasn't why his guide was giving him dubious looks, but it didn't hurt to be sure.

The dubious looks escalated to a muffled protest when Roy was announced and the Chancellor waved for the Guard to stand outside the door. Ebert sighed.

"Do you want to kill me?" he asked Roy, bluntly.

Roy opened his mouth and closed it again. "No," he managed, finally.

"There, see?" The Chancellor made a shooing motion at the Guard, and turned back into his office.

Roy firmly suppressed his amusement at the exasperated look the Guard directed at Ebert's back and instead gave the man a sympathetic smile on his way in.

"Sit," Ebert directed, taking a seat behind his desk and leaning back, rather wearily to Roy's eye. "So, tell me, did you know I was going to be at Professor Gauss' presentation?"

Clearly, Roy was heading for another superior who could spot him coming and going. This could be good or bad. "I was aware of your presence," he offered.

The Chancellor gave him a wintry smile for that diplomatic prevarication. "You know how to speak the language. Good." He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "Parliament is right; we need a Minister of Defense. But, aside from the difficulty in finding someone qualified, the job is going to be bad enough that I don't want to appoint anyone who doesn't understand what they're heading into and volunteer for it anyway. You have the knowledge for the job, and seem to have the ambition; that leaves us with disclosure. So listen."

Blunt was definitely the order of the day. Roy composed himself to listen.

"Our neighboring countries are furious over our expansion into their territories, and the fact that there's a new government doesn't stop them from holding us responsible. What it has done, so far, is suggest enough civil unrest and disorder that they've taken the opportunity to counter-attack across our borders. I'm trying to make new treaties without giving away any of our land or emptying our treasury, but it's damn slow going. Drachma, especially, wants both territorial concessions and reparations. So the person who's put in charge of the military will have to convince them to hold firm at the borders without allowing any more ventures across them into our neighbors' land. I'm told that's incredibly stupid, tactically speaking; the Minister will have to enforce it anyway. He will also have to figure out how to keep some kind of stability among our recent conquests without starting any more outright civil wars, because we can't afford more of those. Somehow, we're going to have to wave the threat of military alchemists in our neighbors' faces and at the same time give evidence of reforming our State-sponsored alchemical research to ensure that atrocities like those of the past fifty years don't happen again. The Minister of Defense will be the one doing the lion's share of this work, and he's the one who will have to take the fall if any of it blows up." Ebert sat back. "Still want the job?"

Roy had to take a moment to catch his breath, after that litany of disasters waiting to happen. The immediate thought that this was a life's work and more was both terrifying and oddly comforting. "I didn't imagine it would be an easy job," he answered at last, quietly. "Yes, I do want it."

"Why?"

Roy smiled crookedly back at the Chancellor's narrow gaze. If blunt was Ebert's style, Roy could give him blunt back. "I imagine you pulled my personnel file, Chancellor. It must note that my first deployment in the field was to Ishvar."

Ebert tapped his fingers on one of the folders stacked about his desk and nodded.

"I gave myself to my country as a soldier, Chancellor," Roy said, looking down at his folded hands. "I wasn't unwilling. But what happened there was insanity. I wanted to keep it from happening again." He looked up. "And now you're offering me the leverage to see that it doesn't. You have your volunteer, Sir, if I'm the one you want."

"God help us both, Mustang, I think you probably are." Ebert sighed, and then paused. "Did you really kill Bradley?" he asked in a tone of academic curiosity.

Roy couldn't quite stifle a wince. He'd hoped this wouldn't come up. He was entirely too likely to get himself, not only barred from office, but thrown in a mental hospital if he answered honestly. But Chancellor Ebert was the man in charge of the whole nation, now, and if anyone needed all the information straight, it was him.

He took a deep breath. "If I may tell the whole story from the start?" At Ebert's nod he settled back and tried to order his thoughts. "Human transmutation is forbidden because of what it results in..."

Ebert listened to the whole explanation, of Homunculi, of the Red Stone, of the wars fought only to drive desperate research, with no expression. When Roy finished he was silent for a minute.

"That would sound far more unreasonable if I hadn't spent the past couple months reading over the results of State Alchemists' research and the specific orders Bradley sent to certain officers in charge of the worst incidents," he said, at last. "As it is, I regret to say that I believe you. For everyone else's consumption, I suggest you stick to the story that Bradley was killed by runaway monsters of research, not that he was one himself. It will make a good, acceptable reason to limit future research and oversee it more closely."

Roy nodded, his respect for Ebert's political abilities rising another notch. "Yes, Sir."

Ebert heaved a long breath. "All right, Mustang. I'm going to appoint you. You'll have to appear before Parliament, in case they have any questions while they debate your approval for the post. Be prepared."

"Of course."

They exchanged sharp smiles along with firm handshakes, in parting. This superior's clear perception, Roy decided, was a good thing. What a pleasant change.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Five

Team Mustang dives into politics. Drama, I-3

Roy was glad it took Parliament a handful of days to clear their schedules enough to call him in. It took that long to hammer out a story about the past year that would match all checkable facts and not land any of them in prison for murder or in front of a firing squad for treason.

"Okay, so you hustled my body out of town because you suspected I had been attacked by Gran's remaining faction to stop me telling about some of his Alchemists' work." Hughes scribbled a few more dates on the sheets of scratch paper scattered over the living room floor. "That should work. And Gran's dead so he can't object. Even better."

"I was right," Hawkeye put in from the couch, flipping through a binder that had somehow wandered out of Personnel without being checked out. "None of the guards who heard me tell Bradley you were staging an insurrection survived. And Havoc says that the memories of the surviving soldiers from that northern deployment are very fuzzy about just why there was a need to plan an attack on Central. The idea that it was to rescue Bradley, not depose him, seems to make all of them very relieved."

"That's direct testimony taken care of, then." Roy stretched and yawned. "Thank you for handling that." He paused as a thought struck him. "I don't suppose you'd like a job with the ministry, too?" He slid a casual mask over a certain amount of hopefulness.

Hawkeye sniffed. "It was bad enough, dealing with bureaucratic idiots as an officer," she noted. "I'm not going to deal with them as a secretary."

Roy sighed, but couldn't help a small smirk as he admitted, "I do have a bit of difficulty picturing you as a typical secretary."

"Ministerial aide?" Hughes suggested with a grin.

"That's just a secretary with a better salary," Lisa objected. "Money doesn't help with the idiots."

Roy listened to them, amused. Lisa had always had an edge of exasperation to her when she'd had to deal with Hughes, but it actually seemed to be softening into something like teasing now that she'd left military formality behind.

"So aim higher," Hughes declaimed. "I don't see why you shouldn't expect a good job out of this. I do."

Roy smirked at him. "It'll be nice to see someone else get accused of promotion through favoritism for a change."

Lisa shook her head at both of them and reached for the next binder.

It was not an entirely new experience to hear his merits and flaws debated over his head in his presence. It seemed to be a favorite tactic of generals when they called field officers up on the carpet. But it had a different flavor when politicians were doing it.

"... valiantly risked his life and career to safeguard his country's leader, I'd say that's a good sign!"

It was harder to keep a straight face, for one thing.

"One, haven't we just finished saying that it's a damn good thing Bradley's gone?" inquired one of the more skeptical Members, Rosa Luxemburg if Roy recalled correctly. "And two, if it was all about valor and so on, why did he lose his career?" The compression of her lips as she sniffed reminded Roy irresistibly of his Aunt Helena, as did the sharp gaze she bent on the other end of the gallery. "Since we have Hakuro-taisho here, perhaps we should ask him, hm?"

Roy approved. Hakuro had been practically vibrating in his seat for the past ten minutes; it wouldn't do for him to actually explode. Roy might need him later.

Hakuro surged to his feet at the President's invitation. "You do well to ask, Madam! Mustang was discharged because he was suspected of causing King Bradley's death!"

Startled silence rippled over the Chamber. Perfect. Roy sighed into that silence and lifted a brow at Hakuro as the Parliament turned to look at him.

"Taisho, I realize that we have often been opponents due to our efforts to further our individual careers. But surely you can see that it's no longer necessary. Our careers will run in different paths, now." He let his mouth tighten a bit, and watched the room full of politicians take in the implication that Hakuro was attempting to slander his late competition.

Hakuro, on the other hand, seemed to completely miss it, just as expected. "That's beside the point," he snapped.

Roy sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. "The point, Taisho, is that you didn't have any proof when you came up with a way to be rid of me, and you don't have any now. You accomplished what you thought appropriate; I'm a civilian. Be satisfied."

Anger and triumph mixed in Hakuro's face in answer to this straight line. "Yes, a civilian," he growled. "Just what suits your backstabbing cowardice."

Roy's eyes narrowed. "Taisho," he rapped out coldly, cutting across the several sharp inhalations through the Chamber and crossing his fingers in hopes that Hakuro wouldn't notice them, "you forget who you address."

Hakuro reared back. "What?!"

"Or do you disdain to take orders a civilian?" Roy asked, softly, laying the last piece of bait down with care.

"Who wouldn't?" Hakuro shot back.

The rustle of disturbance in the Chamber became something close to a roar, and Roy sat back, watching it jerk Hakuro back to awareness of where they were and who was listening. He suppressed a grimace. It had almost been easy enough to make him feel guilty, watching Hakuro's sudden confusion.

Almost.

Finally, Roy raised his voice. "Enough!" He looked only at Hakuro, as if he still addressed the General, but the Parliament quieted, too. "We will discuss this later, Taisho," he said, firmly. "If it is Parliament's pleasure."

Hakuro sank back into his chair, unable to do anything else at that point. Luxemburg spoke into the silence that followed.

"All right, Friedrich." She turned an imperious look on the Chancellor. "I see your point. I withdraw my objections."

Roy met her hard green eyes, as murmurs of agreement spread among the other Members. There was no trust there, and his mouth quirked.

"Thank you for your understanding, Madam." He said nothing about her support, which is was clear to him he didn't have.

An unwilling answering amusement tugged at her lips. "Quite."

"... the Chancellery Guards are your guards, too, now. Here's your office." Ebert pushed open a thick, dark wood door to show a large, handsome office and a large, handsome desk stacked with a large pile of folders. "Those are the profiles of available, qualified people in other Ministries that you can draw on to build your staff. I think that's everything." He clapped Roy on the shoulder. "Go to it. Good luck."

Another mountain of personnel folders. Lovely. "Ah, Chancellor," Roy lifted a hand, and Ebert looked over his shoulder on his way out the door. "Can I draw on other sources for staff?"

Ebert grinned. "Have some soldiers in mind? Sure, just pass them with Karr, over in Intelligence." He waved. "We'll see you Friday for the weekly Cabinet meeting."

Roy leaned against his desk and surveyed his new domain for a long moment. A staff would be nice, but first things first. He dug out the phone and called the front desk. Ten minutes later Hakuro was shown in.

Roy rested his shoulders against the cool glass of a window and crossed his arms, considering the man in front of him. Hakuro stood stiffly, jaw set.

"You're a good soldier, Taisho," Roy said, at last, and watched Hakuro blink. "You're a good soldier," he repeated, "but you're not suited to politics. The two don't generally go well together. So what I need to know is whether you can do your job and leave the politics to me." He turned to face the window. "If you can, I'll leave you in charge of the army. If you can't I'll call Werther-chuujo back from East City to replace you."

And if Hakuro tried to keep playing the game by lying to him about his intentions, now, Roy would have to remove him completely, and that would be a loss of experience the army couldn't well afford at the moment.

"What job are you going to do?" Hakuro asked after a moment.

Roy smiled. A question instead of a reply was a good sign; a quick answer would almost certainly have been a lie. "I'm going to do my best to pull us all out of the hole Bradley dumped us in," he replied, candidly, and tapped a finger against the glass. "It will involve some very difficult maneuvers from the Army, and I need someone in charge who can hold them together anyway." He turned to look Hakuro in the eye. "Hold them together and obey my orders."

Hakuro's face was a study in conflicting emotions. Roy picked out pleasure that someone thought Hakuro was capable of this; fury, probably at the idea of taking orders from Roy; and shock, probably at the coldness of Roy's tone. Come to think of it, Hakuro had never heard Roy giving direct orders, had he?

Well, he'd better get used to it, now.

Finally Hakuro drew himself up to something that wasn't quite attention. "Very well," he said, tightly. "Sir."

Ambition won again. One problem down, fifteen thousand and forty three to go. "Good. I'll be in touch, Taisho." Roy nodded a dismissal. Hakuro was barely out the door before he'd pulled the phone out of the paper mountain again.

"Hughes? It all worked out. Get over to Karr and convince him to clear you. We'll figure out what your job title is later..."

TBC

Counterpoint - Home Office

Lisa unveils her own new job. Drama, I-3

Lisa looked up from the paper as Roy trudged down the front hall and into the living room. He looked rumpled and tired, which had been true for weeks now, but also pleased, which had been far more rare.

"Triumph!" He brandished a briefcase in the air.

Lisa laughed. "It's smaller than a suitcase. Does that mean you're caught up at work?"

"Finally. Mostly." He sighed and slumped into his armchair, trying to kick his shoes off without unlacing them first. "Material resources for my area is still a touchy question, but I have a staff and it's operating. Now I get to wait and see who isn't as good as their file said they were." He gave her a sidelong look from under his lashes.

Lisa pretended not to notice. She'd had plenty of practice; he'd mentioned what an outstanding aide she was at least once a week since acquiring his new job. "Congratulations," she said, instead. "Have an apple." She slid the basket across the low table with a stockinged toe.

Roy eyed the small red and green streaked fruit. "Are those from the tree out back? I thought it would be longer..."

"Mmm." Lisa scribbled a note next to the stock report for Kitchener Industry and tapped her pencil against her lips. "These are just the first few that are ripe. But it has been that long, you know." She looked up and smiled at him ruefully. "You've been working so hard I think you lost track of a little time."

"Yes. I suppose so." He sighed quietly and leaned forward to grab an apple. The sharp crunch of his first bite was followed by a sound of pleased surprise.

"They're good, aren't they?" Lisa took another for herself, the third of the day so far. "Gracia says they won't work very well for cooking with but should keep for a long time. I was thinking of cleaning off a shelf in the cellar for them."

"Excellent idea," Roy mumbled around a mouthful. "Maybe I should send a basket to Werner Metals, see if I can sweeten them up a little before the next round of negotiations over Army contracts and federal standards."

"No, you shouldn't," Lisa stated. She pulled a binder off the shelf beside the couch and flipped through it under Roy's startled gaze. "What you should do is negotiate with Cary Munitions instead."

Roy's eyes narrowed. "It's true Werner isn't keeping up with the new certification and accountability as well as I'd like," he said, slowly, "but Cary doesn't have the capacity to manufacture as much as operations demand."

Lisa pulled out a sheaf of papers with neat price and volume figures all laid out, and handed it over. "They do now."

Roy ran an eye down the columns, brows lifting. Finally he looked back at her, question hovering on his quirked lips.

Lisa folded her hands and lifted her chin. "Research advances will be taken care of by another company. Building capacity will be the next issue, for more than the weapons companies; that, too, will be taken care of." Pride lent assurance to her voice, and if she had personal reservations about turning her hand to finance and industry she refused to show it to him. "You will have the resources at the standards you need. Minister."

She really couldn't help a satisfied smile at the stunned realization spreading over Roy's face. To be perfectly honest, she didn't try all that hard.

"I'll find some other aide," he murmured, at last. "I doubt they'll be as good as you. But then," recovering some of his usual poise he smiled crookedly, "I'm beginning to doubt anyone could be."

Lisa felt her cheeks heating and busied herself with another bite of her apple. Under that sincere praise the discomfort of her family's ghostly presence over her shoulder faded a bit. Yes; she could do this.

They could both do this.

TBC

Only Tactics

Hakuro reflects grimly on Mustang's influence. Drama, I-2

Fitz Hakuro eyed a sheaf of papers on his desk with distaste. Transfer requests didn't normally merit that kind of glare, but these weren't normal transfers. In fact, they were special requests from the Minister of Defense that certain officers and enlisted be permitted to leave active status so they could take civilian positions with the Ministry and "contribute the perspective of professional soldiers" to "achieve a balanced and equitable view from which to formulate policy" without "permanently removing trained officers from the pipeline, should they be needed".

It was a messy idea, a jury-rigged, special-dispensation way to disorder records and assignments. It proposed to bend regulations into pretzels without ever quite breaking their letter.

It was Mustang all over.

Which, these days, he reflected sourly, meant he couldn't deny it without a really good reason. He should have just demoted the man.

He sighed and pulled the papers towards him. Hindsight was twenty-twenty and so forth. On the bright side, at least Mustang wanted to grab off ones who were traitorously loyal to him from the start. Sergeant Fury, Lieutenant Ross, Private Scieszka. Really, it was too bad he couldn't palm Armstrong off on Mustang, too, and put all the bad eggs in one basket. Fortunately the buffoon seemed happy enough with his field assignments in the East and didn't make trouble. He signed off on one after another.

He tossed his pen on the stack, when he was done, and sat back. Let Mustang have joy of them. It would get them off his hands and away, and that was the important part.

Especially if he ever wanted to do something about Mustang.

He sat back with a small, dreamy smile and contemplated the future.

TBC

Research

Ross fields some odd questions from her new boss. Drama and Romance, I-2

Maria snuck a sidelong glance at her superior. The Minister had been pausing to stare off into space more often than usual today, and she was starting to get just a bit worried.

She was also starting to think she should have kept Havoc-chuui pinned to the wall a lot longer while she pressed information on her new position out of him.

When the Minister spoke, without that abstracted expression altering in the slightest, she was so startled she jumped.

"Ross-kun," he murmured, not seeming to notice. "What do women really want?"

Maria stared. "I beg your pardon?"

"No, really." He leaned his chin on a fist. "In the long term."

She told herself sternly to pull it together. It was, after all, just barely possible that this was an inquiry in the line of work. "What anyone wants, for the most part," she essayed cautiously. "A comfortable life; a family and children, usually; fulfilling work; someone to share it all with..." She trailed off, eyes narrowing. Didn't he have someone who fit in with most of this, already? Or almost have her... "Do you really think it's better to ask your assistant about this than your housemate?"

The corners of his mouth curled up at her suddenly suspicious tone. "It seemed wise to have the widest possible information base," he answered with a virtuous air.

She'd thought so. "If you're having problems, Sir, you should talk directly to the woman involved," she told him firmly.

His gaze sharpened again. "Should I?" He gave her a long look. "Well, that answers the question after all, doesn't it?" He straightened in his chair and shoved the random bit of paper he'd been doodling on out of the way. "Anything in the mail bag I should take care of right away?"

Maria smiled with relief. He was back to normal. "Yes, Sir, one item. Hakuro-taisho mentions the garrison closest to New Ishvar would like permission for soldiers to visit the city while off-duty. I would have returned that one with a veto, given your policy, but since it's directly from him..." She shrugged.

The Minister's eyes turned icy. "He wants to change that policy, does he? Very well. They can visit." He leaned back and folded his hands. "No more than three at a time, sidearms only, and I'll hang the first soldier who's involved in an incident of any kind in any way."

Maria swallowed and reached for her pen to note the terms down. "Yes, Sir."

She wished Lisa Hawkeye luck.

TBC

Another Round

Havoc teases a happy Lisa. Drama and Romance, I-2

Jean waved his mug to catch Lisa's attention as she squinted into the bar's dimness from the open door. "You look cheerful," he noted with a grin as she pulled out a chair.

Faint color painted her cheekbones and she gave him a mild glare. "Don't you start too. Gracia is bad enough, giving me those doting looks every time I turn around."

Jean had to admit, Gracia-san had been looking as if the whole thing had been her idea. Which made him think again about the woman who was, after all, married to Maas Hughes.

"So why don't we talk about how your life has been going, instead," Lisa continued, firmly.

"Because mine is incredibly boring?" Jean snorted glumly and consoled himself with another swallow. "Every morning when I come in and look at those damn stacks of paper I think I should request a field posting. This desk-job stuff is for the birds."

"You'll never get promoted with that attitude," she teased, straight-faced.

"I think you're confusing me with someone else," he drawled and smiled when she laughed. "Seriously," he added, "I'd volunteer for one of the Northern deployments tomorrow, except then I wouldn't be here for—" He remembered his image just in time and bit off the rest of it, burying his nose in his mug.

"For the base Snow Games, this year? Yes, you have a title to uphold, don't you?" Lisa was leaning her chin in her hand and giving him an affectionate and crooked smile. It didn't quite match her innocent tone, but Jean was just grateful that she didn't call him on his little slip in public.

"Right," he agreed, promptly, and paused. "So, um. How is he anyway?"

"Overworking, of course." She shrugged. "About the only things he doesn't ignore are his exercises; food and sleep have to ambush him."

Jean shook his head. That was Mustang, all right. "At least you're around to make sure he gets some."

"Mm." Lisa smiled down into her mug. "He's happy with the work he's doing, though, insane hours and all. And so am I." Her eyes turned a little distant. "Do you know, I haven't taken my guns off their rack in over a month?"

Jean, who had always watched Lisa's face more than her target, on the shooting range, smiled. "I hear your job is really taking off, too."

"It's not doing too badly," she said in a judicious tone that seemed absurd given the amounts of money rumor said she was dealing in these days.

"Next round's on you, then," he declared, leaning back.

She gave him an exasperated look. "The next round was on me, anyway."

Jean took a satisfied drag on his cigarette as she signaled the bar. Everything was on track, and he could relax.

TBC

Once More...Dear Friends - Seven

Their world has changed. Drama with Romance, I-4

The first assassination attempt should probably not have come as a surprise. And, in a way, it didn't. Twelve years of being shot at for one reason and another ingrained some reflexes pretty deeply, and Roy was ducking before the motion of someone aiming to fire registered with his forebrain.

What Roy should not have let himself be surprised by was the fact that, these days, the people around him were far less able to take care of themselves. In the time it took him to pull on a glove behind the overturned buffet table, the shots tracking after him had hit two other people.

He had a lot of time to think about that while he suffered one of the Central Hospital doctors to check him over for any re-injuries and listened to the anxious voices of families out in the hall. Fate seemed to feel this was an insufficient reminder, though; just to make it all more pointed, he found Hawkeye waiting for him in the hospital lobby wearing both her guns.

"Are you all right?" she asked in a businesslike tone, eyes marking each person around them.

"Fine."

Her eyes flickered to him, at the flatness of his voice, and then away again. "Let's go, then."

A car was waiting and she shepherded him briskly into it. That was familiar, but the world stretched in a moment of vertigo when she slid into the back seat beside him. She was always ahead of him, wasn't she? Whenever it felt like the world was blowing away in ashes, she was ahead of him to arrange the details and drive the car. But no, that wasn't what she was any more; nor what he was, any more.

The ride was a silent one.

She didn't speak again until she'd closed and locked the front door behind them. "The doctors checked you over?" she asked quietly. He nodded. "And they're sure there are no new injuries?" Another nod.

She stepped into him and buried her head against his shoulder and held him so tightly his ribs creaked. Roy blinked, and slowly closed his arms around her. "... Lisa." His voice was rusty in his own ears. "It's all right."

"No it isn't!" she said violently, if somewhat muffled. "Didn't you get shot at enough when it was your job?"

He leaned his head against hers and laughed bitterly. "I wasn't the one that got hit. Obviously, it isn't me I need to worry about, now."

She lifted her head to glare at him and shook him once, hard. "Yes it is! Where is everyone else going to be, if you stop worrying about yourself and it gets you killed?" She wound her arms still more tightly around him. "Idiot."

His snort of laughter had a little genuine amusement in it, this time. "You've gotten a lot less polite, out of uniform."

"Yes, now I can say it, instead of just thinking it," she shot back, tartly.

He leaned against her with a long sigh. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right."

That got another snort, which seemed to satisfy her enough to let go of himâ€”at least until she'd steered him to the couch. He sat looking down at their fingers tangled together, and ran a thumb over the back of her hand, feeling the strong lines of tendon under smooth skin.

"It wasn't a soldier. Or even an ex-soldier," he said, at last, voice low in the still dark living room. "It wasn't even someone from Lior, which would have made sense to me. He was from the North, a village just inside the old border." He brooded for a moment. "What used to be a village."

Lisa pressed closer against his side and her hair brushed his cheek as she nodded, silent and unsurprised. Of course, she knew the aftermath of marches and occupations as well as he did. "I'm going with you to these official functions of yours from now on," was all she said.

Roy was silent for a moment, trying to negotiate between his undeniable relief at the thought of having another person nearby who was competent in danger, and the countersurge of protest that he didn't want Lisa to put herself in danger. He frowned a little, exasperated with himself for such a ridiculous reaction.

"I'm going," Lisa repeated, a note of warning sounding in her voice. "It's obvious you still need someone to watch your back." Her lips curved in the lamplight coming through the window. "Especially if it rains."

Roy drew himself up, dignified. "I have no intention of arguing with that." A corner of his mouth twitched. "Though it would seem rather difficult to hide two guns in an evening dress."

Lisa snuggled comfortably into his shoulder and tugged his arm around her. "That's what thigh holsters were invented for."

Roy took a moment to enjoy the mental image of how some of the more stuffy Ministry officials and Members of Parliament would react to this beautiful woman in their midst calmly pulling out a gun instead of shrieking and fainting. And then he took another moment to savor the idea of taking down the assassins before they could shoot the civilians, and drew a deep, satisfied breath. He pulled Lisa a little closer and murmured against the nape of her neck, "You are a delight."

"Oh, I get it; you just love me for my guns." She poked him with a teasing finger, but he could feel the heat of her blush against his cheek.

"And someday I'll even get you used to taking compliments," he added.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Maybe."

Roy laughed softly and they leaned against each other in the dim warmth.

End

Diamond and Cobalt

Sort of missing-scenes. Three possible ways Diamond's attack on Rufus' office might have gone, two possible explanations for the look in Rufus' eyes, one possible explanation for Jenova exposure. (And a partridge in a pear tree~. Or maybe that should be a president in a penthouse...). Drama, I-3, in-game

Hail

Reno ran up yet another flight of pitch black stairs, shouldering through hysterical clerks, and interrupted his silent swearing to count off the sixty-seventh floor. He would have liked to swear out loud, but didn't quite have the breath for it. Besides, it was impolitic to swear at his employer, even in absentia.

The absentia part being rather the point at the moment.

He broke out of the yammering pack at the sixty-ninth floor and vaulted up the last two flights to haul open the door to Rufus' office. Just in time. The president of Shin-Ra was staring point blank at the approaching energy shells without moving.

Reno didn't waste time wondering what the hell Rufus thought he was doing. He tackled his employer efficiently at the knees and yanked him down under the desk as the window glass all shattered. The first shell hit the chair directly above them and the absurd thought crossed Reno's mind that maybe this was why executive chairs were so huge and heavy. He pulled his jacket loose and bundled it over both their heads, and then the world was exploding.

Reno knew it was over when he could hear his own voice again, pronouncing breathless curses on Rufus, his clothes, his cats, and the Science Division for good measure. He threw off the jacket and took a shallow sip of air, cautious of the temperature. When all seemed well he allowed himself to lean up on one elbow and finally glare at Rufus.

"Are you trying to make us look bad, or something?" he demanded in disgust. "We're supposed to keep you in one piece, remember? Play chicken with the fucking artillery on your own time!" An alarming crack of laughter answered him, and he looked more warily at Rufus, who hadn't moved. The focus still burning in Rufus' eyes put the energy shells to shame. Reno rewound that idea and replayed it again, thoughtfully. "You didn't actually think you could stop it, did you?" he asked slowly.

Rufus looked at him, and Reno almost jerked back from that searing blue. "I didn't think I could stop it. But I could have met it." Rufus' lips pulled back off his teeth.

Reno thought about this for a long moment before nodding agreeably. "You're a cold enough bastard you probably could. But I don't feel like being unemployed, so can we get out of here?"

Rufus snorted and sat up and Reno relaxed again.

Requited

Things were starting to explode before Tseng realized that his employer was not at the evacuation point where he should have been. He winced a little as he climbed the stairs to Rufus' office, thinking what Veldt would have had to say about such carelessness. Fortunately, the universe was more forgiving than his mentor had been, and the ordinance had not quite reached the windows when Tseng pushed the door open. He had just time to cross the office, duck briskly under the desk and pull Rufus down with him.

He waited patiently for the crashes of shattering construction materials and the cracking peals of explosion to end.

When they had he pushed the remains of the desk off of them and regarded Rufus evenly. "If you want to commit suicide, sir, I'm afraid we're going to need advance notification."

"It would have been fitting," Rufus answered, just as evenly, fixed stare now directed at the ceiling.

Tseng concealed a frown; so that really had been... "And let Hojo win?" he murmured.

Rufus' eyes flickered, blinked, focused.

Narrowed.

"Move," he ordered, much more sharply, making to sit up.

Tseng assisted him, silently, to his feet with a tiny, satisfied smile.

Initiation

Tseng stood from the side of Rufus' seared body and looked around, mouth tight. "Rude." He gestured and Rude nodded, pulling out the Cure that either he or Reno usually had stashed on them somewhere and taking Tseng's place.

Elena, looking pale, gulped and offered, "I'll call a team from the clinic."

"Confidentially," Tseng specified and let her retreat to a corner, out of sight of their employer and his injuries, and turned to Reno.

"You get ahold of Dr. Svalin."

Reno's jaw dropped. "Svalin? Tseng, are you crazy? As injured as his is, the conversion would kill him!"

"The clinic has enough healers to recover his condition," Tseng said, quietly. "But not totally. The conversion, if it takes, can restore him completely." He flicked a look at Rufus and away again, reassured that he was still breathing. "He does not tolerate weaknesses. You can hardly deny he has the willpower to convert successfully."

Reno's following glance was more considering. "I can't deny he's got all the marks of a top candidate," he admitted, slowly. "But would he want that?"

"He can discuss it with Svalin, himself. I just want her present and prepared." Tseng ran a hand through his hair, mind casting ahead into plans for the near future. "For all I know, there's a treatment short of the full SOLDIER conversion that will still work."

Reno gave him a long, narrow look, and a corner of his mouth curled up. "You want him to take the full course, though," he said, very softly. "You like the idea of that son of a bitch being even more dangerous."

Tseng didn't dignify that with an answer.

Reno shrugged. "All right, I'll get her. I assume you'll tell the other divisions that they can postpone the death match to see who takes over?"

"No."

Reno blinked. "Um..."

"Let them fight with each other. It will keep them busy and away from him until he's recovered." Tseng smiled a very small, very sharp smile. "And if they happen to get out of line, I'm sure Rufus-shachou can address the problem when he's recovered."

"I always knew you didn't like the section heads very much," Reno observed.

"Besides," Tseng added, "while we're in Heidegger's division on paper, we report directly to Rufus. He wrote that in when he became president."

Reno's smile matched Tseng's. "How nice."

He sauntered aside pulling out his phone, and Tseng drew Rude back as the clinic team thundered up the stairs. Reno was wrong, he thought as he watched the team get to work. Tseng couldn't really imagine Rufus getting any more dangerous than he was.

He just had a feeling that Rufus would need every advantage he could get in the world that seemed to have come upon them all.

End

Seriously

Rufus gives Reno an assignment; or tries to. Written because I don't, for an instant, believe Reno doesn't take his job seriously. Drama/Humor, I-2, post AC

Reno had been having a good day, and hoped to continue the trend. He was experienced enough to put the expectation on indefinite hold, though, when Rufus Shinra toed open the door of the lounge the Turks had taken over. Especially when their employer gained a satisfied smile as his eye lit on Reno, lounging of course, by the window.

"Good, you're here. That Sierra is making a few too many inroads on our delivery contracts. I need you to go insure a few failures, while it's in port here." Rufus tilted his head thoughtfully. "Mechanical or human, either would do."

"I could do that," Reno agreed, "if I was on duty." He added, helpfully, into the pause that followed, "Which I'm not."

Rufus looked like he wanted to run a hand through his hair, except it would mess up his styling. "Goddammit, Reno, when you think it's a bad plan, can't you just say so?"

So Rufus had caught on. Reno examined his nails. "Can't. You're the boss; I'm a Turk. We don't argue with the boss, we do what he decides. We take orders and deliver results. It's what the Turks are all about, just ask Tseng."

Rufus narrowed his eyes and let the silence hover long enough for all involved to observe that Reno was not, in fact, doing what the boss said at all. "If you weren't so good at your job," he finally said, conversationally, "I'd shoot you right here and now."

Secure in the knowledge that he was very good, indeed, at his job, Reno just raised his brows inquiringly.

"Get Tseng over here, for me, I'll talk about the job with him," Rufus ordered, and pointed a finger at Reno. "And don't say you're off duty."

Reno smirked. "Just this once, as a favor to the boss." He pulled out his phone and hit Tseng's number, and leaned back a little further as Rufus stalked out with his mouth in a slight twist.

Still a good day.

End

White

Reno talks about Rufus a little to Tifa and Cloud. Drama, I-3, post AC

Reno lounged on the edge of the roof, listening to the small sounds below as Tifa closed up the bar. He smiled a little as he heard two sets of footsteps coming up the stairs; yeah, he'd figured Cloud had spotted him.

That was, after all, the point.

"Reno, you'd better not tell me you have another delivery you want us to make," Tifa stated, emerging into the warm night air. "Not after the last one."

"Nope. Just wanted someplace to take a break and watch the city for a while. Figured this was one of the quietest places I'd find. No interruptions. Well, except you two." He squinted at them. "Oh, hey, if you want some privacy, I can go..."

Tifa glared. Cloud shifted, looking a shade uncomfortable. Score.

"Don't tell me Rufus Shinra couldn't buy all the quiet he wants." Cloud's eyes narrowed a bit. "It seems to be what Shinra's best at, buying things you shouldn't be able to."

Reno looked over at them, thoughtfully. "You really don't get Shachou, do you?"

Tifa frowned. "I think we get him just fine. Not that I'd want to," she added under her breath, and Reno smirked for a moment.

"No, you don't," he stated. "That thing with Sector Seven, for instance? He was frothing over that for weeks. He hates that kind of thing."

"And that would be why he tried to execute me and blame me for Meteor?" Tifa asked in a sardonic tone.

Reno shook his head. "I'm not saying he's nice, Tifa. But the old guy... he was a slime. Rufus-shachou is an ice cold bastard, but he's honest about it. Always." Tifa's skeptical look was edging closer to puzzlement and Reno continued, encouraged. "Look, if it had been the old guy, he would have told you that he wanted to give you a medal for trying so hard against Sephiroth, and he'd have walked along with you and chatted and smiled. Right up until he locked the gas chamber door behind you."

"Hmm." Tifa sucked on her lower lip.

Reno's eye fell on Cloud's sword and he grinned. "It's like swords. If the old boss had carried a sword, he would have kept it in a fancy walking stick and twirled it around like it was nothing but a flashy toy. He'd only have taken the blade out when he stabbed you in the back with it. Now Shachou, he'd never cover it at all. And he'd put the edge against your throat from the word go. Who'd you rather deal with, in a fight?"

Now Cloud looked startled, and a little thoughtful. Reno shrugged.

"Speaking as the sword, I prefer Rufus-shachou." He looked out over the rooftops, feeling the serious mood on him like cloth he could rub between his fingers. "He uses us well."

And then purple and blue flowered against the night sky, followed by a distant boom a moment later, and Reno bared his teeth. Rude did such fantastic explosions. "Ah, there's my cue. Later." He flipped over the edge of the roof, gripped a drainpipe with gloved hands to slow his fall down three floors and landed astride his bike.

From the roof he heard, faintly, Tifa's voice exclaim, "Wait a minute! That's over at the old warehouses; that's where our next delivery was coming in!"

Reno laughed.

End

If I Should Wake Before I Die #1

After the first trip to the Forgotten City, Aerith comes to reassure Tifa and ask a favor. Drama with Romance, I-3

Tifa curled on her side, biting her lip. She didn't want to start crying again; it only wasted time and energy. Oshou-sama had always been after her about wasting energy in extraneous movement. Smoothly, Tifa, she could hear him barking. Stop flourishing and put everything into the strike!

Of course, maybe he was dead, too, now. Just like everyone else she got close to.

She hugged her pillow to her, biting down harder. Sleep. She needed to sleep, now, and in the morning... they'd think of something. Somehow.

Something.

At least the tears had worn her out. She could already feel herself drifting, down into that odd first layer of sleep where her mind still turned over thoughts and plans but her body gave up and stilled into rest. When the darkness behind her eyes lightened she thought, dream.

It was a rather nice one. Warm and soft and a lot brighter than most of her dreams, lately, which tended to have a lot of fire and screaming and blood-dulled silver in them.

"Tifa."

She liked this a lot better; she'd almost swear she could smell grass and flowers, the hot, heavy, green scent they got under a good summer sun.

"Tifa! Come on. One of you has got to listen to me!"

Tifa blinked. Aerith was standing right in front of her, frowning, with her hands on her hips. "Ae... Aerith?" She could feel her lips trembling around the name.

Aerith's frown softened. "Oh, Tifa. It's all right, really. I'm fine. Now, listen..."

Tifa reached out and felt her fingers brush through a soft, wavy wing of hair, and lost it completely. The tears rushed back and hit her in the chest, and her knees buckled, and she found herself curled up again pressing a fistful of Aerith's skirt to her cheek as she cried.

"Tifa," Aerith whispered above her, and then she was stooping down to gather Tifa against her. "Shh. Shh, now, it's all right."

When Tifa could think again, she found herself lying with her head buried in Aerith's lap, catching her breath slowly as Aerith stroked her hair. Finally she said, voice gluey with tears, "How can it be all right?"

Aerith sighed. "Do I look any worse for the wear?"

Tifa lifted her head and looked. "Well. No." She managed a shaky smile and pulled herself upright again. And then she frowned and reached out to tilt Aerith's chin. "You do look kind of tired, actually."

Aerith's smile was wry. "Yeah, well." Her bright eyes shadowed for a moment. "It isn't all that easy to hold myself together, right now."

Tifa's emotions reversed polarity fast enough to make her dizzy, and she put a protective arm around Aerith. "Are you all right? What's wrong?" Then she made a face and muttered, "Besides the obvious."

Aerith broke into giggles and couldn't seem to stop, leaning against Tifa's shoulder. "Ah. Oh, dear." She wiped her eyes. "Well. Yes." She took a long breath and looked at Tifa more seriously. "Listen. When you can, try to tell Cloud it wasn't his fault, all right? He's so wound up over this! He can't even hear me when I'm practically shouting."

"I'll try." Tifa's mouth quirked wryly. "Repeatedly, I expect." Aerith made a face.

"I'll just bet." She sighed, curling up into Tifa's side a little more.

"Aerith," Tifa said, gently. "Really. What's wrong?"

"I just don't know if I'll be able to make it work out." Aerith held her hands out, studying them. "I'll do my very best, of course. I know we all will. But—"

The brightness flickered.

Aerith spat a word that shocked even Tifa, used as she was to Barrett's language. "Sephiroth! Tifa, listen—"

"Aerith!" Tifa caught her hands, eyes wide. She couldn't hear Aerith any more.

Aerith's mouth tilted and her shoulders heaved. Then she squeezed Tifa's hands and smiled and leaned toward her.

"... wake up and let's get going!" Barrett's large hand was shaking her shoulder and Tifa sat up. Barrett frowned. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yes," Tifa said, distracted. "Why?"

"You're rubbing your head. Got a headache?"

A breath of laughter puffed through Tifa's lips and her fingers brushed one more time over her forehead where she could still feel Aerith's lips. "No." She smiled softly.

"I'm all right."

End

If I Should Wake Before I Die #2

After calling up the Lifestream, Aerith recovers and Zack teases. Romance with Drama, I-2

Aerith slumped in Zack's arms, trying to catch her breath, still seeing life-sparks of green dancing in front of her eyes every time she blinked. "How... can I be out of breath... if I haven't got a body!" she panted. "This is so unfair."

"No need to move on my account," Zack murmured.

She managed a laugh. "Oh, I get it. You just want more chances to cuddle."

"While you're too worn out to hit me for wandering hands, yep," he agreed cheerfully.

"Zack!" She did manage to swat his shoulder, though it was a bit shaky as chastisements went.

"Well, come on, what better restorative for the lady who saved the world... ?" She could hear the grin in his voice as his hand slid down to her hip.

The next swat was a lot firmer. "You!" And then Aerith sighed and let herself relax against him again.

"Aerith?" Zack tipped her chin up, looking at her curiously. "Since when do you give in that easy, without at least tickling me until I squeak?"

She could feel her smile tremble around the edges. "It seems like a waste of time, and I don't know how much we'll have."

Now Zack looked alarmed. "What do you mean? It worked, right? Meteor is gone and we're all safe."

"Yes, Zack." Aerith ran her fingers through his hair, smiling more surely, if sadly, at the familiar springy-soft texture. "But I don't know how long you have before the Lifestream draws you away."

Zack blinked at her. "As long as you stay, I'm staying too."

Aerith bit her lip. "How long do you think you can resist the pull, though? I..." she traced the line of his shoulder-guard, watching her fingertip on the cool metal instead of his face, "I think I'm going to stay concentrated for a long time. I'm the last one. And you're not..." A finger on her lips interrupted her.

"Not Cetra? No, I'm not." Zack shrugged. "But my exceedingly great grandparents were, right? Nothing to say I can't figure it out." There was no compromise at all in his expression, despite the lightness of his tone. "I'm staying."

She looked at him for a long moment. "Well, you're certainly the most stubborn person I've ever met," she allowed. "Who knows?" She couldn't quite help hoping that it was true; that it could be true.

"Besides," he added, leaning back, "I need to stick around and make sure Cloud doesn't totally cock up his life. Again. You know he'll try to, even with our girl Tifa looking after him. Though she has grown up well, I have to say." He looked as proud as if he'd had something to do with it and Aerith leaned her head on his shoulder, laughing.

"You have a point." Besides, she was way too worn out right now to argue. She'd try believing in him, instead.

After all, it was only fair to return the favor.

End

Where Seduction Serves

What if Sephiroth had been a little quicker on the uptake during the first encounter at the Northern Crater, and kept Cloud? Drama with Mindfuck, I-4, Divergent Future, in-game

Sephiroth watched the scene below him, impatient, but with interest pricking in the back of his mind.

This copy was definitely not like all the others.

Even now, with Cloud's deeper self awake, he paused before obeying. To say his farewells. To chat. And the other facet of him, the new one Cloud had cobbled together in mere months, was still fighting. Ineffectually, of course, but it still struggled against Sephiroth's control. Sephiroth had more than half expected that bit to burst like a soap bubble, once Cloud understood it wasn't real. Nothing so evanescent and friable should still survive.

Which meant...

Sephiroth's interest sharpened. He had said it himself; the nature of Jenova was transformation. Was it possible that Cloud had controlled his in some small way? That Sephiroth's puppet had actually taken the first step down the road that Sephiroth himself walked?

He remembered, suddenly, what else he had suggested, to taunt Cloud. That he had taken his present identity wholly from Tifa's memories, courtesy of Jenova. Which was not entirely true, but was entirely possible. And what if the one whose memory and thought his puppet had touched was not only Tifa or Zack, whose sword he wore, but Sephiroth?

He laughed softly to himself. Cloud seemed to have a talent for surprising him.

He frowned down at them all. How could even a hack like Hojo still think of Cloud as a failure? Even that idiot should have seen, should have understood, as soon as he observed that Cloud had fallen under Sephiroth, but made the transformations one would expect of a SOLDIER. Of Zack, to be precise.

Well, it didn't matter now.

But Cloud couldn't be let to run loose, if he really did have even a little control over Jenova within him. It was possible he would gain more, and that could begin to be troublesome. Sephiroth would have to either kill him, or...

He watched Cloud slump, hopelessly, and smiled.

Cloud was not really surprised to find himself in the tree. Nor was he surprised that Sephiroth appeared when Cloud called him; they were coming to the point of all this, after all. What surprised him was Sephiroth's expression, the bright, sharp smile, as if all his old reserve had been scoured away.

It almost looked... welcoming.

"So, you want a number, Cloud? I can give you one. If you want it."The voice was just as he remembered, low and smooth, but the words... ! Conflicting responses tore through Cloud, desperate desire and frantic denial side by side. "Please," his mouth whispered.

The corners of Sephiroth's mouth curled a little higher. "Your number would be... zero."

Cloud blinked, entirely off balance for a moment, wondering what that meant. Zero? ... nothing?

"Zero," Sephiroth repeated, treading toward him. "The first number and the last. The one that makes all true calculations possible. The fulcrum that stands outside all other numbers."

Now Cloud was staring, all of him disbelieving. "But... I'm the failure." The failure at everything. At a career; at friendship; at either being like Sephiroth or resisting him.

"The failure?" Sephiroth raised his brows. "Don't be foolish, Cloud. Out of all those pitiful copies Hojo attempted to make, how many are here now? You are the success."

Cloud stood there, arms limp at his sides, shocked. The success? He'd never been a success at anything.

"You are the one I made my plans with, Cloud, don't you remember? The rest were merely pawns." Sephiroth looked down at Cloud with that strange smile still curving his lips. "You are my chosen."

"Your... chosen?" Cloud whispered. It couldn't be true. Could it?

Sephiroth leaned close and Cloud wondered if the breath on his ear was only his imagination. "My chosen. My eyes and hands and will, abroad in the world. It's your destiny, Cloud, why else do you think the SOLDIER treatments came to you so late, when you're so clearly suitable for them? It wasn't your fate to serve Shinra in their petty plans; it's your fate to serve me. And you have fulfilled it."

Cloud swayed. It made sense; it made sense of everything, if this was what he had been meant to be.

"My triumph," Sephiroth murmured. "My success. My zero; apart, different, chosen."

Warmth lapped through Cloud, satiation, like he'd been fed after going hungry all day. It relaxed him, loosened the knot in his throat, and in his chest. "Yours," he breathed, eyes wide and unfocused.

The light in Sephiroth's eyes was even brighter as he stepped back, beckoning. "Come, Cloud. Let us finish this."

A low rumble vibrated through the cavern, shaking Cloud on the branch. When he looked back up, Sephiroth was gone, but the blue oblong in the tree had dropped a little. Inside it was... Sephiroth. Cloud obediently approached the cocoon and pushed the Black Materia through it. He watched its influence wrap around Sephiroth, and everything paused for a moment.

Cloud started as Sephiroth's eyes snapped open and the cocoon shattered into shimmers of light. He looked up, wildly, as the entire world seemed to dissolve likewise, and then gasped as he was caught in a tight grip. He stared up at Sephiroth and then around at the sheeting brightness that surrounded them. They were standing, as far as he could tell, on absolutely nothing.

Heat in the hand caught by Sephiroth's pulled his attention back. When Sephiroth released him Cloud looked at the black 0 now traced on the back of his hand, and the warmth crept back. He did have a place. He did have an identity. And it was a successful one.

"Now." Sephiroth's voice was lower and when Cloud looked up he couldn't see anything but brilliant green eyes. Sephiroth pulled him closer and Cloud felt another touch. This one was somehow inside, and he shuddered, gasping, with the strangeness. Sephiroth's eyes still held him and Cloud tensed, breathing fast as the weird touch groped deeper.

"Relax, Cloud." Sephiroth's voice curled around him. "This is how we're meant to be, you and I. Come; give me your strength, to protect us with."

The idea of Sephiroth even noticing Cloud's strength, let alone wanting to use it, was bewildering and warming all over again. But if he wanted it... Cloud caught a shallow breath and concentrated on the thought that Sephiroth could touch and take anything he wanted.

"Better."

The not-a-touch slid deeper. Ragged shivers ran through Cloud and he couldn't help a muffled noise as Sephiroth gripped something, somehow, inside him.

And then Sephiroth pulled, and Cloud screamed.

It was so raw he couldn't tell what the sensation was. Only that it made his whole body snap taut, vibrating, responding. The feeling of something rushing out of him, being pulled out of him, by Sephiroth's grip, tightened every single muscle and Cloud could hear his own breathing, harsh and fast, catching on a whimper.

It kept going.

His pleading sounds turned desperate and he thought he saw Sephiroth's mouth curve up.

And then it stopped, so suddenly that Cloud dropped all the way past relaxed and into blackness.

Sephiroth examined his handiwork and nodded. There would be no more meddling annoyances interrupting him now.

He looked down at Cloud, slumped against him, dazed; only Sephiroth's hold was keeping the boy standing upright. Not surprising. Sephiroth had taken all the strength he'd found in Cloud, though it had been more than he expected.

In light of which, a few more words to bind his puppet to his side might not be wasted effort.

He ran a hand through Cloud's hair, encouraging him to lift his head. "My little success. Look."

Cloud clung to him as he raised his head to gaze around, still a bit out of focus. Sephiroth let him and softened his voice. "This shield combines your strength and mine. Nothing in this world will break it. Nothing can attack us now."

Cloud stared at the glow of the shield above them for a long moment and then smiled. He turned his face up to Sephiroth, eyes heavy and contented. "Yes, Sephiroth-san."

Sephiroth smiled in turn, amused. Yes, indeed.

Nothing could stop him, now.

End

305 The Way It Should Have Been

An exercise in rewriting canon, in cooperation with Kizu. Atobe does it himself. Drama with Mild Crack, I-2, manga continuity

Kizu's part of this project:

- Atobe calls for cheers.

- Atobe doing it himself.

- Atobe triumphant.

- Shishido disgruntled.

- Oshitari and Mukahi.

- Jiriou, Kabaji and Hiyoshi.

One

Keigo watched with dazed detachment as the world faded back into arm's reach. He took a slow breath and blinked hard a few times, pulling the court back into focus.

And then he almost regretted it, because Echizen was trotting toward him with a smirk, waving an electric razor in one hand. "You lost," Echizen announced with insolent cheer, and flicked on the razor and held it out.

Keigo regarded the buzzing implement with a sneer. Unfortunately, a quick look at the scoreboard showed that Echizen was telling the truth. Keigo had lost. And he had also made a deal.

And Atobe Keigo did not go back on his word.

Keigo plucked the razor out of Echizen's hand, loftily ignoring the brat's grin. He lifted it and then paused. There was something missing, here. He considered it for a moment, lips pursed and head cocked and slowly turned to regard his club members. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it his way.

"Why," he quietly asked that sea of wide eyes and pale faces, "aren't you cheering?"

Oshitari's brows vanished under his bangs while Mukahi choked. Shishido sat down, hard. "Atobe, have you stripped a gear?" he asked, weakly.

Keigo gave him a cool glare. "Certainly not." He waved a hand at the club and snapped his fingers imperatively.

"A... Ato... be..." a voice in the crowd faltered.

Well, it was a start. Keigo nodded graciously and ran his fingers through his hair, lifting it so it wouldn't matt in the clipping edge.

"Atobe..." a few more voice breathed.

Keigo carefully ran the razor around his ear, working up in sections. No sense doing this in a haphazard, un-classy manner. He shook strands of hair off his fingers, taking a certain satisfaction in the way they shimmered, blowing away in the sunlight.

The voices of his club picked up momentum and volume. "Atobe! Atobe! Atobe!"

Keigo ran a hand over his head to be sure he hadn't missed any spots, which would be unsightly, and nodded with satisfaction. He tossed the razor, flipping it through the air, and caught it again, and raised it fisted in his hand. His club roared.

Echizen's smirk, when Keigo looked, was as wide as ever, but there was a faint, grudgingly impressed, crook to it. Keigo smirked back.

"Better luck next time."

Echizen blinked. "I won," he pointed out. "What do I need better luck for?"

Keigo caught his coat as Shishido, mouth twisted ruefully, tossed it to him, slinging it over his shoulder with a stylish flair. He looked back at Echizen, head high. "You won once."

Echizen snorted, and eyed Keigo, and the chanting club, and Keigo again. And then he laughed.

Keigo strode off the court and tossed the razor to Kabaji. Echizen wasn't getting it back, not after making such a nuisance of himself over it. That razor was, by damn, going to be Keigo's trophy of this match. "Pack that up, Kabaji."

For once, though, Kabaji didn't acknowledge his instructions. Instead he looked, for a long moment, at the razor in his hand. Then he clicked it on.

The chanting of the club faltered on the first pass, but as Kabaji calmly made another and tufts of black dropped to the clay, the cheering swelled again, louder than before.

"Hyoutei! Hyoutei! The winner will be Hyoutei!"

It was Keigo's turn to laugh, throwing back his now-bald head and lifting a hand to conduct the cheers.

Two

Ryouma shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he strolled back to his team. Seeing the monkey king bald was pretty satisfying, and all of Hyoutei bald should be even better. He'd have to see. He grinned at his teammates as he approached. Oishi-senpai still had a faintly horrified expression, but Momo was laughing so hard he had to lean on the fence and the corners of Fuji-senpai's mouth were curled up.

Tezuka-buchou, on the other hand, had his arms folded and shook his head. Ryouma tucked his chin down just a bit, looking up from under the brim of his cap as he rejoined them. Okay, so it hadn't been very nice. Or gracious or any of that stuff. But Atobe had been the one to bet, and Ryouma had won. And Tezuka-buchou wasn't actually frowning. He actually looked just a little pleased—just a quiet little bit, as he watched Ryouma and Atobe.

Who looked to be directing a riot by now.

Ryouma took a long drink of water and jerked his head toward the other team, where half the club was flocking down to line up for a turn at that razor. "They're all crazy."

Inui-senpai adjusted his glasses, suspiciously straight-faced. "I believe the phenomenon is commonly called mass hysteria."

Momo-senpai finally managed to catch his breath and slung and arm around Ryouma's neck. "Only you!" he laughed. "Only you would get a whole club to shave themselves bald!"

"That part wasn't my idea," Ryouma pointed out, trying not to be pulled off his feet.

Momo-senpai considered that. "You're right. Only Atobe," he corrected himself.

Tezuka-buchou made what might have been a snort of agreement. So Ryouma didn't bother hiding his grin as they watched the breeze blow strands and puffs and tufts of hair away from the Hyoutei tennis club.

Omake

Shishido grumped as he fumbled with the back of his head. "Can't believe I'm cutting my hair again for this damn club..."

Atobe sniffed. "No one asked you to."

Shishido growled at him direly, and then yelped as the razor nipped the skin at the back of his neck.

"Here, Shishido-san, let me," Ohtori offered in a soothing tone, taking the razor. "You missed a spot in the back."

Shishido hmphed but sat still while Ohtori finished him off.

Mukahi ran a hand over his head thoughtfully. "Actually, you know, this is kinda nice. It's a lot cooler for summer, that's for sure." He rubbed at his head again. "Feels kind of weird though. Hey, Yuushi, let me feel yours."

Oshitari caught his partner's reaching hand. "Later," he murmured.

"Doubles pairs," Hiyoshi said, very quietly, handing the razor back to Kabaji, who packed it away with what might have been a tiny glint of satisfaction.

Atobe looked over his, now largely hairless, team with something like affection. "All right. Time to be going."

End

The Law of Rikkai

Possible origin of Rikkai's "law", and what it means to different people. Drama, I-3, manga continuity

Seiichi stands behind the coach's bench with his companions, one new and one old, watching the team captain take point after point. Seiichi isn't even breathing hard from his own match, just finished. His voice is low, though, as he says, "We can't lose." That surety sings through him, like the blood through his muscles; he feels it. Not just his own strength, but the strength of these two with him.

They will meet the best. They will be the best. He wraps his hand around that certainty and feels it like the familiar grip of his racquet.

Genichirou's spine pulls a little straighter. "Of course," he states, frowning a little. It's unthinkable that he, that they, would lose. Loss is not something to be tolerated by the strong. Not something the strong should permit themselves. Contemplating the possibility of loss is a failure of the spirit, only worthy of contempt.

They can never lose.

"We will not lose," Renji agrees. It's quite clear that this is the case. Even though his figures on these two as yet barely fill a dozen pages of the fresh, white notebook he bought when he moved, the curve those figures will graph is already evident. He suspects it will be an asymptote in the end, but for now the curve is steep, and its movement is upward.

There's beauty in that curve, and it soothes his still rather sore heart. He will follow it.

End

Immanent

A new, young samurai arrives at the central castle of the Uesugi clan. Drama, I-3

Echizen Ryouma had been in Kasugayama for a week, and one of Uesugi's warriors for three and a half days, before he ran into trouble. It was different than the trouble he'd expected.

One of the older and, in his briefly considered opinion, obviously lesser samurai was watching Ryouma while he practiced cuts alone. He'd known to expect that; people generally did watch him and it didn't make any more difference to him than the slight tickle of sweat running down his neck or the small roughness against his palm where the wood of the practice sword had been chipped. It was when the man started talking to his friend that trouble started.

Not for Ryouma, of course. Not yet.

"So that's supposed to be one of our new warriors? What, are the generals taking on pages, now, and letting them walk around with their fathers' swords strapped on, pretending they're samurai?" The man's friends chuckled with him.

Since Ryouma wouldn't have touched his father's sword if it had been delivered as a gift with the Emperor's compliments, he snorted.

The talkative one straightened up from the wall where he'd been leaning. "You! What was that? Are you disrespecting your betters?"

Ryouma straightened in turn and eyed the loud-mouth coolly. "No."

It took a moment, but eventually the implication penetrated and the loud-mouth started turning red and stepped forward with a hand tight on his sword. "Why you..."

A corner of Ryouma's mouth turned up. It was always so easy; too easy, really, but he did get some amusement from teaching idiots not to make assumptions. His weight shifted and his shoulders relaxed as he waited for the loud-mouth to come into range.

A shadow filled the doorway. "Enough of that, Arai." The newcomer smacked the loud-mouth briskly across the back of the head. "You know how Taishou feels about fights. You want to lose your head? And the kid's too?"

"Momoshiro-taii!" the loud-mouth sputtered. "But...!"

The newcomer raised his brows and the loud-mouth hunched his shoulders and backed away. The newcomer cocked his head at Ryouma, still standing and quietly watching. "If you didn't know, fighting in the clan is forbidden, here," the man smiled.

Ryouma shrugged a shoulder; he doubted it would matter. Fights found him and he found fights, no matter what the rules were. The newcomer paused and looked at him harder, eyes suddenly gleaming. "Of course, training hard, on the other hand, is encouraged," he murmured. He plucked a wooden sword off the rack and stepped out onto the floor, grinning. A streak of sunshine from one of the windows made his inviting glance even brighter.

Ryouma eyed him for a moment and grinned back. This one looked like a better challenge than the loud-mouth; if he was a captain he should be at least a little good. Ryouma slipped into the dusk between the slanting bars of gold light and set his feet.

After six exchanges Ryouma was smiling for real and shifted his sword to his left hand. He'd been right; Momoshiro was strong. He ignored the murmurs from the watchers around the walls, as inconsequential as the dusty breeze blowing in the door. Momoshiro's teeth flashed white at him. "That's more like it."

Ryouma's grin turned wicked and pleased. This Momoshiro had seen that he wasn't leading with his strongest hand. It looked like a captain, in Uesugi's forces, really was a little good. Good. That made this match worth something.

The next pass sent them both staggering back with impressive bruises starting, he could tell, and Ryouma spun around, feet sliding over the sleek wood of the floor, ready to lunge in at full strength.

Momoshiro stepped back. "Good practice," he declared. "I'll have to be sure to defeat you quickly, next time."

Ryouma considered this and nodded, resting his practice sword over his shoulder. "Later, then." A corner of his mouth curled up. "When your leg is healed, Taii."

The captain blinked at him and laughed. "I like you." He reached out to rumple Ryouma's hair as he left, now limping a bit though there was no blood showing through the bandage Ryouma was sure must be wrapped around his calf.

He glared a bit after Momoshiro's broad back and smoothed his hair back down and settled back to his solitary practice, ignoring the whispers and glances around him. A tiny smile lingered.

Maybe he would like it here.

End

At First Sight

The young women of the castle sneak a look at the new warriors. Drama with Pre-Romance, I-2

"Oh, oh, over here! Come here, Sakuno, you can see the new warriors from here!"

Sakuno squeaked as her friend grabbed her hand and pulled her toward an open screen. "Tomoka! But... if they see us..."

Tomoka paused to give her an exasperated look. "One of them might be someone we're married to. You know Sumire-gozen is thinking about that for you these days. You want to look, don't you?"

"Well..." Sakuno nibbled her lip.

"Good. So come on!"

Sakuno didn't resist being dragged this time, though she did entertain a very brief and uncharitable thought that Tomoka's kimono were plainer than hers and less likely to be seen through the screening leaves. That was unkind, though, she scolded herself. Tomoka was her friend and would never leave her in trouble.

Even if she did get them both into trouble with her boldness.

They did have a good view of some of the new, young samurai gathered under the trees. They must have just finished some training. They all looked tired and dusty and one was all wet from the well-bucket he'd just turned up over his head.

"I'll be given rank soon," one of them was saying. "Thanks to my two years of battle experience, I have advantages."

Tomoka snorted, inelegantly, beside Sakuno. "I bet his father was a foot soldier."

"Tomoka!" Sakuno hissed, making hushing motions.

And then she was distracted.

One of the samurai who had been standing quietly on the edge of the group took the well bucket and dipped up some water to drink. The calm of his expression and the economy of his gestures fixed her eyes on him. "Oh..."

"Hm?" Tomoka nudged against her shoulder. "What?"

"The dark one," Sakuno murmured. "With the deep eyes."

"The one at the water?" Tomoka made approving sounds. "He looks just about our age! He must be really good to be here at the castle so young."

"Yes..." Sakuno sighed as the one they were watching pushed his hair back. He was so graceful.

"Sakuno-hime! Are you in here?"

Sakuno jumped and squeaked at the voice of one of her kinswoman's ladies in waiting. "They'll find us!"

"Hurry up, then," Tomoka hissed back, jumping to her feet and pulling Sakuno toward an inner room.

Sakuno went along as fast as possible, but she also threw a last look over her shoulder, though the small spring leaves, at the young samurai.

End

Convex

Echizen cleans his sword and thinks about his new place. Drama, I-3

Ryouma sat in his rooms in the middle town, with his sword over his knees, cleaning it. His hands moved automatically, years and years of familiarity guiding them while his eyes rested on the blade without seeing it.

There were strong people, here. Not many that could give him trouble, but a handful who might be worth something to him. A handful who might help him step up. Not that he cared about rank, not like Horio, or even Kachiro, whose ambitions were a lot more realistic. He'd watched his father's distant smirk at generals who passed through their town. Rank wouldn't help.

His sword flashed lantern light up at him as he turned it over and he blinked dark spots out of his eyes as he reached for the oil.

Rank wouldn't help. Talent wouldn't help. Plenty of people were talented; Ryouma was talented; talent wasn't enough to get past his father. The rest of the world fell away from Ryouma's sword and left only him standing, and still he couldn't find the step to reach where his father stood.

Stood smirking.

Ryouma gazed blankly at the surface of his sword as his hands smoothed a fold of soft paper down its curve, wiping away excess oil.

Maybe Uesugi would be different. Maybe he would finally find it here.

Whatever it was.

End

Unnoticed

Echizen escorts Sakuno and deals with a little trouble. Other sorts of trouble, he misses completely. Drama, I-3

Sakuno's eyes were sparkling behind the light veils of her travelling hat.

Not only had Sumire-gozen said that she might go visit the local shrine, but Echizen-dono was escorting her. Sakuno suspected Sumire-gozen had had something to do with that. Normally the high-handed manner of her mother's noble cousin alarmed her, but if Sumire-gozen approved of someone then no one else would thwart them.

Even the clan lord didn't often go against his mother's wishes.

And it seemed that Sumire-gozen approved of Echizen-dono and the fact that Sakuno liked him. However much the crowds out on the streets jostled around her, nothing could make Sakuno regret coming out in public today.

Even if there were an awful lot of awfully loud people...

"Don't you know anything? The Tatsumi school holds the saya like that, so you can draw like this!"

Sakuno squeaked, starting back and treading on her own hem so that she wobbled, as a blade swished past her nose, close enough to catch on her long veils. The brightly dressed samurai demonstrating for his friends didn't seem to notice.

"That training journey you took really taught you a lot, Sasabe-sama," one of them exclaimed.

The one with his sword out laughed expansively. He was in the middle of the way, now. Sakuno bit her lip, wondering how she could pass.

Beside her, Echizen-dono looked around and sniffed. "You must not have journeyed very far. That isn't the Tatsumi school's grip."

The gaudy samurai spun around, face red. "What?!" His sword speared out, pointing between Echizen-dono's eyes. "What does a brat like you know about it?"

Echizen tipped his head to the side, so careless of the sharp point a bare thumb's width from his face that Sakuno gasped. "Well, if you need a lesson..." He dropped his hand to his sword. "It's the first finger that holds the guard. Like this." Steel flashed and his sword struck the other aside so hard it spun out of the other samurai's hand. Echizen-dono lifted a brow. "And your grip is too weak."

"E-Echizen-dono..." Sakuno whispered behind her hand. That was... an awfully provoking thing to say... And then she stumbled a little as the fuming samurai pushed past her to retrieve his sword.

"I'll give you a lesson, you little runt!" he yelled, making a lunge toward Echizen-dono.

Echizen-dono slipped back out of the way of a vicious cut. "Is that the fastest you can move?" The other samurai didn't answer, glare fixed and furious, and Echizen-dono shrugged, left foot sliding out, sword dropping low.

"Hah! You think you can defend from below?" The angry samurai bared his teeth and swung down.

Sakuno wasn't sure what happened next. Echizen-dono's sword barely seemed to twitch but the other man's strike went awry and he stumbled forward, eyes wide.

"Too slow," Echizen-dono said, softly. There was another flash and the other man was down in the street, clutching his leg and keening through clenched teeth as blood pooled rapidly under his thigh.

Echizen-dono flicked his sword away from Sakuno with a snap of his wrist and sheathed it, and turned to look Sakuno up and down. "You didn't get dirty. Good. Let's get to the shrine, then."

Sakuno hurried to his side and they walked on, leaving the commotion behind as the wounded samurai's friends clustered around him, shouting.

"Echizen-dono... thank you," Sakuno murmured at last, blushing.

Echizen-dono blinked at her. "For what?"

"Ah... nothing." She tilted the edge of her hat a little lower, wondering whether Echizen-dono was just being modest or whether he really didn't think protecting her needed comment.

Or, she admitted to herself with a silent sigh, maybe he hadn't done it for her at all. He was a samurai, after all; she was young, but she knew how the men of her own class could be about fights and challenges. Sumire-gozen complained about it enough, even though she smiled when she did.

Perhaps she'd ask the kami to tell her which it was, and whether she had any hope of drawing the eye of someone like Echizen-dono.

They walked on with silence drifting between them.

End

Tarnished

Tezuka watches his newest warrior and wonders about him. Drama, I-3

Kunimitsu watched his men training, silently, eyes moving from one to another, pausing to rest on the group in the corner, leaning on their blunt spears and laughing, until they fell quiet and straightened and returned to practice. His gaze returned, again and again, though, to one particular pair of warriors.

"So, Echizen convinced Inui to train with him? Such impressive enthusiasm."

Kunimitsu glanced aside at Fuji, come to stand with him and watch. "Inui invited him."

Fuji's brows rose and he looked more sharply at the circling pair as they closed yet again. "He's interested by someone so young? Echizen can't have had a man's name for more than a year or two." The murmur was absent, though, and Kunimitsu waited to hear what Fuji saw.

Inui was pressing the younger warrior, never following the openings offered by Echizen's stance, always cutting for the real weakness. Echizen's eyes were wide and sweat had soaked through his shirt in places, even in the cool morning air, but...

"He's not afraid," Fuji stated.

Kunimitsu nodded agreement. Echizen wasn't afraid. He was watching.

Inui's next strike didn't connect. Echizen's wooden sword slid inside his and slashed high across his hip. Inui was suddenly stiff as they stepped apart again, and Echizen was grinning. Kunimitsu settled back a bit.

"You think he'll win."

Kunimitsu glanced at Fuji and didn't answer. Inui was the best tactician among the Uesugi forces. No one could count more than a handful of successful attacks on him, in training, besides the other generals. And Fuji, of course.

But this boy, with the sharp eyes and unreasonable strength and arrogant mouth, was going to defeat Inui in a training bout.

"He'll come with us, when we move out next month," Kunimitsu said, and Fuji cocked his head.

"Will that be enough to show you? Kaga's forces are pretty raw."

Kunimitsu was quiet for a moment, watching the soft, warm sheen of polished wood as practice swords flickered in the morning shadows of the training hall, listening to the crack and scrape as they met.

"When the temple in Kaga gathered the peasants and small samurai to rise," he said at last, softly, "Tachibana was wise enough to ally them to one of the stronger overlords, to throw the rest out. And when they had, he and those he had gathered to him were strong enough to throw Togashi out in turn. Tachibana himself..." Kunimitsu's eyes narrowed. "They will be enough."

It was Fuji's turn to nod silently and Kunimitsu settled back against the wall as Fuji moved away through the training pairs.

Kaga would be a good place to see Echizen's real mettle. Kunimitsu's mouth tightened.

Echizen's form was beautiful. Deadly.

And wrong.

Somehow, it was both too much and not enough. There was a hunger and a bleakness behind those bright, focused eyes, a desperation that contrasted strangely with his obvious strength. Kunimitsu needed to know what was wrong, and know it before this ragged edge on Echizen's spirit cut apart any of his fellow samurai.

He would hope to find out when they fought Kaga, and Tachibana's men.

End

Need Beyond Want

Echizen enters his first battle as a samurai of Uesugi, against the forces of Kaga under Tachibana. Drama, I-3

Momo snorted with disgust as his only opponnent of the day so far broke and scrambled back. He let the man go, though; the signal banners were changing. Momo nodded to himself as the colors came up and yelled "Fall back!" to his squad, and waded back into the fight to make sure the very few men with determined opponents got free. One last scan of his bit of the field revealed one last warrior still engaged and Momo frowned. Echizen was good enough, he shouldn't need any extra time...

"Echizen," he called sharply, "fall back!"

Echizen didn't even seem to hear him. Momo waved his squad on, with a growl, and went back for Echizen himself, keeping a wary eye out. These worthless rounin Kaga had taken on after Ginka's fall might be jumping at their own shadows, but, as his father said, you were just as dead if they killed you with a big stick.

They would probably have been fine if Echizen's opponent hadn't seen himself about to be caught between the two of them and panicked. Momo reacted automatically to the man's desperate, circling slash.

So did Echizen.

It ended with Momo's and Echizen's swords tangled and the unharmed opponent staring, open mouthed, at his amazing good luck. He scrambled back without questioning it, leaving Momo and Echizen glaring at each other.

"Why did you interfere?" Echizen snapped.

"We're supposed to be falling back," Momo growled back. "Don't you ever pay attention?" He hauled Echizen back toward the rallying point with him, and Echizen came, scowling.

"I had him."

Momo muttered under his breath, wondering what had possessed him to offer to keep Echizen under his wing, for his first battle with Uesugi. Just because he liked the kid's style...

The kid's very aggressive, really kind of familiar style...

"Fine," Momo snorted, hiding the start of a grin. "See if I ever try to remind you about orders again."

Echizen glanced up at him, eyes suddenly gleaming. "Whatever you say. Momo-taii-dono." His own grin was bright and wicked.

They smirked at each other, in perfect complicity, and dove back into the fighting.

Kunimitsu suppressed a rueful sigh as he realized that Ooishi was, indeed, planning to keep close to him the entire battle. He knew his friend didn't approve of Kunimitsu coming even this far forward.

His doctor probably wouldn't be very pleased, either.

A nearly healed injury was no excuse for ignoring his duties, though, and he had a duty to be here, to show his standard and anchor the lines he had ordered. Even, or perhaps especially, his oldest friend knew better than to dispute that.

So Kunimitsu merely had a bodyguard.

Of course, there was an extra reason he wanted to be far enough forward to observe closely, today, and Kunimitsu's mouth tightened a shade as Momoshiro hauled a severely limping Echizen past the last of the engaged warriors. The hasty bandage on the boy's leg was already bleeding through.

"Looks like he got into trouble, after all," Ooishi murmured, pulling loose a sash and waving the two in.

Kunimitsu was not surprised, any more than he'd been surprised to see Echizen fighting the strongest, and wildest, of Tachibana's warriors.

Echizen bore with having his leg rebandaged and stood with a brisk nod. Momoshiro tossed his sword back to him, and they both looked satisfied.

Ooishi, on the other hand, did not. He shook Echizen by the shoulder, sharply. "You can't go back out like that!"

Echizen didn't even wince at the shaking. "I have to finish it." His eyes were nearly blank with determination and dark with wariness, gazing up at Ooishi.

Ooishi frowned. "You've done well, today. Don't push yourself foolishly. It's more important to continue fulfilling your duty, as a samurai of Uesugi."

On anyone else, Kunimitsu reflected, that appeal to propriety and pride would have worked. No flicker of acknowledgment marred the boundless determination of Echizen's expression, though. Only a hint of the need Kunimitsu had seen before.

Kunimitsu nodded to himself and held up a hand, stifling a smile as Ooishi frowned at him, in turn. "Finish it," he told Echizen. "And then you will come back behind the lines with the other wounded."

Pure relief lit Echizen's face with a smile that might have been soft if it weren't sharpened by such intent focus. "Yes, Taishou."

"Tezuka," Ooishi remonstrated softly, as they watched Echizen drive back through the battle, straight for a slim, pale samurai with burning eyes who was clearly waiting for him.

"There's nothing that holds him back, right now," Kunimitsu murmured. "And nothing that drives him on. Nothing true."

Ooishi let out a slow breath.

Kunimitsu watched Tachibana's warrior falling back as Echizen's stikes steadily picked up speed and strength. "He deserves better."

He didn't know if he could show Echizen everything the boy needed to see. But he would try.

For duty and for the brilliance of the samurai Echizen might become, he would try.

End

Pride

Tachibana's officers renew their bonds in the aftermath of their battle with Uesugi. Drama, I-3

Akira hovered beside his friend as Shinji flexed his arm. He wanted to go on to recheck the rest of their injured, but he was wary of the thoughtful expression on Shinji's face. It was the one that might just turn into wanting to excercise the arm immediately, and never mind what the doctor said.

"Shinji..."

The screen behind them slid softly open, letting in a spill of sunlight. "Well, that's the temple settled with. All the injured will be cared for here until they're on their feet again. Kamio? How is everyone?"

Akira stood quickly, feeling a bit lightheaded with relief just to hear his leader's voice, deep and collected as always. "Tachibana-dono! Everyone's going to be all right with some rest, the doctor says..." He swayed, vision blurring for a moment. Maybe it wasn't just relief...

Strong hands caught his shoulders, pushing him back down to the tatami, and Akira focused on the quirk of Tachibana-dono's smile.

"I think you'd better rest, then. That was a pretty heavy head blow you took."

Akira nodded, setting the world briefly swimming again. "Yes, Tachibana-dono." Next time, he vowed to himself, he would be ready for Kaidou of Uesugi's perseverance and would not let his guard down too soon. Gathering his scattered thoughts he continued his report. "Shinji's shoulder was only dislocated, and Ishida and Sakurai came out with no injuries, though both their squads had serious losses." Akira bit his lip.

"I saw that Mori and Uchimura had to fall back," Tachibana-dono said quietly, looking over at the pallet by the far wall. "How bad?"

"Mori took one of Ooishi's arrows in the leg." Akira ordered his hands not to clench on each other. "Uchimura... he took Kikumaru's knife in the side. It got past his armor."

Tachibana-dono squeezed his shoulder and rose, moving toward the three captains clustered around their heavily bandaged fourth. Akira and Shinji followed silently.

"Tachibana-dono!" Uchimura made as if to sit up, only to be held down by his co-captain.

"The doctor said to stay flat, so stay flat, damn it!" Mori ordered, fiercely, before looking up at their General. "Tachibana-dono." He bowed his head, formality hampered by the bandaged leg stuck out in front of him and the grip on Uchimura's arm he hadn't let go. "I'm sorry. We couldn't—"

"No," Tachibana-dono interrupted with a smile. "You have nothing to apologize for.

Mori frowned down at his lap. "But we didn't—"

"You reached the command lines, and opened up the center for the other squads." Tachibana-dono settled down beside them, resting a hand, for a moment, on Mori's bent head. "You occupied their attention for the time we needed. You did well."

Akira smiled himself, as he sat down, though he had to catch himself against Ishida's shoulder when he swayed, head giving a warning throb. Mori still didn't look happy, but he was holding his head up again. No one would ever wonder at their trust in Tachibana-dono, who had seen his trust in them.

"No one yet has been able to defeat Ooishi Shuuichirou when Kikumaru is fighting beside him," Tachibana-dono told them. "They're a deadly combination in the field. You did well to hold them as long as you did."

Uchimura and Mori both looked up at him with clear eyes, now, and Akira nodded to himself. Much better.

"So, I guess we're eating dinner here, today?" a light voice asked from behind them.

"An-dono!" Akira could feel Shinji laughing, silently, beside him, and knew his face must have brightened right up. But he couldn't help it. An was leaning in the door, overkimono just a bit askew with how briskly she walked, eyes laughing.

"An." Tachibana-dono smiled at his sister. "I was coming back soon."

"Oh, of course you were." She came and let the very large parcel she was carrying thump the the floor, and gave her brother a look of tolerant amusement. "In the meantime, though, you might as well all get a good meal. It'll help you heal up." She undid the parcel's wrappings and started unstacking the trays inside. "Tell me how it went."

She listened and nodded and insisted on details as they took turns telling her, and stuffed a bit of rice into Uchimura's mouth when his eyes darkened over the explanation of how Kikumaru had gotten through to him.

"If you were having trouble with Ooishi-bushou's ranged attacks, then you'll just have to practice harder with me, when you're on your feet again," she declared, filling her brother's sake cup again.

"It's Ishida who's going to be practicing more with you," Tachibana-dono corrected, returning the favor. "You're strongest with a short blade, not the bow, and it will do him as much good to work with a small, fast partner as it will you to face raw strength you can't overcome directly."

An huffed at him and some sympathetic grins appeared among the officers. Her determination and ferocity drove An to take her warrior's responsibilities far more seriously than most women of their class, but they also made her a bit too direct for her own good at times.

Of course, that was one of the things Akira liked best about her. One of the things all Tachibana-dono's officers could most relate to.

"We need to be stronger than we are, though," Shinji observed. "All of us."

Akira met his friend's eyes and they smiled at each other, sharp and hot. "We will be." He looked up at Tachibana-dono, willing their leader to accept their determination.

Tachibana-dono's mouth curved slowly. "Of course you will," he answered, soft and strong as the first breeze in typhoon season.

The seven of them nodded at each other while An smiled over them with gleaming eyes.

End

Hold

Tezuka tries to break through to Echizen. Drama, I-3

"Echizen. Come with me."

Ryouma blinked at that casual summons, but waved to Kachiro and followed along behind the General calmly enough. Everyone said he'd done well against Kaga and he was reasonably sure he wasn't in trouble. Whatever reason Tezuka-dono had to come fetch him just as Ryouma's work shift ended, it probably wouldn't be any worse than boring.

He thought twice about not being in trouble when they came out into the practice grounds. Tezuka-dono's ideas about keeping order ran heavily to extra training. With weights. For hours. Not that it was any difficulty to him, but it did take up a lot of time, and it was near sunset already. Ryouma glanced around and saw no one else working in the soft, slanting light. They were probably all eating. Was he going to miss dinner completely because of whatever this was?

Then the General turned to face him across the practice ground and loosened his sword, and a spark of excitement brushed aside those thoughts. Ryouma could feel his pulse speeding up as the General drew and nodded for him to do likewise. Tezuka-dono had ignored all his previous hints, but now it looked like he was finally going to get a match against the warrior who was supposed to be strongest, out of all Uesugi's forces.

"Come," Tezuka-dono told him without any preamble, light sliding down his edge as he beckoned.

Ryouma smirked, and cheerfully did as he was told.

He expected his first slash to be caught. He did not expect it to be turned easily aside, as if he'd attacked at completely the wrong angle. He backed up again, fast, eyes wide, knowing he'd been open.

Tezuka-dono's expression was no longer even. Still and steady, it burned. "Come."

Ryouma's eyes narrowed, and he did.

Blow after blow, no matter how he came in, every one was caught, turned, the force muffled and spent for nothing. Ryouma's focus narrowed, and narrowed again, searching for the key, the pattern in Tezuka-dono's movements that he could match. He could almost see it; he could catch parts, but something was escaping him no matter how far he reached for it.

In the end it was his own pattern that broke first. One step lunging just too far beyond his balance, and Tezuka-dono's foot brushed his aside, and Ryouma stumbled to his knees. Training and determination brought his sword in, ready to cut upwards, and...

Ryouma knelt where he was, staring up at the General. He could feel the deadly thin line of Tezuka-dono's sword against his throat. It didn't move when the General spoke.

"Why do you fight, Echizen?"

"To win... against my father," Ryouma managed.

"Your father isn't here."

No, he wasn't, though there'd been a few times in this fight when Ryouma would have sworn he was. Except that Tezuka-dono was nothing the same. Except that Ryouma had... lost... he never lost, except to... but Tezuka-dono wasn't... Ryouma's thoughts tangled, and he couldn't answer.

The edge of the sword flicked away. Instead, the General's unmoving gaze pinned Ryouma where he was. "You are part of Uesugi. Find your place in support of this clan."

His place? Support? What did that have to do with his father? Ryouma got slowly to his feet as the General stepped back. He felt rather unsteady on them; he hadn't lost to anyone but his father in years. Now there was... another bar. There was a challenge, serious and steady and sharp as his sword, in Tezuka-dono's eyes. Ryouma pulled in what felt like his first breath in hours. Days.

Maybe even years.

"Yes, Taishou."

End

Washed Dry

Fuji decides to try his hand against Echizen. It provokes a lot of thought. Drama and Romance, I-3

Tezuka had been in a demanding mood, lately, Shuusuke observed. The results were fairly entertaining, at least for those strong enough to actually keep up with the suddenly increased pace of the garrison's training. He had to wonder, though, who they were going to be taking the field against after the rains were over; it had to be someone with a powerful force, to drive this sort of effort.

Tezuka didn't answer questions like that, of course, not directly. He would only confirm them, silently, if Shuusuke guessed right. So, for now, Shuusuke simply wiped dripping sweat away briskly and looked around for someone still on his feet to practice with.

His eyes lit on Echizen, leaning on a fence catching his breath quietly. Echizen's head had a sardonic tilt as he watched the histrionics of some of the other young samurai, declaring that they were about to die of exhaustion. Shuusuke chuckled to himself; he had to agree, no one who could still complain that loudly was anywhere near death. He collected a pair of wood swords and tapped Echizen on the shoulder with one. "Care for a match?"

Shuusuke saw Tezuka's head come up from the corner of his eye and threw a small, quick smile over his shoulder. It wasn't fair, his glance said, for Tezuka to have all the fun.

The sword left his hand, and when he looked back around Echizen was grinning.

Shuusuke felt a touch of excitement flicker along his nerves as they moved out into the open, feet scuffing up tiny puffs of dust to mark where they set themselves. Echizen was good. Not good enough to make Shuusuke lose, but perhaps...

The thought suspended itself as Echizen drove in and every movement sharpened its edges in Shuusuke's eyes. He turned one blow and slid inside another but Echizen was already gone, turning too, and Shuusuke barely recognized the abruptly tightening angle of his side stroke in time to stop it. Echizen's grin was a notch wider as they drew apart. Shuusuke's own smile sharpened for an instant. Well, if Echizen was so confident he could break through...

Shuusuke gave him a clean opening and was hard put not to laugh when Echizen took it instantly. A smooth shift back drew Echizen in and sent him on past, all the driving power of his thrust no longer directed at Shuusuke. Echizen whipped back around, eyes narrowed, and Shuusuke smiled at him. Echizen's glare lit with answering ferocity and Shuusuke had to take a slow breath for focus and control as Echizen's passion tugged at him. This was what a good fight should be like.

Another opening, and another, and another. Echizen came after every one with fire in his eyes, and Shuusuke was aware of the watchers starting to murmur. They probably thought it was just Echizen's stubbornness, he reflected. But he could feel it—the tiny changes every time their swords met, the constant pressure of Echizen seeking the weakness in Shuusuke's defense. Thrill sang through him, kept him offering those openings just to see the beauty of Echizen's straight, driving lines, just to feel that rare danger.

And finally there was one more tiny shift that didn't seem to call for any alteration in Shuusuke's stance... but Echizen's sword flashed over his own and kissed his ribs. They broke apart, both panting for breath, and satisfaction barely touched Echizen's face before that ferocious, driving focus consumed it again.

"You don't have to give me chances any more, Fuji-dono," he prodded, and Shuusuke chuckled.

"Well, then." They came together again, hard and fast.

It wouldn't happen yet, no matter how much Tezuka had set Echizen on his mettle, but the possibility of losing breathed through every contact of their swords and danced chill down Shuusuke's nerves. So much so that he didn't recognize the real chill air stirring around them until sudden, drenching rain swept down. Shouts and clatters rose around the practice ground as men grabbed up weapons and made for cover.

Shuusuke and Echizen stood, unmoving in the sheeting gray wet, eyes fixed on each other.

A single flash of lightning showed another figure, as unmoving as either of them, standing by the fence with folded arms. Shuusuke smiled as thunder shivered through the rush of rain; Tezuka would not stop them.

Their feet slid in the wet dirt as they closed, this time, but the angles of motion were as tight and brilliant as ever in Shuusuke's sight. It was exhilarating. It was beautiful. It was...

...interrupted by a dripping messenger skidding to a halt at Tezuka's side. "Taishou! Sumire-gozen is asking for Echizen."

Shuusuke thought he might just have caught a flash of calculation in Tezuka's eyes before he nodded. "Echizen! Go dry off and attend on Sumire-gozen."

Echizen lowered his sword and gave Tezuka such a look of betrayal that Shuusuke could barely stifle his laugh. Echizen glared at him for a long, fulminating moment before stumping off through the rain muttering. Tezuka's glance after him narrowed with a moment of satisfaction. Shuusuke shook his head; always the leader, Tezuka was.

His thoughts felt slick. Fast and flashing. Shuusuke watched Tezuka dismissing the messenger and the lingering samurai and waited for the world to slow, the distance to recede and bring him back to everyday.

Before it quite had, he heard Tezuka's footsteps behind him.

"Why did you toy with him like that?" his friend asked, quietly. "Echizen is not a light opponent. Why didn't you fight to win?"

Shuusuke lifted a hand and let the drops of rain patter against open his palm. "It's thrilling to see something so close to perfection; to draw it out fully. That's all I wanted." He cast a rueful smile over his shoulder, suspecting Tezuka wouldn't like that. Still, considering what he was positive had happened between Tezuka and Echizen recently... "Would you have done it differently?" he challenged lightly.

The faintly troubled question in Tezuka's face washed away. "Victory is our duty," he stated inflexibly. "And it should be our only calling." A shadow of weariness touched his eyes. "This is why you're not an officer, Fuji."

Shuusuke bent his head. "I know." He sighed softly. He still thought he was right about why Tezuka was so taken with Echizen, that he was drawn by the same fascination that engaged Shuusuke. But... perhaps there was also more, for Tezuka.

The warmth of Tezuka's hand on his shoulder was shocking, and he realized he'd cooled down too much, standing in the rain. So he didn't protest when Tezuka beckoned him to come along and they passed through a handful of courts and walks to arrive at Tezuka's house. Ayame met them at the entry to welcome her husband home and covered a soft laugh to see how drenched they were. When they emerged from the inner rooms, dry and decently clothed again, she looked up from heating sake with a smile. "Will you eat with us, Shuusuke-dono? It's been too long since you visited."

"I wouldn't want to impose," Shuusuke murmured, an answering smile curving his lips at how Tezuka's hand lingered on Ayame's as he took a cup from her, and the way their eyes warmed as they met.

"It isn't an imposition at all," Ayame declaimed more firmly than mere manners required, turning back to her guest. "Your company would be a favor."

So Shuusuke let himself stay and be enfolded in the serenity of Tezuka's household. The irony of that serenity always appealed to him. He knew perfectly well Ayame controlled the house with an iron hand to match her husband's, for all her gentle charm. The contrast had entertained him for as long as he'd known them. The genuine warmth between husband and wife plucked at him, though, the moreso for how subtle it was; they fit each other so well, and it was in an effort to turn his mind aside from those thoughts that he asked, "Was it like that for you, when you fought Echizen?"

Tezuka's brow quirked. "So you did know about it, then."

"Mm." Shuusuke took another sip. "It was fairly obvious. To me, at least."

Tezuka looked out at the rain that was still falling. "Echizen needs true challenges."

"You seem to have given him one," Shuusuke observed. Echizen had certainly been more focused today than had been usual in the past.

"I gave him a beginning." Tezuka's eyes were distant. "We will see. Even someone who finds his way doesn't always go down it."

When Shuusuke left, this time covered by a straw raincoat at Ayame's insistence, he headed straight down into the town. Only occasional lamps lit a bit of darkness with silvery flickers of rain, but he took a path his feet knew without any direction from his eyes. He smiled gently at the girl who met him at the door.

"Will Yumiko see me?"

He waited in the room she showed him to, gazing silently past the slats of the window. It was sooner than he expected when the door whispered open and closed.

"Shuusuke!"

He looked up and smiled ruefully. Yumiko was dressed for the evening, kimono falling around her like a story told in silk, hair as light as his own folded sleekly up and held by bright combs. "Did I call you away from someone?"

She dropped down beside him in a rustle of fabric, tossing her sleeves back to hold out her hands to him. "It was a large party. Chiharu will look after them, and they won't miss me."

Shuusuke caught her fingers in his. "I don't believe it," he teased. "No one could possibly not miss you."

She tipped her head and gave him a long, clear-eyed look. "Shuusuke. What happened today?"

His smile relaxed into a laugh. "I can't hide anything from you, can I?"

"Not a thing." She tipped her head thoughtfully for a moment and then drew his hands to her and placed them on the elaborate knot of her obi, smile turning playful. "It's only fair."

Sometimes Yumiko knew him better than he knew himself. Shuusuke let his troublesome thoughts fall away for a while, and it was much later, with the softness of her hair lying over his bare shoulder, that he answered the question she had asked.

"I think Tezuka wants me to be an officer," he said quietly, watching the shadows move over the ceiling. "And I would work toward that if—" Her fingers covered his lips.

"Only an officer is likely to receive enough land to afford my contract," she agreed. "And such a highly placed samurai should not have a courtesan who doesn't know who her father might be for a wife."

Shuusuke sighed. He hadn't really thought her answer would change, but... "I will take you out of this place, Yumiko," he said, low and serious.

She leaned up on one arm, looking down at him as gold lamplight slid over her skin and the depth of her eyes, only a shade darker than his but so much more beautiful. "Someday," she said, at last. "Yes. You will."

Shuusuke smiled, small and true, and drew her back down against him and closed his eyes.

End

Closed Circuit

Al wakes up, restored. Not all the news is good, though. Drama with Angst, I-4.

One

Al smelled pine as he drifted out of sleep.

That was right. He and Nii-san were home. They'd come home to... had they...?

Jolted abruptly awake he sat up all in a rush and then had to stop and try not to be dizzy. Nothing was right. There was too much light and strange shadows, and under the scent of rain was the smell of something scorched. Old ash. He stared around him blindly, trying to make sense of what he saw. Dark walls around, but only sky above him. Wet grass under his hands.

"Nii-san...?" he whispered, and then shivered hard. "Nii-san?!"

"Al...?" A soft thump behind him made him spin around, coming up onto his knees. Winry stood on the other side of a crumbled wall, with a basket of flowers spilled at her feet, staring at him.

Only... it was wrong. Winry was too big.

"Al!" Winry-he-thought-probably sprang over the wall and rushed to throw her arms around him and he yelped, a bit stifled, as he was squashed against her. "Al! Al, you're back! Oh, Al!"

"We got back last night," he managed. "I'm really sorry we didn't come see you, but Nii-san wanted to start right away, and..." he trailed off, bewildered. "Is Nii-san with... Are you really..." He pushed away from her and looked around at what he was starting to recognize as the burned shell of his home. A cold, cold thread of terror wound through him. "What happened?"

Winry sat back and really looked at him, and frowned. "Al," she said, slowly, "you're... How..." Al thought maybe he could see the same cold feeling in her eyes, too. She shook her head and took a breath. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Her expression was determined, and he took some comfort from the familiarity of that. "Nii-san and I got home from studying with Sensei," he whispered. "We were going to... bring Kaa-san back." His voice slowed as he looked around again at the burned house and the weirdly grown-up Winry. "Winry," he asked, careful and distant, "what happened?"

Winry closed her eyes for a long moment and took another breath. "Okay." She looked at him again. "It's okay, Al. I think I know what happened. I'll tell you everything. It's going to take a while though. All right?"

"Where's Nii-san?" He tried to keep his voice from shaking.

"I think he's still in Central City." Winry ran a hand through her long hair. "That's part of the taking-awhile part."

Al swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay. Tell me."

He listened while she talked and the sun rose, listened hard, tucking it all away in his head. And when she was done he was silent for a long time.

"Al?" she said at last, hesitant.

"At least I'm back." He looked up at her with a small smile. "That's the important part. I can make more memories; as long as I'm here."

He had to admit, though, it was extremely embarrassing when Winry grabbed him to hug again. She squished a lot more than she used to.

Two

Pinako-baachan took one look at him and pulled out a large bottle of beer to thump down on the table in front of her. Then she sent Winry to the station with a message to Central, care of as many different people as they both thought might know where Nii-san was, and sat Al down and filled in more details for him. She stared into the speckled brown glass of the bottle all the time she talked about his father. That was one part Al deeply regretted not remembering. Or experiencing. Or whatever. He and Nii-san were going to have to come up with whole new equations to talk about what had happened to him and probably some new technical vocabulary too. The thought steadied him, and he smiled.

When a pretty young woman called Rose arrived, a week later, she brought a baby, a badly injured and wild looking boy, a story, and all of Nii-san's notes. Al listened to the story, and took the notes, and then went up to the room he'd been given, closing the door silently behind him.

He didn't come out for a while.

Three

Al traveled to Central City that winter, to meet some more people for the first time again. A man named Mustang received Al from a bed and held very still while they spoke, wincing whenever he had to move his head. In a low voice, he told Al many more details about the lost years with his brother. Another man, named Hughes, insisted that Al stay with him and his wife and daughter, and sprawled over his couch when he talked, and told Al many more details about the first man. Al listened politely, and asked questions softly, and didn't break until the little girl called him nii-san. Hughes' wife drove everyone else out of the room and held him quietly until he stopped crying. He managed a small smile just for her, when they saw him off again at the station.

It took another season before he could smile without having to think about it.

Four

Al was reading through Nii-san's notes again. He almost knew them by heart, now, even the terrifying part about Al being consumed by the Gate, and the strange, sketchy part, clearly written in a hurry, about passing through the Gate. That was at the very end of the stack of notebooks and loose paper, and Al always slowed down when he got to it.

This time he stopped completely and ran his fingertip over the hasty curves and slashes of his brother's shorthand where it read "gt = psg". The note for "passage" was underlined twice.

Al sat, staring at the second bed in the room. He had ignored all hints that it might be removed.

Whatever the passage was, it wasn't only one-way. He was living proof of that. And what Nii-san had done once, perhaps he had done again. The Gate. He had to find out more about the Gate.

He had to find a way to open it.

Al's mouth firmed into a line that would have been very familiar to anyone used to dealing with his brother. He restacked the notes and walked down the stairs with a steady tread.

"Pinako-obaasan."

Winry and her grandmother and Rose all turned to look at him. Al took a long breath.

"Would it be all right if I asked Sensei to visit for a little while? There's something I want to ask her."

End

Compression

Back with his teacher again, Al takes up his studies; this time, though, he already knows some things won't work. Drama, I-3.

Al wound his arms around his knees and rested his chin on them, looking down at the book open in the grass at his feet. His eye traced one more time over the sketch on the right-hand page. It was an ink sketch, brown with age, but he could see it in his mind's eye, vibrant and glowing like a prism made of blood.

He dreamed of the color, sometimes, nights when he woke up sweating and threw open the window just to look up at the sky and know the whole world wasn't red.

The grass rustled behind him and he heard his teacher's familiar sigh.

"Al..."

He nudged the book with a toe. "It isn't really what they say it is, is it?" he murmured.

"That depends on what they say it is."

He smiled at her dry tone. The thought wouldn't leave him alone, though, and he tightened his arms around his knees. "It doesn't bypass equivalent exchange at all," he stated. "It just makes someone else pay the price."

Her hand rested on his shoulder, her shadow sliding over the open book as she leaned down. "Yes."

Al's hands tightened on his own arms until his knuckles were white, and he kicked the book shut. "All of this..." he swallowed and rasped "all of that, all for a battery!"

After a long moment of silence his teacher answered, "Yes."

Al put his head down on his knees and shuddered. He might not remember anything but the red, but he could imagine. He could imagine five years, and soldiers at war, and cities in rebellion, and traveling with a jar of hope packed into the suitcase next to a bottle of madness, because they needed both just to go on. He could imagine his brother stumping down an endless road, stubborn as the sun, on a metal leg, swinging a metal arm.

He didn't have to imagine his brother gone.

Her hand tightened on his shoulder. "Come on," she said quietly. "Dinner's ready."

Al made a protesting sound. She expected him to eat right now?

She shook him briskly upright. "What is the first step of alchemy?"

Al sighed and gave her answer, instead of the book answer. "Acceptance."

"I don't know whether I can teach you to accept life, this time," she told him, "but I can certainly make you accept stew."

Al snorted. That was Sensei's philosophy, all right.

More gently she added, "Attend to the moment, Alphonse. This moment is for dinner, not for regret."

Al looked up at her with a rueful sigh, even as a corner of his mouth tugged up. It really wasn't fair for one person to be right so often. "Yes, Sensei." He stood and followed her obediently inside, dropping the book on the hall table as he passed. He'd get back to it later.

Because, whether Sensei approved or not, the one thing he was never going to accept was that his brother was gone for good.

Never.

End

Luscious

Daisuke thinks Satoshi should get a little more enjoyment out of life. Drama with Maybe Romance, I-2

"Takeshi, I need you to teach me how to cook!"

Takeshi blinked at Daisuke, chopsticks sticking out of his mouth while he looked back and forth between Daisuke's determined face and his well-made and well-filled lunch box. "MmmMm?" he said, finally.

Daisuke wilted a little. "You don't have time, right? You're so busy cooking for you and your dad, I shouldn't ask..."

Takeshi swallowed quickly. "No, no! I just meant... well, your mom's a great cook! Can't she teach you?"

Daisuke opened his mouth and closed it, trying to figure out some way of explaining that his mother would, invariably, want to know who he wanted to cook for, and she'd raise the roof when she found out. "I'd kind of like to surprise her, too," he managed at last.

"Oh." Takeshi shrugged. "Well, sure. Nobody's using the home ec room after school this term, I think. We can take it over." He gave Daisuke a toothy grin. "Of course, this means you'll take over cleaning duty for me for the rest of the year."

"Ah. Oh. Well, yeah, I guess so," Daisuke agreed slowly, not seeing any way out.

Sucker, Dark remarked, tolerantly.

Daisuke sighed with rueful agreement.

"Here."

Satoshi-kun took the small lunch box and opened it. He glanced back up at Daisuke, arching a brow. The gesture conveyed a certain polite disbelief.

"It isn't from my mom," Daisuke muttered, answering the unspoken question. "I, um... " He cleared his throat, cheeks heating. "I made it."

Satoshi-kun was silent for a moment, and Daisuke tried not to squirm under his level gaze. At last Satoshi-kun looked back down at the food and extracted a piece of tamagoyaki to chew, carefully and without any change of expression Daisuke could see. He watched hopefully anyway.

"It's good," Satoshi-kun said.

Daisuke stifled his disappointment and nodded, turning back to his own food.

The next day he brought croquettes.

Tempura, onigiri filled with pickled plums, inarizushi, curry bread (and hadn't that been a chore to hide from his mother!), ohitashi, Daisuke tried one dish after another on Satoshi-kun. Every one was recieved with that moment of blankness and a calm "It's good".

He hadn't expected enthusiasm, not from Satoshi-kun, but he had been hoping for just a little bit of pleasure.

Was it possible that Satoshi-kun really didn't care about food at all? Or was Daisuke just not a good enough cook to find something he would like?

The second thought only made it more depressing the morning Daisuke woke to the sounds of his mother moving around downstairs and realized he'd slept too late to sneak down to the kitchen and make anything for that day. When lunch came, he could only offer Satoshi-kun a slightly embarrassed smile and a bag of apples he'd picked up at the morning market on his way to school. "Sorry, Satoshi-kun, I was up kind of late last night... which... you already know, of course..." he trailed off, abashed. He waited for Dark to comment on feeding people who strung them up by the ankle in whip-snares, of all antiquated things, but his companion-self only rolled his eyes and turned over to go back to sleep.

Satoshi-kun tipped his head to the side, as if he wanted to view Daisuke from a different angle. "Niwa. Why are you doing this?"

Daisuke hemmed and hawwed for a moment, but Satoshi-kun didn't look away and finally he admitted, "Because I wanted to find something you'd enjoy eating."

Satoshi-kun blinked. "... I have."

"Well, you like all of it, sure," Daisuke agreed, earnestly, "but there doesn't seem to be anything you..." he fished for the right word. "That you savor, at all," he finished.

Satoshi-kun looked faintly amused, and Daisuke flushed. "I mean, you should eat, sometimes, because you like it," he said, a bit defensively. "Not because you have to, but just to taste the tastes and enjoy them."

Satoshi-kun considered this for a long moment. "And that's why you've been bringing me food?"

"Well, yes." Daisuke sighed. "When I can get past my mother to use the kitchen."

"Hm." Satoshi-kun looked thoughtful, and reached down to take an apple. He examined it as if it were a painting by some unknown artist before biting into it, slowly. The apple was consumed in thoughtful silence, and Daisuke waited as Satoshi-kun meticulously licked his fingers clean of dripped juice.

Finally a tiny smile curved Satoshi-kun's lips. "It's good," he said, softly.

Poor schmuck, Dark muttered, sleepily, in the back of his head.

Daisuke smiled, too, just a little triumphant. "Tomorrow I'll bring manju."

End

First Day

D opens the shop on his own for the first time. Drama, I-1

D tugged his cuffs straight one more time and examined his hem to make sure no threads were coming loose. One of the cockatoos nibbled on his ear. "Your feathers will get ragged if you preen them any more," she told him, winding her arms around his shoulders.

He sighed and smiled at her in the mirror. "You're right, of course. Is everyone ready?"

Laughter rippled through the animals lounging in the front room. "We're just fine," the young persian observed. She looked critically at her nails and filed one to a more satisfying point. "It's you who's fluffed out about this."

D admitted wryly that she had a point on more than her claw. The residents of the shop were well used to this. Even the shop itself felt calmer than he did. D was the only one present who was new at this. "Yes, well. I'll go open, then." On his own. For the first time.

The youngest cared for the refuge. He knew that. He understood why. The shop went to the one who was freshest and least wearied in their task. He knew all that. It didn't make him any less nervous to have sole responsibility laid in his hands. Finding homes for the displaced, finding humans fearful enough or rapacious enough to feed them, finding humans calm enough to shelter them... it was a delicate business. Humans were so unreliable, so changeable. He could never tell whether their true nature was to devour like cancer and some of them managed to rise above it, or whether their true nature was to live fiercely in harmony with other beasts and most of them were corrupted somehow. They made no sense. All he could do, when twining their fates with other animals', was to hope and trust that nature's balance was stronger than selfish human will. He clasped his hands tightly before pulling them apart and straightening his shoulders.

He took a step toward the door and almost tripped over the sudden press of bodies around him. The animals made amused sounds as they nuzzled and licked him, stroking against him like one of their own until he was thoroughly rumpled and calmer than he'd been all morning. Finally he laughed, brushing his hair back out of his eyes. "All right, all right!"

Their eyes gleamed at him as he shrugged his clothes straight again and stepped forward to open the shop door.

"Welcome to Count D's Pet Shop." He stood aside to let his first customer in, serene and smiling, waiting to see what fate these humans would call to themselves.

End

North of the Sun, Over the Moon

Leon manages to catch up with D—in Shinjuku. Contretemps ensue. Humor with Drama, I-2

The shop door slammed open and a few of the more excitable animals dove under furniture.

"Okay, D, stop right there, no selling anything to anyone!"

D felt that he should have expected this. Orcot had gotten to more than one city ahead of him, and he'd been here in Shinjuku for months. Besides, life had probably been going too smoothly.

He also knew that he should turn a bright smile on the good officer, welcome him cheerfully, offer him tea. Divert him into anger. It had never kept Leon away, contrary human that he was, but it did usually stop his questions. He knew he should do this. He just couldn't quite seem to get a grip on the smile he needed. It was... too smooth.

He was drawing in a long breath to try again, if only because Orcot's questions would cause twice as much trouble as before, given his current guest, when Leon's eyes flicked to Lau.

"Sir, you should probably leave now. You don't know what this store really sells."

D winced. The tone was classic—even and calm, exuding a sense that the officer in question was in control of the situation and bystanders should not panic, just do as they were told and everything would be all right. This bystander, though, was unlikely to take that well. "Now, Officer Orcot, I'm sure there's no need—" he began, stepping forward a bit hastily, attempting to avert unsightly explosions in his front room.

Too late. Lau rose to his full height, managing to look taller than Orcot which D was fairly sure he wasn't, and Leon was going to hate that wasn't he? Oh dear...

"Officer, is it? Who are you with? CIA?" Lau's eyes narrowed. "It doesn't matter. I am Lau Wu Fei, the manager of this building, and nothing goes on here that I don't know about and approve." He took a long, deliberate step toward Orcot, never breaking eye contact. D resisted the urge to rub his forehead. Males. Lau stopped close behind him, hands on his hips, feet apart.

Leon's eyes narrowed in turn. "If you know what's really going on here and approve of it, that makes you an accomplice. I'll be happy to get you taken in, too."

"No one is taking anyone anywhere," Lau growled. "This is my building and I will be the only one to say who operates in it." He edged closer to D.

D sighed, mouth quirking. Wu Fei was one of the most territorial humans he'd ever met. However he might scheme to find reason to throw D out, let anyone else interfere in his building, his business, his tenant, and he went up in flames.

Orcot was looking more territorial than usual himself, fingers flexing as though he wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull D away from Lau. D saw the two of them for one moment as though they belonged here. A deep-chested, thick-furred dog stood in the door, bouncing on stiff legs with the force of his barking, teeth bared to warn away a threat. A great cat stood across from it, burning green eyes glaring down its nose at the interloper, tail lashing.

He shook his head, blinking the odd moment away. Perhaps he'd been working too hard lately; these two certainly did not belong here.

He stepped between the two men, hands out to keep them apart. "Now, now, please. Not in the store." As their glares transferred to the more familiar target he found his smile again. "Taizu, surely you don't object to someone doing your work for you? Not that Officer Orcot could, alas, since he only works for the police department of one American city."

They both pulled up short at that, staring at D before bursting out,

"He's not—"

"You mean he can't—"

They stopped and eyed each other. D saw his opening, which was a good thing since he also saw a customer coming toward the open doors. "Yes, exactly, the two of you have so many things in common, really. Why don't you discuss them? Somewhere else." He herded them toward the door with cheerful little shooing motions, edging them out just in time.

"Welcome to Count D's Pet Shop!" he smiled at the customer, turning his back on Orcot and Lau as he closed the door behind them.

Wu Fei stomped down the stairs, muttering, with Orcot right beside him.

"...never tells me what's going on in my own place..."

"...thinks he always knows what's going on..."

"...bringing in outsiders..."

"...getting involved with who knows what..."

"And always..."

"...smirking at you."

Wu Fei stopped on the landing with a sharp look at the American. "You too?"

"Does he ever do anything else?" The officer scrubbed a hand through blond hair and answered himself. "Well, okay, yeah he does. He glares and he gets sad and he fucking sparkles when he wants to get rid of you." The man glowered at nothing.

Wu Fei snorted; oh, yes, he recognized all of that. For some reason it made him feel a little better that D clearly had practice at driving people insane with a smile. And perhaps, with a little judicious information trading, he could find out more about his most infuriating tenant. "I think we should talk, Orcot."

Leon leaned back in his chair, looking around the huge office with an experienced eye. If this Lau wasn't part of the local underworld he'd eat his shoes. Just what he always figured D would eventually get wound up in.

Only... it didn't sound like D was exactly cooperating with this guy.

"So let me get this straight." Leon tossed back another swallow of whiskey and held out the glass to Lau for a refill. They were talking about D, after all; he needed it. "You wouldn't actually care if D was running a brothel as long as he got your approval? You're just worried about the way it looks?"

Lau leaned against his desk and took a long drink himself. "Look Orcot, it happens. It's human nature; every light side has a dark side. I just keep things running smoothly, keep them on the acceptable side." He grimaced. "Slavery isn't acceptable, and that's what rumor makes D's shop sound like. You can't run that out in the open."

He wasn't saying anything about running it in the shadows, Leon noted, scowling.

Lau frowned down at his glass. "That's just the surface, though. I could probably deal with that if it was all. What D really is... He's too dangerous. Too much power."

Leon sat upright, slowly. "What is he?" he asked, textbook casual for a skittish witness.

Lau's eyes fixed on him, narrow and sardonic. "If you followed him, you know. You have no jurisdiction here, Orcot. You can't have come because you think you'll be able to prosecute him for anything."

Leon examined his glass and didn't answer. Lau snorted.

"Figured. You followed him because you couldn't let the magic of him go, right?" He leaned back, ignoring Leon's sputtering. "He's a spirit of the land, after all. Of the land all over the world, from what I can tell. His kind either call to you or they kill you." That hard mouth quirked. "Sometimes both."

Leon studied Lau, puzzled. The guy didn't sound angry or scared, he just sounded... weird, Leon decided at last. He sounded weird, and that made perfect sense for someone D was playing with.

Lau eyed him back. "I take it you're staying, then."

Leon had just taken a drink and choked.

"Thought so."

Lau was smirking at him now, nearly fit to match D. The bastard.

"Just try to stay out of the way of business."

D looked around his tea table and sighed. Lau was watching Orcot with a rather taunting smirk and Orcot was glowering at Lau as though he wanted nothing more in life than to throw the man in a cell. Tetsu was growling under his chair, having already bitten Leon hello, and the cats were watching Lau with approval. It was not turning out to be a quiet afternoon at all. "So, Officer," he said lightly, refilling teacups, "what brings you to Japan?" He smiled, less brightly than usual; he didn't want Orcot to explode from sheer spleen, after all. "Surely not just to attempt arresting me for old time's sake?"

It took Orcot a moment to pull his attention off Lau. "Oh. Oh, yeah, right." Suddenly he looked uncomfortable. Even... sheepish? "Actually, um. I wanted to return something."

D's brows rose as Orcot fished in his jacket. A pair of handcuffs to remember him by, perhaps?

What emerged, though, was a piece of notebook paper, carefully folded.

"Here." Leon waved it at him, not meeting his eyes. "You left this behind. Thought I should give it back."

D unfolded the paper slowly. It was a crayon drawing; one he recognized. Chris had made it. "Leon," he said softly, smoothing the paper with gentle fingers. He tried to clear the huskiness from his throat. "Chris. Is he well?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he's fine." Leon fidgeted.

Lau, who had been watching this byplay with interest, leaned back in his chair. "Orcot. Do you mean you came slamming in here, acting like you were going to arrest everyone in sight, in order to bring D a gift?"

Leon cleared his throat. "Well. Kind of, I guess."

"Americans have even stranger courting customs than I realized," Lau muttered.

"Don't be an idiot," Orcot snapped. "Oh, wait, never mind. Too late."

Lau growled back at Orcot and D sighed, massaging his forehead. What on earth was he going to do with them?

Tetsu leaned over the back of his chair, watching the show. "Now can I eat someone?"

"They're the Count's pets, T-chan," Pon-chan told him stoutly. "You can't eat other pets, that's the rules."

"I think I'm going to go lie down for a while," D muttered, leaving the animals to comment on which human would win their fight and whether humans ever used their teeth.

"...call the CIA if I have to, damn it!"

"I'll have you deported first...!"

Maybe his father had had a point about getting involved with humans.

End

Copper and Candlelight

Yui tries to process what happened to her. Tetsuya is an exceedingly nice guy. Drama, I-2

Yui lay with her arms folded behind her head on the rumpled cotton of their quilt, staring up at the high, clear blue of the sky. "I wonder if he was just going crazy."

Tetsuya pushed himself up on his elbows and slid his shades down to look at her with wide eyes. "What?"

"Seiryuu." She wriggled her stockinged toes in the cool air. "He really shouldn't have been able to do what he did, you know. I think that's why all of us were so... deranged." She flicked her fingers over the smooth, green paper cover of the book she'd brought to read today. "At least that's what all the stories about gods say. When someone tries to do something at the wrong place or time it just twists."

She looked over to see what Tetsuya thought of this theory. He was silent for a long moment, eyes dark and steady on her. Finally he reached up to move their picnic basket out of the way and slid an arm under her shoulders. She smiled and cuddled into the solid warmth of his chest. Tetsu was always warm; it was nice.

"It sure looked like everyone on his side was pretty messed up, yeah," he murmured. "Tell me about what you've been reading?"

"Well, a lot of the stories themselves are in really old language, but I've tracked down some very good annotations." A fact which pleased her. At a time when most of her tests, even in a middle range high school, didn't make sense to her anymore, it was good to feel that familiar, sure grasp on words and thoughts.

"Who'd have ever thought you'd go into folklore," Tetsuya chuckled. "So? What do they say?"

"Well, from the very start, with Izanami inviting at the wrong time..."

Tetsuya listened and nodded and twined a long, soft strand of her hair around his fingers. He worried about Yui. Keisuke's little sister had lived her story and found an ending for it, and now she was walking on into her life. Yui hadn't been so lucky. He wondered, sometimes, whether this story would ever end, for her.

So he held her close in the spring sunshine and listened to her retelling her story's beginning and stroked his thumb absently over the smooth, blue stone in her ear.

End

Iron and Stone

Yui has to deal with some changes in what she wants out of life. Drama, I-3

For a moment, she thought the catch she felt in the long strands of her hair was just a blowing branch that had snagged; it was a hazard she was familiar with from the last time the fine, light stuff had been this long. She didn't stop laughing at Miaka's vigorous imitation of the stray cat she'd just adopted begging for food—just brushed her fingers back through her hair to free it.

She found other fingers under hers.

Yui's hand raked down and she sprang forward and spun around, stumbling with the violence of her motion. The tall boy behind her, in some other school's uniform, shook out his fingers.

"Wow, almost got me." He smirked at her. "You should calm down and take a compliment better."

Yui could feel her whole body stiffening, her eyes widening the same way her lips pulled back off her teeth. "Compliment?" Her voice was ragged in her throat and in her ears. She could barely feel Miaka's arm around her shoulders.

The smirk didn't change. "Yeah, be complimented that a man thinks you're good looking—"

"Excuse me."

Before Yui found out what the hot, wobbly feeling in her stomach would become, Tetsuya loomed behind the boy's shoulder, pulled him around briskly and punched him in the face. Her breath left her explosively as he slammed down onto the pavement. Tetsuya adjusted his shades and moved her from Miaka's protective embrace to his own. "Why don't we find a tree to sit under?"

"Sounds good." Taka didn't spare a look down at the boy on the ground as he moved past, both hands full of the ices he and Tetsuya had gone to fetch. His mouth curled, though.

Yui managed a shaky breath of a laugh and nodded.

She sat on her bed, drawing her brush through her hair slow and careful. The gentle tugs helped erase the lingering feeling that something greasy was tangled in it. And she'd washed it twice tonight, already.

She sighed, resting the brush in her lap as she fingered the glossy sweep of her hair. There was no reason to still be so upset, was there? Miaka had been with her and Tetsuya had taken care of the boy; pretty definitely. That memory made her lips curve up for a moment.

And Tetsuya had promised her he'd always be there. And that did make her feel better. There was just this tightness lingering in her arms and stomach. She wanted...

She remembered the boy's smirking face and her hand closed into a hard fist around the handle of her hairbrush. She'd had both hands in fists this afternoon. She stretched her fingers open and closed, looking down at them. Again that careless, self-satisfied face drifted across her mind's eye and the tightness in Yui's muscles snapped like a broken tie.

Her brush hit the wall hard enough to dent the plaster. She was on her feet, breathing fast and deep. Her fingers flexed and she could almost feel a throat in them, almost see that mocking smile wiped away.

She wanted to do it herself.

"Yui-chan? Are you all right?" Her mother tapped on her door.

One more breath to slow down. "Yes, Kaa-san, I'm fine. I just dropped something."

The moment of expressive silence outside her door made her smile, if crookedly.

"All right, then. Dinner will be ready soon."

"Yes, Kaa-san. Thank you." Yui looked at herself in her mirror as she listened to her mother's soft footsteps moving back down the hall. The glint of blue in her ear caught her eye and she stared at it, seeing another face now, hearing a smooth, reasonable voice telling her to destroy herself and two worlds to give that voice what he wanted. For a moment, she wavered; was it just more foolish selfishness? But...

"I don't have to be a god," she whispered, finally, "to not be a useless little kitten."

She picked up her brush and wound her hair up off her neck and went to set the table with a firm step.

"Are you sure about this, Yui-chan?"

Yui smiled around her mouthful of hairpins and doubled her braid up out of the way. "I'm sure, Miaka. It'll be fine." Miaka's worried eyes didn't change and Yui stuck the last pin in a bit haphazardly and reached up to ruffle her friend's soft bangs. "You have a boyfriend to go meet, silly; what are you hanging around here for still?" The worried eyes turned starry and Yui laughed. "Go on, I'll be fine."

She recited those words to herself as she stood in front of the judo club captain, trying not to feel incredibly overdressed in the dark green wool of the school uniform. "...and I realize it's very irregular to enter a club after the start of the year, especially with no experience, but I would be very grateful if you would allow it, Arima-senpai."

"Irregular is one way to put it." Arima-senpai leaned against the cinder-block wall, arms crossed. "Why the switch, Hongou-kun? I can't believe Mizuro doesn't want you in the journalism club any more."

A drop of sweat tricked down from her hairline to her collar and she wondered if she could get away with saying she wanted a cooler uniform. Arima-senpai's rather rumpled white gi looked really comfortable in the heavy late summer heat.

Of course, the heat wasn't the real reason she was sweating right now.

Her hands tightened on each other where she had clasped them in front of her. "I..." Only a little husky, she managed, "I want to be able to do this for myself."

Arima-senpai looked at her for a long moment. "Hm." Finally he unleaned from the wall and beckoned her out onto one of the mats. "Come here for a second, then. Now, I know you don't have any training yet, but if I come at you like this, what are you going to do?" He took a long step toward her, suddenly looking a lot taller and larger, one hand reaching for the front of her blouse.

Electric tension crinkled down Yui's spine and her arm flew across her body, hard and wild, striking his hand aside. Her toes clenched at the rough mat under her socks, and she felt like something had taken a key and wound her up too tight, even as Arima-senpai stepped back again.

"Thought so." Arima-senpai sighed and ran a hand through his pale hair. "Come over here and sit and calm down, Hongou-san." He herded her down to a bench against the wall without touching her. Yui blinked up at him. "Now listen." He sat on his heels in front of her. "What you want isn't this club. It probably isn't even a dojo; not yet."

"But..." She'd screwed up her courage to even try, and now he told her this?

Arima-senpai's long mouth crooked. "Listen, I said. I don't want anyone getting hurt in my club. Not you and not any of my other members, and right now you'd hurt anyone who startled you too bad. Or else they'd hurt you, defending themselves. So." He held up a finger. "What you want to do, Hongou-san, is go and get a tire iron."

She could have sworn he said something about not hurting anyone. "A tire iron," she repeated, a shade weakly.

His grin was just a little evil. "Yeah. Get a tire iron and then go find an old tire in an abandoned lot, or something. And hit it with the iron as hard as you can, until you know what it feels like and you aren't holding back anymore."

Warmth ran through her muscles as she relaxed all at once. "Oh." She thought about that and slowly smiled back.

"Better." He patted her shoulder and stood. "And when you've done that for a while, if you still want to learn a form like this, come back then. Miyako-kun would probably like having another girl in the club."

She stood as well, hands steady again, and bowed. "Thank you, senpai."

Yui walked slowly down the hall toward the school's front doors, wondering what to do now.

Besides find out whether Tetsuya had a tire iron she could borrow.

She had already turned in her resignation to Mizuro-senpai, and she'd had to decline enough requests to rethink it that she'd look like a total idiot if she came strolling back now. She really didn't like looking like an idiot. It was moments like this when she wondered whether Miaka, who never even noticed looking ridiculous, didn't have a better grip on how to live life.

"Ah, not another one! Aren't there any sites about this that aren't in English?"

Yui glanced aside into the computer room, a bit amused. The computer club seemed small this year; only two of her classmates and one third-year girl she didn't know clustered around one of the tables.

"At least we know our page will be significant; that will get extra points," the third-year said firmly.

"Doesn't help us much if we can't read this stuff to add it to our site," Onosaka muttered, making a mournful face. Yui had to put a hand over her mouth to muffle a giggle; Onosaka was her most amusing classmate, even when he was grumpy.

The three of them looked up at the sound. "Hongou-san," Suzukase greeted her, brows lifted a bit.

"Yui-san, just the person!" Onosaka cut him off, eyes gleaming. "You're good at English, come help us translate this."

The third-year cuffed him lightly across the back of the head. "Knock it off. Hongou has her own club work to be doing, stop trying to shove yours off on her." She smiled at Yui. "Just ignore him."

"I usually do," Yui murmured, and hesitated. "I... don't actually have club work today, though. If you did want a little help. I wouldn't mind." Wrestling with English would certainly take her mind off things.

The third-year sighed as two pairs of eyes fixed on her with wide, hopeful expressions. "Don't think this gets you two opportunists out of any work," she warned. "If we're not imposing, we'd be very grateful for your time, though, Hongou."

"Did Mizuro-senpai dismiss the journalism club already today?" Suzukase asked as Onosaka pulled up a chair for Yui.

"I'm... not with the club anymore." She fixed her attention quickly on the screens in front of them to ward off any questions about why, and blinked. "That's not English."

"Hm? Oh!" Suzukase laughed. "No, that one is code." He bestowed an exasperated look on the blocks of colored text. "Something's wrong and I can't tell what; I hope that, if I leave it for a bit, I'll see the problem when I come back." He tapped the turquoise case of the next computer. "This one has the site we're trying to translate."

Yui leaned back and took it one word at a time until she could put the title together. "Imported National... Cuisine?" Yes, that was what it said; how odd. "Britain and curry." She looked at them, puzzled. "What are you working on?"

"Food!" Onosaka declared.

"An informative webpage on imported foods that become really popular," Suzukase expanded, a bit dryly. "Imai-senpai thought of it. We wanted something unusual for our Computer Fair project."

Fair enough. Yui pulled a piece of paper and a pen toward her. "Let me get down some of the keywords, then, so you can use them to search more." As she prodded her brain toward the shape of English letters, though, something on the other screen caught her eye. It felt like stepping into a dip in the sidewalk, an unexpected jar. "Suzukase-kun," she said, slowly. "Are there supposed to be two question marks there?"

Suzukase looked where her pen was pointing and spun back to face the screen of code. "No it isn't! Line... forty-eight, yes, that's it!" He banged on the table with a triumphant fist and tapped at they keyboard. "There, and..." the screen blanked and loaded what looked like a regular web page, "yes!" He beamed at her.

"You have a good eye, Hongou." Imai-senpai rested her chin in her hand. "Did you say you weren't with journalism any more?"

Yui nodded and had to stop herself from edging back at Imai-senpai's suddenly shark-like smile.

"Onosaka, Suzukase, you two get back to work while I just show Hongou here a few things about code."

Well, she had been wondering what she'd do now, Yui reflected as Imai-senpai pulled her around to the third computer at the table.

She hadn't thought she still needed to be careful what she wished for.

End

Pollen for Dreams

A quiet moment between Ryuuki and Seiran, balancing between truth and pretending. Drama with Unspoken Romance, I-3

"If you sent me a flower, what would it be?"

"Majesty." Seiran said his brother's title gently, an unspoken scolding, reminding Ryuuki that they shouldn't speak of these things. His heart still turned over when Ryuuki lifted his head from Seiran's knee and looked up at him, eyes pleading.

"Let me play pretend? Just for a little bit?" Ryuuki begged, and Seiran's resistance fell all in a heap.

Really, it was himself he should be scolding, more often than not.

He could, at least, phrase things a little less dangerously, though. "If your brother had grown to rule," he said softly, "when he sent you a flower I think it would be a daisy."

Ryuuki's breath caught and his words were husky. "Yes." He caught up Seiran's hand and his lips brushed Seiran's fingers as he whispered, "If things had gone the way they should. If Seien had become my lord..." One hot tear splashed on the back of Seiran's hand. "I would have been faithful to you all my life."

Seiran looked down at Ryuuki's bowed head and didn't chide him for his slip. He rested his free hand on his brother's shaking shoulders, quietly.

After a few gulps, Ryuuki's voice came out steadier. "It hasn't been time, yet, for the Emperor to send a flower to Seiran of the guards. But if I did... when I do..." He looked up, lips trembling but curved in a tiny smile. "When I do, will you be horribly embarrassed if it's lavender?"

The jumble of Seiran's emotions stopped his voice for a moment: tenderness for the sweet, vulnerable boy his little brother had always been; pleasure that Ryuuki still loved him, and fear for the same reason; shining pride in the mind that retained a ruler's awareness, even while the man's heart tugged in another direction. He lifted a hand to stroke Ryuuki's silky-straight hair back from his damp cheek. "I will always be honored to be held in your heart, my Emperor," he said softly, and leaned down to press a kiss to his brother's forehead. After a moment he added, teasing, "Better that than a sunflower, after all."

Ryuuki burst out laughing, probably at the image of Seiran marching blank-faced through the palace with a large and obtrusive yellow flower proclaiming someone's love and respect for him. He rose on his knees to throw his arms around Seiran and pressed his cheek into Seiran's shoulder. "Aniue," he whispered. And, more softly still, "Seiran."

Seiran rested a hand on his brother's head, smiling, and refrained from protesting this time, either.

If he was honest, he would admit he was very happy to be both.

End

A/N: Flowers referenced: Daisy for faithfulness, Lavender for being held in the giver's heart, Sunflower for admiration and love.

May We Be Truly Thankful

Shuuei has an encounter with Seiran, one evening and comes away with a new appreciation of the Emperor he has. Drama, I-4

Shuuei was on his last round for the night, making sure his imperial charge was in his room, alone, asleep, and not gallivanting off into the night to pick peonies for Shuurei or anything equally foolish, when he spotted the shadow lingering under the trees that shaded the pavilion in summer.

The shadow had silver hair.

Shuuei did his best to sneak up on Seiran and was mildly disappointed when the man didn't even start at Shuuei's voice breathing in his ear. "Watching over both of them, are you?"

Seiran didn't look around. Nor did he show any signs that he'd been up since before dawn, following Shuurei, and had probably just jogged back from Kou Shouka's residence after seeing her home. "It's my duty," he answered, calmly.

Shuuei chuckled. "And here I thought it was mine, at least where the Emperor is concerned."

"Is it?" Seiran murmured, turning his head at last to regard Shuuei. In the half light his eyes were far less soft than they were by day. They gleamed, sharp and piercing. Shuuei straightened quickly.

"Of course it is." And why did he sound as though he was acknowledging an order?

"For a son of the Ran clan?" Seiran tipped his head to the side. "It was an unusual involvement in politics, wasn't it, for you to accept his flower? I suppose joining the military reconciled your bothers to you coming to the capital. At least long enough for you to get your foot in the door." It was Seiran's turn to lean against the tree, crossing his arms. "A Ran dancing the dance of the Court. Who could have predicted?" Those gleaming eyes narrowed. "Probably not even Ryuuki."

The weight of Shuuei's armor pressed over his shoulders, and it still felt like he was being stripped naked. And not in a pleasant way. His voice was low as he answered. "I did accept his flower, though. And I will serve him."

Seiran's smile was fierce, completely at odds with the formal courtesy of his words. "I'm sure you will serve him very well, Ran-shogun." His steps were absolutely silent as he slipped away through the trees, and Shuuei stood for a long time, looking after him.

When Shuuei got up the next day, he lit an extra stick of incense for his ancestors' spirits.

"For the fact that Ryuuki is my Emperor, and not Seien," he murmured. "Deeply thankful. Truly."

He did rather hope it wasn't really his grandfather's voice he heard in the back of his head snorting, It's your own damn fault for getting involved, boy!

He knew that. And he'd been prepared, really he had. It just seemed prudent to show his gratitude that he was serving a sweet and sometimes silly, though quite intelligent, boy, instead of facing those cool, assessing eyes he'd seen last night.

Really, quite thankful.

End

A/N: Peony is for shyness, and Ryuuki giving it to Shuurei would be as unsuitable as all of his extravagant presents to her are.

The Road Not Taken

The point of divergence from canon, when Seien chooses blood over peace. Drama, I-3

Seien sat on the steps, silently, watching the family. The lady was sitting up on a tree branch, laughing brightly down at her daughter's protests that she wanted up in the tree too. It was good, if a little strange, still, to sit in the sun, warm and safe with nothing to worry about.

Even stranger, truth be told, to watch the sweetness of how this little family acted toward each other. The hand that the lady set on her daughter's head, as she finally descended and leaned down to laugh with the girl, made Seien flinch, his own hand closing tight. He could remember his brother's fine, soft hair under his palm.

He remembered very clearly that Ryuuki had been the only one he could touch like that.

Did he dare to see Ryuuki again? To go back, even to visit in secret? It had been almost two years. But... Kou Shouka said that the fighting between his older brothers had gotten even worse, though it hadn't come to swords yet. Seien's mouth tilted; none of them but him had ever really favored the sword, anyway.

Did he have any right to go back, when he couldn't even protect himself, much less Ryuuki, against the weapons their brothers and the concubines did use?

He hugged one knee to his chest, sighing. He probably didn't. He should probably take the gift of his life and forget what he had been, and dedicate himself to what he still could be. To the people who had saved him. His lips moved silently, shaping the name Shuurei-chan had given him. Seiran. He smiled a little.

Perhaps he should just trust Shouka-sama's strength to protect Ryuuki, and be only Seiran. There was a certain peace in that thought, a peace that went well with this sunny garden, and these people. Only a few people; the only ones to cup his frostbitten self in their warm hands until he thought maybe his blood was flowing again.

Surely even he could manage to protect that few.

Shuurei-chan's laugh blended, in his ear, into Ryuuki's, the bright laugh that only he ever heard. A sweet sound, for his sweet brother, totally at odds with what the Imperial Court had become.

Let alone what it might become soon.

Seien thought of Ryuuki in that court, and his back straightened. No. No! It would just be cowardice to abandon his life now. He had been given power, by the hand of Heaven, and his father. Surely that meant he had a duty to use it!

If he didn't, who would? He thought of the bandits back in Sa and a corner of his mouth tried to curl up in a snarl.

"Seiran?" A small hand tugged at his sleeve and he looked down to find Shuurei-chan looking up at him with innocent, concerned eyes. He took a long breath and smiled at her, laying a hand on her head.

"Thank you, Shuurei-chan."

He would protect his brother, and he would protect this girl. He would take this kingdom and guard the precious things it held from the rot inside it.

Shuurei patted his hand comfortingly and offered him a clover from the bunch in her fist. When he took it she nodded, satisfied, and ran back to her mother, who was busy shooing away disturbed bumble bees. Seien tucked it into his tunic and rose to go back inside and find Shouka-sama.

There were plans they needed to make.

End

A/N: Clover is for luck.

The Wind Cries

Shouka and Seien talk, some secrets are revealed, and Seien gets a shock. Drama, I-4

"Seiran, do you have a moment?"

Seiran blinked as Shouka-sama appeared silently in the door of his rooms just as Seiran tiptoed past. "Of course." He wasn't actually sleepy yet, and followed curiously as Shouka-sama led him to a seat at the antechamber's small table. Shouka-sama sat down across from him, resting clasped hands against his chin. Seiran waited, watching the master of the house in the flickering candlelight.

"Seiran—" Shouka-sama hesitated, "Seien. Do you know who I am?"

Seien tipped his head, puzzled. "Kou Shouka, eldest of the Kou clan's main lineage, though the leadership of the clan went to your younger brother," he recited from years-ago lessons on history and politics.

"Ah." Shouka-sama seemed to slump a little and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. Seien frowned; clearly there was something more. He cast his mind back, stumbling a little in his thoughts as he tried to set aside the raging chill of the year before this one and look closely at the bright, smooth memories of his years in the palace. The foolish, innocent confidence of them made him wince away a bit, but he could find nothing there to explain the tight line of Shouka-sama's mouth.

"I suppose I shouldn't have expected you to be told." Shouka-sama sighed and straightened. "I am also," he said quietly, looking down at his laced fingers, "the Black Wolf."

For a moment Seiran couldn't place the name, and then he could and started upright, staring. "You... but...!" How was it possible? Shouka-sama moved gracefully, to be sure, but... He was strong, yes, he had lifted Seiran before with no sign of strain, but...!

Surely someone that deadly should show it, the way it showed in his brothers' eyes, or in Meishou's smile.

But wouldn't that be the most deadly of all, a corner of his mind noted, to seem utterly harmless? Was that not, after all, what he and his partner had done, among the Satsujinzoku?

Seien wet his lips and swallowed. The Black Wolf. The Emperor's assassin. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, husky.

Shouka-sama stopped looking taut and looked blank instead for a moment. "Oh!" He waved his hands. "No, no, you're in no danger at all! It's not like that!"

Seien couldn't help slumping a bit with relief. He knew he was exceptional with a sword, but the stories of the Black Wolf were... daunting.

Shouka-sama made a slightly exasperated sound and rose to come around the table and lay his hands on Seien's shoulders. "I didn't take you in just to have you handy to kill," he said briskly. "I took you in to care for you as a son of this household."

Seien's eyes widened as he stared up at Shouka-sama, struck utterly breathless by that matter-of-fact warmth. "Shouka-sama," he whispered.

Shouka-sama smiled faintly. "I told you this so that you would understand what it means when I say that the Emperor sent me to find and guard you." His hands tightened for a moment on Seien's shoulders. "And when I say that I no longer need his command to do it."

Wetness in Seiran's eyes made the candlelight waver even more as he blinked it back. His voice trembled with the intensity of feelings too wild to contain—hope and fear and a rushing warmth he'd never thought he would feel again. "Shouka-sama..."

Shouka-sama's eyes were dark and sober. "I always knew who you were. And I know, better than you think, what kind of choices are before you. So I'm telling you now: choose your path. Any shadows you see along it," a small smile, "will be mine."

Seiran bent his head. "Thank you." He was dizzy with the strangeness of it all, of being offered protection. And, far more than that, of trusting in the one who offered.

Shouka-sama's hand rested on his head for a moment. "You should be off to bed, then. Growing children need their sleep, and Shoukun will scold me if I don't let you get it."

Seiran laughed, and if it was a little damp neither of them mentioned the fact. "Yes, Shouka-sama. Good night, then."

"Good night. Seiran."

Seiran paused and looked back and bobbed a nod before closing the door behind him.

End

Paper Dust

Seien sneeks a look in on Ryuuki and gets a lesson from Shouka into the bargain. Drama, I-3

If Seiran had been the one in charge of guarding the palace, he thought, he'd have had a few words to say to the soldiers who patrolled the place.

He'd been tucked up in the eaves of the Archives all day, having come in over the roofs—the red roofs, for heaven's sake!—and not a single guard had looked up yet. If this had been the forest, they'd all have been dead without any bandits having to bother coming down out of the trees.

A soft, light voice from the open window below him distracted him from such dark thoughts, and Seiran smiled. Ryuuki sounded happy today.

The Archives were the only place he dared try to catch a glimpse of his brother. Unlike the guards, Ryuuki was alert as any wild animal. It was only here he relaxed a little, in the quiet of Shouka-sama's little domain.

"Shouka, Shouka, look! I copied the whole thing!" Ryuuki held up a scrap of paper proudly, showing off his careful brushstrokes.

"And a very good job, too." Shouka-sama leaned over Ryuuki, one hand resting, gentle and light, on Ryuuki's shoulder. Seiran's thoughts darkened again as he caught sight of the soft bandage, showing under the neck of Ryuuki's robes, that Shouka-sama was being careful not to touch. If any of their elder brothers ever passed near while Seien was moving through the palace, he swore they would regret it. Briefly. They would have to be dealt with somehow, and shared blood...

Well, sharing blood meant something different to him, these days.

"Shouka, is this true?"

Seiran blinked, brought back again by the sudden thoughtful edge to his brother's voice. Ryuuki ran a small finger down one column of characters.

"Do the eight enlightened ones really still live among us and keep watch over the country?"

"That's what legend tells us." Shouka smiled down at Ryuuki. "And the temples, too."

Ryuuki sniffed. "They aren't doing a very good job, then. Everyone complains, all the time, about how hard it is to run things, and how everyone is making trouble for everyone else."

"Ah, well." Shouka-sama leaned back against the windowsill. "The enlightened ones can only help us. They can't just take over the country; that wouldn't be right."

"Why not? I mean, if they're enlightened." Ryuuki leaned his chin in his hands, eyes wide and curious. Actually, Seien was rather curious what Shouka-sama would answer, too.

"All our tales of them, from the very beginning, tell us that, enlightened as they are, those eight served the emperor," Shouka-sama said quietly. "That is their part. It is the emperor's part to rule and lead. And he can only be one person, in this one place. He can't take care of more than a handful of people, directly." Shouka-sama smiled. "I suspect some emperors forget they have more than the people right here to care for."

Seien flushed hotly, even though he was hidden up in the eaves and Shouka-sama wasn't even talking to him.

Well... maybe wasn't talking to him.

"But the enlightened ones, not being rulers, why they can go wherever they need to, to care for the country."

"Oh." Ryuuki considered this for a long moment, nibbling on his lip. "Okay. I think I see."

Seien softened helplessly, touched all over again by his brother's brightness, his sharp mind and pure heart. He would protect Ryuuki.

And if that meant protecting the whole country, to give Ryuuki and Shuurei a safe place to be, well, he'd do that too.

End

Peaches and Thorns

Shoukun and Seien talk about freedom, and she gathers a promise from him. Drama, I-3

"Tou-sama, higher! There's another up there!"

Seiran laughed softly as Shouka-sama helped his daughter stand on his shoulders to reach the last ripe peach in a tree.

"She's so fearless, that girl!" Shoukun-sama thumped down on the steps beside him, her own basket already full.

"After watching you climb those trees, that shouldn't be a surprise, Shoukun-sama," Seiran told her. He couldn't help the faint edge of scolding in his voice; sometimes Shuurei's innocent fearlessness truly terrified him, and her parents wouldn't be there to protect her forever.

Sometimes he wondered how long he would be there.

A cool hand on his cheek made him start. "You're drifting again," Shoukun-sama scolded back.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

She sighed. "My little Seiran." Very quietly she added, "If the palace will be such a cage to you, I will be sad to see you walk back in and pick up your chains again."

Seiran looked up, helplessly, into deep, beautiful eyes. "I don't know anymore. I..." he looked away, "it didn't used to be." But that had been when he was a silly, bright-eyed child, before he'd been shown what filth humans could be.

Before he'd been shown he was just like them.

And it was so terribly easy, now, to imagine the faces of his elder brothers when he remembered the wet slide of his sword cutting flesh. So easy. What would the glittering poison of the Court be to him now? A cage? Or truly his natural place?

Shoukun-sama sniffed. "Well, perhaps it isn't cages they keep hunting hawks in, but they aren't free, all the same."

Seiran bit his lip. She saw so much, even the things he never wanted anyone to see. "Maybe I'm the kind of hawk they give up on and abandon because it can't be tamed," he said, voice low.

"Oh, what nonsense." She ruffled his hair as he stared at her. "You're quite tame with us."

Seiran smiled, shy and rueful; that was true.

"Perhaps I should kidnap that little brother of yours and keep both of you here," she added, thoughtfully.

His breath caught in flash of such wild wanting it blinded him for a moment. "Shoukun-sama, please don't tease," he begged. He didn't think his heart could stand much of that.

She just looked at him for a long moment, and finally sighed. "So be it. Will you promise me something, then?"

"Anything."

"So quick to let a woman take advantage of you!" she laughed, but then sobered. "You don't have to be very tame, you know. But let others help you to protect what is precious." Her fingers touched his cheek again. "Promise me."

Seiran opened his mouth to protest and then closed it. She hadn't said to let anyone else do it for him; just to let some people help. "I promise," he said softly.

"There's my Seiran. And here's your reward." She pressed a peach into his hand.

Seiran looked down at it and smiled wryly. "Are you secretly the leader of the eight enlightened ones, handing over peaches of immortality?" he asked, and really thought he might only be half joking.

Shoukun-sama laughed softly. "Oh, I'm something much worse than that. But don't worry; I wouldn't do such a thing to you." He looked up, puzzled, but she only shook her head and touched his hair. "It will be all right, Seiran. Just remember your promise."

He bowed his head under her hand. "I will."

He would let others help. If they were worthy to protect precious things. If he could trust them with the task.

He didn't expect to find many of those.

End

A/N: The leader of the Eight Immortals of Chinese legend is often depicted holding one of the peaches of immortality, a standard legendary fixture themselves.

Dragon's Whisker

Civil war erupts, and Seien returns. Drama with Angst, I-4

Seiran was playing catch, in the garden with Shuurei, when a roar went up from the streets nearby. He started to his feet, reaching out to catch Shuurei's shoulder; he'd heard sounds like that before, from the throats of men charging with weapons in their hands.

"Seiran?" Shuurei's eyes were wide, and he gathered her closer, tense.

"It's all right, Shuurei-chan." He would make it be all right. He had no wish to be the Whirlwind again, but to protect Shuurei...

"Yes, it's all right." They both relaxed as Shouka-sama stepped out from under the garden trees to join them. "I barred the gate behind me as I came in."

"Shouka-sama, what's happened?" Seiran asked quietly.

His foster-father looked more weary than Seiran ever remembered seeing him. "It's a riot. Two of the city merchants got a tip from someone in Civil Affairs about a load of barley coming in, and they bought it all up." His smile was worn. "Reishin is furious, of course, but the Department of the Military refuses to give him any support to repossess the food, and when the people saw what prices were being charged..." He looked toward the noise, which now had smoke starting to rise over it.

"What is Shou-taishi thinking?" Seien burst out. "Even if the Emperor is too ill to deal with this, his councilors aren't!"

Shouka-sama's mouth tightened. "I... am not sure what he's thinking, anymore," he said, voice low. "I have considered that it might be time to ask him."

There were screams in the roar of voices, now, and Shuurei flinched from the sound, drawing closer against Seiran, looking up at them both with wide eyes. "Is it..." she had to stop and swallow, "is it really going to be all right?"

Seiran's arm tightened around her shoulders, and he looked over her head at Shouka-sama. His foster-father's brows lifted at whatever expression was on Seien's face. "It will be all right." Seien said, low and definite. "And when you go to see Shou-taishi, Shouka-sama... please take me with you."

Seien stood in the shadows, in the snug, dark clothing Shouka-sama had given him for the swift, cautious trip to this office. It was a distastefully familiar kind of clothing, but it served its purpose; Shou-taishi had mostly ignored him as he listened to the two men speak. Seiran had listened, and now he was staring at Shou-taishi with disbelieving eyes.

"It is the Emperor's command," the man reiterated, hands folded calmly on his desk.

Shouka-sama sounded just as outraged as Seien felt. "But you must know what's happening to the people!"

"If the country cannot cleanse itself, better it die."

The evenness of Shou's voice, set against the memory of the harsh crowd roar, was too much for Seien, and he stepped into the light. "How can it cleanse itself when no one leads it? When the people with strength won't use it? How can he demand such an idiotic thing?!"

Shou's brows lifted. "Shouka, you should teach your people bett—" He broke off, frowning, looking more closely at Seien.

Seien growled and pulled off the muffling scarf he had worn for the trip here. Shou-taishi sat back, slowly, eyes fixed on him.

"Seien-koushi." A wintry smile was all the welcome he offered. "You've gained some awareness of politics, since you've been gone, I see."

Seien slashed a hand down, as if to knock away the comment. It wasn't politics he recognized, here and now. "I didn't expect to see bandits in charge of this city, but what else do you call that?" He pointed out the window where fires were starting to glow in the dusk. It looked a whole lot like the work he'd seen from the murderous bastards who'd found him years ago, and now everyone he cared for in this world was in the middle of it. He glowered at Shou. "What do you call yourself for letting it happen?" he whispered.

"I call myself a servant of the Emperor." Before Seien could snap at this, Shou pushed himself up from the desk, turning to look out the window. "Before sense or mercy or life itself, I am the servant of the Emperor." He clasped his hands behind his back and snorted. "And just what do you think you can say about this, in any case? A prince exiled for treason, who has broken his exile and returned in secret from the throne and the ministers alike? How can you say you care for this Court?"

The words stung all the more for being indifferent, without malice. And true enough. Seien drew himself up. "I don't give a damn how many times vipers bite each other," he answered roughly. "I do care who else will be caught in their thrashing around. And if cutting off the snakes' heads now will stop them, then I'll do it." Seien swallowed both distaste and some cold anticipation. It would not, after all, be the first time.

"Hmm." Shou-taishi turned his head to glance back at Seien. Seien thought there might have been a shadow of a smile on his face, and he rocked back, wary. "Well, then." Shou directed a rather sardonic smile at Shouka-sama. "Bring him along and meet me in the Emperor's rooms."

Shou-taishi and Shouka-sama knelt by the Emperor's bedside. Seien did not. He had begun to, twelve years' habit not worn away by a few years gone from court, but the light in his father's eyes and the color of his skin had frozen him still.

"You're not sick," he whispered.

Shou looked up at him in an interested way, but Seiran hardly noticed. He know what illness and death looked like, now, knew them closely and well; he saw neither in his father's face.

The Emperor met his eyes for a long moment before turning his head to gaze up at the ceiling. "I am not," he agreed. "But the courts are."

"So it's true." Seien pulled in a hard breath past his clenched teeth, a hiss of rage. "Why didn't you just kill them yourself, then, and not set the entire country on fire to burn out a few?!"

"Some clans have tried that, you know," his father remarked, conversationally. "It didn't work. It only sets a bad precedent."

"Well, you could do it now, surely!" Seien spread his hands, half pleading. He had thought to do it himself, after the Emperor's death, but that was clearly a long way off and there was no more time left. "They've given you a reason now, haven't they?"

"And who," his father asked, softly, voice completely, dreadfully neutral, "will step into the place left empty, when they are gone?"

Abrupt fear struck through Seien like lightning. Time was entirely run out; he had to make his own move now, and make it blind. He was shaking, mouth dry, eyes fixed on the Emperor's face. Completely unsure whether he was about to die for his answer, the death he had escaped five years ago, but entirely sure it was better for him to take this cup of poison than leave it for Ryuuki, he whispered, "I will."

The Emperor looked down to meet his eyes and then, oddly, at Shou-taishi with a tiny, crooked smile. Shou met the Emperor's eyes for a long breath and finally, slowly, nodded. The Emperor closed his eyes with a sigh.

Shou turned a calculating look on Seien. "Very well. I'll see to stopping the chaos and putting down the princes. Go with Shouka, Seien-koushi. In a little while we'll be able to announce your return."

Seien nodded, silent, rather dizzy with the speed of this reverse. He knelt briefly to his father, fighting not to wobble as he stood again and followed Shouka-sama out.

They were back home, inside the gates, before either of them spoke.

"Are you all right?" Shouka-sama asked gently, resting a hand on Seien's shoulder.

"I..." Seien swallowed, closing his eyes. "I..."

"Ah." It was the understanding in Shouka-sama's voice that broke Seiran down, and he didn't resist when Shouka-sama tugged him closer—only shuddered, burying his harsh sobs in the black fabric of Shouka-sama's shoulder.

They stood for a long time, that way, in the dimness under the half-stripped fruit trees.

End

Finding Home

Seien is re-introduced to the court. Familes are reintroduced to each other. Drama with Fluff, I-4

It was harder than Seien remembered, trying to pace in court robes. He kicked his over-robe aside one more time and swung his sleeves in frustration. "Can't we go in yet?"

Sou-shougun watched him in completely unmoved amusement, arms crossed. He looked like he could be one of the pillars that held up the roof. "We'll enter when the time is right, Seien-koushi." He raised a dark eyebrow. "You used to know your strategy better than this."

"If the idea is to have me accepted as easily as possible by the Court, again, why make a production of my return in the first place?" Seien grumbled. He wanted this to be happening faster.

Ryuuki was waiting in there.

Sou-shougun snorted. "Oh, stop being an idiot, boy! You know it has to be seen that your return is accepted and welcomed." His mouth twisted. "By the Emperor, at any rate."

That sounded enough like his old teacher that Seien relaxed a little and smiled up at his temporary guard. "And by his advisors?" he asked, lightly.

Sou-shougun's moment of silence told Seien that his real question had been heard. Sou nodded, slow and firm. "And by us as well."

That quiet tone drew Seien up straight and he inclined his head with the imperial dignity he'd had no use for in nearly seven years. "Thank you, Sou-taifu."

And then a bell sounded inside the hall, and it was time.

Seien paced down the hall, between whispering rows of officials and courtiers, eyes fixed only on the Emperor. He knew his foster-father was here somewhere. He knew his brother would be, as well. But if he looked for either of them he didn't think he'd be able to hold himself together. In this moment, he needed to be only the Prince, for the Court.

He knelt at the foot of the steps, waiting. He paid little attention to the words of pardon and welcome that Shou-taishi declaimed in the "ailing" Emperor's name, only waiting, enduring, until the last flourish of that old voice told him it was time to rise, to climb the steps, to kneel again at the Emperor's feet and take his father's hands, completing this bit of theater.

The gold glint of his father's eyes was wry, as their gazes met. Seien snorted a little and whispered, "Are you satisfied?"

"Probably only in death," his father murmured back through still lips. "But this will do for now. Rise. Greet the inheritance you've agreed to take, my son."

Seien's jaw tightened, but he did stand and turn to face the Court. The roar that greeted Shou-taishi's gesture of acclaim was distant in his ears; it reminded him of the sound of the riots, a year and a half ago. He knew his face was still as he looked out over them.

And then his gaze crossed the far corner of the dais and caught on a small figure in purple and the wide, wide eyes fixed on him. The world snapped back into focus and Seien smiled. Ryuuki lit up like the sun rising and abandoned ceremony and dashed to fling himself into Seien's arms.

Arms that were held out for him, and all the watching eyes could just be damned.

Seien caught his brother close, burying a brilliant smile in soft, bright hair. "Ryuuki," he whispered. "I'm back."

"Aniue...!" It took a few long, shuddering breaths, but Ryuuki finally lifted his face, eyes wet and shining, to smile breathlessly up at Seien. "Welcome back," he managed, voice wobbling.

Seien smoothed back Ryuuki's hair tenderly and kept an arm around him as he turned to face the Court again; he could feel Ryuuki was still shaking.

This time, looking out over the people he had agreed to rule, his eyes were clear.

Seien finally managed to chase out all his new attendants and settle down on the side ledge in his new rooms, laughing, pulling Ryuuki down to sit in the curve of his arm. His brother hadn't let go of his sleeve once since they'd left the hall. "I'm not going anywhere, Ryuuki. Not this time," he promised.

"... okay." Ryuuki's answer was muffled in his shoulder, and Seien's smile softened.

"Ryuuki..." He lifted his brother's chin, looking him over closely, now that he had time. Ryuuki looked better, this year, than Seien had ever seen him, healthier and neater, starting to fill out, eyes bright and interested.

Not often as bright as they were right this moment, admittedly.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to make it back," Seien said, soberly.

"It's all right. I knew you'd come back someday." Absolute trust filled Ryuuki's voice and wrapped warmth around Seien.

"Yes."

Ryuuki nodded, happy with this. And then he looked around with a faint frown. "Oh. It's getting late..." He nibbled his lip and leaned closer to Seien.

Touched by a hint of mischief Seien asked, "So, is it time to go see Shouka-sama, then?"

Ryuuki blinked, but seemed to take it for granted that, of course, his big brother knew everything. "Yeah!" He bounced to his feet and went to the door to peek out before nodding and silently gesturing Seien to come.

Seien was fairly sure they made an amusing sight, two princes, gaudy in purple, tiptoeing through the palace, avoiding their own guards, to go visit the Archivist like a couple of children hoping to steal sweets from the kitchen.

The strangest part was that it was... fun. He hadn't expected that, when he'd thought about his return.

As soon as the Archive doors closed behind them, Ryuuki went running down the halls, pulling Seien behind him, to burst into the library room. "Shouka, look! Aniue is back!"

Shouka chuckled as he furled a scroll. "Yes, I saw."

"Aniue? But... Seiran?"

Seien's head whipped around to stare at the girl sitting at the window table. "Shuurei-chan?" She looked as bewildered as he suddenly felt. What was she doing here?

"Oh yes." Shouka-sama smiled with perfectly ruthless calm. "Since Shuurei would be alone in the house, now, I thought it would be better for her to visit me more often." He laid a hand on his daughter's head and told her, "Our Seiran is also Seien-koushi."

Shuurei's eyes got big and she stared at Seien. He winced. Sure enough, it only took a few seconds for Shuurei-chan to start frowning. "You didn't tell me." Now she was downright glaring. "Seiran, you didn't tell me!"

He raised a placating hand. "I'm very sorry, Shuurei-chan, it just..." Hadn't seemed like a good idea to burden her with, but, knowing Shuurei-chan, he probably shouldn't say that.

"Aniue." Ryuuki tugged on the arm he still had possession of. "What do they mean? Seiran?"

Seien pulled in a long breath, trying not to feel harassed, and glowered briefly at his foster-father. "Ryuuki." He knelt so that they were eye to eye. "Shouka-sama took care of me, while I was sent away from the courts. And," he turned his head to include Shuurei, "because it was dangerous, the family called me Seiran, so no one would know who I was."

Ryuuki and Shuurei eyed each other.

Seien sighed and held out his free hand to Shuurei, who hopped down from her chair to come take it. Ryuuki pressed closer against his side, and Seien tightened the arm around him, comfortingly. "Now, you two. Shuurei-chan, this is my younger brother, Ryuuki. Ryuuki, this is Shouka-sama's daughter, Shuurei." He smiled hopefully. "So, while Shouka-sama was taking care of Ryuuki, I was taking care of Shuurei."

Shuurei looked at Ryuuki curiously. "Tou-sama was? I suppose the Emperor, your father, had work he had to do, didn't he. But... couldn't your mother?"

Seien felt Ryuuki flinch against him, but before he could decide what to do, Ryuuki looked down at his toes and muttered, "Don't have a mother."

"Oh." Shuurei-chan's eyes turned dark. She bit her lip and reached out her free hand to take Ryuuki's. "I'm sorry. I don't either."

"Oh." Ryuuki looked at her, and then at Shouka-sama, and then at Seien, bright eyes clouding with dilemma. "I guess... it's time to give everyone back to the right family, then."

Shuurei frowned ferociously for a moment, in thought, and then nodded, triumphant. "We can share!"

Ryuuki stared at her. "Really?"

"Really," Shuurei stated firmly, and added in her best lecturing tone. "That's what people do in hard times, just like the relief measures the government has when there's a famine somewhere."

Seien chuckled, as the two children smiled at each other, pleased with their pact, and looked up at Shouka-sama to see what he thought of being traded like a bushel of rice.

Shouka-sama wore his most serene smile. "Yes, I think that will work out. Don't you?"

Seien blushed a little and gathered both the younger ones close. He knew Shouka-sama was tweaking him, gently, over how much he relied on the children's love, their purity—on the fact that all of this was, in the end, for them because he certainly couldn't see much else in this filthy world that deserved his sword to guard it.

But perhaps that was all right.

End

The Color of the Phoenix's Tail - Part One

Seien works, sometimes reluctantly, at fitting himself back into the courts. So do some other people. Drama, I-3

Being heir seemed to Seien to be one trouble after another, but there were occasional good points.

He looked down at the familiar black sheathe in his hands and smiled crookedly. "Not making a presentation of it this time?" he prodded Shou-taishi.

"Why should we?" the man shot back, "it's already yours, after all."

Seien slid Kanshou through his sash without answering; they both knew he'd been stripped of it pretty formally when he was exiled. If Shou didn't want to remind the Court of that, though, Seien had no real argument. He had turned to go when another thought pulled him up short. "What about Bakuya?"

"What about it?" Shou blinked innocently at Seien's narrow look. "Your father bestowed it on you and you bestowed it on your brother. Unless he's dropped it in one of the fish ponds, he still has it."

Seien barely dignified that with a nod and left to find his brother.

He was accosted on the way, of course; he was seriously considering taking to the roofs to make his way across the palace grounds, lately, except that it would be a lot of trouble in court robes. "Secretary," he greeted the man, shortly.

Sai trotted along beside him, matching his strides with surprising determination for someone who clearly didn't see much exercise. "Seien-koushi. I'm so glad I found you, I wanted to tell you: I was dining with some of the undersecretaries just the other night and much talk turned on everyone's fears that you have no wife or consort."

What fears? Seien wondered with a bit of exasperation. He'd barely been confirmed as heir, and if he'd had a wife any earlier, they'd all have been afraid about that, too, wouldn't they? And what made any of them think he could stomach any such thing?

"Now, it would be the easiest thing in the world for me to call my daughter to court, lovely girl..."

"I'm afraid I'm not interested," he cut the man off briskly. "Good afternoon, Sai-dono." He took the next turning of the walk, even though it meant a detour. At the next corner he snuck a peek back, hoping Sai wouldn't be following still. Some of the marriage-minded officials could be very persistent.

Instead he surprised a tight, dark look on Sai's face that was horribly familiar. It wiped away almost instantly into a smile, but Seien had to swallow in a dry throat.

Sai had looked exactly the way Seien's brothers had, when he was presented with his swords. He thought about that all the way to the Archives.

Reluctant as he was to give Shou-taishi any more chances for sly amusement at his expense, perhaps he needed advice on this.

When he arrived in the library, though, he had to stop brooding and laugh. Ryuuki and Shuurei had taken over sorting and shelving scrolls, leaving Shouka-sama with, apparently, nothing to do but sit at his ease in the sun and watch them.

Of course, Ryuuki immediately abandoned his task to come catch Seien's hand and beam up at him. "Aniue, we're helping out!"

"I see you are." Seien cast a quick eye over the scrolls, brows lifting just a bit. Those looked like monthly department reports; he'd found quite a few of them on his own desk, recently. Had Shouka taught the children enough to understand how to file these? "Well, I hate to take you away from your job," he told his brother, "but I wondered if you wanted to come and train with me?" he set one hand on Kanshou's hilt, and Ryuuki nearly glowed.

"Yes!"

Shuurei looked up at that. "Ryuuki," she scolded, "you didn't finish your last scroll, or re-wrap it." She frowned at Seien. "You shouldn't encourage him to be careless, Seiran—" She broke off, small teeth catching her lip. "I mean..."

Seien came to lay a hand on her head. "It's all right. You can still call me Seiran, if you want."

"And Ryuuki can finish his scroll while I get his sword," Shouka-sama put in, standing.

"Shouka-sama, we can send one of the pages for it," Seien protested as his foster-father moved toward the door. It was a rather long way back to the imperial pavilions from here.

Shouka-sama laughed. "Oh, it's just in the next room." He smiled at Seien's expression. "This is the place to keep treasures, after all, and Ryuuki wanted it to stay safe."

Seien wondered if it was natural to feel so warm, so happy.

He was not in as good a mood, two days later, when Shou-taishi strolled into his office, waving a letter. "So, you want to speak with someone who can tell you about Sai, do you?"

Seien looked up from the pile of past reports from provincial governors that he'd been making his way through on Shouka-sama's recommendation, and sighed a bit wearily. He felt like he was drowning in politics. "If they can do so clearly and directly, yes."

Shou had the gall to laugh. "I think Ro can do that." He waved another older man in. Seien eyed him warily, but this one looked reassuringly solid and no-nonsense. Unlike Shou. Good. "Ro-dono is an undersecretary of Protocol."

Seien sat back, arrested. Sai's own assistant was supposed to give him a straightforward story on the man? "Please have a seat, Ro-kanri," he murmured.

"What was it your Highness wished to know about Protocol?" Ro asked, settling himself as Shou-taishi left again and closed the door behind him.

Seien was too tired to waste the proper time on indirection. "I believe I may have made an enemy, in Sai," he said, frankly. "I hoped you could tell me just how bad the results are likely to be."

Ro's eyes sharpened; in direct contrast his tone was casual. "Would you happen to know the occasion of the Secretary's animosity?"

Seien snorted. "Well, I assume it was when I told him I had no interest in meeting his daughter."

Ro looked at him levelly for a long moment. "Refusing out of hand was not, perhaps, the best decision," he rumbled at last.

Seien blinked. "But no one can honestly think I'm enough of an idiot to duplicate the Emperor's mistakes with his concubines." If anything could put a man off women for good, it was watching all of that going on while growing up.

Ro, taking a sip of tea, sputtered into his cup. "You are... very straightforward, Highness."

Seien leaned back with a sigh. "And I suppose that won't do. No one in this place can be straightforward, can they?" He looked away, trying not to slump; he would give so much to be able to talk to someone about work and politics without all this interminable dancing around.

"Not often," Ro answered. Seien looked back, surprising what might have been a hint of sympathy before the man's expression turned severe again. "So think well, when it comes time to choose your own advisors. They will be the only ones."

After a moment, Seien nodded; however much he hadn't wanted to deal with it again, he did know the rules here. "I understand."

"Very well then. As for the Secretary, what you may expect is efforts behind your back to discredit any work you accomplish; he's a coward..."

Seien listened and made notes to himself and smiled faintly as Ro-kanri thoroughly violated his own dictum that only personal advisors would speak straightly to the prince.

Seien made a note of that, too.

TBC

The Color of the Phoenix's Tail - Part Two

Shuuei and Kouyuu pass the Exams and meet the princes. Drama, I-3

Shuuei

Shuuei leaned on the rail outside his newly-assigned department and smiled. "So, here we are. Real live officials."

"And even as an official, I can't get rid of you," Kouyuu grumbled. He did not, however, stop leaning back on the rail beside Shuuei.

"Why would you want to get rid of your best friend, the one who's always ready to help you out?" Shuuei asked, innocently. "Or help you back to where you were trying to go, anyway..."

"Shut up!"

When Kouyuu's growling and Shuuei's laughter both subsided, Shuuei added, "Hey. Did you notice the Prince, during the ceremony?"

Kouyuu raised a brow at him. "Which one?"

"Seien, of course," Shuuei told him, patiently. "The one we're going to spend most of our lives serving?"

"Supposing nothing else happens to him," Kouyuu muttered. "What about him?"

"Didn't it seem odd to you?" Shuuei pressed. "I don't think he changed expression once, the entire time. Ryuuki-koushi was definitely bored, but Seien..." He trailed off, not sure how to express what had disturbed him.

"So he's better at ceremonies." Kouyuu shrugged. "He's what? Seven years older? It isn't surprising is it?"

Shuuei braced his elbows on the rail and clasped his hands, staring out over the trees. "It was more than that. He seemed so distant; as though none of it meant anything to him, even though we'll be the officials serving under him the longest." Half to himself he murmured, "I wonder what happened while he was in exile."

"Maybe he was somewhere cold and his face froze that way." Kouyuu snorted. "What, did you not like having someone not paying attention to you?"

"It just seemed strange," Shuuei said, lightly. "My brothers say he didn't used to be like that. So I wondered what happened."

"Mm." Kouyuu frowned. "I do remember hearing something—about him disappearing?"

"Completely," Shuuei confirmed. "My family tried to find him, but there was no trace. He set out and then just vanished."

Kouyuu waved a hand, dismissing the mystery. "He was probably taken somewhere secret for his own safety. The imperial family is like that. It's amazing any of them survive." He tilted his head at Shuuei. "Why are you so interested in him, anyway? You can bet our positions won't involve him for a good long time."

Shuuei smiled, a bit crookedly. "Oh, well. I was trained to be his supporter, from the time I was little, you know. And then the clan thought not, but then there was the trouble a few years ago, and here I am after all." He laughed and stretched upright. "Maybe it's destiny."

Kouyuu was suddenly smirking at him. "Oh, so you're Seien-koushi's intended, huh? No wonder you're so interested in him." The smirk became an outright grin. "Should I get you a red veil to celebrate your next promotion?"

"I wouldn't laugh if I was you," Shuuei told him mildly. "Isn't that Yu-kanri, over there? He probably has another invitation for you."

Kouyuu's eyes got a little wild. "Ah, I, I should start work right away!" He strode off, in the opposite direction from his new duties, nearly running.

Shuuei leaned back against the rail, chuckling, as his friend fled.

Kouyuu

Kouyuu dashed down a covered walk. He'd abandoned dignity and started running two courtyards back.

It had been months since the Exams, and they were still after him!

After another two turnings he dared to stop and catch his breath and look around, trying to figure out where he'd ended up.

"Ah, is that Li-kanri?"

Kouyuu panicked and darted through the nearest arch, flinging himself back against the wall, out of sight. He waited, tense, while whichever daughter-laden official was outside shuffled around and finally walked off again making puzzled sounds. Slowly, he let his breath out.

"Who are you?"

Kouyuu jumped at the question and his head snapped around. He was poised to run again before the youth of the voice registered and he managed to relax before he actually sprinted off.

Then his eye took in the quite distinctive gold and silver hair of the two people in the courtyard, and the equally distinctive paired black and white fittings of their swords. Fate, he decided, hated him.

"Seien-koushi, Ryuuki-koushi! I'm very sorry." He bowed quickly, eyeing the edge of steel Seien-koushi had turned toward him and the way the Prince had pushed his younger brother behind him. A bit cautiously, he added, "I didn't mean to intrude; please forgive me."

Rather to his relief, Seien relaxed. "It's no problem." He cocked his head at Kouyuu, looking a bit bemused. "Running away from something?"

Kouyuu flushed. "It's just... invitations," he muttered. "Daughters."

"Oh." The syllable was heavy with sudden understanding. Come to think of it, Kouyuu supposed the Prince probably got at least as many of those as he did.

Ryuuki-koushi tugged on his brother's sleeve, wide-eyed. "Seien-aniue, are they going to chase me like that, too?" the boy asked, worried.

Seien's smile softened so quickly that Kouyuu couldn't help staring. The Prince petted back his brother's hair. "A little, I'm afraid. I can't keep them away forever. But don't worry; I'll keep you safe."

Ryuuki nodded, and the shining trust in his face as he looked up at Seien-koushi made Kouyuu's throat unaccountably tight. He swallowed against it.

And then he had to blink as the young prince turned to him and smiled, bright and generous. "Aniue has trouble with them all the time. You can hide here until they're gone."

"That's... very kind of you, your Highness," Kouyuu murmured, startled. He hadn't been prepared for an imperial prince to be so... nice.

"Ah, there you are."

Kouyuu choked as Shuuei popped up on the other side of the courtyard. How did Shuuei always find him?!

"Ryuuki-koushi, Seien-koushi, I do apologize for the interruption." Shuuei bowed with infuriating grace and strolled across the court to catch Kouyuu's hand. "Come along, Kouyuu, Sho-kanri will be annoyed if you're late again." With a last, sparkling smile at the elder prince, he towed Kouyuu out.

"Are you sure you're not just flirting with him?" Kouyuu growled, red-faced.

Shuuei just laughed. "Not yet."

TBC

The Color of the Phoenix's Tail - Part Three

Shuurei likes her life but wants it to be something more. Drama, I-3

Shuurei rested her chin in her hands and sighed. Normally, something like the Council record on the table in front of her was her favorite kind of thing to read, telling all about how the officials who ran the country struggled as hard among themselves as any soldiers to reach the best conclusions and policies they could. And, at first, she'd been delighted to come to the palace with her father and play in the Archives. It had been even better when he'd let her help out with sorting the records, and let her read anything she wanted. Now, though...

"Oh, I see!" Ryuuki exclaimed, across the table from her. "So Finance balances all of the other departments, really... "

Now, it was just reminding her that she wouldn't ever get to use this knowledge. She sighed again.

"Shuurei?" Seiran came to stand beside her, leaving his own scrolls. "Is anything wrong?"

She mustered a smile for him; Seiran always worried so much when she was upset. "No, it's all right. I was just..." her voice wavered a little, despite everything she could do, "wishing I could be an official and do something good with all this."

Seiran's worried look softened into sympathy. "I wish you could, too," he said, softly. "I think you'd do a better job than most of the officials we have right now."

"Mm." She swallowed and managed a slightly better smile. "It would be nice to really belong here."

Ryuuki, watching them with a small frown, brightened up at that. "Oh, that's easy. When we grow up, I'll marry you, Shuurei, and then you can always be here."

Shuurei picked up one of the books and hit him over the head with it. Gently, of course; she always took good care of her books. "Stupid," she declared. "If I got married to you I'd be stuck in the inner courts forever and ever and never get to do anything."

Ryuuki gave her a hangdog look, hands protectively over his head. "It was just an idea."

She glowered at him, and Seiran laughed. "Well, even if it is a little selfish of me, it's nice to have you here to help us," he said. His smile tilted ruefully. "You're both better at this than I am, still."

It was Ryuuki's turn to lean his chin in his hands. "So, we just have to find a way for Shuurei to stay, and then we can both always be here to help you, Aniue."

Seiran looked happy enough, at the thought, that Shuurei stopped glowering and smiled at Ryuuki again.

She did wonder just a little, though, if staying here was really the right thing to do.

Shuurei stared down at the vegetables she was chopping, not really seeing them.

She felt strange, lately. Restless. Angry over nothing, sometimes. She caught Tou-sama and Seiran looking at her in worried ways. Maybe she just needed something to do—but what? If she cooked any more, all three of the men wouldn't be enough to eat it all. She could only clean for so long at a time before boredom made her want to scream. And Seiran had insisted on hiring workers to fix the roof, so she couldn't teach herself to do repairs.

She bit her lip, knife slowing. There was that young woman she'd heard the other day while she was out shopping. The woman had said that her employer, Kochou, really needed to hire more young women. And she'd mentioned the district; it wasn't too far away.

Shuurei had liked the way that young women had held herself—tall and confident. Maybe if Shuurei had her own work, not just work borrowed from the men, she'd feel like she could walk that way too.

"Right! I've decided," Shuurei told the empty kitchen. "I'm going to get a job of my very own!"

And then maybe they'd at least be able to hire someone to take care of the garden, without letting Seiran use imperial money on it.

She turned her attention properly back to her chopping, humming with the pleasure of having made a decision. She should remember how much that helped, for next time she felt out-of-sorts.

TBC

The Color of the Phoenix's Tail - Part Four

Shuuei transfers, Kouyuu broods, Ryuuki gets a new friend. Drama, I-3

Shuuei

Kouyuu dropped his brush, staring at Shuuei. "You're what?"

"I'm transferring." Shuuei leaned back and looked out the window of Kouyuu's office. "I think I'll be more suited to the military."

And Koku-daishougun had caught him practicing with Sou-taifu and pounced on him like a wolf on tasty prey, and he still wasn't positive that Sou-taifu hadn't set the whole thing up. But he wasn't saying that part; it would be bad for his image.

"But you're about to be promoted!"

"Was I?" Shuuei smiled. Perhaps that explained why he was transferring to such a high starting rank. He'd let Kouyuu find that out on his own, though.

"Well," Kouyuu sniffed, picking up his brush again, "at least I won't have to see as much of you."

"Oh, don't say that," Shuuei purred, and laughed as Kouyuu glowered at him.

He didn't want to lose his favorite friend, after all. Where else would he find someone this pure?

Or this much fun to play with?

Ryuuki

"Thank you, Shouka-sama."

Ryuuki watched with interest; Kouyuu was one of the only people who came to the Archives who was respectful to Shouka or stayed to talk with him. Today, though, he seemed a little distracted.

"I'll come back for the second set of these," Kouyuu said quietly, laying a hand on a stack of books.

Ryuuki was bored, and Shuurei wouldn't be here until much later; today was her afternoon on that job she wouldn't talk to any of them about. So. "I'll help with them," he piped up, coming to take the second stack.

"Oh." Kouyuu blinked at him. "Ah. Thank you, Ryuuki-koushi."

"It's okay. Aniue won't be out of the Council for hours yet, probably." Ryuuki hitched up his stack and stretched his legs to match Kouyuu's strides down the halls. He glanced at the distant look on Kouyuu's face and decided against asking him what he was brooding over. "Why do you call him 'Shouka-sama'?" he asked instead.

"He's Reishin-sama's older brother," Kouyuu explained. "Reishin-sama respects him very much."

"Reishin," Ryuuki murmured, trying to place the name among the horde of officials he was just starting to keep straight these days.

"Kou Reishin, the Secretary of Civil Affairs." Kouyuu smiled, the way he did sometimes that made him look a lot younger and nicer than usual. "I came here to serve him."

Ryuuki cocked his head; he heard something in Kouyuu's voice. Something that seemed kind of familiar. "Did he save you?"

Kouyuu stopped short, staring. "How... did you... ?"

Ryuuki shrugged. "You sound the way I feel about Seien-aniue. Aniue saved me. I just wondered."

Now Kouyuu's eyes were a little strange. "What did he save you from?" he asked slowly.

Ryuuki looked away, shoulders hunching. He didn't like remembering those years. If he did, then he remembered the dark, and if he remembered the dark he'd have to ask if he could sleep in Aniue's room tonight... He started at a hand on his shoulder.

"Never mind." Kouyuu squeezed gently before drawing back to balance his stack of books with both hands. He looked like he understood about bad memories. Ryuuki nodded, relieved, and they walked on quietly.

A few halls later, Kouyuu started to turn left and Ryuuki stopped, startled. "Aren't we taking these to Finance?"

"Of course."

Ryuuki pointed right. "Finance is this way."

Kouyuu flushed and then glowered and then stomped past him and down the right-hand hall. "Why do they keep moving these halls around?!"

Ryuuki couldn't help laughing, no matter how Kouyuu glared. When he caught his breath he ran after Kouyuu and paid more attention to guiding their turnings.

"So... what should I do if I want to serve Aniue?" he asked, discreetly nudging Kouyuu left.

Kouyuu glanced down at him, expression softening again. "Well, first I suppose you should learn how the courts work, so you can advise him well and do the things he needs done."

Ryuuki nodded, intent. "And then?"

"Learn the people."

Ryuuki thought about this as he slipped ahead to open the right door. It made sense. "Can I... ask you about things?" He ducked his head a little, glancing up at Kouyuu; he didn't want to be a bother and make Kouyuu want to get rid of him like almost everyone else always had. He breathed a sigh of relief as Kouyuu grinned at him, companionably.

"Sure you can."

Ryuuki grinned back. "Okay."

"Ask later, though," Kouyuu added, as he reached for the next door. "The Secretary of Finance is a little short on patience."

Ryuuki nodded and tiptoed in after Kouyuu, setting himself to watch and learn. For Aniue.

TBC

The Color of the Phoenix's Tail - Part Five

Seien is learning how to deal with the ministers. Drama, I-3

Seien sat beside Shou-taishi, listening to the ministers debate, and practiced looking calm.

"... the merchant clans are starting to move their operations, of course the province has petitioned for Imperial aid!"

"Upkeep of towns and roads has always been a local responsibility!"

"Oh, always? What money was it that built the canals, then?"

The two ministers glared at each other, nearly baring their teeth. Seien sighed; some days he felt more like a nursemaid than any kind of ruler, even one in training. Keeping the ministers away from each other's throats sometimes reminded him quite a lot of trying to keep a five-year-old Shuurei from dunking herself in the fish pond.

Fortunately, he'd found ministers responded fairly well to much the same cajoling that had worked on her.

"Gentlemen," he said, voice soft, "let us hear all of the reports before we seek any decision."

The ministers settled back grumpily, letting the poor provincial official reporting to them talk again.

Actually, Seiran thought, Shuurei would probably love it if she could be here. He could just see the sparkle in her eyes as she rolled up her sleeves and waded into the argument. He could see her standing here with her hands on her hips, scolding everyone like a miniature mother about how skimping on money to repair a roof only meant spending more on ruined floors and furniture. For a moment, he had to fight to keep his smile calm. Thirteen years old, and the girl was already wiser than most of the men in this room.

Well, he could at least bring her wisdom here.

"Kei-jirou," he turned to the representative from Finance before anyone could start arguing again. "Is it possible to project how much repairing these roads would cost in another three years?"

"Three years?" Kei flipped through his papers and named a figure that made the minister who had suggested such a delay turn pale. Seien nodded, flicking a look at the Secretary of Public Works.

"And there would, of course, be the lost revenue to deal with, as trade slows down in that province." He hid satisfaction behind his smile as Kan started chewing on the end of his brush. The senior minister for State was also looking thoughtful.

"There's also the cost of cleaning out bandits, after," the Secretary for the Military put in. "They thrive when travel is difficult, and the provincial Governor would surely call for help with that since," he cut a glance at the minister most against the whole thing, "that's his undeniable right."

Seien relaxed. With a majority of the Secretaries plus the Minister of State, he could carry this. Carry it without the assistance of Shou-taishi, that was, who was leaning back in his chair and not helping at all. He seemed to get some obscure enjoyment out of leaving Seien dangling with his ambiguous and partial authority, letting him piece together consensus on his own. It did, Seien had to admit, make for stronger policies. He had mostly stopped resenting it.

Mostly.

He still thought he'd give almost anything to have a few more thoughtful, competent officials around here, to help him take care of all the children.

As the officials who would be his grumbled themselves into agreement, he made sure to keep smiling soothingly at them, and tried not to wonder if it would help if he offered them sweets as an incentive. It had always worked on Shuurei, and it was one of the only bribes he could currently produce out of his own resources. He stifled a sigh and tried not to glare at Shou.

At this rate, he was going to wind up looking forward to that damned throne.

End

Turning Storm

Shuuei is selected as Prince Seien's bodyguard, and the two get acquainted. Drama, I-3

Shuuei had been flattered but not hugely surprised, when Shou-taishi came to talk to him about a new assignment. He was, after all, one of the rising stars of the palace military. He worked quite hard to be. He'd expected it to pay off. Now, though, he had to wonder just what Shou-taishi had really been thinking.

So, apparently, did the Prince.

He stood, silent and attentive, watching as Seien-koushi eyed Shou-taishi warily. "I don't need a personal guard."

"Just because you can trounce almost anyone with that sword of yours doesn't mean you don't need a guard," the old man told him briskly. "You're a prince. If you don't get into any more trouble, you're going to be the Emperor. You don't have enough time to always be thinking of your own defense." He waved at Shuuei, standing beside him. "Ran-shougun is one of the best, himself."

Shuuei smiled with his best balance of professional and friendly as Seien-koushi's glance raked over him; no sense fanning the fire Shou-taishi was cheerfully building. Shuuei made a mental note that Shou-taishi seemed to like antagonizing the Prince. He should find out why.

"One of the best, to guard my back?" Seien-koushi asked with a lightness that Shuuei didn't believe for an instant. "What a nice change." He and Shou-taishi smiled at each other, just a little too toothily for comfort. The Prince pushed up to his feet and came around his desk, sharp eyes focused now on Shuuei, dismissing Shou-taishi entirely. "Show me."

"Of course, your Highness," Shuuei murmured.

As Shuuei followed Seien from the room he thought he caught a faint chuckle from Shou-taishi.

Seien led the way out to one of the small, closed courtyards, glancing around at its emptiness and nodding with satisfaction. "This will do." He turned, drawing his sword with a smoothness that made Shuuei's nerves sharpen. "Come."

Shuuei drew his own sword and did as he was told.

The first few exchanges were cautious, leashed, testing. They were also silent, which might not bode well for an easy working relationship but was more or less what Shuuei had expected. Seien-koushi wasn't known for social chatter. Those passes were not, however, anywhere near the level Shou-taishi had implied the Prince could reach, so Shuuei pushed a little harder, testing back.

Seien-koushi's mouth tightened, and he threw the attacks back with no apparent trouble. Shuuei gave the Prince his most charming smile and pushed harder still, pressing Seien back off balance for a moment. Shuuei nodded to himself and paused, prepared to draw back and see whether the Prince wanted another round.

He almost missed the change.

In the instant that Seien wavered, guard starting to fall open, his eyes cleared, blanked. Shuuei didn't even have time to frown with his puzzlement before he was the one on the defensive, pushed back and back again by the Prince's attack.

The part of his mind that wasn't alarmed was impressed. Seien had precision so sharp it could only be called finesse, yet his style was driven by such wild force Shuuei felt like he was being attacked by a flailing berserker. Only much worse, because, of course, the Prince wasn't flailing at all. Even in his rare practice sessions with Sou-taifu, Shuuei had never felt anything like it. It was nothing like what he had expected from the reserved, courteous Prince that the Court knew.

This time, it was his foot that came down a fraction off, his balance that wavered, and Seien didn't hesitate. At all. He came in to kill, sword slashing up toward Shuuei's bared throat. Steel rasped as their swords locked. Shuuei strained to hold his block, a breath from being disarmed. It took him a moment before he could speak.

"Seien-sama," he murmured, voice low, calling the Prince to come back from wherever he'd gone.

Seien stepped back from him abruptly, eyes shuttered again just as quickly as that.

Shuuei sheathed his sword slowly. His blood was singing with the heat of the fight, and his mind was whirling with speculation.

For years, now, he had thought his initial task for his clan was no longer necessary. The most capable prince of them all was going to take the throne, and Shuuei didn't need to do anything to insure it. Now... now, he thought perhaps his job wasn't done yet.

It was, however, good that he had transferred to the military; fewer people would suspect what he was doing, that way.

Seien was still watching him, silent and breathing fast.

Shuuei's lips quirked. "Shou-taishi was certainly right that you don't much need anyone else's sword to guard you from attackers," he admitted. "But I hope, my prince, that you will allow me to guard you from this." His gesture took in their match just finished, the blood that had come very close to being spilled.

Seien's surprise made him look younger for a moment. "You..." and then that cool guard was back up. "Why?"

"Because I'm rather taken with the idea of doing right by my country?" Shuuei offered.

Shuuei didn't know why his answer had made the Prince's mouth twist.

Yet.

He'd find out.

"Try again," Seien told him, voice dry.

Shuuei considered the wild rage that had just come at him behind that sword, and compared it with the ice-slick face Seien showed to the Court. That was not the combination of a man who trusted easily. He was going to have to take another risk, he thought, to reach his task. "Because you are the ruler Ran has always supported," he answered, quietly. "Because I was sent here for you. Because you need someone who knows your temper to stay your hand." He spread his hands and waited to see if honesty would move his prince.

After a long, silent moment, Seien inclined his head. "Well. Let us see."

That was probably as good as he could hope for, for now, and Shuuei smiled ruefully and bowed. "Yes, your Highness."

He would have to write his brothers and tell them he had found his place after all.

End

Feed Them On Your Dreams

The Emperor is dying; Seien talks with both his fathers. Drama with Angst, I-4 (Significant Novel Spoilers)

Don't You Ever Ask Them Why

Seien sat beside the Emperor's bed, looking down at his father. The man looked pale and sunken, small in the middle of his crisp sheets and soft blankets. "So. You called your fate to you."

The Emperor's mouth quirked at one corner. "It looks that way. Or perhaps the gods think it's your time and I'm just in the way."

Seien almost flinched, catching it back at the last moment; that was close enough to the way he often thought of himself, just a placeholder, really, to make his stomach twist with the thought that he and his father were more alike than he'd thought. The Emperor vented a short half-laugh, about as much as his body would allow him by now, and closed his eyes.

"You want to know something," he stated.

Seien's fingers tightened around each other; it was true enough, he didn't come here for any other reason.

And that, in a way, was his question.

"Will you tell me, now," he said, low, looking down at his clasped hands, "why you didn't pay more attention to your family?"

The Emperor smiled at the ceiling. "You resent me for that." It wasn't a question.

Seien's anger made his voice a growl. "You spent years and years fighting to reunify the country, to break the power of the great clans until imperial law ruled everywhere again." His control slipped and he slammed a hand against the wall. "And you almost lost it all just because you ignored what was happening in your own inner courts! Why?!"

The Emperor managed a sigh. "I doubt you'll understand yet, but all right." His eyes, already detached, turned still more distant. "There was a woman I loved. Strong and beautiful as the sun. She shared my dreams for our country." He was silent for a long moment, thin fingers tracing over the covers. "She died for them." The curve of his mouth had become bitter. "I could barely look at any other woman, after that."

Seien frowned. He could almost understand that, but... "So you couldn't care for our mothers. What about us? What about your sons?"

Very quietly, his father said, "You weren't hers."

Seien stared for a long moment. "And that's why you let them build factions and scheme and betray and poison the courts, the city, nearly the whole country?" He took a long breath, trying to settle his roiling stomach, and still couldn't make his last words come out as more than a harsh rasp. "Did you think your kingdom would be a good funeral offering? Was that it?"

"I did say you probably wouldn't understand," the Emperor murmured.

Seien made a disgusted sound.

"I think everyone should be allowed one great foolishness in their lives," his father added, reflectively.

"Not the Emperor!" Seien snapped, utterly incensed that such selfishness had almost destroyed the peace, the world, of Ryuuki and Shuurei.

At that, his father looked at him directly, smile growing. "Well, perhaps you'll be able to keep your own foolishness out of how you rule, then."

"I will." Seien knew it was probably foolish to tempt fate by saying such a thing, but he was determined that it would be true.

The way his father laughed still made him uncomfortable.

"Take the throne with my blessing, then. My son." The Emperor reached out, and the weight of years and empire poised over Seien's shoulders pressed him down to his knees to accept it.

And Know They Love You

Seien sat on a stone, under the bare branches of an inner court garden, and drew up his knees to rest his forehead on them. A bit of damp chill struck up from the stone, through the rough cloth of his robes.

The rites were over; the funeral procession was complete. Tomorrow, everyone would call him Emperor. Tonight, he desperately wanted a shred of quiet in which to catch his breath and brace himself.

The rustle of footsteps nearby almost made him whimper.

"Seiran."

Warm relief washed over him, and he lifted his head. "Shouka-sama." And then he had to pause, startled. Shouka-sama was barely visible against the tree trunks, in the dusk, all in snug black, rather than mourning.

"There are things you have not been told about how the previous Emperor reigned." Like his figure, Shouka-sama's voice nearly disappeared into the breeze through the garden. "I would like to tell you, now that I can."

Seien was quiet for a moment. Shouka-sama could only have come here dressed like this to let Seiran know, without words, just what tales he wished to tell. To let Seiran deny it, if he wished.

Part of him did wish, but most of him was wary enough to want to know everything; he might need it.

"Tell me."

"I came to the capital when I was ten, because the Emperor looked on my clan with disfavor, to see if there was any way to save them. That was when I joined the Wolves. A year later I was given my first target: my great-grandmother."

Seien started, eyes wide and shocked. Even with everything he knew, he had not expected that.

The soft voice wound on through the sounds of rustling branches. "That was the price of my clan's survival—the life of its true leader. The one person bright and strong enough to challenge the country's ruler."

Seien shuddered. Even through his chill sickness, though, ran a thread of hot fury that the Emperor had failed to apply that ruthlessness to his own family. How had he dared become so hard and then fail?

He listened, in the growing darkness, to Shouka-sama's list of bloody tasks he'd done in the Emperor's name. Finally it fell silent and Seien unwound from the rock and reached to catch his foster-father's hands.

"Thank you." He pressed those hands to his lips, brief and hard. "For doing it. For stopping it." He looked up, meeting Shouka-sama's burning eyes. "For telling me."

"You are the Emperor, now," Shouka-sama said quietly.

Seien stilled, caught by the things Shouka-sama wasn't saying—the offer he didn't quite speak aloud. His foster-father gave him a tiny smile, agreeing that Seiran heard the silence correctly.

"Shouka-sama..." Seiran's voice shook. If he asked, he would be spared more blood on his hands. Shouka-sama would soak his own in still more, to save him from that.

"You're family, too," Shouka-sama told him gently.

Seiran closed his eyes, and let the dark quiet of the evening wrap back around them, letting himself rest in his living father's protection.

Tomorrow would be time enough to walk back into the light.

End

A/N: The story and section titles are taken from the lyrics of "Teach Your Children", by Graham Nash.

Blue and Red

Shou searches out more helpers for his newest imperial acquisition. Drama, I-3

When Shou Yousei stopped in to see how his newest Emperor was doing, he expected to find Seien in a bad temper. The boy seemed to compensate for his smooth public face by snapping in private, at least until his brother or the Kou girl showed up.

He did not quite expect what he found.

"Look at this!" Seien brandished a file as if he'd like to throw it. "This is what you call a working government? They leave out half the details, a good third of them have no sense of how to organize their words, and how am I supposed to tell whether they're concealing things or just bad at reporting?!" He glared at his handful of paper fit to set it on fire, and added, "Most of their handwriting is dreadful, too."

Yousei couldn't help a chuckle. Who'd have guessed the boy would be such a perfectionist? "I suppose you could make them do it again until they get it right," he suggested. The vision of agony and outrage among the lazier officials was one to warm the heart. To warm his heart, anyway.

"Then I'd never find out what's going on this month," Seien noted acidly. He dropped the files back on his desk and fixed Yousei with a narrow eye. "You're supposed to be in charge of these people; can anything be done?"

"Hmm. Perhaps." He smiled as Seien eyed him. He was actually quite pleased the boy was finally learning he couldn't do everything himself, but needling the royal family was one of his few remaining entertainments and he had no intention of stopping.

Before he could prod the Emperor any more, though, a muffled thumping interrupted them. It sounded rather like someone knocking on the door with his toe and Yousei's brows rose as he reached back and opened it. The door revealed a stack of paper above a long, blue court robe.

"This is all of them," the stack announced, edging carefully in the door. "Ryuuki-sama is still looking for the last of two years ago." The stack thudded down on Seien's desk, revealing an unusually rumpled Ran Shuuei.

Seien sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "All right." He gave Yousei a distracted wave of dismissal, already reaching for the top scroll. "Soon, if you please, Shou-taishi."

"Of course," Yousei murmured and took himself out, closing the door behind him.

Then he leaned against the wall and had a good laugh. He hadn't seen a Ran that discomfited in decades. This emperor looked like one to keep, which was a good thing; breaking in new ones was so wearing.

Kou Reishin looked at Yousei steadily over the edge of his fan. "And you want Kouyuu reassigned to assist our new Emperor?" The fan flicked like a cat's tail. "Why are you asking me, instead of him, Shou-taishi? You certainly don't need anyone's approval to reassign an official."

Yousei snorted. "Don't play that game with me, boy. He'll do exactly as he thinks you wish, and you won't wish unless you think it will be a good place for him." He cradled the tea he'd been offered in his hands; the heat felt good against his knuckles.

"And will it be good?" Reishin looked out the window with a fine show of disinterest.

"If he makes it good." Yousei lived by that philosophy, though a great many officials here at court seemed to miss it. "He already knows Ryuuki-sama, doesn't he? Don't worry, your boy will fit right in."

"Hm." Reishin's eyes were cool. Finally he snapped his fan closed. "Kouyuu will retain his rank as my assistant," he declared.

"Done." Yousei figured he'd gotten off easily, really, though Protocol might kick a bit over this.

Reishin waved at him. "Go ask Kouyuu, then."

Yousei had to smile, as he left. Reishin might think he concealed his care for that foundling of his, but for such a manipulative man to let a son and underling have his head so completely? That was the telling point.

Yousei should know, after all.

"Shou-taishi!" Seien looked downright indignant. "This is completely unacceptable! You can't just drag him away from Reishin-dono."

Yousei bit back a grin as Reishin's boy suddenly looked a lot less stiff and formal, and those young eyes of his softened with pleasure. He'd thought these two would get along well, with their strenuous notions of loyalty.

Seien was still carrying on. "And what am I supposed to do if Reishin takes offense?"

A very good point, Yousei had to admit. No one held a grudge or got revenge like the Kou. "You don't trust me to have thought of that?" he prodded, and had to stifle a laugh as Seien snorted. Well, better this than that the boy rely on him too much, at this stage.

Kouyuu finally stepped forward. "It's all right, Majesty." He actually smiled. "Reishin-sama agreed to this. So did I."

Yousei rolled his eyes at what an afterthought the boy made that last bit sound. At last his new Emperor stopped glaring at Shou and paid attention to his prospective advisor instead.

"You're sure?" Seien sat back, anxiety and relief flickering behind his eyes. "Another experienced eye on these reports would be very welcome."

Kouyuu spread his hands. "I am a civil official, and you're the Emperor," he pointed out. "I'm at your service."

"Hm." Seien smiled faintly. "Well, if nothing else, Ryuuki won't have to go as far to visit you."

"Ah. You, um, know about that." Kouyuu clasped his hands, looking faintly nervous. As anyone would, who had ever seen Seien with his brother, to be sure. Even Yousei kept his hands off Ryuuki.

"I know everything that has to do with my brother." Seien smiled, a bit crookedly. "Now it's my government I need to find out about."

The prospect of a meaty job to sink his teeth into gave Kouyuu back his composure immediately. "Of course."

Yousei left them bent over Seien's stack of papers and took himself out without waiting for thanks. He didn't expect any, not yet.

"So?" Enjun asked, pouring tea for all of them. "How is our Emperor doing?"

"Settling in nicely." Yousei sipped appreciatively. "If we're lucky, Ran and Li will give him some practice at actual leadership."

Sou snorted. "I still say it would have been easier to put him in charge of a military expedition or two."

"You just wanted to go along on those yourself," Yousei observed, and chuckled as Sou shrugged, not denying it.

"And it's officials he has to learn how to lead," Enjun added with a thin smile. "As opposed to herd."

"A difficult lesson," Yousei murmured into his cup. "But one every Emperor has to learn. So we'll find a way to teach him."

Enjun laughed. "Ah, that's our Shou, all right. Don't you ever think of anything but the good of the throne?"

"I think of a good drink." Yousei lifted his cup and bit back a sigh at the flash of warmth and anger in Enjun's eyes. "We were lucky, though," he added casually. "This time we had two excellent candidates to rule. It's almost a shame they can't both be emperor, really."

The heat hidden at the back of Enjun's eyes turned calculating, and Yousei stifled his flinch harshly. If this is truly what you wish, I will take you there, he told his friend in the silence of his heart. But oh, Enjun, couldn't you have chosen another way?

The head of the Sa clan was not choosing another way, though, and Yousei listened to his companions chuckling over the idea of co-Emperors, and steeled himself. He would follow both his promise and his heart, and if it killed him to do it, well. Perhaps he would not regret that.

End

Souvenirs

Hiruma considers the things he's gotten from his friends. Drama, I-2

He's never been a sensualist or any kind of aesthete. He doesn't savor food or drink for their tastes. He doesn't buy fine clothes to feel the textures against his skin. He doesn't go to watch the flowers at any time of year.

The few sense pleasures he enjoys are the gifts of other people.

The hot, black bitterness of coffee, steaming in a thick mug, is the taste and smell of a talk with Musashi. The dry rattle of paper and wood, under the still, slanting shadows of leaves and temple roofs, is the sound and color of Kurita's trust.

And, while he never expected to enjoy either, the sharp tang of cleaners coming off sleek, bright surfaces is the scent of Anezaki's care.

So when Anezaki wonders how he can possibly drink his coffee black, or Musashi wants to know why he doesn't open a window already, he just laughs.

Life is like that.

End

Three Plus One

A scene that might come just after issue 339. Kirihara angsts a bit until his team makes him see reason. Drama, I-3, manga continuity

Akaya looked down at his knuckles turning white where he held the rail behind the coach's bench. Out on the court, Sanada-fukubuchou was cutting down his opponent, but Akaya knew how that looked, he didn't really need to watch.

And he wasn't sure he wanted to meet anyone's eyes right now.

He wanted to ask "why", except that that was obvious. He had been really struggling with his opponent. His teammates hadn't. He knew why, it was just...

Wasn't it ever going to change? No matter how much his game evolved, no matter what tactics he found to make himself stronger? Where they always going to be ahead of him like this?

"Yukimura-buchou." He'd spoken before he realized he was going to, and bit his lip. What did he think he was going to say, anyway?

Yukimura-buchou didn't look away from the game. "Did you hear what they were calling you?"

Akaya blinked. "What?"

"While you were defeating the other player. Did you hear what the crowd was calling?"

Akaya thought, but he couldn't really recall much besides the beat of his pulse in his ears. "No."

Now Yukimura-buchou looked over his shoulder, smiling though his eyes were chill with the edge of being on the court. "Demon."

The thought fluttered around Akaya's mind, that that was kind of neat, after all it was what they called Yukimura and Sanada and Yanagi, wasn't it? The three demons.

His eyes widened.

"I won't be waiting," Yukimura-buchou said, voice soft. "But I will be ready." He turned back to watch the game and added, more briskly, "You know you can do it, now, so stop lazing around."

"Yes, Yukimura-buchou," Akaya managed. He stepped back and sat down on a bench with a thump, where Niou-senpai promptly messed up his hair and asked, "Dense much?"

"Ah, don't mind," Marui-senpai put in with a lazy bubble. "It was kind of fun. Good practice for precision and all that."

"And you justified our trust admirably," Yagyuu-senpai added with a faint smile.

Akaya scrunched down a little and said "Okay" in a small voice. His senpai took care of him; he was used to that.

"And you're still conscious and standing," Yanagi-senpai noted a bit wryly, from where he, too, was watching Sanada-fukubuchou. "So obviously you were also well up to the endurance training menu Seiichi had Genichirou construct for you."

"I was?" Akaya thought about that. "Oh. Good."

Marui-senpai groaned. "He didn't even notice! Is he really human?"

Niou-senpai smirked, thin and sharp. "Definitely a demon."

Akaya straightened at that, determination gripping him, fierce and familiar. "Yes." He would be. He would find his way and catch them all and be number one. He grinned up at his senpai. "Thanks."

They smiled back at him, bright and sharp, as the match was called. Rikkai's victory.

Just the way it should be.

End

New Year in Winter

Takes place just after the Final Judgement. The Cards are happy; Yue isn't, very. Drama with Angst, I-3

The Cards were celebrating.

The blue dusk of their Place nearly sparkled with the brightness of their pleasure, lit with the glow of them flitting back and forth, congratulating each other, sharing stories of their capture.

Yue watched over them. He took his duty to them seriously, unlike certain fat, lazy Sun guardians he could name.

He watched, but he did not rejoice with them.

A soft breeze touched the feathers of his wings and he glanced over, unsurprised to see Windy. She stood beside him, hands clasped and eyes lowered. "Yue-sama."

"Yes?" he asked, when she hesitated.

"I beg your pardon," she murmured softly.

Yue shrugged one shoulder. "There is no need. It wasn't your fault." Not Windy's fault that he had been captured himself, subdued and humbled by a little slip of a girl with bright eyes and an open smile. "It was your Master's power and intent."

"Yes." Windy smiled herself, almost as brightly as their new Master, hands pressed to her breast. "A warm power." Her eyes met Yue's properly once more. "I think... you will like it, too, Yue-sama."

Yue sniffed. "It will be quite some time before she is strong enough to see."

"Ah." Windy's smile was, perhaps, a bit wistful as she bowed to him and moved back among the other cards, who seized on her happily. She had been with the new Master the longest; everyone wanted to hear her stories.

As the celebration rolled on Yue caught a number of glances in his direction, flickering toward him between laughter. He answered them only with his presence; he wasn't sociable, the way Keroberos was.

After a while, though, shadow moved in the blue and Dark slipped up to lean delicately against his shoulder. He didn't unfold his arms, but he did curve a wing in over her. Dark was, of all of them, the closest to his own nature; she was comfortable enough to have here. She knew the value of silence, for one thing.

"The bell did not give her any power," Dark said, eventually.

At that, Yue stirred. "I know." He glanced down at the spilled shadow of her hair. "The bell was of our alignment. I saw what it did." And it hadn't been made to do anything but bridge the girl's own power to Windy. His mouth tightened. "If she had not defeated me by her own power, I would not have chosen her as Master for you." No matter how determined Clow had been to make him.

"Oh, Yue-sama." Dark sighed. "You can choose for yourself, as well, you know," she said softly.

Yue looked away, long hair swinging against his back. "That is not my purpose." That much had been made plain; twice. Once by his abandonment and again when Clow guided another's power to take him.

Dark looked up at him with a faint smile. "A new Master is new life to us. A new life gives us all new purpose, don't you think?" She stood on her toes to brush a light kiss over his cheek and slipped away as Yue blinked at her.

He thought of calling her back to ask what she meant, but she had already found Light and twined fingers with her, and he knew the two of them had been unhappy to be separated while the Cards were scattered.

He settled back to watch over them. He would hold to his duty for however long it would last. It seemed to be all he had.

End

Property Values

Takes place just after the manga ends. Touya and Yukito decide to move in together. Drama with Romance, I-3

Some things didn't change, and Touya found that comforting. Years ran on, but Sakura still overslept, Yuki still loved stuffed breads for lunch, and he and Yuki still did their homework together in the evenings.

Yuki pushed back from the low table and sprawled on the floor with a sigh.

"You done?" Touya chewed on the end of his pen for a moment before filling in the last valence on his worksheet. So far, college Chemistry was mostly review; it was nice to have a bit of a break but he did find himself wondering when they were going to get on with things.

"Not yet. I can't concentrate tonight."

At that Touya looked up. He still twitched that kind of statement from Yuki, even a year after the last big trouble ended. "You all right?"

"Hm? Oh." Yuki laughed. "It's nothing like that, To-ya. Calm down."

Touya settled back. "What is it, then?"

Yuki stared up at the high ceiling, fingers tracing over the tatami under him. "I think... I want to move out of this place," he said softly. He gave Touya a quick smile. "I know it's true, what you said about my memories that are real." He looked back up, eyes shadowed again. "But there are so many that aren't real attached to this place."

Touya dropped his pen and scooted around the table until he could brush light fingers through Yuki's hair. "Do you know where you want to move yet?"

Yuki smiled, small and rueful. "Not really. Just that I want to go." A small laugh escaped him. "Besides, it doesn't feel quite right, anymore, living in one of Eriol-kun's properties on money that he set up for me."

Touya could understand that; sometimes he thought it would have been better if Yuki had never wondered about his grocery bills. Of course, that would probably have taken yet more of Eriol and/or Clow messing with Yuki's head, and then Touya would have really had to kill the man. "Hm." He toyed with a soft lock of Yuki's hair as he thought. "I'd say you should move in with us, except I have this feeling Li is going to be doing that before too long." He growled at the mere thought. "Tou-san won't let the kid live alone once he finds out about that. He had just better make both of them finish high school before they do... anything."

Yuki laughed at him. Touya glowered. The idea of Li living in the same house as his sister did not make him happy, not even with Tou-san as chaperone, not even if though would be nice to have extra hands for chores.

Actually...

Touya's fingers slowed, running through Yuki's hair as he turned his new thought over. It could work. "We could get a place together," he finally said, looking at the pale, feathery fall of Yuki's hair instead of his eyes. "If you want."

"Touya." Yuki's eyes caught him after all; it took Touya a moment to shake himself free from the brightness in them.

"Well. We can look around this weekend, then." Honestly. You'd think he'd just offered a year ticket to an all-you-can-eat buffet. His mouth curled as he looked down at Yuki.

Yuki laughed, sudden mischief gleaming behind his innocent smile. "And Sakura-chan can have Li-kun and Kero-chan for her chore-team, to take care of your father, right?"

"Yep." Having seen the way his sister ordered the bath sponge around, the thought pleased Touya about as much as any thought involving Li could.

"To-ya, you're mean!" Yuki didn't sound like he minded that, though. His hands were gentle as he reached up to bury them in Touya's hair and draw Touya down to him.

"She's my sister," Touya muttered before he lost track of anything but the warmth of Yuki's mouth under his.

Come to that, he could think of other reasons having their own place would be a good thing...

End

Bitter and Salt

Touya finds out a few things about what Yue likes, despite Yue's complete cluelessness. Drama with Pre-Romance, I-3

September

"Kero-chan!!"

Touya never regretted spending his weekends at home; it was nice to see family so often, his first year living away. But it sure got loud sometimes. He shook his head as Keroberos galloped out of the kitchen with Sakura hot on his heels, cheerfully swiping the last bits of frosting off his muzzle.

It was a good thing Tou-san had hidden the second cake well back in the pantry.

There went both his tasters, though. He eyed Yue, still standing by the window, aloof from his counterpart's dessert-stealing tricks. Of course. Normally he'd ask for Yukito back, when it came to food, but Yue hadn't been out much, lately. Besides, Touya had gotten suspicious of why, exactly, Yue never ate or drank, and this seemed like a good chance to test it.

"Yue," he said casually, holding out a spoonful of apple pie filling. "Taste this and tell me if it's good."

Yue blinked at him. "I don't eat," he said, as if he thought Touya might have forgotten.

"I've noticed. There's nothing to stop you from it, if Keroberos is any indication, though. You taste things, right?" Yue's nose wrinkled just slightly and Touya nodded to himself. He'd bet he was right. "So taste this."

Yue stared at him for a long moment before, with manifest unwillingness, taking the spoon. He maneuvered it into his mouth as if trying not to actually touch it and bit down with a stoic expression.

When the expression changed it was mostly in his eyes: a slight widening, a small relaxation of tight brows. Touya made a satisfied little hm.

"It's... good," Yue said, finally.

"You don't like sweets," Touya stated. He started spooning his mostly unsweetened filling into the crust. "I'll remember that."

Yue was back to looking at him with bafflement. "Why?"

Touya rolled his eyes. Sometimes he really wondered about Yue. "So we can have things you'll like, too," he explained with pointed patience.

"Oh." Yue said it so softly that Touya looked over at him and caught the moment of confusion and hesitance on his face. And then it was gone and Yue was cool and withdrawn again.

Touya snorted. Yue was stuck with the family, now; he might as well get used to it.

November

Sakura flopped down on Touya's couch like she was still ten years old. "Why do magic creatures keep coming to me? I have homework!"

"You're not the only one," Touya noted, though he was sneakingly pleased that his sister and her retinue had stopped at his place to rest on her way home instead of just dropping Yue off. He had brotherly duties to keep up with, of course, so he didn't say that; instead he smirked at her. "The monsters all just want to visit their relative, probably."

Sakura revived instantly to scowl at him. Touya smirked wider and set a cup of tea down in front of her, careful to keep his feet out of reach. She sniffed and wrapped her hands around it.

"They're drawn to strong magic," Li said, matter of fact enough that Touya suspected he'd had to deal with this too. He sipped his tea quietly, sitting close by Sakura. Hovering, really.

Touya grudgingly supposed he approved of that.

He pushed the sugar dish toward Keroberos, who had already reverted to small, probably to get the most out of his sweets. Touya snorted and set a cup of black coffee down in front of Yue.

Yue looked up at him inquiringly.

"Coffee. Try it." Touya settled on the floor beside their table, pouring his own tea.

Yue picked up the cup and then paused. Quiet as their exchange had been, it had drawn the wide-eyed attention of the rest of the room. Touya didn't look back at Yue, but he reached out swiftly to rest two fingers under Yue's cup, stopping him from setting it back down.

"Touya..." Yue's voice was barely audible, and he was trying not to look anyone in the eye. A faint flush snuck over his cheeks.

"Try it," Touya repeated calmly, in direct contrast to the dark look he was giving the rest of the room. There was a sudden clatter of spoons and saucers from the other three.

Yue kept his eyes fixed on his cup as he tasted the coffee, delicately. Touya, watching for it from the corner of his eye, caught Yue's slow breath out and the faint relaxation of his shoulders, and smiled.

A momentary flicker of a smile answered him before Yue recalled himself and sobered again.

Yue finished his coffee quietly before wrapping his wings around himself. The brightness parted to show Yukito, who stretched and smiled. "Are we all done?"

"Yes! Thank you, Yukito-san!" Sakura chattered to Yuki, filling him in on the afternoon while Touya poured tea into the extra cup he'd brought out and handed it over.

His sister's boyfriend was watching him thoughtfully.

Two days later a package of books on Chinese medicine and health arrived, full of charts, and lists, and diagrams of elements and tastes and heat versus cold. Touya hated it when That Boy was helpful; it made it a lot harder to stay properly mad at him for stealing Sakura.

He sighed and settled down on the couch to read about the elemental alignment of the Moon, and the food associated with it.

February

Touya tossed a package of salted seaweed snacks into the shopping basket. Yuki's brows rose. "I didn't know you liked those, To-ya."

"I don't, much. But I think Yue will."

"Ah." Yuki nodded, satisfied. After a moment though, he cocked his head at Touya. "How do you figure out what he'll like? We don't seem to like the same things."

Touya's mouth quirked. "Well, at first it was just giving him stuff that wasn't sweet. But those books the Brat sent me..." He frowned, running his finger down the row of noodle packages. "They don't have your favorite brand. Is Shirayuki okay?"

"Sure."

"It seems that Chinese medicine has a lot in common with Chinese magic systems," Touya said quietly. "Yue and that bath sponge both seem to like tastes that match their alignment." He frowned some more. "Which is... Well, maybe it's all right. Maybe magic creatures don't need to be balanced the way humans do." He looked at Yuki, frown softening because Yuki was good at doing that to him, even when he was worried. "But you and Yue are the same; and you like eating all kinds of things, the way a human would. So I think it might be better for him, too."

Yuki chuckled softly, with that inward look that meant he was paying attention to his other self. "I think he's going to tell you to mind your own business, next time he sees you."

Touya snorted. As if that was going to stop him; besides, Yuki's health might be at stake, here, too. You never knew. "Anyway," he tossed a packet of Thai curry powder into their basket, "next time we make curry, we should see if he likes spicy food."

Yuki's hand lingered on Touya's arm for a moment. "Thank you. For worrying about both of us."

Touya took a moment before they came out of the aisle to ruffle Yuki's hair. "Always."

For a moment Yuki had a very odd expression on his face. And then he smiled. "Yes," he agreed softly, definitely. "Always."

Touya declined to comment on that and made for the case of fish and meat instead. He did sometimes wonder whether a day would come when the things Yuki and Yue communicated to each other would become his business. He kind of hoped so.

But not today.

End

From Old Wood

Yukito notices something a little different about Touya lately, and discusses it with Yue. In a way. Drama, I-3

Yukito did not perceive magic, as his other self did. That this often meant he did not perceive his other self was something he put down as one of life's little ironies.

That did not stop him from observing the results of magic.

When shimmers of heat danced around the Kinomotos' clothesline on a cool, cloudy day, he didn't need anyone to tell him that Sakura-chan was experimenting with Fiery to dry the clothes before the rain came. He figured that out even before he helped patch the scorch on Touya's jeans.

When time flickered and he suddenly found himself elsewhere, he could guess that Yue had decided Sakura-chan needed him, even without the clue of Sakura herself, looking anxious and asking if she'd interrupted anything.

And although he'd never seen spirits or ghosts himself, he knew what it looked like when Touya was seeing them.

He thought perhaps that was why he was the first one to notice.

Touya's head lifted from his notebook a second before the doorbell rang. "I'll get it."

The click of the door opening was followed by the bright sound of Sakura-chan's voice. The progression was so familiar from two years ago that Yukito didn't actually notice until the third time it happened.

A classmate dashed through crowded halls to catch Touya's shoulder urgently. "Kinomoto-kun! The last lecture, can I borrow your notes?"

Yukito paused as Touya fished out his notes and handed them to Suiko-san. She had come from directly behind them, but Touya hadn't seemed at all surprised when she grabbed him.

"I need them back by Friday," Touya called after Suiko-san as she sprinted off again.

After that, Yukito watched more closely.

Touya paused with his hand on the gate.

"To-ya?" Yukito cocked his head. They'd gone home this way so that they could stop into see Touya's father.

"Mm, I was just wondering if Kaa-san was visiting today." Touya's mouth tilted a little wryly. "You know he always feels a little weird about talking to her when I can't see her any more."

That was true enough, but Yukito was starting to wonder whether Oji-san would keep needing to worry about that.

Yukito paid some careful attention to how he felt, after that. If Touya's magic was returning, did that mean something had gone wrong? Was Yue going to starve, and Yukito with him, again?

He didn't feel any more than usually tired or hungry, though. Neither Sakura nor Kero-chan gave him any strange or concerned looks.

Finally he chose a day when Touya had an evening lab and went out into their yard to lie back in the grass and look up at the moon. After a while he closed his eyes and just listened to his own breath.

This didn't always work. He was fairly sure Yue had to be willing to make an effort too.

For a long time there was only the rush of his breath in and out, and the cool darkness behind his eyelids. Finally, though, he felt the odd echo in his heart that he'd been waiting for. When Touya asked, Yukito had told him it was like listening to music and not being quite sure whether there was one violin or two playing. He wondered, sometimes, whether it was as disconcerting for Yue as it was for him.

Touya, he thought. Magic. He let the thoughts go like dandelion puff from an open hand.

What came back was stronger than usual, like a thread of cool water in a warm pool. Security. Surety.

He also thought Yue might be puzzled, but since he was puzzled too it was harder to tell.

An image of Sakura-chan floated through his head.

Ah. Perhaps Yue had started to draw on his Master's magic, then? Yukito felt a bit wistful at that thought. That was foolish, though; he shouldn't be so selfish as to grudge the return of Touya's magic just so that he could keep that particular connection. It wasn't like there weren't others, between them.

Abruptly enough to make him gasp, the echo was gone and he was staring up at the moon, small and high in the sky. He huffed a soft laugh. Perhaps he hadn't been the only one feeling wistful. Or feeling embarrassed about it.

Yukito levered himself up, brushing grass off. Whatever was happening, Yue didn't think it was any problem for them. That was all he needed to know. If Touya's magic really was returning, they could reassure him that it was entirely a good thing.

A fugitive twinge caught his heart.

Or someone's heart, anyway.

Yukito looked up at the moon, frowning. Perhaps he would have to try Yue again later, on the subject of Touya.

A second of chill annoyance brushed over him, and he smiled. Fortunately, he'd gotten more of the stubbornness than Yue had.

End

A/N: The total erasure of Touya's magic is one of those little things that bugs me. It runs against the general flow of how magic is shown to work in the CCS-verse, with nary a scrap of explanation why. (Besides the basic CLAMP-logic that angst > plot.) This being the case, I choose to believe that Sakura, the one who tells the readers that Touya's magic is gone for good, was mistaken.

Degrees of Silver

Yue likes the rain. Drama, I-2

The doors to the porch were open, and the sound of heavy, steady rain came through.

Along with sprays of water. Touya shook his head and went to close the doors, wondering who had forgotten to latch them firmly. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, though, because Yue was standing outside.

Yue perched at the very edge of the porch, almost in the downpour, face tipped up. His eyes were closed. "You can close the door if you like," he murmured.

Touya's mouth quirked. "Won't your feathers get wet in all this?"

Yue shrugged. "It's a fair price for peace."

"Peace?" Touya stepped out onto the porch and held a hand off the side. The weight of the rain nearly drove his arm back down.

Yue opened his eyes and Touya was surprised to see that they were, indeed, at peace—even a little dreamy. "This is the best season of summer, for me. The rains. The influence of the sun isn't as harsh." His eyes drifted closed again and he let out a slow breath. "When the rains are all around me they soften the world. The sound closes in and gives me solitude."

Touya smiled, a bit rueful; he could take a hint. "I'll let you enjoy it, then."

As he turned away, though, Yue said, softly, "I don't mind you."

Touya stood still for a long moment before turning back. He came to lean against the rail beside Yue, and closed his eyes, and listened to the curtains of rain closing them in together.

End

Drink Deep

An encounter under a tree on a sunny afternoon leads to all sorts of new possibilities. Drama with Fluff, I-3

"The Master is home aga—"

Touya looked up with a smile for the news that Sakura was back home safe. He lifted a brow at the expression on Yue's face, though. He wouldn't have thought there was anything alarming about sitting in the shade of a tree and reading, but Yue stood like he'd been turned to stone, staring.

After a few moments, Touya wondered if he should poke him or something.

Finally, though, Yue shook himself and cleared his throat. "She's home again and well."

"Good to know. Well, if you're off duty, quit standing at attention." Touya patted the ground. "Sit down and take a breath."

Yue actually took a step back, and that made Touya pay attention. Yue wasn't often that skittish any more. "Come on," he half-coaxed and half-ordered, holding out a hand. "You can tell me how she liked Hong Kong."

Yue wavered, and for a moment Touya thought he would bolt and return to Yukito, but slowly he did step toward Touya. "She enjoyed it," he said, voice low. "The Li family approved of her, of course."

"Of course," Touya agreed, dryly. If it wasn't enough for them that their son was head over heels in love, Sakura was the Master of the Cards. He kept his hand out. Yue stood beside him, looking at it like it might be dangerous. "Did the Brat come back, too, or did he stay to visit longer?" Touya took Yue's hand, lightly, tugging down.

"He..." Yue sank to his knees. "He returned as well." His eyes were wide, but he didn't pull away.

Touya huffed a short laugh and pulled sideways. "So, did you have fun too?" Yue wavered forward, and Touya kept tugging until Yue half tumbled down to sit beside him against the tree.

"I don't... that is..."

Touya let Yue's hand go and settled back against the tree, looking at his book again. "Or you can complain, if you want, you know," he prompted. "People do that, when they get back from trips."

"...Keroberos was rather loud." And Yue sounded oddly breathless.

Touya smiled. "I bet you didn't get much sleep." After a moment he added, "This is a nice spot for a nap."

"I..." Abruptly, Yue vanished in a flurry of light and feathers and Yukito was sitting next to him instead.

Touya sighed.

"Ah. I thought we might be home." Yuki slipped an arm around Touya and leaned into him. "I'm back," he announced, laughing.

Touya smiled and pulled him closer. "Welcome home. So, did you have a good trip?"

"Of course. It's nice to travel, and Sakura-chan was having so much fun, seeing a new place."

Touya nodded. He'd figured Yuki would enjoy himself; Yuki got along with people wherever he went. Before they got out the vacation pictures, though, he had another question. "I don't suppose you know what would have bugged Yue about me sitting here reading a book?"

Yuki started to shake his head and then paused, frowning. "Hm." He was quiet for a long moment. "I'm not sure," he murmured, at last. "It's like remembering a dream, long after you wake up. But... I think it might have reminded him of something to do with Clow."

"Ah. Of course." Touya made a face. Yue only ever got that flustered when something touched on his past, and catch him talking about it to anyone. He was a little surprised when Yuki kept speaking.

"It was sunny." Yuki's voice was distant. "With cool shadows under a tree. And he wondered about the book, but Clow-san just laughed and told him to take a nap while it was still warm enough out."

Touya winced. Right. So, no telling Yue he should take naps; he'd have to add that to the list. The really long list. He was incredibly glad Yuki had gotten the sweet, outgoing, warm side of those two; if both of them had been prickly and wounded and neurotic, he'd have gone crazy. "That sounds like the opening of a book," he said, leaning down to drop a kiss under Yuki's ear and distract him.

Yuki laughed and turned to catch Touya for a proper kiss, and Touya decided he could think more about Yue later.

It was later the same week that he happened across some loose pages on Yuki's desk, describing the sun and shade and a magician enjoying a lazy afternoon with his familiars. At the top of the first page were the words "Chapter One".

Touya grinned. Who knew? Maybe Yuki wasn't going to wind up in architecture after all.

End

Six Examples

Takes place after the Sanada v Atobe match (manga). With some prodding from Yukimura, Sanada loosens his brain up, and finds some new techniques. Also with sex via tennis. Drama with Sub-Romance, I-3, manga continuity

"I would not have lost."

"Yes you would. Perfection is your weakness." Yukimura stowed his racquet away and held out his hand, eyeing its steadiness critically. "That's why you lost last time, too."

Sanada snorted. "That was chance. A chance no sane player would have counted on. It won't happen twice."

Yukimura shook his head and smiled, though his eyes still glinted sharp and cool. "You know your own strength. And, unlike nearly every other player in the middle school or high school circuit, your confidence in it is fully justified. And that," he added, pointedly, "is what slows you down in face of the unexpected."

Sanada frowned, leaning back against the low wall around their courts. He wanted to say he didn't need to develop new responses, because his tennis already had perfected responses to any situation. If that had been true, though, Atobe would not have taken so many points from him this afternoon. "Perhaps."

Yukimura tossed his bag up onto the grass and leaned beside Sanada, sighing. "I hadn't thought it would matter. Until now it's really only been Tezuka we had to think of. You know his strength, too; I knew you wouldn't underestimate him. But this Echizen..."

"Mm." Sanada's mouth tightened. "Our margin of superiority against Seigaku is going to be lower than we had planned for," he admitted.

Yukimura looked over the emptying courts, distant and thoughtful. "Tezuka. Echizen. Perhaps even Fuji." He was quiet for a moment. "We're going to have to push Akaya harder. If we can bring out his true strength by the time we face Seigaku, we'll have the advantage again."

Sanada nodded; he'd actually quite like to see what form Akaya's real game would take, before they had to leave their kouhai to his own devices.

Yukimura thumped him lightly on the shoulder. "And you have to take care of your own problem." He pushed up to his feet and slung his bag over his shoulder. "I don't care how you do it. But we can't afford to have you paralyzed whenever someone besides Tezuka actually manages to push you." He looked back over his shoulder, laughter bright and wicked and cutting in his eyes, the way it hadn't been for too long. "Hurry up, too, or I'll do it for you."

Sanada gave his friend and captain a rather dour look. Yukimura's notions about how to help out teammates who were stuck in their training were... strenuous.

Yukimura laughed.

Sanada spend the evening feeling mildly out of sorts. Restless. He fidgeted through his chores. He couldn't focus on his science homework, and finally set it aside, resolving to get up early and do it in the morning.

At last, he pulled on his hakama and gi and made for his practice room, determined to regain his focus one way or another.

Kata calmed him, as he'd know they would. The rough weave of the tatami mats against the soles of his feet was familiar, soothing. The constant chase after perfection in each breath, each step, eased his tension into something smooth and poised. At the end, he sank down to the mats to rest, eyes closed, feeling his spine loosen and straighten. Slowly, his thoughts took up their spiral again, more controlled this time.

This fierce peace was what he always returned to. It balanced the wild thrill of matches, whether with shinai or racquet.

In the fresh silence of his mind, the thought rang false.

Sanada opened his eyes and frowned. How could this have changed? Against the surprises of competition with opponents, he held the steady striving with himself that kata involved. Today was the perfect example. He had come to this pointed serenity to balance the uncertainty of his match with Atobe.

The uncertainty... that it had taken Yukimura's interference to point out to him.

Sanada sucked in a slow breath, taking a firmer grip on this idea. How long had it been since he'd felt the rush of uncertainty during a tennis match? Had it really been since... Tezuka?

And yet, it had been there in his matches with Echizen and Atobe as well. He'd just discounted it. Had he really let himself think that only Tezuka could bring that thrill to a match? Had he let his mental discipline slip that badly?

Sanada snorted. Pitiful!

He surged to his feet and stalked back to his room. There was one sure way to get a grip on his game again. He fished out his phone and dialed one handed while he changed his clothes.

"Yukimura," the laconic answer came.

"Are you free for a game right now?" Sanada asked without preamble.

After a moment of silence, Yukimura answered. "Sure. Meet you on the little court down by the river?"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Yukimura rested his racquet over his shoulder, regarding Sanada's expression as they finished warming up. "That was quick. Good."

"I'm not done yet," Sanada said grimly. Indeed, thinking he was done, that any part of his game was completed, was the problem.

"Of course not." Yukimura's smile cooled with the chill of a game. He set his racquet down with precision and spun it. "Which?"

"Rough. You can do this?"

Yukimura's mouth quirked as the spin ended on rough. "Yes."

Sanada nodded and walked back to serve. He spared nothing, and Yukimura sent the ball singing back, slicing through the air like a knife.

It was hard and fast because that was how Sanada needed it to be. He needed the driving, brutal precision of Yukimura's game to take into himself and answer.

The ring of the ball against clay and the harsh panting of their breath drowned out the cicadas. This was the thrill he remembered seeking, the dripping exhaustion he remembered pursuing. The uncertainty that needed the peace of kata to balance it.

Fire vanished without a ripple into Yukimura's return. Sanada had to reach for the steady measured strokes of Forest to break Yukimura's rhythm and keep himself from being caught up in it, and as he did he wondered. When had his balance fallen? When had his game become so stiff, so closed?

Move like the Wind.

Stately as the Forest.

Raid like Fire.

Immoveable as the Mountain.

They were powerful because they could shift and move. Even the stillness of no-self moved!

As the last ball flashed by to strike behind him, the purity of the moment shuddered up his spine. Yukimura's game broke his open, stretched him as far as he could go. That openness called to be filled with the all the force and brilliance both of them could wring from each other.

That was a match.

What he had been playing this year was... kata.

Sanada braced himself against the light pole to catch his breath. He frowned when he saw Yukimura had collapsed on the bench beside the court. "You said you could do this."

Yukimura's teeth glinted in the streetlights. "I won, didn't I?"

There was that, Sanada had to admit.

"You weren't the only one who needed this," Yukimura added, more quietly.

Sanada smiled and held out a hand to pull Yukimura up again. "Let's walk to cool down, then."

The dark river water glimmered with occasional lights up the embankment. The soft lap of it rippling against the shore filled the cooling evening air.

"I don't think you need to actually rework any of your techniques," Yukimura said, finally. "Just wake up some more."

"Mmm." Sanada turned that thought over a few times. It was true enough, but... "There's something. I could tell as we played. There's more I can do."

Yukimura smiled. "There's always more you can do. Especially you."

"That means something, coming from you," Sanada said dryly.

Yukimura laughed, low and bright. "Once you remind me of my courage, yes." He turned and climbed a few steps up the embankment, stretching out in the grass. "It would be hard to integrate anything else into FuuRinKaZan, though, wouldn't it?"

Sanada joined him and leaned back into the cool, green-smelling hill. "The techniques do come as a complete set," he agreed.

And then his breath stopped as a thought seized and shook him.

Not complete.

Wind, Forest, Fire, Mountain, Shadow, Lightning. There were six in the original.

"Invisible as Shadow," he whispered. "Strike like Lightning."

Yukimura watched him, head cocked.

Sanada took a long breath, already testing possibilities in his head. "Yes. Yes, there is something more. It will work." It would work, and he would move forward the way a player should, and crush his opponents the way Rikkai should.

"I never doubted it," Yukimura said quietly, lying back in the dusk.

End

A/N: Sanada's technique names echo those Takeda Shingen took from Sun Tzu's dictates on the movement of armies. Takeda, though, only used four of the original set of six. For Nationals, Sanada seems to be calling on the remaining two.

After Frost

Life gets back to normal for Touya. Drama with Fluff, I-3

Between his own need to decide on a career within the next year and the fuss of Sakura's first year of high school, Touya really didn't think the family needed to deal with a Portentous Letter from Hiiragizawa. But that was, unfortunately, what was sitting on the table when he and Yuki arrived, on Saturday.

He scowled at it.

Sakura tore open the outer envelope that it had come in. "...Mizuki-sensei writes a lot, of course, but I haven't heard from Eriol-kun in so long. I hope everything's going well." She shook the inner envelope out onto the table and reached for it.

Touya's nerves twanged and he was grabbing Sakura's hand before he could think.

She started and stared up at him. "Onii-chan?"

"He did something to it," Touya stated. He didn't know what, but he was very sure that something was odd about the letter. And he didn't trust Hiiragizawa any further than he could throw his own motorcycle.

Sakura's brows wrinkled. "But..."

"Check it, Sakura," Li put in, holding a hand over the letter. "I think he's right."

Sakura held out her own fingers to it, eyes drifting closed. After a moment they flashed open again. "It is!" She frowned. "But it doesn't feel..." She picked the envelope up and Touya had to stifle a yelp of protest.

With a bang, tiny confetti-like sparks of light fluttered around them. Sakura and Tou-san laughed, while Touya tried to get his heart started again. Yuki patted him on the back, though he was grinning a bit, too.

Kero-chan snorted. "That's him all over." Then he turned over in midair to try to catch the sparks between his paws.

Sakura paused. "But... Onii-chan, how did you know?" She looked at him with wide eyes. "You don't have... I mean you gave..." she ran down to a flustered halt, nibbling her lip.

Touya rolled his eyes and ruffled her hair. "Don't have any magic. You can say it, Monster." She growled at him, at that, and he laughed. Some things never changed. "I just knew. Well-trained nerves, probably."

"You've known that kind of thing a lot more often lately," Yukito said, softly.

Sakura's hands clasped on each other. "I thought it was for good." Her whole face was brightening like sunrise. "You mean it's coming back?"

Touya frowned. He hadn't expected it, so he hadn't actually thought about it. "I don't know."

"I wondered about that," Li said quietly. The entire room turned to look at him and he lifted a hand palm up. "Magic usually works a lot like chi. It can be depleted. It can get blocked. But to affect the source of it... that takes an incredible amount of power." He smiled at Sakura. "Power like yours, after all your trials taught you to find it." He tipped his head, looking back at Yukito. "Yue was starved for magic when he took Touya-san's. I thought that might have been why it all seemed to go away. But I couldn't imagine where Yue had found the power to affect the root of Touya's magic that way."

"Huh." Touya rubbed a hand over the back of his head, surprised by how calm he felt about all this; losing his magic had been a serious shock. Shouldn't regaining it be at least a little strange? "Well, I guess we'll see."

"Hm."

They looked at Tou-san, who was reading the letter with a faint smile.

"I think we can assume that it's true." Tou-san chuckled and read out loud. "'We will be returning to Japan soon; Kaho has had an excellent job offer there. Incidentally Kaho says that congratulations are likely in order for Touya-kun. I'm pleased to hear that my speculations were correct. Sincerely, Eriol.'"

Sakura clapped her hands and flung her arms around Touya's neck. "That's wonderful!"

"Ack!" Touya fielded his sister, catching the corner of the table for balance. She was still short, but a lot bigger than she had been a few years ago.

He also spared a moment to be thankful that Tou-san didn't have any memories of being such a close-mouthed bastard to influence him.

"Okay, great, good news, now how about if we get started on lunch?" he suggested, putting Sakura down firmly.

Kero-chan perked up instantly. "There's going to be tamago-yaki, right? Sakura said there would be! Tamago-yaki!"

Yeah, he could always count on the bath sponge.

In the bustle of getting ingredients out and deciding who would chop and who would stir and who got to set the table, Yuki touched Touya's arm and leaned close. "I'm glad. So is Yue, I think."

"You're sure both of you are all right?" Touya murmured.

Yuki smiled. "I'm sure. I asked, a few months back. I think he thinks we're drawing on Sakura-chan's magic, now, so yours can build back up."

Touya eyed that smile and sighed, ruefully. It was hard to tell when Yuki was being clueless and when he was just enjoying being a step ahead; they looked a lot the same. He brushed Yuki's cheek gently with the backs of his fingers. "If you're all right, then that's all that matters."

He thought twice about that, he had to admit, when Kaa-san appeared after lunch, laughing, saying she'd have to be more careful about hovering over him now that he could catch her doing it again.

But even then, he thought it was still pretty much true.

End

Polarization - Part One

Watari finally succeeds in becoming a woman, and Tatsumi finally finds out why he wanted to so badly. And why Enma is so upset about it. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-4

Shrieks of joy coming out of Watari Yutaka's lab caused wise Ministry employees to take swift cover. The Shokan Division, though, had no such hope of easy escape and when they heard the sound of glee approaching the office, they simply braced themselves, waiting for fate to descend upon them.

Fate, today, took the form of Watari himself flinging the office door open and standing in it, panting and disheveled, face alight. "I did it! I did it!"

"Ah. What did you do, Watari?" Tsuzuki asked, looking around cautiously for lurking inventions.

Watari burst into delighted laughter, and Tatsumi just stared. Specifically, he stared at the sole remaining button holding closed the front of Watari's lab coat over a chest that was suddenly a distinctly different shape. As far as he could tell, not that he was looking very closely of course, the lab coat was all Watari was wearing. "Everyone be quiet," he commanded, adding, "Watari, try not to breathe."

"Huh?"

"What?"

"Tatsumi-san what are you talking about?"

Fate being what it was around this Division, the button chose that moment to give up its battle with a pop, spilling Watari's breasts into full view.

Tatsumi put a hand over his face. It was only the polite thing to do, and besides he felt a headache coming on. Fast.

"Wow, they're so big and soft! I'm jealous!"

"Now, Yuma, you know he... um, she's going to have to deal with the Bra Problem because of that, try to have some sympathy too."

"But Waka-chan, Yutako's got such good proportions, I mean, look, isn't this nice and firm just the way it should be?"

"Isn't it? It's so wonderful that I got everything right this time!"

"Isn't it?"

A cascade of giggles.

"Now, um, how do you do this again?"

"Well, first you sit down. Now, um... well... just try to relax okay?"

"... oh! Oh wow!"

Tatsumi turned up the water as high as it would go while he washed his hands and resolved to get double insulation installed between the men's and women's restrooms that very afternoon. There were some things that weighed more heavily than money, and his sanity was one of them.

"So... he's a woman?" Terazuma sat and stared while his partner tried to show Watari how to walk in heels and a snug skirt.

"Seems to be," Kurosaki-kun said, signing off on another sheet and adding it to his Out box. "He's awfully happy about it, too."

Tsuzuki, of course, was doing nothing so productive. "Hey, how about this one?" He held up a glossy magazine, showing a full-page spread of a woman with her hair carefully drawn into a loose braid that draped over one bare shoulder.

Wakaba shook her head with the air of a connoisseur. "No, no; it might not look like it, but that would take way too long to do every morning." She frowned. "Um. How many mornings, do you think, Yutako-san?"

Watari leaned against a desk and scratched—Tatsumi adjusted his pronouns—her nose. "Well..." Her eyes lit up. "Oh, I know a test I haven't tried yet!" She tottered across the office and threw her arms enthusiastically around Terazuma.

Terazuma's eyes barely had time to widen before a rush of magic filled the room and a howling, black beast stood on the wreckage of his desk.

"Watari-san!" Wakaba put her hands on her hips and glared.

"Sorry." Watari didn't look very sorry, beaming from the floor where he... she'd been dumped.

Tatsumi was starting to think he'd need something a good deal stronger than aspirin to get through this day.

Watari had finally calmed down enough to do a little of... her paperwork, everyone else had gone home, and Tatsumi was daring to hope the worst was past when the Chief poked his head in, cautiously. "Watari-kun. A memo came for you." He frowned, looking worried. "You're summoned before Enma-daiou tomorrow at noon."

Watari was very still for a moment before she went and took the paper from the Chief's hand. "Okay. Thank you."

Tatsumi didn't think he was supposed to hear the Chief ask, very softly, "Are you going to... be all right?"

Expressions flickered across Watari's face, bleak and then thoughtful and then wry. "I hope so."

Konoe-san patted Watari on the shoulder and left them alone again.

"Is there anything wrong I should know about?" Tatsumi murmured after a few minutes of silence, because he didn't pry into employee's lives, but there was a time for everything. A silent Watari hinted that this might be a time for asking.

Watari's back, slimmer than it had been, straightened. "Yes." She sounded resolute, and the gleam in her eyes as she turned and stalked back to stand in front of Tatsumi was familiarly disturbing. "I need you to take me to bed, Tatsumi-san."

It took a few moments for Tatsumi to get his voice to work. "You what?"

Watari slid her arms around his shoulders and pressed close, and Tatsumi suddenly had no trouble at all recalling that Watari was currently she. "I need you to take me to bed right now, please." Her tone was firm, but that was desperation he heard making the words quick instead of the usual rather manic enthusiasm.

Tatsumi frowned and took Watari's shoulders, setting her a little away. "If you want me to do this, I think you need to tell me why," he said quietly.

Watari opened her mouth and then shut it, and bit her lip. "Look," she said finally, voice low, "some of it I can't tell you, you don't have the clearance, and some of it would put you in a lot more danger to know, but..." Her eyes met his, dark and determined. "I need the experience of being a woman. All of it, or as much as I can get. I need the physical, emotional, spiritual memory, and this is the most immediate way I can think of." She pursed her lips and added, "Short of getting pregnant, and I don't think I could manage that fast enough."

Tatsumi adjusted his glasses. "I am not getting you pregnant, Watari. We're much too short-staffed to be able to afford maternity leave for you."

To his relief, she laughed, some of the ragged edge easing out of her voice.

"Why me?" he asked, more gently.

Watari blinked at him and then smiled. "Because I like you, Tatsumi."

And there really wasn't anything he could say to that. So instead he carefully put an arm around her waist, drawing her close again, and translocated them both to his residence.

TBC

Highlights on Black

Takes place just after Weider ends. Having made his decision, Naoji has some work getting Ludwig to see what it does and doesn't mean. Drama with Romance, I-3

Lui was out of sorts lately.

Naoji knew he'd get a glacial sniff for putting it that way, but it was true nonetheless. Even tea, almost always guaranteed to make Lui sit down and relax, hadn't called him away from contemplating the gray, drizzling view out the window.

Naoji sighed and set down the teapot with a click and went to stand at the long window beside Lui. They were both quiet for a while, watching the trees droop with wetness and the drops of water trickle erratically down the glass.

"I will go back," Naoji said softly. "I don't know exactly when; I only know that I will. But until then," he turned to face Lui. "Until then, I will go with you."

Lui turned at last, mouth quirking faintly. "You can't make two choices at once."

Trust Lui to put everything in the starkest black-or-white terms he could find. Naoji huffed a little, ruefully. Lui was as bad about that as Orphe, really. "Nor can you act on a decision until its time comes," he returned. He lifted a hand and laid it gently against Lui's chest. "Until I go, I will walk beside you and calm your heart."

Lui wouldn't show startlement if the stars fell from the sky, but Naoji felt a slight catch of breath under his hand. Lui's fingers lifted, closed on his chin. "Will you?"

"Yes." Naoji's lips were already open for Lui as Lui swept him closer and kissed him slowly, possessive and thorough. It was enough to turn Naoji's bones to water, but then... Lui always had been.

And then Lui let him go.

Naoji took a moment to recover his breath before he laughed softly. Lui had a talent for making his points; it would undoubtedly serve him well in diplomacy. "So. Now will you come drink your tea?"

Amusement lightened Lui's eyes and he turned away from the window. "Of course."

Naoji smiled.

End

Spiral of Time

Many years after the series ends, Naoji returns to Kuchen. Drama with Romance, I-3

Lui was waiting for him at the station.

"Is this all you brought?" he asked, casting an eye over the trunks Liechtenstein servants were efficiently strapping to a single trolley.

"There are a few more things that will be shipped later," Naoji murmured, looking around. He remembered the scent of this air; it struck him far more deeply than the clothes or colors or sound of the language. The scent of large, fallen leaves and cool, slow water—he remembered this.

"You travel lightly. Or, should I say, you live lightly."

Naoji turned back to Lui with a smile. He remembered this, too, Lui's fine touch with a sharp phrase, all while looking quite disinterested. "It's a virtue of my people."

Lui paused at the edge of the platform, voluminous coat falling in still folds around him as he studied Naoji. "Are you sure about this?" he asked quietly.

"My family is gone and my land is changing. And it does not wish for my aid while it does so." Naoji knew his smile was sad; how could it be otherwise?

"So?" One of Lui's brows tilted up. "Kuchen is the refuge you have chosen?"

Naoji shook his head at Lui. "We had this out in the letters, Lui. Kuchen is the work I have chosen."

Even more strongly than the air here, he recognized the small easing at the corners of Lui's mouth, the slight settling of those straight shoulders. The familiarity, across so many years, caught at his heart.

He had been right to come back.

Though he was glad not to be a confused and sorrowful boy any longer. It should make dealing with Lui a good deal easier. Naoji's mouth curled a bit as he said, "Tadaima," teasing just a little with his own language.

This was Lui, though. Naoji knew he should have expected it when Lui looked down his nose and returned, in flawless accents, "Okaeri."

Naoji laughed out loud and stepped off the platform at Lui's side.

It was good to be home again.

End

A/N: Tadaima and okaeri (loosely, "I'm home" and "welcome home") are customary phrases for homecoming.

Architect

Mizuki reflects on their defeat and has an epiphany. Drama, I-3

Hajime leaned back in his seat on the bus, staring into the vanishing point of space, deaf to the murmurs of the St. Rudolph team around him.

They had lost.

He wasn't quite sure what to do with that. That maniac from Fudoumine could say what he liked about starting over again, but Hajime had known from about the age of six that failure was failure; it meant you weren't good enough, and that was all. Your inadequacy was laid out in action for all to see and remember. And besides, Hajime wasn't sure there was anything to start over with. He felt much as though he had spent a long time building a fortress, balancing the weight and load of each stone against the others, making a marvelous flying sweep of interlocking tension that would stand against any pressure.

And Seigaku had come along and kicked a few blocks out of it and the whole thing had collapsed in a rattling heap and he couldn't even tell whether any of the blocks were unbroken.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Akazawa and Kaneda had both come through the match well; he was even, a bit grudgingly, impressed with the way Kaneda-kun had gotten Akazawa to play actual doubles. Well enough to take a match from Hyoutei, no less. Hajime hadn't thought it would be necessary, or he'd never have put Akazawa there in the lineup. He hadn't thought a lot of things would be necessary.

Clearly he'd been indulging in unforgivably wishful thinking.

Most of the club looked as angry and depressed as he felt, after being beaten down twice in a row. Yuuta, though... Yuuta seemed downright cheerful, despite having lost even worse to Akutagawa than he had to Echizen.

Hajime wasn't sure he understood Yuuta any more.

Of course, Yuuta had, by today's work, inherited the team. He had another year to train, and, if his brother would be gone from the next tournament, it seemed Yuuta had found other players to interest him. Whereas Hajime would be retiring from the club, now, and studying for exams, and going to St. Christopher high school, the best of St. Rudolph's affiliates, where there was no tennis club. If he wanted to keep playing at all he'd have to—

Hajime's eyes widened, and his lips almost moved with the force of the realization.

He'd have to start over.

He could, if he wanted, start completely over.

The sudden thought felt like a door being unlocked, like walls falling out around him and opening on empty horizons. Hajime took a slow breath in and let it out, eyes fixed on the possibility of nothing. "Akazawa," he murmured, barely noticing how the conversation around him quieted at the sound of his voice. "It was St. Sebastian you were thinking of attending for high school, correct?"

His classmate turned in his seat, elbow resting over the back, to look at Hajime. "You know I am; we've talked about it. They have good athletics programs." His brows lifted as Hajime met his gaze.

"Think about St. Christopher."

Akazawa frowned, though his eyes were suddenly sharp and steady on Hajime. "They don't have a tennis club, do they?"

Mizuki smiled slowly. "No. They don't."

After a moment Akazawa smiled. "All over again, huh?" He looked out the bus window. "I'll think about it."

"Do that." Hajime crossed his legs and leaned back, sorting through fallen blocks in his mind. He didn't know, yet, which he might keep. But the ground had been cleared for something new; surely it would be a shame not to use it.

End

The King is Dead

Yuuta takes over the tennis club; he and Kaneda talk about club politics and their senpai. Drama, I-3

"All right, everyone shut up already! Second years, break up in pairs and volley, six to a court, don't hit each other! First years, twenty laps to warm up!" Yuuta heaved in a breath as the chaos of the club divided itself in half.

"You really think they need more warming up today?" Kaneda murmured.

"Of course not," Yuuta muttered back. "But this gets them out of our hair while we figure out what to do next."

Kaneda laughed and Yuuta scowled at him. This captain thing wasn't nearly as easy as Akazawa-senpai had made it look.

Of course, Akazawa-senpai had had Mizuki-san to help. Yuuta stifled a sigh. He hadn't seen Mizuki-san at all today. Akazawa-senpai had come to say his good-byes and wish Yuuta and his team luck, but Mizuki-san had spent most of his time since they got off the bus from Prefecturals in his room or the library.

Yuuta had kind of hoped he wouldn't stay angry for this long.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, turning back to Kaneda. "Okay, I guess we'd better start with skills tests for everyone, and then we can get going with playoffs to choose the new Regulars."

Kaneda smiled and handed him a sheet of paper. "You'll probably want to revise this, if we're testing them first, but I thought this might make a good order for the matches."

Yuuta blinked at it and then burst out in a relieved grin. "Kaneda, have I told you you're a lifesaver? 'Cause you are."

"Hey, I'll do whatever I have to to make sure you're the team captain and not me." Kaneda's smile tilted. "I'm not good at shouting at people."

"Unless they're Akazawa-senpai?" Yuuta laughed as Kaneda turned red and sputtered. "Seriously, though, thanks." He ducked his head for a moment. "I think some of the others would have been happier with an original member as captain."

Kaneda snorted. "Those would be the ones who haven't seen you play." He looked considering for a moment. "Or train. I don't think there's anyone in this whole club who's put in more work than you, Yuuta. If that isn't good values for this club, I don't know what is."

Yuuta was quiet for a couple minutes, watching the club work. "I agree with Mizuki-san, though," he said, at last, voice low. "He knows what he's doing. He knows what we need to do. Maybe I don't always like the tactics he chooses. But I like how hard he was on us." He liked that Mizuki-san would never dream of protecting him, from life or tennis or anything else.

"Kind of figured that, yeah." Kaneda cocked his head at Yuuta. "You went your own way, in the match against Echizen, though, didn't you?"

"Well of course." Yuuta crossed his arms. "If I was going to win, I was going to win my way."

Why was Kaneda grinning?

His vice-captain clapped him on the shoulder. "You'll do fine. Quit worrying."

As they went to start the second years on precision tests, Yuuta figured he'd just have to do his best.

And maybe see if he could catch Mizuki-san in his room one of these evenings.

End

Foundations and Extensions

Mizuki studies the opposition, looking for the things he missed last time. Drama, I-3

Hajime now spent his afternoons in a library carrel, watching the video take from Prefecturals, making notes, assembling his observations like a hand of cards. He was starting to think that it wasn't his facts that had been wrong, exactly. They just hadn't been enough, and he'd been missing some pieces.

Especially some of those strange pieces that changed every time he looked at them.

Akazawa stopped by now and then, bringing him a bottle of water or offering a handful of chips from his bag, leaning on the back of Hajime's chair to watch the best clips.

"There." Hajime tapped the end of his pen against the screen, freezing it on a moment of Fuji Shuusuke pushing off sideways. "I thought so, when I had time to actually think again. He wasn't telling the truth about that being his strongest side. He is consistently slower to respond on that side; I had the pattern right."

"He was playing head games with you?" Akazawa bit down on another chip, thoughtfully. "I suppose that does seem like him."

"Psychological games, definitely." Hajime leaned back, crossing his arms. "He wasn't entirely lying, though, either. That side got stronger, as he needed it to." He frowned, twining a lock of hair around his finger while he turned over his handful of facts, trying to fit them together. "I think..." He gritted his teeth and finished. "I think no one has ever truly pushed him. The close games he's had... they were close the way the one with me was. Because he let them be." And he was going to turn that result around if it was the last thing he ever did. If Fuji thought it was safe to toy with him like that, Hajime would show him differently. Surely Fuji's penchant for holding back and his arrogant assurance could be a weakness in and of themselves.

They had to be.

Akazawa grunted. "That's a hard kind of player to predict."

Hajime sniffed. "The only thing about that entire team that's predictable, so far, is that they will all pull out something no one has ever seen before when they are pushed." Which was an odd kind of variable, but once he saw it he could work with it. "My new team will have to focus very intensely on strength and endurance training in order to keep up."

"Well, I guess we'll have to hope St. Christopher has people willing to work."

Hajime paused in reaching for the next tape, not looking around. "You've decided?"

Akazawa chuckled. "If I didn't approve of what a ruthless bastard you are, I wouldn't have run the team for you this year. Let's do it."

Kisarazu was going back to Chiba; Yanagisawa wasn't sure he was going to go on in tennis; but that was all right. Two of them would be enough to start it. Hajime smiled. "We have three years."

And in that time he would find what he had missed, and they would win.

End

Palm to Palm

Mizuki comes across Yuuta practicing and they have words; and a match; and maybe another epiphany. Drama with Pre-Romance, I-3

Evening brought cooler air and fewer people, which suited Hajime just fine at the moment. He wanted to get his practice in without being questioned about why a third year was so concerned with such things. Only a few lights were on around the courts, not quite drowning out the clear, deep indigo of the sky. It was a lovely evening and he was in a good mood.

At least he was in a good mood up until the moment he saw that Yuuta was on the court before him, and lined up for the Twist Spin shot.

The ball sang off Yuuta's racquet, tore past an invisible opponent and climbed the fence. It was an excellent shot, and it made Hajime grit his teeth.

Using a shot that wore so hard on his body, Yuuta would never last three more years at this rate! What was the boy thinking? How was Hajime supposed to draw Yuuta back, year after next, if he went on like this?

Hajime stalked onto the court and snapped. "Yuuta-kun!"

Yuuta tried to stand up and spin around at the same time, and wobbled. "Mizuki-san!"

"What are you doing, using that shot during practice?" Hajime lectured. "There's more than just this season to think about, now. And why are you out here, anyway, you should be training weights at this hour."

"I was hoping to see you."

Hajime's brows rose. "... why?" Surely Yuuta had enough to keep him busy, taking over the club. And, unlike Hajime, Yuuta was the sort to throw himself headlong and absolutely into everything he did.

All right, maybe it wasn't so surprising he was still using that shot.

Yuuta scuffed a toe against the clay. "The coaches are good; their suggestions for exercises help a lot, with the club. But I feel like my personal training is really falling off." He looked up, eyes clear. "I was hoping you'd be willing to help me."

The corner of Hajime's mind that hadn't been entirely sure Yuuta wouldn't hold a grudge breathed out a sigh of relief. He buried that under his week-old sense of annoyance, though, and folded his arms, raking Yuuta up and down with a long look. "And how am I supposed to train someone who won't do as I say?"

"I do!" Yuuta protested. "Well, I mean... it wasn't..."

Hajime sighed and waved a hand to quiet him, mouth quirking. "Yes, yes, all right." Honestly, he knew perfectly well there was a difference between disobeying a tactical order and not sticking to a training regimen. Yuuta had never once slacked on his training.

He also knew it would take Yuuta several more minutes to articulate that. If Hajime's weapon was forethought, Yuuta's was intensity, and subtlety was generally a bonus for him.

This was a good opportunity to set his hand on Yuuta's training again, though. "Come along, then." He pulled out his racquet. "Play a set with me so I can see how it's affected your game."

He watched, as they played. Yuuta had judged correctly; there was a starting spring missing from his footwork, an edge of power missing from his shots. He was still magnificent—the best Hajime had ever trained. But he could be better, and, knowing that, Fuji Yuuta would never rest.

They'd agreed on that from the beginning.

He nodded to himself, at the last point, and came to extend his hand over the net, as usual. "All right. Double your running time to start with." He paused, less for real thought than to get more of his breath back; even off his peak, Yuuta was strong. "I'll stop by tomorrow evening to adjust your weights."

Yuuta nodded, still sharp despite the sweat sticking his shirt to him, and shook Hajime's hand once, quick and firm. "Yes, Mizuki-san." He tucked his chin down for a moment before glancing up and adding. "Thank you."

"Just focus on getting stronger," Hajime directed. And then he frowned, remembering. "And stop using the Twist Spin during practice. Really, you shouldn't use it even in official matches until after your next growth spurt."

Yuuta looked down, and Hajime felt the hand in his tense. "I know," Yuuta said, quietly. "I was listening to everything, last weekend. Tonight I was testing to make sure I'd recognize that kind of strain." He opened his mouth to add something and then closed it again, chewing on his lip.

In the back of his mind, where the truth lived, Hajime thought that he really didn't understand Yuuta. Yuuta's forthright passion was something he didn't think he'd ever felt. He didn't understand why it wasn't driving Yuuta away from him, now that the harshness of Hajime's calculation was out in the open.

And yet, he was glad it wasn't. For one thing, it was surely good for Yuuta to temper that enthusiasm with at least a little considered judgment, which he was clearly starting to do. For another...

Well, never mind that.

"I have longer term plans in mind, now, than I have this past year," he said at last.

Yuuta's hand relaxed and he looked up with a faint smile. "Okay."

The clarity of those grey eyes stole Hajime's thoughts for a moment, before he shook himself and fished out another ball. "Well, come on, then. One more set, since you're out here."

As Yuuta fell back to the baseline, Hajime told himself not to think foolish things. Personal interest, even in someone with Yuuta's brightness, had absolutely no place in his search for perfection. None at all.

Surely not.

End

Ace, King

Yuuta tries to decide how it's going to be between he and Mizuki from now on. Drama with Pre-Romance, I-3

Yuuta worked through his last set of repetitions and let the bar clank back down to rest, sprawling over the bench as he caught his breath. He grinned up at the ceiling, satisfied with the feeling of burning muscles and heaving lungs. This was the feeling he remembered, the feeling of driving right up to the edge of his strength and endurance and staring the limit down. The feeling of advancing.

The feeling Mizuki-san gave him.

He sighed a little and reached for his towel, levering himself up. He wished Mizuki-san had had a better match with Aniki. Not that it hadn't been an amazing match, of course, but... neither of them seemed nearly as happy with it as he and Echizen had been with their match. He didn't like thinking that maybe Mizuki-san didn't know what it was like to just play. Play all out, play your best, and feel satisfied that you had. It had been so fantastic! Did Mizuki-san never feel like that? If he didn't, it made the way he played seem really cold. Cold and distant.

And, yeah, losing sucked, but that was what training was for, right? So you could win next time. Only it seemed like Mizuki-san didn't think so.

Or hadn't thought so. Mizuki-san said things had changed.

Yuuta really hated not knowing whether he could trust that.

He leaned over the sink in the changing room, splashing water on his face more vigorously than necessary. Mizuki-san was the one who showed him a way to stand on his own—a way to respect himself. And, yeah, he'd order people to run until they dropped, and practice moves until you did them in your sleep, and dissect mistakes in chilly and excruciating detail. Mizuki-san had always been three times as demanding as the coaches, and pretty damn merciless. But Yuuta liked that. He didn't want mercy; he wanted to be the best.

Of course, he also wanted to keep being the best for more than one season. Hard to do that with a busted shoulder.

Mizuki-san said it wasn't like that anymore. He had told Yuuta to stop with that shot.

Yuuta leaned his elbows on the counter, staring down at the trails of water running down white porcelain. He'd trusted Mizuki-san. Was it stupid that he still really wanted to?

"Ah, there you are. What was your lap time this afternoon?"

Yuuta started at the sound of Mizuki-san's voice behind him, and turned to find Mizuki-san standing in the door, brows lifted, foot tapping as Yuuta tried to remember the question. "Oh. Yeah, um, fifty-eight seconds."

"Hm." Mizuki-san folded his arms, dark eyes turning distant. "That should do. Increase the speed two notches, next time you practice with the ball machines." He paused in the act of turning away and looked more sharply at Yuuta. "How is the team doing?"

Yuuta blinked. "It's doing fine. We have a handful of good players already sorted out to work on."

"Hmm." Mizuki-san frowned. "Are your classes going well?"

"Yeah," Yuuta said, slowly, starting to wonder what the inquisition was for.

"Well then try eating better," Mizuki-san ordered. "You don't look well. It won't do either of us any good if you fall ill enough to affect your training."

Either of us.

Yuuta relaxed all at once. Mizuki-san was looking annoyed, not considering or sleek; he hadn't thought before saying that. He really did see Yuuta and Yuuta's plans, and not just himself and his own. "Yes, Mizuki-san."

Mizuki-san looked at him, unreadable, for a long moment before nodding. "Very well. Protein and then bed, Yuuta-kun." As he slid the door closed behind him he murmured, "Sleep well."

Yuuta smiled down at his hand-towel for no reason at all. "You too, Mizuki-san," he said, quietly.

End

Approaching Fineness

After watching Regional finals, Yuuta and Mizuki both have a new range on their goals. Drama with Romance, I-3

"...didn't think that doubles pair would hold out nearly that long!"

"I didn't think Aniki would hold out that long! I never thought you could play tennis blind like that."

"Or like that Echizen did. Did you see that jump?" Yanagisawa shook his head in amazement.

Yuuta snorted. "Since I'm not blind, yeah."

Hajime leaned back in his bus seat and half listened to them, eyes closed, letting numbers dance behind his lids. The rate of progress among Seigaku's second years was indeed very unusual. Fuji's breakthrough was a little less so, perhaps; if his new model was correct, then Fuji was just mining skills he'd already had.

Echizen, of course, broke all the curves he'd predicted, but that was, itself, starting to be predictable.

"Echizen is still in motion," he murmured. "He will not be entirely predictable until he stops, as Tezuka has."

After a moment of silence, Yuuta asked, slowly, "Does that mean Tezuka-san is actually the easier one to beat?"

Hajime smiled; observing the tournaments seemed to be doing good things for Yuuta's awareness of the mental game. That would be useful. "Indeed. In strategic terms, at least." He glanced over his shoulder at them. "You need the basic strength to carry out any plan to defeat him, but he is less likely to break the parameters than someone like Echizen."

"Yeah, but who's got the strength to beat Tezuka?" Yanagisawa asked, skeptical.

Hajime's mouth tightened. "Possibly no one," he admitted, grudgingly. "Yet." Any stable variable could be solved for.

"Yeah, but I'm not going to have a chance for another two years." Yuuta sighed, rather wistfully Hajime thought. "You guys will get him next year."

Hajime pursed his lips and said, reluctantly, "With a brand new team, perhaps not. Unless of course we can catch Seigaku again at Prefecturals." He might get lucky and find strong players who just happened not to have formed a club yet, but he'd be foolish to count on such a thing.

"So there you go, no one from our side will be taking Tezuka on before you catch up." Yanagisawa grinned at Yuuta. "If you do, I mean. You could go back to Seigaku for high school after all."

Hajime stiffened. He hadn't even thought of that. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that. Yuuta might... !

Yuuta growled. "Shut up, senpai."

Hajime tried to swallow sudden panic down out of his throat, as Yanagisawa snickered. "Do you... think you'll go on to St. Christopher, then?" He tried to sound careless; from the startled way Yuuta looked around at him he didn't think he quite succeeded.

"I'd pretty much planned to, yeah," Yuuta answered, a little tentative.

"I'm glad to hear it," Hajime said with generous understatement. "I shall plan for your arrival."

Yuuta smiled, relaxing again. "I thought you already were, Mizuki-san."

Hajime blinked. Yuuta had seen that, and he... didn't seem to mind. "I had hoped," he murmured, while he turned the thought over.

Yuuta nodded, looking satisfied. "So this year and next I'll concentrate on the team, and taking us just as far as I can, and the year after I'll meet up with my senpai again."

The way that knot in his chest eased, on hearing that Yuuta would follow him, made Hajime tense up in a different way. Yuuta was his ace player; Yuuta's game was excellent, and growing better; Yuuta's passion cast light around him, on the court.

And Hajime didn't want that passion to go away.

This... this was not what he had expected, when he'd found Yuuta at that tennis school and dangled St. Rudolph in front of him.

Was it a problem, though? He worried at the question as Yuuta and Yanagisawa discussed the new Regulars behind him. Perhaps he and Yuuta could just... balance each other nicely. That could work, on the courts as well as off. So perhaps it was all right to want.

To care.

He would try to make it be all right; because he didn't want to stop, now.

End

Heat Imaging

Yuuta plays some with Fuji and they wind up discussing Mizuki. Drama and Romance, I-3

Yuuta swung and missed again. "Damn!"

"As your opponent, I appreciate that, but you'd better not let Kaa-san hear you saying it," Aniki called across the net.

"I don't see Kaa-san here right now," Yuuta pointed out, swinging his racquet onto his shoulder. In fact, no one at all was here right now; they had found the most out of the way court at the least lively tennis school they could. Aniki obviously didn't want his new move scooped, and Yuuta really, really didn't want anyone to see them playing.

If anyone said anything about the genius, and, oh, his little brother too, he didn't think he'd be able to do anything but blow up at Aniki. Again.

Aniki chuckled and fished their water bottles off the bench, tossing Yuuta his. "You've improved since Prefecturals."

Yuuta grinned, pleased. "Yeah? Good." He took a long drink. "Mizuki-san's been helping me with my training schedule, but it's hard to be sure sometimes."

Aniki coughed and sputtered. "Mizuki? Yuuta you can't tell me you're still training with him!"

"Why not?" Yuuta blinked at his brother.

"Yuuta! He nearly crippled you!"

Yuuta snorted. "Oh, he did not. One hard match with that shot wouldn't have hurt me." He examined at his water bottle while Aniki stared at him. "A whole season might have. But it didn't happen."

"But it could have!" Aniki caught his shoulder, frowning. "Yuuta, please."

Yuuta squirmed. He'd kind of hoped not to have to discuss this with Aniki. "Mizuki-san is good at what he does, Aniki. And it's different now."

"Different how?"

Yuuta lifted his chin. "Different because I know what I'm doing, and he knows I do. And he has plans that need all his players in good shape." And Mizuki-san looked at him differently, too, which Yuuta wasn't going to say because he didn't know how to describe the difference. At least not so that Aniki wouldn't have a heart attack.

Aniki was quiet for a moment. "Do you really think he can teach you what you need, to play at the level you want to?"

Yuuta was quiet for even longer, struggling to find the right words. Finally he said, "I think determination and working hard enough can take us to the top. And you must think so too, Aniki, or you wouldn't be out here, coming up with new moves and trying them out on me. Mizuki-san makes everyone work harder than they ever thought they could. Including himself, now."

"There's working hard, and then there's destroying yourself." Aniki's eyes flickered, at that, though, and he looked away. "If you're sure," he said, finally.

Yuuta smiled a little, finger tracing around the cap of his water bottle. He'd admit, to himself, that sometimes he'd like it if Mizuki-san let go a little more, ran a little hotter. He couldn't help thinking that getting to the top needed some of that, too. But he was very sure that Mizuki-san wanted to win and was looking everywhere for ways. Maybe... maybe he could get Mizuki-san to see this one. And that way they could help each other. "Yeah. I'm sure."

Aniki sighed. "All right. I guess we already know you're more stubborn than I am." He lifted his racquet. "Once more?"

Yuuta grinned. "You bet! I'll catch that ball before we leave." Yuuta set himself, ready to throw everything into the game, the way he always did. It was just about his specialty—kind of the way calculation was Mizuki-san's.

Mizuki-san had showed him the way to grow and stand on his own; maybe now it was his turn.

End

Steel and Cypress

After watching the National semifinals, Mizuki wrestles with his ambitions and fears—at least until Yuuta gives him a push. Drama with Romance, I-4

Hajime lay on his bed with his arms crossed behind his head. To the absent Yuuta, he repeated, "Your brother really, really irritates me."

Fuji's match against Shiraishi had been magnificent. It had been a good match, unlike the one he'd had with Hajime. Fuji had found, not only determination, but passion. Passion that made him truly look like Yuuta's brother for the first time Hajime could recall.

Passion Hajime had never played with.

The understanding twisted at him, made him turn on his side and curl in on himself, trying to escape his own thoughts.

Did he need it? Was that really one of the pieces he'd been missing? Did he have to... to expose himself that way, to play at the top?

Yuuta did.

Fuji had.

He would be damned before he'd be less than Fuji Shuusuke.

A quick rap on the door interrupted his brooding, followed by Yuuta's voice. "Mizuki-san, did you see... Oops." Yuuta's voice dropped to a whisper. "Sorry."

Hajime turned over in time to see Yuuta tiptoeing back out the door and his mouth twitched up at one corner. "I'm not asleep," he said dryly.

Yuuta looked over his shoulder. "Ah? Oh, good then." He turned around again and came to bounce down in Hajime's desk chair. "Did you see the tape Akazawa-senpai got of some of the other matches?" Yuuta's eyes were a little wide. "Are all Nationals games really like that?"

Hajime turned over the various Nationals matches he had seen, in his head, marking the texture and intensity of them all. "Yes, I'm afraid so," he murmured.

"Wow." Yuuta sat back, eyes fixed on something besides the room around them. "That's amazing," he said softly. And then his focus snapped back to Hajime. "We can do it, though. Right, Mizuki-san?"

Hajime felt breathless, pinned by the burning-glass of that fierce, grey gaze. He had, in fact, little doubt that Yuuta could do it.

Could he?

Could he refuse?

"Yes." He closed his eyes. "Yes, Yuuta-kun. We will."

When he opened his eyes again Yuuta was smiling, brilliant and... somehow already triumphant. Hajime's mouth quirked. What a spot to put himself in, a sensible, logical person agreeing to go forward alongside this firebrand and push both of them to the edge and beyond.

All because he wanted Yuuta to look only at him, the way he was right now.

He sighed and leaned back on his elbows as Yuuta enthused about some of the shots he'd seen, mind already racing ahead in time, tracing the curve of his conditioning, mapping it steeper. He would climb that curve, and win. That was the important thing.

He would keep Yuuta beside him.

End

Percentage by Volume

Yuuta puts some work into repairing Mizuki's reputation among the St. Rudolph tennis club. Drama with Romance, I-3

When Mori looked at the new training menu and growled, "This is Mizuki's!" and the three first year Regulars actually looked alarmed, Yuuta knew he was going to have to do something drastic. He couldn't very well show up, year after next, at St. Christopher with these jokers in tow, still thinking Mizuki-san was demon-spawn. He and Kaneda might not be the only players the team needed.

"Wherever the exercises came from, the menu is mine," he said flatly, still hoping to head things off.

"He's screwed this club up badly enough already," Mori shot back, ploughing right over Yuuta's attempt. "Look how low our ranking was this year!"

Yuuta's eyes narrowed. "So, you think that was because of Mizuki-san's training?"

Behind the other two second years, Kaneda suddenly grinned and then tucked it away and looked sober. Yuuta caught his eye and winked, very quickly. Kaneda didn't lose it, but he did look like he was biting his tongue not to.

Mori, on the other hand, walked right into it. "Yeah, that's what I think!"

"Well, he's still training me, so why don't we see about that?" Yuuta pointed to all his Regulars, one after another. "Mori, Toriume, Arima, Miyamoto, Kimura, Ogata. You're all playing me, today." He showed his teeth as they all stared at him. "And I guess I'll finish up with Kaneda." Or else Kaneda would finish up him, if this went badly.

"Sure thing," Kaneda agreed, cheerfully.

Yuuta strolled out onto the nearest court, turning to look over his shoulder at Mori. "Well? Let's go! One set match, Mori. Your serve."

"You'll never be able to do it." Mori stalked back to serve.

"Guess we'll see," Yuuta murmured, setting himself.

Yuuta ordered his knees not to give out and gave his team a glare, hands on his hips. They stared back, most of them in shock, though Kaneda looked wry and Ogata had a speculative gleam in his eye. Yuuta had won all seven sets, though just barely from Ogata and Kaneda, and he really hoped he didn't die before he made it back to the dorms.

After all, he had to tell Mizuki-san how well training multiple sets had paid off.

"I didn't do that with any special skill or talent," he said, flatly. "I could do it because I've been working my ass off, according to a training schedule Mizuki-san made." He paused to let that sink in, and to catch his breath. "Now. Do you want to be able to do that?"

Ogata pushed away from the fence and stepped forward. "Yes."

Kimura grinned and joined him. "Yeah."

Arima chuckled and clapped a hand on Miyamoto's shoulder, and they stepped forward together.

"Sure looks like it paid off," Toriume allowed, and stepped up.

Mori growled. "Oh fine, all right." He frowned at Yuuta. "You're crazy, you know that?"

Yuuta leaned on a bench, laughing. "I think I've heard it said."

Kaneda took a long look at him and turned to the team. "All right, then, let's get on with practice proper. First the weights..."

Yuuta cautiously stretched his legs as Kaneda took the team in hand, and made a note to do something nice for his vice-captain. If he'd tried to actually lead practice today, he'd have fallen on his face for sure, and that wasn't quite the lesson he was trying to teach.

"That was foolish, Yuuta-kun," Mizuki-san told him that evening. "Surely there was another way to make your point." He tested the shaking of Yuuta's wrists with light fingers, looking disapproving.

"It worked," Yuuta defended himself.

"There was no need for it."

"I couldn't just let them spread it to the rest of the club," Yuuta insisted. "What would that mean two years on? Besides—" he broke off, biting his lip.

Mizuki-san raised his brows. "Besides?"

Yuuta swore at himself for slipping like that; he really did need to learn to watch his mouth one of these days. He looked down and muttered, "I don't like them talking about you that way."

"Yuuta..." Mizuki-san sounded startled. He looked startled, when Yuuta glanced up. Slowly startlement melted into a smile and his hand on Yuuta's wrist closed gently for a moment. "Thank you." And as quick as that he was brisk again. "But it won't do for you to strain yourself like this."

Grateful to get off without embarrassment, Yuuta nodded. "Yes, Mizuki-san."

He took the rest of the lecture fairly meekly, and folded the memory of Mizuki-san's smile away to take out and look at later.

End

A/N: Ogata and Miyamoto were created by Lys ap Adin, for St. Rudolph's next generation, and are used by permission.

Cold Fingers and Hot Drinks

Yuuta and Mizuki train with each other over the winter and find their way toward an understanding. Romance with Drama, I-3

Hajime's hands were cold.

He didn't bother telling himself it was because they were playing outside in the dead of winter. He knew better, and he did try not to lie to himself, at least.

He flexed his fingers around the handle of his racquet, breathing deeply, feeling the chilly air tingle in his lungs.

"Ready whenever you are, Mizuki-san!" Yuuta called cheerfully across the court. Hajime snorted.

"You're always ready," he called back. Before Yuuta could answer, before he could wind himself any tighter than he already was, he threw the ball up and served, hard and fast.

He watched Yuuta catch it, watched Yuuta like a hawk and stooped on the ball as it came back again. And again. And again. The ball would not get away from him; today he would not let it, no matter what. He heard Yuuta laugh, bright and exhilarated, across the net, felt the heaviness of the return straining at his arms and threw it back anyway.

This was terrifying.

Yuuta was a better player than he was. Not a better strategist or athlete or planner. But a better player; he had been for almost a year, now. And today, in defiance of all common sense and logic, Hajime was going to try to win an all-out match from him.

Again.

This was senseless. His hands would be shaking if the racquet wasn't keeping them busy and the ball keeping them steady. He watched and dashed and dove for the ball and always, always sent it back, and felt like he'd taken hold of a live wire and now electricity was running through him, snapping and spitting. He was drenched with sweat, even in the cold, and wondered with every breath if he could keep going.

When they reached six all he wondered if he could stop.

And today whatever fire or fate ruled games like these favored him. The last point was his. Yuuta met him at the net, grinning, nearly glowing. He didn't seem to mind Hajime's victory; he never seemed to.

Hajime was just grateful to get inside and sit down and breathe air that didn't seem to sparkle in his blood.

A clank, and the warmth of a can against his hand, brought him back to the world and he took the coffee Yuuta had brought him. "Thank you."

Yuuta sprawled on the bench beside him, opening his juice. After a moment he said, "You're getting better at that."

Hajime sniffed. "I can read a scoreboard." He knew he was getting better; that was half of what alarmed him. What if he let this passion, this openness, slip out at some other time and knock some delicate calculation or other awry? What if it ran away with him?

Yuuta smiled down at his drink. "I know. I just mean... it's really great to play against you like this."

Hajime regarded Yuuta ruefully. He sometimes wished he wasn't starting to understand that. "I know."

Yuuta traced a finger around the top of the can. "Mizuki-san..." Finally, softly, he said, "Thank you."

Hajime tried to breathe slowly past a sudden tightness in his chest. "For what?" he asked, lightly. All right, so he was, in significant part, doing this for Yuuta—Yuuta didn't know that.

Yuuta raised his head and looked back with such clear eyes that Hajime suddenly doubted his own thought. "For everything," he said, quiet and sure. "For all of this."

Hajime couldn't quite look away, and thought for one crazy moment that he would drown in that living grey. When he spoke, his voice was huskier than he had thought it would be. "Perhaps I should be thanking you."

Yuuta's eyes widened and red stole over his high cheekbones. "Mizuki-san."

One of them was going to have to look away, Hajime decided distantly. Otherwise they'd be here until full darkness fell to separate them. He traded one contact for another and reached out to rest his fingers on the back of Yuuta's hand as he closed his eyes and drew a breath and told himself to be sane.

Yuuta started. "Mizuki-san, your hands are freezing!"

"That," Hajime informed him with dignity, "is because I react like a normal person to winter: by getting cold." Unlike Yuuta, who just seemed to get more bounce in his step the chillier it got outside.

It was his turn to start as Yuuta took his fingers and chafed them between his hands. "You should have said." Yuuta wrapped Hajime's hand back around his still-warm can of coffee.

Hajime hauled his breath back under his control and laughed softly. "Well, there was something outdoors I wanted." He was secretly delighted to see Yuuta color again. Yuuta was so transparently sincere; it was enough to enchant a person, really.

Yuuta resettled his shoulders and lifted his chin. "So. You wanted another game, then?"

Hajime blinked at the riposte and finally laughed out loud.

"Yes, Yuuta. Perhaps I do."

End

Polarization - Part Two

Watari finally succeeds in becoming a woman, and Tatsumi finally finds out why he wanted to so badly. And why Enma is so upset about it. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-4

- Note: Part Two involves explicit het sex between Tatsumi and Watari; if this is not your cup of tea, you can read parts One and Three and still get most of the plot.

Watari—and he rather liked Yuma's suggestion of Yutako, it was cute—was charmed by how courtly Tatsumi was suddenly being. He held her hand to balance her while she slid off her shoes—honestly, something would have to be arranged about that, surely they didn't have to be so uncomfortable—and slipped the lab coat off her shoulders and hung it up for her. If they hadn't translocated directly in, he'd probably have held the door for her, too.

But she did hope he'd get on with things; it wasn't inconceivable that Enma would send someone to fetch and quarantine him early.

She relaxed a bit when Tatsumi took her hand and led her to the bedroom, pointing out a chair-back she could hang her clothes over. She wriggled out of the snug, linen suit Wakaba had found for her—definitely needed to take Saya and Yuma up on the offer to shop for underthings—taking the opportunity to grin over her victory. Her well proportioned victory, at that.

A soft snort made her look up to see Tatsumi smiling faintly. "You and your experiments," he said. "You're like Tsuzuki with a whole box of pastry all to himself."

Watari shrugged. Since he couldn't stop grinning, he couldn't really deny it.

Tatsumi set his hands lightly on her waist and drew her close and kissed her; it was soft and a bit hesitant, and very nice. The way her nipples felt, brushing against the skin of his chest was even nicer—warm and tingly. "Mmmmm." Watari snuggled closer and laughed when Tatsumi started. "No need to be shy, you know."

"I see," Tatsumi murmured. He led her over to the bed and settled them both on it, leaning a little over her. Watari thought the concentration on his face was endearing, as he stroked a gentle hand down her body. The softness of her new curves felt good, when touched. Voluptuous—he tasted the word in his head; yes, that was it. Tatsumi's hand brushed lightly over her thighs and she spread them apart, nearly wriggling with anticipation. Insurance and research all in one, what could possibly beat it?

"Hm." Tatsumi gave her a thoughtful look, and she was going to ask why, but he bent his head and left a path of soft kisses between her breasts and down her stomach and that was rather distracting.

"Mm. Ooo, that's nice." It got a lot moreso when his fingers brushed gently between her legs, parting soft folds of skin.

She was busy cataloguing the way that touch made shivery feelings swirl low in her stomach, and almost missed what it meant that she could feel the heat of his breath against her down there.

Her eyes widened and her breath caught and for a moment she couldn't even sort out what the sensation was that was rolling over her like a tide. A quick gasp, hands catching at the sheets, and she remembered that these feelings were "wet" and "soft" and "hot" and "sliding", only those parts added up to a whole that was something else entirely.

Pleasure.

Pleasure, surging out from that one point, out to her toes and fingertips. Pleasure making her feel that her whole body must be glowing with it. Pleasure drawing little sounds out of her throat, making her body move, leaving her with no thoughts but "hot" and "wet" and "sliding" and "soft".

And "more".

Heat condensed down to something molten and surged out again, long, wild ripples of it that left Watari blinking at the ceiling, rather dazed.

Tatsumi was stroking his body again, holding him close. "Now will you relax a little? However your body is arranged, you aren't going to enjoy this if you don't relax, and I have objections to hurting my partner."

"I'm plenty relaxed," Watari pointed out, and added, "The difference may not actually be quantifiable. How curious."

It took him a moment to figure out why Tatsumi had buried his head in the pillow.

"No, no, really I am relaxed!" She waved her hands. "It's just..." She laughed. "I'm still me, Tatsumi."

Tatsumi lifted his head again and looked down at her, mouth curling. "Yes. You certainly are."

"And I don't actually think I'm a virgin," she added, helpfully. "The equations indicate there has to have been some conservation of age and time's effects on the body."

Tatsumi cleared his throat, and she was fascinated to see actual color rising in his face. That deserved a data point all to itself—making Tatsumi blush.

"I'm glad to hear that."

She figured he probably started stroking her again to distract her, but that was okay; it certainly felt good. He wriggled a bit , pressing into Tatsumi's hands, and wound her arms around his neck to pull him down to a kiss. "Mmmm, more."

"You're normally more patient when it comes to your experiments," Tatsumi noted, dourly, and Watari grinned; he liked it when Tatsumi loosened up enough to tease him.

"I am; but timing is everything, you know."

Tatsumi snorted, but he did kiss her back, and his fingers slid down between her legs again. Watari's eyes unfocused as those fingers eased into her and she tried to mark the sensations spilling past. "Mmm. Ooo, shivers. Mm, oh that's nice—kind of tingly..."

The slight vibration against her arm, she catalogued as Tatsumi trying to stifle a chuckle.

And actually maybe it was a good thing he was going slowly, because while Watari was sure she wasn't a virgin, she was turning out to be very tight. An equation describing the interference function of experiential conservation in muscles that had been configured differently danced across her mind and dropped into the Examine Later memory-box. "Ahh, a little deeper... yes, there..." Watari's hips tilted, back arching, as the sharp stretch eased into glowing heat. "Mmmm, Tatsumi, now."

Tatsumi was wearing a faint smile as he settled between her legs, and Watari smiled back. When Tatsumi had asked why him, it had really been a silly question. Who else was this kind? Besides, Tatsumi was confident enough to help her without repercussions to himself, and he... he...

He felt smooth and thick inside her, and the slide as he moved was so slick and wet it took her breath right away, and she could feel the bones of his shoulders under her hands as they closed tight, and he was all the way in and it made her moan.

Her hips pressed up to meet him as he thrust again, and Watari sighed with pleasure. "Yeah." She slid her hands down the length of Tatsumi's back and pulled him in tighter, moaning as their hips ground together and a bolt of heat zinged up her spine.

The rhythm was familiar. The sound of her partner gasping wasn't any different. The pleasure itself was deliciously familiar. But the pattern of the hot sensations was so different—did distribution have anything to do with quality?—and it felt so good she couldn't concentrate, only wind her legs around Tatsumi's and rock up into him hard and fast.

Clearly they'd have to experiment a lot more...

That shivery drawing-down feeling welled up in her again, and she gasped as pleasure tightened and the world crystallized. And then it surged out like something exploding and she gasped wildly for breath, riding the fierce sensation until it ebbed back and she could pick out individual parts and realize that Tatsumi was moaning, hips jerking against her.

She stroked his chest, smiling as he slowly relaxed too. "Mmm. That was nice."

Tatsumi laughed, husky, rolling over to lie beside her. "It was." He picked up her hand and dropped a light kiss on her fingers. "Thank you."

"No, no, thank you!" Watari couldn't quite manage a laugh, though, as she remembered all of why she was doing this. She hoped it would be enough.

It had to be enough.

When Tatsumi slid an arm around her and held her against his shoulder, she let him, and even cuddled closer.

TBC

Polarization - Part Three

Watari finally succeeds in becoming a woman, and Tatsumi finally finds out why he wanted to so badly. And why Enma is so upset about it. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-4

Watari left the offices at quarter to twelve the next day and walked steadily out the door, looking straight ahead.

Tatsumi lasted perhaps five minutes.

And then he left, too, holding his bento prominently to stave off questions about why, and locked himself in one of the soundproof library viewing rooms. He gathered into his palm the tiniest thread of shadow he could weave and sent it sliding down halls and walls and under the door of Enma-daiou's audience room.

He suspected he'd get a lot worse than a docked paycheck if he was found out, but the tightness around Watari's eyes and the tension of her mouth were more than he could ignore. He liked most of his co-workers, even when they were being idiots or breaking expensive things, but Watari...

Watari was the only one who laughed at him.

He heard the thud of heavy doors swinging shut and then nothing for so long he wondered if Enma's power had somehow closed out his shadow.

"So," Enma's voice finally rumbled.

"You wanted to see me," Watari stated. "Here I am."

Tatsumi could imagine Watari spreading her hands demonstratively, and probably turning around just to show off everything.

"You have unfitted yourself for your purpose." Enma's voice was clipped. "This does not speak well for your dedication to your work, Golden Bird."

"It wasn't my work, or my purpose," Watari shot back, fearless as if she merely faced Konoe.

Now Enma sounded surprised. "Of course it was your work! The entire project is based on your discoveries and calculations." A sly, coaxing edge slipped into his tone, one that made Tatsumi bristle to hear. "Surely you want to see if you were right? To carry the experiment through to the end and see the final culmination of Mother? To have your brilliance vindicated before all?"

Watari was silent for long enough to alarm Tatsumi. He knew how Watari was about his damn experiments...

"No," Watari whispered, at last. "Because I wouldn't see. I wouldn't know. If the Golden Bird of the Sun and the Jade Hare of the Moon combine the way you want, to make Mother complete... I will be gone."

"You agreed to that once already."

The simple, factual tone of Enma's statement horrified Tatsumi more than anything ever had before, bar seeing Tsuzuki bleeding out in the midst of black flame.

"I agreed to give my mind, and my body." He could imagine Watari standing straight, chin lifted. "Not my soul."

"Is there a difference in our world?"

Oddly, the next thing Tatsumi heard was a sigh and a rustle. When Watari spoke, her tone made Tatsumi think of her running a hand through her hair. "Enma-daiou. I'm sorry. I know you want to escape. To give your throne and history to another and finally pass on."

"You know." Enma's voice was suddenly contemptuous. "You can't know, Golden Bird. I have been here since the beginning! The first human who died, caught in this... trap of the gods! Everyone passes on. Everyone but me."

"I know." Watari's voice was soft. "Mother contains your mind, and it was me they poured all that through in the first attempt. And yes, my calculations are almost certainly right; Mother could replace you, if it incorporated pure representations of Yang and Yin to give it eternal balance. But I will not be Yang to take your place." Her voice turned wry. "As you see, I am not a suitable representative anymore."

Enma's voice rumbled deeper than ever, heavy with anger and threat. "So, are you any use to me anymore?"

"Less use," Watari returned agreeably, just as if utter destruction wasn't hanging over her head. "But still some. As any other employee." A small sniff. "Any other employee who's a genius inventor, anyway. The only inventor," she added, "who might find another way."

A snort that could only be Enma. "Begone."

As the doors' thud echoed down his shadow again, Tatsumi exhaled and realized that his shirt was soaked with sweat and he was shaking with tension.

No wonder Watari had been tense last night, gambling for her soul's integrity on one roll of the dice!

Or, perhaps, on one roll, at any rate.

And her damn sense of humor was rubbing off on him, too.

Tatsumi translocated home to get a fresh shirt and a drink of water, and put his lunch in the refrigerator. He was certainly in no shape to eat anything now.

He was not entirely surprised to see that Watari, when she got back to the offices, gobbled her own lunch and half of Tsuzuki's in exchange for Watari's cupcakes. It was coming to him that Watari was in all ways astonishing.

It was the end of the day before Tatsumi managed to casually stop at Watari's desk. "So, you've succeeded with your transformation, the way you needed to," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Is it reversible?"

Watari's head jerked up to look at him with warm eyes startled blank. "Tatsumi..." Slowly she answered, "I expect the change can be made back. The experience will be with me forever, though."

"Ah. That's good," Tatsumi murmured. And then her wording caught up with him. "You expect? You don't know?"

"Well, I mean," she waved her hands as if to shape an answer out of the air. "It might reverse. Or it might not. That part isn't vital to the experiment!"

Tatsumi covered his face with a weary hand, trying not to laugh. It would be bad for his image, and it was only his image that preserved discipline in this mad office.

"Did you, um. Eat lunch, Tatsumi?" Watari asked. The undertone of her voice was a touch husky, and when Tatsumi looked up, she was watching him with a tangle of amusement and surprise and gratitude and... something he couldn't really name.

"No," he admitted.

"I could make you some dinner," she offered, properly off-hand if one wasn't looking at her eyes.

"Not in your lab," Tatsumi specified, on a last gasp of self-preservation.

She laughed, and it was altogether Watari's laugh, bright and guarded. But perhaps inviting the hearer to see if he could find his way past it.

And shadows, Tatsumi was reminded, went everywhere there was light.

End

Breadcrumb Trail

Relena doesn't like feeling helpless, and decides to do something about it. Drama, I-3

Her earliest memory was of fire.

Sometimes she thought she truly remembered the words that came after it, and sometimes she thought she must have imagined them later, knowing that something like them must have been said. She was really to young to remember or understand, then. But they were always the same, when they echoed in her mind.

"It will be safer if I take the Princess."

"No! She stays with me."

"But sir, they'll be looking for two children—"

"I will protect my sister."

She was sure that the memory of her brother's arms tight around her, refusing to let go, was a true one. Onii-san wasn't good at letting go. She was old enough to remember most of the arguments he'd had with their guardian. Especially the last one, when she was eight.

"What would your father and mother think?"

"It doesn't matter what they would think, they're dead! And I will bring down the ones who killed them, no matter what!"

"But a pilot... OZ only trains pilots, you must know that."

"Of course I know it, that's why I need to be there. Mobile Suit pilots go everywhere. Besides, OZ accepts cadets younger than anyone else."

Yes, Onii-san was very good at not letting go. Of course, sometimes Onii-san wasn't very good at logic.

"You did it. Why shouldn't I?" Relena glared at her brother across the table.

"Because you're my sister!" he said, as though that was any kind of argument. "I did this to protect you, Relena. I don't want you being involved in fighting!"

She set her cup of tea down onto the table with a definite clink, just about out of patience. "I was involved when I was two, Onii-san! I've been involved all my life." She bit her lip, trying not to cry. "I don't want to be helpless anymore, can't you understand that?"

"Oh, Relena. I'll keep you safe, I promise." He came around the table and knelt by her chair, strong arms folding around her. It was comfort and safety and home... and it wasn't enough anymore. She threw her arms around him and squeezed him as tight as she could, and pushed him a little away.

"Onii-san. I'm going to join OZ too. I've already applied and been accepted." She wiped her eyes and firmed her mouth, looking straight on into wide eyes one shade lighter than her own.

He sat down on the floor with a thump. "...accepted?"

"Yes." She crossed her arms and frowned a bit. Did he think she wasn't good enough to have been accepted?

Milliardo rubbed a hand over his face, muttering. All she could make out was "...going to talk to Treize..." At last he looked back up at her, frowning in turn. "I'd hoped that—" he bit his lip. "Well, that you might be the one to keep our parents' ideals alive."

Onii-san really, really wasn't good at logic sometimes.

"Peace would be nice, but we haven't got it, have we?" she asked. And then she looked down at her laced hands. "Besides, I'm not Relena Peacecraft. I'm Relena Merquise. I'm the Lightning Baron's sister." He flushed and she snorted. "Thought I wouldn't hear that one? Onii-san," she leaned forward and grabbed his hands urgently, "I want more than just me to be safe. I want to help. Isn't that what our parents would want too?"

"I..." He didn't look like he'd really thought of that. After a long moment he said, softly, "I can hope so."

She nodded firmly. "Right. So I'm going to be a pilot and I'm going to do something."

Her brother sighed, laughing a little helplessly. "I think you got all of Chichiue's stubbornness genes."

Relena smiled impishly. She could live with that.

They had a quiet dinner together that night, and didn't argue any more, and Relena held her brother's hand all the way to the gates of the training base the next morning.

End

See and Raise

Mizuki comes to see Yuuta play; so does Fuji; a little silent competition ensues. Drama with Romance, I-3

Hajime nodded to himself thoughtfully as St. Rudolph's match with Rikkai was called. In a way it was a compliment, that Kirihara had seen the threat Yuuta was early on and played his best to defeat Yuuta. He doubted Yuuta wanted to hear that yet, but he filed the thought away for later, when they planned out St. Rudolph's next training push. He had little doubt, after all, that Yuuta's team would still be going to Nationals, once the consolation matches were played.

For now he just waited under the trees as the spectators wandered off and the players clustered around their captains. He couldn't hear what Yuuta was saying, but the energetic gestures told him it was probably encouraging. And emphatic. He smiled, leaning against the smooth trunk behind him. He'd never really taught Yuuta anything about managing people; he'd never had to. The only person Yuuta couldn't seem to manage on instinct was...

Hajime's brows rose as Fuji came down the stands to speak to Yuuta. Apparently he wasn't the only one who had left off observing the high school Regionals to come watch this match.

Yuuta waved his team off to get on with packing their equipment and ran a hand through his hair as he turned to his brother. Hajime watched narrowly, poised to move forward; this was a delicate moment for team morale and Fuji had better not upset Yuuta in front of his players.

He watched as Yuuta made a tight, frustrated gesture, turned away from his team so they wouldn't see it. Fuji moved closer; it looked like he was trying to calm Yuuta down, and Hajime snorted. He wished Fuji all the luck in the word with that. Yuuta wasn't a calm sort of person. Sure enough, Yuuta's mouth went tight; Hajime could see it from where he stood.

He could also see the wry tilt to Fuji's mouth and the cock of his head, as he laid a hand on Yuuta's shoulder and said something serious. Whatever it was, it worked. Yuuta's shoulders settled a bit and he folded his arms loosely, not tight the way he did when he was upset.

Hajime snorted and pushed away from his tree and started down the stands himself. Fuji had had his family togetherness moment, and now he could just leave Yuuta to Hajime to get on with things.

Fuji saw him coming first, over Yuuta's shoulder, and his eyes flashed for a moment. Hajime let his own narrow; he wasn't the interloper, here. "Yuuta," he murmured as he came level with them.

Yuuta turned with a sudden smile. "Hajime-san! I didn't think you'd be here."

"For your Semifinal match? Of course I came." Hajime smiled back, lightly, watching Fuji stiffen just a bit on hearing the way Yuuta spoke the familiar form of Hajime's name. Hajime shifted a step closer to Yuuta, close enough to feel the heat of Yuuta's bare arm against his. Fuji now looked rather frozen.

That was gratifying, but not nearly as gratifying as it was when Yuuta turned toward him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be standing so close for everyone to see. Hajime's smile softened as the brightness of Yuuta's eyes wrapped around him. "I wanted to be ready for what your team might need after this. Of course I had to see you play." And if those two statements weren't quite as connected as he made them sound, no one but the two of them had to know.

He started a little when Fuji spoke; for a moment he'd actually forgetten anyone else was present.

"Well, it looks like you have things to take care of, Yuuta. Are you still coming home next weekend?"

"Oh, yeah." Yuuta waved. "Tell everyone I'll see them then, okay?"

"Of course." Fuji gave Hajime a hard look. "Mizuki."

"I'm sure I'll see you later, Fuji-kun," Mizuki purred and smiled smoothly as Fuji stalked back up the stands.

It was so good to win.

"Hajime-san?" Yuuta was looking at him curiously.

Especially when he'd won someone as frankly astonishing as Yuuta. Hajime brushed discreet fingers down Yuuta's arm as he turned back. "We can discuss my notes later; I imagine you'll want to take your team home."

Yuuta's mouth quirked. "Yeah. I want to make sure no one gets too off track while we've still got another match to go."

As was only right. "Perhaps I'll visit later this evening, then," Hajime suggested, and had to supress a shiver at the way Yuuta's eyes warmed.

"I'd like that."

Hajime watched for a moment as Yuuta moved back to his team, marshalling them to depart. Yuuta had chosen him. And whenever he remembered that he wondered if he would ever have a better victory.

End

The Evening and the Morning

Yuuta is down, after Nationals, and Mizuki prods him out of his end-of-the-world gloom. Drama with Romance, I-3

Hajime's shoulder brushed Yuuta's, every now and then, as they walked in the suspended light of dusk. Yuuta walked silently, watching his feet on the pavement, and Hajime glanced at him every now and then, waiting for the right moment to speak, himself.

Finally, he decided there wasn't going to be one if he didn't make it and discreetly nudged Yuuta left at the next corner. "So, who's taking over the team now?" he asked.

Yuuta twitched, half a flinch, and Hajime stifled a sigh.

"Ogata," Yuuta finally answered, voice lower than usual. "I thought maybe Kimura, but Ogata is better at long-term thinking." A faint smile. "And he can growl and snap with the best; he just doesn't do it very often. It'll be a good change of pace for the club."

Hajime turned them north again and nodded. "It's good that you think of these things, as you leave them." Glancing over at Yuuta, he could see Yuuta's jaw clench for a moment. One more push, he decided; but it would have to be the right one. "It was a good team this year. You brought each other further than anyone else could have." He paused for a measured, contemplative moment. "With the possible exception of Mori-kun."

A snort of laughter broke through Yuuta's increasing gloom. "Mori is a pain in the ass."

"Well, all things can be useful. Mori-kun is good leadership practice. Think of him as a variety of resistance weight," Hajime advised.

This time, Yuuta's laugh was quicker, brighter. "Tell me I never gave you and Akazawa-san that much trouble?"

"You were your very own brand of trouble," Hajime informed him serenely. And then he smiled, taking Yuuta's arm to steer him though a green fence of cypress trees. "But one I'll be very pleased to have back."

Yuuta stopped short, looking out over St. Christopher's courts, which they had come out at the back of. "Oh," he said, very quietly, eyes wide.

Hajime nodded to himself, pleased with this change of expression. And luck favored him today, because Yanagisawa was out alone, practicing against the wall of the club offices, and noticed them.

"Yuuta!" Yanagisawa batted the ball down and caught it and waved. "Look who's eager! Here to start with your new team already?"

"I, um..." Yuuta's eyes were still wide, and Hajime's fingers itched to stroke his arm, to make some kind of contact and soothe Yuuta. But the point of this exercise was to for Yuuta to let this season go on his own. "I guess so," Yuuta finally said, softly, and Hajime smiled.

Yanagisawa trotted over and rumpled Yuuta's hair vigorously. "Good!" He leaned back, hands on his hips. "And you know," he added, abruptly serious, "that was really good, taking your team that far in Nationals. Really good."

Yuuta looked down at his feet again for a moment, but finally nodded. "I guess so." When he looked up his eyes were fierce and bright again. "We'll do better next year."

Yanagisawa grinned. "Of course we will." And then he grinned wider, and Yuuta braced himself, on pure reflex as far as Hajime could see. "So, you guys doing a double date or something? I saw Akazawa and Kaneda going by just a little while ago..."

Yanagisawa ducked and laughed as Yuuta dove for him, red-faced and growling, and Hajime shook his head ruefully. Things were definitely getting back to normal. A new kind of normal, perhaps. He caught Yuuta on his way past and twined their fingers together, smiling.

They would most definitely do better, this time.

End

Irrigation

Soi is worn out from work and Yoruichi comes to visit. Drama with Fluffiness, I-3

Soi sank to the floor by her writing desk with more of a thump than she would have permitted herself anywhere but her own rooms. Her eyes slid wearily over the report that she had left half-written, there; she should finish it tonight. Well, perhaps another paragraph, at least. She rubbed the back of her hand over eyes that insisted on drooping.

Perhaps she'd feel better after she got out of uniform.

She managed to knot the ties of her yukata decently and got about half way through undoing one of her braids before she ran out of energy again.

"Look who's wilted! Will it help if we put your feet in water?"

Soi jumped half out of her skin, but didn't make it more than a few inches around before her visitor wrapped an arm around her shoulders from behind, laughing in her ear. Soi slumped. "Yoruichi-sama," she murmured. Strike one more set of intruder tell-tales that obviously didn't work well enough.

"Your hair will snarl if you leave it like that," Yoruichi-sama told her, plucking the half-unraveled braid out of Soi's fingers. Soi blushed a little, but sat meekly while Yoruichi-sama undid her hair with swift, warm hands. "What's going on that's got you so worn out?"

"What isn't?" Soi sighed, brushing her fingers over the pages of her report. "It almost seems like..." she bit her lip.

Yoruichi-sama reached past her for her comb. "Hm?"

"Like the Captain-General is losing control," Soi finished, softly. She didn't like the thought; it meant that she must have failed in her duty. But... "Some of the Captains are getting very involved in politics," she admitted. "And nothing has stopped them. Not warnings, not lectures, not keeping them busy with assignments. I haven't been ordered to act against them directly, but..." She twisted her fingers together in her lap.

"If you're ordered to do that, it will mean war within Soul Society, worse than last time." The flat tone in Yoruichi-sama's voice contradicted the gentle stroke of the comb through Soi's hair. "And the Captain-General has no right to give you such an order without the decision of the Forty-Six. The Onmitsukidou are not under him."

"Does it count if it's the decision of the Sixteen?" Soi asked, bitterly. And then bit her lip again; that wasn't becoming to her position...

Yoruichi-sama chuckled, and patted her shoulder. "Exactly. You're learning, girl."

Soi ignored the tug of the comb to turn and give her superior a scolding look. "Yoruichi-sama..." But Yoruichi-sama only grinned, teeth gleaming in the dusk, and Soi sighed. "And then there's Kuchiki," she added, one exasperation reminding her of another.

"Which one?" Yoruichi-sama pushed her back around and resumed combing, separating Soi's hair to make a single braid.

"Both of them!" Soi glared at the wall, aggravated. "But Rukia mostly. I just don't know what she's doing."

"Getting pregnant?" Yoruichi-sama suggested. Soi could hear the smirk. "Has to happen sooner or later, with those two."

Soi sniffed. "Everything but that, it seems." She ticked off on her fingers. "She's been confirmed as the vice-captain of Thirteenth Division, and is still training hard, though at least half of it is in private. She goes for tea, or sake more likely, with Shiba Kuukaku every few weeks, and that's where she met the Commander of the Kidoushuu; they seem to be getting along famously. She's studying our law, of all things, with her brother, though I can't get anyone close enough to tell how far she's gotten in it. And she still makes time to go out with the other vice-captains, and sometimes captains too, and for some reason she's trying to coax Nemu to join in." Soi threw up her hands. "It's like she decided she wants to do over her time in the Academy!"

"The advanced course, maybe," Yoruichi-sama murmured, plaiting Soi's hair snugly. "What's Byakuya doing to annoy you?"

Soi rubbed her eyes again. Yoruichi-sama's hands were soothing, and her eyes were starting to get heavy. "He's... just waiting. He must know, by now, that he's the most likely choice for Captain-General, when Yamamoto-san retires. That's the part that really makes me wonder what his sister is doing; and what he's thinking." She tried to stifle a yawn.

"There, now." Yoruichi-sama rested a hand on Soi's shoulder. "I said you were learning, didn't I?" The hand guided her firmly down, and Soi was sufficiently tired not to wonder too much about the odd lap-like shape her pillow seemed to have transformed into. Yoruichi-sama's hand, stroking her hair, lulled her into sleep even as she mumbled a protest about finishing her report...

Soi woke up when the sun from her open window started to shine in her eyes. Leaning up on her elbow she found that she'd been tucked up on her futon. And that Yoruichi-sama was gone again. And, as the breeze fluttered pages on her desk, that her report was completed.

At the end, in her own handwriting, was a suggestion that Hitsugaya Toushirou be considered for the position of Captain-General.

The new note, tucked under her inkstone, was in Yoruichi-sama's hand.

"That should confuse them all enough to slow them down. Hurry and catch up!"

Soi pressed the note to her cheek and smiled.

End

Braid Your Hair With Wind

Relena is in training and Zechs is distressed. In the background, Treize and Barton plan. Drama, I-2

Treize watched with some amusement as Zechs paced back and forth through his office, scowling at thin air, long hair fanning out at every turn. "I'd say you should check in on how her training is going and set your mind at ease," he offered, "but somehow, knowing you lovely sister, I feel sure she's threatened you with a dire fate if you do."

"She told me she'd get a training suit and step on me if she saw me," Zechs confirmed, glumly. "I really don't know where she got her temper from."

Treize manfully stifled the hoot of laughter that tried to break free. "Zechs," he said with great restraint, "your father was a pacifist, but he was not noted for his reserve, that I recall. And you must admit, you yourself have quite a passionate streak." Since this probably wasn't the moment to call it a stubborn streak.

"But she's my sister!" Zechs flung out both hands as if entreating the universe to witness the justice of his cause.

"Precisely," Treize said, dryly. He raised a soothing hand when Zechs turned to glower at him. "Look at what direct terms you're thinking in right now, my friend. Surely there are other ways to find out how she's doing than going and asking her yourself."

Zechs opened his mouth and then closed it, crossed his arms and hmphed. "Well. Perhaps." He gathered himself and gave Treize a dignified nod of farewell.

Treize chuckled as the door closed behind Zechs, and pulled Relena's file out from under the others on his desk. Her results so far were extremely encouraging, as was her choice to enter OZ in the first place. With both Peacecraft siblings in his hand, he might genuinely be able to recall the world to honor.

"Paul!" Relena flew light-footed down the hall to catch her fellow Cadet by the arm and steady him before he wandered into the wall again. "Are you sure you're all right?" She bit her lip. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to spin your unit that hard when I hit you!"

Paul grinned ruefully, bracing himself between her and the wall. "You should have; it's what we're training for right?" He shook his head and stopped quickly, wincing. "You've got the touch all right, Relena." He laughed. "Maybe we should just start calling you the Lightning Countess now, save time."

She rolled her eyes; she was starting to wonder whether she should have assumed a different name and tried to pretend she didn't have a brother.

"Need some help there?"

Relena looked up with relief into familiar, warm indigo eyes. "Zia-neesan!" And then she nearly died of mortification on the spot. "I mean! Pilot Noin." She came to attention, only slightly impeded by her grip on her listing classmate, trying to ignore the heat in her cheeks.

Zia-neesan chuckled. "That's right, Cadet Merquise." She was smiling, though, as she slung one of Paul's arms over her shoulder. "Let's get him down to the infirmary, shall we?"

"Yes ma'am," Relena said in a small voice.

There were times it really wasn't an advantage to have an older brother who had always brought his friends home to meet his little sister.

"How's training going?" Zia-neesan asked, kindly changing the subject as they steered Paul down the hall.

"Very well, ma'am." Relena eyed Paul, whose eyes were crossed. "Barring a few minor accidents now and then."

"Were you guys in the drop-shaft today?" Zia-neesan looked reminiscent when Relena nodded. "I remember that. Well, better to get the accidents out of the way there than once you're in suits."

Relena relaxed as they talked. It was good to talk to someone senior who wasn't a trainer, and someone who knew what she was going through who wasn't her brother.

"...so the entire rank went down like dominos except for Zechs, he hopped out of the way handily." Zia-neesan grinned. "Except he stepped on the Colonel's jeep coming down!"

Relena giggled helplessly, closing the infirmary door and leaning against it. "Oh! Poor Onii-san." Both of them hated to be awkward.

Zia-neesan ruffled her hair. "Anyway, you've probably got drill in a little while, right? Off you go. I'll see you around."

"Yes ma'am! Thank you ma'am." Relena trotted off, in a better mood than she'd been in all week. Zia-neesan was so nice; Onii-san was lucky to have her as a friend. Maybe more than a friend, if Relena was guessing right; she thought that might be good, too.

Maybe Zia-neesan would even be able to get Onii-san to take off that silly mask.

Zechs looked up as a tray clattered down beside his and half rose when he saw who had carried it. "Noin! How is she?"

Noin shook her head at him as she sat down. "She's doing just fine, Zechs. Knocked one of her classmates for such a loop, today, I had to help drag the boy down to the infirmary. I think you're worried for nothing."

"She did?" Zechs blinked. He was still having a hard time reconciling the idea of his sweet little sister with the idea of a mobile suit pilot.

"She did." Noin stabbed her meatloaf, possibly to make sure it was really dead. "And I stopped by Sergeant Froud's office on my way back. He thinks she's going to be a natural. Says she keeps a very cool head in all the exercises. Went on about how it must be in the blood."

Zechs winced.

Noin bumped his shoulder with hers. "Relax, all right? If she's good she's that much more likely to stay alive."

Noin had, Zechs reflected ruefully, a very hard practical streak. "Thank you for looking in on her," he murmured.

"My pleasure. I always wanted a little sister." Noin smiled brightly.

Zechs decided he'd better just let that one lie, and took another forkful of green beans.

"Have you seen this?" Quinze waved a report at Dekim. "There's apparently more than one where Merquise came from!"

"So?" Dekim frowned; sometimes he thought Quinze was far too excitable for their line of business.

"So, what if the second one is as good as the first? Should we be thinking about pushing up the timing, here?"

"We will continue as planned. If there are two, we'll kill both of them."

"Yes, but..."

"And if that doesn't work," Dekim continued firmly, "we'll find another way until something does. I'm not going to let those Alliance bastards strangle the lifeblood of the Colonies forever. And neither will anyone else among us."

Though he did seem to be the only one who truly understood contingency planning. Or the fact that the life of the Colonies was, and always would be, money. Ah well.

"Well... I suppose so."

"Don't worry, Quinze," Dekim sighed. "You've seen the quality of our weapon. Do you think he's going to hesitate to kill anyone in his way?"

Quinze relaxed at that. "Of course not."

"Of course not," Dekim agreed with a smile.

The plans were all good, and the primary plan was going better than well. Their weapon would do exactly as he was told, and everything would fall neatly into place.

Right where Dekim Barton wanted it.

End

Lignin

Loosely based on the Five Stages of Love prompt. Yukimura and Sanada, over the years. Drama with Romance, I-3, manga continuity

Seed (Attraction)

Seiichi ran his eye over Rikkai Dai middle school's tennis courts, judging them. The other first years clustered together, most chattering and excited. The knots of older members were more aloof, a few of them already rallying on the far courts. He noted the calm ones, the ones who knew enough to watch quietly, and his lips quirked at the few senpai who knew enough to watch him.

Ah. There.

He moved over to the wall and let his bag drop beside another's. "Sanada. It's good to see you here."

"Yukimura." Sanada nodded a greeting, turning from his own contemplation of their new club to focus on Seiichi. "You chose Rikkai also, then."

"It's the best." And that was all that really needed saying. Seiichi nodded toward the rest of the club. "What do you think?"

Sanada crossed his arms, gazing across the courts again. "I'm glad you're here."

Seiichi threw back his head, laughing. "Yes. They're good, but we're better." He tipped his head, glancing sidelong at Sanada. "Shall we warm up?" And perhaps show the club who they were and save having to argue about it.

The gleam in Sanada's eyes answered him. "Yes."

Seiichi ignored the muttering as they took a court. He knew it would stop soon enough. Right now, he had one of his two best opponents from the entire Elementary circuit across the net from him and nothing mattered but the brilliance of the game.

When it ended, and they came to the net to clasp hands in the middle of the silent courts, they held on for a moment longer than usual. Satisfaction melted into agreement where their hands and eyes met, and Seiichi showed his teeth for a moment before they turned to face the club captain.

He and Sanada together would make this team something that had never been seen before.

Sprout (Romance)

Seiichi liked watching Sanada play, especially in tournament matches. The way he drove his opponents was artistry.

"You can't win with your strength!"

The next ball tore past the opponent's racquet, inches beyond the other boy's flustered reach.

Seiichi leaned on the rail next to Renji, smiling, eyes fixed on the proud straightness of Sanada's back. "Sanada's confidence makes such a strong weapon."

Renji's mouth curled. "Intimidation is most frightening when it's only the truth."

Seiichi laughed, stretching upright slowly, careless and relaxed. "It is, isn't it?"

Renji's eyes slid past his shoulder, measuring the reaction of the Shitenhouji players. "Not to mention it's a weapon you and Genichirou both enjoy using."

"As if you have any room to talk." Seiichi met Renji's eyes for a moment, dark and pleased.

"Well, perhaps," Renji allowed with a tiny smile.

Seiichi turned back to the court to see Sanada's last play, taking in the way he set himself, the clarity of his voice as he called the shot, the fierce focus in his eyes as he hit it. A frisson danced down Seiichi's spine at the beauty of that drive, pure and untouchable.

"Game and set!"

Seiichi drew in a slow breath, savoring the taste of their victory; he could already feel the weight of it in his chest, though there was still his match to go before the rest of the world knew it.

Sanada strode off the court and nodded to their captain before his eyes turned to Seiichi, questioning, challenging. Seiichi paused beside him, racquet in hand, and murmured, "You should be harder with them next time. Shall I show you?"

Sanada's even expression didn't flicker but the ferocity flared again in his eyes. "If you can."

Seiichi stepped out onto the court, head high, thrill singing in his blood, and prepared to do so.

Root (Intimacy)

Seiichi waved good night as Renji turned off onto his street. "So," he said, as he and Sanada continued on, "the club is ours now."

"Mm." Sanada glanced at him. "Are you going to bring in Kirihara?"

"Oh yes." Seiichi eyed his friend back, curiously, though. "You're that sure it will be me?" He had expected Sanada to hold out to the last.

Sanada was silent for a moment. "You will make a good captain for Rikkai."

Seiichi breathed out, slowly, and rested a hand on Sanada's arm. "Thank you." Sanada's fighting spirit commanded his respect the way few things did. Sanada's support would be priceless.

Sanada smiled a little and repeated, quieter. "You will be a good captain." His words said that only practicality made him accept it, but his tone said something more.

They were at Seiichi's turning and he let his fingers slide down Genichirou's arm as he stepped away. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"And we'll start making our third National win," Sanada agreed, nodding goodby.

When Seiichi looked back, halfway down his street, Genichirou was still standing at the turn, watching him.

Leaf (Passion)

Seiichi stood in the door of Sanada's practice room, looking out into the summer dark, listening to the snick and rustle behind him as Sanada put away his sword and started gathering up the dismemberd straw bundles. "You know we won't be able to play like that tomorrow," he said quietly.

There was silence behind him.

"Power is only a part of strength." Seiichi's voice sharpened. "You will not lose sight of that, Sanada."

"Not with you to remind me, I suppose."

Seiichi's mouth tightened with some exasperation as Sanada came to stand in the door beside him. "Stubborn."

Sanada chuckled, leaning against the frame. "Of course."

A corner of Seiichi's mouth twitched up; of course Sanada would take it as a compliment. "We will win," he stated, soft and dangerous.

Sanada's eyes glinted in the low lights as he turned to look at Seiichi. "Yes." The heavy, dark heat of the night curled around them. "We will."

Seiichi relaxed, letting go some of the fierce control that had kept him standing upright these weeks of retraining and planning. Sanada agreed with him; he didn't have to force this part to happen.

Sanada's mouth curled in answer. "Of course we'll win," he said quietly, words floating on the darkness. "It's what we are."

Seiichi felt the words catch fire inside him, the fire they shared to forge the team they had. The victories they had. It had always called to him. He tipped his head, considering the winter and the summer and the matches they would play tomorrow, and slowly reached out to close his fingers in Sanada's kendo gi.

Sanada laughed and stepped forward to meet him. They kissed in the doorway, mouths open against each other. Seiichi ran his fingers into Sanada's hair, eyes sliding half closed at the tightness of Sanada's hands on his hips, and growled low in his throat. Tomorrow he would have to be controlled, remember their strategies, not be swept away in the heat of the match.

Tonight, though, he could forget all of that and drink the fire down straight.

He pushed Sanada back against the door frame and they laughed, hot and husky as the night air around them.

Flower (Committment)

"So, what now?"

"Now?" Seiichi leaned back on his hands, watching the setting sun glimmer on the pool in his back yard and gild the long, slim leaves of the irises. He felt a bit like those plants, relaxing from the heat and busyness of summer into the cooler flowering of fall. "Now I suppose we take our exams and start over." He chuckled. "I wonder if our senpai will be pleased to see us again."

Sanada snorted, leaning against the porch rail, arms crossed. "They'd better. We've held up Rikkai's name against harder competition then any they've faced." He waved a dismissive hand. "They won't hold out this time any longer than the last."

"Quite likely. Will you be there for it?"

Sanada's head turned, brows lifting. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Seiichi's mouth tilted and he kept his eyes on the water. "I know your grandfather would like you to pay more attention to your kendo. I've been wondering which you would choose to follow, during high school."

Sanada was silent beside him for a long moment before he finally said, quietly, "It isn't a matter of which. It's a matter of who."

It was Seiichi's turn to look up. Sanada's eyes, on him, were level and calm, and the curve of Seiichi's lips softened into real amusement. "Would you really follow me that far?" he murmured. Warmth curled through his blood at the thought and flared into heat as Sanada smiled, showing his teeth.

"All the way."

Seiichi laughed out loud in the slanting sunlight, and reached out and pulled Genichirou down to a kiss. "Then that's how far we'll go," he whispered into Genichirou's mouth.

End

Scattered Beans, Year Passing

Post-canon. In the wake of revelations about Touda and the Yellow Emperor, Touda comes to Tsuzuki to begin again. Drama with Porn, I-4, implied spoilers

Touda walked the halls of Tenkou wearing only his leather leggings and armlets, the long fall of his hair, and a collar and pair of stiff cuffs buckled snugly around each wrist.

He knew there was no shame in what he did, and he felt none, but he still found himself glad that the palace was still and silent around him, everyone sleeping or preparing for sleep. He did not wish to have any interruptions. When he reached Tsuzuki's door he slid it open and stepped inside quietly. As he had hoped, and rather expected, Tsuzuki was still awake, standing at the window. As he turned, in the moment before a welcoming smile covered it, Tsuzuki's face was distant and a little sad.

Touda was privately pleased to see both the distance and the painted smile vanish when Tsuzuki saw him.

"Tou... da... ?" Tsuzuki's eyes were wide and startled in the dusk and Touda's mouth quirked for one moment.

He composed himself, though, and stepped forward until he could sink down to his knees at Tsuzuki's feet, head bowed, hair coiling silkily on the floor around him. "You called me to come forth. I have come."

"Oh." It was barely a whisper, but Touda thought he could hear understanding in it, the echo of many years ago. Good. He was not surprised to feel Tsuzuki's hands come to rest, light, on his bare shoulders.

"I meant to free you." These words were stronger, and softer, and Touda looked up at last, meeting Tsuzuki's shadowed, twilight eyes.

"You did." He said only that, and waited.

Tsuzuki's teeth closed on his lip, and he sank down himself until he could wrap his arms around Touda. "Oh, Touda."

Touda supposed he might as well be resigned to it, that Tsuzuki touched so much. If he were honest, it was something he had rather counted on, coming here tonight, and he let his hands curve around Tsuzuki's back in return. "Do you want me?" he murmured.

"I... Touda..." The answer was yes, Touda could tell by the way Tsuzuki's fingers stole up to stroke through the wild fall of his hair before being snatched back.

Touda bent his head again. "Then take me."

Tsuzuki stilled. "Touda. Are you sure this is what you want?"

Touda snorted against the curve of Tsuzuki's shoulder; he couldn't help it. "Tsuzuki, don't you know how you really captured each of the others?" Exasperation wasn't the most appropriate tone for this moment, but this was Tsuzuki, after all. It was likely inevitable. More formally, he repeated, "Take me."

After a long moment Tsuzuki whispered, "All right." His hands found Touda's wrists and undid the cuffs, slid gently down Touda's throat and undid the collar, throwing them aside.

Touda closed his eyes and stifled a shiver as he finally felt it. Tsuzuki wasn't a kami; he had no river of dark, shining hair to show his power, to warn all who saw him of his might. But Touda could feel it nevertheless, flowing around him, the power to match Tsuzuki's beauty, fit to captivate any kami alive.

He let Tsuzuki lead him to the bed and knelt there, spreading his knees wide, bending down; a thrill of heat slid through him as he remembered lying just like this at Tsuzuki's feet, stunned, in the moment Tsuzuki had broken his chains. His lips curved, softly, hidden by the fall of his hair, remembering the kindness of Tsuzuki's smile.

And then his breath caught as Tsuzuki's hands touched him, bringing then into now. He shivered as those hands moved over his bare skin, stroking his arched back, caressing his raised rear. This was why he had come, to surrender himself, to take a master of his own will and no other, and he moaned, faint and husky, as Tsuzuki's fingers opened him, setting things right at last.

"Touda." Tsuzuki's voice was as gentle as his hands, and the contrast to the power that couldn't help dancing around Tsuzuki's every touch stole Touda's breath. "I do want you," Tsuzuki told him, and heat ran through Touda, exultation that the poison between he and his master was purged after all. He moaned, clutching at the sheets, as Tsuzuki pushed into him, slow and hard.

Pleasure and triumph twined together. Triumph that he was the one to be mastered this way, the one, out of all the bound kami who yearned for it, that Tsuzuki gave this surety to. Pleasure at the power that penetrated him far more thoroughly and mercilessly than the slow, gentle strokes of Tsuzuki's body inside his, pleasure that he surrendered himself only to one worthy of his pride.

"Tsuzuki," he panted, slowly losing his composure under Tsuzuki's easy thrusts and wild, dark power. He could feel his own magic rising, answering Tsuzuki's, and cried out as that shadowy, flickering strength locked down on him like a fist. Pleasure pierced through him, fierce and intense, and he finally, finally yielded to it completely, moaning as heat wrung him until he couldn't see or think or breathe.

He lay sprawled over the bed, shaking as the heat settled, and gradually became aware of Tsuzuki's hands stroking over his body, tugging off his leggings and armlets, smoothing his hair, warm and soothing. A faint chuckle escaped him; Tsuzuki was incurably caring.

"I remember," Tsuzuki said, quietly. "I remember how you looked at me, when I came to let you out. How amazed you seemed. How soft your eyes were. That was what I hated most about that visor, before I found out what it really was; that I couldn't see your eyes any more."

Touda was rather glad his face was still hidden in the angle of his arm. "That was a moment of weakness."

"Was it?" He could hear the smile in Tsuzuki's voice.

Touda hesitated for a long moment, but his reasons to hold back were gone, weren't they? Perhaps the other eleven still didn't deserve his honesty, but Tsuzuki had come for him, called him, given him the raw, naked truth he needed after the Yellow Emperor's lies and schemes. "It isn't only your power that masters me," he admitted at last.

He felt Tsuzuki's lips brush the back of his neck and couldn't help another shiver. "I'm glad you're mine," Tsuzuki whispered. "Touda. Thank you."

Touda took a breath for steadiness and turned over, looking up at Tsuzuki without shield or mask, surrendering this, too. Tsuzuki smiled down at him, soft and brilliant, hands closing around Touda's face, and Touda breathed out again. He felt clumsy and uncertain, trying to answer his master's open heart; it was a relief to get it right. He had to close his eyes, though, when Tsuzuki leaned down to kiss him, sweet and tender.

This, he would admit to himself, was what mastered him, as much as Tsuzuki's world-shaking strength—Tsuzuki's gentleness, the compassion that had saved him twice over. A tiny voice deep inside him whispered that this might have conquered him even without that strength.

So he didn't protest when Tsuzuki settled against him, arms wrapped around him, fingers twining delicately into the flow of his hair, clearly not letting go any time soon. Instead he rested one hand, lightly, at the small of Tsuzuki's back and lay quietly as the moon set outside the window and Tsuzuki drifted into sleep.

End

Drown in your Blue Sea

Soubi's pov when Seimei first claims him. Drama with Creepiness, I-5, spoilers vol. 8

Warning: Contains mutilation and very questionable consent.

Soubi was very confused. He had expected to be Sensei's Fighter. What else had he been trained for?

This, apparently.

He listened as his Sacrifice spoke of butterflies, breath catching at the slow rip of the knife through his shirt. Reborn? Did his Sacrifice want him to become... something else?

He would do whatever his Sacrifice said, of course. That was the only way he could be a true Fighter. Sensei had taught him that. He figured it was even more important for a blank Fighter like him.

"Would you like it to hurt? Or would you rather it not hurt?"

Soubi groped for an answer. His Sacrifice's eyes crinkled a bit, warmed.

"I think you would like it more if it hurt."

Was that what his Sacrifice wanted him to become? All right.

"Pain," Soubi murmured and tipped his head back for the point of Seimei's knife to write his new name. "I want it to hurt. I like pain."

End

A/N: Raserei Hojo's translation of this scene dialogue was used. Many thanks.

Ride Your Wild Horses

A final confrontation between Seimei and Ritsuka requires Ritsuka and Soubi to finally make their choices. Drama with Romance, I-4, spoilers to vol. 9

One: Ritsuka

"Just listen," Ritsuka said softly and pressed the replay button on the answering machine.

Ritsuka? Ritsuka, it's me; Seimei.

The voice was gentle and cheerful and made Ritsuka's guts twist. He wanted the days back when his memories were clean, before he had to remember his brother's cold, crazy eyes matched to this soft voice.

Ritsuka, do you really not forgive me? Can you really not love me? Well, either way. I want you to come to me, Ritsuka. Come to me at Seven Moons.

A click ended the call and Ritsuka hit erase, hard.

"Will you go?" Soubi asked softly.

Ritsuka turned and leaned against the wall, head bent over his crossed arms. "Yeah." He had to try at least once more, to get his brother back.

To hope there was a brother to be gotten back.

One way or another, he had to be sure.

"Very well." Soubi's hands clenched for a moment and Ritsuka frowned.

"Maybe you shouldn't come." He looked up just in time to see the tension in Soubi's face wipe away to bleakness.

"Of course not," Soubi stated, quiet and flat. "I betrayed you. You can't trust me."

Ritsuka grabbed Soubi's sleeve. "That wasn't what I meant!" This didn't make a dent in Soubi's expression and Ritsuka nearly stamped his foot in frustration. "Soubi!" He pulled on Soubi's sleeve until the man at least looked at him. "Seimei scares you," he said softly.

Soubi dropped to his knees and caught Ritsuka's hand, bowing his head over it. "You are my master. I need to protect you. But I can't disobey Seimei!" His voice was harsh and drawn. "I can't even beg your forgiveness for that."

Ritsuka frowned, worried, and wound his arms around Soubi's shoulders; Seimei really brought out the worst of this in Soubi, and any way he turned that thought he hated it. "Don't be an idiot. If there's nothing you can do about it, it isn't your fault." Soubi said nothing and Ritsuka chewed his lip for a moment. Finally he ventured, "Do you want to try? To do something about it?"

"I can't really imagine that." Soubi looked up and there were tight lines around his eyes, but the look in them was open and pleading. "But I don't want to leave you."

Ritsuka nodded slowly and wound his arms tighter around Soubi's neck, burying his face in Soubi's shoulder. "You come too, then," he whispered.

Two: Soubi

Soubi didn't want to leave Ritsuka, but, looking into the unforgiving chill of Seimei's eyes, he was afraid he was about to.

"I killed the Loveless Fighter." Seimei smiled, bright and careless, and Soubi swallowed hard past familiarity. "What makes you think you're different?" His smile turned hard. "Destroy yourself. And then Ritsuka will be all mine again."

Ritsuka's voice broke as he yelled, "Stop!"

Soubi looked over at Ritsuka through the floating after-shreds of battle spells, shivering. "Ritsuka. I'm sorry..." At least he wouldn't take Ritsuka with him—in the end his unbound nature was a mercy after all. He'd barely cleared his throat to do as Seimei ordered, though, when Ritsuka caught his wrists, staring up at him.

"No." His hands tightened.

The necessity of following Seimei's order shook Soubi's whole body, now, and he stumbled down to the floor in Ritsuka's insistent grip. "I'm sorry," he repeated hoarsely. "I can't—"

Ritsuka's fingers touched his lips and Soubi started.

"I know."

Soubi stared at Ritsuka, wonder distracting him for a moment. Ritsuka had a tiny smile on his face and his ears were pitched ruefully. He watched Soubi with grave eyes, child's eyes, heart-hurtingly clear. In that clarity, will flashed like links of a steel chain—will and determination.

"I didn't understand," Ritsuka told him simply. "You surprised me. I didn't understand any of this." His wave took in the building around them and the pair behind him. "But I think... I think maybe I do now." Ritsuka bit his lip and his voice turned small. "It scares me. But..."

Ritsuka flung his arms around Soubi's neck and Soubi could feel him trembling.

"I understand, now. So. Your name... is Loveless." Ritsuka's voice rang in Soubi's head like a bell as he repeated, "Your name is Loveless."

Soubi felt the connection, a piercing shock through his solar plexus, or his heart, or his soul, whatever it truly was that anchored a bond, and he cried out, clutching Ritsuka against him, eyes wide and blind. Ritsuka held on just as tight, half laughing and half crying against Soubi's neck.

"I am your Sacrifice. You are my Fighter," Ritsuka whispered. And even softer, "I love you."

"Yes." Soubi bowed his head to Ritsuka's shoulder, breathless with passion and dazed with shock. "Yes, Ritsuka, I swear. I belong to you, body and heart and soul." He felt dizzy with how good it was to belong completely again. And then he twitched at the lazy lash of Seimei's voice.

"He's still mine first, though. And I gave you an order, Soubi."

"No." Ritsuka drew in a long breath and straightened, ignoring the two at his back, taking Soubi's face in his hands. His chin firmed stubbornly and Soubi thought he might cheerfully drown in the fierceness of Ritsuka's eyes. "Soubi, I order you. You will not obey Seimei."

Soubi jerked, locked suddenly between two orders neither of which he could disobey. His voice turned thready. "Ritsuka..." Compulsion and the fresh bond pulled at him, opposing, and he panted, trying to catch his breath, fighting to submit to Ritsuka's will and only Ritsuka's will. "I... I will... not... obey... S-Sei..."

Seimei laughed, bright and sharp, and Soubi flinched.

Ritsuka's eyes blazed and he wrapped his arms around Soubi again, whispering in his ear. "This is my choice. And you are my Fighter. You and no one else."

As hard as the struggle had been to reach it, the change was just as simple as that. A Fighter must obey his Sacrifice without question or hesitation. That truth was engraved in Soubi deeper even than Seimei's name.

And Ritsuka was now his Sacrifice.

Warmth flowed through Soubi, and he relaxed. Soft and serene, he answered, "I will not obey Seimei." He took one of Ritsuka's hands in his and bowed his head to kiss the palm. "I am your Fighter. I obey only you." He rose and smiled down at Ritsuka. "Our name is Loveless."

Ritsuka smiled back, shaky. "All right, then." He turned, standing at Soubi's side, and pointed at Beloved. His voice firmed, low with sadness and hard with determination. "Defeat them."

The bond wound around them both and Soubi clung to it, his shield against the frozen rage on Seimei's face. "Yes, Ritsuka," he said, calmly, and raised his hand.

Three: Soubi

Kio looked up as Soubi stripped off his paint-spattered shirt and tossed it in the solvent-before-washing basket.

"You really did get rid of the bastard. Good."

Soubi stared over his shoulder, arrested. "What?" Kio wasn't there, he couldn't possibly know what had happened.

Kio snorted and nodded at Soubi's neck. "Those cuts are finally scabbing over the way they should." He turned back to cleaning his brushes and sponges, scrubbing more viciously than even oils really warranted. "Makes me sick every time I think of what he must have been doing to keep them raw this long..."

Soubi didn't bother correcting Kio; it would take far too much explaining. Instead he made for the mirror. They couldn't really be...?

They were.

He stared, running his fingers over the knitting edges of the name. Even when Seimei had cut their bond, however he'd done that, these had stayed raw—one of the things that had made him truly wonder whether Seimei was still alive. But now...

Was it Ritsuka?

Warmth stole through his veins at the thought that Ritsuka held him tightly enough to make this happen, even if he didn't see how it possibly could.

The teachers might be able to tell him, he supposed.

"Kio," he called, "I need to borrow your car again."

Four: Ritsuka

Ritsuka folded back his ears and hung onto his patience with both hands. He wanted to be sure Soubi was all right. And he wouldn't kick an injured person in the shins.

Wouldn't. Wouldn't. Really wouldn't....

"Hm." Ritsu-sensei ran his fingers over the old cuts on Soubi's neck some more. "Well, I suppose we'll see. I doubt it will ever actually heal. But for now, at least, you seem to have established a genuine bond with Ritsuka. It's proper enough for him, at least, to take a blank Fighter, given the Loveless Fighter is dead." His hand rested on Soubi's bare chest and Soubi twitched.

Ritsuka couldn't take it any more. "Get away from Soubi," he snapped, glaring at Ritsu-sensei, tail lashing. He didn't care if the man was blind, he was going to stop fingering Soubi right now!

Ritsu-sensei's lips curled. "Quite a proper bond." He stepped back, feeling for his chair and lowering himself into it.

Ritsuka stomped forward and caught Soubi's hand tight in his, not mollified. "And Soubi is the Loveless Fighter!" Soubi stepped closer to him and the singing line of their bond coiled around them both. Ritsuka switched his tail, vindicated.

Ritsu-sensei sniffed. "If you'd come and been taught when you should have, you'd know the difference—"

"Ritsu!" Nagisa-sensei broke in, staring at Ritsuka and Soubi. "They are!"

Ritsuka ignored them both, too busy noticing the warmth in his palm. Hesitantly, he unclasped Soubi's hand and looked, eyes widening. Black letters faded up onto his skin. He looked over at Soubi, questioning, but Soubi was staring, transfixed at his own hand.

There were letters in his palm, too.

Nagisa-sensei seized their hands, examining them with growing disbelief, but Ritsuka was too busy looking up at Soubi to protest much. Soubi's eyes were wide and shocked. "Does this mean..."

"It's not possible," Nagisa-sensei interrupted again, letting them go and backing off. "Ritsu, they're both Loveless! They both have the name on them!"

Ritsu-sensei seemed to be too stunned to say anything, which a corner of Ritsuka's mind noted, rather nastily, was a nice change. Ritsuka reached out for Soubi's hand again, pressing their palms together. Soubi's eyes warmed, slow and wondering, looking down at Ritsuka for a long moment before looking up at the two teachers, cool again.

"Should it have been possible for Seimei to break his bond with me, once the name Beloved was written?" he asked, mildly. "He did, though."

"So much," Ritsuka put in, "for being taught properly." He tugged on Soubi's hand. "Let's go, okay?"

Soubi inclined his head, hiding a faint glint in his eye. "Whatever you wish." He held the door for Ritsuka without letting go of his hand and left the two adults still sputtering behind them.

Ritsuka drew a deep breath once they were out of the building. "I don't think," he said firmly, "that I need to learn anything from them."

"I couldn't agree more," Soubi murmured, thumb brushing Ritsuka's wrist.

Ritsuka looked down at their joined hands and up at Soubi a bit shyly. "It's... it's where you kissed. When you agreed to be with me."

"That's the strength of your heart and your will, Ritsuka," Soubi said softly. "To claim even me for your own, forever." He leaned down, fingers stroking the line of Ritsuka's jaw, lifting his head, and kissed him gently. "I'm glad."

Ritsuka kissed back, light and soft, cheeks heating a bit. "Let's go home," he murmured.

Five: Ritsuka

Ritsuka felt queasy. "Are you sure this will work?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Kio-san told him firmly. "Listen to the man with the body modifications." He paused to eye Soubi and added, "The healthy ones."

Soubi sniffed and leaned back in his chair to light a cigarette.

"You're the one who wanted to know," Kio-san admonished. "So listen up. Keep picking off the scabs and cover the cuts with this," he tapped a bottle of greenish goo on the table. "It'll take longer to heal, but it won't scar."

Ritsuka swallowed hard and took a deep breath to settle his stomach. He was a little afraid of how Soubi might answer the next question, but the tiny smile on Soubi's face when Kio-san mentioned not scarring made him ask it anyway. "Can I... Is there some way I can help?"

Soubi looked up to meet his eyes, faint smile softening. "You've already done it." He stood up and herded Kio-san out. "All right, I'll do it. And be careful," he added as Kio-san raised a finger and opened his mouth. Closing the door behind his friend he came back to Ritsuka and bent to place a kiss in Ritsuka's palm. "And I will belong only and completely to you."

That still made Ritsuka's stomach flutter uncertainly, but Soubi was standing on his feet and his eyes were peaceful and that made Ritsuka happy. He turned his hand to curl around Soubi's and smiled up at him.

"Okay."

End

Taste Your Salt Water Kisses

Ritsuka won't move out so Soubi moves in. Everyone involved has to readjust their lives. Drama with Angst and Romance, I-5, implicit spoilers

One: Soubi

"You can't just move in!"

"Why not?"

"Well..." Ritsuka's ears saddled. "I mean... It's not the kind of thing..."

"Ritsuka." Soubi touched his cheek, eyes dark. "I can't just leave you here unprotected. I can't. Don't ask me to, please." He was perfectly willing to beg for this, except that didn't always work with Ritsuka. A tiny part of him didn't think that was fair.

Ritsuka was frowning and chewing on his lip. "But... it might just upset Kaa-san more. And," he folded his arms tightly, "the only other bedroom used to be Seimei's." He looked up, straight into Soubi's eyes. "I don't want to put you there."

The sweetness of his Sacrifice's care for him stopped Soubi's voice for a long moment.

"You're both idiots," Kio put in from where he was rummaging in Soubi's fridge. Ritsuka glowered and Kio grinned. "Who says a room has to be a bedroom? Go on a cleaning spree or something, move everything around. Make the old bedroom a closet or something."

"Oh." Ritsuka looked thoughtful. "Hm."

There were times Soubi was tempted to feed Kio his own paints, but he was useful every now and then.

Ritsuka was looking around Soubi's apartment with a more measuring eye now. Finally he turned back to Soubi and wound his fingers in the bottom of Soubi's shirt. "Okay, look. Let me pick the time, all right? I want to ask Kaa-san when she's in," he paused and Soubi mentally inserted a sane phase, "a good mood."

"As you wish," Soubi said, voice low. He could only hope Ritsuka wouldn't wait too long.

Two: Ritsuka

Ritsuka put his hands on his hips and looked around, pleased.

They hadn't actually done anything with Seimei's room; he'd known Kaa-san wouldn't agree to that. But they had moved other things, and now the long upstairs room that had held some of Tou-san's old stuff was cleaned out and turned into Soubi's room and studio in one. Soubi was fingering the pale curtains Ritsuka had dug out of the bottom of Kaa-san's old sewing basket and smiling.

"Perhaps you should think of a career as an interior decorator." He looked over his shoulder at Ritsuka, a faint teasing light in his eyes.

Ritsuka flicked his ears back but didn't glare too hard. He was just happy that Soubi wasn't as tense as he had been lately. He didn't like the idea of a tense Soubi around his mother.

Soubi crossed the room in two long strides and caught Ritsuka's face, delicately, in his hands. "Thank you, Ritsuka," he whispered.

Breathless, Ritsuka leaned into him. A little voice in the back of his head noted he was getting awfully used to doing that. "What for?"

Soubi smiled, dry and sweet. "For indulging your Fighter."

Ritsuka snorted a little. "Right. Come on, let's go down to dinner." He tugged Soubi out of the room and down the stairs.

Dinner was... odd. He was pretty sure Soubi hadn't had a chance to speak to Kaa-san when Ritsuka wasn't there, and the only thing Soubi had said to her when Ritsuka was there was I am here to protect Ritsuka. He'd kind of expected Kaa-san to try to send him away, at that, the way she had Hawatari and Shinonome-sensei. But here she was, serving Soubi seconds and smiling. It was fragile, under bruised looking eyes, but she was smiling.

He wished he could believe it would last.

While it did last, though, he would enjoy it. "It's really good fish, Kaa-san. Can I have some more?"

"Of course." She busied herself getting him another portion and some more pickled vegetables to go with it. "It's good for you, Ritsuka. Eat as much as you like."

For this moment, with dishes clattering in the warm evening and three people around the table, he could believe everything would be all right, and, while his mother was turned away, he smiled softly up at Soubi.

Soubi's rare open smile answered him.

Three: Ritsuka

Ritsuka flinched as a glass shattered against the wall over his head.

"You care more about some stray than your own mother?! Fine! Then get out, both of you get out!"

"Kaa-san..." Ritsuka reached out a hand only to jerk back as a plate followed the glass, and then Soubi was there, hand wrapped around Kaa-san's wrist. His eyes were cold.

"That will be enough."

It scared Ritsuka a little to see Soubi look like that and he reached out again, pleading. "Soubi..."

Soubi's eyes met Ritsuka's, and his mouth tightened, but he finally bowed his head. When he spoke again his voice was quieter. "Come, Aoyagi-san. It's time to sleep for a while."

Kaa-san was crying now, but she went along easily as Soubi led her away. Ritsuka just slid down the wall to the floor and rested his forehead on his knees. He was shaking a little. Not because of the sudden violence. Because of the sudden stop.

Because, deep down, he hadn't really thought anyone but Seimei could stop Kaa-san when she got like this.

But there were no more screams or crashes. Just the faint murmur of voices and the click of a door being shut.

It really was just him that was the problem.

"Ritsuka." Soubi's arms were around him and Ritsuka turned his face into Soubi's chest, tired and hopeless. "Ritsuka, please." Soubi's whisper was urgent. "Please, let me take you out of here."

Ritsuka laughed, one harsh breath. "Maybe I should. Maybe it really would make her better if I left."

Soubi's arms tightened. "Ritsuka."

They were both silent for a while. Finally Soubi gathered Ritsuka up in his arms and stood. Ritsuka stirred. "I should clean up the pieces."

"I'll do it tomorrow morning," Soubi stated, not pausing as he carried Ritsuka up the stairs.

Ritsuka let Soubi undress him and tuck him under the blankets and, when Soubi hesitated, sitting on the side of his bed, reached up silently to pull him down. Soubi promptly slipped under the covers and cradled Ritsuka close, stroking long fingers through his hair, hesitant and tender.

Finally Ritsuka managed to say, softly, "I am glad you're here."

He could feel Soubi relax as he cuddled Ritsuka closer.

Four: Soubi

Soubi stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, watching Ritsuka's mother. She started when he finally spoke.

"Do you understand what you're doing to your son?"

She turned wide, dark eyes on him. "I.. I love Ritsuka. He's all I have left."

"You're hurting him," Soubi said flatly.

She folded her hands in front of her mouth, staring at him, silent and trembling. Soubi's thin patience snapped.

"You are going to stop, Aoyagi-san, because you are going to go see that psychologist of his if I have to drag you, and you are going to talk to the woman if I have to force you." He stalked forward as he spoke to stand over her, perfectly willing to intimidate the woman into cooperating or drag her down the street, screaming, if that was what it took.

He stopped short in surprise when she smiled.

"Yes."

Soubi blinked.

"Take me." She held out one wrist as if offering to be dragged and strangeness wrapped around him for a moment, like deja vu turned inside out.

Maybe her smile just reminded him of Seimei's. It was probably only that.

Taking no chances, he took her arm and led her to the door. She went easily, put on her coat when he handed it to her, didn't rage or even protest.

But when he wasn't directing her she didn't move at all.

She gave the clinic receptionist all her information and agreed that she wanted to see the psychologist. She smiled. She cooperated. But when the doctor held open the office door for her she didn't walk through it until Soubi grabbed her arm again and took her in.

He ignored the doctor's raised brows and leaned in a corner, out of the way, with his arms crossed and tried to stifle that queasy feeling of recognition.

Whenever the woman hesitated in answering one of the doctor's questions she looked at him. And then she answered, as if he had... Soubi stifled that thought and kept on trying not to really listen.

"Seimei isn't here to make me stop anymore, you see."

Not succeeding very well, but trying.

He wasn't surprised, when the doctor finally asked what Aoyagi was doing to Ritsuka and Aoyagi slowly turned to look at him, silent, eyes wide and waiting. Soubi swallowed behind clenched teeth and managed to grate out, "Tell her."

The woman obeyed immediately, and the doctor only had a moment to look at him with sharp eyes before she had to pull her professional mask back on. Soubi ignored them both. He didn't want to do this. He didn't ever want to do this. He didn't want to be the one who gave orders. For him to be the one in Seimei's place...

He wondered, distantly, whether Seimei really was god, after all. The universe certainly seemed to have his vicious sense of humor.

By the time the first session was over he was shaking a little and the doctor stopped him on the way out to ask softly whether he was all right.

"I'll be fine once I get back to Ritsuka," he answered, unstrung enough to give her the truth. He'd be fine once he had his Sacrifice to obey and the world was right side up again. He started a bit as the doctor's eyes flashed.

"You can't put all of this on a thirteen-year-old boy," she told him sharply. "If both you and his mother are doing that, then you'll just both have to stop."

Soubi stood as if turned to stone for a long moment before his head bent and his fists clenched under the weight of those words. "I... understand what you say," he managed at last.

The doctor sighed and patted his shoulder more kindly. "Well. I imagine I'll see you next time, too, then."

Soubi took Ritsuka's mother home and went up to his studio and sat, staring at a blank canvas, for a very long time.

Five: Ritsuka

What used to scare Ritsuka was the anger on Soubi's face when he stopped Kaa-san in one of her rages. Now there was something else there, and he didn't know what and that scared him even more. Soubi still looked grim, those times, but his eyes creased like he was hurt, too.

And it wasn't always rages Kaa-san had, now. Ritsuka was happy, glad that he could finally help Kaa-san, at least those times when she just put her head down on the table and cried. But that didn't stop him getting worried.

Finally he cornered Soubi in his bedroom one evening, while he was drying off some brushes. "Soubi. Will you tell me what's wrong?"

Soubi's long hands hesitated. "I... don't want to burden you," he said quietly, without turning around.

Ritsuka scowled. "Don't be dumb." He came and wound his arms around Soubi's waist firmly. "We're a pair, right? Closer than anything else." He rested his cheek on Soubi's chest. "Just tell me."

Soubi's fingers settled softly on his hair. "Your mother," he said, after a long, silent moment. "I see Ritsu-sensei in her. Even Seimei in her. Yet, I see myself in her as well. And so I see them in myself, and I..." A shudder ran through Soubi. "I don't know... what to do now."

Ritsuka wasn't sure he understood, but... Seimei had protected him, and now Soubi protected him. Every now and then, Kaa-san's eyes reminded him of Seimei's. He could see that much. Maybe there were just too many reminders of other people, for Soubi. Slowly he asked, "Can you just be Soubi?"

Soubi stilled. Finally he leaned down to press his lips against Ritsuka's hair. "Who do you want Soubi to be?" he asked, very softly.

"No, I mean..." Ritsuka looked up at Soubi, confused. "I mean, can you just be you?" He laid his hand on Soubi's chest, over his heart. "Be whoever Soubi really is?" He glanced aside, tail curling shyly. "I'd... I'd like that."

He worried some more when Soubi sank down to his knees, but relaxed again when Soubi caught his hand and kissed the palm. Soubi was all right when he did that. Soubi's eyes were dark when he raised his head, but his mouth twitched like he was about to laugh.

"I'll try."

Hesitantly, because he really didn't get Soubi sometimes, Ritsuka leaned into him and put his arms around Soubi's neck. "I'd just like it if you were happy."

The laugh that escaped against his ear was soft and shaky and true.

"I'll try that, too, then."

End

Cracked from Side to Side

Daisuke and Satoshi talk about painting and destiny. Drama, I-3

Daisuke chewed on the end of his brush, frowning at his painting. "It's not right yet," he muttered to himself.

"It probably won't ever be," Hiwatari-kun said, quietly, behind his shoulder.

Daisuke smiled up at him ruefully, not really surprised. Hiwatari-kun always seemed to know when he was in the art room. "Well, maybe not, but it can be closer than this. At least it should be closer than this." He sighed and mumbled around his brush, "Though maybe not, a Niwa trying to paint and all. I know it's probably silly to try..."

Hiwatari-kun smiled slightly, fingers brushing the edge of the canvas. "No. You're a true Niwa."

"But..." Daisuke looked up at him. "No Niwa has ever painted."

Hiwatari-kun snorted. "Niwas have always pursued beauty for the sake of beauty."

Daisuke thought about that, and the distant look in Hiwatari-kun's eyes. "What do the Hikaris do?" he asked slowly.

Hiwatari-kun glanced down at him for a moment. When he spoke it wasn't really an answer. "When you create something beautiful, it will always be for its own sake. For that reason, your art will not harm those who look on it."

"Hiwatari-kun..."

Hiwatari-kun turned away sharply. "Pride," he bit out. "The Hikaris create for pride. And for hearts and minds and souls." The line of his shoulders was bitter. "Can't you see that reflected in our curse?"

Krad wanted people's hearts and minds and souls, all right, Daisuke had to admit, at least Hiwatari-kun's and Dark's. "Is that why you don't make art?" he asked quietly.

Hiwatari-kun bent his head silently.

"I'm sorry. That must hurt. To want to make things," Daisuke explained hastily as Hiwatari-kun's head came up again, eyes startled, "and not be able to."

"It was a cursed gift from the start," Hiwatari-kun said, softly. "To see like this. To want like this." He turned his head to regard Daisuke's canvas for a long moment, and the stiffness in his shoulders slowly eased. "You, though... I can watch you. Without," his mouth curved slightly, "an overwhelming urge to just do it myself."

Daisuke blinked. "I'm glad." Even if he didn't really understand.

Hiwatari-kun, turning to leave, paused and looked over his shoulder. "Your pursuit is pure. That is its own perfection."

Daisuke thought about that, as Hiwatari-kun vanished through the door, brush tapping absently on his palette. If Krad did reflect the Hikaris, then did Dark reflect the Niwas? Beauty for the sake of beauty?

Why do you think I love so many women? Dark yawned in the back of his head.

Daisuke flushed. "Because you're a jerk," he muttered.

Dark laughed and Daisuke picked up his brush again. He thought while he painted, though.

There was more to Dark than that.

Was there more to Krad, too? What did Krad really want?

What did any of them want?

Daisuke paused and looked at the shape he'd just brushed in on the canvas. There was a space in there that he hadn't noticed before. An empty space, behind his winged figure. It made the composition seem... lonely.

He put down his brush and picked up his charcoal and started sketching more figures into the empty space.

End

Homecoming

Alexiel finally returns, to the interest of all and apprehension of some—particularly Lucifer. Romance with Drama, I-3

They gathered quickly, and Belial thought that it was just like Alexiel's latest incarnation to not give any warning. The room was small enough, and the interested parties many enough, that aides and seconds had been left outside, but that had never stopped Belial before, and se watched from a slice of shadow in one corner.

Kurai didn't exactly pace, but she hovered at two distances, and flitted from one to the other every now and then. Gabriel, by contrast, stood calmly beside Alexiel's body. Of course, Gabriel had done this herself just a year ago. Raziel sat behind her, equally calm; of course, he had never met Alexiel, only Setsuna. Michael fidgeted, on the far side of Raphael from his brother. And Lucifer and Uriel held up opposite walls, both about as far from Alexiel as they could get without leaving the room.

Belial sighed. Se hoped, for hir lord's sake, this would go well.

And then hir glance sharpened, because hir sigh had been echoed by one from Alexiel. Kurai spun around so fast she wobbled, poised at her distant hovering spot. After one more moment of utter stillness, Alexiel drew in a deep breath. As she exhaled her eyes opened.

Belial watched Lucifer exhale with her.

Alexiel rubbed a hand across her eyes and yawned. "Where?" she mumbled, and then blinked at the crowd surrounding her. "Oh. Right."

Gabriel laughed. "Welcome back, Alexiel." She put a quick hand behind Alexiel's shoulder as she started to sit up. "Take it a little slowly. You weren't sealed, this time, it may take a while to settle back in."

Raphael waved a dismissive hand. "The strength of her spirit will draw the body around itself immediately. No need to worry about her."

"Love you, too, Raphie-kun," Alexiel muttered, flipping him off with the hand not rubbing her face.

Kurai made a small noise, at that, hope lighting her eyes. Alexiel looked around and smiled. "Kurai." When that failed to make Kurai stop chewing on her lip, Alexiel's smile softened and tilted. "Hey, kiddo." She held out her arms.

Belial shook hir head as Kurai took two running steps and flung herself into Alexiel's embrace. It would do no one any good to lead the girl on.

"I missed you," Alexiel said, gently. "Both of me."

Kurai looked up, one crystal blue eye showing under her rumpled hair. "Really?"

"Really," Alexiel laughed, and ruffled Kurai's hair some more.

Kurai giggled, and backed away. "Okay." Her eyes were clear again.

Belial's estimation of Alexiel rose. Maybe this would fail to be a catastrophe after all.

Alexiel swung herself off the plinth and stood, but her stretch was interrupted as her eyes fell on Lucifer, still leaning against the wall silently. "You came," she whispered.

Lucifer returned her gaze, eyes hooded. "It seemed polite to give you a clear opportunity, in case you wanted to try killing me again. Consider it your homecoming present."

Belial had to wonder, as Alexiel stood frozen, whether she could see past the sardonic chill to the genuine offer underneath it. If Alexiel really did want Lucifer's life, for the sake of the world or the sake of a grudge, he would give it to her this time.

As Alexiel paced toward him, through a room full of people holding their breaths, Belial wondered whether she was going to take him up on it.

Alexiel stopped a hand's breadth away, glaring up at him with stormy eyes.

And then she reached out and hauled him into a rib-cracking hug, burying her face in his shoulder. "You are such an asshole," she declared, a bit muffled.

Lucifer's eyes widened, and Belial saw him swallow before his hands lifted, hesitant and slow, to settle on Alexiel's back. "Careful," he said, voice just a little uneven. "You'll have me calling you Setsuna if you keep talking like that."

"Fair enough." Alexiel sniffed. "Kira-senpai."

"Not anymore."

"I know."

Lucifer's eyes darkened, and he ran one hand, slowly, through her long, thick hair.

Alexiel stiffened abruptly, at that, and lifted her head. Belial caught a flash of apprehension in her face.

Lucifer shook his head. "I know why you didn't tell me who I was." His mouth twisted. "Or that I had already had my wish, more than once, in Eden."

The tangle of sorrow and anger and tenderness plain to see in Alexiel's expression was a match for the tangle lurking in Lucifer's eyes. Belial wondered whether it was uncharitable or just accurate to think that they deserved each other.

"What... what if I ask, first, this time?" Alexiel said at last, voice wavering.

Lucifer's snort was a bit pained, but the arms around Alexiel tightened without reserve. "You have me, idiot," he murmured. "You've always had me."

Belial had to look away when their lips met. The kiss was too hesitant, too heavy, too beautiful with hir lord's relief. It made hir dizzy to watch. So se watched the other watchers instead, and hir lips quirked as se took in the generally indulgent expressions on their faces.

Se wondered how many of them realized that Abe's real ruler was home now.

End

Through the Sleepless Nights

Hisagi gets a chance to speak with Kensei after the final battle. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Kensei/Shuuhei, second meeting. Drama with Fluff, I-3, Spoilers for the Turn Back arc

The first time Hisagi Shuuhei met Muguruma Kensei it had been in the aftermath of a fight. Maybe it was fate that their second meeting was also the end of a battle. To Shuuhei, it felt a little like a chance to start again.

"Muguruma-taichou... I mean..." And to put his foot in his mouth again, apparently. Shuuhei cleared his throat and settled on, "Muguruma-san."

Muguruma's mouth quirked fleetingly, and he glanced down at his very civilian clothes. "Yeah, not a captain any more. Heard you were, though." He clapped a hand on Shuuhei's shoulder. "Good work."

Shuuhei made a throw-away gesture. "Only acting."

Muguruma's hand turned over, knuckles rapping Shuuhei's shoulder. "Hey. None of that. Have some pride in yourself." His smile flashed again. "Not that I'm in a position to chew you out any more, I guess."

"That's not true!" Shuuhei flushed as Muguruma's brows rose, and he glanced down. "I remembered you," he said, quietly. "I'm here because I wanted to live up to what I remembered."

Muguruma's gaze traveled over Shuuhei's cropped sleeves, the leather bands around his right am and throat. Finally his fingers rose to brush over the 69 on Shuuhei's cheekbone. "Yeah?" His voice was husky. "I'm glad. We didn't think anyone in Soul Society remembered us well."

Shuuhei turned his head just a little into Muguruma's hand, aware his ears were probably bright red. "Some of us did."

Muguruma glanced over to where Nanao was talking to Yadomaru, book clasped tight to her chest, eyes bright, and his smile lasted a little longer this time. "So I see." His hand cupped Shuuhei's cheek for a breath, thumb stroking Shuuhei's cheekbone. "Well, come on then. Tell me about it while we get this mess cleaned up."

Shuuhei noticed the stares of his division, as he walked next to the man he'd once thought would be his captain, and knew he was smiling too.

End

Overdetermined

After it's over, Hiruma tries again to convince Kid of the value of wanting things. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Hiruma/Kid, dreams. Drama with Porn, I-4, Spoilers for the Christmas Bowl match

The young man who was very careful to think of himself as Kid leaned against the wall and nodded at Hiruma's arm. "How did you manage that, anyway?"

Hiruma grinned, all teeth. "It's all in how much you want it." He wriggled his fingers at Kid, a bit taunting.

Kid snorted. Amazing how fast something turned into an old argument. "For some, I guess that works."

Hiruma pushed away from the wall and glared. "It works if you fucking stay with it. Are you going to spend your whole life half-assed?"

Kid looked away.

Hiruma's growl didn't surprise him, but the hand in his hair did, pulling him around and down to meet Hiruma's mouth on his.

"You're a fucking idiot and it drives me fucking crazy to watch." The words were muffled but fierce, fierce as the heat of Hiruma's body against his.

Fierce but not careless. Hiruma was angled carefully away from Kid's right side. It felt strange. Almost unbalanced. Not that he got much time to think about it.

"You need to want something, or how the hell do you tell you're alive?" Hiruma's fingers flicked open Kid's pants and dove inside. His hand closed on Kid's cock, long and competent, just like they closed on a ball. On a dart.

On a gun.

Kid couldn't stifle the sound he made, and Hiruma's mouth swallowed it, tasted it. Curved.

"I know you love it," Hiruma breathed against his ear. "Love knowing you're this good. You wouldn't be out here if you didn't."

Kid's good hand worked against Hiruma's shoulder. "Just want to be with friends," he protested, husky.

"Then fight, damn it!" Hiruma's fingers coaxed him and Hiruma's voice shook him. "With us, for us, against us, it doesn't fucking matter! That's what we're all out here for!" His mouth pressed against Kid's throat, hot and wet. "All you have to do is want it hard enough and never fucking stop."

"It hurts," Kid whispered, head tilted back against the wall, eyes shut hard.

Hiruma's hand tightened, stroked firmly, making heat climb Kid's nerves. His voice was low. "That's the only way to make it as good as it can be."

Kid groaned and hauled his arm out of the sling, pulling Hiruma tight against him. He could feel him laughing as he caught Hiruma's mouth and kissed him back and pleasure wrung him out until the world wavered in front of his eyes.

The first thing he said, when he recovered enough breath, was, "Ow."

Hiruma was still laughing against his neck. "Yeah, well." He pushed away and rapped Kid lightly on the chest. "You ever want someone to play with, remember I'm here."

A helpless laugh shook Kid, and he pulled Hiruma back for another kiss, never mind the twinges.

Maybe he'd see how good it could get.

End

Moving Down the Streams of My Lifetime

Sohryu frets over Tsuzuki's safety and does what he can to protect him. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Souryuu/Tsuzuki, protecting what's most precious. Drama with Porn, I-3

"You really don't have to worry about Hisoka," Tsuzuki assured Sohryu, tagging anxiously after the dragon back to his rooms.

"He's ill omened," Sohryu snapped, glaring straight ahead. When was Tsuzuki going to start learning how to be careful?

"I'm sure it wasn't him," Tsuzuki persisted, following through the fountain room.

Never was clearly the answer to Sohryu's question, and he sighed. Neither of his children had given him a quarter as much trouble as his master. He rounded on Tsuzuki, hems flaring out with the speed of his movement, and caught the man's shoulders. "Have better care for yourself," he scolded. "This world is not as well protected as it once was."

Tsuzuki stood still and trusting between his hands, smiling. "But you're still here."

Sohryu fought not to slump in defeat. Had he done his job too well? Was that why his master wandered around in this mooncalf innocence?

But he could hardly do less. Not for Tsuzuki.

A hand touched his chest and he looked up to find Tsuzuki smiling more softly. "It will be all right. Believe me."

Sohryu looked aside. "All right," he muttered, finally.

Tsuzuki made a happy sound and promptly hugged him.

Sohryu snorted and crooked his fingers at the door to bid the lock turn. He should never have let Tsuzuki get the idea that it was all right to be so familiar with him, even in private. And, to be honest, he knew that one bark of reprimand would make his master back away, conciliatory.

But then Tsuzuki would look at him with sad eyes.

He was a fool, Sohryu decided as he swept Tsuzuki up, folding his master in strong arms and soft layers of cloth, safe the way he always should be. He settled Tsuzuki against the cushions of his bed and wrapped himself around him, hair slipping down to shield Tsuzuki from everything outside.

"You've been sleeping poorly," he stated, fingers tracing the faint shadows under Tsuzuki's eyes.

"I can't stop thinking about some of our recent cases," Tsuzuki admitted, mouth tightening.

"Hm." There were several ways to deal with that, but it would take some time to produce enough sweets to do it. In the meantime, Sohryu supposed he could use the other way all the shikigami shared. He set his fingers under Tsuzuki's chin and lifted it, kissing Tsuzuki firmly. Tsuzuki gasped, hands tightening on Sohryu's sleeves for a moment before relaxing. His lips parted and he made a soft sound as Sohryu's tongue swept into his mouth.

Sohryu undressed Tsuzuki swiftly and undid his own sashes, shedding the layers of his robes with a shrug the better to wind around Tsuzuki. Tsuzuki was pliant for him, skin flushed and eyes hazy, and Sohryu thought that Tsuzuki wanted the peace of exhaustion as much as Sohryu wanted to secure him that peace.

He slid into Tsuzuki on long, slow thrusts and Tsuzuki made breathless little moans each time, legs straining wider until Sohryu's hands kneaded down them gently. "Relax," he told his master. "You say I'll take care of things. So let me."

Tsuzuki's smile was sweet and fragile and Sohryu gathered him up, kissing him with passion and concentration until he cried out.

When Tsuzuki finally stilled in his arms Sohryu stroked back his damp hair and brushed a kiss over his forehead. "Sleep," he whispered, weaving his power into the command, and felt Tsuzuki catch hold of the magic, climbing down it into rest. He sighed with a shade of relief; that only ever worked when Tsuzuki let it, and he could be so foolishly stubborn sometimes.

He watched Tsuzuki sleep, stroking his forehead to smooth the lines away, tender here as he could not afford to be outside the doors. Whatever it took to protect Tsuzuki, he would do it. He'd known that from the first.

Whatever it took.

End

Brittle Edge

An outsider samurai visits, looking for a challenge. Echizen gives it to him and comes a little closer to figuring things out. Drama with Action and Blood, I-4

The room was noisy and hot.

Ryouma sat a bit back from his group, far enough that no one could easily refill his sake cup, though that didn't really seem to stop Horio. He watched. Warriors of the garrison laughed loudly, some staggering between the low tables, drunk feet catching on worn places in the floor. Merchants of the town smiled at each other with congratulation or gloating, hands waving over steaming cups. Matrons and servants with market baskets for dinner rested on the benches by the door.

It was just the kind of scene he'd watched before, in another town...

"Echizen! You're not drinking!" Horio leaned precariously far over to elbow Ryouma in the ribs and fill his cup to the brim again.

...though never in quite these circumstances. Ryouma sighed to himself and sipped. It seemed he didn't have a choice, these days. Whether it was Horio dragging him along to drink or Momoshiro to the bathhouse or Kikumaru-taii to the theater with Ooishi-bushou, he seemed to be firmly stuck taking part in the life of the garrison.

It was really a little strange. An improvement over watching his father chase girls in and out of the public houses, but strange.

The door curtains flapped, catching Ryouma's eye, and a samurai he'd never seen before stepped through them. Ryouma tipped his head; a new warrior?

The man prodded one of the drunk samurai by the door with his toe. "Hey. There's supposed to be some strong warriors around here. Who's the strongest?" His flat tone made the back of Ryouma's neck prickle.

The nudged samurai, on the other hand, looked too far gone to notice, and smiled cheerily. "Oh, that would be Tezuka Kunimitsu-sama, our Taishou."

The sudden light in the man's eyes pulled Ryouma forward onto his knees, tense. "Where is he?" the visitor asked.

Arai pushed up from the next table. "Wait a minute. Why do you want to know?" He squinted at the man in the doorway. "You a ronin or something? Taishou doesn't take challenges from the likes of you."

Steel flashed and blood sprayed across the table of suddenly shouting samurai. Arai was on the ground without even a scream. The man's expression didn't change at all. "The likes of you don't tell me what to do." He raised his head and looked around at the samurai with swords out and the commoners scrambling back. The man's eye fell at last on Kachiro, fresh sake bottles held loose in his hands as he stared down at Arai bleeding out nearly at his feet. "You. Where's this Taishou of yours?"

Kachiro paled and Ryouma's eyes narrowed. "He isn't here," he said, clearly, standing. "Other people are, though."

The intruder looked down at him and smiled, thin and crooked. "Oh?" His arm lashed forward again.

Ryouma turned the first cut on his sheath and the man swayed back out of range as Ryouma's own sword licked out. "Yeah."

The man laughed and swung down heavily. Ryouma darted in under it only to take a kick to the stomach from an impossible angle. The intruder's hilt cracked into the side of his face so hard Ryouma saw fireworks behind his eyes as he stumbled back into a table. He wrenched himself back up, bracing for the next blow, knowing it would get through.

Only it never came.

Kawamura-taii stood frozen in the door, hangings half pushed aside as he and the intruder stared at each other. "Akutsu..." he said at last, hesitantly.

The intruder snorted and sheathed his sword with a violent snick. "I'll come back later for your answer." He brushed past Kawamura-taii, striding out into the late summer dusk. The captain looked after him with a troubled frown for a long moment before shaking himself and calling sharply for people to carry Arai up to the castle doctor.

Ryouma pushed himself onto his feet, holding back a wince. A strong hand caught his shoulder, steadying him.

"Are you all right, Echizen?" Kawamura-taii asked quietly.

Ryouma's eyes followed Arai's bloody body out the door. He wasn't at all sure the doctor would be able to do anything. "I'm fine," he bit out.

Or, at least, he would be.

He looked up to meet Kawamura-taii's concerned eyes. "I need to talk to Taishou."

"... so you knew him."

"For years, yes. My mother still talked to his, after she married a... well. But listen, Ooishi, Akutsu is dangerous."

"Well, obviously, if he took Ochibi down like that," Kikumaru-taii chipped in. "But why is he here? You'd think a ronin making trouble would know better."

"Well, there was a rumor that Ise-no-kami, took him on." Kawamura-taii's hands twisted the cloth of his sleeve. "And he has a reputation for sending his warriors on training journeys whether they want to go or not."

"Hmmm."

Ryouma knelt on the mats, ignoring the conversation of the officers as it swirled around him, staring intently at the General, who was staring at one of the lanterns with a distant expression.

"Well, somebody's going to have to meet him, one way or another."

Ryouma caught the firming of the General's mouth and the faint, sharp nod of decision, and leaned forward. "Taishou." He wasn't sure himself whether it was a plea or a demand, in his voice.

Tezuka-dono met his eyes evenly. "Echizen will meet him."

Ryouma settled back, breathing out a sigh of relief. He didn't know what he would have done if he'd had to sit on his anger.

It was so much worse when it wasn't just for himself.

They met in the training yard.

"The kid again, hm?" Akutsu looked down at Ryouma with cold eyes.

Ryouma shrugged. "We didn't finish, last time."

This time he was watching properly, and this time he was ready for the attack that came out of nowhere. Three exchanges—five, and he thought he might have Akutsu's rhythm—and then he was knocked back, a slice burning across his shoulder from a stroke with no rhythm or reason. The harsh crack of Akutsu's laughter taunted him as he straightened, eyes narrowed.

There was something strange about this, about the way Akutsu was always looking through him and not at him. Something that let the man attack without reason.

The thought echoed back to him in the General's voice. Without reason...

Ryouma shook his head. He didn't have time to think about it now. He focused and drove himself to move faster, seeing nothing but the wild flex and bend of Akutsu's form. This time it was Akutsu who fell back with blood welling up to trickle down his side. Akutsu pressed his hand to the slash and glanced down at blood streaking his fingers.

Abruptly those flat, cold eyes focused on Ryouma and turned bright. Ryouma's breath caught and the sudden fierceness of Akutsu's grin drew him back in like he was pulled on a string, faster still, muscles burning with the new pace.

One flashing, brutal strike followed another, staggering both of them back with bared teeth only to dive in again. Around and around each other, looking for a way to cut and thinking nothing else. The watching warriors were shouting and Ryouma couldn't hear them over the driving beat of his own heart, faster and faster.

In the end Ryouma's speed finished it, as he'd been almost sure it would, and Akutsu's sword crashed to the dirt behind him. Both of them stood frozen for a long moment before Ryouma nodded and stepped back.

"You lose."

A few chokes around the edges of the yard answered Ryouma's bluntness. Akutsu's hand flashed out to fist in the fabric at Ryouma's neck and drag him close with a snarl.

Ryouma ignored the shouts behind him, and balanced on his toes in Akutsu's grasp, waiting. His opponent's eyes were still bright and intent on him.

Just as abruptly as he'd done everything else, Akutsu let him go and threw back his head, laughing. Ryouma watched him with raised brows as he collected his sword and walked away, still chuckling. Momoshiro appeared at his side, glaring after Akutsu.

"That guy's crazy."

"Mmm." Ryouma frowned a little. He didn't really think Akutsu was crazy... He didn't have much time to reflect, though, before he was buried in congratulations from the rest of the garrison. Ryouma bore with it as patiently as he could, but when he caught sight of Kawamura-taii moving off quietly in the same direction Akutsu had gone, he muttered something about getting cleaned up and escaped.

It wasn't that he was worrying, he decided as he cut behind houses to catch up. Kawamura-taii was an officer, he could look after himself just fine. Ryouma was just... just curious.

Which was why he leaned against the wall around the corner and out of sight, when he finally caught up with the two men.

"Akutsu..." Kawamura-taii said, hesitantly.

"Captain for Uesugi, hm?" The well-bucket rattled and splashed downward. "Place suits you."

"I heard Taira Banda-dono took you on."

A snort. "Old bastard." More splashes and a sound Ryouma readily identified as the stifled hiss of pain from washing a wound. "Don't know if I'll be going back."

"But," Kawamura-taii protested. "Ronin... Akutsu, that isn't..."

"Kawamura," Akutsu interrupted. "I'm satisfied."

There was a long pause Ryouma had no idea how to interpret and then a soft "Oh," from Kawamura-taii. It sounded like he might be smiling, though, when he added. "Good luck."

Another snort. "Whatever. Don't get killed."

"I won't." Definitely smiling.

A new voice, bizarrely bright and cheery called out, "Akutsu-sama! Are you done already?"

Ryouma blinked and risked a quick look around the corner. A boy who looked even younger than him was standing next to Akutsu, arms full of gear, beaming up at him.

Akutsu glared and growled. "Yeah, I'm done. Thought I told you to stay with the damn horses."

The fierce tone didn't even make a dent in the boy's smile. He didn't answer the growl either, just bowed to Kawamura-taii. "I'm Dan Taichi, sir." Then he ignored Kawamura-taii, too, to fuss over the slash in Akutsu's side.

Akutsu snorted and smacked his hands away. "I'm fine, Taichi."

Dan sighed, looking ever so slightly exasperated. "Yes, Akutsu-sama." He cocked his head and looked up—way up—at Akutsu. "So, if you're satisfied, are we going home?" he asked, matter-of-factly.

Ryouma was fascinated—it was like watching a rabbit boss around a wolf.

When a fresh glare didn't work Akutsu turned to shrug his coat back over his shoulders. "Yes," he bit out. Then he glared at Kawamura-taii instead, who quickly stifled the smile twitching at his lips and looked back without saying anything. Akutsu snorted, with a bit less emphasis this time, and waved a casual hand as he turned and walked away. Dan took a more formal leave and trotted to catch up.

Ryouma took a look at Kawamura-taii standing, smiling after them, and quietly took himself off.

As he made for the baths, and hot water to keep him from stiffening up too badly, Ryouma tried to get his mind settled. He felt oddly divided, which was not how he usually felt after a hard fight. This time, though, the passing calm of accomplishment was already ragged.

Unsatisfied.

His sword had satisfied someone. But that someone... wasn't him. He turned the thought over, poking and prodding at it. It had been a good fight. And that seemed to be enough for Akutsu, enough to rest against. Obviously, Ryouma needed more than just a good fight.

A reason... the General's voice murmured in his head.

Ryouma walked on, frowning.

End

Deeper than Love

Ryuuki is still pining for Shuurei and Ensei talks sense to him. In the wake of this, Seiran makes his final choice of loyalty. Drama with Fluff, I-3

Friendship

The evening was lovely, out in the pavilions by the water. Clear and warm, a perfect evening for drinking.

Ensei felt very in need of the drink.

"Of course she loves you." He leaned back on the pavilion bench and passed the sake bottle back over to his Emperor. "Thing is... you're asking her to not love all of you."

"Huh?" Ryuuki blinked eyes that were a little redder than the alcohol could account for at him and Ensei sighed. He wished Seiran would hurry up and get back from Kou province. This was a big brother's job, wasn't it?

"Look," he said, lacing his hands around one knee, "you want her to see you as just Ryuuki, right? Not as the Emperor at all?"

Ryuuki nodded vigorously and Ensei snagged the bottle back for another swig.

"But the fact is, you are the Emperor. So 'just Ryuuki'... well, that isn't all of you, is it? Do you really want her to just love part of you?"

"Well, no, but..." Ryuuki chewed his lip.

"Besides, this is Shuurei we're talking about," Ensei pressed on. "Would you want her to forget everything outside the Inner Courts? Would you want her to never talk to you about policy and which bureaus are doing what, and what she thinks you should do about the great families?"

Ryuuki shook his head even more vigorously than he'd nodded, hair swishing wildly. "No, no! That's what makes her so wonderful! The things she sees and thinks about and how determined she is and all the good things she dreams to do and—"

"And," Ensei cut in firmly, "those are all the things that remind her you're the Emperor." And the things that made her Shuurei, and it would be a crime to take those away, in his informed opinion.

Ryuuki looked stricken, and Ensei winced. Okay, maybe it was a good thing Seiran wasn't back yet, to throw him into the lake for making Ryuuki look like that, no matter how good the cause. More gently, he added, "If those are all the things that make you love her, then you don't really want her to stop being and doing all of them, right?"

"Oh." Ryuuki's voice was a whisper, and his hair hid his face when he lowered his head.

Ensei sighed. He really hated to do this, but better him than Shuurei, who, he would bet all his fancy certifications, wouldn't be able to lay it out plainly enough, and then the two silly children would just go dancing around the whole mess again. "Come on." He tucked the bottle away, pretty sure he'd want it again later, and pulled his Emperor's arm over his shoulders, steering him back toward his bedroom. "Time to sleep. Sleep will make you feel better."

He hoped he wasn't lying.

Ryuuki stumbled along beside him, and Ensei barely caught the whisper, "Not her. Then who?"

He pressed his lips together tight. He really, really hoped Seiran got back soon.

Blood

Seiran didn't like leaving the court, these days. Things always seemed to get cluttered and messy in his absence, and then he had to spend days on end cleaning them up.

This time, though, he didn't think he'd be able to fix things just by throwing Ensei in the lake or looming over Shuurei's newest suitor until he was suitably intimidated. Not that he didn't dunk Ensei anyway on general principles, once he heard the story.

After the third time Ryuuki insisted, with a painful smile, that everything was fine, Seiran decided it was time for drastic measures and went to find that old goat Shou.

The old goat gave him a surprised look. "And what business could a guardsman have with me?"

"Don't give me that nonsense," Seiran rapped out, staring straight ahead as they paced down the breezeway. "Tell me. Is Ryuuki secure enough on the throne for my identity to be known?"

Shou's eyes sharpened. "Hm." After several long moments he said, "You would make yourself the target of intrigue. But for those who suspect, you are that already. I think it would have no worse effect than your observed behavior toward the Emperor has already led to."

Seiran stifled a snarl at that not very veiled accusation of carelessness. "You already have your assurance, then, that I have only my brother's good in mind," he returned, instead, coolly.

Shou had the nerve to smirk. "Indeed."

One of these days, Seiran swore, he was going to strangle the manipulative old goat. "Prepare for it then," he ordered and turned abruptly aside, making for Ryuuki's office.

Seiran stood outside the doors of the audience hall and listened to the faint murmurs from within as the nobles and officials whispered to each other. It was a typical Court, so far, decrees and trifles of acclaim for this or that service, and only those most involved paid attention.

That was about to change.

Ryuuki's voice rose again. "Last, We summon Seiran of the Guard to come before Us."

Seiran allowed himself a grim smile at the inquiring hitch to the murmurs, before smoothing his expression and stepping inside. Silence spread out behind him as he made his way to the foot of the Imperial dais, where Ryuuki stood, with measured steps. Today he did not wear the armor of the Guard. His armor today was chased and enameled.

The colors were purple.

Passing the last rank of courtiers, he allowed himself a tiny encouraging smile up at Ryuuki before kneeling, just enough to get them both through this, and was relieved. The gold threads of the Imperial finery winked faintly, as if Ryuuki trembled, but his eyes were steady.

"We would have it known," Ryuuki announced into the silence, voice clear and ringing, "that the one known as Shi Seiran, of the Guard, is also Shi Seien, Our brother. We are pleased to welcome him home, to stand at Our side."

As Seiran raised his head, Ryuuki held out his hands, offering, summoning, and Seiran had to swallow back a catch in his throat as he rose and climbed the stairs. He knelt again, smiling up at Ryuuki, and took his hands.

"It is my honor to stand at your side, my Emperor," he declared in just the same carrying voice they had both been taught for official occasions. "It is my honor to serve you."

Ryuuki nodded and stepped back to resume his throne, and Seiran stood and turned, taking his place beside and behind the throne, planned and smooth. They stood, looking out over the Court as whispers rose again, a united icon.

All this, Seiran reflected to himself, only to prepare for his real goal.

He stood calm and stoic through the end of court, joined the little cavalcade of Emperor and advisors as Ryuuki left, and let the courtiers look their fill. When the gossip about the brilliant second prince revived, he wanted it to run straight into this image, of him armed and armored and not in any formal robes, guarding his younger brother's back.

Let them remember that.

He wasn't really accustomed to this game anymore, though, and sighed with relief as he pulled the door of Ryuuki's office shut behind them all. Ryuuki looked around at that, and Seiran's heart squeezed at the fragile hope in Ryuuki's face, the hesitant, silent way his lips formed the word, "Aniue."

"Ryuuki." Seiran smiled and held out his arms, bracing himself to catch his brother as Ryuuki positively dove into them. "Ryuuki," he repeated, softly, cradling his brother close and protective, savoring the fierce rightness of it.

"Aniue." It was out loud, this time, shaking like Ryuuki's whole body was.

"I'm here," Seiran soothed, petting his brother's hair. He lifted his eyes for a moment to check on Ryuuki's advisors; if they couldn't accept this, there would be trouble. Shuuei looked amused, which Seiran supposed he might have expected, and Kouyuu looked a little uncomfortable and a little envious, but his smile was soft. That would do. Seiran gave Shuuei a cold, warning look, and Shuuei stopped looking amused and looked rueful instead, possibly remembering the expression from his visits to Shuurei. That would do also. Seiran turned his attention back to his brother and murmured against his bright hair, "I'm proud of you."

Ryuuki looked up, flushed and happy, eyes bright. "Aniue." Seiran smiled and kissed his forehead gently, and wiped Ryuuki's face with the end of his sash, the way he used to do, which made Ryuuki laugh.

"I'll always be here," Seiran told his brother. "Now. There's work to do, yes?"

"Mm." Ryuuki nodded, smiling, and turned willingly enough to his desk.

Seiran settled by the door, watching as the day's work picked up, waiting to see how he should fit himself into it. Ensei was right, he reflected, he had made his choice and, in the end, it was not for Shuurei.

Seeing his brother smile properly again, he didn't regret it.

End

Wind is on the Face of the Water

Just after their arrival in Nihon, Tomoyo-hime prompts Fai to get his head sorted out about Kurogane. Drama with Ambush Romance, I-3, some spoilers

Fai sat quietly by Kurogane and watched the faint glow of Tomoyo-hime's hands on Kurogane's mangled shoulder with blank eyes. Now and then he touched the hand locked around his arm. Even barely conscious, Kurogane had grabbed hold again as soon as they were settled in the palanquin. The confusion of those last moments in Celes spun through his mind's eye over and over.

"Since when..." he whispered, not expecting an answer even if Kurogane had been awake.

And so he started when Tomoyo-hime murmured, "Probably since the very beginning."

The beginning? Fai shook his head. "But..."

Tomoyo-hime looked up, hands still busy casting healing, and smiled at him, sweet and kind and merciless. "Well, what did you think, the first time you saw him?"

It was a little hard to remember that now, after all the worlds, all the events, all the words. Her smile reminded him, though, and he answered slowly. "He was so stern and determined." As memory sped up so did his words. "So urgent, but only looking at one single goal. I wanted to—" he broke off sharply.

"To make him look at you?" Her eyes twinkled before she looked down at Kurogane again. "Do you think," she added, softly, "he saw you any less clearly?"

Fai chewed on his lip. He'd been surprised, more than once, by Kurogane's perception, and he had to admit Kurogane didn't say what he saw very often. "I... suppose not."

"He is a very kind man."

Fai bent his head. "I know."

"You've helped him." One small hand reached out and touched his cheek, asking him to look up. Tomoyo was smiling again. "Thank you."

For once glib words completely deserted him and Fai shook his head helplessly. Tomoyo-hime patted his cheek, serene and unyielding.

"Come along. As soon as this is bandaged it's your turn."

Fai was rather afraid of that.

Fai washed slowly, being careful not to get his dressings wet. He didn't want to give Tomoyo-hime another chance to tell him alarming things.

Had Kurogane really... cared about him... from the very start? Fai had thought that, kind as he was, Kurogane was still wrapped up in his own determination, his insistence on returning to his home. He'd taken "it doesn't concern me" at face value, thought it was safe, right up until Tokyo.

In retrospect, that had obviously been foolish of him.

Even after, when Fai tried to make it safe again, to draw back—as well as possible while drinking Kurogane's blood which, admittedly, wasn't very—the stubborn man had refused to go.

Refused to let Fai go.

Looking back, Fai couldn't lay his finger on any single moment, or even progression of moments, that might have told him Kurogane would do such a thing, make such sacrifices to save him. And that... that probably told him something in itself.

He stared down into the steaming water, wondering what he was supposed to do now.

"No, like this. Over that finger, and brace the inner with your thumb. Don't hold them too hard or..."

The clump of rice Fai was trying to eat disintegrated and he sighed while Tomoyo-hime kindly didn't laugh at him—at least not out loud. Perhaps it was just as well Shaoran and Mokona had fallen asleep before dinner and weren't here to watch this. One more try. Ah, that was better.

"He's very much like Sakura-chan."

Fai paused with his chopsticks in his mouth and raised his brows, trying to wordlessly convey the comparison between a small, laughing, bright-eyed princess and a large, growling, glaring ninja. Tomoyo-hime just smiled and sipped from her cup.

"They love the same way."

Fai swallowed and concentrated on capturing another of his unidentifiable vegetables and tried to keep breathing. The princess' open-hearted love had been a benediction, making no demands of him, so freely poured out he could only do his best to aid her wish in return. To compare that to the quiet waiting that hid behind Kurogane's growling and snapping made his heart skip in something like panic.

Tomoyo-hime gave him a long look and made a little hm sound. "Well." She smiled brightly, in a way that made Fai instantly wary, and picked up a carafe. "Shall we drink, then?"

"Ah. I wondered if you would be here." Tomoyo-hime stepped softly into the room and slid the door shut behind her.

Fai stirred in the dimness, where he sat watching Kurogane sleep. "I didn't want to bring my misfortune on him, as well, you know" he said softly.

Tomoyo-hime stood for a long breath, looking at him steadily before she finally crossed the room with delicate steps and rapped him briskly over the head, making Fai start and duck.

Maybe it was some kind of national habit.

"Don't be foolish," she directed. "Have you forgotten that I am a miko? I would know if you truly brought misfortune, and I say that you do not."

"But..."

Tomoyo-hime shook her head, ornaments chiming. "You do not." Her firm tone brooked no hint of doubt and Fai subsided, flustered. He had never questioned that one thing; no one he really knew had. "Didn't Yuuko-san tell you?" Tomoyo-hime asked, settling down beside him and smoothing the covers over Kurogane's chest. "Everyone makes their own choices. It's from those choices that inevitability flows, not the other way around."

Fai felt as though those small hands were turning his world end for end, and shook his head mutely. Tomoyo-hime sighed and reached up to lay her hand gently on his head.

"Yuui, royal prince," she said soft and clear, "Fai D Fluorite, Mage of Celes, it was not your fault."

The words rang through him like a bell and he lifted a hand, wanting to catch and hold them. She took his hand in both her own.

"Kurogane does not believe it was your fault either. You trust his eyes, don't you?"

"Yes," Fai whispered. She had an answer for every fear, fit each one together as neatly as someone piecing back together a broken mirror, and the reflection she showed him was ragged but clear.

"You should sleep a little," she told him. "I'll call you when he wakes." Her smile turned mischievous. "If you don't know on your own, that is."

Fai's mouth quirked wryly. Clearly he wasn't going to win any argument with her tonight. "Thank you." Besides, he did want to speak with Yuuko; if Kurogane was this determined to protect Fai he couldn't complain about Fai doing the same in return. He touched Kurogane's chest one last time, feeling his heartbeat, and took that reassurance with him when he stood.

"Fai?"

He paused at the door. "Yes?"

"Remember this. This time I will say 'Welcome'. Next time, it will be 'Welcome home'."

It took him a moment to clear his throat enough to speak. "Next time, then," he said, husky, "I'll say 'I'm back'."

The moonlight lit up her smile.

End

A/N: Personally, I felt that the transition from absolute despair in Celes to everything being hunky dory in Nihon was way too abrupt. This is one attempt to explain how Fai could have gotten from the former to the latter.

I Will be the One

Post Future arc. Seven snapshots as Tsuna's Family swear their loyalty to him. Drama, I-3

1.

They were halfway to school when Gokudera noticed it.

"Hm? You're going to keep wearing the ring, then?"

Tsuna looked down at the ring on his hand without a great deal of enthusiasm. "For now. I... I think I'd better."

"Huh." There was kind of a funny smile on Gokudera's face when Tsuna looked up. "Seems about right to me, then. Hang on for a minute." He set his bag against a handy wall and took Tsuna's shoulder, turning to face him.

Tsuna made a choked noise as Gokudera knelt down in front of him, right there in the street. His frantic look up and down, hoping no one was watching, was interrupted, though, by the intensity of Gokudera's voice.

"Tenth." Gokudera took Tsuna's hand, bowed his head over it and kissed the Sky ring. "I'm your man. Always."

Tsuna bit his lip; he never quite knew what to do when Gokudera sounded like this.

And then Gokudera looked up with a crooked smile and winked. "What? I'm your first follower, right? Just making it official."

Tsuna relaxed and managed to smile back. "Okay."

Gokudera swaggered all the rest of the way to school.

2.

"So, did you understand number seven?"

"Not really." Yamamoto rubbed the back of his head, brows quirked. "I think the third example in the book is kind of the same, though."

They were digging through the math text when Reborn jumped down from his hammock onto the table and Tsuna nearly jumped out of his skin. He wished Reborn would make noise when he woke up, like a normal person.

"Yamamoto, good, you're here. You need to kiss Tsuna's ring."

"What?!" Tsuna scrambled back from the table a bit. He also wished Reborn would stop saying weird things out of the blue; some lead-up would at least give him more time to duck.

Yamamoto just blinked. "Um. Why?"

"It's a sign of loyalty among us."

Yamamoto smiled tolerantly. "Ah, your game again."

Tsuna was really starting to wonder whether Yamamoto meant the same thing everyone else did when he used the word game.

"Well, okay then." Yamamoto reached over and caught one of the hands Tsuna was waving.

"Um, but, you don't—"

"Hey, it's okay Tsuna," Yamamoto laughed. He leaned down and brushed his lips over the ring and Tsuna stilled. For one moment, with his head bent and eyes focused on Tsuna's hand, Yamamoto looked completely serious.

And then he was smiling his wry smile, the one that was amused by the whole world, and Tsuna breathed again.

"Also, you got number four completely wrong," Reborn added.

Tsuna groaned.

3.

Tsuna looked up, startled, at the soft scratch at his door. No one he knew announced themselves that quietly.

No one except, maybe, the person standing in the door, who he had just never, ever expected to see in his room.

"Boss." Chrome stood in the doorway, clasping her staff close to her chest. "Mukuro-sama said it would be all right," she murmured.

Tsuna opened and closed his mouth a few times before he managed. "What would?"

She came in with swift, silent steps and sank down to the floor beside him, laying her staff down carefully. And then she picked up his ring hand in both her own.

"If you want me to," she said softly, eyes lowered or maybe just fixed on the Sky ring.

Tsuna had to work on getting his voice going again. "But... I mean, are you sure?" He couldn't make out anything of her expression. "Is this what you want, Chrome-san?"

She nodded silently.

"Then... well, yes. I mean, if you're sure." Tsuna felt a little helpless in face of her quiet.

She lifted his hand and kissed the ring, light as a moth's wing brushing his hand. "I will always be your Mist Guardian."

"I... thank you." Tsuna groped for something to say, something right. "I'll be glad to... welcome you to... to the Family," he finally got out. And he still wasn't sure about the whole concept, but nothing else seemed like it would match what she was doing.

Chrome looked up with a small smile. "Thank you. Boss."

She picked up her staff and left as silently as she'd come.

4.

Ryouhei just laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Of course! I already said I was the Sun Guardian, didn't I?"

Gokudera grumbled a bit about lousy lawn-heads with no respect, but Reborn just nodded.

Tsuna was grateful for the reprieve and tried not to think too hard about the weight and meaning of Ryouhei's bare word.

5.

Bianchi stalked back down the hall and the seventeen year old Lambo crawled out from under Tsuna's bed and collapsed on the floor. "Saved. Thanks, young Vongola." And then he lifted his head again for another look at Tsuna, flopped over beside him. "Ah. You've started wearing the Sky ring all the time."

Tsuna winced. "Um. Yeah."

The smile Lambo gave him was sympathetic. "You've been through a lot with and for that ring."

Tsuna stared down at it. "Yeah," he said softly, and closed his hand into a fist.

It was his fist that Lambo closed a long-fingered hand around and lifted, so that he could kiss the ring. His eyes were serious when he looked up. "Welcome to the Families, Vongola."

And then seven year old Lambo reappeared with a poff, hands holding Tsuna's fist, and squealed. "Are we gonna play fighting?"

Fending him off took until dinner and it was some time before Tsuna remembered the older Lambo's words.

He thought about them the first time he looked at a neat, black suit hanging in his closet, though.

6.

For a while, Tsuna had consoled himself with the thought that Hibari would never give a moment's thought to any Family ritual, especially not this one. And then he forgot about it in the rush of other events. When they needed Hibari he seemed to show up and that was plenty enough for Tsuna.

It was a little more than enough when Hibari started showing up to spar with him, but Reborn insisted, and it did make a distressing kind of sense, so Tsuna did his best and laid in a lot of ice packs.

So he really wasn't expecting it, the day he succeeded in blasting Hibari into the practice room floor, and Hibari didn't get up at once. Instead he held up a hand and flicked his fingers, beckoning to Tsuna.

A little warily, because Hibari was still smiling, Tsuna approached. "Um. Yes?"

Hibari caught his wrist and pulled Tsuna down beside him. "For the Family." He lifted Tsuna's ring hand and kissed the Sky ring.

Tsuna squeaked a little in shock.

"You still act far too much like an herbivore," Hibari observed, "but as long as you show me your fangs properly."

And he rolled fluidly to his feet and punched Tsuna across the room.

Tsuna staggered upright and threw himself back at Hibari. If this was for the Family, their family, if Hibari agreed to guard them... then Tsuna had to do what he could, too.

Hibari's smile widened a bit as they met again.

End

A/N: Inspired by the scene between Iemitsu and the !Ninth.

Nine Years, Eleven Months, Twenty-seven Days

On the anniversary of something that doesn't happen, Tsuna's Guardians gather around him. Fluffy Drama, I-3

Yamamoto was the first one who came, tapping brisk but quiet on the door and slipping inside, shadows falling across his face. He said nothing, only came to Tsuna and wrapped around him, a shield of muscle and bone and breath. Tsuna rested his forehead against Yamamoto's chest with a low sigh. He didn't know whether he wanted them here or not, but he knew he couldn't send them away. Not tonight.

Gokudera came next, head lowered, every movement pulled tight. He didn't look at either of them, only sank down to sit at Tsuna's feet, one arm locked around a raised knee. A slender, red stick turned unceasingly through his fingers.

Hibari ignored them when he stalked through the door and came to stand beside the window, eyes gleaming and sharp on the night beyond.

The city lights gleamed on Lambo's horns as he settled on the balcony outside.

Ryouhei planted himself at the door, arms crossed, with a fierce expression but sad eyes. He nodded to Chrome as she entered and stood silently in the corner across from Hibari, staff upright between her hands.

They waited and watched.

Pre-dawn was drowning the streetlights when Tsuna stirred. "It's all right, now," he told them softly.

There was a husky sound from Gokudera and Yamamoto's arms tightened for one quick moment.

They left as quietly as they'd come, and Tsuna only hoped they'd sleep now. One by one, with a nod or a swift touch, they unwound themselves from around him until only Hibari was left still watching as Tsuna finally made his way to bed. The line of his back, poised and uncompromising, followed Tsuna down into dreams.

End

The Beauty of Obligation

Filling in missing scenes of Hibari's training with Dino, and how it might have convinced him to Tsuna's side. Drama, I-3

Kyouya turned over in bed with a huff and yanked the covers up. He was annoyed.

A good fight, one he could sink his teeth into properly, was always enjoyable, but he saw no call to interrupt it with chatter.

And just who did Cavallone think he was, to judge Kyouya's skill? He wouldn't even fight properly, all avoidance and evasion.

Still. The fact that he could evade and avoid spoke its own language, and a far more convincing one than the flowery nonsense about frogs and wells. As long as Cavallone showed up, Kyouya would fight him.

Now if he could just make the man fight seriously.

The ring made a useful lever, which was good; Kyouya couldn't imagine any other reason for keeping it.

"All right, then, how about a trade?" Cavallone showed his teeth. "If I beat you in a serious fight, then you have to be part of Tsuna's Family."

Kyouya had to snort a bit over Cavallone's foolishness. He wasn't one of the idiots from the sports clubs, who made bets and dares out of their wins and losses—cutting one's hair or slave for a week or whatever. A win or a loss was what it was; that was all. And as for joining anything, least of all Sawada's little herd, that was laughable.

The thought did tug at him, though. Family. That was something the baby had mentioned.

Well, that would save for later.

Right now there was only the sudden sharpening of Cavallone's eyes, the speed and sureness of his feet against the roof, the singing of the whip cutting the air. Things that made the world bright and sharp and satisfying.

Losing was not satisfying at all, however.

"So, it's a deal, right?" Cavallone prompted, shaking back sweat-soaked hair.

Kyouya spat blood on the man's foot.

He didn't know why that made Cavallone smile, and didn't waste time trying to figure it out. The man couldn't shut up to save his life and would undoubtedly tell him sooner or later.

"It's not just a decoration, you know." Cavallone opened the range again. "That ring."

Kyouya stalked forward, tracking the motion of the whip. "If it's a herd badge, I don't need it."

Cavallone groaned. "You are the most perfect Cloud in the history of the world, I swear."

The whip hooked one tonfa and Cavallone slid back from the other and Kyouya stepped in, turning to strike again. "Cloud?" That was the symbol on the ring, if he recalled.

"The Cloud watches from above." Cavallone snaked the whip through the spin of one tonfa, tangling it, and jerked Kyouya to the side. "The Cloud follows its own way and can't be bound." Kyouya spun on his center, found his stance again, struck for Cavallone's stomach with the shaft. "You're a natural."

A loop of the whip tightened on Kyouya's neck as Cavallone sprang back, and he barely got a tonfa up in time to keep it from closing completely. Cavallone smiled and twitched it loose, releasing him, and Kyouya's lip curled in a snarl. He hated it when Cavallone did that. "What's your point?" he asked, shaking his tonfa free sharply.

Cavallone tipped his head to the side. "The ring. Doesn't it match what you are?"

Kyouya considered for a moment. "Well enough."

Cavallone smiled. "That's my point."

Kyouya eyed him narrowly. That seemed far too simple for someone who fought in such an indirect style.

"So, you really like this school, don't you? You always choose here, to fight, without even thinking about it."

Kyouya raised his brows. "It's mine." The rest was not some outsider's to ask about.

Cavallone's mouth quirked. "It fits you well. But don't you think some variety would build your skills faster?"

Kyouya stood still for a moment, torn between insistence that Cavallone was not his personal trainer or any such nonsense and the knowledge that he was sharpening against Cavallone's skill.

"It would be more interesting for you, too, wouldn't it?" Cavallone added, easily.

Finally Kyouya shrugged. "If you like. It doesn't matter to me where I bite you."

Cavallone's hair fell over his eyes as he rocked forward, laughing. "I've noticed. Well, come on, then." His smile was bright. "Let's try something interesting."

Kyouya looked over at Kusakabe, standing next to Cavallone's man. "Keep things as they should be," he ordered.

The forest gave him an advantage. The shore was difficult for both of them, with its shifting footing. The edge of his inside strike was exactly here. If he set the ball of his foot at just this angle it increased his power. When Cavallone gave back to rob a blow of its strength, he couldn't draw his whip back in for one and a half seconds. Kyouya stored away all these observations, evaluations, the things he usually didn't bother with because no one could match him.

Cavallone could, though.

It seemed wrong. He'd seen the man trip over his own feet when that assistant of his wasn't around; he was the epitome of a herd-beast. How he could be herd and carnivore as well, Kyouya didn't understand. It seemed disingenuous, and not proper at all.

Of course, very few people understood true propriety, which was why he had to bite them.

It made him wonder, though, how many other carnivores might be found among the herd.

Every now and then, as they fought, he considered what these environments would do to Mukuro's staff, and then he pushed Cavallone harder.

"The thing is," Cavallone panted, hands braced on his knees, "there are people coming after it."

Kyouya blinked sweat out of his eyes. "What?"

"The ring. I told you it wasn't just decoration, didn't I?" Cavallone's smile was wry. "It's a weapon. And some of the most deadly people in the mafia want them."

Kyouya considered this. He didn't care particularly about the ring itself, but if it would bring a real fight to him... He smiled slowly.

Cavallone burst out laughing until he had to sit down. "God, Kyouya. What are we going to do with you?"

Kyouya worked tingling fingers around the handles of his tonfa and looked coolly down at his opponent. "You could fight me for real."

Cavallone leaned back on his hands, one corner of his mouth quirking as he looked up at Kyouya. "Maybe I am."

"Not yet," Kyouya shot back. Last week he wouldn't have been sure of that, but now he could tell. It annoyed him; the only proper fight was a real one.

Cavallone had an odd look on his face, smiling still but his eyes had turned dark. "Maybe." And then it was gone. "In any case, it would be a good idea for you to see some of the other Guardians' fights, to get an idea of the other side's strength, so we should probably head back."

Kyouya cocked his head. So there were other people who had these rings too. More importantly, though... back? "They're in Namimori?"

Suddenly Cavallone looked just a bit shifty. "Ah. Well, yes, about that. See..." he stood up and brushed himself off, "it seems the matches are actually taking place at the school."

Kyouya just looked at Cavallone for a long moment.

And then he turned away and strode for the treeline and the road beyond it.

"Kyouya, hang on! Wait, you don't... are you going to walk back?! Kyouya...!"

Kyouya lay on the roof, glowering at the sky. Those masked things were breaking his school. He would have to do something about that.

It was hard to concentrate, even on such an outrage against propriety, though. He kept remembering the flash of steel and water, and the sharpness of eyes he could have sworn belonged to an herbivore.

"So, are you going to try to take my head off right this instant?" Cavallone sounded cautious, as well he should. Kyouya narrowed his eyes, not looking back to see the man coming up the stairwell.

"Why not? You lie to me."

"I didn't lie." Now Cavallone sounded uncomfortable. "I just didn't say everything all at once. You know you would have—"

"Not that." Kyouya rolled up on an elbow and glared at the man. "You act like an herbivore, but you fight like you have real teeth. You pretend you're not what you are." And apparently this was a popular thing for people who should be honest and self-respecting carnivores to do.

Cavallone was staring at him. "It's not pretending," he said, slowly. He settled on his heels beside Kyouya with a faint frown. "You're talking about my Family, aren't you?"

Well, obviously. Kyouya glared some more.

"Kyouya..." Cavallone ran a hand through his hair, and now he had a tiny, helpless smile. "It's because of my Family that I have real teeth."

Kyouya leaned back, disgusted. "Herd beasts never have teeth. It's their nature."

"Hmm." Cavallone looked at him sidelong. "Well, herd beasts, maybe not. But packs do, don't they?"

Kyouya paused. He supposed there was some truth in that. "They don't congregate with herbivores, though," he pointed out. "They prey on them, as it should be. They only congregate with others of their kind."

Cavallone was smiling. "They're social enough, though, aren't they? With their pack. That isn't dishonest, is it?"

Kyouya pursed his lips. "Hm."

Cavallone laughed and reached over to ruffle his hair, and that was more liberty than anyone was allowed to take, even if they had proper teeth and maybe weren't being dishonest about it. Kyouya's tonfa connected, if not quite as satisfyingly as he would like. Clearly he needed to keep on sharpening himself. He drove after Cavallone as the man retreated.

He was still annoyed that Yamamoto didn't show his teeth properly, and intended to bite him to death as soon as it was convenient, so he could see them again.

Kyouya sat at the edge of the school grounds, watching the masked creatures restore his school. He intended to take every incomplete repair out of their hides. And possibly out of Sawada's, too, since he had done nearly as much damage as that mechanical suit.

"So?" Cavallone stood behind him on the little rise. "What do you think?" There was a smile in his voice. "Will Tsuna make a good pack leader?"

Kyouya snorted. "They're certainly licking his hands already."

Cavallone was quiet for a moment. "And you?"

Kyouya looked over his shoulder, brows raised.

"Will you guard him?"

Kyouya looked back at the school. "If he needs someone else to fight for him, he's an herbivore." Grudgingly he added, "Which he doesn't seem to be. As much."

"I don't know why I even asked," Cavallone sighed. After a moment he asked, "Why do you protect the school? It's full of herbivores, isn't it?"

"It's a traditional school. It's a proper thing."

"Hm." Cavallone sat down beside him, one leg curled under him. "Could a Family be proper?" He sounded curious. "We're about as traditional as it gets."

That was an interesting question, actually, and Kyouya decided he would consider it. But he had a more urgent question this evening. "Why are you doing this?" Cavallone was putting in a ridiculous amount of effort to persuade Kyouya into someone else's Family. If it had been his own, Kyouya might have understood better.

Cavallone didn't pretend he didn't understand, which saved Kyouya having to bite him. "Because the boss is given for his Family." His eyes were distant, fixed unseeing on the school. "It's true; Tsuna isn't suited to be a mafia boss. But he'll be the one Vongola needs. I can't help Tsuna escape that." His hands tightened on each other. "I love him like a little brother, but I can't. My Family needs him, too." Cavallone bent his head, light hair falling forward to hide his expression. "But I'll do everything I can to protect him."

Kyouya stood and Cavallone's head came up, eyes startled. Kyouya looked down at him. "Guilt is boring. Come fight me when you're over it." He walked down the rise to go inspect the work on the school.

Propriety tugged at him.

He stopped, back still to Cavallone, and added, "I'll see what this Family looks like. Whether it's suitable as was it is." The fight between Sawada and Xanxus tomorrow should offer him an opportunity.

He heard Cavallone start laughing, free and rueful, as he walked on.

Kyouya sat silently and suffered Kusakabe to clean and tape his cuts from that pitiful "prince's" knives and wires.

"You should really let us give you a transfusion," Cavallone complained, leaning by the open window.

Kyouya snorted. "I'm not that weak." He'd consented to come to this hospital Cavallone had apparently taken over, and that was enough for one night. Or one dawn, as it nearly was.

Cavallone sighed. "All right. Here, though." He fished a small box out of his pocket and tossed it to Kyouya.

The Cloud ring was inside it.

He had to admit, Sawada did appear to have reasonable teeth, and, if he could be induced to show them, would be quite suitable. One or two of the others had potential. And there was Mukuro.

He turned the ring in his fingers and finally looked up at Cavallone. "I'll see if this Family is a proper thing." It would balance his obligation for the things Cavallone had shown him.

And he supposed it was distantly possible that he would decide in favor.

He sniffed a little over Cavallone's brilliant smile and tucked the ring away.

End

Breaking of the Day

Tsuna gets taken off to Italy to get better acquainted with the Vongola. While he's there, he has to come to some kind of terms with Xanxus. Kind of, sort of, mental Tsuna/Xanxus. Drama, I-4, some spoilers

"I can't believe you told Kaa-san this was overseas study," Tsuna grumbled as he was frog-marched to his doom.

Well, all right, not really frog-marched, his dad had his hands in his pockets and Reborn wasn't tall enough, but the effect was the same.

"It is overseas," his dad said, cheerily. "And it's definitely higher education."

Tsuna glared at the double-doors they were approaching. He had never agreed to this. Well, not really. Not exactly.

"Cheer up," his dad advised. "It's a job for life." While Tsuna was trying to find words for the magnitude of wrongness in that statement, his dad swept open the door with a perfectly ruthless smile and Tsuna was pinned in the doorway by the measuring stares of a lot of men in black suits.

"Tsuna." The Ninth smiled. "Welcome."

A rough snort cut through Tsuna's fumbling thank-you, and he looked around to see Xanxus lounging in one of the chairs glaring death at him. His words ended on a strangled sound. The room was silent as the two of them stared at each other.

Finally Tsuna swallowed and took a breath. If he didn't say something he would probably be here until he spontaneously combusted from the glare. "Xanxus-san," he managed. "It's, um, good to see you again?"

Xanxus' lip curled in a sneer but he finally turned the dark glower away, as if Tsuna was a bug he'd noticed only in passing, and Tsuna made it to the chair left empty without wobbling. Much.

It took him a while to register that a few of the stares around the table were now impressed, and he had to choke down hysterical laughter when he did.

What else was he supposed to say, after all? "Still going to kill everyone present to cover up murdering me, and by the way how's the food around here?"

"So." The Ninth's smile was a little too similar to Reborn's for Tsuna's comfort. "Shall we begin?"

"A war?!" Tsuna waved his arms to relieve his feelings, here in the safety of his own room. "Another? You brought me over here just in time for another?" He stopped, siezed by a horrible thought, and buried his fingers in his hair. "Or is it the same?"

"It isn't the same," Reborn stated, far too calmly, as usual. "We're pretty sure."

"Pretty sure?" Tsuna's voice cracked.

Reborn shrugged. "We're still tracing their headquarters."

"While they know exactly where we are. Great," Tsuna grumbled.

"That's why the Varia were called here." Reborn sounded perfectly reasonable and Tsuna shuddered.

"Is he going to try to kill me again?" he asked with a certain morbid curiosity.

"Sooner or later, probably."

Tsuna threw himself onto his bed and pulled a pillow over his head. He didn't know whether he was really glad or really regretting that he'd convinced Gokudera to stay in Japan while he spent six months "overseas study" in Italy.

Reborn hauled him out from under the pillow and dumped him on the floor. "Hurry up. You have another meeting to observe in five minutes."

The only reason Tsuna managed to keep shoot me now behind his teeth was because he knew Reborn would.

Tsuna cautiously eased out onto the terrace. Bullets had stopped zinging and the man in charge of interior security assured him the assault was over, but he'd heard a few of the stories about how many tunnels and hiding places this place had.

Besides, Xanxus was out here.

"You got them all?" he was asking Viper and Belphegor.

"All three," Viper confirmed while Belphegor cocked his head at Tsuna and smiled disturbingly. "If that really is all of their squad leaders this should put the crimp in their strategy we need..."

Tsuna stopped paying attention, because something in the trees caught his eye. It was something like a gleam, only dark instead of light, and his gaze followed it, puzzled at it, until it resolved into something that might be a very long gun.

Adrenaline kicked his heart hard and his teeth locked. He felt like he could see rings of air sliding down a long, straight path and he followed them with wide fixed eyes until they ended at...

Xanxus' back.

No one else was looking, he could never push Xanxus hard enough to move him away, but he was already moving. He reached out but he'd seen the things Reborn could shoot, his hand wouldn't even slow a bullet down. He needed something more. He was not going to let anyone be shot in front of him!

Need. Want. Will.

Flame.

The impact drove him back against Xanxus and the next few moments were a confusion of shouting and falling and someone's boot in his ribs and the bullet safe in his hand. When it was done, Belphegor was gone from the terrace, the noise had moved over to the tree line, and Xanxus was staring down at him.

"What kind of a goddamn moron are you?"

Tsuna straightened up, coughing a little, and opened his hand to show the bullet resting in his glove.

"I know that! I'm going to kill you and you're trying to protect me?" Xanxus spat on the flagstones. "The old bastard is senile, trying to make some limp little shit like you a boss!"

He stalked inside and Tsuna sighed. He knew it probably was a pretty stupid thing to do, but he couldn't just watch even someone who wanted him dead shot. He couldn't.

"A boss risks his life to protect the Family," Reborn said, appearing in the door. He looked Tsuna up and down and smiled faintly. "Not too bad."

Tsuna smiled back, shakily.

"We'll work on new training, so you can call the Flame faster."

Tsuna slumped back against the wall, groaning. One of these days, he was going to learn.

Tsuna squirmed in his chair. He'd never been fond of watching meetings to start with, especially when they were in a language that, despite Reborn's Dying Will Language Lessons, he only mostly understood, and lately they'd gotten a lot worse. The Vongola leaders were tense, people were dying, and Xanxus was watching him like a hawk and sneering every time Tsuna so much as twitched. It was as much as he could do not to stammer every time someone spoke to him.

"What has he got against me?" he wailed as Reborn and his dad saw him back to his room and checked it over. "Just that I'm alive?"

Reborn paused to whack him over the head. "Quit whining. And yes."

There were times Tsuna wished Dino-san had taught him how to swear, the way he'd joked about when he learned Tsuna was visiting Italy.

"Well, and his strength is the reason he had so much support for becoming boss," his dad added, looking carefully out the curtains. "The more people see of your strength, first hand, the less support he'll have to keep holding off from serving you."

Tsuna stopped dead in the middle of the room and stared in abject horror.

"I told you a long time ago, didn't I?" Reborn hopped up onto a chair and pulled open his gun case. "In a challenge for leadership, our tradition is that the loser serves under the winner."

Tsuna squeaked.

His dad waved a soothing hand. "Xanxus is the leader of the Varia and they're directly under the Ninth. As long as the Ninth is alive, no one will bring any real pressure for him to swear to you." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Of course, he does owe you for his life, now, which probably isn't helping."

"Life... huh? But..." Tsuna laughed uneasily. "People save each other all the time in the mafia, right?" Surely they must or no one would still be alive.

"Of course." Reborn polished a very large barrel. "And by doing so they incur a debt. It's a special relationship. Between enemies, it's a debt of honor that must be discharged. Within the Family it's an extra bond of loyalty."

Tsuna took one second to consider the idea of Xanxus finding himself with a "special relationship" to Tsuna and started hyperventilating.

He'd never make it home alive.

Tsuna watched the fighting flow slowly over the slopes below and listened to the babble of voices in his earpiece and waited in the Flame's stillness to see another opening to push the intruders back.

"They're staying together, this is our best chance..."

"...shield, though, even Xanxus' guns can't get all the way through it."

"We need to get rid of it, then."

Tsuna watched the wavering opacity around the invaders flowing and reforming, and felt the weight of it in his mind and senses, and nodded. In the present stillness of his mind, he knew there would only be more deaths if he held his hand now. "I can do it," he said, the first he'd spoken during this battle.

There was silence on the earpiece for a moment until the Ninth said, "Reborn?"

"He's my student, of course he can." A double crack of gunfire rang out off to the left and through the earpiece, and another of the invaders went down. "It's line of sight, though, and he'll need cover to prepare it. Twenty seconds."

Babble broke out again.

"...take the whole thing out he'll be up pretty high."

"Wide field of fire..."

"...Varia can do it?"

Unthought calculation tumbled through the back of Tsuna's mind. The Varia probably could protect him, if they chose to really do it. If they didn't, could he protect himself? Their "failure" would have to be subtle, before so many witnesses, so, probably, yes.

Xanxus snarled an acknowledgment over the line and Tsuna nodded to himself. "Fifteen minutes for the squad on the east to be in position," he stated, the movement he had watched coming together into prediction. "I'll be one hundred feet up from the first terrace."

There was another hitch of quiet and then a rattle of movement orders to the eastern defenders. Tsuna made his way up the terraces and found Squalo there ahead of him, bellowing for the other Varia to hurry up or he wouldn't leave anything for them.

Tsuna would have prefered his own Guardians around him, for this, but it had been his own choice for them to stay behind. He would just have to keep his eyes open. He nodded to the Varia.

"Now."

A hundred feet up the stone wall, Tsuna had the angle he needed to strike the invaders' shield and he was completely exposed. Knives, illusion, lighting flickered around him as he drew on the Flame and started to focus it. His eyes didn't leave his target, and so he saw it coming for him, larger than any bullet he'd seen before and rippling the same way the shield was. It tracked him perfectly and the world slowed and sharpened as he decided it would probably follow him even if he moved; he hadn't built enough power yet to deflect it; his senses reached out, searching for the best answer.

And then Xanxus was in front of him, firing into the oncoming danger, firing and not moving. Surprise flickered in Tsuna's thoughts, but the calm of the Dying Will drew memory together into understanding, and Tsuna knew what Xanxus was doing.

Discharging his obligation. Declaring his enmity.

So be it. Tsuna concentrated again on raising his Flame, even as the bullet and whatever it carried struck Xanxus and he fell. As Xanxus fell, Tsuna raised his hand and released the Flame.

He breathed once, twice, watching as it struck the shield and spread, breathed deeper and focused the Flame more tightly, ignoring the rise of voices in his earpiece. He felt the break before he saw it, the sudden give under the force of his attack. The shield didn't crack, but it gave. And then it disintegrated.

Everything paused for one moment, and then a roar swept over the field, triumph and terror mixed together.

Tsuna was more than happy to leave firing on people caught in the open with no cover to others, and instead he descended the wall to where Squalo had dragged Xanxus around a corner into a bit of shelter from stray bullets. The other Varia had already scattered, having, Tsuna knew well enough, none of his reluctance.

Xanxus bared his teeth, looking up at Tsuna from where he leaned against the wall with a certain satisfaction laid over the constant fury in his eyes. It didn't waver as Squalo yanked bandages tight around his shoulder.

"There, damn idiot," Squalo declared and turned to bound toward the battle.

Xanxus ignored him, snarling that backhanded triumph at Tsuna, and Tsuna came closer and knelt beside him. He hadn't seen Xanxus in a long time, and maybe Reborn was right about his intuition growing, because this time he understood something he hadn't before. He lifted a burning hand and laid it against the center of Xanxus' chest.

"There shouldn't be ice here."

Now Xanxus was staring at him, blank and furious instead of pleased and furious, not even bothering to brush him away. "The hell?"

It wasn't something seen. It wasn't something felt. But Tsuna knew what was under his hand. "Your Will has frozen your heart." He frowned and flattened his palm. "It shouldn't be like that."

It would be such a small thing to do, really. He reached with his own Will, and Xanxus jerked back against the wall behind him, eyes widening. "No..."

Tsuna looked up at him. "I know." He knew the first crack in that ice, and the fractured edges of it. He knew how they would cut when they came free. Love and betrayal both slid off the ice, right now, and Tsuna knew that they shouldn't.

The fury and terror in Xanxus' eyes only knew the agony waiting in those edges, though, and that he had been checkmated before he knew it. Tsuna's hand had already closed around the rage the fueled his Will.

"No!" Xanxus' voice was harsh and tight and almost inaudible, his whole body rigid under Tsuna's hand, fingers closed helplessly hard on the chips of broken stone under them.

Tsuna listened to the sounds coming from below them, to the death following his actions, and finally sighed and reluctantly drew his hand back, releasing the unseen ice from his Will. He stood, head bowed, looking down at Xanxus staring up at him. He almost certainly was risking his life, to refrain, and he didn't know if he was truly doing any good for Xanxus either. But Xanxus had chosen that ice and Tsuna couldn't undo it by force.

He turned away into the building and left Xanxus staring after him, breathing hard.

Tsuna sat in his chair and tried not to fidget, because sometimes now it made someone jump when he did. He didn't really think that was much of an improvement over the past few months, but Reborn smiled a lot.

The Ninth leaned back in his chair, smiling. "Well, that's one conflict cleared up in Vongola favor. So let's move on to other business. Does anyone still have any objections to my successor?"

Tsuna froze, wide-eyed, as the entire table looked at him. Murmurs and headshakes and a few smiles ran around the gathering, and Tsuna wasn't sure whether to be relieved or even more alarmed that they were accepting him.

He hadn't even accepted him, yet!

Well... not exactly.

And then everyone stilled, eyes turning to Xanxus, who was glaring wild and hard at Tsuna once again and hadn't said a thing.

Tsuna bit his lip and looked back. He remembered tremors raking Xanxus' chest under his palm. Would it help if he apologized?

And just as Tsuna was opening his mouth, hand raised toward Xanxus, groping for words, Xanxus flinched back and lowered his eyes.

The whole room breathed again.

"Good," the Ninth said quietly. "Then I think we're done here."

End

A Question for Dusk

Takes place just before Breaking of the Day: Omake. As Tsuna prepares to inherit the family, he comes to Xanxus with a condition. Drama, I-4

Tsuna stood in the doorway, one hand on the sill. He didn't want to intrude.

"I need to ask you something."

The long, lean figure slouched in one of the scatter of leather chairs snorted and burning eyes flashed in the dimness as Xanxus looked up.

"Do you plan on staying with the Vongola family?"

The hot eyes narrowed on him. "The hell are you saying?"

Tsuna shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted to break off and start your own or something."

Another snort and Xanxus leaned back. "You're a fucking idiot. You have no clue how things really work."

A corner of Tsuna's mouth twitched up, despite how tense he felt. "I know. I'm working on it. So you plan to stay?"

Xanxus ignored him with such obvious disgust that Tsuna decided it was a yes. He took a breath.

"Okay. There's a condition for that."

He bit down a flinch as Xanxus erupted to his feet.

"The hell are you saying?!" It was a lot louder this time. Xanxus faced him, sneering, hands out from his sides in a way that made Tsuna keep half an eye on them. "You want me to grovel for you, for everyone to see?"

"No." Tsuna made himself keep his eyes on Xanxus'. "I don't want you to grovel. You don't even need to acknowledge me." He breathed out a tense half-laugh as Xanxus settled back onto his heels. "You don't even need to do what I ask you to."

Thought was coming back into that burning glare, and suspicion. "Yeah? You'll just sit there and let me tell you to fuck off, huh? Tenth." Contempt dripped from the title.

"If you want," Tsuna said quietly.

Xanxus threw back his head and laughed. "Sounds like a deal to me! So what the hell is this condition?"

Tsuna braced himself. "You don't have to do what I tell you. But when I tell you not to do something, that's different."

Xanxus stilled, glare slowly turning hot again. "You little shit..."

Tsuna told his knees sternly not to shake and spent a second wishing he could have done this with his Will burning. But that wouldn't have gotten him what he needed, here. "That's my only condition."

Xanxus looked at him for a long moment before swinging away to stare out one of the tall windows. Tsuna waited quietly, hand tense against the frame of the door as seconds ticked past and past.

"All right." Xanxus' voice was flat and his back stiff.

Tsuna took another breath. One more step. "May I have your word?"

Xanxus half whirled, snarling over his shoulder, and Tsuna tensed another notch, poised to drive himself down into Dying Will if this was the last straw and Xanxus attacked him. But Xanxus froze as his eyes met Tsuna's, hand opening and closing by his side as he stared at him. The hot glare wavered and finally he spun back around and punched the wall, leaving a crater of shattered plaster.

"You have my word." It was low and harsh.

Tsuna swallowed. "Thank you," he managed, a little husky himself, and stepped back from Xanxus' door.

He didn't turn his back until he was around the corner, though.

End

Sakura Growing Upside Down

Hibari seeks out a rematch with Mukuro. Mukuro has his own agenda for this. Drama, I-3

Two days after the battles for the Vongola rings were over, Kyouya cornered Sawada and asked who that Chrome girl was, and why she carried what looked remarkably like Mukuro's staff.

And then he went hunting Dino Cavallone.

"Look, Kyouya, I couldn't..." Cavallone ducked the swing of a tonfa quickly. "I couldn't let you know right then! You'd have gone right after her." He jumped back from a vicious swipe. "Him. Them. Whatever. You know you would have."

Kyouya set his feet again and glared. "Of course I would have."

"Well, then you wouldn't have had the fun of fighting with that mechanical suit, right?" Cavallone offered, a bit weakly.

Kyouya growled and spun his tonfa forward.

They were both dripping blood on the floor before Kyouya's fury ran out. He stood and glowered at Cavallone, panting. Cavallone wiped his mouth on his cuff and sighed.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?"

Kyouya's lip curled.

Cavallone frowned and coiled his whip with a sharp snap of his wrist. "I'm serious. Mukuro's illusions aren't like that damn drug. You can't shake it off with pure stubbornness." His eyes were hard. "Or you would have done it the first time, wouldn't you?"

"I wasn't prepared the first time." Kyouya didn't like admitting that, but it must have been true for him to be fooled the way he had been.

Cavallone's mouth tightened. "Listen to me for once," he said, quietly. "You can't shake off an illusion just by knowing it's illusion." He stepped closer, holding Kyouya's eyes. "Do you know your own strength well enough, yet?"

Kyouya frowned in turn. He'd always known his own strength. He looked back, silently.

Cavallone's shoulders slumped a bit and he ran a hand through his hair. "I know I can't stop you," he sighed. "Just remember, all right?"

After a moment, Kyouya nodded. Cavallone had earned that much from him. "I'll remember."

He found them easily enough, back at the Kokuyou grounds, the two lesser carnivores and the girl. He raked her over with a glance, disinterested by how frail looking she was. "I want Mukuro," he told her bluntly.

She frowned and her soft "Why?" cut through the loud one's "What the hell?!"

Kyouya would have thought why was obvious. "I have something to return to him."

The yappy one stalked toward him. "You think you can beat Mukuro-san? Hah! He'd just break you into little pieces again!"

Hibari ignored him; the girl had closed her eyes and her lips were moving faintly.

"Hey!"

Kyouya spun a tonfa absently, ready to smack the interruption quiet, but the girl spoke first.

"Ken." Her voice was lower, cool and amused. "I've been expecting him."

The loud one grumbled and snarled and sat back down in a huff, but the quiet one just nodded. "As you wish, Mukuro-sama."

Mukuro smiled at him with the girl's mouth and turned, beckoning. "Come along, then."

Kyouya stalked through the crumbling doorway after him; more room would be welcome enough, but... "I'm not here to fight the girl."

Mukuro looked over the girl's shoulder and gave him a slow, annoying smile. "Well, if you insist." They passed through the blurred shadow under a destroyed staircase and when they emerged into what might have been an auditorium it wasn't the girl ahead of him. It was Mukuro.

Much better.

Kyouya lunged in close, striking for Mukuro's ribs.

It went through them.

Kyouya spun on his toe and blocked the staff swinging down at his shoulder. Just because he'd expected that didn't make him any happier.

Mukuro laughed and gave back, light on his feet. "You're much more wary this time." He tilted his head, hair falling over his forehead. "So, are you really immune to these now?"

There was no gesture, no showmanship—just pale petals fluttering down past Kyouya's shoulder. He stalked forward steadily, not bothering to dignify Mukuro's prodding with an answer. Mukuro blocked the first strike but the second caught his shoulder and drove a gasp out of him.

"I see you have."

"Fight seriously."

Mukuro smirked. "Why?"

Kyouya stopped calculating with the front of his mind, stopped thinking at all, left observations to the back of his brain and just moved, letting rage flow through his hands, drive his feet against the rough floor. The back of his mind noticed the number four forming in Mukuro's eye, poised him to lean into the strength of Mukuro's guard and return, readied him for Mukuro's speed, but his attention was on the feel of his tonfa grips in his hands, the reverberation through steel and bone that would tell him when a strike went home.

He thought the occasional softness was just Mukuro's ability to roll with the strikes until he felt it one last time and Mukuro was abruptly no longer in front of him.

"The day you throw off illusions I'll be in real trouble," Mukuro murmured from behind him.

Swinging around , taut and furious, Kyouya caught a flash of teeth, and then Mukuro's weapon fell away and he collapsed to the floor. By the time Kyouya turned all the way around, it was the girl who lay there. He stood for a long moment, wrestling with the unusual urge to throw something against the wall.

The girl stirred and pushed herself up, rubbing her eyes. "Ah. Are you done?" She looked up, merely inquiring. Kyouya observed distantly that, although he was fairly sure Mukuro's broken arm had not been one of the illusions, her arm was fine.

"For now," he ungritted his teeth enough to say.

She cocked her head at him. "I see. Well, if it's important to Mukuro-sama..." She stood, brushing off her skirt, and picked up the staff. "I suppose we'll see you again, then."

Kyouya watched her walk back toward the room where the other two were and breathed around the pain in his knee and side until his temper had settled, sharp instead of ragged. And then he went to go find someone to fight so he could think about what he'd found out.

"What again?" Ken looked up as Kyouya stalked through the atrium. "Don't you ever get enough? You never win!"

"Boasting for someone else since you can't do it for yourself?" Kyouya asked, not breaking stride.

"Fuck you! Come back here and we'll see who's boasting! You... Kake-pii? What are you looking like that for?"

As their voices turned fainter behind him, Kyouya heard the dark one say, "He never wins. But he never loses either, does he?"

Kyouya's eyes narrowed and he stepped still more precisely over chunks of broken concrete. He was going to pin Mukuro down and finish this fight if it killed one of them.

Chrome looked up as he stepped through the break in the wall. "Mukuro-sama said you would be here today." She set down her can of coffee and stood, closing her eyes. Haze drew around her and, when it cleared, Mukuro was smiling at him, ineffably amused.

Kyouya knocked a few of his teeth out purely for his own satisfaction before he had to start being careful where he put his feet, lest he tread on a scorpion.

Kyouya stared at the pillars of fire separating him from Mukuro, who was leaning insolently on his staff.

"So?"

Kyouya closed his eyes. It didn't help. He could feel the heat on his face, the dryness of scorched air in his nose and lungs. Every sense told him that if he stepped forward he would be burned.

His mouth tightened and he stepped forward into one of the pillars.

It burned, his skin tightened, his lungs felt knifed through, but there was a softness to the sensation that he recognized, now, and he took another step, mind locked around that difference.

The fires vanished, leaving echoing pain and Mukuro's laughter.

"I think you're the best toy I've ever had."

Kyouya lay on the roof of the school and stared up into the blue nothing of the sky. The deep slice along his arm twinged under its bandage.

Cavallone had had quite a few words to say, this week, once he'd tracked Kyouya down, medical minion in his wake. The ones that actually stuck in Kyouya's mind were, "You can't just insist reality is something different. He's better at changing reality than you are, and what kind of idiot fights on his opponent's ground?"

Was he trying to change reality?

He didn't like the thought. It seemed weak-willed. Reality was what it was, and a strong person didn't try to change that; he just acted.

Of course, knowing what reality was, around Mukuro, presented its own problems. He frowned up at the blue. His body could tell the difference, but he needed more than that to actually beat Mukuro. If he had to touch to know...

Do you know your own strength well enough yet?

Cavallone's words came back to him and he frowned more deeply. If Cavallone thought Kyouya had strengths he wasn't using yet, what could they be? If it wasn't what he was currently doing...

Not trying to change reality?

Kyouya's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he watched wisps of white crossing the blue.

Mukuro knelt over Kyouya, staff tight against his throat, chuckling. "Haven't you realized yet?"

Kyouya glared, saving his breath. Mukuro looked down at him with great good humor.

"This body is an illusion, isn't it? Every time you insist on fighting me like this, instead of in my little Chrome's body, you hand your senses over to me before we even begin." He smiled charmingly. "Should I fight you using her next time?"

Kyouya twisted one forearm under the staff and brought a knee up into Mukuro's spine, throwing him over Kyouya's head. He spun up onto his feet and around to face Mukuro again.

"No." His voice was rough from where the staff had raked up his throat, but his mind was abruptly clear.

Reality.

"You are here." He gestured at Mukuro's body. "That is what's real." The mist and flowers through which he and Mukuro had tracked each other today faded from his sight. "That's all that matters to me."

He didn't need to see or feel. All he needed was to know. To be and to know.

Mukuro didn't laugh as Kyouya drove in on him, strike following strike, but his avid, smiling gaze never faltered. Even when Kyouya pinned him against the wall, breaking ribs in the process, he didn't blink. "We'll have to do this again," he gasped.

Kyouya struck full across Mukuro's temple and let his unconscious body fall. It was Chrome before she hit the ground. He stood, panting, letting things settle in his mind.

"Oh." Chrome pushed herself upright, eyes wide. "You... won today?"

Kyouya looked down at her. "How do you know?"

"Mukuro-sama isn't quite there." She stood up, dusting herself off.

"Here." Kyouya picked up his jacket and pulled the can of coffee he'd brought out of his pocket, tossing it to her. "We spilled yours, last time."

"Ah." She smiled faintly. "Thank you."

Kyouya shrugged. She was obliging him, after all.

"Will you be back again?" She took a sip, both hands wrapped around the can.

Kyouya considered. There was a certain satisfaction in the idea. It would be nice to drive his victory home a few more times. It would probably be useful, if he agreed to be involved in any more Vongola doings. "Yes."

Chrome nodded. "We'll see you then." The Mist ring winked on her finger as she took another sip.

He gave her a parting nod in return.

Kyouya thought there was something odd about the fight today. He watched and weighed the texture of it as they moved, twisting aside from the butt of Mukuro's staff, striking down to break Mukuro's knee. He followed Mukuro down and brought the shaft of one tonfa hammering down toward Mukuro's solar plexus.

Mukuro's gaze didn't even flicker.

Kyouya diverted into the floor, adding another small crater, eyes fixed on Mukuro. "You aren't expecting to win," he stated.

Mukuro shrugged with one shoulder; today the other was dislocated, a match for Kyouya's elbow. "Not really, any more." His eyes gleamed. "Not often, anyway."

"Then why are you fighting?"

Mukuro's teeth flashed in the hall's dim light for a moment. "Because it's fun." His leg swept around. Kyouya rolled with it, ignoring the fiery wrench in his arm. His own teeth were bared as they closed again.

It was annoying that Mukuro didn't stay bitten, but he supposed that the biting itself was fun, yes.

He would be back again next week.

Afterword

Chrome curled up in the bed she had created, soft old couch cushions filling a window-seat, piled with linens from the box that had appeared in the atrium one morning, weeks ago. She watched the moonlight sliding over the buildings and trees, past the glass, turning them stark and new. Mukuro-sama?

Yes?

You helped him figure out how to win, didn't you?

Laughter tickled through her mind. Perhaps.

Chrome closed her eyes "looking" at the presence in the back of her head. Why?

With her eyes closed, she could see Mukuro-sama's smile. He's fun to play with. And this way he'll last longer. The smile curled higher at the corners. And that will make me stronger.

Chrome nibbled on her lip. She wasn't really aware of what happened when Mukuro-sama brought himself out through her, but she'd heard the tone of his laughter afterwards, and watched the rage of her fellow Guardian hone into something cooler and sharper than it had been.

A chuckle echoed behind her ears. Ask.

Softly, barely forming the thought into words, she said, You want him to be stronger, too.

Her mind was silent for a moment. We will see, Mukuro-sama finally answered, light and intent. We will see whether this thing Sawada Tsunayoshi is making will survive. Or whether it will be destruction after all.

Chrome remembered him telling her to fight her best as the boss' Mist Guardian. And she remembered Chikusa and Ken discussing who they would kill first, when they destroyed the Mafia completely. It made sense enough to her that Mukuro-sama would do both things at once; he could be more than one thing at once, after all. She nodded to herself and cuddled down into her pillows.

Good night, Mukuro-sama.

Good night, my Chrome.

End

Lighter Than a Feather

This came out of me wondering how Hibari could have been convinced to identify himself with the mafia. Dino finally figures out a way to get through to him. Humor with Drama, I-2

Dino crossed his feet on his desk and stared out the window. "Hmm."

"Boss?" Romario looked in the door. "Anything you need?"

Dino waved a hand "No, no, just thinking."

Romario smiled behind his mustache. "Ah." He came in and sorted briefly through Dino's papers, gathering the finished letters and notes to go out. "Tsuna-kun or Hibari?" he asked casually.

Dino laughed, rueful. "You know me too well."

"You don't puzzle over our own family," Romario murmured. "You act."

Dino's mouth quirked wryly. "Just like Hibari, hm?" He stretched, sighing. "He really would do well among us. It's too bad he doesn't know anything about our history, I think he'd actually approve."

Romario made sympathetic sounds.

"Of course, damned if I can get him to listen," Dino added, rather disgruntled. "Ignores me all the time in favor of his..." He stopped, eyes widening. "Books." For a moment he just sat, staring at nothing. Slowly he began to smile.

"Romario."

"Sir?"

"I think I'm going to want some memoirs. And some blank books."

Kyouya looked up, with a certain jaundiced expectation, as the door of his lounge was flung cheerily open and Cavallone breezed in. No one else intruded on him here. "Back again?"

Cavallone smiled in a way that made Kyouya shift, warily; that was Cavallone's "I have a plan" smile, and Kyouya was somewhat annoyed to realize he recognized it at once.

"Well, you know, I was cleaning out the library and found some things I thought you might like." He waved a few slim books in one hand. "Seeing how much you seem to enjoy history."

Kyouya glanced down at the book currently open in his hands. "You take the baby's 'home tutor' nonsense a little too seriously."

"You'll like this. I promise. Just take a look." Cavallone laid the books down on the couch beside him, flashed another smile, and took himself back out.

Kyouya sniffed. The least the man could have done was offer him a decent fight, while he was here.

He picked up the book on top and paged through it, brow lifting. It seemed to be a personal journal. Cavallone had brought it, it had to be about the mafia. But it was in Japanese and the sentences he scanned sounded... familiar.

He turned back to the beginning, frowning, and read more slowly. An idea here, a sentence there, slipped through his mind easy and familiar as koi in their own pool.

"...as true men always have, we must look after our own honor and never leave it to an outsider..."

"...only law is the law of blood, we will never forget..."

"...our true strength has nothing to do with the foolish softness of rules made in cities far away..."

After an hour or two, Kyouya reached for the second book.

Two days later, Kyouya flung open the door to Cavallone's ex-hospital office without bothering to knock and strolled over to drop the books on a table. "You know, you could have just said from the start that the mafia has proper traditions."

"How was I supposed to get you to hold still long enough?" Cavallone asked, dryly.

Kyouya didn't bother answering that. "It's a suitable kind of thing," he pronounced.

Cavallone downright grinned and Kyouya gave him a narrow look; he didn't see any reason for Cavallone to look so pleased.

"Good."

Kyouya flicked his fingers at the covers. "I still say herding together is weak."

Cavallone's grin quirked. "You're the Cloud. No one will ask you to."

"All right, then." Kyouya crossed his arms. "So?"

Cavallone raised his brows. "So... what?"

"Are we going to fight or not?"

Cavallone leaned back and laughed.

End

Time-lapse

Post-canon. Yukimura has recovered and Fuji has left tennis. They cross paths over art and weave a new acquaintance. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-3, implicit spoilers

Thirteen Months After The End

Seiichi walked slowly from one classroom full of art to the next, scribbling impressions in his notebook. One more session and the workshop would be done; he was still amazed at how much Sumitomo-sensei had fit into one weekend. It had certainly been a good experience for him, and he wanted to give good responses to his fellow students' work—especially, perhaps, to the media he was less familiar with since that had been part of the project for this workshop.

"What are you thinking?"

It was not the kind of question Seiichi expected to hear out of the blue, but he recognized this voice and so it surprised him less. "Fuji." He turned away from the first piece of the photography section. Fuji was standing at his shoulder, watching him, head tilted just a bit as if to catch a faint sound; he looked relaxed, smiling, but his gaze was sharp. Seiichi had to smile, too. He'd rather missed seeing that expression across the net, this year. "Just considering the difference between a painter and a photographer."

Fuji seemed to turn this answer over behind his eyes for a moment. "And what is the difference?"

"A photographer looks for what's present, to capture it." Seiichi spread his fingers toward the line of black and white images that flowed down the wall. He paused there, wanting to see what Fuji made of that, and wanting, with a spark of amusement, to prod back at him for having started the conversation so bluntly, so personally.

"I suppose that's true enough," Fuji finally murmured, when Seiichi didn't go on. "And a painter?"

Seiichi folded his arms, looking back at the room he'd just come from and the sweep of oil paints down canvas, colors over and under each other. "A painter looks for what isn't there, to create it."

"So. Photography is merely derivative?" There was an edge in Fuji's voice, sliding underneath his smile. "I think Hatakeyama-sensei might disagree."

Seiichi's mouth curved in answer. "Is reality derivative?" he countered.

Fuji's weight shifted back and Seiichi almost laughed. This was different from a game on the court, but similar enough to draw him. Getting Fuji Shuusuke to be serious was interesting under any circumstances.

And he hadn't had a chance to on the court, this year, after all.

"Reality simply is," Fuji finally answered.

Seiichi shrugged slightly. "And I would say the same of imagination."

Fuji was quiet for another moment, puzzlement and amusement tangling together in his quirked brows. "A moment ago you were saying how different the two art forms are," he pointed out.

"Nothing is all one color." Seiichi flashed another smile, sharper this time, deliberately provoking. "A painter learns that early on."

"And what does a photographer learn? This hasn't been a very productive seminar for you if you can't answer at least some of that," Fuji shot back.

A good shot, Seiichi acknowledged. He had to think about this one more deeply. "Answering that might take more time than we have left," he returned lightly. "Perhaps I should write you instead."

"And buy extra time," Fuji murmured. His smile grew slowly. "If I give you a time-out, I think I should get to finish the discussion face-to-face."

Seiichi had never backed down from a challenge in his life. "How about the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum, then? Next weekend?"

"Two o'clock," Fuji agreed, chin lifting.

Seiichi was looking forward to it.

Five Months Later

"Do you miss tennis so little? Or do you just miss it that much?"

Shuusuke blinked, looking down from the huge multi-media canvas, and his lips curved. Yukimura had gotten him with that one; he'd have to ask.

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't come to watch any of the matches last year." Yukimura ran a fingertip over the plaque with the title, head tipped as though contemplating the canvas or the question.

"Well, Tezuka is gone, isn't he?" Shuusuke returned lightly. It was harder to tell how frustrated Yukimura was by that, but you could practically see the steam coming off both Sanada and Atobe whenever Tezuka came up.

Yukimura's eyes cut toward him, dark. "I hadn't thought Tezuka was your only friend on that team."

Shuusuke stifled a spurt of irritation. Of course he wasn't. Eiji was still playing. And Inui. And Taka always tried to watch the matches, himself. And none of that really mattered, because Yukimura was turning the topic. "I've taken everything I can from tennis," he said, firmly turning it back.

When he saw Yukimura's tiny smile he let out a soft breath. So he'd fallen for the false bait, had he?

This was why he liked conversations with Yukimura.

"So Tezuka is part of what tennis gave you?" Yukimura probed, circling back around.

Shuusuke was silent for a moment, moving to the next canvas, this one all in greens and grays and titled Mountain, Sky. He let his eyes follow the curves of paint as he thought. Yukimura reminded him a lot of Tezuka, sometimes. Other times not. Yukimura might just understand his reasons.

"It isn't as though I found my tennis just for Tezuka," he told the silent presence behind his shoulder. "Not in the end."

Yukimura made an agreeing sound.

"But who is there, now, who can tell when I'm doing my best or not?" Shuusuke finished, quietly.

"We could."

When Shuusuke looked over his shoulder Yukimura's arms were folded. That was a sign of judgment, he knew now—of suspended patience. He couldn't help a dry laugh at the thought of how close he'd come to facing that on a regular basis.

"I thought about transferring, you know. For a while." Shuusuke turned around and leaned against the wall. "I decided not to, but—" he broke off, unsure he wanted to share the rest of it. The temptation he felt watching a game, now.

"But?" Yukimura's head tilted again, dark hair feathering over his cheek. "You still could you know."

Now it was Shuusuke's arms that were crossed, tightly. Their conversational game was getting too close to the truth. "Tennis isn't what I'm going to do when I graduate, though. Why should I transfer just for that?" He meant it to come out light and didn't think he'd managed very well.

Yukimura bowed his head. "True enough." He was the one who led the way to the next painting this time. Shuusuke rested his eyes and mind on the indigo and sleek white of this composition.

They didn't speak of anything other than artistic technique again until they were choosing sandwiches from the vending machines.

"Whatever it is, you should come watch the matches. Or you'll never settle it."

Shuusuke glanced at Yukimura to see what kind of gambit this was and stopped short, leaning half over to pick up his lunch. There was no calculation in Yukimura's expression. Not pushing, not pulling, not lying in wait. Just a simple moment of kindness, and Shuusuke found himself at a loss how to answer it.

Finally Yukimura smiled and shook his head. "So? Where should we go next time? It's your turn to choose, again."

Shuusuke regathered his wits. "Konica Minolta Plaza will have some new work by Nishigaki Kanako next month."

Yukimura laughed. "And you can scout another gallery location while we're there, right?"

Shuusuke smiled back, back on balance. "I think about the future."

That got another sober look from Yukimura. "Yes. You do. And that's good. But we all need something that takes us up completely in the now, too."

Shuusuke thought about that so hard he didn't taste his sandwich as he ate it.

Five Months Later

Finishing National matches swiftly had a psychological value that Seiichi appreciated. He thought he liked the practical value better, though, getting a chance to scout some of the other teams without having to rely on third parties. In a generation of strong players, lesser players and club hangers on quickly lost the range to judge some games and teams accurately.

Renji made a satisfied noise as they stopped by the fence and Sanada snorted in answer, crossing his arms.

"I'm simply pleased to see Sadaharu playing as I expected," Renji answered mildly.

Seiichi eyed the scoreboard. "It looks like we'll be seeing them in the quarterfinals. You think he'll place himself in Singles Two, then, against you?"

"Quite likely," Renji murmured, tilting a brow at Seigaku's third year captain, standing on the sidelines looking both pleased and stiff while Seigaku's current singles ace played, and Ooishi and Kikumaru behind him, toweling off and talking together quietly. "He will have made the same calculations I have, and that will be the deciding match."

"No mistakes this time, then," Sanada stated.

Renji's gaze didn't leave Inui's match. "Certainly not," he murmured.

A flash of light on the sidelines drew Seiichi's attention away from their half teasing, half serious exchange and his own brows rose as his eyes found the source.

Fuji was standing around one side of the court, camera in hand, photographing the match. A tiny smile tugged at Seiichi's mouth and he resettled his jacket on his shoulders and strolled around the corner. Fuji probably heard him but ignored his approach, completely absorbed, hands moving swift and sure over focus and lens adjustments and he snapped frame after frame. The last one caught Inui's final shot with what looked to Seiichi like perfect timing. He stood quietly as Fuji snapped a few more of the players' realization that the round was over.

Finally Fuji lowered his camera with a sigh and surfaced. "Yukimura." He nodded.

"Fuji." Seiichi leaned against the fence, biting back a smile. "I'd heard something about you shooting at the Prefectural games."

Fuji's eyes glinted for a moment. "Coming on my own terms seemed worthwhile."

"Always," Seiichi agreed, and watched as Fuji's hand relaxed on the camera case. "I would be interested to see how it all comes out. If you decide to show any of the results."

Fuji actually laughed at that. "I'm sure you would." His eyes turned distant as he looked across the courts. "We'll see."

Seiichi accepted that with a nod. Some things couldn't be rushed, and by now he was pretty sure Fuji was one of them.

"I might get some interesting shots of you, I suppose," Fuji mused.

Seiichi's mouth curled. "Any shots you can get you're welcome to, of course. It's a public court."

"No studio shots, then?" Fuji asked with a sly sideways glance.

Seiichi considered that for a moment and leaned back, satisfied, as the answer came to him. "If you'll sit for me in turn."

Fuji rocked back just a bit himself. Seiichi wasn't surprised; he had a few reservations about sitting still to be examined that intently and he doubted Fuji felt much different.

"I'll... think about it."

"Of course," Seiichi murmured. He couldn't take too much more time aside for this but he couldn't resist just one last shot. "Perhaps we'll see you for the next match as well, then."

Fuji gave him back a smile, sharp and slanted and oddly companionable. "Perhaps. It's a shame you didn't come by in time to see Shiraishi's second round match, too."

The teasing malice of the observation drew Seiichi back, turned him to lean into Fuji's return gambit. "Oh? Is he playing differently this year?"

Fuji gave him a perfectly sunny look, shrugging the camera strap over his shoulder. "Perhaps."

Seiichi's teeth flashed in a quick smile and he shrugged, casual. "Surprises are no problem. For those with sufficient confidence."

"I'll ask you how it went in two weeks, then," Fuji tossed over his shoulder as he moved toward the gate to join his ex-teammates.

Seiichi was chuckling under his breath as he rejoined his own.

"What was that all about?" Renji asked, curiously.

Seiichi waved a hand. "Nothing to do with tennis."

He didn't actually hear what he'd just said until both his friends turned to look at him. Then he had to pause, himself, and reflection tugged his mouth into a more rueful line. "It's just... something different," he murmured. And that might well be his motto, regarding Fuji Shuusuke. "He did mention Shiraishi," he added, "but I'm not entirely sure he wasn't just teasing."

Sanada's brows rose and Renji looked amused. "Indeed? Well, I suppose we'll see in the finals."

Seiichi spent a moment looking forward to the art-date in two weeks, and then put it aside to concentrate all his attention on the game they were really here for.

Four Months Later

Shuusuke settled into his seat with a sigh of pleasure for warmth of winter sunlight through the window and sipped the Pokka Lemon he'd found in the third vending machine.

Yukimura shuddered delicately. "I have no idea how you can drink that straight."

"I like tart things." Shuusuke chuckled reminiscently. "It's even come in handy every now and then."

Yukimura raised a brow and clearly refrained from asking. Just as well, perhaps; Shuusuke didn't know how someone who held his team's reins as tightly as Yukimura did would take Inui's wicked sense of humor.

"You're so serious," he murmured around his straw, following the train of thought. And then, because it was so apropos, teased, "You should smile more often."

Yukimura leaned his chin in one hand, mouth quirked. "I smile plenty often. But I also concentrate seriously when it's called for."

"Mmm." And that sent his thoughts right back to the gallery they'd just left, and the techniques Shuusuke had observed there. "If I were trying to capture what you are," Shuusuke mused, "I would use black and white, just like that showing. As fine grained as possible. You have so many shadings to you."

"I'll model for you when you model for me," Yukimura returned, the argument months old and well worn, now. Then he tipped his head, though, eyes dark and curious. "Is capturing what I am something that matters to you?"

He'd never asked that before and Shuusuke answered without thinking, caught up in the usual speed of their exchanges. "Yes."

They looked at each other for a long, silent moment before Yukimura finally looked away, finger tracing a bead of condensation down his water glass. His voice was soft and neutral and undemanding when he asked, "Why?"

Shuusuke opened his mouth and closed it again slowly. Because it's so hard to find was the first answer that came to his tongue, but... it didn't feel complete. If the question had been part of their usual sparring that wouldn't have bothered him. Yukimura had asked this one differently, though.

That difference was owed honesty.

"The challenge appeals to me as an artist." Shuusuke laid out the words carefully, wanting to be sure of their composition. "And being able to see what you are appeals to me as," he hesitated, but the sentence led him to it, "as a friend, I suppose."

Yukimura looked up and this smile was one Shuusuke had never seen before, bright and gentle. "All right, then."

Shuusuke blinked.

"I wasn't entirely sure, you know." Yukimura took a sip of his water. "Whether we're going to these galleries as opponents or as friends."

Habit prompted Shuusuke to ask, "How much difference is there?"

Yukimura's chin was in his hand again and he tipped his head in wry acknowledgement. "For me, sometimes not much. But I think it's different for you."

The tingle of the alertness that their sharper exchanges always brought brushed over Shuusuke, but this time it didn't make him brace as he usually did. He glanced down, moving his straw back and forth with a fingertip. "Maybe so." He looked back up. "You'll really do it?"

Yukimura laughed. "Well, I'll go first, anyway."

"Thank you." Visions of lighting effects and calculations of film speed danced through his thoughts as he stared off over the plaza, and he supposed he couldn't honestly blame Yukimura when he kept laughing.

Four Months Later

"So, this is an art classroom, right?"

"Mm," Fuji agreed around the canister top between his teeth.

"Then there must be heaters hidden around here somewhere. Go find them."

Fuji blinked. "Mm?"

"There's nothing between me and the tile floor but paper," Seiichi pointed out, tartly. "I'm about to freeze something off."

"Mm." Fuji took the top out and closed up his latest roll of film. "Okay, hang on."

Somehow, Seiichi was not surprised when Fuji turned to adjust his tripod instead of rummage in the classroom's cupboards. "Fuji," he said, low and definite, "either you pull your mind out of the inside of your cameras and get me the heaters or I'll go look for them myself."

"No, no, no! I just got the shadows right!"

Well, that had gotten his attention, at least. "Then get me the heaters," Seiichi repeated with, he thought, great patience for someone who was freezing his ass off far more literally than was usual.

Fuji sighed and finally went to root through the cupboards. "Last time you complained that the lights were too hot."

"Last time I was wearing more."

"What is it about captains and perfection? You're never satisfied." Since Fuji was shifting two small heaters over while he said it, Seiichi let that one go. "Happy?"

Warmth radiated from the grilles on either side of him and Seiichi sighed. "Much better."

Fuji looked over his shoulder as he adjusted the tripod again, with a teasing curl to his mouth. "I notice you didn't actually say you were happy. What did I just mention about perfectionism?"

Seiichi's brows rose. "And who is it who's taking fifteen minutes to get the angle just right for shots that are going to take about two minutes, if that?"

Fuji blinked as if it hadn't occurred to him and Seiichi couldn't help settling back a bit, vindicated. Fuji put his hands on his hips.

"Don't move."

"Not moving," Seiichi agreed, letting out a deep breath and holding still again as Fuji slipped behind his camera and the first click of the shutter licked through the darkened room.

Seiichi held himself still, impassive, watching the edges of the lights sliding off counters and stacked desks as Fuji moved around him. This was very odd, really, almost like some kind of meditation. It wasn't very inward, though. The touch of Fuji's attention on him was like the heat of the lights—almost a pressure. The focus wasn't entirely unfamiliar, but he was used to responding to it.

"You could smile, you know," Fuji interrupted his thoughts. "If I wanted a stonefaced model, I would ask Tezuka next time he's home."

An image of Tezuka, arranged nude on the cold tile and paper flashed through Seiichi's mind and he snorted helplessly. "Fuji! You can't tell me to hold still and then make me laugh!"

Fuji snapped three shots, rapidfire, and emerged from behind the camera looking faintly smug. "I certainly can."

Seiichi looked up at him, arrested. "You wanted me to laugh?"

Fuji made a sound of agreement. "Line and texture and shadow are one thing. I've got some shots already I think will come out very well. But something that shows how alive you are... well, that's different."

Seiichi was quiet while Fuji moved the lights for the next pose, and finally asked, "Are you going to turn that one in with your portfolio, too?"

Fuji paused, back to him. "No."

Seiichi tucked the warmth that answer brought carefully away and leaned obligingly on the box Fuji dragged over, stilling himself for the next set of planned, artistic shots, occupying his mind with where they should go for their next outing. Perhaps he would choose something besides art, this time.

Three Months Later

"Shuusuke, you have a visitor."

Shuusuke looked up from arm-deep in a bag of sandy potting soil, expecting to see Yukimura, or perhaps Eiji, and got a surprise. "Tezuka!"

"Fuji." Tezuka stepped out onto the deck with a polite bow to Shuusuke's mother.

"I thought you weren't going to be home for another four days." Fuji stood, brushing off his hands and arms and waved his friend to one of the deck chairs.

"I found a standby seat on an earlier flight." Tezuka settled into the second chair and looked with approval at the plate of onigiri Shuusuke's mother had left out for him earlier. "It's good to be back."

Having heard Tezuka's opinions of Western food before, Shuusuke chuckled and nudged the plate over to him. "So it went well."

"Fairly well." Tezuka took a bite and leaned back in his chair a bit. "The final match was close, and I'm satisfied with it. And I have an offer for endorsements."

"Tezuka, that's wonderful!" Shuusuke knew that an endorsement deal meant more money to travel and enter the important tournaments. Tezuka did not, of course, agree with him, but he smiled faintly and that was just as good.

"Everyone seems to be doing well here," Tezuka observed instead.

Familiar with his friend's thoughts, Shuusuke had no trouble decoding this. "Yes. I think Seigaku might just be at Nationals this year. It seems appropriate, for our third year again." Well, his third year, anyway, and Inui and Eiji and Ooishi's. Tezuka was on a different time table now.

Though, even if Seigaku got past Hyoutei, there would still be Rikkai to deal with. Shuusuke and Yukimura weren't talking about that this week. Instead they had argued about whether Shuusuke's translation of Mallarmé's "Un coup de dés jamais n'abolira le hasard" for his French class was taking too much poetic license, and how much was too much when translating a poem, after all.

Tezuka was looking at him with a brow quirked and Shuusuke realized he was smiling at nothing. "How long are you going to be home for this time?" he asked.

"At least a month, I think." Tezuka's fingers tapped on the arm of his chair and Shuusuke read impatience in that kind of fidgeting. "There has to be time for filming as well as training, now."

"Perhaps you can get me in to watch," Shuusuke said, lightly, and chuckled at the dour look Tezuka gave him. "Seriously, though, will it eat into your training time that badly?"

Tezuka's mouth thinned a bit. "I want to train toward entering the Australian Open, this winter."

Shuusuke sat back, letting out a slow breath. "Aiming for Federer already?"

Tezuka brushed a few grains of rice off his fingers and glanced over at Shuusuke with a tiny smile. "Of course."

Yukimura would get that glint in his eyes when he heard, Shuusuke reflected. He was already annoyed enough that Tezuka had gone on ahead, without Tezuka starting on the Grand Slam tournaments. "This should be interesting," he murmured.

"I hope so," Tezuka answered, and Shuusuke had to shake his head to pull his thoughts back onto the conversation.

"Well, if you do happen to have a day free anywhere, let me know." He smiled cheerfully.

Tezuka gave him a long look. "You have something in mind?"

"I had thought I might visit some of the area botanical gardens, this summer," Shuusuke murmured, which was entirely true. He and Yukimura already had plans for a week and a half on. There were other gardens he thought would do Tezuka more good, though.

"Which one?" Tezuka asked with prompt wariness, undiminished by over two years out of Shuusuke's immediate range.

"I was thinking an outdoorsman like you might enjoy Atagawa park in Shizuoka." Shuusuke nibbled delicately at a rice ball.

"I'll see, then."

Shuusuke looked forward to the email he'd get when Tezuka looked Atagawa up and found the bit about the alligators. He grinned behind his snack. He liked to think that, when Yukimura went pro, he and Tezuka might meet at tournaments and have the extra bond of both having been teased by Shuusuke. He'd consider it his personal contribution to their professional rapport.
When Yukimura went pro and Shuusuke's weekends were reduced to repotting his cacti and buying new lenses without anyone along to talk to who understood why light was important and days without anyone who laughed at his teasing. Without someone who sometimes, lately, touched the back of Shuusuke's hand in a way that made his breath catch. Shuusuke quashed a sigh. He didn't want to think about that.
"So, at any rate, tell me more about this last tournament." He settled back in his chair and prepared to listen.

Eight months Later

Seiichi dug through his drawers and frowned. "Do I already have a blue T-shirt in the packing pile?" he called over his shoulder.

"No, just the black one."

Seiichi made an annoyed sound and went to rummage through his closet. "Are you sure you should be helping me pack instead of getting a start on your reading for classes?" he asked over his shoulder.

Fuji shrugged. "I can catch up. You're going to be gone for five weeks this time."

Seiichi smiled, folding his blue T-shirt. "Maybe you'll have some new art to show me, when I get back, then, instead of having to go look at other people's."

Fuji shorted. "In between my coursework."

"Since when has that ever stopped you?"

Fuji shrugged again, and Seiichi frowned a little. "If you wanted to go professional right away, you could have..."

"Like you?"

The question had an edge to it, one Seiichi didn't often hear from Fuji any more. He tossed the T-shirt into his bag and turned to look at Fuji directly. "What's wrong?"

Fuji looked away. "It's nothing."

Seiichi waited, patiently.

Fuji crossed his arms, frowning down at them. "Everyone's leaving," he murmured, finally.

"Not everyone, surely," Seiichi said softly.

"Both my best friends take up a lot of space when they're gone." Fuji still didn't look up.

"You know we'll always come back, though."

Fuji's mouth tightened.

Seiichi sighed to himself. So that's what it was. He laid a hand on one tense shoulder and said, quietly, "Shuusuke."

His friend's eyes widened a little. It was the first time Seiichi had called him by his given name.

"This is still home."

Shuusuke smiled, but the shadows didn't leave his eyes. "I know."

Seiichi stifled a snort. No one had ever budged Fuji Shuusuke when he didn't want to be budged, and he'd clearly decided he was going to lose something. Seiichi had practice overcoming the immovable and impossible, though, and he had no intention of being lost, no matter what Shuusuke thought.

He turned his hand over and cupped Shuusuke's cheek, thumb stroking over his cheekbone, and Shuusuke leaned into the touch, but those shadows stayed, flavored with a hesitance that made Seiichi's voice gentle, even in his exasperation.

"This is home," he repeated with deliberate emphasis, and leaned down and brushed his lips over Shuusuke's.

Shuusuke's hand closed tight around his wrist, and Seiichi's mouth quirked. Even after that, Shuusuke wouldn't reach for what he wanted, wouldn't hold Seiichi in place, would only ask around the edges. Time to try something else, then.

"Listen," he murmured against Shuusuke's mouth. "Whatever else is happening, even if it's a major tournament, even if it's a Grand Slam tournament, I will be here for your first gallery showing. I promise."

Shuusuke's breath hitched against his lips, and he stared up at Seiichi, last of the shadows finally wiped away by shock. "Seiichi..."

Seiichi smiled. "I promise."

Shuusuke closed his eyes and laughed, husky, and took a long breath. "All right." When he opened them again, his eyes were clear.

"I believe you."

Three Years Later

"An amazingly good show, Fuji-san, all things considered. I'm sure we'll all have to keep an eye on you in the future!"

Shuusuke smiled quite insincerely at the woman and murmured his thanks. He resolved to apologize to Yuuta the next time they were both at their parents' house for dinner; the condescension of the art critics was making his jaw clench in a way he found extremely familiar from watching his brother, and if this was how Yuuta had felt for years, well. A lot of things became clearer.

He passed on, mingling with the respectable crowd, being sure to smile and nod politely no matter how inane the remarks. He wished Seiichi could have been home for this show. He was better than Shuusuke at being charming and imperious at the same time.

In a way, of course, Seiichi was here. Shuusuke smiled genuinely as his gaze passed over the sequence of five photos that had pride of place in the gallery. The fluid arch of Seiichi's spine, and the shadows that turned the muscles of his legs into an abstract had turned out just the way Shuusuke envisioned, and he had named the series "Edges of Perfection".

His face was starting to ache from the constant smiling, though, and he thought it was time for a break. Slipping past some unused panels into the back room, he rummaged out a paper cup and ran some water. His mouth was certainly grateful, after so long chatting.

"Hiding from your fans?"

Shuusuke's eyes widened and he had just started to turn when arms slid around him, catching him back against Seiichi's chest. He laughed softly. "Weren't you supposed to be in France this week?"

"I told my manager it would cost about the same to fly home and back as to live there for the time until the tournament. I started telling him as soon as you wrote to say you had a showing." Seiichi dropped a light kiss under Shuusuke's ear.

Shuusuke leaned back with a pleased sigh. "Mm. You don't have to make it home for every one."

"Just all of them that I can." Seiichi's lips curved against his neck. "So are you hiding out, back here?"

Shuusuke let his head rest back against Seiichi's shoulder. "Just taking a break. First one this evening, I should point out." He could feel Seiichi's laugh against his spine.

"Good. They won't miss you for a little while, then." Seiichi's hand slid down Shuusuke's chest, and further down his stomach. "I missed you," Seiichi murmured in his ear, hand finally coming to rest between Shuusuke's legs.

"Seiichi..." Shuusuke's voice was suddenly husky. He could feel the heat of Seiichi's palm through the fabric of his slacks. "You pick the strangest places."

Seiichi laughed again. "What, you didn't think the studio was appropriate?" His fingertips rubbed up and down Shuusuke's length. "It was just the way you were looking at me."

"Through a lens?" Shuusuke teased back, breathless.

"Focused," Seiichi corrected, tongue tracing lightly over Shuusuke's ear. "Completely intent. I love seeing you that way."

"Seiichi," Shuusuke said, low and insistent, and lifted a hand to twine through Seiichi's hair, tilting his head back until he could catch Seiichi's mouth. Seiichi's hand tightened between his legs and he made an approving sound.

"Since you're sure," Seiichi murmured, and his fingers worked Shuusuke's slacks open and slid inside to wrap around him.

"Very," Shuusuke agreed, a bit distracted. The heat of Seiichi's fingers was taking up all his attention, and the faint roughness of Seiichi's calluses. "Nnnn..." He leaned back into Seiichi, hips rocking up into the touch. Seiichi's hands always made him stop thinking, especially when they moved over him slow and hard and deliberate, and he tipped his head back further as Seiichi's mouth moved down his throat. The wet slide pulled a shiver down his spine; this was Seiichi, present and dense and sensual, and later he would want to capture those things in light on film, but sensation was their medium right now and this picture, this pleasure was too immediate for him to want anything but to complete it. Seiichi pulled Shuusuke back more tightly against him and his hips ground hard into Shuusuke's rear. The sound Seiichi made, half moan and half growl, made Shuusuke's stomach tighten, and the hardness of Seiichi's cock pressing against his ass made him think of sun-warm afternoons draped naked over the velvet arm of their couch, and thinking of that sent a tingle of heat through him so sharp that it condensed pleasure around it. Shuusuke had just enough mind left to bite back the open moan as he came. Seiichi's mouth covered his again, kissing him fierce and hot as Seiichi's hips jerked against his ass.

It took Shuusuke a few minutes before he could say, breathless and laughing, "Welcome home."

"Mm. I'm back," Seiichi murmured against his ear.

The visceral proof of the polite phrases left a warm glow in Shuusuke's bones and he breathed out a soft sigh. They stood together for another moment until Seiichi reached past him to the towels over the sink and Shuusuke had to laugh again, quietly, with genuine amusement, as they cleaned themselves up. Seiichi drew him back for another kiss, when they were done.

"So, have you had enough of a break?" There was a certain amount of mischief in Seiichi's eyes.

"You want to go back out with me and watch people admiring you?" Shuusuke teased back.

"Admiring your work," Seiichi corrected serenely.

They strolled side by side through the crowd and Shuusuke was amused to watch how many of the critics suddenly found a reason to simply smile and nod at him. They paused by the images of Seiichi, and the original looked up at them thoughtfully.

"I'll tell you another thing that photographers learn," he murmured.

It was their second oldest game, the only one they both still played, and Shuusuke tipped his head inquiringly.

"Photographers learn that there are two subjects in any photo: the one in front of the camera and the one behind it." Seiichi looked back down at Shuusuke with the smile that was reserved for him, gentle and intent.

A delicate shiver brushed down Shuusuke's spine. There was nothing he would trade for the way Seiichi saw him, saw all of him.

Nor for the way he saw Seiichi.

He reached out to lace their fingers together briefly, out of sight of the crowd. "If they have subjects that touch them. Yes."

Seiichi's thumb stroked the inside of Shuusuke's wrist before he let go. "You didn't get much of a drink earlier. Come get another, and tell me things."

Shuusuke smiled. "Well, I've been asked to teach at a workshop on artistic technique next week..."

End

The Nature of You

As Tsuna grows into his position, his conflicts with Xanxus escalate again and finally break. Drama, I-4, some spoilers

One Hand

Tsuna sat at an oval table with the advisors and lieutenants so newly inherited and tried to feel leader-like. It still wasn't easy.

"We should erase the members of Gesso now, before they grow too strong again," Savio argued.

Tsuna tried not to sigh as murmurs of agreement ran around the table, and tried again. "They won't become Gesso, now."

"They're still dangerous."

Unfortunately, Tsuna couldn't argue with that. Gokudera eyed him for a moment and turned to the table. "Think about what we are. Most of us, and our allies, are dangerous. If we start a war on that basis, where will it end?"

That finally made everyone pause and Tsuna gave Gokudera a grateful look. It made Gokudera glow just a bit, and that made Tsuna smile, and everything looked a little better.

"Keh!" Xanxus flung himself deeper into his chair, one arm slung over the back, and glared out a window. "Bunch of bullshit. Kill them now and be sure."

The murmurs swung back toward agreement again and this time Tsuna did sigh. And tried to ignore Xanxus' slight, vicious smile.

He'd known this wasn't going to be easy.

Other Hand

Tsuna looked up, anxious, as Yamamoto came in. "How is De Vecchi?"

Yamamoto smiled, reassuring. "The doctors say he'll be fine." The smile faded a little. "It will probably take a month or two, though."

The room exploded into response.

"It's an insult!"

"...can't believe they rejected our offer to negotiate, who do they think they are?!"

"...nearly killed our envoy!"

"We can't let this go!"

"It won't happen twice." That was Xanxus, and the room fell silent as he stood with a tiny smile. "The Varia will avenge our name."

"Wait." Tsuna folded his hands tightly as Xanxus swung around to glare at him.

"What?!"

"I said wait." Tsuna took a slow breath. "There must be a reason they reacted that way. I don't want to turn this into some kind of war between us and the Pozzo Nero. Not without at least trying again."

Xanxus snarled. "They've already declared where they stand! If we back down now every other Family will think we're weak and attack us! This has to be answered. Now!"

"No," Tsuna said quietly, and looked up to meet Xanxus' eyes, which widened.

They held each other for two long breaths as the room stilled around them. A muscle jumped in Xanxus' jaw.

And then he spun around, slamming his chair out of the way, and stormed out of the room.

"Why that...!" Gokudera started up from his own chair.

Tsuna laid a hand on his arm. "Don't. It's all right."

Gokudera frowned. "Tenth."

Tsuna smiled up at him, a little sad, and repeated, "It's all right. He won't go."

Gokudera's look turned thoughtful and he nodded, slowly. "If you say so, boss." He sat down again. Tsuna gathered himself, and turned back to the frowns and sidelong looks of the rest of the Vongola, grateful for Gokudera beside him, and Yamamoto standing behind his shoulder.

"I'll ask Hibari if he's willing to see them." Tsuna's mouth quirked at the suddenly lighter expressions around the room and he tried not to listen to the faint, distant crashes from Xanxus' wing of the building.

Clapping

Tsuna sat and listened to his people arguing and felt his stomach sinking.

Xanxus was being too quiet.

And it wasn't the glowering quiet he used when he disagreed and wanted to make damn sure everyone knew he did. Today he just leaned back in his seat, watching everyone else from under half lowered lids.

Tsuna had really hoped it wouldn't come to this.

Finally he laid his hands flat on the table and leaned forward. "We will not absorb the Scioneri by force," he stated.

"But they're operating in our territory!" Viotti protested vigorously. "You have to do something, boss! You'll look weak if you don't."

"If we have to drive them out, we will," Tsuna said softly, looking down at his hands. "But I will not have anyone forced into my Family who doesn't choose to be here, with us."

That soothed the murmurs and he could see everyone settling, a few even smiling.

Xanxus' expression didn't flicker, and Tsuna's mouth tightened. He had a bad feeling that, as long as Xanxus stuck to the letter of their agreement and didn't cross a direct order, the rest of the Vongola would be pleased enough that he'd eliminated a problem to keep Tsuna from doing anything about it. And it would just get worse from there.

He could give a direct order now, and head it off for today, but he had an equally bad feeling that doing so wouldn't stop the fresh confrontation they were headed for. His hands tightened as he considered what a real resolution might require.

"Gokudera," he murmured as the meeting broke up, "tell everyone. There's probably going to be a... disturbance, tonight. Don't come. I'll handle it myself."

Gokudera looked disapproving. "If there's something going on, your Family should know about it." Tsuna smiled up at him.

"I know, it's just..." He sighed. "I need to do this myself. Please."

Gokudera's shoulders fell a little. "I hate it when you do that," he muttered. He sighed in turn and bent his head. "We won't interfere."

The unspoken unless something goes wrong hung in the air so loudly Tsuna laughed a little, and felt better.

True to Gokudera's word, though, there were no bodyguards and no look-outs around as Tsuna paced through the halls that night and out the South doors to wait in the darkness.

When Xanxus came through the door, Squalo and Bel and Levi already with him, Tsuna stepped forward. "Xanxus."

The smile on Xanxus' face turned instantly to a snarl. "You!"

Holding on to a last shred of hope, Tsuna kept his hands at his sides. "I do not want the Scioneri boss killed."

Xanxus sneered. "Of course you don't. You're too soft to do what will keep the Vongola strong."

"The strength of our Family doesn't come from our guns!"

Xanxus stared at him for a long moment. Finally he spat, deliberately, at Tsuna's feet. "You're a disgrace to the Vongola. A disgrace to manhood! Too soft to hold my word or this Family, either one of them! Get out of my way."

"No," Tsuna said, quietly.

His hands were already burning as Xanxus' dove for his guns.

Xanxus lips were pulled back over his teeth as he fired, and the Flames that seared toward Tsuna burned with hate, ripped apart the air and reached for his blood. He didn't want to touch them, didn't dare risk absorbing them, so he wove through them instead, sharpening his awareness of Xanxus and giving aside from each furious blow.

He prayed Gokudera would do as he said and keep everyone away. The Varia who were present had retreated already, knowing full well the risk of being anywhere near Xanxus' rage.

And pain.

The desperate force that drove Xanxus' bolts of Flame through the dark made Tsuna's chest tight. He had made a mistake, years ago, leaving Xanxus like this. Now he had to amend it as best he could. The memory of Xanxus' expression under his hand, years ago, feral with fear, made him hang back, hesitating. The scream of Xanxus' Flame through the air was what finally drove him forward; he didn't want to cause pain, but still less did he want to leave someone slashed and broken and bleeding out.

And not even knowing that was what was happening.

The closer he came, the brighter fear rekindled in Xanxus' eyes, crowding the rage. Neither could completely hide the pain that had driven Xanxus out the doors tonight, and Tsuna wished he could say something to help.

But that would only come later.

He twisted aside from the last wild shot and ran full into Xanxus, knocking him back against the outer wall, and pressed a burning hand to his chest.

"No!"

The shriek twisted Tsuna's own heart, but this time he didn't stop. He closed his Will around Xanxus' heart and let it burn, purify, melting free the razor edges of regret and want and despair. Xanxus screamed again, spine arched, heart hammering under Tsuna's palm, and Tsuna clenched his teeth. Need and betrayal and wild rage spun free as he drove his Flame inward, and Xanxus' voice stripped hoarse and wordless as Tsuna broke his Will until the last of the ice was wrung from his soul and melted into that river of pain.

Tsuna could only think it merciful for both of them when Xanxus slumped into unconsciousness, falling against him.

He knelt by the wall, breathing hard, arms around Xanxus to keep him from falling to the cold grass. He was shaking, clinging to the knowledge that this was the only way to let that pain flow away even as Xanxus' scream echoed in his ears. Footsteps rustled behind him and he looked up to see Squalo and Gokudera both approaching, the one with teeth bared in fury and the other very pale.

"Squalo," he murmured, weary. "Take Xanxus back to his rooms. He'll sleep for a while."

"What did you do to him?" Squalo hissed, apparently too infuriated even to shout.

"What I should have done a long time ago, if I'd had the courage to make both of us bear it." Tsuna's voice was clipped, and he closed his eyes for a moment. "I'll come see him soon."

Squalo growled and pulled Xanxus roughly away from him, calling for Levi to help him carry their leader back inside. Tsuna leaned against the smooth, old stone, watching them go and finally released his Will. Exhaustion hit him like a hammer. A warm hand on his shoulder made him start a little.

"Come on, boss," Gokudera said, gently. "Let's get you inside, too."

Tsuna leaned on him gratefully.

Gokudera glared everyone out of the way as he guided Tsuna up to his own room, pausing only to exchange meaningful nods with Yamamoto who was still busy calming the bodyguards. Tsuna sighed as the door closed behind him, steadying himself on one of the armchairs.

"I didn't want to."

Gokudera was quiet for a moment. "If you didn't want to and you did it anyway, that means it was something that really needed to be done," he finally said.

"I know," Tsuna whispered.

It just didn't help much.

Make a Fist

Squalo stood between Tsuna and the door, glare sharper than his sword, and his voice echoed off the high ceiling. "Like hell I'm letting you at him again! You're the one who did this to him!"

Tsuna rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Yes, exactly."

Squalo snarled and it was Tsuna's turn to glare. "He's part of my Family! That was the choice he made! And if I'm not going to let him slaughter people just for breathing wrong, I'm also not going to leave him like this!"

Squalo's eyes narrowed, suddenly thoughtful. "What do you think you can do?"

"I don't know," Tsuna said, quietly. "But it's my responsibility to do whatever I can."

Squalo's gaze rested on him for a long moment before he finally stepped aside. Though not very far aside, Tsuna noted wryly. He eased past and tapped on the door.

There was no answer.

The room was dim when Tsuna opened the door, all the curtains drawn and lit from behind with morning sun, and Tsuna's first thought was Den. The den a wounded animal crawled back to. "Xanxus?" he called, softly.

One of the chairs went over with a clatter as Xanxus surged up out of it, and Tsuna winced at the wildness of his eyes.

"Stay away!"

"I will." Tsuna stood where he was. Even from here he could see Xanxus' hands shaking.

"What are you doing here?"

Tsuna sighed. "I'm trying to help." The harsh burst of laughter that answered that made his mouth tighten. But he couldn't let either of them stop here. "You need to let it go," he said, low.

"Let what go?" There was an alarming lilt in Xanxus' voice, now, and his lips pulled back off his teeth. "My life? My blood? Why not? It's not Vongola, after all! Not like yours. Happy you've proved it on me?"

"That's not what I'm talking about," Tsuna said, and couldn't help adding, "And so what, anyway?" He composed himself again as Xanxus stared at him. "I'm talking about the pain. If you freeze it, well maybe you don't feel it as much, but it stays with you until the end of time. You can't keep going like this."

"If I don't feel it, so what?" Xanxus swung around and made for a side table, and a scatter of bottles, most empty. Finding one that wasn't, he sloshed it into a tumbler and tossed it back in three swallows.

"I said 'as much'." Tsuna frowned at the array of bottles; he'd been afraid of something like that. "If you really didn't feel it, you wouldn't be looking for things to stifle it with."

"What the hell are you babbling about?" Xanxus voice wasn't slurred at all, and Tsuna wasn't sure whether that was good or not.

"Your position," he said, quietly. "Leader of the Family. Leader of the Varia. Did you really think enough voices calling you 'Tenth' would drown out the old ones calling you trash?"

He didn't move as the tumbler shattered against the wall behind his head.

"Voices that are only afraid of you aren't the ones you need. They'll only make the old voices louder in the end."

"What the hell do you know about it?" Xanxus had his back to Tsuna, and his voice was ragged.

"Even with our intuition, we can't see ourselves very well, can we?" Tsuna murmured. "We have to do that for each other."

"Get out!"

Tsuna bowed his head with a sigh and slipped out.

As he closed the door behind him a bared sword winked from where Squalo leaned against the wall. Tsuna's lips twitched; Xanxus didn't really have far to go to find the kind of voice he did need, if he'd only listen. "I think," he said calmly, "I'm going to need heavier guns for this. See if you can keep him from drinking quite so much while I get them." He turned away down the hall.

Yamamoto emerged from the shadow of the other wall to fall in beside him, hand sliding away from his own sword, and nodded amiably at Squalo, who growled back at him. "So? How did it go?"

"I think I need to call home."

Yamamoto smiled down at him, confident and comfortable. "Knew you'd be able to fix it."

Tsuna snorted, rueful. "Well, kind of."

Yamamoto didn't leave his side until he'd seen Tsuna into his rooms, and then he only leaned against the wall beside the door. His Family's support was the only reason he could deal with this job at all, Tsuna swore, dialing.

"Tsuna?" His dad yawned hugely and Tsuna held the phone away from his ear with a wry grin. "What's up?"

"I need to speak to the Ninth." Tsuna waited out the resulting silence.

"I'm not going to let him stress himself too much," his dad finally said, quiet. "He's getting... fragile."

"I understand."

There was some rustling and his dad's muffled shout of, "It's for you!"

"Yes?"

Tsuna bit his lip at the raspiness of the Ninth's voice. "Sir. I... I'm afraid I need to ask a favor."

A chuckle. "Well, I'm retired of course..."

Tsuna laughed a little. "It isn't like that. It's... Well, it's for Xanxus."

Another long moment of silence.

"Tell me."

Open Palm

"I really hate these contraptions," the Ninth grumbled.

"Dad made me promise," Tsuna said firmly, steering the wheelchair carefully down the hall.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure he did." The Ninth was quiet for a moment and finally sighed. "You're a wiser man than I am." He snorted softly. "And stronger, too, which probably helps."

"Not always," Tsuna murmured.

"Mm." The Ninth lifted a hand to pat Tsuna's. "I understand."

Tsuna stopped them by Xanxus' door and helped the Ninth to stand. Once again, his knock got no answer at all and he sighed.

The Ninth made an amused sound. "He never answers. Even when he's in a good mood. You just have to take your chances." He stepped forward, cane thumping heavily, and pushed open the door.

"What the hell do—"

Lingering as unobtrusively as he could manage, in the doorway, Tsuna saw Xanxus freeze, eyes widening.

"You."

The room smelled strongly of alcohol and was littered with broken glass. Tsuna assumed this was the aftermath of Squalo following his advice and made a mental note to thank him. The Ninth shook his head, gaze never leaving Xanxus.

"Oh, my boy," he sighed. "You stepped right in it this time, didn't you?"

Xanxus jerked in his chair and pulled in a breath through bared teeth, only to be cut short as the Ninth thumped his way across the room and closed an arm around Xanxus' shoulders.

"And so what? You're my son," he stated firmly. "Whatever mess you've made of your life, and you've made a damn great mess, doesn't change that." Under the moustache his mouth twitched into a grin. "In fact, I think helping untangle damn great messes is one of the things fathers are for."

Tsuna saw a shudder ripple through Xanxus, and saw the Ninth's gnarled hand tighten on his shoulder, and smiled.

He tiptoed out and closed the door very, very quietly.

End

What's Love Got to Do With It

The Ninth helps Xanxus find someone he can bear to be. Drama with Angst and Fluff, I-3

It wasn't that Tsuna didn't trust the Ninth, because of course he did. And it wasn't that he didn't think the Ninth could handle Xanxus, even, or especially, now, because he did, really. It was just... well, his dad had made him solemnly swear he'd make sure the Ninth didn't overstrain himself.

And that was really the only reason Tsuna kept just happening to pass Xanxus' rooms or the balcony beyond them to check on them every couple days.

His excuses hadn't even convinced himself yet, and he doubted he'd convince either of them, so he tip-toed.

"...didn't you just tell me?" Xanxus' voice was stifled and he was leaning, hands clenched, on the back of an armchair. "Why'd you let me keep thinking I was your kid, all that time?"
The Ninth sighed. "Because I didn't think it would matter."

Xanxus shoulders twitched and Tsuna held his breath.

"It seemed obvious you had to have Vongola blood from somewhere, even if it wasn't mine," the Ninth said, softly. "Your Flame was all the proof anyone needed of that. And who cared how far back it came from? Look at Tsunayoshi, after all!" He was silent for a long moment before adding, "And I wanted another son. I thought... if I raised you, if I loved you, if I was the father you knew... wasn't that good enough?"

Xanxus didn't answer and Tsuna had to swallow the tightness in his throat as he slipped away.

"It doesn't make sense!"

Xanxus was pacing the balcony today, so Tsuna only eased up to the nearest open window.

"How can he be so damn soft and still do something like this to me?!"

The Ninth actually laughed. "Oh, Xanxus. It's the gentle ones who are most dangerous of all."

Xanxus rounded on his father. "You want to explain that?"

Tsuna caught a glimpse of the Ninth's smile. "Tsunayoshi is a gentle soul, yes. He cares very much for people. And that," he rapped his cane on the flagstones, "that is the source of his strength. When the things he cares for are threatened, there will be no end to his determination and no bottom to the well of his strength." More softly, "And that is why I chose him, be damned to his bloodline."

"Because he's stronger," Xanxus said, after a moment.

"Because of the times and the reasons he becomes stronger," the Ninth corrected, gently.

Xanxus grunted, which might be agreement or might be confusion, Tsuna didn't know. He did know he was blushing as he edged back down the hall.

"It's gone."

Tsuna stopped short, hearing the granite roughness in Xanxus' voice.

"You're still alive and breathing, so I doubt it's really gone," the Ninth said, voice gentle.

Tsuna slipped up to peek out onto the terrace. Xanxus was hunched over, leaning on the rail and the Ninth stood beside him, one hand on his back.

"I've tried," Xanxus growled, raggedly. "I've tried over and over and nothing happens!"

The Ninth looked at his son thoughtfully. "Xanxus. Tell me. The people you knew, as a child. How do you feel about them, now?"

Tsuna saw a little of Xanxus' sudden snarl, even from his angle.

"Those fucking bastards. I hate them. I want to crush them all!" One hand fisted and light flashed between his fingers.

Xanxus jerked upright, and it winked out.

"What the...?"

The Ninth smiled. "I thought so. It isn't gone, my boy."

Xanxus turned, frowning. "But every time I tried..."

The Ninth snorted into his moustache. "You didn't try it with a target who truly deserved your anger, did you?" His voice gentled as he patted Xanxus' shoulder. "Tsunayoshi freed your intuition and showed you the truth, didn't he? That those people aren't the whole world. Hard to unknow that, now; of course it affects your Flame."

"Wish he'd minded his own goddamn business," Xanxus grumbled, though it was half-hearted and distracted as he stared at his own hand.

"I don't." The Ninth smiled up at him. "Because now I have my son back. And he can hear me when I say I love him, this time."

Xanxus looked up at that, a sudden tangle of pain and doubt and hesitant want sweeping over his face.

Tsuna tip-toed away, feeling really hopeful for the first time.

"...and I could have destroyed all of the Family's enemies." Xanxus was pacing again, restless.

"The boss needs to be powerful, yes, and able to protect the Family." The Ninth sipped from his wineglass and set it down on the balcony's table, eyes following his son. "But, as you were then, I'm afraid I doubted you would bother to protect instead of simply destroy."

"It's better to be sure," Xanxus growled. "Better to obliterate your enemies than leave them alive to try again."

"And would even that have made you feel safe?" the Ninth asked, quietly.

Xanxus stopped abruptly and stood still, face turned away.

"A boss' job is to make all his Family safe." The Ninth looked down at his hands. "In that, I failed you. I'm glad Tsunayoshi retrieved my mistake, but... I can't blame you if you find it hard to trust."

After a long moment Xanxus said, voice low, "I never really tried it."

Tsuna's heart cracked at the wryness of the Ninth's smile and the shadow of hope in it, and at how young Xanxus' eyes looked when he turned his head and stared at his father.

"What keeps you safe?" he asked, at last.

The Ninth's smile widened, and he opened his hand, gesturing at the mansion behind them. "Having people who love you near is the safest thing I've ever found."

Xanxus frowned. "Huh."

Tsuna firmly stifled an urge to bang his head against the wall with frustration. They'd hear him if he did.

"...a very simple young man, really," the Ninth was saying as Tsuna sidled up to the balcony door. "He acts because he cares. Once you know that, it's easy to predict what he'll do."

Xanxus snorted, leaning his hips against the rail. "Except for the times he acts on idiot moral outrage, or whatever the hell that was."

"Tsunayoshi would never have set his hand on you if he didn't believe in his heart that you're one of his Family, and worthy of his care," the Ninth said quietly.

Tsuna expected the kind of scoffing Xanxus had always met the least such suggestion with, but Xanxus was silent.

"I don't get how he can," he said at last, staring out over the hills. "I tried to kill him, for fuck's sake."

The Ninth snorted into his moustache. "So did his Mist Guardian, didn't he? And look how that's ended up."

An unwilling grin tugged at Xanxus' mouth.

"I've seen Tsunayoshi arguing with the Vendicare themselves on Rokudou Mukurou's behalf. He's done his best to heal the man, and to give him both freedom and a home. It seems," the Ninth glanced up at Xanxus from under bushy brows, "to be a bit of a habit with him."

Xanxus crossed arms tightened and he looked back at the Ninth, eyes dark.

The Ninth smiled. "He protects his people. Remember that, and it will all make sense."

Tsuna slipped away, biting his lip. He felt positive the Ninth was being more generous than he deserved.

"I... I didn't... when you let me go... why... " Xanxus' words were soft and stumbling, and Tsuna wondered for a moment if he was drunk or drugged. He'd never heard Xanxus sound like that before.

"I hoped," the Ninth said, just as soft. "It may have been foolish of me, but I hoped that, with my successor named, we could set aside all of that and try again to just be father and son." He sighed. "I suppose that was pretty insensitive of me, all things considered. I'm sorry."

"It... wasn't your fault."

Peeking out, Tsuna saw that the Ninth had Xanxus' hands in his and Xanxus wasn't pulling away, though he looked at a loss over what else he should do.

"You are my son," the Ninth said, firmly. "I have always been here for you. I always will be." More softly, he added, "I couldn't just leave you like that."

Xanxus looked up at the old man standing in front of him and, slowly, nodded. "Okay." His voice was rough and husky, and even without reaching for the Flame Tsuna could perceive the fear tightening his shoulders. But his hands wrapped around the Ninth's in turn.

Tsuna edged quickly back down the hall, far enough to drag out his handkerchief and wipe his eyes and blow his nose and walk back toward his office grinning like an idiot.

"You sound like being the boss and being a dad are the same thing, half the time."

The Ninth chuckled. "Well, there's a reason we call it a Family, after all."

Xanxus blinked as if that had never occurred to him, and, lurking in the hall, Tsuna did too. He certainly never felt like a father, dealing with his Family.

A babysitter, maybe.

From the sardonic twist to his mouth Xanxus might be thinking the same thing. "Might be just as well, then. Never wanted kids."

The Ninth's eyes twinkled. "You're sure you want to keep the Varia, then?"

Xanxus shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable. The Ninth reached over and patted his arm. "Well, I'm sure you've gotten used to them by now," he said gently.

Xanxus looked at his hands, frowning, more thoughtful than angry for once. "Maybe."

After weeks of trying very hard not to intrude on Xanxus and the Ninth, or at least trying very hard not to be caught, and of sternly forbidding anyone else to eavesdrop either, Tsuna was extremely startled to find Xanxus waiting for him, in the shadows of his office.

"Xanxus," he greeted the man's reemergence.

Xanxus watched him silently for a long moment before looking down at his own crossed arms. "Sawada."

Tsuna waited, encouraged by the lack of immediate hostility.

"You haven't yet, but. If you did send the Varia out." Xanxus paused for a long moment, not looking up. "What kind of people would you aim us for?"

Tsuna was quiet for a long moment. "I can only imagine sending you after someone crazy. Someone I hadn't been able to talk to. Someone who was killing our people, or-" he remembered the future that hadn't happened, "-destroying our world. Someone I couldn't find any other way of stopping." He spread his hands. That was the truth as clearly as he could give it, and he waited to see what Xanxus would do with it.

"Mm. Could probably do that."

Tsuna's mouth quirked at the grudging tone and then he straightened as he recalled what the Ninth had said to Xanxus about targets that deserved his anger. Was Xanxus actually afraid he couldn't do the job he'd chosen any longer?

"I've been thinking, though," he essayed, by way of testing the idea, "since the Varia are more in the open now, anyway, maybe there's call for your abilities outside of assassinations."

Xanxus gave him a hard look and Tsuna mentally nodded to himself.

"I mean, I need to get to people before I can talk to them, don't I?" he added, ingenuously. "And the Varia are the very best at getting to people."

Xanxus snorted. "And then I'll be right there to kill them when you completely flop," he drawled.

"I'd rather you not, but if it really does have to be done, then yes." Tsuna returned Xanxus' look evenly and saw a flicker of respect. "Are you staying?" he finished, softly, offering that choice again.

Xanxus stilled for a long moment.

Finally he pushed away from the wall and stood, looking down at Tsuna, eyes dark. Tsuna felt like the entire world held its breath. When Xanxus spoke, his voice was clear and even.

"Yes."

End

I Said, You Said

Xanxus finally hears what Tsuna means when he says Xanxus is one of his Family. Drama with Fluff, I-3

Tsuna cast a quick eye over the parties pulled up to either side of the low table and stifled a sigh. Two houses alike in pigheadedness was how Gokudera put it, with a wry smile, and Tsuna could only agree.

Gamma was getting alarmingly affable, as he got to the end of his speech, too.

"So I'm sure you can see why our alliance feels a need to know how you knew that Genshiki was..." he paused, eyes turning hard over his friendly smile, "not of the same mind as the rest of us."

That was a delicate way to put "going to betray us". Tsuna laced his hands together and regarded them for a moment, fishing for the right words to start with. He didn't think "well, you see, he did it in the future we went to over a decade ago" would quite work. He also didn't know why Uni had left it to him to explain, when she knew the full story already—one of the few people in this new past-present who did. She was either being gracious, letting him decide what to reveal, or ruthless, forcing him to decide. With Uni it was hard to tell which sometimes.

The Girasol man stirred and leaned forward, frowning. "You have to see how suspicious this looks, when Vongola haven't been able to deal permanently with a traitor in their own ranks." His eyes flicked to Xanxus, who had disdained a seat and was leaning against the wall instead.

Tsuna was aware of Xanxus slowly straightening, face dark, but only peripherally.

Most of his attention was taken up with the rush of fierce anger through his chest, the sharpening of his awareness and the first unfolding of his Flame.

"There are no traitors among the Vongola," he said, level as the edge of a razor and very soft, and the whole room froze around him. He didn't take his eyes off the suddenly pale Girasol. "Xanxus is one of my Family, and it would not be wise for you to give me the idea you hold my Family in any contempt. At all."

"No, I... of course I didn't mean..." the man stammered into silence and Tsuna inhaled slowly and looked back at Gamma.

"As for the rest of it, I suggest you talk to your own boss. It's Uni's place to decide what her Family should know, not mine."

"Hm." Gamma's mouth twisted a bit, sardonic amusement and perhaps respect in the line of it. "True enough. All right, then."

There were some grumbles as he chivvied his delegation out the door, but not many, which was just as well. Tsuna silenced the more audible with a cold look after them. As the door closed he leaned back and made himself relax; it took a little while.

"Girasol is not on my Christmas card list this year," he announced, finally. Yamamoto laughed. Tsuna snorted and looked over at Xanxus. "You won't ..." he swallowed the do anything to them, right?, because Xanxus was still standing by the wall where he had straightened, staring at him in absolute confusion. "Xanxus?"

"Why did you do that?"

Tsuna blinked. "...do what?" He was aware of Gokudera choking down a laugh behind him but didn't look away from Xanxus.

"That!" Xanxus waved at the closed door. "I'm not... you... why..." He finally slashed a hand through the air and turned away. "Never mind." He strode for the opposite door, pausing only once to glance back at Tsuna, uncertainty marking his face.

Gokudera leaned an elbow on the back of Tsuna's chair and chuckled softly. "You sure have a way with people like that, boss."

Tsuna looked up at him, still faintly puzzled by Xanxus' reaction. "Um?"

Gokudera smiled down at him, eyes soft. "Well, think about it from that poor idiot's point of view. He starts out in the gutter. He didn't belong and then he did, and then he got it totally knocked out from under him which must have been twice as bad... and just when he's absolutely positive that he's worthless and no one will ever give a damn about him, you defend him. In fact you threaten tentative allies for him." His smile tilted. "He's probably still wondering if this is for real. When he decides it is..." He hesitated and turned a hand palm up. "Well, then we'll see if you have another man everybody thought no one could tame."

Tsuna colored a little, a reaction he'd never grown out of. "Oh."

Yamamoto reached over and ruffled his hair, a gesture he'd never grown out of. "Don't worry. He'll come around."

Tsuna nodded slowly. He'd thought it was obvious that his strength was given to protect his Family, and Xanxus was part of that, but... given it was Xanxus maybe it needed a stronger demonstration.

"I can't wait to see how it works out for him," Gokudera murmured as they left, mouth quirked.

Tsuna hadn't exactly expected to enjoy dealing with the Pozzo Nero in person, but this was giving him a whole new definition of "not enjoying".

"I will not permit you to move drugs through our territory, or distribute them," he finally said, flatly, after two hours worth of less direct hints had failed.

"You're not making use of any of that market yourselves," Grigio, the Pozzo Nero boss, said in a tone of strained reasonableness.

"That's because I won't have it here!" Tsuna snapped.

The man across from him sighed and sat back. "I see. I suppose I was afraid that might be your answer." His sudden calm made Tsuna tense. Grigio rose. "I'm sorry we couldn't reach an agreement."

Tsuna was half expecting it when he stepped forward, hand darting under his jacket to pull a gun, and already had a hand up, Flame surging out, at Gokudera's warning shout.

And then everything stopped, because Xanxus' gun was pressed straight to Grigio's forehead. His lips were pulled back in a hungry smile and his eyes had a feral glint. Tsuna was struck by the memory of another moment when Xanxus had shielded him, and spared a brief moment to hope the reasons were different this time.

As Tsuna eyed the slowly increasing tension of Xanxus' finger on the trigger, he wondered if it wasn't just that Xanxus had a good target in front of him at last.

"Hey..." Yamamoto started, light and easy, but Tsuna held up a hand. He didn't think even Yamamoto's good nature would defuse this. He thought about the spoken and unspoken promises he and Xanxus had made and took a slow breath.

"Thank you."

Xanxus started, eyes finally sliding away from his sweating target to blink at Tsuna. Tsuna smiled at him, and held his hand out. "Thank you," he said again, gently.

Xanxus stared at him for a long, blank moment before he finally glanced aside. "Yeah, fine, whatever." He flicked the barrel away from the Pozzo Nero and, before the man could straighten, slammed the butt into the side of his head instead. Grigio collapsed and Xanxus glared at the men who'd come with him, a hint of eagerness in his snarl. They all carefully took their hands out of their jackets. Xanxus snorted with disdain and stalked back to lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching them all with hooded eyes.

"You're free to go," Tsuna told his visitors. "Do not," he added, voice turning cool, "come back."

They hustled their dazed boss out the door as quickly as Tsuna could have wished and he sat back with a sigh. He wanted a bath after that. He turned his head to give Xanxus another smile, this one weary. "Truly. Thank you."

Xanxus shrugged a shoulder, still not looking at him. "Hell, maybe they'll come back, so I can kill them."

Tsuna's mouth tightened, but... he had people to protect, here. "If they try," he agreed, quietly.

Xanxus pushed away from the wall and made for the door, only to pause with it half open and look back at Tsuna. He started to say something, stopped and shook his head. Finally he nodded to Tsuna, just a little, and strode out.

"He's a tough nut to crack," Gokudera observed with a wry smile. "I'd have thought you'd have had him in hand by now."

"Oh, he is."

Tsuna blinked, because it was Yamamoto who had spoken, and he was watching the door Xanxus had gone through with a little quirk to his mouth.

Gokudera's brows lifted. "You sure about that?"

"Oh yeah." Yamamoto looked back at them, smile back in place but distant. "Tsuna is his reason, now."

"You wanna translate that?" Gokudera drawled, arms crossed.

Yamamoto chuckled. "Well. Being good at something is... satisfying, you know? Sometimes you do what you're good at just because of that. That's how Xanxus used to be." He looked down at Tsuna, eyes dark. "But if there's a bigger reason for fighting—to protect the Family, to serve you—then there's real motivation. And real strength."

Tsuna looked up at him, knowing it wasn't just Xanxus Yamamoto was talking about. "Yamamoto..."

"You're such a sap sometimes," Gokudera put in, grinning.

"Hey, at least it's only sometimes," Yamamoto shot back, looking innocent.

"You trying to say something?"

Tsuna smiled as they bantered, and tucked away the memory of the word Xanxus' lips had half-formed, when he had turned back.

Boss.

End

Fire on the Mountain

As the new Strahl are inaugurated Nicholas watches the upsets among his fellows. Drama, I-3

At the appointment ceremony Nicholas found himself kneeling beside Lui, and felt like an interloper for the first time in a long time.

Naoji was watching from the galleries.

Nicholas had heard rumors that someone in the palace had protested a (mostly) foreigner being appointed in the government, but he'd also heard Orphe mentioning Naoji's hesitance to accept a position in a country he intended to leave. Besides being from the horse's mouth, that seemed more like the man, to him. 'Conscientious' didn't begin to describe Naoji.

And now Lui was staring straight ahead with less expression than one of the church's statues, giving his responses in a pure and disinterested tone. No hint of his usual sly amusement and disgust over the antics of the less intelligent souls around him.

Nicholas had seen a younger student thrown from his horse, earlier that year. The boy's leg had been broken. He'd sat and stared at it, face perfectly blank while everyone else ran around shouting.

He hadn't screamed until they'd moved him.

Nicholas didn't think Lui would ever scream. He respected that. But he didn't like the way both Helmut and Camus were watching Lui lately.

As the priest raised her hands, invoking the blessing of wisdom on the newest Strahl, Nicholas, instead, prayed that Naoji would stay in the country long enough for this break to knit.

He wondered if hearts took longer than bones.

"Poland is a long way off." Bauerwurst looked around the room for support. "Germany is between us; any aid we sent would only serve to turn Germany's attention to us, which we have thus far avoided."

Nicholas growled under his breath at such idiocy.

"Therefore, it behooves us to maintain our tradition of neutrality—"

"And die?" Lui's cool voice sliced over Bauerwurst's.

"We are neutral!" Bauerwurst insisted, as if the words were some kind of magic spell.

"No one else is," Lui pointed out, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands in waiting stillness. "Do you want this country to be caught in a closing net of alliances, driven into a corner at the last, allying with whoever will have us at the end?" He waited until Bauerwurst had drawn a breath to reply and added, softly, "Would you repudiate the tentative alliances His Majesty has made, at such diplomatic and personal risk?"

Bauerwurst was left with his mouth hanging open, and the truth that yes, he would if he could, written so plainly across his face that even his own allies squirmed uncomfortably.

Lui straightened, hands laid flat on the table. "This is not a time in which conservative tradition alone will serve us. Our king has pointed the way. It falls to us to follow it."

A murmur of approval and relief ran through the room and Nicholas' mouth quirked. They might as well be back at school, the whole crowd following after the brightness of those few who shone.

He did look forward to seeing all of their faces the first time they watched Lui and Orphe have a fight, which was sure to happen just as soon as Orphe got back from his inspection of the country's factories and they all set to over how many might be made over to war purposes, if needed.

He frowned, though, as the meeting broke up and he watched Lui leave the room, head down, with none of the air of having a personal patent on rightness that winning an argument usually brought out.

Lui's brightness still seemed dimmed, for all his sharpness when they worked. Nicholas admitted to being impressed that Lui could work like this through whatever his private injury was, but he didn't approve of it at all. He would, he thought, mention something to Daniel, who was better at prodding Naoji than anyone else Nicholas knew.

Nicholas was looking for Helmut, but found Daniel instead. Well, that would do. Both of them would be off to England in a few days to soothe and worry the English, respectively. He started to call out when his friend looked up sharply from the door he was lingering at and put a swift finger to his lips. His smile was wicked and bright as he beckoned Nicholas closer.

Nicholas' mouth tilted wryly but he continued silently down the hall, wondering what trouble Daniel had found this time.

He was halfway there when he spotted who was beyond the half-closed door and stopped short.

Naoji was caught up against Lui, being kissed, from what Nicholas could see, within an inch of his life, fine hands buried in Lui's mane of hair. They burned against the dimness of the room, the way he'd only ever seen them burn when they both had swords in their hands.

He looked away and put his hands on his hips and raised his brows at Daniel. Daniel just grinned at him, eyes alight. Nicholas shook his head and trod forward more softly than before.

"Your path will be glorious, no matter which one you walk," he heard Lui murmur, voice husky and intent in a way that nearly made Nicholas shiver. "Show me."

"Yes." Naoji's voice was pretty husky too, he couldn't help noticing, but it was firm, and that... that was probably what Lui needed to hear.

Lui would not be happy to know anyone else had heard it, though. Nicholas wound his fingers in the back of Daniel's jacket and pulled him away down the hall.

"Let's not stir them up too much," he said softly when he judged they were out of earshot.

Daniel burst out laughing. "And after setting me on them; you're so dishonest sometimes, Nicholas."

"I was worried, sure. You want him to go off feral again, the way they say he used to be?" Nicholas paused and snorted. "Wait, never mind, don't answer; this is you I'm talking to." He gave his friend a tolerant smile. "Come on. I've got the shipyard figures for you and Helmut to take with you." Tempted by the promise of new targets, Daniel went along easily enough and Nicholas smiled.

If his smile had as much to do with relief as with his friend's bad hobbies, that was his own business.

End

Light to Walk By

Years have passed. Nicholas is a member of the Strahl, and finding that people simply don't understand what's between he and Ludwig. Drama, I-3

Bauerwurst had an oily little voice; Nicholas had always thought so, and annoying as it was in ministerial meetings, it was a lot more annoying when the man was dogging his personal heels through the palace halls.

"...and the Minister trusts your judgment, your word would be of much value to us..."

Nicholas was sure it would. Right at the moment, he wished it were otherwise.

"...in return I'm sure we could do something about Herzog von Liechtenstein's leverage against you..."

Nicholas stopped dead and finally turned around. "What?"

Bauerwurst smiled at him, nearly dripping with attempted camaraderie. "Oh, no one dares say anything openly, but I assure you my associates and I are alert to these nuances. You argue every issue with Liechtenstein, but when it comes to a vote, you vote with him each time. I don't know what he holds over you, but I'm sure we could—" He broke off, suddenly looking less oily and more alarmed. Nicholas noted it distantly, through his rage, and took another step, catching Bauerwurst's jacket in his fist and pinning the man against the wall. He felt weightless.

"No one holds anything over my head, you little worm," he said, level and hot as poured steel, loud enough to echo off the walls and turn the heads of the people around them. "I vote by my damn conscience and follow my brain, not my damn pocketbook. Ludwig has my loyalty because he earned it."

"I... I'm sure I didn't mean..." The whites were showing around Bauerwurst's eyes and Nicholas snorted with disgust, opening his hand.

"Your kind make me sick. You give government a bad name." He turned his back and strode on down the hall, turning his mind firmly to France's last request for supplies.

He imagined there would be trouble over this, but he'd found there was trouble over everything, sooner or later, at the palace. That was apparently life.

And Lui, too.

Nicholas was stuffing papers into his briefcase, glad to finally escape for the day, when a stir at the door made him look around. Lui was standing just inside, regarding him with cool eyes and crossed arms. Nicholas' mouth tilted.

"Wondered how long it would take before you heard."

Lui just watched him, distant as any glacier, and Nicholas snorted.

"Oh, relax, will you?" He stood up and stretched the kinks out of his back. "Honestly, I'd have thought Orphe would have gotten you used to it by now."

"Orpheus," Lui said, precisely, "is loyal to this country. Not to me."

"He will be," Nicholas pointed out, blunt and brutal. "We all know it's coming."

He wouldn't have thought it possible, but Lui stilled even further.

Nicholas sighed. "You won't be able to avoid the crown, Lui, and when it comes you won't be able to do everything by yourself. I get that you don't like that," everyone got that, wasn't like it took Camus to spot it, "but that's just too bad." He slung his briefcase over his shoulder, dangling from his fingers, and shot Lui a fierce grin. "I trust you. I'll follow where you lead this country."

Lui closed his eyes, as if weary at great foolishness, and Nicholas let his grin turn affectionate. Lui had inhuman control of his expression, but his eyes gave him away if he felt strongly enough. When he closed them, you could be sure it was to hide a strong feeling. Almost as good as Orphe's open-book expressiveness, really.

"Come on," he jostled Lui with an elbow as he passed. "We can have a nice fight tomorrow over how many ships we can afford to send to France. Won't that be fun?"

"I'm sure it will be most satisfying, when I win." Lui looked down his nose, collected again.

Nicholas laughed out loud. "We'll see."

He didn't know why more people didn't understand Lui. All you had to do was take everything he said and turn it thirty degrees, but practically no one around here noticed. The best and brightest, in his considered opinion, could be pretty dim.

Fortunately, there were still some bright enough to light the way.

End

Sartorial Splendor

Nicholas has been appointed to a post he likes, with a uniform he doesn't. Drama with Humor, I-2

Nicholas put his hands on his hips and glared at his king. "Absolutely not."

This only got him a raised eyebrow.

Nicholas stood his ground. "I don't care what our historical ties to the Magyar are. I don't care how symbolically significant it is. I am not wearing that lavender velvet top hat!"

"Kucsma," Lui murmured. "Not a top hat." He leaned his chin in one palm, watching Nicholas with distant interest.

"I know you can perfectly well alter the Councilors' uniforms. It'll be a hopeful symbol of change, and all that rot, or at least Orphe will probably say it is."

Lui's eyes glinted and Nicholas carefully refrained from smirking. He might not be as good a strategist as Lui or Daniel, but Lui-manipulation was a separate art, and one he followed with dedication.

"So, are you declining your appointment?"

Nicholas considered it. Yes, Lui was too practical to throw away a good tool, but he was also bloody minded enough to find a much worse post for Nicholas just to make his point. "No," he decided. "I'm perfectly happy to accept. I'm just not wearing that damn uniform."

"I'm sure something else can be arranged," Lui purred.

Nicholas snorted at this not-subtle-at-all threat. "Save your gold braid and and velvet for all the trained monkeys you've just inherited," he suggested.

As he'd hoped, that made Lui laugh, and he tossed off a casual salute before turning his back with calculated insolence and strolling out. He knew exactly what it was Lui valued him for, and he was more than willing to play on it if it got him out of that godawful, antique, showboat uniform. And if it resulted in some of the more obsequious, suck-up nobles inheriting the pastel velvet instead, well that was just fine with him. He thought it was good for Lui to have someone who would egg on his evil sense of humor.

He smiled cheerily at the official waiting outside the audience room doors and strolled down the corridor, whistle echoing insouciantly off the marble.

End

If You Want to Kiss the Sky

Nicholas corners Lui about his trust issues. Drama with Kissing, I-3

Nicholas paced Lui's private office, running his hands through his hair in exasperation.

"You have to give something back, Lui! You're starting to lose the Ministers and the Strahl both."

"They should have no complaint." It wasn't even a statement, it was a pronouncement. Nicholas rolled his eyes.

"Yes, all right, you're good at your job, you fulfill your duties and then some, you'll probably be one of our strongest kings. But I told you years ago! You can't do it all yourself!" He turned and flung out his hands. "For God's sake, even Orphe isn't talking to you this week!"

Which was how he'd gotten elected to the next turn of thumping sense into Lui, and he'd have to remember to find some way to thank Ed for that.

Lui sniffed. "Orpheus overdramatizes things."

"Orpheus knows what to do with loyalty," Nicholas growled. "You could learn a few more things from him."

Lui looked away. "I doubt that."

"Hah! The problem isn't even arrogance, or wanting all the control is it? Loyalty is the one thing that scares you, is what it is," Nicholas threw at him.

Lui stood still, one hand resting on his desk. "Fears are often born of logic. One must simply deal with them."

"Yeah?" Nicholas crossed the room to him in a few swift strides and dropped down to his knees. "Can you deal with it?" He raised his hands, pressed palm to palm, eyes fixed on Lui.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The usual glint in Lui's eyes was quenched and dark.

"You can't, can you?" Nicholas said quietly. "I'm already sworn to you as my king, and even so you don't have the courage take it personally."

Lui's nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply, and his hands moved, closing around Nicholas'. At the touch, Lui paused again, and Nicholas grinned darkly; nothing like a challenge to make Lui act. From the twist of Lui's mouth, he knew he'd fallen for it, too.

"It seems a little superfluous to ask if you're willing," he murmured, dryly.

"Of course I'm willing." Nicholas snorted. "I am your man."

The glint in Lui's eyes flared to life again and his lips quirked. "Very well, then. I accept you." The quirk got more pronounced, downright wicked now. "And since such things should be done properly..." His hands closed on Nicholas' shoulders and he bent down to kiss him.

It wasn't a ceremonial kiss, and could not, by any stretch, be considered a kiss of peace. Lui's mouth on his was hot and demanding, opening his mouth fiercely and plundering it. Nicholas pushed back, tongue sliding against Lui's, sparring fast and strong the way they did with swords.

It was good. It was right, to refuse to surrender to Lui's strength and fire, and all the while feel the hardness of the floor under his knees, the tug of his spine arched back, because he had offered himself up willingly. It was the way they were with each other.

Finally Lui drew back, tongue tracing one last time over Nicholas' lower lip. Nicholas found he was panting, hands wound tight in Lui's shirt, and laughed, breathless. "Somehow I don't think this is going to work with all your officials."

Lui gave him a rarely exasperated look for the suggestion, mouth twisted in faint disgust, and Nicholas smirked.

"Well, don't worry," he said, as he rose, "I'll be sure to whack you another one if you don't shape up."

"How very comforting."

Nicholas grinned at his friend. "See you tomorrow, my liege."

Lui's parting look would have been a glower on anyone less controlled, and Nicholas decided he'd prodded enough for one day. Any more and Lui would start talking about the Russian embassy post again.

Now to find Ed and collect on the drink he was owed for this.

End

A Brighter Shade of Red

Crossover of Saiunkoku Monogatari and Fushigi Yuugi. Shuurei has a friend and advisor who is apart from the capital's politics; Yui has a place for her abilities and a lover who reminds her of them. Drama with Romance and Porn, I-4

Yui curled up on the bed, one hand propping up her head, and watched Shuurei pace the room, sleeping robe fluttering around her ankles.

"And then! And then! He said we couldn't do anything about Haruki, even if he is taking bribes, because he has a patron from the Heki clan, and I should know that the Heki are going to be the deciding voice in the land redistribution this year!" Her brown eyes snapped like sparks; Yui felt she might warm her hands at that fire of Shuurei's, melt the ice out of her bones, where it had settled years ago.

In any case, she could help feed it. She pursed her lips, paging, in her mind, through the scrolls she had read—she'd thought at first just to have something to do. "Well, you know I haven't gotten through as much of your historical law as I'd like, so there may be a contradictory precedent I don't know about..."

Shuurei turned to her with wide, hopeful eyes, and Yui chuckled.

"The Heki own a lot of land rights outside their province, yes, but isn't it all subsoil rights? If another block were to buy up the topsoil leases, then that would take effective control of the land away from the Heki, wouldn't it? I'm sure I read about this just a little while ago."

Shuurei stood still, clasped hands pressed against her lips, eyes suddenly wide. "Oh. Oh yes. And then it wouldn't matter how the redistribution went, because the usage rights would already be tied up. I wonder... if the Emperor could regain control of that land this way it would pull more power back from the great families... " She nodded decisively. "I'll write to Uncle, tomorrow, about supporting that."

"Always thinking about the bigger picture." Yui smiled at her. "That's why you're a politician and I'm not." Actually, the political tangles here still made Yui's head spin sometimes.

Shuurei snorted at this, impatient as always with anything that sniffed of self-deprecation. "Just one of the best law scholars in the capital. Even if almost no one but me knows it yet." Shuurei picked up her discarded hairbrush to finish brushing out her hair.

Yui shrugged, smiling. "I always thought I might want to go into law, when I was younger. I like having the chance to do it, now."

Shuurei looked over her shoulder, gentle now. "Maybe that's why you came here."

Yui turned over on her back, looking up at the ceiling. "Maybe. Who knows." Her mouth quirked. "Besides, possibly, Riou." Who she tried to stay away from. She dealt with mysticism even worse than politics, these days.

Shuurei sighed, running her fingers through her loose hair. "Riou came to talk to me again yesterday. He thinks I'll stop caring for politics and such 'little things' sooner or later." She sat down on the edge of the bed with a glum sigh. "Probably sooner, according to him."

"I think he's dreaming," Yui said dryly. "I'm grateful enough he placed me with you, when I first came here, but honestly. I can't imagine you ever not caring about this." More softly, "About your people." It was one of the things that fascinated her enough to stay here with Shuurei—her care, her idealism and ruthlessness, each passing effortlessly through her hands in its time, like juggled balls.

Shuurei tangled her fingers together. "I can't either," she said to them, "but... I'm..."

Yui silently cursed Riou for stirring up Shuurei's doubts again. She reached out and pulled Shuurei down to her. "Shhh. Whatever your mother was, you're you." She kissed Shuurei softly and smiled. "See?"

Shuurei laughed, finally relaxing, winding her arms around Yui. "I'm so glad you came," she said, muffled, against Yui's shoulder.

"I think I am, too," Yui whispered into the darkness of her hair.

Shuurei leaned up on an elbow, eyes wide with mock alarm and sparkling. "You think? That won't do at all!" She pressed closer against Yui and kissed her back, considerably more sensually, open and unselfconscious.

Yui made a soft sound, lips parting, hands sliding down the full curves of Shuurei's body under the robe. "Going to convince me to be more enthusiastic?" she asked, husky.

Shuurei, who was always at her best with a challenge, downright grinned, hands busy with the tie of Yui's sleeping robe. "I think so, yes."

Yui laughed. Having met Kochou she didn't wonder any more at Shuurei's boldness and humor about this. And then she moaned softly as Shuurei's hands stroked over her skin.

She had never told Shuurei, and she never would, that whatever Shuurei's heritage was, it did change her. Her hands reminded Yui a little, just a little, of being touched by a god, a glow of rightness and presence that wasn't physical but still heated Yui's body.

Just enough to calm Yui's lingering hunger and let her feel this world properly.

"Ahh..." Yui's breath deepened and she arched up into the wet heat of Shuurei's mouth on her breast. "Very convincing," she gasped.

"Mm?" Shuurei's tongue stroked her nipple. "And this?" Slim fingers slid down between Yui's legs, touching her gently.

Yui was losing track of the game in the pleasure, but managed to whisper, "Very glad to be here," before the sweetness curling down her nerves distracted her entirely. She spread her legs wider, lifting up into the touch, and Shuurei kissed her, murmuring soothing half words, fingers rubbing slow and easy, coaxing and gentle, the way she'd always touched Yui from the first moment they'd met and Shuurei had gathered up her hands in welcome.

Shuurei's fingers dipped into her and slid back up, bold and slick, and Yui gasped, hips rocking up. She loved Shuurei's ease with their bodies. It sank her down into the heat, into a feeling of safety as Shuurei's familiar, mortal and human curves pressed against her and dark hair slipped down to brush her cheek like another caress. "Shuurei," she breathed, arms tightening around her as pleasure curled tighter and tighter and finally broke through her, hot and strong and open.

Shuurei held her close until she sighed and relaxed back against the sheets. Yui nuzzled the curve of Shuurei's neck and murmured, "You know I'll stay with you." She hadn't missed the tiny flicker of darkness in Shuurei's eyes before teasing covered it.

Shuurei blushed a little, soft and happy, and snuggled up against her. "I know. It's wonderful; thank you."

"Mm, thank you," Yui returned, and they laughed together, light and breathless.

Sometimes, when Yui ran her fingers through Shuurei's sleek, dark hair, she remembered Miaka leaning against her, Miaka's hands reaching toward her. But when Shuurei smiled, warm as the sun and twice as brilliant, dragons and gods and the dimmed day-to-day world that came after washed out of Yui's mind, and she, too, was very glad she had come to this place. A place where the eyes of the person who touched her saw beauty and wisdom, not fragments and foolishness. It made her think she might become what Shuurei saw.

She held Shuurei closer and murmured against her ear, "Do I get a bedtime story tonight?"

"Of course." Shuurei hooked a leg comfortably around Yui's. "What do you want to hear about?"

"Tell me more about the Chancellery..."

End

A/N: The author would like to note that this story is entirely the fault of Lys ap Adin, fic enabler extraorinaire.

The Family You Choose

It is time for Timoteo to choose his Guardians, and he's determined to do things his way. This project owes its inspiration to jetsam/thephoenixboy, who correctly guessed which fic was mine in the first round of khr_undercover, and requested a fic featuring Timoteo and his Guardians as her reward. I don't believe she quite expected her request to spawn an entire humongous arc, but what can I say? It was a provocative prompt! *grin* General audiences

For a character guide, see the appendix (warning: spoilers for the arc!)

"You wanted to see me, Mother?" Timoteo asked, as he let himself into her study after lunch. Her right hand, Taddeo, and her outside advisor, Cesare, were both with her, and Timoteo raised his eyebrows a bit, wondering what they had in store for him this time.

The Vongola Eighth didn't look up from the papers she was studying. Timoteo waited and wondered, and kept his expression carefully neutral until she had finished what she was doing and looked up at him. "Now that the fuss of the wedding is past us, it's time we confirmed you as the heir," she said, brisk, the way she did everything—part of how she dealt with being the female head of a Family like the Vongola, or so she'd explained to him, once. "Who have you been thinking of for your Guardians?"

"Is it already time to be thinking of that?" Timoteo asked, to make time for his mind to race ahead and turn over the possibilities. "You're still very young, Mother."

"How kind of you to say," she said, eyes glinting, not without humor. "I said that we were ready to confirm you as my heir, not that I was ready to step down. Don't get too far above yourself."

Timoteo grinned at her and settled in his usual chair. "Good, because I'm not ready to have your job yet."

"No, you're not," she said, crisp. "Nevertheless, I want a clear succession set up. God forbid that you should be faced with the mess I was, but it's better safe than sorry."

Timoteo let the smile slide off his face and nodded. God forbid, indeed: all of the Vongola knew how his mother had needed to fight for her position. "Of course."

"Well?" Cesare shifted away from his spot at the window. "Who are you thinking of for your Guardians?"

Timoteo was careful not to take a breath or to fidget—those were the tells that all three of them would see, and he needed every bit of advantage possible for this. "Paolo Gemello," he said, leaning back in his chair, hooking an arm over the back of it, casual and relaxed. "For my Lightning."

A careful first choice, that—Paolo was the one he expected the least trouble over. Who could object to Paolo, when Paolo was as steady as they came, serious and thoughtful and deadly with a pair of knives in his hands?

Mother and Cesare exchanged glances, and then nods; Timoteo stifled his sigh. No trouble there, definitely, though he hadn't really expected any. "Good," his mother said. "Who else?"

"Paolo comes as a set, you know." Timoteo smiled. "Piero, for Storm."

"Piero?" Taddeo echoed, frowning just a bit. "He's... hardly as steady as his brother."

"But he's still steady enough on his own," Timoteo said, keeping his voice even and relaxed. "If you know how to handle him. Paolo and I do." It helped that Piero recognized his own limitations, and trusted himself to be guided by cooler heads when it became necessary.

And no one could deny that Piero was competent as a fighter—even when he hadn't lost all control of his temper.

"Your Guardians must represent you," Cesare pointed out, kindly enough. "The twins know that. I doubt Piero will feel slighted if you overlook him in favor of his brother."

Timoteo frowned back at him. "It's not about slighting him. Piero is my Storm. He'll let himself be guided by my hand, even in his rages."

"You're sure of that?" his mother asked, not as Mother but as the Eighth. "Would you stake your life on it?"

"I would stake my honor on it," Timoteo replied.

This time the look that she and Cesare exchanged was longer, more meaningful, full of barely-perceptible cues like the lift of his eyebrow, the flicker of her eyes—until, finally, Cesare nodded and asked, "Who else?"

Timoteo considered how they'd taken his choice of Storm, and made a rapid decision to bump the two most difficult candidates up the list. If he could get them to swallow the Cloud and the Rain, then they'd be able to take the Mist and the Sun as palate cleansers. "Maria Purezza. For the Cloud, of course."

Cesare stared, and Taddeo covered his eyes, but his mother—Mother threw her head back and laughed, freely, right from the gut. "Oh, yes," she gasped, when her peals of laughter had calmed somewhat. "Oh, yes, was there ever anyone more suited to be the Cloud than Maria?"

Timoteo permitted himself a smile, keeping an eye on Cesare and Taddeo all the while. "I doubt it." Fierce, hawkish Maria, whose tongue was sharper than her knives and who'd broken the leg and the dignity of the last man who'd dared approach her with the thought that such a pretty face ought to belong to a sweet temper—yes, she'd been born to be the Cloud.

Cesare looked as though he had bitten into a lemon. "Yes, but..."

"But what?" Timoteo asked, smiling at him. "Doesn't she have the ideal temperament for the Cloud?"

"Yes, but..." Cesare frowned. "Certainly she's a splendid girl, but don't you think that this job mightn't be... beyond her capabilities?"

"I don't think that they are, but perhaps you'd like to go a few rounds with her in the training rooms to reassure yourself?" Timoteo suggested.

Cesare blanched; Timoteo was careful not to grin at him. "I'm—sure that won't be necessary."

"Then I'm not sure I see what the objection might be."

"It's that she's a woman," Taddeo said, unexpectedly. "You can't have a woman among your Guardians, for pity's sake. It's going to look terrible, and it's not at all fair to expose a young woman—even a young woman as formidable as we all know Maria to be—to the kinds of things people will say about her if she's your Guardian."

Ah, there it was. Timoteo settled back in his chair, casual, keeping an eye on Taddeo and Cesare, and the other on his mother, whose eyes had gone sharp, but who hadn't bothered to speak up yet. There wasn't going to be any help from that quarter, not yet, but there didn't seem to be any discouragement coming, either. "Regarding your last point first—perhaps it isn't fair, but I've found people so very rarely are, in our world. It is, I think, Maria's decision whether she wants to take on the burden of hearing such things said about herself. It's not my place to protect her from even getting to make that decision. She's a grown woman, not a child."

"Some would say that there is no difference," Mother said, with a little smile that was dangerous for all its apparent innocence.

Timoteo tipped his head, with a smile. "Then that is their great mistake," he murmured, "and it's one we can use to our advantage. I know how it will look to others if Maria becomes my Cloud. It will look as if I have a weakness, or as if I am showing favoritism, or any number of other unpleasant things. Since none of them will be true, I will be able to use that to my own ends. It's not a bad thing to be underestimated by the other Families—is it, Mother?"

"I've found it useful," she admitted, with a faint smile. "Though they do catch on, eventually."

"That's a bridge that I'm willing to cross when it becomes necessary." Timoteo looked from her to Taddeo and Cesare. "If I am to be the Ninth, I must take all the needs of my people into account. Surely this is where Maria belongs. I can't imagine that she will ever be happy doing the things that other women do."

"Indeed, but... she's a woman. Women have never been Guardians," Cesare said.

"Women have rarely been bosses in their own right," Timoteo said, with a smile he knew was sharp. "Surely you can't say that a lack of precedent should hold us back? If we'd let ourselves be constrained by precedent, where would the Vongola be now, I wonder?"

Mother laughed, short and harsh, and looked at her outside advisor. "Indeed. Where would it be?"

Cesare frowned at them both. "I don't like it."

"Can you say that she isn't able to do the job?" Timoteo asked him, letting the pleasant faÃ§ade slip away entirely. Cesare shook his head. "Can you say that there is any law of ours which forbids her being a Guardian?"

"No. No law. Merely long tradition." Cesare looked sour to admit it. "I see what you're driving at. And I say, you had better consider all the things that will be said."

"Talk is cheap." Timoteo shrugged, spreading his hands. "I doubt it will continue after Maria has broken a few skulls." He paused. "Diplomatically, of course."

"And may I live long enough to see it," his mother added, her devout tone undermined by her vicious grin.

"Indeed." Timoteo held Cesare's gaze, until Cesare finally looked away, muttering, "On your own head be it."

"Thank you." Timoteo kept his smile restrained, since it was too soon to gloat. There was the Rain to get through, still.

"Storm, Lightning, and Cloud." His mother raised an eyebrow at him, expectant. "Who else?"

Timoteo smiled at them, cheerfully, with a calm he didn't actually feel. "The Rain. That will be Rafaele Martelli, of course."

There was a beat of silence, and then all three of them spoke at once, in a welter of protests, from his mother's, "He's a dear boy, but hardly Guardian material," to Taddeo's blunter, "You must be crazy," and Cesare's, "He's not even Italian!"

Yes, he'd expected this to be the difficult one. Good to know he'd judged it correctly. Timoteo set his hands on his knees and waited for the immediate hubbub to die down. When it had, a bit, he raised his voice over it. "Is there any objection to Rafaele that you can give me that doesn't involve where his parents came from?" he demanded.

The three of them paused, all of them frowning, and Cesare looking distinctly mutinous. "That's not really the point," his mother said. "No one is saying that he's not a fine young man, and his father certainly served me with some distinction, but—"

"But they're not from here," Cesare broke in, harsh. "They're from bloody Tripoli."

"His parents are, yes," Timoteo said, evenly. "Rafaele himself was born and bred here. He's as Italian as I am."

"A pretty sentiment," Taddeo said, "but this isn't the kind of thing you can leave to idealism, boy. He's not one of us, and he never will be. You can't possibly have him as a Guardian. It isn't done."

"No?" Timoteo looked at him, and slowly lifted an eyebrow. "Weren't you the one who taught me our history? Who was the first Rain, if you please?"

"That was different," Taddeo said, after an uneasy pause. "That was the First."

"If it was good enough for the First, it's good enough for me." Timoteo shrugged. "At least Rafaele was born and raised here. I can't imagine that the first Rain blended in half as well as he does, considering."

"He doesn't blend at all," Mother said, slowly—regretfully, he thought. "Timoteo, you're going to have to be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable." It was difficult to stare all three of them down at once. Timoteo gritted his teeth and did it anyway. "There is no one who meshes half so well with my other Guardians. He even manages to get along with Maria, for Heaven's sake."

"No one's saying that he isn't capable, but he's not one of us," Cesare said, still frowning. "He never will be."

"What does it take to be one of us?" Timoteo frowned right back at him. "To be born here? To follow all our customs? To shed blood for the Vongola?" He spread his hands. "Which of these has Rafaele not done?"

They shifted, uneasily he thought, and let himself hope that meant he was gaining ground. "It's not that we aren't grateful," his mother said. "Especially about the last. But think of how it will look—"

"That will be my burden to carry, won't it?" Timoteo replied. "I tell you, I would rather have Rafaele as my Rain and deal with every other Family out there than choose a Rain Guardian who will be expedient." He could feel his Will wanting to flare with the anger he felt, and could feel it in his voice as he spoke. He couldn't make himself care. "Rafaele is the right choice, damn it."

His mother looked at him, hard, eyes glittering with her own Will. "This is your Will, then?"

"It is," Timoteo said, low.

Her mouth thinned, and she slashed a hand through the air. "Enough. We'll come back to the matter. Tell me who you want for your Mist."

It wasn't an outright refusal, so Timoteo smoothed his anger and his Flame away. "Gianni Staffieri."

"Gianni. Yes, I should have known." She smiled again, faintly, knowing, and Timoteo shrugged at her. The choice was obvious, since he couldn't remember a time when Gianni hadn't been his older, wiser shadow.

"Isn't he..." Cesare paused, coughing almost delicately, clearly searching for the right words. "There's always been something a bit... off... about him. Hasn't there?"

Timoteo suspected that Cesare wasn't exactly referring to Gianni's fey sense of humor, and shrugged. "He's the Mist. They're always a bit odd, aren't they?" he said, smiling and smooth. "Their feet don't quite touch the ground, but that's no barrier when you're as competent as Gianni is."

Cesare's brow cleared. "Ah, yes. You make a good point."

Timoteo breathed more easily as Mother and Cesare exchanged nods over the choice; that was Gianni seen to then, with even less fuss than he'd dared to hope for, considering. "And then, for the Sun... really, who else could I choose but Michele Rizzo?" No one had ever doubted where laughing, irrepressible Michele's affinities had lain, not when he overflowed with energy and asked only to be aimed in a direction—any direction, really.

"True enough," Cesare said, smiling—well, Cesare had raised some hell in his own time, or so Timoteo had heard. "He'll do well for you."

"Indeed." Mother nodded at Cesare's words, and that was done.

Five, then, and the question of Rafaele still up in the air. Timoteo held his silence as Mother rose from her chair and moved to the sideboard, pouring drinks—four of them, scotch gold in the cut-glass decanter as she poured and handed the glasses around to them. Were they to consider the business closed for the time being?

Timoteo turned the glass in his hands, watching her narrowly as she resumed her seat and lifted her own glass. "A toast," she said. "To the future of the Vongola."

Taddeo and Cesare murmured agreement for the sentiment, and drank with her.

Timoteo stayed still.

"Will you not drink?" Mother asked him.

"Not until I know what will become of my people," Timoteo said, steadily despite the queasiness in his gut. "I don't know yet what the future of the Vongola will look like. But I know what I am willing to fight for."

Mother's eyes went dark. "Think carefully," she said, softly. "This is a small thing. Are you sure that you're willing to declare war for it? I've told you how bitter the battles I've fought were. Is this really worth it, when you don't even know that you will win?"

"I don't see why I won't," Timoteo replied, quietly. "I know who I will have on my side." He drew a breath. "And I can't think of anything which would be a better reason to fight for. He's one of my people. I will not betray him by saying that he isn't."

His mother held his eyes for a moment, and then another, and then her mouth ticked up at the corner. "Indeed." There was something hovering in her expression—it was something that was normally only there when she was surveying the Vongola's holdings. Timoteo blinked as he identified it as pride. "A worthy answer, Cesare, don't you think?"

"I can't dispute it," he said, low and unhappy. "I've worked all my life to put the Vongola back in order. I won't let it fall back into chaos now."

Timoteo bowed his head, acknowledging the point. "Neither will I," he promised.

"Oh, very well," Cesare muttered. "Have him if you must."

"Thank you." Timoteo kept his smile restrained, because Mother had always insisted that graciousness in victory was necessary. "To the future of the Vongola, then."

And this time they all drank.

The task of actually asking his six candidates to serve was left to Timoteo, as was only proper. He decided to begin with Maria.

It wasn't that he didn't think she'd say yes, but she did have a rather formidable nature. It would be all too easy to delay asking her till he couldn't put it off any longer, and that would only offend her.

He found her—where else?—in one of the training rooms, and stood inside the door to watch her pummel Vittore, who was half again her size, into the mat with deadly efficiency. Watching her, Timoteo could only be grateful that her loyalty was to the Vongola—and that she'd disdained to use her own good looks as the weapon they could have been. If she'd played up the heart-shaped face and the curves of her figure, she'd have been unstoppable.

Maria only deigned to notice Timoteo when Vittore was a groaning mess on the mat. "Here to fight?" she asked, raking sweaty tendrils of hair back from her face.

"Yes," Timoteo said, after a moment's consideration, since a fight nearly always put her in a receptive mood.

"Well, hurry up, then," she said, snapping her fingers at him as she turned back to Vittore, urging him off the mat with her foot. Timoteo stripped out of his jacket and tie as she did, and stepped into the ring, calling on his Will as Vittore limped away.

Maria's eyes lit with an unholy sort of joy as they circled each other, until she lashed out with a fist and the sparring match could begin properly.

They traded blows for several minutes, fighting each other to a standstill, and only stopped when they were both winded and bruised. "All right," she said, after they'd begun to catch their breath, bracing her hands on her hips and studying him. "What do you want?"

"How do you know I want something?" Timoteo replied, amused.

"It's all over your face. What is it?" she demanded, impatient as ever.

Timoteo felt his mouth crook; she was a Cloud, through and through. "They're going to confirm me as the Ninth," he said. "Will you be my Cloud?"

He rarely had the luxury of being able to surprise Maria, but this time he seemed to have done it. She stopped short and stared at him, eyes rounded just a bit. "Say what?"

"Will you be my Cloud Guardian?" he repeated, patiently.

Maria stared at him, and then snorted. "How the hell do you figure they're going to let that happen?" she asked, voice gruff, the way it went when she had to hide some emotion. "In case you haven't noticed, I've got the wrong set of dangly bits for the job."

"So does my mother, technically," Timoteo said. "She and Cesare agreed to it. Will you?"

She folded her arms, regarding him silently. "You're serious, then."

"Of course I am." Timoteo grinned at her. "Who else can I trust to give me the whole, unvarnished truth?"

"Mm." Maria continued to study him until, finally, she was satisfied, and nodded. "Yes," she said, and then did something he wouldn't have expected—she bent over his hand and kissed it. "I will be your Cloud," she promised, and then straightened up again. "Besides. I want to see what kind of Ninth you're going to make, anyway."

"A good one, I should hope," he said, elated by the acceptance.

Maria's answering smile was faint and fierce. "We shall see what we can make of you." She dusted her hands off. "Now. Who else have you spoken to?"

"You were the first."

She didn't quite manage to hide the pleased look in her eyes. "Idiot. You should have gone to one of the boys first." She sniffed. "There's propriety to consider. Or so I've been told."

"People are going to talk no matter what," Timoteo said, firmly. "So fuck 'em."

This time her smile was broader. "I suppose I can go along with that."

The twins shared a set of rooms in the wing given over to such things, living among the rest of the Vongola's foot soldiers like they had their whole lives. That would probably need to change, Timoteo thought, knocking at their door. But perhaps their new status would encourage them to make the shift without protesting. Besides, Paolo had been paying court to a pretty girl in town, last he'd heard. This would probably decide her, one way or another.

Piero was the one to get the door, and grinned when he saw that it was Timoteo. "You're just about in time for supper," he said, waving him and Maria in.

"I wasn't aware that either of you could cook," Timoteo said, dry.

"Oh, we can't." Piero waved an airy hand, and lowered his voice. "But Paolo's woman can."

"Ah, I see." And indeed, now that they were inside the apartment, he could hear laughter from the kitchen—a woman's, clear and bright, with Paolo's lower tones beneath.

"Yeah." Piero turned and yelled, "Paolo, hey! Company!"

Company manners never had made much of an impression on Piero.

Timoteo was conscious of the way Maria had positioned herself at his shoulder, silently, as Paolo appeared from the kitchen, looking relaxed. "Timoteo, Maria. This is a surprise. Are you joining us for supper?"

For a moment, Timoteo hesitated to interrupt the domesticity of the evening with business, especially as Paolo smiled and curled an arm around her. Paolo's woman appeared behind his shoulder—she was pretty, round and soft, with melting eyes. Just now she looked worried and uncertain—perhaps because she hadn't been expecting guests, though Timoteo suspected it was more than that. "No," he said, and hid his smile at the flicker of relief in her eyes. "We're just stopping by for a moment. Business."

The smile slid off Paolo's face. "Ah. I see." He looked rueful. "You have terrible timing, I hope you know."

But Piero's eyes turned bright, avid. "Yeah?" he said, eager. "What's up?"

"I'm to be confirmed as the Ninth," Timoteo told them, and watched their expressions change again: Paolo went even more serious, and some of the brightness in Piero's eyes was replaced with—wistfulness, regret, possibly resignation. The woman's mouth turned tighter. No doubt she was wondering whether she wanted to hear what was to come.

"Congratulations," Paolo said, after a moment. "Boss."

"Thank you." Timoteo stood straighter. "Will you serve me as my Lightning, Paolo?"

"Yes, of course." Paolo moved away from his woman and crossed the room to bend over Timoteo's hand, pressing his forehead to the back of it. "I'd be honored."

"Hah, I told you so!" Piero grinned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I told you that he'd pick you, you great ninny."

"It's not my place to presume what the boss's plans are," Paolo said, primly enough, though he was fighting down a grin. "Honestly, Piero..." He turned to his woman, who was standing still and white-knuckled in the kitchen door. "Well, Anna? How about it now?"

"Will I have to share you with your job now, too?" she asked, low and strained.

"Don't be stupid," Maria said, dry as dust. "You would have had to share him with his job even if he weren't going to be the Lightning. Use your head, woman. He's Vongola."

The woman—Anna, Timoteo supposed—flinched. "I have to think about this," she said, and whirled around, disappearing into the kitchen.

Paolo's mouth flattened as he looked after her, and tightened even further as things began to clatter in the kitchen. "Women," he said, shaking his head.

"My apologies," Timoteo said. "I didn't mean to ruin your evening."

"Don't be ridiculous, Boss," Paolo said, and shrugged. "You haven't ruined anything. She'll come around."

Piero grinned and slapped him on the back. "Congratulations," he said, dispelling the brief moment of grimness. "Don't forget us little people when you go off to be the big bad Guardian, huh?"

Yes, he'd thought that Piero had been brooding on being left behind. "Piero," Timoteo said, before Paolo could make a reply to that. "Will you be my Storm?"

He rather wished he'd had a camera, just so he could preserve the goggle-eyed look of surprise that Piero turned on him. "Me?" he said, pointing at his own chest. "Really?"

"I can't think of who I would rather have," Timoteo told him, as an identical smile bloomed on both their faces.

Piero bounded over to him and seized his hand, kissing it. "Yes! Hell, yes, even! I'll be the best damn Storm the Vongola ever had."

Timoteo grinned. "I know you will be," he said, pleased with the sense that his people were already beginning to fall into place around him.

Family etiquette called for him to take at least one of his new Guardians with him as he made his rounds, but Timoteo stopped by Gianni's quarters by himself, late in the evening—the last thing he would do before making his way home.

Gianni didn't seem the least bit surprised to see him, and had, judging by the decanter of wine and the glasses already set out, been expecting him. "I hear that congratulations are in order," he said, with a small smile, after he'd seen Timoteo installed in the apartment's most comfortable chair and had poured him a glass of the wine.

"How do you hear these things so quickly?" Timoteo asked him.

Gianni shrugged, smiling behind his glass. "I have my ways."

"I'm sure you do," Timoteo snorted. He swirled the wine his glass, slowly, watching the motion of it. "Tell me—does the Devil offer good terms?"

Gianni smiled. "Reasonable enough, I'm sure." He tipped his head, watching Timoteo, inscrutable. "Are you ready?"

"For a job like this one?" Timoteo huffed softly. "Can you ever be ready for a job like this one?"

"A good point," Gianni conceded, and they lapsed into silence over their wine.

"I suppose I'm as ready to get started as I can be," Timoteo said, presently. "But all the same, I'm not ashamed to say that I'm glad Mother has no immediate plans to retire, God willing."

"God willing," Gianni echoed, with a nod.

Timoteo took another drink of his wine, and looked at his friend. "So," he said. "Will you stand at my side?"

"I've always stood at your side," Gianni said, low and intent. "God willing, I always will."

"Thank you," Timoteo murmured to him. "I'm glad that I have you to depend on."

"Always," Gianni promised him.

Timoteo smiled at him; after a moment, Gianni settled back in his seat, and inquired after who Timoteo was calling to be his other Guardians. They passed the next half hour discussing Timoteo's plans for the future and the Vongola pleasantly enough, until Timoteo set his empty glass down and eyed the time. "I should get home," he said. "Gabriella will be wondering where I am."

"Of course," Gianni said, easy, and rose to see him to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

"Until then," Timoteo said, and let himself out.

He spent the walk back to his and Gabriella's rooms considering the sacrifices that friendship felt called to make.

Timoteo found Michele in the morning, coming in, before he'd even meant to go find him. By the appearance of him—scruffy around the chin, blond curls a mess—Michele had been out all night. He greeted Timoteo with a grin and bright eyes regardless. "Timoteo! Just the man I wanted to see!"

"Am I?" Timoteo couldn't help but wonder if Michele had already heard, but Michele's merry grin didn't seem smug in any way. "What on earth for?"

"I'm going to be married." Michele announced it with a flourish of his arms and little jig. "She said yes!"

"They always say yes to you," Timoteo said, entertained, and not honestly sure which "she" Michele meant this time. "They never seem to mean it for very long." The swathe Michele had managed to cut through the local female population was amazing. A person would think that they'd have learned by now, but apparently not.

"This time is different!" Michele glanced around, and drew a little closer. "There's going to be a baby," he confided.

"Ah," Timoteo said, because now it was coming clear. "My congratulations."

"Thank you." Michele grinned at him. "So, what do you say? Will you be my best man?"

"If business allows, yes, of course." Timoteo smiled as Michele whooped and did another dance, and waited for him to calm down. "I have a question for you as well."

Michele spread his arms wide. "Anything you like," he proclaimed. "Anything at all!"

Timoteo glanced around, but for the moment, the front hall was empty, except for them. "They're going to confirm me as the Ninth." Michele's eyes went wide; before he could exclaim his congratulations, Timoteo hurried to add, "Will you be my Sun?"

That stunned some of the open glee off Michele's face, and his expression turned serious. "I'd be honored," he said, dropping to a knee and taking Timoteo's hands between his. "My life for yours, Boss." Then his expression changed back to a grin as he bounced to his feet. "Though you'll forgive me if I hope that such a thing doesn't become necessary. I'm going to be a family man, you know."

"So I'd heard," Timoteo said, dry, but Michele didn't hear him, already off on another tangent.

"Perhaps it'll be a boy," he said, eyes gleaming with the light of his new scheme. "We can raise him with yours—Gabriella's got to get pregnant soon, right?—and he can grow up to be your son's Guardian, too. Wouldn't that be a fine thing?"

"I can't imagine anything finer," Timoteo told him, gravely, and let Michele draw him off to spin more castles in the air. He didn't have the heart to ask Michele what he'd do if it were a girl.

Given Michele's enthusiasm, probably concoct schemes that would have her married off to Timoteo's first son, he decided, with a grin.

Rafaele had elected to stay on at his mother's even after he'd come of age, because (as he'd quite sensibly pointed out) she'd had no one else to look after her. The quest to find him, therefore, took Timoteo and Gianni from the main house down to the little cottage that she kept and Rafaele looked after.

They were probably going to have to change that somehow, Timoteo thought, surveying it and its neat little garden. He couldn't imagine that she would be willing to move from the place that had been her home for decades. They'd have to find someone to keep house for her, he decided, and made a note to speak to Gianni about it later.

Rafaele himself came around the side of the house, interrupting Timoteo's thoughts, and greeted them both, cheerfully. "I'll be with you in just a bit," he said. "I have to finish watering Mother's flowers for her." He gestured with the brimming buckets he carried, as if to underline the point.

"No rush," Timoteo told him, amused.

He and Gianni watched as Rafaele puttered through the garden, until Gianni leaned over and asked, in an undertone, "Does he ever give you the sense that you're an absolutely horrible son?"

"Occasionally," Timoteo said, wry. "You get used to it."

Rafaele was as quick as he'd promised to be, though, and invited them inside for cool drinks as soon as he'd finished with the garden, along with a tray of bread and fruit. "It's not much," he apologized. "Market day, you know."

That must have been where his mother was. "It's plenty," Timoteo assured him.

"Mm." Rafaele's eyes moved back and forth between the two of them, quick and assessing. "I'll hazard a guess and say that this isn't a social visit, is it?"

"Not entirely," Timoteo said, and set his lemonade down.

Rafaele's smile was wry. "How ever did I guess?" he asked, and clasped his hands on his knee. "What would the Vongola like from me today?"

"Something a bit more complicated than helping me steal peaches from Signor Ferla's orchard, I'm afraid," Timoteo told him, and heard Gianni's muffled snort of laughter. "They're confirming me as Mother's heir. Will you serve as my Rain?"

Rafaele went still and surprised. "Timoteo..." he said, slowly. "It's an honor, really, but... have you thought this through?"

"From every angle," Timoteo, watching the hesitation moving across Rafaele's face. "You're the man I want."

"What we want and what is practical are very different things," Rafaele persisted, hesitation beginning to settle into stubbornness. "I'm not sure that this is practical. At all."

"I am more than willing to deal with impracticalities," Timoteo assured him, a bit dismayed by Rafaele's resistance, which he hadn't really expected to be more than token. "That's the whole of the job, when you think about it. So. Will you do it?"

"I'm not really Vongola," Rafaele said, quietly. "You know that. I'm happy to serve your Family, but I'm not a part of it and I'm never going to be."

"Don't be such a jackass," Gianni said, before Timoteo could react to that. "You're not the one who gets to decide who's Family and who's not. The boss is the one who does that."

Rafaele stared at him, clearly startled by the blunt language.

Timoteo forced himself not to smile; it was always entertaining to watch Gianni catch someone off-guard for the first time. "Just as Gianni says," he murmured. "It's my decision who belongs in my Family, and I say you do. You've already fought for me and bled for me. You've laughed with me, and you danced at my wedding. What more is there to Family than that?"

Rafaele looked at him, the seconds ticking past, and then smiled, faintly rueful. "A few things, perhaps." He stopped, looking away from them both. "Are you sure that this is the decision you want to make?"

"Very sure," Timoteo told him.

Rafaele looked back, and then nodded, slow and measured. "Then, yes." He stood and moved, kneeling for Timoteo. "I will serve."

"Thank you," Timoteo murmured, relief running through him. He drew Rafaele up. "Anyone who says you're not Vongola will answer to me," he promised.

Rafaele's smile in response to that was bright, and even a little wondering. "If you say so, Boss."

There were some sour faces among the highest-ranking members of his mother's advisors and the other men who helped her run the Vongola. Timoteo scanned them, noting who looked most irritated and committing their names to memory. He'd have to be their Boss one of these days—pray God one of these days a good way hence—and it wouldn't pay to burn too many bridges with this, if he could help it.

But for now, there wasn't much that he could do, so he ignored them for the time being, along with the faint susurrus of talk about his Rain and his Cloud. It quieted when his mother accepted the two boxes from Cesare and turned to the room at large. "These are the Vongola rings," she said, firm and clear, and opened the boxes to display the halves of the rings to the crowd. "They are our greatest treasures, and today we bring them forth to mark the way for those who will come after us." She drew the first pair of ring halves from their places and fit them together. "Maria Purezza, come forward and take the Cloud ring."

Maria stepped forward, head held high, and accepted the ring. The room held its breath as she slid it onto her finger, but nothing happened.

As Maria stepped to the side, Mother drew out the next pair of halves. "Paolo Gemello," she called, "Come forward and take the Lightning ring."

Timoteo glanced through the faces in the crowd as he did, and found Paolo's Anna there. Her expression was still a bit strained, but she found a smile as Paolo took his ring and his place. They must have reached some accommodation after all.

"Piero Gemello, come forward and take the Storm ring."

Piero very nearly swaggered forward, every line of him set with pride and eagerness. He fell in at his brother's side with a blinding grin; Timoteo noted that some of the observers couldn't seem to help grinning themselves, watching him.

"Rafaele Martelli," his mother said, and every face went still and watchful. "Come forward and take the Rain ring."

Rafaele moved forward to accept the ring from her hand, steady and careful, and gravely slid it onto his finger. Nothing happened, and the crowd muttered and shifted as he took his place with the rest of Timoteo's Guardians.

"Michele Rizzo, come forward and take the Sun ring," his mother called, her voice cutting across the rustling and muttering.

A good next choice: Michele's step practically bounced, and he won more than a few smiles after accepting the ring and turning to blow a kiss into the crowd. Timoteo just hoped it was aimed at his fiancÃ©e and not someone else.

"Gianni Staffieri, come forward and take the Mist ring," Mother called.

Timoteo swallowed butterflies down as Gianni moved forward and accepted his ring, solemn as a judge, and moved to stand with the circle of Guardians who were waiting. That was six, then.

Mother fit the last set of halves together, forming the Sky ring, and looked to him. "Timoteo Vongola," she said, slow and serious, "come forward and take the Sky ring, and let the people see how you will lead them with the Guardians you have chosen."

Timoteo drew a breath and stepped forward, taking the ring from his mother's hand. It lay cool and heavy in his palm until he slid it on; then it fit on his finger comfortably, and nothing terrible happened to prove that he was unworthy of its weight.

He rather thought that his was not the only stifled sigh of relief.

Timoteo squared his shoulders and turned to his Guardians, who came to him with hands outstretched and faces that reflected his own joy and pride and solemnity back to him. The rings burst into Flame and light as they did, making their collective Wills manifest and burning the last traces of doubt from Rafaele and Maria's eyes.

Timoteo finally let himself smile at this, the first proper beginnings of his Family, and joined his hands with theirs. Let the outsiders doubt his choices if they liked. With a Family like his, a man could do anything at all.

- end -

Two Hands Make A Pair

In which the Vongola Ninth's Mist and Rain reach an agreement, and establish a pattern that will carry them forward. This is set about ten years before "Blood Will Tell." Timoteo has been the Ninth for a little under a decade at this point. This is a sidestory for the arc, focusing pretty much entirely on two of the original characters, and is not necessary to the main thrust of A House Divided—but it may make some character motivations make more sense later.Fraught smut

Gianni may have been the Vongola Ninth's right hand, and his Mist Guardian besides, but he wasn't too proud to admit it when he was tired. And tonight, he was tired.

Admitting that he was tired to himself and letting it show to anyone else were, however, two entirely separate things. There were miles yet to go this night—metaphorical ones, if not literal ones—and Gianni frankly didn't have the time to be tired.

He kept his eyes on the wall opposite him as Timoteo stooped over his wife's bed and murmured his goodnights. Her reply was low, reedy, barely any louder than the machines that surrounded her.

She was getting worse.

A few moments more, and the Ninth joined him in the hall, closing the door after him, gently. The minute it was shut, some of the straightness left his shoulders, and the smile faded from his mouth.

There were times when one could say something, and times when nothing at all could help. Gianni had lived long enough to be able to tell the difference, and waited now until the Ninth had cleared his throat. "Come on, then," he said, gruff. "We have work to do."

"Of course, Boss," Gianni said, catching Rafaele's eye in passing as he fell in with the Ninth. The Rain looked almost as tired as Gianni felt.

But neither of them were as tired as the Ninth, so Gianni simply shrugged at him in passing. Rafaele hung back to speak briefly with the bodyguards who'd be taking the night watch at the hospital—no doubt to instruct them to telephone the hotel the instant there seemed to be any change for the worse—and then jogged after them to catch up.

Timoteo began talking almost before they were all in the car, bringing up plans for an expansion into the Pozzo Nero's territory. He had lots to say, and Gianni was glad not to be driving, so that he could devote his full attention to the Ninth's ideas. They weren't bad. They were a little sketchy, of course, but that was only to be expected when the Ninth had come up with the idea while keeping vigil at his wife's bedside.

The Pozzo Nero weren't going to know what had hit them. If they were at all wise, they wouldn't try to resist too hard.

"Well, then, get that started for me," the Ninth said, as their little convoy rolled up to the hotel and the man they had stationed out front signaled an all clear. "I want to move at the end of the week."

Gianni blinked; the Ninth wanted to move that fast? "The end of the week?" he repeated.

Rafaele broke in. "That's short notice, Boss."

"There's no sense in wasting time," the Ninth grunted, as one of their men sprang forward to open the door for him.

"Of course not," Gianni agreed, stepping out into the spring evening after him. "It's going to take time to get the ball rolling, though. We're not exactly at home."

"I could hardly forget that," Timoteo snapped.

"I don't think that's what Gianni meant," Rafaele said, smooth and calm. He surrendered the car's keys to another of their men and came around the car to join them. "Boss, have you really thought this through?"

He'd timed it well, asking just as they stepped through the hotel's front doors. The Ninth couldn't answer as they passed into the hotel's lobby and its crowd of rich, laughing patrons, most of whom ignored the knot of black-suited men moving through their midst. By the time they'd reached the elevators, the Ninth's temper had had the time to flash in his eyes and then subside again. "You're right," he said, once they were alone in a car and it had begun its slow ascent to their floor. "I wasn't thinking." He ran a hand over his face. "I forget that not everyone has the time to sit and think that I do, these days."

Gianni avoided Rafaele's eyes in the mirrored walls of the elevator's car, and simply shrugged. "I'll call Maria tonight and have her and Paolo begin assessing things, so that everything will be ready when we get home."

"Not tonight," the Ninth said; Gianni watched his shoulders slump further in their reflection. "Tomorrow will be soon enough."

"Of course, Boss," Gianni murmured, as the elevator chimed for their floor and opened onto the hall.

The Ninth found a smile for them, from somewhere, as they stepped out of the car. "Indeed. Take the rest of the night off, you two. It's still young." He flicked his hands at them, and then moved away, flanked by his bodyguards.

Rafaele stopped next to Gianni. "Take the night off, he says." He turned a wry smile on Gianni. "I think he's mistaking us for Michele."

"Perhaps," Gianni agreed, watching the retreat of the Ninth's back, until he disappeared into his suite.

"Still, it's not a bad idea." Rafaele stretched and knocked his shoulder against Gianni's. "Come with me. I have a bottle of wine. I could use your opinion on it."

Gianni glanced at him. "Rafaele, you've never in your life needed an opinion on a bottle of wine."

"I need an opinion for this one," Rafaele told him, placidly, and gestured. "After you."

Gianni snorted, but let himself be ushered down the hall towards Rafaele's suite of rooms.

"Well?" Rafaele said later, when Gianni reached the bottom of his glass. "What do you think?"

"I'm not sure." Gianni held out his glass. "I'd better have another."

Rafaele laughed and obliged him, topping off his own glass in the process, and Gianni settled more comfortably into his chair. Hotel rooms were the same the world over, but this one wasn't too bad. It was comfortable enough for sitting in and sharing a bottle of wine, in any case, he decided, sipping the wine and savoring it, red and round and full on his tongue. "It's a good bottle," he said. He leaned his head back and sighed. "You didn't really need me to tell you that," he added, from behind closed eyes.

"No, but you needed to stop working," Rafaele said, dry as bone. "And I wasn't sure that even a direct order was going to get you to do it."

"This is hardly the time to be lazy," Gianni said, still with his eyes closed. "Or careless. Whatever he needs—"

"We should do, yes. But that doesn't include rushing headlong into a petty war with the Pozzo Nero just because the Boss is too distracted to think straight," Rafaele said.

Gianni's eyes popped open, and he sat up to argue the point. "We both know—"

"We both know I'm right. Gianni, think, will you? Be his right hand and think about what it would mean if we went haring off on this." Rafaele was looking at him, steady and calm. "If nothing else, think of what Maria would say."

That was... a legitimate point. Gianni leaned back and covered his eyes, imagining what their Cloud would have said if he'd called to tell her they were moving against the Pozzo Nero this week. "God."

"I suspect even God wouldn't be able to help you."

"Perhaps not." Gianni lowered his hand and reached for his wine. "Just as well that we have you to be sensible, isn't it?"

"At least when it comes to matters like this one," Rafaele said, and shrugged.

There was something there that Gianni didn't quite like the sound of. "Matters like this one?" he echoed.

Rafaele took a drink of his wine, dark eyes steady over the glass, and then set it down. "You're not entirely rational on matters that touch the Boss directly," he said, finally, matter-of-fact about it. "Not when it comes to doing the things that you think will make him happy. Or just ease his mind when he's suffering."

"That sounds suspiciously like you're accusing me of failing him as his right hand," Gianni said, anger rising in his chest, tight and hot.

Rafaele continued to look at him, eyes direct and clear. "I'm not. You're a good right hand. One of the best, even. But when you look at the Boss and see Timoteo and not the Ninth, your heart gets in the way of your head."

The knot of anger turned icy and changed into a sick twisting in his gut. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Gianni said, going cold all over.

Rafaele's answering smile was infinitely kind, and slid between his ribs like a knife. "Gianni, I know," he said, gently. "We all do, although I expect the twins try not to think about it too closely. It's all right."

The enormity of that simple statement was too much to grasp all at once; as precious seconds ticked by, Gianni knew that he ought to be denying the accusation, or pretending that he didn't follow Rafaele's meaning—doing something that would defuse the situation. But he couldn't quite marshal the wits to do it with, and sat, staring like some lackwit as Rafaele watched him, patiently. "You..."

"Not everyone would be able to see it," Rafaele continued, still with that gentle, relentless look on his face. "You hide it very well. But we're your Family. We know you better than anyone else does. When we're united in one purpose, you can't exactly hide your heart from us."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Gianni demanded, taking refuge in harshness against the probability that he was about to lose—everything.

"It's never presented a problem till now." Rafaele lifted a shoulder, shrugging. He reached for his wine again and drained the glass. "And I don't think it needs to be a problem. What you need is someone to watch your back for you."

Gianni couldn't help sneering. "I suppose you're offering?"

"Of course I am. I'm your friend. And your Family." Rafaele raised an eyebrow at him. "What else would I do?"

Gianni could feel his mouth twist at all the ugly possibilities. "I can think of half a dozen things. None of them involve watching my back."

"We're Vongola," Rafaele reminded him. "That's not our way. Not with our own." He seemed to consider it, and reached over to close his hands around Gianni's, his grip warm and reassuring. "Gianni. I will guard you. I will help you. You have my word on this—my word and my oath."

"Rafaele..." Gianni took a breath and steadied himself against the strength of Rafaele's hands around his and the solemn weight in his gaze. Now was no time for pride, not when the Family itself was at stake. "Someone to... oversee me in this would... be most welcome." He looked away. "My weaknesses must not be allowed to affect the Family."

"Here, now." Rafaele gave his hands a shake; when Gianni looked back, he was frowning. "None of that. Love is not a weakness. You're not weak, either."

"Don't try to flatter me," Gianni said, not quite able to stop the way his mouth twisted on the words. "We both know what this is." It was kind of Rafaele to try to spare his pride, of course, but the man ought to have been calling for him to resign—from his position as the Ninth's right hand, if nothing else.

"No," Rafaele said, slowly, watching him. "No, I'm beginning to think that we don't." He frowned again, eyes going thoughtful. "I think you've been carrying this alone for too long."

"It's not the sort of thing you share," Gianni told him. "Not really."

"No?" Rafaele's smile was quick, sudden—one of his I've just had an idea smiles. "I wonder about that."

"Rafaele," Gianni began, although trying to forestall the Rain when he'd decided to meddle was nearly always a lost cause. "It's—"

It's all right, he'd been meaning to say, or perhaps, It's nothing I'm not used to. Rafaele didn't let him do it. He let go of Gianni's hands and came out of his chair to lean over Gianni's. "You shouldn't think yourself alone," he said, quietly, and curved a hand around Gianni's jaw.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?" Gianni asked, low and harsh.

"Kissing you," Rafaele said, with an easy smile. "We'll see about the rest in a bit, I think."

Rafaele had him caged in well enough that he couldn't really recoil when Rafaele leaned closer and pressed their mouths together, kissing him, slow and hot and competent. If he felt any qualms about kissing another man, he gave no sign of it. He kissed Gianni insistently, mouth moving against Gianni's until Gianni answered it, grudgingly, and kissed back, feeling Rafaele's pleased rumble more than hearing it when he did. "What are you doing?" he asked again, when Rafaele finally drew back, just a bit. "I don't want your pity. I don't need that."

"It's not pity, you stubborn bastard." Rafaele smiled at him, wry and exasperated. He rubbed his thumb against the corner of Gianni's jaw. "It's friendship."

Gianni leaned into the touch, to his own disgust. "You're not—like I am," he said. "Friendship doesn't go this far."

Rafaele's mouth crooked. "There's a man by the name of Kinsey who I think you ought to read up on," he said, obliquely, and then leaned in to kiss Gianni again, slow and sure. "You let me decide just how far my friendship goes," he added, against Gianni's mouth. "Trust me to know what I'm doing."

Gianni let out a breath that was shaky, and not just because of the thought of what it might mean to be able to trust Rafaele with this part of himself. "You really think you know what you're doing here?"

"Been studying on it for a while, so I figure I do," Rafaele said, still with that relaxed smile.

"Do you?" Gianni asked, low and harsh, resenting the easiness of the offer. "You're ready to let me bend you over and fuck you? And to suck my cock? And to know it's not even you I'll be thinking about?"

Rafaele's eyes and smile stayed steady. "Yes." He seemed to stop, and reconsider. "But if you're thinking about someone else the whole time, then that's a sign I'm doing something wrong. Don't you think?" he asked, letting his hand fall away from Gianni's jaw. It dropped into Gianni's lap, curving over the front of Gianni's slacks and palming his cock through them, kneading the half-hard length of it. Softly, he added, "I don't think your mind has even wandered all that far."

Damn him for a smug bastard. "You should know what you're getting into," Gianni told him, half-gasping the words, hips lifting into the pressure of Rafaele's palm—God, it had been too long since he'd done anything like this, and it showed all too clearly in how he was responding, especially when Rafaele smiled and pressed harder. "Rafaele—"

"Enough," Rafaele told him. "I know what I'm doing." He kissed Gianni again, slowly, purposefully, until Gianni arched against him and caught his hand on one of Rafaele's solid shoulders, gripping it. "Unless you have other objections?" he murmured against Gianni's mouth, fingers undoing his slacks and sliding inside.

There were plenty, only Gianni couldn't quite manage to lay hands on them, not with Rafaele's fingers wrapping around him, stroking over him, sure and unhesitating. He suspected that Rafaele knew it, from the way Rafaele smiled at the incoherent sound he made when Rafaele's thumb dragged over his head. "Bastard," Gianni said, low, managing that much, at least.

"Yes, when I need to be," Rafaele agreed, and kissed him again, deep and hot, mouth moving against Gianni's, coaxing, until Gianni surrendered to the slowness of it and to the heat twining through him, and let his hips rock into the grip of Rafaele's fist. It took an embarrassingly short time after that for the heat to draw him out of himself, pleasure rushing down every nerve, sweeping him along with it.

When he could begin to think again, Rafaele had pressed himself close, fitting himself against Gianni as best as the chair would let him, and had an arm around him, supporting him. "Yes," he was saying against Gianni's ear, voice pitched low and intimate. "I have you. It's all right, I have you."

That sent a shudder of something down Gianni's spine, slow and convulsive, and he rested his forehead against Rafaele's shoulder. "Fuck," he rasped, when he could manage to speak again.

"If you like." Rafaele's lips moved against the side of his through, shaping the words against his skin. "I've got you."

"You're absolutely insane," Gianni told him, since it was the purest truth. Rafaele's shoulder shook under his forehead—laughter, low and warm. "You are," he insisted, and reached between them to prove it. "As much as I appreciate the—" He stopped short as his fingers encountered the unmistakable lines of Rafaele's cock straining against the confines of his slacks.

Rafaele's laughter husked against his ear. "Mmm," he said, "you were saying?"

Gianni lifted his head and eyed him. Rafaele's smile was sleek and satisfied, though his eyes were hungry. "I cannot believe you."

Rafaele arched an eyebrow at him. "What is there to believe?"

Gianni declined to answer that; something about the way Rafaele looked at him suggested that he already knew. "We should move," he said, instead, and watched Rafaele's eyes go dark. "To the bed."

"I like that idea," Rafaele murmured, and collected another kiss from him before drawing back, straightening up and turning towards the bedroom.

Gianni followed after him, watching the easy, unselfconscious way Rafaele stripped out of his shirt and draped it over a chair, and shed his slacks with the same careless ease before finally stepping out of his underwear and then stretching out on the turned-down sheets.

It made him wonder if Rafaele actually knew how beautiful he was.

"Well, are you just going to stand there?" Rafaele asked him, after a moment, smiling like he was satisfied with the way Gianni had been staring.

"No," Gianni said, coming away from the doorway and shedding his own clothes before joining him. "I wasn't planning on it," he added, leaning over Rafaele and kissing him.

Rafaele arched against him with a pleased sound, hands finding Gianni's back and stroking down it. "Mm, glad to hear it," he said, with a fearless smile. "What do you—"

Gianni stopped him, laying two fingers against his lips. "Enough," he said, quietly. "Let me."

"Of course," Rafaele said, when Gianni took his fingers away. "Anything you like."

The wonder of it was that he meant it, too.

"I know," Gianni told him, and kissed him again.

Rafaele hummed against his mouth as he did, arching into Gianni's hands as they followed the shape of him, moving over Rafaele's solid shoulders and chest and stroking down over his stomach and thighs. He spread his legs against the sheets, willingly, and broke away from Gianni's mouth long enough to say, "In the drawer on this side."

Gianni couldn't make himself be surprised when the reach over to the bedside table turned up a bottle of oil. "You've been planning for this," he said, turning the discreet little bottle in his fingers.

"Of course." Rafaele smiled at him, lazily. "It seemed like the prudent thing to do."

"I see." Gianni set the bottle down and shifted down the bed. Rafaele made an interrogative noise that turned into a gasp as Gianni knelt between his legs and bent his head to stroke his mouth over Rafaele's cock.

Rafaele moaned his name, low and open, and again as Gianni ran his tongue over him, slow and deliberate, taking him in and savoring the heavy weight of him on his tongue. Gianni watched Rafaele as he moved his mouth over Rafaele's cock, watching the pleasure chasing itself over Rafaele's face and the way Rafaele arched and shifted under his hands, lean and unselfconscious, until he finally drew taut, shuddering apart on a low cry.

Rafaele turned against him when Gianni settled at his side, afterwards. "Mm," he said, sounding distinctly satisfied, "I should have done that a while ago, I think."

"I can't believe you've been so desperate for a bed partner that you've been considering me for it," Gianni returned, lightly.

Rafaele opened his half-closed eyes, the look in them going sharp. "Who said I was the desperate one?" He reached out and touched the place between Gianni's eyebrows. "You're the one who looks like ten years just came off him."

"Was it that bad?" Gianni asked, rather than deny it.

Rafaele's eyes softened. "Yes. Every time you look at the Ninth these days, it gets a little worse."

Gianni rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with his arm. "I can't do anything," he said, admitting it out loud, finally. "This is tearing him apart, and there isnâ€™t a fucking think I can do for him, and—"

Rafaele's arm slid around him, and Rafaele himself was warm against his side. "I know," he said. "Believe me, I know."

"Not like I do," Gianni told him. "And now I can't even trust myself because of it—"

Rafaele's arm tightened around him as his voice broke. "But you can trust me," he said, low and serious. "You're not doing this alone. You have me."

Funny, that it should be the assurance of that offer which finally broke him, but it did. Gianni turned and pressed himself against Rafaele, tucking his face into the curve of Rafaele's throat. "Promise me that you won't let me fuck up because of this," he said, hoarse.

Rafaele's arms slid around him, securely. "I promise," he said.

Gianni closed his eyes, accepting that. "I'm so tired," he admitted, after a moment.

That didn't begin to encompass it all, but Rafaele seemed to understand anyway. "I know," he said, gently, and set a hand in Gianni's hair, stroking it. "But you can rest with me."

Gianni exhaled, slow and stuttering; when he finally began to relax against that promise, Rafaele took his weight without a murmur of protest. "Thank you."

"Any time," Rafaele told him, and held him until he fell asleep.

- end -

An Offer You Can't Refuse

There comes a time in every young man's life when he must seek his fortune. Sawada Iemitsu is off to seek his. Occurs not too long before "Blood Will Tell". Teen+; some implicit, mostly-offscreen violence.

Sawada Iemitsu couldn't remember a time when he hadn't known that he was—or could have been, if he'd wanted to be—the heir to a great mafia empire. It was the family legend, the story that his mother sang him to sleep by and the reason his father made him enroll in Italian lessons after school. That Iemitsu's great-great-grandfather had chosen to leave his Italian empire behind was their family's great regret, and their scapegoat any time something went wrong. They held to it like a talisman, promising each other that if only the First hadn't left Italy so long ago, none of this—a refrigerator that was elderly and had to be coaxed into working regularly, the fact that Tousan's boss wouldn't give him a promotion, Iemitsu's dismissal from the basketball team—would have happened, and life would have been infinitely better.

Iemitsu's teachers didn't get around to logic until late in middle school, but when they finally did, he was able to put his finger on the thing that had always troubled him about their family legend. They wouldn't have been there at all, had the First never left Italy, since they were descended from the son Giotto Vongola had fathered when he took a new wife in Japan.

Such was the power of legend that his family didn't question such things. There was power in having a secret identity that could not be discounted. Iemitsu found it deeply comforting to know that, if he had just wanted to, he could leave all the petty bullshit of his day-to-day life behind, and never have to deal with the demands of cram school again.

And then, the year Iemitsu turned seventeen, a thought occurred to him: Why not?

He did not tell his parents what he intended, since he'd seen with an adolescent's eyes what he hadn't as a child. It was a family talisman to say, "If we were still Vongola, none of this would be happening," but neither his father nor his mother really believed it.

They didn't want to, either. It was better to daydream than to reach out for more.

Iemitsu rejected that with all the scorn a teenager could muster. He pawned some things—his bike, his watch, his stereo system—and hit up all his friends for money that he promised himself he'd repay, and started working his way towards Italy.

The only thing he took with him from home was a copy of his family register.

It took him months to actually reach Italy, and Iemitsu saw parts of the world he'd never imagined he would: ports, mostly, that were filled with shipping containers and the smell of the ocean and grease and the stink of the harbor, plus men who shouted in at least twenty different languages. He saw the sun rise over Dar es Salaam and learned to dance from a woman in Cape Town. He picked up bits of Portuguese in Rio de Janeiro and a social disease in a whorehouse in Havana. Iemitsu decided that the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen was the aurora borealis against ReykjavÃk's night sky, when the sky had been filled with stars so close that he might have reached out a hand and cut himself on them.

Had he been another person, in another life, he might have kept going, because the work and the travel both suited him. The months of labor packed muscle onto his frame and coarsened his hands and his voice. He'd liked the places he'd seen and the people he'd met, mostly, and wouldn't have minded more. But he was Sawada Iemitsu, and he had a goal, one that let him walk out of Messina's harbor with a duffel carried over a shoulder and his head held high, thinking himself a man.

The first person Iemitsu asked about the Vongola and where to find them made a sign that Iemitsu didn't understand before backing away hurriedly. The second person he asked, a lovely young lady who'd been very friendly right up until then, slapped him. Then she hit him with a barrage of Italian so fast that he couldn't even follow it and left him while he was still reeling.

Iemitsu persisted, undeterred, working his way south along Sicily's eastern coast (family tradition and a thousand gangster movies having informed him that this was the place to begin). The reactions were the same wherever he went. Either the name Vongola inspired fear in whomever he asked, or it inspired anger. Sometimes, it did both.

He was reflecting on that curious mixture as he stood in the square of a town whose name he'd neglected to learn, rubbing his cheek and wondering why it should be so, when someone asked, behind him, "And who are you to be asking after the Vongola so freely?"

The voice was light and smooth enough that Iemitsu wasn't sure whether it was male or female. What he was much more certain of was the solid pressure against his ribs, snub-nosed and blunt. "Well, now, why don't we talk about that?" he suggested, with all the confidence eight months of working on freighters and getting in and out of sticky situations could give him.

"You're going to talk, yes," the voice said, and the pressure increased against his ribs. "Walk forward, now. Back to your room. I wouldn't advise trying to get any ideas."

"Who, me?" Iemitsu stepped forward; the gun stayed snug against his ribs.

He seemed to have become invisible; the square was full of people, but their eyes slid past him as if he were no longer there. That was the first point at which Iemitsu began to wonder whether coming to Italy had been a good idea after all.

The voice had advised him not to try anything, but that was clearly out of the question. Iemitsu bided his time until they had climbed the rickety set of stairs up to the little room he was renting, and then whirled around.

His plan had been to disarm the voice and then compel its owner to tell him about the Vongola. It didn't work as smoothly in execution as he'd hoped it would. Instead of letting him twist the gun away, the voice simply sighed, sounding irritated about it. The next thing Iemitsu knew, the world had spun around him, and he was getting splinters in his chin from the rough wooden floor as a knee ground against his kidney. "I told you not to get any ideas," the voice told him, calm and cool, and twisted Iemitsu's arm behind his back until Iemitsu grunted and his eyes watered. "Now, tell me. Who are you to be using our Family's name so easily?"

It was amazing, how he could hear the capital letters when the voice said Family like that, Iemitsu thought, to distract himself from the thought that he was, quite possibly, in a lot of trouble. "Sawada Iemitsu."

"And who might you be when you're at home, Mr. Iemitsu?" the voice inquired.

"The great-great grandson of Giotto Vongola," Iemitsu announced, as calmly as he could manage, given the circumstances.

The pressure on his arm and his kidney increased sharply, till Iemitsu cried out. "That is not a claim you want to make lightly," the voice informed him, gone sharper. "Let's try this again. Who are you? And what do you want with the Vongola?"

"My name is Sawada Iemitsu," he said again, unsteadily, with the uneasy sense that perhaps he could count out his lifespan in minutes, now, rather than years. "I'm the direct descendant of Giotto Vongola. You want my whole family tree?"

The voice twisted his arm tighter still, until Iemitsu was arched taut and panting with the agony of it. "One more time," it said. "And then I'll have to become unpleasant. Who are you?"

"I'm not lying, damn it!" Iemitsu yelped, and took refuge in the only thing he knew. "At the end of his reign, the Vongola's First retired and came to Japan, the home of his Rain. He started a new family there, and—"

"I did tell you," the voice said, sounding faintly regretful about it, and broke his arm.

It was later, though the only way Iemitsu really knew it was through an application of logic. His every nerve throbbed with pain. That had to have taken time to accomplish: hence, it was later. The process had driven most of the pride out of him, till he didn't even mind the hoarse sounds coming from his own throat, or the fact that he had curled in on himself like a child.

Somewhere outside his immediate sight, the voice was speaking to someone on the phone. The short, abrupt exchange of words, one-sided, formed so much background noise for the thrum of blood in Iemitsu's ears. He could make no sense of it, nor did he care to. At length, the voice stopped speaking. Iemitsu got his first glimpse of its physical incarnation when a pair of gleaming leather shoes came to stand in front of his face.

"You're lucky," the voice told him, as its owner crouched next to him. "The Ninth wants a look at you himself."

The words filtered through the buzzing pain, slowly, and resolved into some kind of sense. Iemitsu would have liked to have said something—what?—to them, but could only grunt as a hand wound itself in his hair, lifting his head, and let him get a look at the voice's face.

The last thought Iemitsu had before something rapped against his temple and sent him down into darkness was disbelief that the voice belonged to a pre-pubescent kid.

There was still pain when he came swimming back to consciousness, now with the added layer of a headache that threatened to split his skull open. He was tied to a chair in a room that he didn't recognize and whose fittings were much fancier than the one he'd been renting, and there was a man sitting across from him. He was older, perhaps Tousan's age or a bit more, with streaks of gray running through his mustache and wild eyebrows that shadowed sharp eyes. He was watching Iemitsu. "So," he said, as Iemitsu blinked at him, slow and stupid with the pain. "You're Ietsuna and Yoshinobu's boy."

The pain had burnt out most of his pride, but not all of it; Iemitsu had enough left to be ashamed that the gratitude of finally being believed made his eyes prickle. "Yes, sir," he rasped. "I am."

The man—the Ninth, Iemitsu thought, a dim memory surfacing—overlooked the reaction, which was unspeakably kind of him. "What did you go and do a damn fool thing like coming to Italy for?" he asked instead, gently enough. "If you'd just stayed in Japan, we wouldn't have had to take notice of you."

Iemitsu wet his lips, tasting the blood on them, and didn't bother saying why. He'd told the voice half a dozen times, anyway. "Can't go back, can I?"

"No." The Ninth shook his head, regret shadowing his eyes. "Too many people know of you now, thanks to your complete lack of subtlety."

Iemitsu hung his head as humiliation superseded pain—some of it, anyway. "Dumb of me," he said, slowly.

"Yes, rather." The Ninth's voice was rich with kindness, and no less implacable for it.

Iemitsu raised his head after a moment, determined to meet the Ninth's eyes and see it through. "What happens now?" He had a dizzy, sick suspicion that he already knew.

"I already have an heir," the Ninth told him. "I don't need another. And he doesn't need a war for the succession, or for any of the other Families to get their hands on you."

"Guess that's fair." Iemitsu was proud of how steady he'd managed to keep his voice. "Doesn't leave you many choices, does it?"

"No," the Ninth agreed, calmly, watching him.

Yeah, he'd figured. Iemitsu lifted his chin a fraction higher. "May I ask a favor?"

The Ninth's mouth quirked under his mustache. "Asking is free."

Iemitsu sucked in a breath and grimaced as his ribs creaked in protest. "Let me—" no, not send, that presumed too much "—leave a message for my parents?" Not that he knew what he could say to them, exactly. That he was sorry, perhaps, or that he wished they'd never told him who his great-great grandfather had been.

Something that might have been respect showed in the Ninth's eyes. "You're taking this very calmly."

Maybe he'd expected Iemitsu to beg for his life. "I'd like to piss myself, actually," he confessed. "But that's not going to do me any good." And he had just enough pride left in him not to beg.

The Ninth laughed at that, threw his head back and roared, open and amused. "You're a rare one," he said, when he'd stopped again, and that was definitely respect on his face now. "Seems a waste."

"You should see it from my seat," Iemitsu replied.

That earned him another snort of laughter. "Definitely a waste," the Ninth repeated, studying him. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, because he nodded, apparently reaching some conclusion. "You have two options," he announced. "One is for me to have you shot, because, as you are now, you are a threat to my Family's stability and its future."

"What's behind door number two?" Iemitsu asked, trying not to let himself hope too very hard.

"You've entered our world," the Ninth told him. There was no trace of laughter in his voice now. "You can't leave it again, so we must find a way for you to exist within it. There is only one way for that to happen that I am willing to permit."

"What is it?"

The Ninth raised an eyebrow. "Not going to agree immediately?"

"Doesn't seem like a good idea." Iemitsu would have liked to have shrugged, but suspected that the pain of doing so wouldn't have made the gesture worth it. "There could be worse things than getting shot."

"Mm. Shooting you would definitely be a waste." The Ninth spread a hand; a massive ring winked at Iemitsu from his finger. "There is an organization. It is of the mafia world. It is separate from the Vongola, though it serves us. Were you to become a member, you would renounce your own right to the Vongola ring forever. You would be bound to our service all your life." He paused, and added, "We are not kind masters. We strive to be good ones, but we are not kind. It is not an easy life, or a safe one. You will be lucky to see your fortieth birthday if you choose it."

"I won't see my next birthday if I don't." Iemitsu felt his lip split again as he offered the Ninth a grin that he didn't quite feel. "It would be you that I'd be serving, then?" he asked, studying the man.

"Yes." The Ninth inclined his head. "And my son after me."

Iemitsu studied him, this man who'd wanted to speak with him and had been willing to offer a stupid boy a second chance. "That," he said, finally, "seems like something I could live with."

The Ninth's smile was faint but unmistakable. "I think I should like to see that," he said, and then called for someone to treat Iemitsu's injuries.

Later, after giving his vows, first to the CEDEF and then to the Ninth, forswearing his claim to the position of the Vongola's boss and promising fealty to the Vongola for the rest of his days, Iemitsu made a third vow, this one private.

The First had retired to Japan for a reason. He had sought out obscurity after his reign, and it had been foolishness of his descendants to keep the dream of lost Vongola glory alive.

If someday he himself had a family, Iemitsu decided, bending to kiss the Ninth's ring as stiff muscles protested the action, he would not tell them of the mafia at all. The First's Japanese legacy could die with him, as he suspected Giotto Vongola had wanted in the first place.

And surely any family he might have would be happier for it.

end

Blood Will Tell

Sometimes one small mistake can lead to an entire avalanche of nasty consequences. Some small divergences from manga canon; a veritable confluence of clusterfuck.

One of the first things Sawada Iemitsu did in his apprenticeship to the Vongola Ninth's outside advisor was bring the Ninth news of the woman who claimed that her son belonged to Timoteo Vongola. It was an act that Iemitsu reflected on later, grimly, deciding that it was the event that colored his entire service to the Vongola.

Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if they'd simply had someone go around to have a quiet word with the woman instead of bringing it to the Ninth's attention. Would things have gone to the hell the way they had later, or would one of Timoteo's actual sons gone on to inherit the position of Vongola Decimo while his own son went ahead, bumbling his way through life, innocent of its darker sides?

Iemitsu couldn't say.

Such speculations were only fit for musing on over a cup of sake, however, because the fact was, when he'd reported news of the woman who'd claimed that Timoteo Vongola had been the one to impregnate her, and that the result was a boy who could produce a Vongola Flame, the Ninth had simply said, "Hm."

That, Iemitsu had already learned, was one of the Ninth's thinking sounds. "If you like, I can go speak to her," Iemitsu offered. "Explain to her why she doesn't want to keep saying these things."

The Ninth made another of his thoughtful noises, and left his desk. He paced the length of his office, slow, deliberate, to stand before the window with his hands clasped behind his back. "Hm," he said again, and then, "I suppose I'll have to see the boy."

"You will, sir?" Iemitsu repeated, cautiously.

Timoteo turned away from the window. "Yes, I think so. Make preparations for it, please."

Iemitsu nodded, and said, "At once, sir," and that was that.

"I take it that you don't approve of this," Timoteo said, thoughtfully, as Gianni maneuvered the car through narrow, twisting streets that were growing increasingly shabby with their slow progress.

"I haven't said a word," Gianni said, turning down an even darker, narrower street.

"You don't have to. I can hear you thinking it from here."

That was as good as permission to speak freely. "I don't think you should be dignifying this woman's claims with your attention," he said, with a quick glance around as he parked the car. There were faces in many of the windows, but few enough people on the street. "She's not stable, Boss. Everyone knows it."

"Even fools and madmen can be right occasionally." Timoteo unbelted himself, and waited for Gianni to signal that it was safe for him to leave the car.

Gianni half-hoped that he wouldn't be able to, that this whole fool's errand was a trap, but his men appeared at either end of the street and gave the all-clear. He sighed and nodded to Timoteo.

They emerged from the car together, both of them stretching and exchanging grimaces. The days of comfortable car rides that didn't leave them with stiff backs and tired joints were already well past them both, and getting older was proving to be an unpleasant business. The street—which could hardly be called that, and was more like an alley than anything else—was filled with rubbish that stirred around their feet. Gianni grimaced again as they turned to the tenement where the woman Bianca Castelli and her son were supposed to live.

One of Gianni's men slipped up the stairs ahead of them, swift and silent. Gianni and Timoteo followed more slowly, until they came to the top floor. The air inside the building was stuffy, filled with the smell of a thousand competing meals. Even in the middle of the day, the air was full of the sounds of babies crying and radios blaring. Somewhere, perhaps a floor down, a man and a woman were arguing.

Gianni did the honors of knocking on the door of 6010, which flaked paint under the brisk rapping. Castelli herself answered the door.

She must have been pretty, once, but the fineness of her features was blurred now. Her hair was tangled, and she was wrapped in a man's faded houserobe. Her feet were bare and dirty, and her eyes darted between them, too fast and bright. "Yes?" she said. Her knuckles were white where they clutched the door.

She showed no sign of recognizing Timoteo Vongola.

Typical, Gianni thought, disgusted in spite of his best intentions otherwise. "The Vongola Ninth is here to see you," he said, quietly, and watched her eyes go wide, terror mixed with wild hope.

"I knew it," she said, like a prayer, clasping her hands under her chin. "Oh, I knew this day would come."

Castelli brought them into the apartment, hands fluttering like trapped birds, and tried to offer them hospitality in between calling for the boy. Timoteo refused her offers, kind but firm, which, given the state of the place, with not a bit of clean floor in sight and surfaces that even looked sticky, was only wise. All the while she stared at Timoteo, eyes burning with devotion, or perhaps vindication.

"No," Timoteo said again, when she offered them wine, still gentle with her, "no wine, thank you. If I could just meet the boy...?"

"Yes," Castelli said, "yes, of course." She edged away from them, backwards, as if reluctant to let Timoteo out of her sight for even a moment. "Xanxus! Xanxus, you stupid brat, where are you?"

The reply that came back from what Gianni assumed was the bedroom was in a boy's clear soprano, but it delivered a series of curses worthy of a sailor. "I was sleeping," he growled when he finally emerged, scowling.

Gianni was close enough to Timoteo to hear the quiet sound Timoteo made, as of recognition, as Castelli reeled the boy in and began petting him, obviously against his will. "There's Mama's beautiful boy," she crooned, smoothing his hair back from a distinctive forehead. "Show your—" she stopped, perhaps thinking better of it "—show the Ninth what you can do, baby."

The woman was canny in her madness, and had clearly passed that canniness down to the boy. His eyes went sharp, fixing on Timoteo, and he held up a hand that wreathed itself in Flame.

Gianni braced himself against the pressure of it, staggered. The boy couldn't be more than ten, but to be able to produce that much anger, so very young...

Afterwards, he could only assume that Timoteo had been thinking something similar, tender-hearted as he was. "Ah, yes," he said, very softly, crossing the room and kneeling, putting his face at Xanxus' level. "That is indeed a Vongola Flame."

Castelli made a sound, releasing her son and covering her mouth as tears began to cut a clean path down her cheeks. "Yes," she said, nearly sobbing the word, "oh, yes."

After that it was a matter of calling for another car to come for her and the boy as she flew around the apartment, gathering up pieces of rubbish that Gianni supposed held personal meaning for her. Xanxus stood, unmoved, watching Timoteo all the while, his back already held straighter and his eyes burning just like his mother's had.

"I want to ride with you," he announced when they came down to the street. (All the windows had faces pressed to them now, watching the drama unfold. It gave Gianni a headache, knowing that this news was already all over the country.)

"Of course," Timoteo told him, easy about it.

Gianni bit his lip; he would have to talk to Timoteo later.

Later didn't happen until well after they'd returned home and Timoteo had personally seen Castelli and her son installed in a set of rooms in the private wing of the house, and had told them to direct the household staff to provide anything they required. Xanxus accept all this with a stony expression, as if it were only their due. Castelli herself was already calling for a drink—this early in the day!—and Gianni was hard-put to suppress his shudder.

Timoteo didn't dismiss him, so Gianni followed him to his private study, where Timoteo sank into the chair behind his desk and sighed. After a moment, he looked up at Gianni and smiled. "Let's have it, then."

"Are you out of your ever-loving mind?" Gianni asked, since dire catastrophes required extreme measures. "That boy can't possibly be your son."

Timoteo laughed, though the sound was wry. "Of course he isn't my son. Did I ever say he was?"

"No, you had the good sense not to do that much, thank God." Gianni threw himself down into his customary chair, scowling. "That won't matter one bit now that you've taken him in, though. You know everyone will assume that he's your—" He stopped short, unwilling to say it.

"My bastard? Yes." Timoteo's expression turned distant. "Got, no doubt, during my wife's final illness or shortly thereafter, when my manly needs overwhelmed my good sense. It's a very tidy story, isn't it?"

"Oh, very." Gianni raked his hands through his hair. "Why the hell are you letting yourself play into it?"

"He's very clearly of the Vongola line," Timoteo said, brisk. "I suspect from one of the Second's, actually. The boy favors him, and that one had at least half a dozen bastards that we know of, and probably a few more besides."

That was fair enough, but— "You could have said so, and not let the world assume that he was yours." The world would, of course, but at least it would save some of Timoteo's face among those who knew him best.

Timoteo sighed. "Yes, of course I could have. But his Flame, Gianni... To be that young, and that angry..."

So that was how it was. Arguing with him was a lost cause when he'd made up his mind to right some wrong. "You can't adopt every fatherless boy out there."

Timoteo's smile was quick. "No. But I can adopt this one."

The crash was what seized Rafaele's attention, but the shriek and the bellow which followed turned his steps away from the main hallway to investigate. That didn't take long; a sobbing housemaid hurtled past him, her face white, as Xanxus emerged from his room, expression screwed up with anger. "Don't fuck it up again, you stupid little sl—"

He stopped short when he saw Rafaele standing there.

"Now, what's all this?" Rafaele asked, after a quick breath to calm himself.

Xanxus took a moment to answer; his struggle with the decision whether he was required to answer Rafaele was clear on his face. "My lunch was cold."

"How unfortunate," Rafaele said, as mildly as he could manage. "Was it worth screaming for? Or—" He craned his head; yes, it was as he'd expected. "—throwing the whole thing at the wall?"

"I was aiming at her," Xanxus said, with the simplicity of honesty. "But she ducked."

"You were—you do realize that you could have hurt her, don't you?" Rafaele asked, with what he felt was really quite admirable restraint.

"It wouldn't have," Xanxus said, composedly. "If the soup had been hot, then I wouldn't have had to get angry."

Ice slid down Rafaele's spine at the boy's calm. "It wasn't worth getting angry about in the first place."

Xanxus' eyes went flat and cold. "You're not my father," he said. "You can't tell me what to do." His hands flexed, and the air pressure changed with the first oppressive edges of his Flame dancing along his fingers.

"No," Rafaele said, after a measured moment. "I suppose I can't. But I can tell your father what it is you've done." This time, he added silently. Xanxus really was a singularly unpleasant boy. "Perhaps you'd better come with me," he added, turning away, careful not to let Xanxus entirely out of his sight.

"I'm not going to," Xanxus said. "You can't make me." His chin lifted; what should have looked like a twelve-year-old's petulance looked more like an adult's contempt. "You know he won't do anything, anyway. I deserve the best."

Rafaele lost the struggle with himself, although, if he were honest, he wasn't trying very hard. "The best is a privilege you need to earn," he said.

"Bullshit." Xanxus smirked. "Run along and tell the old man I said so, and see what he says. You'll see."

"Mm. I think I've known the Ninth a little longer than you." Rafaele stopped himself and drew a breath. When had he sunk so low that he'd argue with a child? "You may want to clean that soup up before it stains."

Xanxus' lip curled, but he turned on his heel. As Rafaele started downstairs for the Ninth's study, he heard the boy pick up the house phone and call for a servant to come clean up the mess.

He had to wait to speak with the Ninth, who was closeted with Gianni, Federico, Maria, and Fedele—discussing negotiations with the Barassi, Rafaele suspected. Given Maria's predatory smile when the conference let out, he supposed they must have decided to get tough with the Barassi—she loved it when she got to intimidate other Families into behaving.

The other three remained, even after the Ninth called him in, and listened to the story too. Gianni stayed impassive through the whole thing, and Fedele tried to mimic his mentor's stoic expression, but was at least two decades too young to master the effect. Federico, on the other hand, didn't bother disguise his disdain for his adopted brother's behavior.

The Ninth shook his head after Rafaele had finished. "That's the third time this month. And he was so good last month."

"For a relative value of good," Federico said. "Dad, you've got to do something with him before we lose all our help."

"Boarding school, perhaps," Gianni suggested. "Some place that emphasizes discipline."

"I'm not going to send Xanxus away." The Ninth's voice had just enough edge to it to make clear that the suggestion should not be made again. "I'll speak to him."

"Because that does so much good," Federico grumbled, and then held up his hands when his father frowned. "You're the Boss, Dad, and he's your... project."

"And your brother now," the Ninth said.

Federico's mouth quirked. "So they tell me," he said, dry. "It's hard enough with Enrico and Massimo. Couldn't you have brought us a cute little sister to spoil instead of Xanxus? It's difficult to be brotherly to a porcupine."

Rafaele hid a smile as Federico defused his father's irritation; he was coming along nicely, that one. It was no wonder the Ninth favored him most of his three sons. Four sons, now. "I'll be on my way," he said, since he'd discharged his duty to that poor girl.

"So will I," Federico said, standing. "Keep an eye out for that little sister, Dad. Come on, Fedele."

The Ninth's laughter followed the three of them out.

"Boarding school," Federico said, thoughtfully, once they were safely away. "I like that idea. Pity it won't ever happen."

Fedele snorted. "Hard to make up for lost time at a boarding school."

Rafaele raised an eyebrow; Michele's boy had sharp eyes on him.

"Pity," Federico said again, and shook his head. "I keep thinking that one of these days the kid's got to settle down. Then I remember that we're about to hit the teenage years and I want to go get myself a stiff drink."

"Don't go borrowing too much trouble," Rafaele said. "He's your brother, not your son. Leave that headache to your father."

Federico's smile was bright. "I think I will, at that." He clapped Fedele on the shoulder. "Come on, let's head down to the range. I want a rematch after yesterday."

"Ready to be embarrassed again so soon?" Fedele grinned. "You're a glutton for punishment these days."

"Big talk, little man," Federico retorted, and scrubbed his hand through Fedele's curly hair. "I have a bottle of wine that says I'll win this match."

"You're on, boss," Fedele said, and they went off, laughing.

Rafaele watched them go, smiling. Perhaps there wasn't any helping Xanxus, but at least the Ninth's youngest made up for him.

Iemitsu was running late and knew it, but when he fetched up against the knot of the Ninth's sons—who were supposed to be at the same meeting he was later for—he couldn't help stopping, with a frisson of relief. Best to be late in company, he decided, and the higher the rank of that company, the better. He slowed to a saunter, and insinuated himself at the edge of the group.

The cause of their delay came clear at once. Xanxus was glaring at his adoptive brothers, expression as mutinous as only a fifteen-year-old's could be. "Make me," he said, jaw jutting out.

His brothers exchanged nearly identical exasperated glances with each other. "Father said we were all supposed to attend," Enrico pointed out, with all the authority of the eldest brother, as if that appeal to the Ninth's desires was likely to sway Xanxus.

"Then let the old man make me," Xanxus grunted, and tried to push his way past them.

Massimo caught his arm; of the three of them, he came closest to matching Xanxus' budding strength. "That's no way to talk about Father, you little punk."

"Ask me how much I don't care," Xanxus retorted, twisting out of his grip, though not without some effort.

Before he could storm off, Federico gave it a shot. "Xanxus, it's really time you started attending these meetings. You're part of our Family. You should know how it's run."

Xanxus stopped, arrested, however briefly. Then he shook his head, snorting. "Fuck that," he announced, despite his brief moment to consider the argument. "I have plans for my day. And they don't involve listening to a pack of old men arguing with each other."

He broke free of them, stalking off, and they let him go. After a moment, Massimo asked, wistfully, "Do you think that excuse would work for me, too?"

"Your name Xanxus?" Enrico asked. "No? Then yeah, I'm guessing not. God, he's such a little ba—"

"You know Dad doesn't like to hear him called that," Federico said, mildly enough, and checked his watch. "Doesn't like it when we're late, either," he said, grimacing.

"Shit," Massimo grunted, and they moved off together, at a brisk pace. He glanced at Iemitsu as he fell in with them. "What's your excuse?"

"Up late on the phone with Japan," Iemitsu said, rueful.

"Where 'Japan' means his lovely Nana," Enrico sing-songed, grinning, and his brothers laughed. "And how is Japan these days?"

"Lovely." Iemitsu shrugged at them, perfectly aware that he was grinning like a fool and not caring in the slightest.

"When's the wedding, again?" Federico smiled at him. "In the spring, right?"

"May," Iemitsu told him, grinning harder.

"Not soon enough, eh?" Enrico asked, nudging his ribs.

They were upon the room where the Ninth held his business meetings, though. Iemitsu had no chance to do more than shrug at him before they all schooled their expressions and filed in.

"Ah," the Ninth said, from his seat at the head of the table. "So glad to see that you could join us this morning, gentlemen."

"Sorry, Father," Federico said, meekly. "We were trying to persuade Xanxus to join us."

"Emphasis on the 'trying'," Massimo muttered, under his breath, while Iemitsu was grateful to Federico for including him in that 'we'. "Not so much with the succeeding."

It was a good excuse, though; some of the iron in the Ninth's expression unbent itself. "I see," he said. "Sit down. We've delayed this meeting long enough."

Iemitsu slid into his seat next to Guiseppe with a sigh, and tore his thoughts away from lovely Japan in order to turn them to the Vongola's business.

Piero'd had the teaching of all the Ninth's sons, insofar as fighting and self-defense had gone. He'd been the one who'd trained Enrico to be able to shoot without flinching and pulling the shot wide. He'd also been the one who'd seen that Massimo would only ever be a passable shot but was a demon with a set of throwing knives. He'd coaxed (and then berated) Federico into paying attention to the martial side of being a Vongola, when it had become clear who the Boss was looking at to be the Tenth.

He'd had the teaching of all the Boss's sons, but of them, Xanxus was by far his best pupil, for all that he hadn't come to Piero until he was ten years old. The boy, who was sullen with every other Guardian—or so Piero had heard from his brother and from the rest of them—seized upon the things Piero had to teach him, from how to disassemble and care for a gun to the places where the human body was most vulnerable to a quick, sharp blow. He was a pupil to do any teacher proud: a quick study at ten, and a competent shot by twelve. He began a growth spurt at fourteen and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Piero by sixteen, which was the first time he beat Piero in a hand-to-hand match.

When Piero had gotten his breath back, he rolled to his feet. "Not bad," he told Xanxus, who was giving him a fiercely delighted smile, one of the ones that showed all his teeth. "When you get done growing, there isn't going to be anyone stronger than you."

"Of course not," Xanxus said, as if it were only his due. "Come on, old man. Let's go again."

Piero was happy to oblige him. Let the others fret about the boy all they liked—what he liked was that Xanxus knew the value of strength the way his brothers never had.

By rights, the duty should have belonged to the Ninth, but he and Gianni and Maria were abroad, negotiating a trade agreement in Moscow. That left it to either him, Michele, or Rafaele to do it—and Rafaele's dislike of Xanxus was years-established at this point. In the end, Paolo had flipped a coin with Michele and lost the toss.

That left him standing outside Xanxus' rooms, knocking loudly and wondering where on earth the boy was. All the intelligence they had said that he was on the premises, but he hadn't answered the repeated telephone calls—not the one at nine p.m, or the more urgent calls at midnight, then two, or the final, most urgent call, just an hour ago at four.

The door jerked open, and Xanxus glared at him, ferocious. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"We've been trying to reach you all night," Paolo said, pointedly ignoring the fact that the boy—not a boy, really, he was seventeen, wasn't he?—was naked. "May I come in? I'm afraid there's something I need to tell you."

"So tell me," Xanxus growled, scratching his stomach.

"This isn't really the kind of thing—"

"Just fucking spit it out," Xanxus snapped. "I'm getting cold standing here."

"Perhaps if you'd put something on, that wouldn't be a problem," Paolo retorted. Then he composed himself; now wasn't the time. "Are you quite sure—"

Wrath crackled around Xanxus' hands. "Tell me or I'll beat it out of you," he said, low and vicious.

For a moment, Paolo was tempted, if only because an outright attack on one of his Guardians might force Timoteo into doing something with the boy. Then he dismissed the idea. "Your mother," he said, quietly. "She went into her final decline last night. I'm afraid she passed away about an hour ago."

"That it?"

Paolo had prepared himself for a number of possible responses, but he hadn't expected that tone of disinterest. "I'm very sorry."

"You should be," Xanxus said. "Waking a guy up at five in the morning for that. Christ." He turned away.

"She called for you till the last," Paolo said, harshly, wanting to punch through that chilly indifference. "She wanted to see you one last time. She died promising the doctors you'd be there any minute."

Xanxus looked back at him, mouth turned up in a way that was hardly a smile. "Yeah? Guess that's what happens to you when you drink too much. You got anything else, or can I get back to bed?"

"Nothing else," Paolo said, biting the words out with more calm than he felt.

Xanxus slammed the door on him. After a moment, Paolo turned away from it to go find someone who would make the funeral arrangements.

Clearly Xanxus wasn't going to do it himself.

It was a good day up until that point. The sun had shone through the ceremony, but the breeze had been just balmy enough to keep things comfortable, and the wedding had gone off without a single bobble. All his children had come to see their oldest brother married, and their mothers had even (mostly) agreed to suspend hostilities for the occasion.

All told, Michele couldn't have asked to be happier, and told Fedele's little bride Evelina as much when he claimed his dance with her. She blushed prettily and thanked him when he surrendered her back to Fedele at the close of his dance. Michele just grinned at her and elbowed his son in the ribs, and grinned harder when it didn't even begin to budge the dazedly happy grin on Fedele's face.

Perhaps the boy had known what he was about after all, waiting this long to get married.

Michele congratulated them again, and moved off the dance floor to find himself a bit of refreshment. His meandering path towards the bar required several stops—once to speak with the Ninth, who looked as proud of his godson's marriage as he had over his own sons' marriages. He had to stop again to accept congratulations from Paolo and a vigorous round of back-slappings from Piero. Then he had to dodge lovely Giulia, who didn't seem to quite grasp the notion of "suspended hostilities" after all.

It was when he'd ducked behind the stand of potted palms to hide from her that he became aware of the altercation taking place in the little nook to his left. Michele didn't consider himself the type to eavesdrop—was, in fact, quite bad at it, since he never had managed the trick of being still long enough to hear anything interesting. He couldn't help overhearing the argument, though, especially when their voices rose sharply and the gist of the argument came clear in the woman's, "No, I said no—" and the man's impatient, "Come on."

Michele sighed, good mood dimmed, and went to interfere. "Is everything all right over here?" he asked, pleasantly, to the back of the boor in question. The woman—well, the girl—flashed him a grateful look over her would-be suitor's shoulder.

That earned him a growled, "Fuck off," and Michele had to bite back a groan. He recognized that voice.

"Ah, Xanxus. Just the fellow I was looking for." He took his life in his hands and brought a hand down on the boy's nape, pulling him off the girl, who immediately seized her chance to escape and eeled away from Xanxus. "Come, walk with me."

He was no mountain like Piero or Paolo, but he managed to keep his grip on Xanxus all the same, at least until he'd marched the boy outside. "Let go of me," Xanxus snarled, and finally wrenched free of him on the terrace.

"Mm," Michele said, looking him over. "You're what, seventeen now?"

Xanxus just glared at him, death in his eyes. "Eighteen."

"Right," Michele said, blithely enough, but keeping a wary eye on him. "Now, as I remember, girls can be difficult at that age—" It was a lie, but a small one, in service to a good cause. "—But if you have to force them, you're doing everything all wrong."

Xanxus growled at him. "She didn't have any business saying no to me."

Michele forgot to smile, and just stared at him. "The hell she didn't," he managed, after a moment. "She has every right to say no if she likes."

"Not to the Vongola," Xanxus said, stubborn, and Michele felt his blood run cold at the solid conviction in his eyes.

"Yes, even to the Vongola," he said, sharply. "Being the Vongola means that you have a responsibility to your people. You don't rule them because you dominate them. You rule them because they trust you to. And even then, they still have their rights."

It was hopeless, and he knew it before he'd even opened his mouth. Xanxus barely let him finish before rolling his eyes. "Whatever. Are we done here?"

Michele nodded, short and annoyed. "I suppose so. Leave the girls alone," he added, sharp. "I'll be watching you."

Xanxus looked him over and sneered, and the pushed his way past Michele, heading back inside to the reception.

Michele looked up at the sky and took a long breath, making a note to himself to speak to the Ninth later. Someone had better take the boy in hand, and soon. His sense of what it meant to be one of the Vongola was completely askew.

"You have a problem," Maria said, without any preliminaries, as she let herself into the Ninth's office.

As usual, she had to wait for them to catch up with her. "Which of us?" the Ninth asked, while his son and Gianni blinked at her.

"You," she said, leveling her finger at him. "But you're going to have this problem too," she told Federico. "Especially if that old fool you call a father doesn't get this cleared up soon."

"I can't do that if you don't tell me what it is," the Ninth said, too cheerful by half.

He ought to have known better by this point.

"Xanxus," Maria said, and folded her arms. The smile slid off the Ninth's face.

"What's he done this time?" Federico groaned.

"Nothing. Yet." Maria held up her hand for them to wait while she finished. "I don't know who you think you're planning on leaving all this to when they cart you out of here in a pine box, but I can tell you that everyone sure seems to think that it's going to be Xanxus. Especially Xanxus himself. Twenty years old and he's the lord of creation. If you don't want to cause yourself a headache later on, you'll set him straight now."

The Ninth held up a hand before either Gianni or Federico could say anything. "You're quite sure of this?"

"Don't be an idiot. Would I have told you otherwise?" she asked.

The Ninth glanced at his son. "You see what you might have to look forward to from the Cloud?"

"I can hardly wait," Federico said, drily.

"This isn't a laughing matter," Gianni said, quietly; well, he always had been a sensible one. His shadow Fedele seemed to be listening, too. Good. "Xanxus does have his supporters. And you do seem to favor him outrageously."

"Would you like to add 'I told you so' to that?" the Ninth returned.

"It hardly seems necessary," Gianni murmured.

The Ninth sighed, fingers smoothing over the mustache that had finally finished going grey. "I'll have to speak with him." He looked at Federico. "You may have a fight on your hands, my boy. I doubt he'll serve you, else."

At least Federico had the wisdom to look sensibly nervous at the thought. "I'll do what I have to, if it's for the Family."

"Of course you will," Maria said, and directed her attention back to the Ninth. "Do it soon," she told him. "You can't afford to wait."

"I," the Ninth said, easing himself down into his seat after the Tomasso delegation had finally been placated and shown out, "am getting too damn old for this. I should retire."

"Bite your tongue, Dad," Federico said, with a tired grin, and hooked a finger in the knot of his tie, loosening it. "If you retire now, who's going to deal with the Tomasso?"

"Not me," the Ninth said, with great feeling. "That's the whole point." He glanced past his son to Iemitsu. "Still think it's an honor and a privilege to be the outside advisor?"

"Of course, sir," Iemitsu told him, keeping his face straight. Then he added, "It's just a big damn pain in the ass, too."

They all laughed, except for Maria, but even she smiled, just a bit. "You're not wrong there," the Ninth said, with a rueful smile. "The whole thing's a pain in the ass. But once we finish getting the Tomasso put to bed, you'll have some time to go visit that little family of yours."

Iemitsu ducked his head, trying not to grin too hard at the thought. "Thank you, sir."

"Perhaps I'll go with you," the Ninth mused, and his Guardians exchanged glances. "I understand that Japan is a fairly traditional retirement destination."

Federico looked up, entire posture gone still in the process of shrugging off his jacket. "Dad?"

The Ninth looked back at him, mouth quirking under his mustache. "What?"

They all watched as Federico slipped out of his jacket, and hung it over the back of his chair before he spoke, carefully light. "If you're not careful, we're going to take you at your word there, and boot you out the door."

"And why shouldn't you take me seriously?" The Ninth leaned back in his chair. "You're as old as I was when your grandmother retired. It's time I found myself a beach somewhere and spent my dotage basking, don't you think?"

"Oh, that sounds wonderful," Michele sighed, as Federico and Fedele both goggled at the Ninth. "Can there be umbrella drinks, too? I think there needs to be umbrella drinks." He grinned. "And pretty girls to serve them to us."

"I don't believe we were invited along," Rafaele said, dry as dust, but Iemitsu thought he looked like he regretted it. Even Paolo looked thoughtful about the prospect.

"Why not?" the Ninth asked, with a grin. "Umbrella drinks for all of us, and we can let the kids get on with the business of running this place." He glanced at his son. "If they're ready for it."

Federico glanced at Fedele, who shrugged. "Up to you, Boss," he said. "You know I'll go wherever you do."

"Never doubted it for a moment," Federico told him, and looked at his father. "I'm as ready as anyone can be, Father. If you're ready to step down, then I'm ready to take your place."

"Good, good." Timoteo nodded. "After we finish with the Tomasso, then. We'll start the transfer of power after all that is taken care of." He brought his hands together. "Until then, I think a bottle of wine will have to serve us in the place of the umbrella drinks. Someone ring for that, would you?"

Fedele leaped to do as the Ninth had requested as the rest of them laughed and crowded around Federico to offer him their congratulations and advice.

Afterwards, Iemitsu always wondered that none of them, not even him, had thought to wonder how Xanxus would take the news of his adopted brother's impending elevation to the position of the Tenth. In retrospect, it was an unforgivable oversight.

Michele, of all his Guardians, stayed closest to him during the hideous four days when no one knew where Federico, his third son, his successor-to-be, had disappeared to. When Timoteo looked at him, Michele's tight, anxious expression, all his characteristic energy and good humor absent, felt like looking into a mirror. Federico wasn't the only one who'd gone missing, after all. Fedele had been with him when he'd gone missing, as could only be expected of Federico's right hand.

"I hate the waiting," Michele said to him, on the second day, "but God knows I'm not sure I want it to end."

Timoteo knew precisely what he meant. As the hours ticked past, with no word from Federico and no demands from the Vongola's enemies, the ones who'd be delighted to use this lever against him, it became more and more difficult to hold on to hope, especially when the eyes of his people turned bleak, and then refused to meet his at all.

Timoteo waited, and hoped against all expectation of hope, and prayed, while Michele kept vigil with him, looking suddenly old, motionless except for the unceasing movement of the beads through his fingers and the prayers on his lips. Gianni stepped in Timoteo's place while they waited, and young Iemitsu too, handling the Vongola's business as well as Timoteo had ever managed to do.The rest of his Guardians worked tirelessly, searching for their lost nephews-by-proxy.

Enrico and Massimo and their families stayed where the Vongola's footsoldiers could watch over them. Timoteo tried to look past the calculation in their faces, the way they looked each other with the weight of a shifting landscape in their eyes.

Of Xanxus he saw very little at all.

They sent Rafaele with the news.

He let himself into the south study quietly, shutting the door behind himself gently, as if too loud a noise would cause injury. Timoteo had been standing by the window, and turned at the first sound of the latch.

He could tell by the bowed line of Rafaele's shoulders that there was news, and that it wasn't good. "Rafaele," he said, softly.

His Rain wouldn't meet his eyes as he crossed the room, feet soundless on the thick pile of the carpet. He knelt, and pressed his forehead against the back of Timoteo's hand. "Boss," he said, very softly.

"Tell me," Timoteo said, watching the convulsive way Michele's hands tightened on his rosary.

"I'm so sorry, Boss," Rafaele said, voice full of regret. "We'll find who did this to him."

"Fedele?" Michele said, hoarse, while Timoteo closed his eyes against the hurt of knowing for sure.

"No sign yet," Rafaele said softly. "We haven't stopped looking."

"He can't be far," Michele said, voice gone thin and grey. "He wouldn't have let that happen."

No, he wouldn't have, because Michele had named his son well. Timoteo opened his eyes. "What do you know?" he asked, when he thought he could bear it.

"Not... very much." Rafaele hesitated, and climbed to his feet, grunting with it. He looked aside from both of them. "There's—not very much left. Bone, mostly. It took dental records to make the identification." He paused, swallowed. "Whoever did this... used fire to cover their tracks."

Fire. As Michele's head came up from his rosary, Timoteo said, "I see."

"Fire," Michele repeated, softly. "Flame. Boss—"

"I know." Timoteo turned away from his two Guardians and the looks in their eyes. "I know."

"Surely not," Rafaele said. "His own brother—"

"Why not?" Timoteo asked, hearing the detachment in his own voice. "It's a time-honored tradition. My own mother was quite ruthless with my uncles, remember?" And she had warned him to be careful with his own children, to boot. Why hadn't he listened? "Oh, my boy," he said, softly. "My boy, my boy..."

Even he wasn't quite sure which of his sons he meant.

They found Fedele not long after they'd dispatched someone to the main house to tell the Ninth about Federico. Paolo had expected as much.

Fedele was still breathing, which he hadn't expected at all.

No one had, actually, and it took a moment of staring at the mess of the man—bloody, unconscious, gasping for breath—for Paolo's search party to decide what to do and how to react, when it was clear from the expressions on everyone's faces that everyone was wondering how Fedele had managed to survive when Federico had not.

Paolo broke free of his paralysis first. "Vito, start the first aid," he barked. "Don't let him die on us now. He's the only witness we've got."

Vito sprang forward to do as ordered; he was field-trained and their best medic, and Paolo had selected him when hoping against sense and reason that they would find Federico alive. If anyone could keep Fedele alive just a little longer, Vito would be the one to do it.

"Someone get an ambulance and make sure the hospital is ready for us," Paolo continued; Franco was already peeling away from them, running for the cars and civilization at a dead sprint. "Get word to the Ninth and the Sun!" Paolo called after him, and Franco raised a hand to indicate that he had heard.

"Sir." Vito's strained voice interrupted him before he could give any more orders. Paolo turned to see that the man was looking up from where he was kneeling over Fedele.

The bottom dropped out of Paolo's stomach; surely the boy hadn't lasted for four days only to die now— "What?"

"He's trying to say something," Vito said, slow, face gone shuttered and still. "You should hear."

Paolo dropped to his knees next to Fedele, grunting at the ache of them, and bent close. The hiss and rattle of Fedele's gasps for breath didn't make sense, not at first, and Paolo frowned. "I don't—" he began, and then stopped as the sibilants resolved into a word—a name.

"Xanxus," Fedele said, each rasped syllable broken by a gasp for breath. "Xanxus has... the boss. Got to stop him. Got to..." He coughed, deep and wet, and the only thing Paolo could make out of the rest was Federico's name.

"Shh," Paolo told him. "We have Federico already." It was the kindest thing he could think of to tell the boy.

Fedele stared up at him, eyes fever-bright and burning. "Alive...?" he rasped, flailing a hand and fisting it in Paolo's coat.

"Shh," Paolo hushed him again, wrapping his hands around Fedele's and gripping it. "Save your strength. You're going to need it."

Federico had picked well when he'd chosen his right hand; Fedele made a sound, low and raw, and closed his eyes. "No..."

There wasn't anything to say to that, so Paolo gripped his hand and stayed by him until the team of doctors came through the trees for him.

Gianni brought the report to the Ninth, carrying it from the hospital where Fedele was struggling with his injuries and infections and demons. "He's awake again," he announced, when he'd let himself into the Ninth's study and had shut the door behind him.

The Ninth didn't move from where he sat, hunched and exhausted, at his desk.

Gianni placed himself on the carpet before the Ninth's desk, and drew a breath to steel himself for the report. "Fedele is willing to testify that he and Federico were lured away from the Vongola house by Xanxus, and were ambushed by him in a secluded location near where we found them. Fedele says he went down fighting Xanxus, and does not know precisely what happened to Federico, but will swear to it that Xanxus and Federico were fighting each other before he lost consciousness." Gianni paused, and took another breath. "He insists that Xanxus shot first. Without provocation."

The Ninth moved, slowly, passing a hand over his face; he seemed to have aged ten years in the past five days. "Yes. I had... thought that would have been the way of it." He sounded exhausted. Resigned.

"What are your orders?" Gianni asked, when the Ninth didn't say anything else.

The Ninth turned his chair away from him, staring out the window over the gardens. "It is traditional for a Family's heirs to fight each other for the position," he said, when he finally spoke. "Especially when there are multiple strong candidates."

"Xanxus isn't a candidate, Boss," Gianni told him, after sucking in his breath sharply. "He's not your son by blood. He's not legitimate."

"No. No, not technically. But he has the fire for it. The strength for it." The Ninth fell silent again. "One must always think of what will be best for the Family."

"Whatever that may be, it isn't Xanxus," Gianni told him, hearing the harshness in his own voice and hating the necessity of it. "Xanxus doesn't give a damn about the Family. All he cares about is what the Family will do for him."

"And yet that may be all that is necessary." The Ninth's voice was cool, remote—clinical right down to the heart of it. "He has enough of an instinct for self-preservation to remove Federico. He isn't stupid at all. If he becomes the Tenth, he will have to hold the Family together in order to make it serve his desires. In the end, that's all it really takes."

"Boss..." Gianni stopped, and drew a deep breath. "Timoteo. Is that what you want the Vongola to become?"

"No, of course it isn't." The Ninth looked at him, eyes dark and full of pain. "But I wonder if it's something I have a choice in, now?"

"There's always a choice," Gianni said, low. "You know that as well as I do. The question isn't that. It's whether we have the courage to make it."

The Ninth looked away again. "No," he said. "The time to make that choice is past. And because I chose wrongly, Federico has paid for it."

"But Xanxus, Boss," Gianni said, hands knotting at his sides. "You can't leave the Vongola to him. Enrico and Massimo don't have the fire, true, but they're still better than Xanxus. I'm telling you this as your Mist, as your right hand, and as your friend. Don't do this to our Family. Please." When that didn't seem like it was reaching the Ninth, he forced himself to add, "For the sake of your son's memory, if for no other reason."

Judging by the sound the Ninth made, he could have shot the man and hurt him less. Gianni held his ground, and kept his gaze steady, hating himself for it, and after a moment, the Ninth looked away. "Tell him," the Ninth said, low and harsh. "Tell him why he won't be the Tenth, no matter how many of his brothers he kills."

Gianni exhaled, carefully, and bowed as low as he could manage. "Yes, Boss," he said, quietly. "Thank you. For the sake of our Family."

"Leave me," the Ninth said, turning away from him.

Gianni swallowed hard, and let himself out.

"Ready?" Gianni asked, as they stood outside the door to Xanxus' rooms.

"No," Rafaele told him, frank about it since there was no way of being ready for this. He expected that Xanxus probably wouldn't attack them, not here in the heart of the Vongola mansion, with most of the other Guardians present as well, but he almost welcomed him to try, just so they'd have the excuse. "Let's get this over with."

Gianni snorted at him, shifted the papers he carried to his off hand, and knocked.

Xanxus didn't answer; instead, a girl came shuffling to the door, barely decent, and that only because the man's shirt she wore came down to her thighs. She blushed to see them standing there, which was something, anyway. "Yes?" she asked, uncertainly, brushing messy hair out of her eyes.

"We're here to see Xanxus," Gianni said, kindly enough. "Tell him that it's Family business."

"Oh," she said, sleepy eyes going wide, and held the door open for them. "I'll just—if you'll come in—I'll go wake him?"

"If you would, please," Rafaele murmured, as she ushered them into the sitting room of Xanxus' suite.

"It's going on eleven in the morning," Gianni muttered to him, as they stood and waited. "Honestly."

"It's nothing unusual for him, I gather," Rafaele returned, easily enough, despite his own disapproval. Perhaps it was the boy's age, though, and because of the pretty creature who'd answered the door, and not any more sinister motive.

The girl came creeping out of the suite's inner rooms after a few minutes, head bowed and clothes messy enough to indicate a hurried dressing, and let herself out without a word. Xanxus kept them waiting several minutes more, and when he finally appeared, he was freshly showered and wearing an impeccable suit.

Rafaele doubted that he'd taken such care with his appearance out of any respect for their business.

"Well?" Xanxus said, after he'd cast himself into the massive, ornate arm chair that dominated the room. "What do you want?" He smirked up at them, as if daring them to say anything about his attitude.

"Fedele Rizzo has been found," Gianni said, voice chilly and professional. "He has indicated that he and Federico Vongola were attacked by you, wholly without provocation."

Xanxus' expression flickered, just briefly, uneasiness crossing it, before he shrugged. "So what?"

"The forensic evidence that we've recovered from Federico's body indicates that the flames used to kill him were not the ordinary kind," Gianni continued, still dry and relentless—what Rafaele privately thought of as his courtroom voice, the one Gianni adopted to execute difficult Family business. "As all three other Sky Flame users within the Vongola are accounted for, and the Sky is itself a fairly rare attribute, it seems clear from the evidence that you were the one who killed Federico Vongola."

Xanxus had gotten a good grip on his face by this point, and the only thing that he showed now was lazy indifference. "So what?" he said, again. "He was in my way."

"As it so happens, he was not," Gianni said, calmly, and Rafaele held himself ready, keeping a wary eye on Xanxus as Gianni gestured with his sheaf of papers.

Uncertainty crossed Xanxus' face again. "What the fuck does that mean?" he demanded, after a moment. "The old man was all set to retire and let him take over, wasn't he?"

"Of course he was," Gianni said. "Federico actually was his son, after all. You are merely his adopted son."

Xanxus stared at them, eyes gone dark and opaque. "Bullshit." He raised a hand, Flame and wrath wrapped around it, oppressively heavy. "He said it himself. This is a Vongola Flame."

"While it is true that the Sky Flame is most commonly found in the Vongola Family, it is not unheard of in other Families," Gianni carried on, each word precise in the face of Xanxus' crackling Flame. "The Giglio Nero are known to possess it, and we have reports that the young Cavallone does as well."

"The old man said it himself," Xanxus insisted, fierce. "He said that this is the Vongola Flame. He said that I was his son."

"He said no such thing," Gianni said, contradicting him in the flattest tones possible. "I was there, if you'll recall, and the only thing that he said was that the Flame appeared to be a Vongola Flame. You and your mother inferred the rest."

Xanxus stared at them for a long moment, and then laughed, short and ugly. "So what?" he demanded. "You don't have any proof that I'm not, and I have the Flame. What else matters?"

Rafaele didn't have to be watching Gianni to know that he was raising his eyebrows in that infuriatingly superior way he had. "Proof?" Gianni repeated, tone deceptively mild, and Rafaele kept a close watch on Xanxus, who hadn't sat in on enough of the Vongola's business meetings to know how dangerous that tone was. "I have copies here of four paternity tests, for you and your adoptive brothers. Yours is the only one that turns up negative. You are not now, nor have you ever been, Timoteo Vongola's son, except in the adoptive sense and in his patience with your arrogance in assuming that you were."

"You're lying," Xanxus said, low and vicious, both hands wreathed in Flame and desperation. "You've never liked me, and now that that little shit Federico is dead, you're coming up with lies to keep me from my rightful place."

"Please." Gianni drawled the word out, sounding bored. "You're dealing with the right hand of the Vongola, boy. Give me some credit for knowing my business." He dropped the sheaf of papers on the low table before Xanxus. "I have known the Ninth all his life. While your mother was conceiving you, he was sitting in the best hospital in Rome, holding his wife's hand and watching her die by inches. He was not unfaithful to her then, and he hasn't been since. But he's a kind-hearted man, and chose to show more mercy to a madwoman and her son than either of them deserved. And you've repaid him by destroying his youngest son and the Vongola's best hope for the future."

Xanxus stared at him, something like doubt appearing in his eyes. Then he covered it with rage. "Get out," he snarled at them. "Get the fuck out of my sight."

"As you like," Gianni said, and they began edging backwards, towards the door, not trusting their backs to him. "We do ask that you refrain from killing either Enrico or Massimo. The Vongola cannot spare any more of its sons."

"Get out!" Xanxus roared, reaching for the nearest object at hand.

They ducked into the hall and shut the door just in time to dodge the thrown lamp. The crash of its shattering against the wall was shortly followed by the sound of other crashes, which were themselves accompanied by a steady stream of roared curses.

"You didn't tell him about the family tree," Rafaele noted, neutrally, after a moment.

"It's in the papers," Gianni said, straightening his tie, face still. "He'll find it when he looks through them."

"If he looks at them," Rafaele said, after a moment to consider it. And even if he did, it was entirely possible that Xanxus wouldn't find being one of the descendants of the Second good enough.

"That's not really something that concerns me," Gianni said, clipped.

"I suppose it's not," Rafaele agreed, because he couldn't deny that there was a certain dark satisfaction in finally seeing something punch through the shell of Xanxus' arrogance after twelve years of dealing with it. He pushed himself away from Xanxus' door. "Come on. After that, I need a drink."

"You need a drink?" Gianni retorted, falling in with him. "All you did was watch."

"I watched your back," Rafaele corrected him.

The crashes and the curses continued behind them as they bickered their way down the hall, away from Xanxus' room.

The crowd at Federico's funeral was notable for its absences, gaps which were conspicuous among the faces of those who were present. Most prominent was Fedele's, though he could hardly have been expected to rise from the hospital bed where he was still fighting off the effects of exposure and infection in order to attend. (Although it hadn't stopped him from trying, and Iemitsu was only glad that they'd been able to stop him in time.)

Xanxus was absent as well, though mafia tradition had never precluded the triumphant presence of one candidate for succession at the funeral of his opponent. That was just as well, Iemitsu decided, since good taste did forbid such a thing.

More troubling, he decided, as he circulated through the crowd, was the undercurrent of talk that connected Fedele's absence to Xanxus'. It was a nonsensical thing to suggest, of course, but that didn't stop more than a few people from whispering as much to each other.

Federico's wife and daughter were present, but the remote expression on Aminta's face spoke of the bags she had already packed, and her intention to remove herself and her daughter from the Vongola house as soon as the funeral had ended. He hadn't been present for the conversation she'd had with her father-in-law, but they all knew by now that she'd vowed that she and her daughter would have no more to do with the Vongola.

Much good as a vow like that could do her. Still, Iemitsu wished her luck.

Enrico and Massimo were both present as well, but their minds were clearly miles away—on the line of succession, now that Xanxus had vanished to parts unknown and the named heir was dead. Neither had demonstrated the flare for command that Federico had possessed, but... running a Family didn't demand a flare, necessarily. It just demanded competence.

They both had that.

Now they eyed each other warily, speaking to each other in commonplaces, while they calculated their chances of becoming the Tenth now that the opportunity had been so precipitously opened to them.

Damn Xanxus, anyway, for having upset the careful balance that the Ninth's sons had worked out among themselves, because Iemitsu had a sinking feeling that the argument between Enrico and Massimo was going to be a bitter one.

Really, he was entirely grateful that his own position as the outside advisor had removed him from the line of succession altogether. That was one less headache in his life, anyway.

Maria let herself into the Ninth's study quietly, and waited for him and Gianni to acknowledge her presence. "I've found Xanxus," she said, when they looked up. "Alive, even," she added, which was, in her opinion, an absolute pity.

It had an electrifying effect on the Ninth. He sat up straighter, and passed a hand over his face. "Oh, thank God," he sighed. "I'd feared he'd gone and done something—rash."

Both she and Gianni pretended not to notice the dampness in his eyes. "Don't make stupid assumptions, you senile old man," she retorted. "He's taken up with the Varia." That was rashness enough to fill a book.

Gianni made a sound, surprised, and then thoughtful. "How appropriate."

"Gianni." The Ninth's voice was low, colder than Maria had ever heard him be with one of them, though the Ninth had been remarkably cool towards his right hand in the weeks since Federico's death.

Gianni flinched, and then raised his hands. "I mean no offense," he said, quickly. "But the Varia would suit his personality, don't you think? Give him some direction?"

"I can't argue with that last," Maria observed. "He's found plenty of direction with them. Hell, he's taken over."

That made the Ninth forget his anger. "He has?" he said, sharply, and then frowned. "Pity. That Squalo showed a great deal of promise, especially for someone so young."

"Squalo stepped aside, it seems," Maria corrected him, since the Ninth was bound and determined to leap to conclusions today.

"Wise of him," Gianni muttered. His voice was low enough that the Ninth let it pass unremarked.

"That's good," the Ninth said, and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together and tapping them against his lips. "Have you seen him, then?"

"He wasn't receiving visitors," Maria said, bland, which covered a multitude of the sins committed when the Varia had tried to throw her out, and the curses Xanxus had shouted after her, about the Ninth.

The Ninth was so used to taking her word as whole and complete that he didn't ask for more. "Ah..."

"Give it time, Boss," Gianni suggested.

The Ninth sighed again. "Time, yes. Time will do it, I hope."

A pretty platitude, but not for Xanxus, Maria thought. Not for his rage. But perhaps the Ninth would be able to Will himself a miracle with his adopted son. She'd seen him do it before.

All the same, counting on a miracle was nothing but foolishness, she decided, catching Gianni's eye and giving him a significant look.

He caught up with her a few minutes after she'd excused herself. "What is it?" he asked.

"The Varia," Maria said. "I don't like the looks of the ones Xanxus is gathering to himself. Don't much like the look of Xanxus, either."

"How so?" he asked.

"You ever seen a dog go rabid?" she asked him, and watched his eyebrows drift up. "They'll turn on anyone when they do. Even their masters. Especially their masters."

He took a breath. "The Varia?"

"I want to keep an eye on them," she said. "And step up security." These days, with Xanxus, surely it was better safe than sorry.

"Done," he said, and Maria gave thanks for a man who was willing to be sensible. There were so very few of them, one had to acknowledge them. "Speak with the twins and do whatever you think is necessary. I'll get the Ninth to agree somehow."

"Done," she said, and turned away. The Ninth couldn't over-rule them when it came to his own safety, after all—that was what Guardians were for, and they were damn well not going to let Xanxus get away with any more slaughter than he already had.

The Ninth would just have to get used to it.

- end -

War of Aggression

Squalo meets Xanxus and Xanxus meets the Varia, and everything follows from that. Beginning overlaps the end of "Blood Will Tell". Drama, I-4, Squalo->Xanxus UST

The sword was everything to Squalo—the purity of a single goal and the cleanness of perfection. In a world that hid so much, despite the stark edges of every word and action, the sword was one thing that made perfect sense. It made him a little crazy that no one else seemed to understand that.

Really crazy.

He'd started his training journey hoping to find other people who understood, looking for them eagerly around every new corner, and a few even seemed to. But only a few, the ones it took a few days to defeat.

He had started out killing only when the fight went that way, when the swords called for it: the man in northern China, with the hawk that watched them fight and flew when he fell, the old man in France who'd torn a line through Squalo's ribs and smiled with his last breath, blood trickling past his bared teeth. After a while, though, Squalo started asking the swords for it, asking to obliterate disappointment after disappointment. It was only a small ease, but it was something.

Even that wore thin after a while, and he killed indifferently. Perfection was the only thing left to chase; someone else to understand it was obviously too much to ask the world for.

When he returned, Tyr shook his head and told him he'd live happier if he served the Vongola instead of the sword. Squalo wanted to scream his denial of that, but he didn't use his voice to do it; it was better to let his sword answer, scream after scream of steel on steel through the hours, through the slant and set of sunlight, as his breath came light and burning in his lungs. He didn't bother telling Tyr's body that he would serve the sword; Tyr's body already knew.

Walking among the Vongola was like walking among any other people—like walking through paper dolls, clumsy and thin, only a few of them with any fire in them and that infuriatingly hidden. He went where he was asked, showed around to the few who knew what he would be, and it meant nothing.

Until him.

Squalo didn't even know who he was, at first, only that in a garden full of thin, airy people, he was dark and dense and hot, hot enough to melt even sword steel. When Squalo asked his name, burning eyes slid through him and he barely heard the answer.

"Xanxus."

Squalo had never known a human could be a sword, be that single of mind, that perfectly focused—that crazy. It only took a few days to realize the last part, but by then he didn't care.

Before

"The Varia." Xanxus frowned a little. "Who are they?"

Squalo cocked his head; did the Boss hold that back even from his sons? Well, he hadn't been told not to tell the heirs, so it didn't matter really. "We're the Vongola's assassins. We're the best."

The fire at the back of Xanxus' eyes flared for a moment. "The best, huh?" His thin mouth curled. "That's a start." He focused on Squalo and Squalo almost swayed back with the weight of it. "Show me."

"Our headquarters are in a different house."

Xanxus shrugged. "So?"

After a moment, Squalo laughed. Of course it wouldn't make any difference; nothing would make any difference to this man or mark the purity of his purpose. He swept out his right hand and bowed with a flourish, half mocking and dead serious. "Right this way."

They walked past the mansion's guards without a word, and Squalo saw the way Xanxus' eyes marked where each one stood, aware of every target around him. They took the best car from the garages; Xanxus pulled the keys out of the cabinet and tossed them at Squalo, who shrugged. It was appropriate, wasn't it?

He did want to see, some time, how Xanxus would drive, whether he'd do it as fast and hard as he walked and spoke and looked, but that could wait.

They were waved through into the sprawling old building the Varia kept, as soon as the guards there recognized Squalo, and no one commented about the man he was showing around the white plastered training rooms. People did gather, though.

"Weak," Xanxus muttered, eyes passing over the lower ranks working out, adding cuts and craters to the walls, to be patched over like all the others. Squalo snorted and nodded toward the far corner where Viper was playing mind games with one of the stronger of the new recruits. Xanxus watched, not blinking as walls appeared and vanished, as Levi punched through them trying to reach his opponent. "Hmph." Finally he pushed away from the wall. "All right, then. I'll take the Varia."

A startled sound ran through the watchers and one of the squad leaders shouldered forward. "Only the Varia decide who we'll recruit and accept. Who says you're good enough for us?"

"I say he is." Squalo's flat voice cut through the mutter of agreement and stilled it.

Xanxus paused in his step forward to turn and glare at him. "And who are you?"

"The leader of the Varia." Squalo lifted his chin, matching Xanxus' hot stare. A corner of Xanxus mouth curled up, neither a smile nor a snarl.

"Not any more."

"Not any more," Squalo agreed, voice a little husky despite himself, because standing under Xanxus' eyes was like standing in a fire.

"Fucking right, not any more, if you give it up that easy," Fazio called, moving up to stand across from them. His squad second, the one who'd protested the most when Squalo, instead of Fazio, took over after Tyr, stood at his shoulder and suddenly there was a block coming together. Squalo curled his lip and reached for his sword; his new left hand wasn't ready yet, but he could take these right handed and end this now.

Light flickered at the corner of his eye and he glanced over, breath catching as what had to be the Vongola Flame gathered in Xanxus' bare hand. Squalo looked up at him, at his suddenly fixed smile and the rage in his eyes, and bent his head, stepping back.

He watched, leaning against the uneven wall, while Xanxus' fists pounded the third squad leader until he couldn't have three unbroken bones left, while Xanxus shot Fazio's second five times and barely looked at him, while Xanxus closed his burning hand on Fazio's face and blasted his head off. In the silence afterwards, broken only by Xanxus' hard breaths hissing past his teeth, Squalo looked around and nodded.

"Looks like that's that, then." He waited until Xanxus looked at him and a little of the killing glaze left his eyes, and added, "Boss."

Xanxus flexed his hand, breath steadying, shoulders relaxing a little. "Damn right."

Xanxus took over rooms on the west side with a balcony hidden behind trees; Squalo was glad, because Xanxus wanted to see him at odd times and he didn't much care for the insipid atmosphere of the main headquarters.

"So what is it you want, anyway?" he asked one afternoon, leaning against the balcony's rough stone rail, watching Xanxus slouch in one of the two chairs. He asked half just to see the fire in Xanxus' eyes flare, but half because he was really starting to wonder.

"The Vongola," Xanxus growled.

"So you're passing the time here until the Ninth kicks off?" Squalo's mouth twisted, but he couldn't manage too much bitterness. The time he had to be near this fire was more than he might have expected to get from one of the heirs.

"I'm not going to wait for that."

Squalo started upright, wavering on the rail before he caught himself, eyes wide as he stared at the thin, crooked smile Xanxus was wearing. "You... what?"

Xanxus looked up and Squalo got lost again in the raw ferocity of his gaze. "They won't let me inherit."

"I thought you were favored for it, now that Federico is dead," Squalo said slowly. He swore he'd heard at least half the under-bosses of the Family talking about how they'd want Xanxus to be the Tenth.

"Not by the old bastard. Not by any of the old men." Xanxus didn't move from his slouch in the dappled shade, but violence in waiting sang from the line of his shoulders, the tension of his hands. It made Squalo a little breathless.

"So you're going to take it anyway?" he asked, low, eyes fixed on Xanxus. "Take it now?"

Xanxus smiled up at him, teeth bared, and the weight of his intent nearly buckled Squalo's knees. "Yeah."

Squalo's brain finally kicked into gear. "That's why you want us?"

"Mm." Xanxus' intensity banked again and he picked up his glass and drained it. "Some of you anyway."

Xanxus' particular attention to a few dozen of the Varia snapped into a pattern and Squalo laughed. This was a goal that matched that burning focus. "If that's what you want. Boss." They both heard the difference in the way he said it, this time, and a moment of satisfaction hooded Xanxus' eyes.

Only the strongest should lead, that was an article of faith among the Varia. As far as Squalo was concerned, Xanxus was the Tenth.

"It's the best moment for us to go. Reborn is assigned out to the Cavallone and the outside advisor is back in Japan. The Storm will still be around, but the Cloud is out putting the fear of her into the Valetti, we can deal with her later. The Thunder is up in Venezia this month, too."

"That means we still have four of them to hit." Otello frowned, flipping a knife absently. "Will they be on the Ninth or the entrances?"

"Everyone agrees the Mist will stay on the Ninth and the Storm will go for the front line." Squalo folded his arms, leaning a hip on the scarred wood table that filled the middle of the room. "The Rain and the Sun could do either."

"Levi for the front whenever the alarm goes up, then," Carlo murmured, and the entire room chuckled. Carlo approved of his new squad member, but Levi's enthusiasm had given even him some headaches.

"We'll come through here," Squalo rapped a knuckle over the main entrance. "Vinci, your squad will come in from the north. Get past as many of the small fry as you can without involving them, they don't need to know until it's over."

Vinci flicked a glance at Xanxus, sprawled in his chair and not looking like he was paying any attention at all. Squalo rolled his eyes.

He was treating this as just another assassination, and that meant blueprints and timing and people knowing who was going to be where. Xanxus, as far as he could tell, would prefer to ditch all that and burn through the front door and every wall in his way on a straight line between him and the Ninth. It wasn't that Squalo actually minded that, and he'd assigned himself to go in with Xanxus so he could watch it happen. Some of the others, even after six months to get used to it, weren't taking their new boss' brooding as calmly.

Or maybe it was just that Vinci was the one who'd been promoted to replace Fazio.

"North side. Right." Vinci said, finally, and Squalo snorted.

"Get with it, or I'll kill you my own damn self! There's no room for screw ups in this one."

That lit up everyone in the room, spines straightening, eyes brightening. This would, without question, be the ultimate test of their strength. A corner of Squalo's mouth drew up. They were going to put the best, the realest Vongola in charge. The Vongola who understood strength.

The Vongola who was purest.

Sirens were going, surprise was blown, so was some of the middle of the mansion, the air was hard to breath for the hanging gunpowder, and Squalo was laughing.

This was it, this was how it should be, the unstoppable rush along that one single line toward victory. He ran at Xanxus' back, spinning aside to cut down the men who tried to flank them, and pure exhilaration filled him, shivering down his spine every time Xanxus fired.

They had figured they would have to go through at least one of the Guardians before they even found the Ninth and the Sun was the one they ran into. Somehow Squalo wasn't surprised.

"Xanxus!" Rizzo shouted, and Squalo saw the distant focus in Xanxus' gaze come closer for a moment, lips pulling up off his teeth.

"Fedele! My son, you little piece of shit!"

Xanxus actually laughed at that, and Squalo fell back out of his way.

Rizzo and Xanxus left their guns aside and met with their fists, brutal and fast in the middle of the open hall. They ignored anything happening around them and almost nothing was; Squalo cut down the three defenders who had followed him and Xanxus this far through the twisting maze of hallways. Rizzo was the only one who had come from ahead. Squalo eyed the open door beyond him and smiled, teeth bared. That was one of the entrances to the vaults.

There weren't even words to Rizzo's shouting anymore, just raw rage as he drove fists and feet into Xanxus. Xanxus didn't bother to answer out loud, but the glimpses Squalo got of his snarl, of the frozen hate in his eyes, were harsher than any curses.

Finally, Xanxus kicked Rizzo back toward the open door, drew his gun, and smiled. Squalo's breath caught at the chill calculation in that look, and he dove for the floor as Xanxus fired, Flame blooming out from the path of it, cracking the walls. The shot smashed Rizzo back through the door and down the stairs, and Squalo dove after him on Xanxus' heels.

There were more gunmen down in the vaults.

Squalo rolled and came up behind a pillar, poised to dash in to sword range, eye mapping the field. Rizzo was down; a handful of the Varia were running in from the other side of the vaults; the Ninth was to the back; Xanxus was roaring and charging towards him; the old man's right hand was coming to meet him. The Storm and Sun were accounted for upstairs. That left...

Squalo threw himself aside as another sword cut the stone over his head. He looked up and bared his teeth at the Rain, the one who thought he was a swordsman. "Not bad. But not good enough!" He twisted his arm to draw his sword.

"You're quick to judge that," Martelli returned, cool, and attacked again.

He was sharp and fast, the cool part of Squalo's mind observed, and he had some fire. But not enough of it. Squalo drove in again and again, willing to pay with blood for the openings that would lead to victory, matching his still-light frame against the age of Martelli's joints. The gash across his shoulder matched the one in Martelli's thigh and they both had to dive apart to avoid the slashing shards of stone where Xanxus' blast hit one of the pillars.

Martelli's style was evasive, his sword light; he wouldn't meet any of Squalo's cuts straight on enough for the moves like Attacco di Squalo to work. Squalo pressed in on him, watching the line of his sword, working to cage it. Martelli turned the moment and and bound his sword for a breath. Squalo's grin pulled a bit wider; Martelli wasn't a true swordsman, but he was good enough to be interesting.

"Why have the Varia betrayed the Vongola?" Martelli asked, dark eyes locked with Squalo's, pushing at his focus.

"We've betrayed nothing," Squalo growled back. "You lot with your pathetic, half-hearted spirits, what do you know about what's true? How can you see it? We serve the Vongola through him." He shifted his balance and threw Martelli back, exultation leaping higher. There was the opening he wanted, as Martelli's heel came down short, and he lunged for it, everything focused in the moment, clean and sharp and burning.

For a moment the purity of triumph kept him from feeling the pain.

"What's true is the Family," Martelli said quietly in his ear, words cutting through the clamor and echo of the other fighting. "And what will best serve the Family is steel that's tempered. Ruthlessness with compassion. Mercy with determination." His lips peeled back. "If you insist that we also prove the tempered blade is the strongest... I'll trust Timoteo to do that."

Then Martelli fell and his sword ripped back out of Squalo's side and he couldn't completely stifle the sound he made. The cool, fluted stone of a pillar was at his back and he slid down it, staring across the floor at Martelli. He knew the truth of those words about tempering, but Xanxus...

"The best sword needs a will to wield it," he gasped. But it was too late; Martelli had passed out. Looking beyond him Squalo saw the Ninth's right hand down as well. So it must be the Ninth himself he heard on the other side of the pillar, fighting with Xanxus.

Flame blew another chunk out of the pillar to his left and his mouth curled in a bloody smile; maybe he'd stay where he was for now.

And then the blasts stopped.

Squalo's vision was going a bit gray at the edges, not that it was easy to tell in the darkness of the vaults. He pressed a hand tight to his side, biting down a harsh gasp, and listened. Had Xanxus won?

But no, Xanxus and the Ninth were both talking. Yelling. Squalo stared into the dark ahead of him, eyes stretched wide as he listened, and suddenly he understood the whole thing, understood why the purity of Xanxus' rage had that edge of smoldering desperation sometimes. The cold of the stone behind and under him seeped into his bones as he listened.

When he heard shock in Xanxus' voice and a sound he couldn't identity, he rolled to the left, ignoring the tearing pain in his side, and saw all the passion and perfect focus he had ever wanted to follow frozen. That was the picture that followed him down into redness and then into blackness. His last, unraveling thought was that it wasn't right. His death for failing this mission should have come at Xanxus' hands.

After

Squalo stared up at the ceiling of a hospital room, watching the movement of the dim square of light reflecting off the tile floor and wondering a bit absently whether he was going to live. Having woken up here wasn't an actual guarantee of life; they might just be saving him as a witness. The Ninth did seem to want justifications before he shot people.

When the Ninth's right hand arrived alone and locked the door behind him, Squalo wondered some more.

Staffieri looked down at him coldly, and Squalo stared back. Finally the man spoke. "Xanxus is exiled."

Squalo laughed, even though it still hurt like hell; he couldn't help it. "Ah. So he's on ice, huh?"

Staffieri's eyes narrowed. "You were conscious, then. And you didn't stand by him?"

Squalo bared his teeth at that; they understood nothing. "And get in his way? Fuck no. Besides, without that hell technique, whatever the fuck it was, he'd have won." He took some satisfaction in the way Staffieri's mouth tightened. He hoped the man was remembering who'd taken him down.

"Xanxus is no longer here," Staffieri continued, shifting stiffly on his feet. "And very few people know what happened that day, certainly none of Vongola's enemies. It is the Ninth's wish that this continue. If you will give your oath to obey only the Ninth's orders, you will be released to take charge of the Varia once more and set it in order."

Squalo turned his eyes up to the blank ceiling again, energy and emotion alike running out of him. "Yeah. Sure I will." What was the point of doing otherwise, with Xanxus frozen in a block of fucking ice, for God's sake? "The Varia belong to the Vongola."

And if it wasn't the Vongola he'd wanted, well, what the hell else was he going to do?

Staffieri nodded silently and turned on his heel.

"Hey!" Squalo called, suddenly, and the man looked back over his shoulder. "Is Xanxus still alive, in there?"

Staffieri's mouth tightened. "Yes."

And he didn't like it, obviously. Tough. Squalo took a breath. "Is he conscious?"

Staffieri studied him for a long moment before finally answering. "I don't believe so, no. He is... suspended, as it were."

Squalo closed his eyes. "Okay." As the door clicked open and shut he stared at the back of his eyelids and thought about that. It was about as merciful as being frozen could be; at least Xanxus wouldn't know he was locked away like that.

A tiny thought stirred in the back of his head, suggesting that, if Xanxus ever got out, he would pick up right where he left off. Squalo shoved the thought in a mental box. He didn't have much enthusiasm for serving the Ninth, but he didn't want to die, either. He'd make his oath and mean it.

For as long as the Ninth lasted.

Squalo looked down the roster of the Varia and rolled his eyes. It was time to talk to Bel again about keeping down the fatalities when he played with the supporting members. He swore the little shit did it just to annoy him, because Bel was otherwise one of the most practical of the squad leaders, right up there with Mammon and far more willing to fight. He leaned back, crossing his ankles on the immovably solid desk, and scribbled a note to himself right handed as he flipped the roster back onto the desk and reached for this month's intelligence summary.

"Boss!" The door flung open so hard the knob scarred the wood paneling and Squalo looked up with a glare.

"I told you not to call me that."

Carlo leaned against the door frame, panting, and gave him back glare for glare. "You do the work, don't fucking argue now, something happened!"

Squalo made another note, this one mental, to "train" with Carlo some time soon; just because he was the oldest surviving squad leader, and had been in on the Cradle five years ago, didn't mean Squalo was going to put up with any shit about this. He wasn't the Varia's boss; the Varia's boss was frozen, not dead.

"Goddamn it, Squalo, listen to me! Enrico just killed Massimo!"

Squalo grunted. "Old man's down to one, now, is he?"

His hand, reaching for the papers, halted in midair as his own words echoed back to him. Just one son left. Just one standing between the Boss' chair and the only candidate who was also qualified. Except that he wasn't, of course.

Except that no one but the Ninth and his Guardians, and Squalo himself, knew that. And the Ninth was obviously soft on Xanxus, even after Xanxus tried to kill him, or else why was Xanxus still alive?

He sat back, eyes fixed on Carlo, and spread his hands on the desk. "So. I guess that means Enrico is going to be the next." The next boss, he meant, of course.

The brief curl of Carlo's lips was fierce and pleased. "Yeah. If he's going to make it, he'd better stop picking up the girls from other Families, though. That little piece from the Vieri he's making time with this month would sell him out for a couple of pretty rocks." The sneer that went with the statement looked totally genuine so Squalo figured he didn't mean the kind of rocks that came in jewelry. That would make things easier; she'd be paid and dead in one shot, if he could get something pure enough through the Bolzoni.

"Well, if she's that easy to buy off, the Family can probably pay her to leave him alone." He shrugged carelessly. "If anyone can convince him." He leaned back again, crossing his arms behind his head, and grinned at Carlo, showing his teeth. "What do you think? Maybe Lussuria could persuade him; he's always giving everyone else relationship advice."

Carlo rolled his eyes. "If he can't, hell, maybe Mammon can try the practical approach."

Yes. That would work. Mammon's illusion could cover the team and Lussuria never had problems with cleaning up targets and obstacles alike. And once the last son was out of the way...

He and Carlo both smiled, slowly, eyes meeting across the desk of the Varia's boss.

"...never actually proven, was it?"

"Even if he did kill the favorite, it's not like the Ninth has room to be picky any more."

Squalo paused around a corner and smiled to himself. A few words dropped here and there, some squad leaders reminiscing over drinks about what an effective leader Xanxus had been, and it was amazing how the whole Family, anxious over the lack of an heir, was talking about the same man.

"Squalo!" Ricci called to him as he walked past them. "Just the man. Listen, about Xanxus..."

"Xanxus is exiled by the Ninth's order," Squalo said flatly. The flat tone wasn't hard when he thought about the form of that 'exile'.

"Yes, but if he weren't. I mean it's not like there's anyone else left, is there? So tell me; would he make a good Boss?"

Squalo looked aside. "I can't speak for that," he muttered. "He was a good leader to the Varia." He watched the two underbosses out of the corner of his eye and was careful to show no satisfaction at the thoughtful looks on their faces. A man who could lead the Varia, after all, would make easy work of the rest of the Family, wouldn't he?

"I heard you won't let anyone call you the Varia's boss," Gallo put in, leaning against the wall, eyes sharp.

Squalo lifted his head; this he didn't need to fake or be careful of. "Xanxus is exiled, not dead. He's our boss."

Ricci and Gallo exchanged a long look and Squalo turned away down the hall again, suppressing the urge to whistle cheerfully. Just a few more like that, and they'd be getting somewhere.

Three weeks later he was called in to talk to the Ninth.

"I understand you've been talking to people about Xanxus," the old man said, mild as milk which didn't fool Squalo for a second.

"People have been talking to me," Squalo corrected, folding his arms. "I'm not going to lie about him, if they ask." He let his mouth twist. "Not any more than we're all lying already."

The Ninth sat back with a sigh and his right hand gave Squalo a glare that said he'd be happy to shoot Squalo where he stood. Squalo ignored it; it wasn't Staffieri he had to convince.

"Well," the old man said, "be honest with me, also, then. If Xanxus is released, will he make another attempt?"

It made things easier, Squalo reflected, that the Ninth obviously wanted the answer to be no. "You defeated him," he said, a bit through his teeth but that was only to be expected. "The Varia live and die by our strength, and only the strongest have the right to lead." And this time, that strength wouldn't be betrayed by a trick, at the end. They'd plan better.

"Mmm." The Ninth folded his hands under his chin, staring at nothing.

"Boss," Staffieri said, quiet but agitated. "You can't really be thinking..."

"I do not agree with those who say Xanxus is the only choice," the Ninth said, to both of them Squalo thought. "But we are in need of strength to protect the Family, now." He nodded to Squalo. "Thank you. You can go."

Squalo closed the door behind him on Staffieri arguing with the Ninth in a low voice, and smiled. He thought he knew who would win, in the end.

In the end, it would be Xanxus.

When he heard the raised voice, Squalo brushed past the foot soldiers standing, or trying to, in front of the vault door and into that echoing, scarred room. The other squad leaders followed him. "Boss!"

Xanxus was shaking and pale, except for the raw-looking scars over most of his skin, but he was on his feet and had breath to shout. That was all Squalo needed.

Except that the shouting cut off sharply when Xanxus saw him, and Squalo paused, cautious of the tangled shock and rage in Xanxus' face. "Boss," he said again, offering it like a guide-rope to draw their leader back to himself, back to them.

Back to him.

"Squalo," Xanxus said, finally, voice harsh and rasping.

Squalo didn't step forward, didn't support Xanxus, didn't move as Xanxus staggered toward them. They were the Varia and he was their leader, and the Ninth's goddamn Guardians could frown all they liked. They'd never understood.

Xanxus raked his eyes over all of them, settling at last on Squalo again, and if the fire in them was wilder than it had been, well, none of them had much vested in sanity. Finally he nodded.

"Let's go."

Squalo smiled, tight and sharp, hearing the future in those two words. "Yes, Boss."

End

Give One Heart

Hibari thinks it's about time someone told Kyouko and Haru a few things. Drama, I-3

Kyouya stood, arms folded, in the shadowed doorway of the kitchen and watched Kyouko and Haru move around each other in the bright room.

He remembered the point in his past, his old past he supposed he should say, when Kyouko had finally coaxed the truth out of her brother and Sawada; it had been the first time he'd thought the girl might have teeth after all. He remembered the impressive black eye and the hangdog expression that Sasagawa and Sawada had sported, respectively, afterwards; the bruise had faded sooner. He remembered the fierceness in Sawada's eyes when he'd demanded Kyouya's word that he would protect the younger Kyouko and Haru, when they came forward; only after that word was given had he, reluctantly, agreed to the whole plan.

Of course, in Kyouya's opinion, the best way to protect someone was to sharpen their teeth.

He pushed away from the door and stepped into the kitchen.

"Hibari-san!" Haru looked up with a bright smile. "Are you coming to dinner, too, tonight?"

"No," he told her, bluntly, and cast a sharp eye on Kyouko. "You've seen things, here, that haven't been explained. Sasagawa believes he does you a service by keeping you in ignorance. Sawada appears to agree. What do you think?"

Her knife paused, over the vegetables on the board in front of her, and then resumed, slower. "I already know," she said, softly.

Kyouya's brows rose.

"Not... not everything. But that they're doing something dangerous." Her eyes were fixed on the sliced roots as she slid them onto a plate and reached for a whole one. "They won't tell me why, but I've seen how they're training, here." Her lips tightened. "And I remember, now, what happened right after I got here." She finally put the knife down and looked up. "That man was trying to kill me. And Tsuna-kun, too. I don't know why, but I know that much."

Haru was staring at her. "Don't know... but... Kyouko-chan, your brother is one of Tsuna-kun's Guardians, how can you not know?"

Kyouko smiled, a little sad. "Like I said. They haven't told me why this is happening." And then she snorted softly. "Though it was pretty obvious from the start that it wasn't sumo wrestling."

Kyouya was glad to know she hadn't actually bought that particular piece of inanity. It would be a shame if the boss' wife were an idiot. He leaned a hip against the counter, watching silently to see how much these two girls could do on their own.

Haru sat down, slowly. "Kyouko-chan..." She bit her lip and then took a deep breath. "It's the mafia. Tsuna-kun was chosen to be the next boss of a big mafia Family. Gokudera and Yamamoto and Sasagawa-san and, um," she glanced at Kyouya, "Hibari-san too were chosen to guard him. To be his own family." She frowned darkly, then, with growing indignation. "I can't believe they didn't tell you!"

Kyouko shook her head. "It's all right, Haru-chan. I..." her eyes fell and one finger traced an arc back and forth on the table, "I knew enough. And I was hoping they would tell me themselves."

"Not for another three or four years," Kyouya remarked, causing a complete halt in the conversation for several breaths.

"Four. Years." Haru's eyes glinted and she stood up. "That does it. Where are they?"

"You might want to wait on that," Kyouya told her dryly. "Tomorrow they're going to go out after Vongola's enemies. Pitiful grazers that they still are, they need every edge. You might not want to distract them until later."

Kyouko was looking up at him, eyes wide and dark. "That's why you told us?"

He looked down at her silently. "I gave Sawada my word to guard you," he said, finally. "But you should be aware to guard yourselves as well." If the schedule held, they would have to, very soon.

She was silent too for a long moment, opaque thoughts moving behind soft eyes. "All right."

Haru moved to stand behind her, one hand on Kyouko's shoulder. "We will," she said, stoutly.

He nodded and turned away. He didn't think for a moment that they could protect themselves if they fell into Millefiore's hands, but at least this should keep them from rushing to place themselves there out of ignorance. He trusted Sawada would appreciate that benefit. Kyouya imagined he would. Eventually.

A sharp, tiny smile curved his lips as he paced the halls back to his own section.

End

Saints of Palermo

The Giglio Nero boss talks to Kyouko and Haru about the other side of the mafia. Drama, I-3

A/N: The woman in this story is Uni's mother, and for an explanation of why I think they're actually the same person see here.

Unità leaned back, behind her desk, and gazed out the window.

"Are you going to do it?" Gamma asked, quietly.

"I think I probably am." She crossed her arms. "He made a very good offer."

Gamma frowned. "But what assurance is there that Vongola's Ninth will honor it? Sawada may be the heir, but he isn't the boss yet."

Unità hummed thoughtfully. "No, but he is confirmed. At sixteen, Gamma! And if they're telling the truth, it actually happened even earlier."

"Do you think they're telling the truth?"

She smiled up at him. "Do you?"

He gave her a disgruntled look for turning it around that way and she laughed. He leaned back against the window sill, one hand shoved in a pocket. After a long moment he said, "Yes. I guess I do." His mouth quirked. "The boys, well they'd agree the sky was green if Sawada said so, but the girls... no. They were telling the truth."

"They were pretty transparent, weren't they? He was smart to bring them." Her eyes narrowed. "Gamma. Did that seem... strange to you?"

"Mm." He was quiet again, which she took for agreement.

"He seems very protective of them," she murmured, tracing the line of a woodgrain on her desk as if to trace her thought with the same fingertip. "Yet he brought them here, to the heart of an un-allied Family's territory. So does he trust us that blindly or..." her voice softened, reaching the conclusion, "is it his own power he trusts?"

"After everything they seem to have gone through, I doubt he trusts blindly," Gamma answered, just as soft.

"Hm." Unità's lips curved. "Yes. Still a bit naive, maybe, but not blind. We'll take it." Gamma blinked as she straightened, and she smiled at him, wry. "Think of the things behind what they said, Gamma. In another six or seven years it seems that Vongola's Tenth will be ruthless enough to let himself be killed, gambling for the future of the world, and keep the secret from his own Guardians. I think that Sawada would still ally with us, but he might not offer us such good terms as today's Sawada." She spread her hands over the smooth surface of her desk and added quietly. "And one thing I'm sure of is that I don't want us to have to fight the man that's coming."

Gamma smiled back. "You take good care of your people, boss."

"Speaking of which." Unità reached for her writing paper. "I'll have two letters to be delivered to them."

"Two? Sawada and... who else?"

"I did mention that those girls were transparent?" She nibbled on the end of her pen. Coffee, yes, that would be... unthreatening. "If we're to be allies, I'm not letting Vongola stand around with a weakness like that hanging out where anyone can aim at it. And those boys probably won't even see it until far too late." Her lips crimped in amusement. "Men can be that way."

Gamma opened his mouth only to close it again, a faint flush rising in his face. "Mm."

Unità had to stifle a laugh when she saw who had escorted the girls to meet her and observed the way Gokudera's eyes followed the dark haired one. She welcomed the girls in and shooed the men out. "This is a discussion between women."

Gamma knew well enough to do as she said, but Gokudera stood his ground. "I have a duty to make sure they're safe."

"We're allies now, aren't we?" she asked.

Gokudera glowered at her, possibly because she couldn't keep her mouth from curling at the corners.

Gamma sighed faintly and stepped forward, catching Gokudera's eye. "They will be safe here. We will guard them as though they were our own people. You have my word."

For a long moment Gokudera held Gamma's gaze, eyes dark with, perhaps, memory. Finally he inclined his head. "I accept your word."

Unità settled in one of the armchairs arranged around a low table as the two men left. "Well, now that the posturing is out of the way," she said, dryly, "come, have a seat."

The dark haired girl, Haru, laughed a little. Unità considered her, and the quieter one, Kyouko, for a moment and leaned back with a sigh.

"I doubt Sawada or his Family will think to tell you before it's too late, but the two of you have a decision before you. One that needs to be made now." As their eyes widened she folded her hands and asked softly, "Will you stay with them?"

"Of course we will!" Haru answered, sounding shocked.

Unità ran a hand through her hair. She'd been right; they had no idea. "This is not a kind world that I live in, that Sawada has committed himself to. It's a dangerous and harsh world where people die just for being related to the wrong person, if a feud gets started."

Both the girls flinched at that. They knew that much, then. They still weren't making the logical connection, though.

"You've been fairly safe up until now, because before he came to Sicily few people outside the Vongola took much note of Sawada," she told them as gently as she could. "But they're noticing now. And you've been seen with him. It might already be too late. If you leave now, though, and never see any of them again, you should be safe. If you don't... you'll be targets."

Kyouko was frowning. "Why are you saying this?"

"Because you need to choose, and I believe in giving people all the facts." And having said that, she had to add, "In all fairness, there are two sides to this. You'll be a target because the Vongola boss is very well known in our world, and very well hated by some. But it's his power he's hated for, and few people will be willing to cross his protection."

Haru was biting her lip, but Kyouko only looked down at her hands. "I understand," she said, softly.

Unità's brows rose.

"I saw, when we were in the future. I heard." Kyouko looked up with a faint smile. "Hibari-san believes in giving people all the facts, too. And even before that... I knew." She looked down again. "That isn't what makes me hesitate. It's just..." her voice got softer still, "is there anything I can really do for him?"

It looked like Unità had underestimated this one. Which, actually, suggested an answer to Kyouko's question, and she smiled. "Most likely, yes." She tapped a finger against her lips and decided to start at the beginning. "Bosses' wives do different things, you know, depending on their own tastes. Some are completely private and have nothing to do with business at all. Some do negotiations in their own right. And some," she tipped her head, "some work behind the scenes. They smile and entertain guests and do the indirect negotiations." Her mouth quirked. "Or, sometimes, just charm the other side into submission." Her voice lowered. "Is that what you want? To help him with his work?"

"I... I do." Kyouko took a quick breath. "I know I'm not like Bianchi-san, but..."

"Well, he has Bianchi to be like Bianchi," Unità murmured. "Not that it wouldn't be wise for you to learn to shoot strait and hit something hard enough to make a difference. But Sawada seems to have plenty of people with weapons already. Perhaps he could also do with someone to listen quietly and see the less obvious threats." She thought about what Gamma was to her and added, "And someone to listen to him. Even when it's not directly about work." She tapped a finger thoughtfully on her knee, considering the differences, too. "That someone will be in danger, danger Sawada and his family will put themselves at risk to guard against, and that someone will just have to bear it. Do you have the will to do that?"

Kyouko was quiet for a moment, but when she looked up her eyes were dark with calm, deep as the ocean. "Yes."

Unità smiled. She might pay money to be present when Sawada got to discover all this. "Good."

Haru was wearing a wry smile as she listened to them. "I think you're stronger than I am, Kyouko-chan. I'd go crazy if I had to do that." She glanced at Unità uncertainly. "I don't want to leave either, though."

Unità looked her up and down, consideringly, and her lips curled. "I suppose it's a good thing Kyouko is the one with the older brother, not you, so there's no one to come pound me when I suggest this. But maybe you would be good at the, ah, other path mafia women tend to pursue."

Haru blinked at her. "Hahi?"

Unità's smile quirked. "Wives are expected to be above reproach. Unattached women, on the other hand, have greater opportunities and greater dangers. And guns aren't the only weapons."

Haru's chin tucked down and some of the wide blankness slid away from her eyes. "You mean seducing people."

"I knew you couldn't be as silly as you were acting," Unità murmured and Haru blushed. "No, no, it's a very good act. Keep it. It will be useful." As useful, in its own way, as Kyouko's soft-voiced sweetness. "It's a sad truth," she continued dryly, "but the men of my country tend to be complete idiots when a woman coos at them. There's a great deal of information to be gathered that way."

"And Kyouko-chan can't do it," Haru finished for her. "But I could."

"Haru-chan!" Kyouko protested, sitting up straight. "I couldn't ask you to do that!"

Haru's smile was distinctly tilted. "Kind of the way Ryouhei-san and Tsuna-kun couldn't ask you to deal with their being in the mafia?"

Kyouko stopped short, mouth open for a moment before she shut it with a click. Her hands twisted together, but finally she murmured, "If... if you're sure it's what you want to do."

"I want to think about it. But..." the sparkle in Haru's eyes almost hid their sharpness, "it sounds fun. And useful," she added, under her breath, expression suddenly mulish.

Unità stifled a chuckle. "You should definitely learn to shoot straight, then. Perhaps you can ask Gokudera to teach you."

Kyouko's eyes flicked up to hers as Haru blushed and sputtered a bit, and her lips curved in a tiny smile. Yes, Unità had thought both girls had their lines of sight straight, between them. The young men were thoroughly bracketed.

"On that subject," she went on, more seriously, "Haru, you have to stop your silliness about becoming Sawada's wife."

Haru waved a hand. "It's only to tease him. I know there's no chance—"

"That's not the point." Unità leaned forward, willing her to understand. "You and Kyouko may know it's a game. Sawada will likely realize soon himself, if he hasn't already. But outsiders will see it as a weakness in Vongola's unity, and you can't ever let that happen. That's the responsibility that goes with the ability to be useful. Your games can't be played inside the Family."

"Oh." Haru sobered. "I... I see. Yes."

Unità nodded to herself, satisfied that this gap in her new ally's defenses was, if not closed, at least closing. "Indeed. I think you'll both do well."

There was a tap at the door and the housekeeper slipped in with her always-impressive sense of the appropriate moment and a tray of coffee. The tension in the room uncoiled in the delicate clatter of setting out and pouring, and Unità smiled.

"So tell me." She leaned back in her chair, cup cradled between her fingers. "What do you think of Sicily?"

Haru and Kyouko looked at each other and Kyouko nodded.

"It will make a good home," she said.

End

She Danced Across the Mountain

As Kyouko and Haru settle into their lives with the mafia, sometimes they need advice. Drama, I-3

"...and never, ever accept red flowers. All right, I think I got all that." Kyouko sat back, one hand rubbing her forehead.

Unità's lips quirked in sympathy. "You're doing very well, for someone who's never even traveled abroad before."

Kyouko's soft smile was more wry than usual. "And here I thought that, once I was done with the university entrance exams, I wouldn't be studying any more."

"You'll likely be studying this for years," Unità warned. "You have a grace and social ease that will serve you very well, but the small customs that let a woman fit in, here, take time to learn."

"I understand," Kyouko murmured, and straightened her back with a determined breath. "So. About this... this kissing thing."

Unità's lips quirked. "Well, it depends on how well you know the other person ..."

Antonio looked up with a brilliant smile as Unità led the girls into his dress shop. "Donna Unità! We haven't seen you in too long! Are you looking for a new gown, perhaps?"

"Ah, now, you know my workday clothes can't be that elaborate." Something Antonio was volubly disappointed over at every opportunity, but at least she had some consolation for him today. "Not for myself. I just wanted to introduce my young friends, here." She smiled. "They should know who to go to for the best."

"Indeed, indeed!" Antonio beamed upon his newest victims. Unità hoped both of them were taking notes on his tactics. "Friends of the Family?"

"Oh yes," Unità murmured, laying a hand on Kyouko's shoulder. "The Vongola Tenth's young woman, and her best friend." She nodded to the girls, eye crossing Haru's briefly. "Antonio has a great many customers from our world, so you can relax here."

Haru's eyes widened a hair, recognizing the implication, and she turned to Antonio with a sparkling smile of her own. "Oh, how wonderful! I was so hoping to find someone who would really know about fashions here!" She clasped her hands, eyes wide and entreating. "Are we dreadfully out of style? Tell me the worst! I can take it!"

Antonio enfolded her hands in his, clearly delighted at finding a kindred spirit. "No, no, you do very well!" He stood back and cast a professional eye over her outfit, and Kyouko's. "A bit young, perhaps..."

Haru now had a definite gleam in her eye. "So, what would you recommend?"

Unità firmly suppressed her amusement. Haru was already well on her way to a contact that would give her a wide window onto the world she intended to move in.

Kyouko had caught on too, and her shoulder was tense under Unità's hand. Unità guided her over to a chair while they waited for Antonio and Haru to finish their heart-to-heart. "Would she be any happier waiting at home beside you?" she murmured. "I can tell you already she wouldn't actually be any safer."

Kyouko sighed silently. "I suppose not."

"She's a natural," Unità observed, dispassionately. "Let her run and find her place."

Haru's bright, open laugh wound through the shop like a silk scarf.

"It's for you, boss." Gamma held out the phone. "The Vongola's wife."

Unità stretched, behind her desk, redirecting her thoughts from negotiations with the Barassi to the reasons why her sort-of-protégée might be calling her this evening. "All right." She tucked the phone against her shoulder. "Kyouko?"

"Unità-san, what is the... the... acceptable thing to do when the boss of another Family suggests I sleep with him?"

Unità pursed her lips, wondering who had been foolish enough to try that. "What did you do?"

"I pretended I didn't understand what he was talking about." Kyouko's voice was tight.

"Perfect! Well, no, perfect would have been pulling out a gun and shooting him." Unità grinned a bit at Gamma's expression. "Unfortunately we can't always achieve perfection."

"I wanted to," Kyouko said fiercely.

Unità softened her tone. "I know. But to keep Sawada's face for him, to keep it the mafia way, you need to let him do that when it's in public."

Kyouko sighed. "I... don't think that would have been a good idea either. At least not this evening."

"And that's why acting like you didn't understand was perfect. You left no openings at all."

After a long moment Kyouko murmured, "I was a little afraid you'd say that. That means I have to keep on doing it."

"Yes." Unità had nothing to offer that would soften that necessity. She could hear the deep breath Kyouko took, over the line.

"All right. Thank you, Unità-san."

"No problem." Unità smiled wryly as she hung up. "Oh, stop looking like that," she told Gamma. "I'm sure Kyouko wouldn't actually shoot anyone." After a pause to let this obvious truth sink in she added, "Haru probably takes care of that."

Gamma's snort at this reminder of the feisty girl his counterpart was so explosively courting made her laugh.

"Have a seat, Haru." Unità waved at the straight chairs in front of her desk as she signed and sealed the letter to the Girasole for Tazaru to carry. "There. Now, what did you want to see me for?"

Haru was fidgety today, as she sat, smoothing her skirt, crossing and recrossing her ankles. "Well." She nibbled her lip, which, Unità observed, she had learned to do in a downright charming way. "I wanted to ask, because I thought you'd know the real answer. If I'm somebody's... if I'm with somebody, can I still flirt or would that be... unacceptable?"

Unità firmly stifled a chuckle; it was about time those two came to some understanding. "Flirting is still acceptable as long as you don't mind being thought a fluffy airhead who can't control herself. As long as you're careful never to go beyond flirting, your overflowing feminine sex-drive will be a cause for congratulations to Gokudera."

Haru made a horrible face. "I thought so! Honestly, there are times when I just want to—" she broke off and settled back in her chair. "Well."

Unità raised a cautionary finger. "That's among the lower ranks and at the very top, mind you. The hitmen usually have sharper eyes." They usually had to. "So if you're working among them, be very careful."[?]

Haru nodded seriously. "I understand." A bit of her accustomed sparkle returned to her eyes. "With them I usually rely on my brain anyway, and it just seems to amuse them that they get to see what nobody else notices." Contemplatively she added, "Arrogant bastards."

Unità burst out laughing. Kyouko was more to her credit as a mentor, in many ways, but Haru was certainly finding her own feet in their world, even the rough parts.

Kyouko toed off her shoes and curled her feet up under her in the armchair. "Haru hasn't heard anything, so I wanted to ask you. Some of the other bosses have been looking at me a little oddly, lately."

Unità took a long sip from her coffee cup. "Oddly?"

Kyouko frowned a little, fingers only toying with her own cup. "They don't pay all that much attention to me. I'm used to that. But now... they're not talking to me but they are looking at me. Only..." she made a frustrated sound. "Not the usual way. I'm not describing this very well, I'm sorry."

Unità thought for a moment and finally tipped her head and suggested, "Looking at your waist instead of your breasts?"

Kyouko blushed and Unità stifled a chuckle; even having been married for years, Kyouko still seemed so innocent sometimes.

"Well, I suppose that could be—" Kyouko broke off abruptly, eyes widening. She straightened in her seat and stared at Unità. "They... they're watching for that?"

Unità shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised."

"But why?"

"Some of them probably want to know whether they should start grooming a son or a daughter." Unità's mouth quirked at Kyouko's wide eyed look. "Vongola is a very powerful Family, after all. There are plenty who would like to have blood ties to you." And more who would prefer that Kyouko never live to deliver, but she thought, by now, Kyouko might be able to reach that conclusion on her own.

"Oh." Kyouko looked down at her coffee, fidgeting with it again.

Unità's brows rose. "You won't have to think about marriages for your children for years, you can put the early starters off pretty easily."

"It isn't that." Kyouko chewed her lip for a moment. "It's... Tsuna doesn't want to try for children, yet."

"He doesn't think you're too young, does he?" Unità asked, startled. She wouldn't have thought it, but maybe in Japan...

"Oh, no, it's not that." Kyouko managed to laugh, though it sounded stiffer than usual. "My mother was younger than I am now, when she had my brother. And Tsuna's mother had him younger, too. No, it's... he doesn't..." she sighed. "He wants to wait until it's safer."

Unità nearly choked on her coffee. "Safer?" For the wife of the tenth Vongola boss? She rubbed a hand over her forehead. "Boy has his head up his ass again, I see," she grumbled.

"He's just worried for me," Kyouko defended her husband, instantly. "And I don't want to push him, when he's already concerned about the whole Family."

Something would have to be done about that, but clearly today wasn't the day, and Kyouko wasn't the person Sawada would have to hear from. Unità sighed. "He's a good boss," she allowed, and smiled. "Seems to be a good husband, too."

Kyouko smiled softly. "He is." She looked up, suddenly inquiring. "Do you..."

"I don't have a husband, no," Unità said dryly. She watched Kyouko's sidelong glance, hesitant and curious, and added, "Nor children. There are," her mouth twisted just a bit at the double meaning of the words, "issues with that, for me."

Kyouko's eyes were wide and stricken. "Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry."

Unità shook her head, taking herself in hand. "Don't worry about it." She chuckled. "My people have enough of a handful just dealing with me. And I'll leave enough to this world of ours, as it is, without adding children." She would leave a legend, in time, she suspected. Or, at least, her own personal installment of the longer legend.

Kyouko's eyes on her were still curious, and a little thoughtful, but she let the subject lapse with the grace she'd learned so well. "How is your Family doing, lately?"

Unità leaned back and crossed her legs, smiling. Business was easier to talk about, yes. "Very well, especially since that new partnership in Monreale..."

A scuffle outside her sitting room caught Unità's attention and she went to the door in time to hear Haru's voice clearly.

"I can walk perfectly well, you know, there's no need..."

"The boss concerns herself with you. That's all the reason I need." That was Gamma, and a breath later he turned the corner and she saw them.

Haru was scooped up in Gamma's arms, being carried and clearly fuming about it. She was also bruised, lip split, dress torn, one of her high heeled sandals missing. Unità's lips thinned and she pulled her door all the way open. "Bring her in, and call for what we need," she ordered.

Gamma set Haru down carefully on the couch and nodded to Unità, the same grimness she felt turning his eyes hard.

"Haru." Unità crouched down in front of her and caught her hands, hoping to capture her focus, too. "What happened?"

Haru's eyes were bright and a little glazed. "It was at the bar. At Tommaso's. Some of the Donnola were there, making a delivery, and you know we've been trying to figure out why they're suddenly so cozy with the Scoiattolo. So I chatted them up." Her mouth twisted and then she winced as it pulled the cut on her lip. "Bad timing I guess. I was just getting somewhere when some other men came in. I didn't recognize them. They came after the Donnola men and shoved me aside..."

"More than shoved it looks like," Gamma noted, coming back in with a glass of water and another of something Unità was pretty sure was much stronger, trailed by her house doctor, Renato. He handed the smaller glass to Haru while Renato made disapproving sounds and started cleaning her cuts. "Tazaru says it was the Scarafaggio," he added.

Haru swallowed the alcohol in three gulps, gasping a little. "Thanks."

Gamma handed over the water, one corner of his mouth curling up.

"There were six of them," Haru continued. "They... they shot three of the Donnola before the rest of the bar jumped in and they ran." She was breathing deeply, tiny shudders shaking her.

This might be the first time Haru had seen death that close. Unità stroked her hair back. "All right. That's all I need to know, Haru. Just catch your breath."

Haru nodded, jerky, hands tight around her water glass.

"Haru!" Gokudera was through the door before anyone quite realized he was there, and pushed Renato aside. He stopped short before catching Haru's shoulders, hands hovering. Finally he settled for taking her arms, gently, where there weren't any bruises. His voice was hoarse. "What happened?"

"She got caught in the middle of the fight with some Scarafaggio at Tommaso's tonight," Unità supplied, briefly. "They weren't careful."

Gokudera's first expression was relief, but it turned colder and colder as his eyes tallied up Haru's injuries. He stood. "Thank you for informing me."

Haru caught his hand, eyes wide. "Hayato, don't be an idiot...!"

The intensity of his eyes didn't change, but the ice turned hot for a breath as he knelt down in front of her again. "Haru." He leaned in and kissed the uninjured corner of her mouth, very gently. "I'll be back soon, okay? Don't worry."

Haru's eyes were wide and dark, watching him stalk back out the door, and she opened her mouth again.

"Don't." Unità took Haru's face and turned the girl to look at her. "You have to let him do this, Haru."

"But...!"

"I know." Unità sat on the couch and gathered Haru close. "I know. But an injury to you is a dishonor to him. He has to avenge it."

As Haru shivered and silent tears soaked into Unità's shoulder, she wondered if, perhaps, she had misled Kyouko. Maybe she was giving daughters to her world after all.

Unità sat in her study, watching the stars come out through the tall window. She had attended Cavallone's wedding that day and watched the Vongola allies mingle, watched her family laugh and stand proud, watched Kyouko, with Haru shadowing her, pass through the gathering unnoticed offering a smile here, a word there, charming the argumentative and separating the drunk, leaving all Sawada's eagle-eyed bodyguards nothing to do.

Watched Reborn watching her. Knowing.

She sighed. She'd thought to have a little longer, but it seemed not. She would just have to hope she had done all she needed to do for the next little while. She told herself that firmly and scrubbed her sleeve across her eyes.

"Boss?" Gamma tapped on her balcony door and held out two cans of beer temptingly. "Want to come take a breath of fresh air for a while?"

She took a breath and pushed herself onto her feet, stepping outside. "What is it, Gamma? I don't really feel like playing around, tonight."

End

A/N: While in real life, to the best of my knowledge, a hitman generally is part of the lower ranks, in Amano's world they appear to be a caste of their own, and a middle-high ranking one at that. I have gone with Amano's worldbuilding in this case.

A Scratched Record

Kyouko and Haru meet Uni as she's introduced to Tsuna, and get a shock. Drama, I-3

Kyouko pressed a hand to her lips as Tsuna stared at their visitors.

"She's... dead?" Tsuna repeated, softly.

Gamma's mouth tighted and he nodded silently. "I hoped it wouldn't..." he swallowed whatever he had been going to say and drew a slow breath. "Her daughter is the boss of Giglio Nero, now." He opened his hand at the girl standing next to him, watching them all quietly.

Tsuna swallowed himself, looking a little sick. "Is that really... I mean, a child..."

Gamma straightened and repeated, flatly, "She is our boss."

The girl tipped her head, regarding Tsuna, and smiled. "Hello." She stepped forward, light and easy, drawing all eyes to herself. "I'm Uni. I'm very pleased to meet the Vongola boss."

Tsuna's eyes were dark, but he managed to smile back at her. "Hello, Uni. I'm glad to meet you, too." He sat back and sighed. "If there's anything we can do for you..." he trailed off, eyes going back to Gamma.

Kyouko swore the girl's mouth quirked as she slipped to the side, letting the two men focus on each other again.

"We don't need men, but a Vongola presence at some negotiations coming up would probably be wise," Gamma admitted, gaze checking Uni before settling on Tsuna.

Kyouko kept half an ear on their planning as she stepped forward herself, but only half. The least she could do for Unità's daughter was offer some comfort while her Guardian was occupied with business. She held out both hands. "Hello, Uni; and welcome. I'm Kyouko. I knew your..." her voice faltered as the girl turned and she met dark, knowing eyes, deeper than any child's should be. Eyes she recognized. "...mother...?"

Haru slipped up beside them. "Kyouko?"

Uni blinked and then smiled, a flicker of mischief showing through the darkness of her eyes. She held a finger to her lips. Stunned, Kyouko just nodded.

It wasn't possible. Gamma himself had said Unità was dead.

Uni came and took Kyouko's hands, looking up at her intently. "It's all right," she said, softly.

"But how...?"

Haru was frowning now; she turned a little to place herself between their conversation and the men's. "Kyouko? What's wrong?" She glanced sharply between the two of them.

Uni smiled at her wryly. "I suppose it would have been smarter for me to be introduced while you weren't here, but I don't imagine Kyouko would have kept anything from her right hand anyway."

Haru stared. Kyouko couldn't blame her. That was, from words to tone to the tilt of the head, what Unità might have said to them.

Abruptly Haru's mouth snapped shut and her eyes narrowed. "Your necklace," she murmured, as if casually. "Is it your rememberance of your mother?"

The quirk to Uni's mouth turned a bit sour. "Exactly."

Kyouko looked down at the pendant, puzzled. She'd seen it once or twice before, though Unità usually wore it under her clothes. It was an odd shape, she remembered...

And then her heart nearly stopped as she really looked at it for the first time.

"Exactly," Uni repeated, smile just a little sad, now.

Kyouko drew a slow breath. "That's a very personal thing, of course," she murmured.

"Thank you." The rueful twist was back in Uni's lips. "My Family sees the body, so this doesn't usually occur to them."

Kyouko looked up at Gamma and suddenly frowned. His face was drawn tight and there were shadows under her eyes. She looked down at Uni again, disapproving.

The not-girl sighed. "I know. I do my best to show their hearts that I'm not gone." She touched the orange pacifier briefly. "But for the ones who love me like he does... I would be lost to them just as much if they knew. I believe, I hope, it's a little simpler for them this way." Wetness gleamed in her eyes for a breath before she blinked and it was gone.

Kyouko bit her lip. She wasn't at all sure that was really the best way, but it was Uni's Family and Uni's choice. She considered the slim girl with the old eyes standing in front of her, and the nearly visible cord of awareness running between Uni and Gamma, and sighed. "I'm sorry." She opened her arms, the way she did for Haru when she got back from doing something she refused to talk about.

Uni looked up, child-wide eyes suddenly unguarded. And then she stepped forward and buried herself in Kyouko's arms. Kyouko held her tight and gave no sign that she felt the tiny tremors or the faint hitch of Uni's breath.

Gamma and Tsuna both fell silent a moment to look over at them with open relief. Kyouko smiled back at them, serenely, stroking Uni's straight, soft hair.

If her smile turned a little sad as the men turned back to Family business, no one was watching but Haru.

End

They Also Serve

Kyouko and Haru deal with Family (and family) politics. This fic was originally written for the first round of khr_undercover and has been revised from the originally-posted version, mostly for the sake of development and expanding a few things. Post-TYL arc, assuming a divergent future; safe for general audiences.

The first day of her official duty as Sawada Kyouko's personal bodyguard was nothing like I-Pin had imagined it would be.

There was a lot more crying than she'd expected, for one.

The house majordomo, Sergio, had provided her with a copy of Kyouko-san's daily schedule, looking all the while like he wasn't convinced that such secrets should be entrusted to a seventeen-year-old girl. I-Pin had memorized it, even though she'd already known most of the particulars, and presented herself promptly, just as Sawada-san was kissing Kyouko-san goodbye after their breakfast. He smiled at her and thanked her, again, for being willing to serve in this fashion, and then headed in the direction of his study, where Gokudera-san would be waiting to start the day's business.

Kyouko-san went in the opposite direction, to the private morning room that looked out over the east gardens where she and Haru-san normally had a cup of morning tea together and—I-Pin wasn't entirely sure what Kyouko-san and Haru-san could spend morning after morning talking about, but she supposed she would find out. I-Pin followed after her, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach at the thought that this was it—she had really, truly been given charge of the safety of the Vongola Tenth's wife.

"It's so good to have you here, I-Pin," Kyouko-san murmured, when they'd come to the little sun-soaked room, and pressed I-Pin's hand between her own. "You don't know what it means to me."

"It's my honor, Sawada-san," I-Pin said, embarrassed by how damp her palms were and the way Kyouko-san took no notice of it.

"None of that, now." Kyouko-san released her hand. "I remember when you used to call me 'nee-chan'. Don't be formal with me now. It'll make me feel old."

"But—I—" I-Pin stopped when Kyouko-san laughed. "Perhaps in private?" she ventured, for the sake of compromise.

"I suppose that's only proper." Kyouko-san turned and gestured at the little tea table and its array of teacups and pastries, already waiting for Kyouko-san and Haru-san. "Will you join me while we wait for Haru?"

"I don't think that would be proper," I-Pin said, after a moment's hesitation.

Kyouko-san's smile was rueful. "If you insist." She sat, and poured a cup of tea for herself. "I hope you don't mind this duty," she said, as she added a bit of sugar to the cup and stirred it. "It won't be nearly as exciting as the things the boys get up to, or what Bianchi-san does. The Vongola's wife tends not to get out very much."

"Of course I don't mind!" I-Pin bit her lip, and then rushed on, before her sense of propriety could get the better of her. "I'm so young, and this is my first assignment for the Vongola... It's such an honor to be given such an important task. I don't think I—I don't think I really deserve it."

"Of course you do," Kyouko-san told her, brisk. "I wouldn't have requested you, otherwise, and Gokudera wouldn't have agreed if he hadn't thought the same."

It wasn't elegant, or professional, to gape. I-Pin gaped at her, nonetheless. "You requested me?"

Kyouko-san smiled at her. "I did. Sometimes it seems like Haru and I are drowning in a sea of testosterone."

Haru-san let herself in just in time to hear that. "What's this about testosterone?" she asked, taking the second seat at the table.

Kyouko-san poured a second cup of tea. "I was just explaining why we're so glad to have I-Pin back."

"It's because boys are stupid," Haru-san said.

Kyouko-san paused in the act of handing her the teacup, and I-Pin stared. "Haru? Is everything—"

"I'm fine," Haru-san said, but I-Pin thought that she certainly didn't look fine. Her lips were pinched, and as I-Pin watched, she helped herself to one of the delicate pastries that were heaped on a plate, only to begin tearing it to pieces.

Kyouko-san put the teacup down. "What happened?"

Haru-san shook her head. "It's nothing. He just proposed again."

"...ah." The syllable was full of understanding. "You fought?"

Haru-san drew a breath. "For a while. Like usual."

Kyouko-san seemed to be studying her. "Normally, you like fighting with him."

That seemed to be enough to tip the balance of Haru-san's composure. "Normally he doesn't all but call me a whore to my face!" she exploded, and then burst into tears. "I'm sorry," she choked out, between gasping sobs. "I don't know why that bothers me—we always say such awful things to each other—we never mean them, except last night it seemed like he did, and—"

"Shh," Kyouko-san murmured, as she moved her chair around the table and put her arms around Haru-san, while I-Pin watched, mute with astonishment. She'd heard the rumors that Gokudera-san and Haru-san had a stormy sort of relationship, but Lambo-kun had been irritatingly vague on the particulars, and certainly hadn't said anything that would have made her expect this.

Haru-san leaned against Kyouko-san; after a few more gulping sobs, I-Pin could see her taking hold of herself again. "I'm so sorry," she said, as Kyouko-san produced a handkerchief. Haru-san accepted it to wipe her eyes, and then stared at the smudges of makeup on the pale cloth. "Damn it."

"It's only a handkerchief," Kyouko-san said. "Don't—"

Haru-san shook her head. "I'm being a terrible bother." She straightened her shoulders. "Especially over such a silly fight."

Kyouko-san, I-Pin noticed, simply pressed her lips together tightly, and said nothing.

Haru shook herself. "Give me just a moment," she said. "I'll wash my face, and we can get down to business."

"Take your time." Kyouko-san watched her leave the room, drumming her fingers against her knee, as if considering something. Then she rose and went to the side table, and dialed something on the house telephone. When she spoke, it was in a tone that I-Pin was sure she'd never heard Kyouko-san use before. "Tsuna? Yes, I'm sorry for interrupting you, but it's important. Is Gokudera still with you?" She paused for the answer, and her mouth firmed. "Good. When you're finished with him, send him to me. I need to speak to him." She listened. "Thank you."

She returned the receiver to its cradle, and restored her chair to its proper place. When she'd done that, she favored I-Pin with a wan smile. "I'm so glad you're here. It would be... difficult to handle this in front of one of the boys."

"I'm not sure I understand what's happening," I-Pin admitted.

"It's a very long story. Listen for a bit and see whether it comes clear." Kyouko-san busied herself with filling a plate with a selection of the tea dainties. "If not, then we'll find a way to muddle through an explanation."

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what was so wrong between Haru-san and Gokudera-san that a proposal would cause them to fight, but the sad, set look in Kyouko-san's eyes made her bite her tongue.

When Haru-san returned, her eyes were puffy, but her expression was composed. "Are those the ones I like?" she asked, when Kyouko-san gave her the little plate.

"I asked for them, just for you." Kyouko-san's expression had gone back to the sweet, gentle smile I-Pin was used to seeing.

"You're wonderful." Haru-san fell upon the little cakes. "Never let Lucia-san go. The woman's a saint and a marvel."

"Isn't she? Rosetti-san is never going to forgive me for hiring her away from them." Kyouko-san sipped her tea, with a complacent smile. "How was your shopping yesterday? Find out anything?"

Haru-san looked at I-Pin and then Kyouko-san, and only answered when Kyouko-san tipped her chin in a brief nod. "It was sparse."

"Tell me anyway," Kyouko-san said, over the rim of her cup.

"I still haven't found anyone willing to talk to me. The Modigliani are terribly closemouthed." Haru-san frowned. "The one man who was willing to give me the time of day wanted to hear about the Vongola's business."

Kyouko-san looked troubled. "Mm. I don't like that."

"How do you think I feel? Men are supposed to be putty in my hands, not concrete." Haru-san nibbled on one of the pastries. "Maybe I just need to give it more time. Flirt harder or something, or get closer to someone who's not a foot soldier."

Kyouko-san looked even more troubled at that. "Be careful, Haru. If anyone realizes—"

"I'm always careful." Haru-san tossed her head. "No one's going to realize anything I don't want them to." She punctuated that with one of her chirpy giggles and a smile that I-Pin would have supposed was genuine, if it hadn't been for the lingering redness of her eyes and the very serious look on Kyouko-san's face. "Don't worry. I'll be fine, and I still bet you that I'm going to be able to get to the bottom of this before—well, before anyone else does."

"Mm," Kyouko-san said, and looked up. Her expression changed, and she laughed. "Why so confused, I-Pin?"

I-Pin felt her cheeks turn hot, and she tried to school her expression. "I'm sorry, Kyouko-san. I was—um. It's nothing."

Haru-san's mouth kicked up at the corners. "You're wondering what on earth we're talking about, that's all."

I-Pin ducked her head, acknowledging the point.

"It's as I told you," Kyouko-san said, after a moment. "The Vongola's wife isn't free to move around. There's not much I can do about that, but I do have to know what's going on. Tsuna tells me what he can, but..."

Haru-san picked up where Kyouko-san's voice trailed off. "He has a tendency not to share some things."

"He doesn't want to upset me," Kyouko-san said, tone mild.

"He just doesn't think it's any of your business," Haru-san retorted. To I-Pin's ears, the exchange sounded practiced, like they'd had it many times. "None of us can afford to be ignorant of what's going on around us. Especially not Kyouko-chan."

"So Haru is my eyes and ears." Kyouko-san looked at Haru-san, expression something that I-Pin couldn't quite decipher: it looked like affection and regret and worry, all mixed together. "She finds out the things they don't tell me, and together we piece them into something that I can use to help the Vongola."

"It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it." Haru-san grinned, cheerful.

"That someone doesn't have to be you," Kyouko-san murmured. "We could—"

Haru-san interrupted her. "We're not having this argument again." Her voice was almost harsh. "You need me, and no one else can do what I can do for you. No one else is going to have the position I've created for myself and no one else is going to have my protection, and besides, I want to do this for you."

"But when it costs you so much..." Kyouko-san began, and stopped at the fierce look Haru-san gave her.

"Am I or am I not your right hand?" Haru-san demanded. "I knew perfectly well what I was getting into from the beginning."

Kyouko-san's mouth quirked. "That was more than I knew," she said, and sighed. "You're not just my right hand, you're my only hand, and I do wish you would have a care for yourself."

"Don't worry so much about me. I can take care of myself." Haru-san's tone was very nearly brusque, as if she was defying either of them to mention the tears from just a few minutes ago. "Anyway, it's not going to be just me for that much longer. We're already off to a good start, yes?"

I-Pin found her position changed abruptly from interested observer to the focus of their scrutiny. After a moment, she understood their twin looks. "Me?" she said, alarmed. "But I—why me?"

"You can get to places that even I can't," Haru-san said, blunt. "I'm not a fighter, so the boys don't take me seriously, and I can't flirt for information inside the Vongola because Hayato would lose face if I did. You're Kyouko-san's bodyguard. You're practically one of the boys yourself."

"But—what about Bianchi-san? Or Chrome-san?" I-Pin said, a little desperate. "I mean—they're much more important and they know their way around—"

"And Chrome belongs to Tsuna," Kyouko-san said, gently. "And Bianchi-san..."

"Bianchi-neesan is already part of the Vongola system," Haru-san said. "She's already focused on her role. We want people who are willing to be more flexible." She paused; I-Pin thought it must have been deliberate. "And whose interests will follow Kyouko-chan's."

I-Pin froze. "I—but—" she said, with the sense memory of kneeling before Sawada-san and the solid metal of his ring beneath her lips flashing through her mind. "I've already promised to serve the Tenth. I kissed his ring."

Haru-san's smile was tiny. "So did I. And Kyouko-chan, she wears his ring. We both still serve the Vongola. It's just... in our own way."

"If you say yes," Kyouko-san murmured, "and you don't have to, if you prefer not to—but if you say yes, the things I will ask you to do will be for the sake of helping me help Tsuna. Do you see?"

I-Pin bit her lip till it stung. "I—may I think about it?"

"Of course." Kyouko-san's smile was gentle. "Speak to Tsuna, too, if that would help set your mind at ease."

There was really only one proper response to that; I-Pin bowed. "Thank you, Kyouko-san."

"Think nothing of it." Kyouko-san refreshed her tea, and turned back to Haru-san. "So you're having as much trouble with the Modigliani as everyone else is."

"A little less, I think." Haru-san's smile was sharp. "I was the one who noticed there was something wrong there in the first place."

"True. Again, Tsuna thanks you for that." Kyouko-san sipped her tea. "What of the other Families? Anything interesting I should know?"

Haru-san lifted a shoulder, shrugging. "Not really. The Barassi are starting to think about marrying off their younger daughter. It looks like the Orsini and the Leone are both going to try for her hand." She thought for a moment. "Feretti-san's mistress may be pregnant, so things are upset there."

"I imagine so. Poor Maria." Kyouko-san sipped her tea. "He's not still threatening to put her aside for the mistress, is he?"

"Why do you think they're so upset?" Haru-san asked, tone dry.

"Perhaps I'll have her to tea," Kyouko-san said. "It's not much, I suppose, but I do like Maria. She's so sensible."

"And goodness knows we could use as much of that as we can find," Haru-san said, and then snapped her fingers. "Oh yes. Vieri-san is expecting again."

"Again?" Kyouko-san looked astonished. "She already has five!"

"Well, in another few months, she'll have six." Haru-san drained her teacup, and shook her head at Kyouko-san's abortive move towards the teapot. "Better her than me, that's all I can say."

"Maybe this time she'll have that girl she's been wanting," Kyouko-san murmured. She glanced at her watch and started. "My goodness, is that the time already?"

"It is," Haru-san said, looking at her own watch. "That's about all the gossip I have for you at the moment, anyway. I'm going into town later to see what my girls have to say. Hopefully, we can get to the bottom of this Modigliani business soon."

"That would be nice. Tsuna's worrying over it too much." Kyouko-san looked up at Haru-san as she stood. "Haru. Do be careful."

Haru-san's smile was quick. "I'm always careful, remember?" She smoothed her skirt, laughing at the sound Kyouko-san made, and let herself out.

I-Pin waited for a sign from Kyouko-san; the itinerary she'd memorized suggested that the next thing Kyouko-san would do would be a trip downstairs to speak to Sergio and make sure that the household's affairs were running smoothly.

Kyouko-san stayed seated instead, and finished her cup of tea, quietly—waiting for Gokudera-san, I-Pin supposed. Presently, she set the teacup down and took up the handkerchief she'd lent to Haru-san, and spread it across her knee. The smudges of Haru-san's mascara were very dark against the fabric. "It would be a good idea if you could make yourself as inconspicuous as you can," she said, studying the handkerchief.

"Of course, Kyouko-san." I-Pin dipped her head and then retreated to the corner, where she could watch the room, and stilled herself.

Not long after that, someone knocked on the door, and Kyouko-san called for them to come in. It was Gokudera-san; he left the door open behind him, until Kyouko-san said, voice very clear and calm, "Close the door, Gokudera."

I-Pin had a good vantage point for watching his face; Kyouko-san's tone turned his expression wary. "Is that appropriate, Kyouko-san?"

"Close the door," Kyouko-san said, again, voice so calm that it sent chills running down I-Pin's spine. "I'm sure I-Pin will be able to guard our reputations for us."

Gokudera-san glanced at I-Pin, but shut the door. "You wanted to speak to me?"

"Yes," Kyouko-san said. "I have some things to say to you." When Gokudera-san nodded to show that he was listening, she went on. "This is about Haru."

Gokudera-san's mouth went flat. "Kyouko-san, with all due respect, I have a lot of things I have to get done today. I don't think now's the time to be talking about my personal life."

"And I disagree with you," Kyouko-san said, and that was when I-Pin finally placed her tone: it was the same one that rang in Sawada-san's voice when he was in the grip of his Will. "Has it honestly never occurred to you that perhaps Haru has more to do with her life and for the Vongola than to sit around at home and make your babies?"

"No," Gokudera-san said, mouth still flat, lines etched at the corners of it. "But maybe it would have if she did more with her time than spending it shopping and gossiping and flirting with other men, since those are services that I didn't think the Vongola really needed."

Kyouko-san's voice didn't get any louder, but it turned sharper. "Do you think the only way to serve the Vongola is to carry a gun or a box weapon? Or the only life a person can give is the one that the body holds? Does service only matter when it comes to the forms you approve of?"

"Of course not, but I'll be damned if I can see how frittering your life away does anyone any good at all," Gokudera-san snapped.

"Is that what you think we've been doing?" Kyouko-san asked, and I-Pin had to suppress a shiver at the still expression in her eyes.

She'd always thought Gokudera-san was a smart man; certainly he was smart enough now to say, "Not you, Kyouko-san. You're the Tenth's wife. You couldn't fritter away your life if you wanted to."

"And yet all I do is spend my time giving parties and standing by Tsuna's side with a pretty smile," Kyouko-san said. "How very useless of me."

Gokudera-san backtracked faster. "You're the last person I would call useless," he said, gesturing. "I don't know how many times I've seen you jigger a negotiation in our favor just by saying the right thing and smiling. You're one of the most respected women in the mafia world."

"Then tell me this," Kyouko-san said, slow and deadly calm, "how do you suppose I know what exactly the right thing to say is?"

Gokudera-san blinked. "I assumed the Tenth must tell you things." He smiled. "And maybe women's intuition?"

"Then you're ten kinds of fool, Gokudera Hayato." Kyouko-san's voice cut like the fine edge of a knife. "The kinds of things I need to know aren't found in how many men the Barassi can muster or what kinds of box weapons are in production now. I need to know who's allied with whom and what they get out it, who's feuding this week and where their weak spots are, and who holds the balance of power and who doesn't. I have to know where the right word would help and what the right word is. I have to pay attention to which Families have sons at loose ends, and whose mistress is pregnant this week, and who has a daughter they'll trade to another Family for trade concessions, and who was insulted at last week's garden party and won't speak to the Leone for love or money. There's no intuition to it. It's a lot of hard work, and a lot of sifting through hints and rumors and speaking to the right people and cultivating the right contacts. And I ask you, Gokudera, is that the kind of information that you think Tsuna can give me?"

Gokudera-san opened his mouth, and then seemed to think better of it. "...some of it," he said, finally. "And I know he receives reports about some of the other things."

"And where do you think those reports come from?"

"I..." Gokudera-san stopped, and stared at her. "Surely not."

"From me," Kyouko-san said. "And my information comes from Haru and the network of contacts she's built up, piece by piece and person by person, for years now. She goes where I can't and sees the things that I won't ever see and listens for the things that will never reach my ears." She stopped, and drew a breath, and said, with slow, careful emphasis, "Tsuna is not the only member of this Family who has a right hand, and without Haru, I couldn't do the many things I do for Tsuna and the Vongola."

"Your..." Gokudera-san began, and stopped, like he couldn't quite bring himself to say it.

"My right hand," Kyouko-san said. "The one who does the things I'm not able to do. The one who puts herself into danger every day when she speaks to the men of other Families and cultivates them for whatever tidbits of knowledge she can coax out of them." She stopped, perhaps to let that sink in, and then picked up the stained handkerchief that had been sitting, forgotten, on her knee.

The motion caught Gokudera-san's eyes, and he stared at it. The moment comprehension flickered over his poleaxed expression, Kyouko-san spoke again. "A married woman isn't free to act, you know. It wouldn't be honorable. But a woman who isn't so firmly bound... she can, perhaps, flirt with whomever she likes. If it's known that she has a man—a protective man, a dangerous man, a man whom very few people would care to cross—perhaps she can even do this with impunity. And if her man is an important person to her Family, then perhaps people might be freer with their attentions than they might otherwise be, because they hope she may be indiscreet in her turn. But she's never indiscreet, because her loyalty is to her Family and to the man she loves." Kyouko-san stopped, and drew a breath. "And she's proud of her service, and how vital it is, even if no one else knows what it is she does, but at the same time, she's painfully aware of the things that she can't do because of that service."

Gokudera-san listened to that, nearly impassive, except for the muscle that flickered at the corner of his jaw. When she had stopped, he stood silently for nearly a minute before asking, voice taut, "And no one thought that this was something that I ought to know?"

"We decided that the fewer people who knew the truth, the easier it would be for Haru to keep people from suspecting what it is she's doing," Kyouko-san said.

"Including her own boyfriend."

I-Pin bit her lip at the heavy bitterness in his voice.

"To protect her, yes." Kyouko-san lifted her chin, by a fraction. "It was my decision, in the end."

"To protect her. Of course." Gokudera-san's voice was still taut with—bitterness and anger and outrage, I-Pin decided. "And I suppose the only reason you changed your mind was because her cover story is in danger now."

"Excuse me?"

Gokudera-san gestured, hand cutting through the air, sharp. "Because I told her to stop fooling around on me, or it was over."

The quick intake of Kyouko-san's breath was loud. "She didn't even mention that. Only that you'd proposed again."

"Yes, again, like an idiot. If I'd just realized that it was my protection she'd wanted, I wouldn't have bothered." He ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose that wouldn't have been as plausible, though, would it?"

Kyouko-san pressed her lips together, firmly, before she finally replied to that. "I know you're angry, but did you not hear me when I said that she loves you?"

"I heard," he said, grim. "I also heard how convenient it was for her boyfriend to be me. I assume she chose me because of my position in the Family, and because Hibari wasn't available."

"She chose you because she loves you," Kyouko-san said, and I-Pin wondered how angry she actually was, for it to be seeping into her voice like this. "This wasn't something we planned, Gokudera. It grew out of our circumstances. And this is why I was reluctant to tell you, because I knew you'd be an insecure ass about it!"

I-Pin flinched, and Gokudera-san went white and clenched his hands at his sides. "We both know I was her second choice," he said, from behind teeth that were clearly gritted together. "Can you really blame me?"

Kyouko-san curled her fingers together around the handkerchief. "Now you really are being an idiot," she said, voice soft. "You know better than that. You know that Haru is better than that."

"I know you only think the best of people," Gokudera-san retorted. "But if you want to pretend that she didn't spend all that time mooning after the Tenth, then I don't think I'm the idiot here."

I-Pin held her own breath as Kyouko-san took a breath and let it out, and then another, before she finally said, "That was a very long time ago, Gokudera, and we were still children. People do change, you know."

"And yet you're married to the Boss, like we all knew you would be. They don't change that much."

Kyouko-san closed her eyes. "You've obviously made up your mind to think the worst. Is it even worth it to argue with you?"

Gokudera-san's voice was very even. "What would you have me do, Kyouko-san?"

Kyouko-san opened her eyes again, and looked at him. "I would ask you to bear with it a little longer, until we've dealt with the Modigliani. After that, you and Haru can go your separate ways, and she and I will figure out something new. Will you do that for me?"

Gokudera bent his head, but the motion looked stiff. "I live to serve the Vongola."

"I know you do," Kyouko-san said, slowly, almost sadly. "Even when we don't treat you so well as you deserve." She sighed. "Thank you for your patience, Gokudera."

"As my lady commands," he said, mouth twisting around the words. "Will there be anything else?"

"No," Kyouko-san said, softly. "Not today."

"Thank you." He bowed, short and jerky, and spun on his heel to let himself out.

When the door shut behind him, I-Pin released a long breath.

"Damn," Kyouko-san said, so quietly that I-Pin barely heard her. "Damn it."

"Kyouko-san?" I-Pin ventured.

"I'm afraid I've made a mistake," Kyouko-san said, smoothing and folding the crumpled handkerchief. "A rather large one. And for the life of me, I'm not sure how to fix it." She shook her head. "What a mess."

"He'll change his mind, won't he?" I-Pin asked, hesitant.

Kyouko-san smiled at her, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I hope so." She stood. "But it's no use worrying about it just now. There's work to be done."

I-Pin fell in at her side, watching and worrying all the while.

It was something of a relief to get out of the Vongola mansion and away from its stifling atmosphere, and to linger at the salon, letting Adele fuss over her hair and insist on a facial—"Haven't you been sleeping, dear? Your eyes are all bloodshot."—to deal with the morning's storm of emotions. There was unfortunately limited amounts of information to be heard in the salon that afternoon, since Haru was nearly the only customer, but that was a relief, too, and Haru relaxed into the simple pleasure of being attended to.

Still, she did pick up a few interesting tidbits; Giovanni Barassi was specifically interested in allying with a Family that would help him recoup some of his losses since the Vongola had curtailed his smuggling operations, which gave the Orsini boys an edge over the Leone son. The Orsini weren't as fond of the Vongola as they might be, to boot. It was something worth thinking about, at any rate.

Haru picked up a few more scraps of information as she made her afternoon rounds—Antonio at the dress shop mentioned that it had been an unusually long time since Caterina Modigliani had purchased a new dress, and he knew for a fact that she hadn't been patronizing another shop. Haru believed him; Antonio prided himself on his tenacity and attention to his customers, and was fully capable of interrogating an unfaithful client until he'd discovered the cause of her infidelity. That Caterina Modigliani wasn't purchasing new dresses seemed odd; the woman was beautiful and knew it, and had a reputation for accentuating her beauty fairly enthusiastically.

Haru tucked that bit away to discuss with Kyouko-chan.

Nothing else in her rounds was particularly fruitful, save for the coffee she stopped to enjoy, because there she met one of the boys who had a connection to the Risso arm dealers. Nino was a nice fellow, and so far one of her best leads regarding the Modigliani, since he seemed to be pretty much head over heels for her. Haru smiled at him and let him buy her another coffee, and flirted delicately with him as he hinted at the same important deal he'd mentioned before. It wasn't anything she didn't already know, but it confirmed that whatever it was that the Modigliani were up to, it was proceeding apace.

All told, it wasn't a bad afternoon's work. Haru returned to the Vongola estate in something she supposed would pass for good spirits.

"I should have known better," she announced to the air, when she discovered the message that Kyouko-chan wanted to speak with her waiting for her.

When Haru found her, Kyouko-san was in her study, standing at the window under I-Pin's watchful eye. "Was there something you needed to tell me?"

Kyouko-chan's shoulders rose and fell on a sigh, and then she turned to look at Haru. Her expression was drawn. "I'm afraid so."

Haru took her usual seat and braced herself. "How bad is it?" It couldn't be anything that affected the Vongola as a whole; things were too peaceful for that, and Kyouko-chan merely looked strained, not terrified or angry.

"It's—difficult." Kyouko-chan gathered herself, hands pressing together; that was what she did when she didn't want to fidget. "I—spoke with Gokudera this morning."

"You... oh, god." Haru pinched the bridge of her nose; so it was only a disaster for her personally. Wonderful. "Why?"

"Because I hoped I'd be able to help." She paused. "Why didn't you tell me he was talking about ending it?"

Haru sighed and looked up at her. "Because he always says that, if I don't say it first."

Kyouko-chan blinked a bit at that, momentarily sidetracked. "You two have a very strange relationship."

Haru shrugged; she couldn't deny it. But then, not everyone could be as sweet a pair of lovebirds as Kyouko-chan and Tsuna-kun managed to be. "Normally it works out all right." That didn't seem to soothe Kyouko-chan very much. "So... what did you tell him?"

Kyouko-chan gave into the inevitable, fingers twisting around each other, which wasn't a good sign. "I explained why you do what you do. He... wasn't pleased, really." Before Haru could ask what that meant in practical, Hayato-specific terms, Kyouko-chan rushed on. "He seems to think you chose him because of... business-related reasons, and not for his own sake. And that you might still be carrying a torch for Tsuna."

Haru could only stare at Kyouko-chan for a moment, absorbing that. "You're not joking, are you?" Kyouko-chan shook her head. Haru pinched the bridge of her nose again, trying to press the incipient headache away. "Oh, no. He's such an idiot." And of course he would have taken things entirely the wrong way, because that was just how Hayato's brain operated, the insecure idiot.

One of these days, she was going to persuade Tsuna-kun that the Vongola didn't really need Hayato's family, and then she was going to go out and do her very best Hibari Kyouya impression for several people the world would be better off without. Perhaps it wouldn't fix what was past, but it would make her feel better.

"There's... I'm afraid there's more." When Haru looked up, Kyouko-chan looked positively miserable. Haru braced herself again, for the worst. "I'm afraid... I didn't know that you... threaten to end things regularly. I, um, gave him permission to end things after the Modigliani thing is taken care of."

"You..." Haru groped for words in the face of the enormity of that, because it was one thing for the two of them to scream that this was it, it was over for good, get out when they were arguing, but for the Tenth's wife to give Hayato permission to end things, when he was in a calmer frame of mind... "Oh my god," she said, as the bottom dropped out of her stomach.

"I'm so sorry." Kyouko-chan was wringing her hands so hard that they were probably in danger of being rubbed raw. "I swear I didn't realize—if I'd only known—"

"How could you have known?" Haru asked, from around the hard lump in her throat. "We have the apartment we do because it's so far away from the rest of the house and no one will have to hear us yelling." That didn't seem to reassure Kyouko-chan, so Haru dredged up a smile from her reserves. "Don't worry. It's going to take us forever to crack the Modigliani business open. That'll give him plenty of time to think things over and come back around to being sensible."

"Do you really think so?"

"Sure I do," Haru said, with all the briskness she could muster. "He never stays angry for long." Usually, anyway. This might be a special case. "Don't worry. This might even be a good thing. If he knows what I'm doing now, then I can compare notes with him directly, instead of running things through you and Tsuna-kun."

"Still, I am sorry," Kyouko-chan said, although she looked a little bit more hopeful around the edges. "I'll do anything to make it up to you—"

"Hush, don't say things like that." Haru gave her a smile. "That's too dangerous for the Vongola's wife to be saying." She stood. "It'll be fine. Don't worry about it. Now, I have some things to put away..."

"Of course, of course." Kyouko-chan gave her a worried smile. "I'll see you in the morning."

Haru nodded, and saw herself out, and didn't give vent to her emotions until she was safely behind her own door. "Fuck," she announced, to the too-still apartment.

And then, because it was pointless to dwell, she went to unpack her packages and put them away.

"You know," Tsuna remarked once the door was closed behind him, in tones of wonder, "this morning, one of the things I told myself was, 'At least this is the worst Hayato's mood can possibly get.'" He hooked his fingers in his tie and unknotted it. "I guess it's good to know that I can still be taken by surprise." He hung his coat over the back of a chair and sat on the edge of the bed. "What on earth did you say to him?"

Kyouko turned from watching his progress in her mirror to meet his eyes directly. "I explained what it is that Haru does for me."

Tsuna's eyebrows went up. "I see," he said, pulling his tie off. "Once he's had a chance to think it through, I suppose he'll calm down."

"I wonder," Kyouko said. "He seems to think he's been used rather badly."

Nothing in Tsuna's expression even hinted that he might be thinking I told you so, and she loved him for it. Instead, he sighed, and said, "I'll speak to him—"

"Don't." When he looked at her, she added, "I think this is something they have to do for themselves."

"Do you think so?" Tsuna frowned, and stretched to drape his tie over the arm of the chair. "I hate watching them argue with each other."

"Me too." Right now, she'd give anything for it to be an ordinary argument. "I'm afraid it's worse than that. He's—after the Modigliani business is dealt with, we may need to rebuild Haru's network."

Tsuna's fingers stilled on the buttons of his shirt. "Ah," he said quietly. "That would be unfortunate." His fingers began moving again. "But I suppose that we'll do it if we have to." He shook his head. "Though I really would rather not have to."

"Same here." Kyouko watched him undress, and went to him when he held a hand out to her. "I hate to see them so upset," she said, against his shoulder. "Especially Haru."

"I don't know. Right now I'd trade you Hayato for her," he said, against her hair.

She couldn't help laughing. "I'm not sure that would be a fair trade."

"No? Pity." He lifted a hand to her hair, and she sighed at the warmth of it. "They're both intelligent adults. They'll figure it out, surely."

"Let's hope so," Kyouko agreed, as he reached for the lamp and turned it off, and let him draw her into bed. When they'd arranged themselves comfortably, she told him what news Haru had brought her. He made interested sounds at the news of the Barassi's daughter, and vaguer noises when she mentioned poor Maria Feretti—well, it didn't make all that much difference to the Vongola whether Paolo Feretti got his children from his wife or his mistress, but Maria was a good person and didn't deserve the indignity of being put aside after all the years she'd endured her husband's infidelities. "And Anna Vieri is expecting again," she finished.

"What, again?" Tsuna asked, sleepy voice rich with amusement. "Don't they already have enough?"

"I think she just likes children a lot," Kyouko said, listening to the slow, steady heartbeat under her cheek. "She's not the only one, you know."

Tsuna's chest rose and fell on a sigh, and his arm curled tighter around her. "Things are still unstable," he said, quietly. "I don't think—"

"I don't think it's ever going to be stable," Kyouko told him, and then forced herself to take a deep breath. "I just—I'm afraid of waiting too long, Tsuna."

He sighed again. "I know."

Kyouko lifted herself up on an elbow to look at the dim outline of his face. "Think about it," she said, softly. "Maybe, after the Modigliani—"

His fingers against her lips stopped her. "There'll be time," he said, softly. "I promise."

Kyouko let him coax her back down, and sighed. "I worry," she told him, after a moment.

"Too much, sometimes," he replied.

But he wasn't the one who was left at home to worry about him whenever he went to negotiate with the other Families, Kyouko thought, and didn't say. He wasn't the one who had to wonder whether she'd be left alone, with nothing to show for the time they'd had together, and he wasn't the one who'd have to deal with the Family if he died without an heir. "Just think about it," she said again, finally. "Please?"

"I'll think about it," he said, and Kyouko could tell he was smiling. His lips brushed against her temple. "Go to sleep, love."

Even if he was humoring her, it was a start. Kyouko sighed again, and nestled against him, and tried to let go of her worries, at least for a little while.

Hayato didn't show up at dinnertime, and didn't call to say where he was or whether to keep his meal warm for him or not. Haru found herself waiting for him much longer than was sensible before she finally sat down to her own portion. She covered his serving and put it in the refrigerator when she'd finished, and tried to read for a while, but couldn't keep track of the words on the page. In the end, she gave that up, disgusted at herself and annoyed at Hayato for being—himself, mostly—and retreated to the bathroom for a long, hot bath.

Soaking in the tub did little to slow her thoughts down, between the issue of the Modigliani—there was something there, something important that she was missing, if only she could put her finger on it—and what to do about Hayato, and what she was going to do if the stubborn, proud fool really had meant it this time when he'd said it was over—

But there was no use fretting over it. If Hayato couldn't trust her to know the difference between work and her personal life, then this was bound to have happened sooner or later.

A glass of wine did what the bath couldn't, and slowed her thoughts down enough to be manageable by the time she gave up waiting for Hayato to come in and went to bed.

She'd half-expected to toss and turn all night, but the previous night had been restless enough that she fell asleep almost immediately, and slept soundly until the alarm went off.

Hayato had come in during the night, and was asleep in the living room, scrunched up on the couch with his head at an angle that Haru knew was going to mean a painful crick in the neck. He was scowling even in his sleep, and promised to be an utter monster whenever he woke up.

After a moment of looking at him, Haru went and armed herself with a pot of coffee and a bottle of aspirin. She left them within his reach on her way into the bathroom. It wasn't much, as far as peace offerings went, but it wasn't as though she'd managed to slip back into an entirely charitable mood just yet.

When she emerged from the bathroom, refreshed and almost ready for her morning workout, the coffee had done its work. Hayato was hunched over it, glaring at the coffee table as if it had offered him some insult. He didn't look up when Haru stepped into the living room.

So it was up to her to start things moving? At least that wasn't anything she wasn't already used to. "If I'd realized you were planning on sleeping out here, I would have chosen one of those couches that folds out to be a bed."

"I wish you would have," Hayato grunted, still not looking up.

"I'll keep it in mind, next time we redecorate," Haru told him, as lightly as she dared, and waited to see how that would be taken. Perhaps a night's sleep would have—

"You can do whatever you like, once I've moved out."

Or perhaps not. "I wish you wouldn't," Haru said, once she'd caught her breath from that. "I've gotten used to you, you know."

"I'm sure you have." Hayato's mouth was twisted into one of his self-mocking grimaces. "You're good at that. I'm sure you won't have any trouble finding someone—"

"If you finish that sentence," Haru said, as calmly as she could manage, given the circumstances and the early hour, "I will slap you."

He looked up, as if to gauge whether she meant it. "We both know it's true," he said. There was fresh anger there, layered over something else—an aching sort of thing, she thought, in the part of her that wasn't taken up with her own outrage.

"I know no such thing," she snapped. "I'm married to you in everything but name, you idiot, if you'd just get your head out of your ass long enough to notice it." She ran a hand through her hair. "I swear I don't know what it is about letting a man into your life that makes him think that he has a right to the whole thing, but—wait."

"Isn't that what—" Hayato began,indignant.

Haru held up a hand to silence him. "Hush. Argue later. Thinking now." She pressed her folded hands to her lips, thinking furiously. "The problem is, we've been thinking of the Modigliani as always having been loyal to us, and we've been wondering why on earth that should have changed." Standing was no good; she launched herself into motion, pacing the length of the living room and back, working through her thoughts out loud as she maneuvered around Hayato's easy chair and the basket of her magazines and books. "But the Modigliani aren't what they've always been, are they? The current boss, Vincentio. He married into the Family and took the Modigliani name, and his Family—they merged with the Modigliani."

Hayato seemed willing to suspend the argument for the moment. "Mm. He was one of the Bolzoni," he said. "The Bolzoni had money, and the Modigliani didn't, but they had a much older name, and a spare daughter—"

"Caterina, yes. Who isn't buying dresses any more," Haru said, reaching the end of the room again and turning; she ignored the confused expression on Hayato's face. "So Vincentio married into the Modigliani and took their name, and then... then Massimo got himself killed, conveniently enough, which means Vincentio is suddenly the heir by way of his new wife... and then old Enrico Modigliani dies, and Vincentio takes over, and now, a few years later, the Modigliani are no longer quite loyal to the Vongola. How convenient."

"I suppose it is, but Enrico died of a heart attack, and Massimo's death was an accident," Hayato pointed out.

"And if you ask Bianchi-neesan, she can tell you half a dozen ways to cause a heart attack that looks perfectly natural," Haru said, waving that aside as she stepped around the basket again. "What do we really know about Massimo Modigliani's death? Anything?"

"I did just say that it was an accident," Hayato pointed out, but he was beginning to look thoughtful, perhaps in spite of himself. "He drowned while he was sailing. It was sad, but—" He stopped, and went silent while Haru made a few more circuits of the room. "It was peculiar," he said, presently. "He was supposed to have been an excellent sailor. The Modigliani investigated, of course, but they found that it was an accident."

"Were they Modigliani investigators, or were they Bolzoni?" Haru asked him.

Hayato frowned, looking past her, into space. "Hm."

When he didn't say anything else, Haru murmured, "I think it bears looking into."

That brought his focus back down to her. "Even if it wasn't an accident, what do you propose to do about it?" he protested.

"The Modigliani were poor, but tightly-knit. They still are." Haru stopped. "If we can just find the right fulcrum, we might... might be able to move Caterina Modigliani into action."

"You do realize that you're suggesting that we start an internal war in another Family, don't you?"

Haru looked at him, but his expression was as neutral as his tone. "Only if Caterina-san isn't as smart as she's supposed to be," she said, finally. "If the Vongola could give her proof that the Bolzoni removed her father and her brother, it seems to me that she would be well within her rights to take the control of her Family back from the interloper. And if the Vongola were to help her..." She shrugged and spread her hands. "Our alliance is renewed and solidified. Or maybe the Modigliani get thrown into chaos, the Modigliani and Bolzoni factions spend their resources on each other, and the Vongola can sleep easier at night. Either way, we win."

"If what you're insinuating about Vincentio Bolzoni is correct, which is going to be difficult to prove." Hayato took a drink of his coffee, the gesture an absent one and his eyes gone unfocused again. "It's worth looking into, as long as we're discreet about it."

Haru smiled, pleased. "Good, good. You have resources that I don't, so you'll—what?" she asked, because he was looking at her again, pulled back from his contemplation of the Modigliani's internal politics.

"I hadn't realized you spent so much time thinking about Family politics," he said, slowly.

"It's more interesting that shopping." Haru straightened her shoulders. "And a girl has to have something to pass the time."

Hayato's smile was ironic. "I suppose she does."

"Yes, well." Haru shook herself. "See me standing here, wasting time." She turned away. "If you find out anything about the Modigliani or the Bolzoni... maybe you can tell me about it at dinner," she said, as casually as she could manage.

"That's expecting a lot of me, don't you think?"

Haru paused, hand resting on the door jamb. "You never know. The Vongola does have one of the best intelligence networks that I know of."

His sigh sounded frustrated. "I'll let you know if I learn anything."

Not at dinner, she noted. But it was, perhaps, a start. "All right. Bathroom's all yours."

"Thanks."

She didn't see him again before she left to go work out, and passed the time she spent running by consoling herself that at least she'd managed to avert the argument they'd started to have, and that speaking to each other civilly was something that almost resembled progress.

The good thing about Haru's new theory was that it had distracted her, at least somewhat, from her problems with Gokudera.

The bad thing was that it presented Kyouko with an entire host of new problems.

"You realize that if you're right, I'm going to have to find a graceful, subtle way of saying, 'Excuse me, Caterina-san, but I believe your husband killed your father and your brother,' don't you?" she asked, once the implications of Haru's theory had truly sunk in.

Haru's answering shrug was breezy and unconcerned. "That's why you're the Boss's wife, not me." Her smile turned wicked. "And don't forget, you have to find a way to say, 'Oh, hey, do you want the Vongola to help you bump your husband off?' too."

I-Pin, standing guard in the corner, made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a muffled giggle.

Kyouko sighed. "None of my etiquette lessons ever covered this," she noted. Not even the ones she'd learned from UnitÃ -san, which had seemed impossibly and improbably extensive at the time.

"I'm sure you'll think of something." Haru's smile was warm and reassuring. "You always do." Then she shrugged again. "And I could be wrong, of course. Don't forget that."

"Mm." Kyouko rather doubted that; it made the Modigliani's sudden swerve into sedition much more plausible than it had been before. "We'll see, I suppose."

Haru smiled. "Of course we will." She set her teacup down. "That's all I have for you this morning. Unless there's anything else, I have plenty of work to do, whether I'm right or I'm wrong."

"I won't keep you from it," Kyouko said. "Just... one question before you go." She folded her hands together, hesitating. "How are things with Gokudera?"

Haru looked away. "Up in the air," she said, briefly. The line of her jaw was set and said more than her words did.

"Ah," Kyouko said, heart sinking at that news. "Let me know if there's anything—"

Haru looked back at her; her smile was only a bit strained at the corners. "You know I will." She stood. "Until later."

"Until then," Kyouko told her, and sighed as she went.

"What's bothering you?" Kyouko asked, when even turning out the lights and pressing close to Tsuna had failed to relax him.

Tsuna's chest rose and fell under her cheek. "Hayato spoke to me today."

Sometimes it worked to tease Tsuna, gently, about how seriously he and the boys took their roles. This... this was not one of those times. "What did he say?"

"He wanted to know whether he ought to resign as my right hand."

Half a dozen reactions flashed through Kyouko's mind at that, from disbelief to amusement at Gokudera's tendency towards extreme reactions; they were tempered by the soft, even tone Tsuna had taken. It was, despite their being curled up in bed together, his business voice. Kyouko took a breath. "Why did he ask you a thing like that?" she asked, already suspecting what the response was going to be.

She wasn't far off. "A boss should have complete faith in his right hand," Tsuna said, slow and even. "He felt that since there were things I couldn't tell him, I should find a right hand who would be more reliable."

Kyouko closed her eyes and forced herself to take a breath, and then another, before she responded to that. "I told him that it was my decision," she said, finally, when she'd mastered herself again.

"He's aware of that," Tsuna said, and although his voice was all business, his hand on her shoulder was gentle. "He suggested that I seek a replacement who you would approve of, too."

"Oh, hell," Kyouko said, because that was the only thing to say to that.

Actually, that wasn't true. "Tsuna, I'm sorry." Hadn't that been one of the very first things the Giglio Nero's UnitÃ  had taught her—that one didn't, couldn't play games inside one's Family? "I shouldn't have insisted on keeping Haru's business a secret."

"No," he agreed, and that was the thing that had taken her the longest to accept—that he could be as ruthless with himself and her as he was with his enemies. "You shouldn't have. And I shouldn't have agreed."

Kyouko let out a breath. "Tell me that you talked him out of it, at least."

"I did, eventually." Some of the strain went out of his voice. "It took some doing."

Knowing Gokudera? Yes, it probably had. "I'm sorry," she said again, softly. "I'll speak to him. I owe him an apology, if he'll have it."

"He will," Tsuna said, voice thawing the rest of the way, now that they understood each other. "He's not unreasonable."

Kyouko wasn't quite able to keep herself from snorting at that. "Generally, no."

Tsuna's breath huffed against her cheek. "I suppose he does have his moments."

"From time to time." Kyouko raised her head to look at him. "Is he going to be okay?"

"...I think so," he said, mouth set in thoughtful lines, just barely visible in the dimness. "He's so proud, you know."

"Yes," Kyouko said, and rested her cheek against his shoulder again. "I know."

She would have to do her best not to forget that again.

Even when she'd been memorizing Kyouko-san's daily routine, I-Pin hadn't fully grasped how much of Kyouko-san's time was spent waiting: waiting for Sawada-san to join her for a meal or a conversation, waiting for Haru-san to bring her information, waiting for the replies to letters and invitations and phonecalls, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

The bulk of Kyouko-san's itinerary was taken up with activities that filled all that waiting space.

"I told you this would be a boring duty," Kyouko-san said, at the end of I-Pin's first week, late in the afternoon, as Maria Feretti and her bodyguard strolled out of the garden to the car that was waiting for them.

"Bodyguards like boring," I-Pin murmured, which made Kyouko-san laugh. "I don't mind, Kyouko-san."

"I'm glad to hear it," Kyouko-san murmured, watching Feretti-san—thin, worn Feretti-san, who had cried on Kyouko-san's shoulder for a good long while—climb into her car. "I think all these things I spend my time doing must seem terribly frivolous, or so I imagine."

"How so?" I-Pin asked, after a moment's hesitation.

Kyouko-san looked away from the long, dark car. "Oh," she said, with a faint smile. "It's because I'm not doing my real duty as Tsuna's wife." When I-Pin stared at her, confused, she added, "Well, I'm only doing half of my job."

"Half?" I-Pin echoed, ransacking her brain for the things that Kyouko-san ought to be doing that she wasn't already, when the week had been full of a hundred little duties attended to by Kyouko-san's personal attention.

Kyouko-san moved along the path, and stooped to examine a rose bush. "Mm. There aren't any little Vongola heirs running around yet, are there?"

I-Pin's cheek went warm. "Oh. I suppose there aren't."

"No," Kyouko-san said, fingertips brushing over the plush petals of a full-blown rose. Her smile was rueful. "It makes Tsuna's advisors rather nervous, or so I hear."

I-Pin nibbled on her lip. It seemed forward to ask, but Kyouko-san had been the one to open up the topic... "Are there—do you have plans?"

"Not yet. He wants to wait till things are... safer, I suppose." Kyouko-san shook her head, straightening up. "I've told him that 'safer' probably means 'never', for us, but he doesn't seem to want to listen to me." She looked away from I-Pin, surveying the garden. "I think it will have to be soon, though."

"I—" I-Pin hesitated, searching for something she might say to that. "You were very good to me and to Lambo-kun," she said, finally. "I think you'll be a very good mother."

Kyouko-san's answering smile was bright, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Thank you, I-Pin." She shook herself, and glanced at her watch. "Ah, it's getting late. We need to get inside—Gokudera has a meeting with me in a few minutes."

Ever since the trip to the-future-that-wasn't, Kyouko had thought that Gokudera's box weapon was perfectly suited to him. She was reminded of his similarity to Uri again when Gokudera came slinking into her sitting room, eyes wary and fingers flicking a lighter through them nervously. "You wanted to see me, Kyouko-san?"

"I did." Kyouko gestured at the pair of chairs pulled up to the fireplace. "Will you sit?"

"I'd rather stand," he said, perfectly polite—yes, she'd rather expected him to be angry with her still. "If it's all the same to you."

"Whichever you prefer," she said, and watched him arrange himself like a soldier going to parade rest, lighter secreted away somewhere. "I owe you an apology," she began. "I shouldn't have kept Haru's duties a secret from you. You should have known about them from the start, and for that I am sorry."

"That's not what you said the other day," he said, after several beats of silence, his expression gone still and unreadable.

"The other day I was angry," Kyouko said, as frankly as she could manage. "My best friend was hurting, and I was angry on her behalf." Belatedly, she realized that her fingers were working against each other, nervously, and forced them to be still. "I should not have let myself lose my temper like that."

"Mm." Gokudera's expression remained shuttered. "Did the Boss ask you to do this?"

Kyouko felt her spine drawing straighter of its own volition, pride offended at the very suggestion. "No," she said. "He told me what the two of you discussed yesterday, but he didn't ask me to do anything. I'm apologizing because what I did was a mistake and was wrong, and you deserve better."

If anything, his expression went even more frozen at that; when he finally spoke again, Kyouko recognized it for what it was: frozen anger. "Yes," he said, each syllable clipped short, the control of this anger a marked and dangerous contrast to his ordinary explosions, "I really think I do."

I-Pin moved in her corner, restless. Kyouko gestured at her to be still, with a calm she didn't feel—she always managed to forget how terrifying Gokudera was when he was truly angry. It happened so rarely, and was normally directed outside the Family. It was unnerving to be the focus of it now, when the last time she'd seen him like this, he'd left the Magri Family in smoking ruins for their attempt on Tsuna's life. "You do," she agreed. "I made a mistake, Gokudera, and I don't have any defense except that I was very young then, and inexperienced, and it didn't occur to me what things would look like from your perspective. I'm sorry."

"How could you not realize what—" Gokudera stopped himself as his voice began to rise. "How could you not realize what kind of effect it would have?" he repeated. The lighter reappeared, and he flicked it open and closed, fingers restless. "He has to be able to tell me everything. If he doesn't—"

"I know that now," Kyouko said, watching him narrowly, but some of the coldness was dissolving into a hotter, simpler anger, something that was less about pride than exasperation. "I was young and stupid, Gokudera. I didn't understand, then."

"Why did you even do it in the first place?" he demanded, temper cracking the rest of the way open.

Kyouko suppressed her relief at that; Gokudera in a cold fury was a terrifying, implacable thing. By comparison, his normal temper burned out as fast as a match. "Because you were young, too," she said, slowly, and watched his eyes flare. "And we—Haru and I—worried that you wouldn't understand that it was something that she needed to do, for her own self-respect, and that you would ask her to choose."

She paused, giving him a chance to absorb that, and then continued when he narrowed his eyes, clearly considering it. "And because, back then, there were many people who looked right through me, as if I didn't matter at all to the Vongola. Having something that no one else knew—let me deal with that graciously. It's a very hard thing, to feel like the only thing people see when they look at you—if they even look at you—is a useless, silly girl." There was something else that might be useful here, as embarrassing as it was to bring up. She spread her hands. "Do you know how long it would have been before Tsuna and Niisan told me about all this, if the other Hibari-san hadn't done it for him?" He shook his head. "Three or four years."

His eyes widened just a bit. "That seems a bit... excessive."

"I thought so, too. All the same..." Kyouko shook her head. "I shouldn't have done something at your expense, just to soothe my own ego."

"Not my expense. The Vongola's," he said, but his eyes had started to go more thoughtful than angry.

"Your expense and the Vongola's," she said, determined to firm about that, at least. His mouth quirked a bit at the correction. "I am sorry, Gokudera. It was never that I didn't trust you." She glanced away from him, and was careful to keep her voice steady. "There's no one I would rather trust him with than you. Please believe me when I say that, at least." She steeled herself and met his eyes again. "And I promise that I will never ask him to keep another secret from you. Ever."

She hardly dared to breathe as he held her gaze, until he finally dipped his head into a nod. "I would appreciate that," he murmured, hands stilling on his lighter again. "Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, Kyouko-san?"

Kyouko searched his expression, fingers twisting together. Was there anything else she could say to him? Perhaps something about Haru? In the end, she decided not. "No," she said. "I won't keep you from your duties any longer."

He nodded, the motion brief, and turned away. "Thank you, Kyouko-san," he said, at the door, and then went out.

What for? she wondered, and sighed. In a situation like this, who could know? "I just hope that did some good," she said, out loud, and then shook herself. Either it would or it wouldn't. "I don't know about you, I-Pin, but I could really use a cup of tea."

"That does sound good," I-Pin murmured, and gestured. "I could call for them to send some up...?"

Kyouko sank into one of the seats. "Do, please," she murmured. "And tell them to send two cups."

I-Pin looked uncertain, but she didn't argue, and Kyouko smiled. That, at least, could be counted among the day's victories.

Haru carried no weapons: not a gun or a knife, nor a ring or box, but all the same, she was armed and dangerous—or so she'd overheard, once, from one of the Cavallone foot-soldiers, who was warning another when he'd thought she couldn't hear him. At the time, it'd given her a warm, satisfied feeling to hear, and even now, with all her other difficulties weighing on her mind, it was comforting to know that even when the men of other Families knew she was dangerous, most of them never remembered to be wary of her. It was amazing what a man would tell a girl after a glimpse of leg or a bit of dÃ©colletage, especially when they were accompanied by a giggle and a credulous look.

What was even better still was having a better angle to attack the Modigliani with; a little detective work and a little more leg work allowed her to sweep into Kyouko-chan's morning room and announce, "I've been going about this all wrong. I'm so stupid, I can't even believe myself."

Kyouko-chan, who was, after all, the very soul of courtesy, merely lifted her eyebrows and held out a cup. "Tea?"

"Thank you." Haru sat, knowing that she was beaming—well, she'd earned it. "I'm so good at this that I make myself sick." She reached for one of the tea cakes, and then stopped, looking at the array of place settings, the number of them finally registering. "Are we expecting guests?"

"In a manner of speaking." Kyouko-chan looked at her, clearly uncertain of how she was going to take whatever it is she was about to say. That, Haru thought, was a pretty good sign of what was to come. "Tsuna and Gokudera will be joining us shortly."

That pretty much figured. "Oh, god," Haru said, and left the tea cake alone. "Do we have to—"

"I'm afraid so," Kyouko-chan murmured. "Tsuna says they have news." Her hands folded around each other. "Are you and Gokudera—"

"He's still sleeping on the couch," Haru told her, blunt, because that was the easiest way to get through it. "I barely ever see him, and he's not talking much." She held up a finger before Kyouko-chan could open her mouth. "Don't apologize. Not again. It is what it is, at this point." She hadn't managed to resign herself to that, yet, but that wasn't the point. Calming Kyouko-chan down was.

"Still..." Kyouko-chan began, and then drew herself up at the tap on the door. "That must be them. Come in!"

It was the first chance Haru had really had to get a good look at Hayato since the morning of her epiphany; as she'd rather expected, it looked like he wasn't taking care of himself. His cheeks were thinner than they ought to have been, and there were dark circles under his eyes—well, it wasn't a very comfortable couch for sleeping on.

It would have been nice for him to have noticed her looking, but he was carefully avoiding her gaze. Haru frowned, annoyed, but then she realized that Tsuna-kun had taken the chair on Kyouko-chan's other hand, which left the only empty seat next to her, and Hayato's grimace became clear.

"Sit down, Gokudera, don't loom at us," Kyouko-chan said, pleasantly enough, when it seemed like he would pace rather than sit. The words were sweet enough, but her voice was firm.

Even so, it looked like he was tempted to argue, until Tsuna-kun caught his eye. "Yes, ma'am," Hayato said, still frowning, but he took the seat.

Haru stifled her sigh.

Kyouko-chan poured the tea and passed the cups around, and then smiled, as pleasantly as she did whenever she played hostess. "Well, now. Where shall we begin?"

"Hayato," Tsuna-kun said, his tone somewhere between invitation and command.

"Boss." Hayato opened his portfolio and cleared his throat. "First, I would like to point out that it is extremely difficult to investigate a death that's four years old, and even harder when that death occurred in what is currently hostile territory for the Vongola."

"And we truly appreciate your skill and dedication," Tsuna-kun murmured, with a faint smile.

Hayato still hadn't managed to suppress the way a compliment from the Tenth lit him up, Haru noted, and carefully did not smile.

"As I was saying," Hayato continued. "It was very difficult to investigate Massimo Modigliani's death, and my expense report will reflect that fact. Nonetheless, we did find some very interesting things." He tapped his finger against a paper in his portfolio. "The official reports of his death indicated that he drowned while sailing. The autopsy reports that he appears to have been swept overboard during the storm that he was—most unwisely, and rather uncharacteristically—sailing in, that the cause of his death was drowning, and that the contusions his body sustained were all post mortem, as a result of his body being battered by the currents and rocks."

"Now why do I think you're going to say that it turns out that it didn't happen that way?" Haru couldn't resist asking, which earned her a quick, impatient look.

"Indeed," Hayato said, at his fussiest and most precise. "As it turns out, upon examination of the body, it seems that the original autopsy was never performed."

"You examined the body?" Haru demanded, as Tsuna-kun said, "Wait, what do you mean, 'upon examination of the body'?" Kyouko-chan merely looked pained.

Hayato's shrug was eloquent. "As I said, the expense report will reflect how challenging this investigation was." He tapped the papers in his portfolio again. "Upon forensic investigation, we discovered that there was no evidence of water in Massimo Modigliani's lungs. We also discovered that his skull had sustained a number of fractures, any one of which would have been sufficient to kill him outright. In short, he was dead before he hit the water." He snapped his portfolio closed.

They were silent, absorbing that, until Haru sniffed, and said, "I told you so."

"So you did," Tsuna-kun murmured. He shook his head. "Isn't this just a mess?"

"What are we going to tell Caterina?" Kyouko-chan added.

"That's up to wiser heads than mine," Haru said. She spread her hands. "But I do have a few things that might make the job easier." Kyouko-chan gestured at her to continue. "Yes, well, like I was telling you before the boys came in, I was going about things all wrong. The current Modigliani is a very deeply divided Family, you see. The Bolzoni never really integrated well with the Modigliani, so approaching them like they were interchangeable made them all clam up." She smiled. "But if a person happened to be sympathetic to how awful it is to work with those damned Bolzoni, one of the Modigliani men will tell you just about anything you ever wanted to know."

Hayato made an impatient sound. "Are you going to get to the point any time soon?"

Haru rolled her eyes at him. "No, I thought I'd take all week." She took a sip of her tea, just to annoy him, and then continued. "The Bolzoni and the Modigliani divide goes straight to the top. It's a purely political marriage, and it sounds like Caterina dislikes her husband a great deal. If we approach her with Hayato's evidence and the offer of assistance, I think she would hear us out." She paused, and added, "What's more, she's pregnant, and the doctors say it's a boy. There's some worried men among the Modigliani who don't really trust what Vincentio Bolzoni will do if the pregnancy comes to term."

"Well," Tsuna-kun said, after a moment. "That does put a new light on things."

"It does, yes." Kyouko-san picked up a tea cake, nibbling on it absentmindedly, clearly thinking through what Haru had reported. "I don't think we could ask for a better situation, really. Thank you both. That's splendid work that you've done."

Haru smiled, pleased, fully aware that she probably looked as self-satisfied as Hayato did whenever Tsuna-kun complimented him. Well, no matter. They'd both earned it. "What next, Kyouko-chan?"

"A party, I think. A garden party, just for some of the ladies of the most prominent Families," Kyouko-chan said, slow and thoughtful. "Something informal and low-pressure. Caterina will need to come, if only to keep the Modigliani from looking any more suspicious than they already do."

"A week from now," Tsuna-kun added. "That will give us the time we need to put together a plan that we can offer her."

"A week... mm, yes, that should work." Kyouko-chan nodded, decisive. "But there'll be a lot of work to do between now and then."

"Ridiculous amounts of work," Tsuna-kun agreed, with a small grimace. "We'd best get to it." He gestured at Hayato, and they stood.

Haru rose along with the two of them. "I don't have anything else," she said, "so I'll go see whether I can't dig anything else up that we might find useful."

Kyouko-chan's expression went worried. "Be careful," she said.

Haru huffed at her. "I'm always careful," she said, and followed Hayato out into the hall.

Tsuna-kun was right behind her, but then he stopped. "Hayato, hold on for just a moment. I need to check something with Kyouko."

"Right, Boss," Hayato said.

Tsuna-kun ducked back into Kyouko-chan's morning room, which left Haru eyeing Hayato sidelong. Tsuna-kun's hasty departure reeked of a set-up to her, but since he'd gone to the trouble... "So, nice work with the murder investigation," she said. "How on earth did you manage to get your hands on his body?"

Hayato had enough of an ego that he was still willing to take a compliment, even from her, because he smiled a little, self-deprecating. "Oh, it's a long story. There were lots of bribes."

She had no doubt of that, and smiled. "Yeah? I'd like to hear it."

That seemed to have been a mistake, although she didn't know why. "Don't," he said, abruptly, smile disappearing.

"Don't what?" she asked, frowning at him.

He looked up and down the hall, and then said, quietly, "Don't treat me like I'm one of your marks."

That would have made her angry—and she was tempted to it—except for fact that there was something that hinted at pain lurking in his eyes. She put the anger aside, for the moment. "I've never treated you like one of my marks," Haru said, instead. "Not once."

"It sure looks the same from where I'm standing," Hayato said, voice still hushed.

"Then you should look harder." Haru drew a breath. "I'm only going to say this once, and it's up to you whether you listen to me or not, but this is the honest truth. I've only ever taken one man seriously in my life, and that's you. I may flirt with other men, which is my job and something I do well, but I don't flirt with you. What you see is what you get, as far as I'm concerned, and every time I've told you that I love you, I've meant it right down to my toes. I would race you to the altar, if I could marry you and still be Kyouko-chan's right hand, but the fact is that I have to at least look like I'm free to do as I will if I want to keep on doing what she needs me to do. It's up to you whether you think can compromise with me enough to know that I'm yours in all but the name of it, but I'm willing if you are. And the last thing I'll say is this: what would you give up, if it meant staying on as Tsuna-kun's right hand?"

She stopped there and tried to read his expression, but he'd gone still on her, impossible to read no matter how well she knew him. "Anyway. You know where to find me," she said, and turned away.

She tried not to read too much into the fact that he didn't come after her, but it was difficult to do, and even more difficult to concentrate on doing her job.

In the end, Kyouko thought, it was almost ridiculously easy to separate Caterina Modigliani from her other guests. "May I have a word with you?" she murmured, as the party began to wind down. "Privately, in a bit?" She gestured discreetly at Caterina's waist, which was just beginning to thicken visibly. "There are things I'd like to ask you."

Caterina nodded, regal as a queen—Kyouko privately suspected there was a reason why the woman wore her masses of golden hair swept up as she did—and said that she would be happy to answer any of Kyouko's questions. When the last of the other guests had departed, she waved a hand at her bodyguard. "Leave us be, Vittore," she commanded. "We're going to be discussing things that men should not hear."

Vittore looked torn between his duty and his obvious terror of what the two of them might end up discussing. Kyouko smiled at him, and indicated I-Pin. "Don't worry; I-Pin will still be here to look after us."

He didn't seem terribly reassured by I-Pin, but her presence seemed to be enough to fulfill the dictates of conscience, and he repaired to the front hall to smoke a cigarette.

"My husband's man, Vittore," Caterina said, with a sardonic smile. "As you can see, he's very careful of his duty."

"So I gathered," Kyouko said, and steered Caterina to her private sitting room. "And how is your husband?" she asked, after the tea tray she'd requested arrived and I-Pin had made herself inconspicuous.

Caterina accepted her cup of tea, eyes unreadable over the rim of her cup. "Flourishing like a weed."

"Mm, I see." Kyouko studied her, trying to get the measure of her mood, which was difficult. "If you will pardon my saying so, you don't seem all that fond of him."

"Not all of us are as lucky in our marriages as others have been." Caterina set her cup down. "What was it that you wanted to know, Kyouko? Surely there isn't any biology that your own people couldn't teach you as well as I could, even if you haven't managed to conceive yet." She tipped her head to the side, blue eyes going sharp. "Or does this have to do with the sudden interest the Vongola's people have been taking in mine?"

Kyouko kept her expression neutral, despite the stab. "The latter." She also set her tea aside, the time for polite fictions past. "Did you know that your brother was murdered?"

Caterina's mouth tightened, and her blue eyes went hard and chilly. "I suspected he was, but I had no proof."

"We do," Kyouko told her. "We can't tell you who did it, but it certainly seems like he was murdered, and that murder was covered up. Which does lead one to certain conclusions."

"Vincentio," Caterina said, slow and measured as a death knell. "Yes. He has always been ambitious." She steepled her fingers. "And what interest does the Vongola have in my brother's death?"

"The Modigliani and the Vongola used to have cordial relations." Kyouko gestured, sketching out the decline of that relationship. "We would like to see them restored to their former state."

Caterina's answering smile was slow and sharp. "I knew he'd overstep himself eventually," she said, practically crooning the words. "I was only afraid that I wouldn't be there to see it, or to root him out." She sat up straighter, expression as serene and distant as a marble saint's, and just as terrible. "And is the Vongola prepared to help me do so?"

For a moment she hesitated, but it would be far better to have Caterina Modigliani as an ally than an enemy. Kyouko lifted her chin. "We are," she said, committing the Vongola, for good or ill.

"Very good." Caterina's teeth gleamed, white and sharp. "Let's talk business, then." Her eyes sharpened. "Or will I need to speak to your husband?"

Kyouko gathered all of her dignity to her. "I speak with Tsuna's voice in this."

"I thought you couldn't be as pretty and helpless as you looked," Caterina said, with every evidence of satisfaction. "To business, then."

"Of course." Kyouko kept her hands pressed together; it would do the Vongola no good at all to betray her own feelings now. "We have forensic evidence regarding your brother's death that we will gladly make available to you, as well as a select circle of allies, if you wish it."

Caterina's mouth pursed. "One wonders how you came about possessing it." Kyouko began to shake her head, but Caterina held up a finger. "No, I know you won't say. It's no matter. Once my Family is my own, I'll deal with the matter myself. Very well. Evidence. What else can you offer me?"

"Assistance," Kyouko said. "Depending on how you wish to deal with Vincentio, privately or publicly, we will lend you our strength." She took a breath. "And we offer protection, given the precarious nature of your position."

Kyouko suspected that Caterina disliked the reminder, given the way she frowned, but she inclined her head after a moment, acknowledging the point. "Evidence, assistance, protection. Weighty things, all of those. Tell me again: what do the Vongola stand to gain from all this?"

"It's as I said before," Kyouko said, carefully. "The Modigliani have been the Vongola's allies for generations. We would be very pleased to have that relationship restored. Yours is a very old and proud Family, and we prefer to call you friends."

"Especially since we're powerful enough now, having merged with the Bolzoni, that we could cause you real problems." Caterina's smile was mocking at the edges. "Though I'm sure you're too proud to say as much."

"Not at all," Kyouko said. "But wars between Families are terrible things, and we would regret the losses that subduing your Family would cost us." That was for the crack about being pretty and helpless. "It would be better for us to resolve this peacefully."

Paradoxically enough, the insult made Caterina smile. "Just so," she murmured. "Just so." She leaned back in her seat, flattening a hand over her stomach. "Mine is a house divided, as you know. We'll need to remove Vincentio discreetly. It must look like an accident, you understand. After he's gone..." She shrugged. "I doubt they'll let me take over as the Family's head myself, you know, but I'll raise my son to be a Modigliani."

Kyouko inclined her head. "I'm sure he will be, through and through." He could hardly be anything else, with such a fierce woman to raise him.

"Of course he will." Caterina dusted her hands, briskly. "Now. I mustn't stay too long, or it will look more suspicious than it already is. Send word through that friend of yours. Tell her that Nico is my most reliable man. Any message she gives him will reach me as quickly as he can manage it." She stood, and smoothed her skirt. "It's a dangerous game that girl plays, you know. If the men of this country weren't so stupid, she'd have been lost a long time ago."

"It's a very good thing so many of them can't see what's in front of their noses," Kyouko said, after a dizzying moment of fear.

Caterina's smile was brief, but something warm glinted in her eyes. "Yes, it is, isn't it? Now, show me out. Try not to look too embarrassed when I start giving you medical advice in Vittore's hearing." She paused, and eyed Kyouko. "You have seen a doctor, haven't you? And had a doctor look him over, too?"

"I'll be sure to do so at the first opportunity," Kyouko said, not even trying to fight the blush. It was better to seem naive than to tell the Vongola's business publicly.

"Do," Catarina said, as Kyouko escorted her out. "Men can be so ridiculous about their masculinity, but it's their fault more often than not."

"I see," Kyouko said faintly, which launched a long discussion of intimate medical affairs that had her altogether relieved to deliver the woman to her bodyguard and flee to the privacy of her own rooms.

If Kyouko-san had to find tasks to keep herself busy, I-Pin knew, Sawada-san was completely the opposite: he had more things to do in a day than any three men could get through.

And yet, despite her guilt at giving him one more thing to deal with, I-Pin found herself stopping by his office after her shift had ended. Sawada-san was on the telephone with someone—by the sound of it, Squalo-san, since she could hear his side of the conversation too—but he smiled and motioned at her to sit.

I-Pin did, gingerly at and at the very edge of her seat, and pretended that she couldn't actually tell what Sawada-san and Squalo were arguing about—the Varia's desire to go and deal with the Mondigliani once and for all, from the sounds of it.

Sawada-san finally, and firmly, said, "No, and that's final, thank you and have a nice evening." And then he hung up, leaned his head back and moaned, "What did I do in a past life to deserve the Varia? I ask you."

"If this is a bad time, Sawada-san—"

He looked at her and smiled, good humor restoring itself. "It's not. It's just that Squalo has a way about him, that's all." He folded his hands under his chin and looked at her. "What can I do for you, I-Pin?"

She suppressed the urge to squirm under the full weight of his attention, and tried not to look at the heavy ring on his finger. "I... Kyouko-san said I should talk to you..."

"Ah," he said, and nodded, "then it must be something important."

I-Pin swallowed, and wondered about that. "I—maybe?" she said, fidgeting in spite of herself. "She asked me... to do the same kind of work that Haru-san does for her."

"And you're not certain whether you should," Sawada-san guessed. She nodded, grateful that he understood without her having to fumble through an explanation. "Would you like to?"

"I—yes, I think so," I-Pin said, hardly daring to raise her voice above a whisper. "But I've already—you—" She gestured, helplessly.

"Mm, I see." Sawada-san unfolded his hands, and looked at his ring. When he looked back at her, his eyes were gentle, and infinitely kind. "Would it help if you thought of it as transferring your service to a slightly different branch? It all comes back to the same place in the end, you see."

"You don't mind?" I-Pin asked, careful.

He smiled. "Of course I don't mind. I'd be glad, actually, if she had another person who she could rely on. You would be doing me a favor if you accepted her offer."

The rush of relief was sudden enough that I-Pin sagged into the chair, sinking into the deep cushions. "Oh," she murmured, "oh, I'm glad. I wanted to say yes, but—"

"But, like all of us, you have an overdeveloped sense of duty." Sawada-san chuckled. "Say yes, with my blessings, I-Pin."

She smiled back, in relief, and in the easing of that burden, she saw the answer to the question that had been puzzling her since the first day of her duty: Kyouko-san had changed to match herself to Sawada-san, or perhaps he'd become a bit like Kyouko-san, because they both held their people in the same way. "Thank you, Sawada-san."

"You're welcome," he said, and paused, almost like he was hesitating to ask something. "I-Pin..."

"Yes, sir?"

"If I may... you see Kyouko... more than anyone else," Sawada-san began. "Even me, or Haru-chan. Do you think... does she seem happy, to you?"

I-Pin froze, eyes wide at the enormity of the question. "Is she...? I—I'm not sure I'm the right person to answer that."

"I'm only asking for your opinion," he said, swiftly, color rising in his face. "You don't have to—in fact, let's just pretend that I never even asked."

I-Pin worried at her lower lip. "I think she is, mostly," she said, very soft and very fast, before her courage could desert her, because if she was going to serve Kyouko-san, there was no better place to start than with this. "But I think there's something that she wants very badly, even though she tries not to let on about it." When he motioned at her to go on, she plunged ahead, determined to say it even though her face felt like it was on fire. "I think—she wants to start a family. Soon."

It looked very much like Sawada-san was blushing as hard as she was. "I—ah. Suppose this is what I get for asking, isn't it?" And he looked so sheepish about it that I-Pin couldn't quite help the faint gasp of hysterical, embarrassed laughter that escaped her. "She's mentioned—that—a few times, but—she wants it badly?"

I-Pin thought about the look in Kyouko-san's eyes whenever Haru-san delivered an update regarding Vieri-san, and the way she and Feretti-san had leaned on each other that afternoon, and nodded. "Yes," she said, softly. "Very badly. But she's trying to be patient, and to wait for you to be willing, too."

Sawada-san took a deep breath, and blew it out. "I see. I'll—yes, I see." He shook his head, looking like his mind was very far away, far enough away that he'd forgotten about I-Pin altogether.

"Was there anything else you wanted to know?" she asked, softly, to recall him back to the present.

The distant expression vanished from his eyes. "If there is, I'm afraid to ask," he said, hastily.

"Then, if you'll excuse me..." When he nodded, I-Pin stood.

She was nearly to the door when he said, "Thank you, I-Pin."

I-Pin turned and smiled at him, a little shy still, even after that conversation. "You're welcome, Sawada-san," she said, and let her self out.

The day they buried Vincentio Modigliani was sunny and beautiful, and was the occasion of I-Pin's first public foray as Kyouko-san's personal bodyguard. As a consequence, she was so taut with nerves that the day etched itself into her memory. She carried the snatches of it that had engraved themselves into her memory to the end of her days: from the lines of long dark cars that disgorged member after member of the most prominent Families at the church to the priest's sonorous words that extolled Vincentio Modigliani's many virtues. The faces of the crowd were particularly interesting at that point. The Vongola were politely attentive, the Cavallone rather amused, the Barassi were clearly bored, and Caterina Modigliani simply endured it, face held stiffly correct.

It would have been farcical, had it not been so deadly earnest.

After the funeral, the other Families stood back and made way for Sawada-san and Kyouko-san, when they made their way to where Caterina-san stood to pay their respects, pale and remote as a queen. "Our sympathies for your loss," Sawada-san said, voice pitched to carry.

Caterina-san's voice carried just as clearly over the murmur of the other Families. "Thank you for that."

Then it was Kyouko-san's turn, just as she and Haru-san had discussed over their morning tea. "Please let us know if there's anything we can do for you," she added, reaching for Caterina-san's hand and gripping it. "You have our complete support."

It may have pretended to be purely sympathetic, but as I-Pin watched the crowd for threats, she saw that the other Families understood quite clearly: the Vongola were placing their weight behind Caterina Modigliani, and didn't care who knew it.

"I will be sure to do so," Caterina-san said. "Again, I thank you for your kindness to me."

"We're nothing without kindness," Sawada-san pronounced.

It should have sounded silly, against the backdrop of so many Families, most of whom were clearly already scheming ways to turn this Vongola-Modigliani alliance to their own ends. Somehow—I-Pin suspected it was because it was Sawada Tsunayoshi who had said it—it didn't.

"Let me know if there's anything at all I can do," Kyouko-san said again, and kissed Caterina-san's cheeks.

"I shall be sure to," Caterina-san murmured.

Sawada-san and Kyouko-san withdrew, giving way to the Vieri, and were intercepted by Dino Cavallone. "Tsuna," he said, with a smile that Sawada-san returned, and then turned to Kyouko-san. "And Kyouko-chan. You're as radiant as ever."

"Flatterer," Kyouko-san murmured, with a smile and downcast eyes.

"Perish the thought." Dino-san pressed a hand to his heart, as if wounded, and then turned more serious. "Sofia wasn't feeling well this morning, but she said to tell you that it's been too long, and I'm to invite you to dinner sometime soon."

"That sounds lovely," Kyouko-san said. "She's right. It's been forever."

"Yes, and a funeral is no time for socializing," Dino-san said, as if all the Families around them weren't conducting business as they spoke. "It's such a shame, what happened to Vincentio. Food allergies—who would have thought it?" He shook his head sadly, though his eyes were sharp, looking at Sawada-san. "The Modigliani have no manner of luck at all."

"They say bad things come in threes," Sawada-san murmured, casually.

Dino-san's mouth ticked up at the corners. "So they do. Let's hope that holds true, hm?" He turned a more genuine smile on Kyouko-san. "I'll have Sofia call you. Pick out a good time for dinner, okay?"

"I'll be waiting," Kyouko-san promised him. He smiled and moved on, only to be replaced by Paolo and Maria Feretti, who were full of polite greetings and hushed murmurs about the deceased.

After the Feretti it was the Giglio Nero; after the Giglio Nero, it was Girasole, and the afternoon wore on like that. Sawada-san and Kyouko-san made polite small talk with everyone, reaffirming their alliances and considering the offers of new alliances, all couched in polite small talk. Elsewhere in the crowd, Haru-san did the same. It was exhausting just to watch. I-Pin was drained by the time it was finally over, and wondered how anyone could still be smiling and unruffled at the end of it. Somehow Kyouko-san and Haru-san managed it, and didn't even sigh until they were safely ensconced in the Vongola limousine.

"That's that," Haru-san said, as it purred into motion.

"And thank goodness," Kyouko-san agreed, with a heavy sigh.

Neither of them were looking at Gokudera-san, who was looking—rather pointedly—out the window. I-Pin's heart sank, and she hoped (against hope, she suspected), that the two of them were only referring to the funeral.

Given how quiet the rest of the ride home was, she doubted it.

"That was exhausting," Kyouko declared, when they'd finally dismissed Gokudera and I-Pin and reached the sanctuary of their own rooms. She sat at her vanity, and took the earrings out of her ears. "Funerals are such barbaric customs." Or perhaps the barbaric part was knowing that the crowd of mourners gathered around Vincentio Modigliani's coffin were there mostly to make sure the man was dead, and that she had played a significant role in bringing about his demise.

"I keep thinking that one of these days, they'll get easier, at least when they're for an enemy," Tsuna agreed. "But they never do."

Kyouko began wiping away her makeup as he began to shed his clothes. "That's a pity," she said. Then she reconsidered it, and shook her head at herself. "Or perhaps it's not."

"It's hard to decide," he said, and came to stand behind her.

Kyouko sighed as he set his hands on her shoulders and began to knead the tension out of them. "Oh, that's nice," she murmured. "Don't ever stop."

His reflection smiled down at her. "If you like." His thumbs circled at the base of her neck, slow and warm and strong. "You're all knotted up."

"Mm. Wearing my hair up does that." Although that wasn't all of it; part of it was the memory of Caterina Modigliani standing in her black dress at her husband's graveside, absolutely untouched by the fuss around her.

"Does it?" He began teasing the hairpins out of her hair, letting it tumble down from its chignon. "Is that better?"

Kyouko sighed and leaned her head back, against his stomach. "Much. Thank you." And his fingers carding through it felt even better. She made a contented sound, eyes half-shut, as she drank in the strength and the gentleness of him. Perhaps not all marriages were lucky, as Caterina had said, but hers was, and knowing as much only made her savor it more.

She felt Tsuna take a breath, like he was preparing to say something. "So," he murmured, and she opened her eyes to look at his reflection. He looked as shy as he had the night he'd asked her to marry him. "There was something you asked me to think about, after this mess with the Modigliani ended."

"And...?" she asked, as her pulse quickened, in spite of herself. It was foolish to get her hopes up, but...

"And yes," he said, quietly, watching her. "You're right. It's only ever going to be one thing after another. I'd like it not to be, but it's foolish to wait any longer than we already have."

"Tsuna," she breathed, and reached for his hand, pressing it to her cheek in lieu of the things she didn't know how to say.

He smiled again, shy, the color running high in his cheeks. "Come to bed?" he murmured.

Kyouko smiled up at him. "Yes," she said, softly, and rose to press herself into his arms. "Oh, yes," she whispered, and lifted herself onto her toes to kiss him.

"Come to bed," he said again, against her mouth, and she was only too happy to comply.

It took a long, hot bath to get the feel of the Modigliani funeral in all its odious glory off her skin, and she lingered in the bathtub until the water began to cool. When Haru finally emerged from the bathroom, wrapped up in her robe and still squeezing the water from her hair, she found Hayato sitting on the couch.

From the looks of things, he'd been there for a while; he'd undone his tie and opened his collar, and was working through a glass of wine. Haru froze and stared at him, trying to figure out what all those clues meant.

"I was starting to wonder whether you'd fallen asleep in there," he said, after they'd stared at each other for a moment.

"That happened once," Haru protested, and wrapped the towel around her head to keep the water from trickling down her neck.

His mouth kicked up at the corner. "Doesn't mean it couldn't happen again."

This seemed like a promising start; the wine had probably been a good idea. "That's what you think," she grumbled, and claimed his easy chair for her own seat. She steeled herself, and asked, "Are you here because we've put the Modigliani thing to bed?"

"Yes," Hayato said, after a pause.

Haru sighed and closed her eyes. So it had come to this after all. "Can we put off fighting till tomorrow?" she said, tired. "It's been a hell of a day, you know."

"I know. I'm not here to fight." When Haru looked at him, he was looking determined. "You made a big speech to me a while ago. I've been thinking about it. One of the things I've been thinking is that I deserve a chance to reply. Fair?"

Haru swallowed. "Okay, that's fair," she agreed. She arranged her robe and her hands, and looked at him. "I'm listening."

"Thanks." Hayato looked down at his laced fingers. "When we first met, you went head over heels for Tsuna. For the longest time, all you talked about was the things you were going to do when you became his wife, and how you were going to be the best mafia wife ever, and so on. And then you stopped all of a sudden, and I figured it was because you'd finally realized that as far as he was concerned, Kyouko was the only woman in the world. And I figured... that sucked for you. Sucks for anyone that happens to."

Haru started to speak, to explain, but he shook his head. "Just let me get through this first, okay? Please?"

"Go ahead," she said, quietly, and saved up her explanations for later.

Hayato cleared his throat. "So the way I figured it, when you and I got together... I was your second choice. And, you know, when Tsuna's your first choice, well, being second place doesn't actually look that bad, usually. Usually. It's just..." He stopped, and shook his head. "You know how I get, sometimes. Paranoid about... things."

That was, the clinical portion of Haru's mind noted, putting it rather mildly, but she said nothing and let him continue uninterrupted. "And every time I asked you to marry me, and you said no, and I couldn't figure out why... I just got more paranoid. Especially when it seemed like some days I couldn't go five steps down the road without someone telling me about seeing you chatting up yet another guy."

Biting her lip wasn't enough; she had to say something, whether he was finished or not. "I'm sorry," Haru said. "We should have told you."

Hayato's mouth twisted. "Yeah, well, I'm not going to argue, but... I don't know. Maybe if I'd known what you were doing from the first, it would have been okay, and maybe I wouldn't have been able to take you seriously." He shook his head. "I don't know. What I do know is that you're right. You are damn good at what you do. This thing with the Modigliani... we might have eventually noticed something was up, but you got there early, and I'm betting that was a big part of what kept things from going completely pear-shaped."

It was unexpectedly sweet to hear him say as much. Haru had to swallow hard before she could get any words out. "Thank you."

He smiled, brief and rueful. "Yeah, well. Credit where credit is due."

Haru glanced away, eyes traveling over the titles on his bookcase. "No, really. You're the one with the legitimate intelligence operation. I pretty much make it up as I go along. It works, but..." She shrugged. "It's not particularly elegant."

Hayato snorted. "Elegance is overrated."

"That's what you say now," she murmured, and looked back at him. He seemed to have finished his reply, at any rate. Haru leaned forward a bit, lacing her fingers together and looking at him, hoping he could see how serious she was. "You weren't ever a second choice. Yes, I had a school-girl crush on Tsuna-kun, for a while, but it didn't last much past meeting Kyouko-chan for the first time. You'd have to have been completely oblivious to miss the way they looked at each other." She smiled, remembering. "But it was so easy to tease Tsuna that I kept on playing that game for a while, until UnitÃ -san told us that it was time to put those silly games aside and be serious." She laughed, softly, at the look on his face. "You didn't know about that? Hayato, Kyouko-chan is good at what she does, but it was something she had to learn, just like Tsuna-kun had to learn to be the Tenth."

"Oh," Hayato said, still looking—and sounding—stunned. "Oh. I—you never said anything."

Haru shrugged. "You never seemed all that interested in the things we girls got up to," she told him, which was the truth and then some—and Hayato was one of the better specimens of his breed.

"Which was, clearly, a big damn mistake." Hayato raked a hand through his hair, and sighed. "Can't really start something like this over from scratch, can we?"

Haru couldn't stop her heart from skipping a beat, and probably wouldn't have tried even if it had been possible. "There's a little too much water under the bridge," she agreed, after a moment. He frowned, until she went on. "We might be able to work on fixing the things that are broken, though."

Hayato let out a breath. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, we could do that." He looked as relieved as she felt.

That was good. Haru wished she could leave it there. "And what I do as Kyouko-chan's right hand... you can handle that?"

Hayato looked away, and was quiet. Haru let him be, waiting him out. "I think so. If... as long as you remember to come home at the end of the day."

"Idiot," Haru said, wry and affectionate. Honestly. She was going to have to stand by what she'd said—boys managed to be incredibly stupid sometimes. "I've never once forgotten who comes first."

That got him, as she'd suspected it would; she saw him swallow, hard. "First, huh?" Hayato glanced at her, almost shyly. "Really?"

Haru sighed and went to him, and wound her arms around him. "Yes, first. Really," she murmured, firmly.

"I guess that's okay, then," he said, and pulled her closer.

Haru closed her eyes at the wash of relief. "Thank goodness for that," she said, and pressed against him. When she trusted herself to speak, she added, "I've missed you, you great insecure idiot."

"Is it too late for me to change my mind?" he murmured, as he wrapped his arms around her.

"Yep. You're stuck now," she told him, and smiled when he laughed softly.

Yeah, maybe they were going to be okay after all.

"...and that's all I have this morning," Haru-san chirped, and helped herself to another teacake.

It certainly seemed like plenty to I-Pin, but both Kyouko-san and Haru-san seemed pleased with the flotsam and jetsam of gossip that had floated out of the aftermath of Vincentio Modigliani's funeral.

Or perhaps they were just pleased about other things, and it was spilling into their work, she decided, looking at the way they were smiling—with their eyes and not just their mouths. Not that she was going to complain, if that was the case.

"Wonderful," Kyouko-san murmured. "The work never stops, does it?"She dusted off her hands. "But if that's all—"

This seemed to be as good a time to speak as any. "Excuse me, Kyouko-san?" I-Pin said, softly. "I have something, if you don't mind?"

The two of them turned identical surprised smiles on her. Kyouko-san was the first to recover, of course. "By all means," she said, gesturing at her to go ahead.

I-Pin had thought about this moment long and hard, trying to puzzle out what would be appropriate and agonizing over what she should do. Now that the moment was here, it felt only natural to go to Kyouko-san and go to one knee. As Kyouko-san's breath caught, she took Kyouko-san's hand between hers. "You asked me to serve you," she said, touching her forehead to the back of it. "I would be honored, Kyouko-san."

"Oh," Kyouko-san said, voice quiet and full, and laid a hand on her hair. "Thank you, I-Pin. I'm very grateful."

I-Pin looked up and smiled when Kyouko-san drew her up from her knees. "It's my privilege," she murmured.

Kyouko-san's answering smile was bright. "I'm glad to hear it." She inclined her head. "We have a lot of things to talk about."

Haru-san poured her a cup of tea and Kyouko-san prepared a plate of dainty pastries for her as I-Pin brought a third chair to the table, and slipped into the place they had prepared for her. "Thank you," she said, accepting the tea and the plate, and looked at Kyouko-san. "I'm ready to begin if you are."

Kyouko-san nodded, still smiling. "Let's," she said, and they did.

the end

Gray Willow Catkins

Yamamoto decides Gokudera is broken and needs to be fixed. It takes a while to find the right opening. Drama with Romance, I-3

Takeshi lay on his bed, arms folded behind his head, and stared up at his ceiling, thinking.

Gokudera had argued with him earlier, and Takeshi had teased him a little by smiling agreeably the whole time. Finally Gokudera had run his hands through his hair, looking like he was two breaths away from trying to pull it out, and yelled "Don't you ever get mad, you idiot?!" before stomping off.

And now, for the first time in years, Takeshi was thinking about the things he'd said to Gokudera in the middle of their fight with Gamma years ago... or yet, depending on how you looked at it.

Gokudera's constant growling had always kind of amused him, and he admitted that every now and then he sort of poked Gokudera just to get him going. Like playing with a cat; a few scratches were fair trade for getting to watch it flail at you. Actually, Gokudera reminded him a lot of a cat, sometimes, a feral cat that would only let one person pet him without biting, and that person was Tsuna. Even when they'd just met it had made Takeshi wonder a little how often Gokudera must have gotten kicked, to be that way, and now he was wondering more seriously.

Often enough that Gokudera didn't understand not getting mad all the time?

Takeshi frowned at his ceiling. He didn't like that idea.

...often enough that Tsuna doing something, unthinkingly, to help Gokudera had knocked down every wall he had and set him following Tsuna with his heart in his hand?

Takeshi really didn't like that idea. It just wasn't right for anyone to have something like that done to them.

Well, if that was the case, then something would just have to be done to fix it. After all, Takeshi liked and respected Gokudera, trusted him with Tsuna's welfare and Takeshi's own back. It shouldn't be too hard to show him that. Takeshi nodded firmly at his ceiling, satisfied with this conclusion, and reached for his homework.

"You want to what?"

"Practice." Takeshi smiled at Gokudera and, when this only got him a dubious stare, amended. "Train. Together. For next time. You know there's going to be a next time, and it might need two of us at once."

Gokudera couldn't deny that, though he looked like he wanted to. "And who do you think we can train against?" he asked, arms crossed.

"I bet Reborn can find people."

Gokudera opened his mouth and closed it again. "Hm." He glowered down at his folded arms for a while before muttering. "Probably a good idea. I guess."

Takeshi didn't press for anything more enthusiastic. That kind of was enthusiastic, coming from Gokudera. And now he would have more opportunities to show Gokudera that Takeshi wouldn't kick him, and he really didn't have to bite preemptively. It was a great idea if he did say so himself.

Of course, Reborn wanted to test them himself, first.

"Hopeless," he pronounced, landing with a light tap of shoes beside them while Gokudera swore—at least Takeshi assumed he was swearing from the tone, he'd reverted to Italian—and Takeshi tried to figure out how to untangle them without slicing anything off. "You'd better start with targets instead of opponents. Leon."

Takeshi couldn't help laughing at the beady look Leon gave them before he transformed into a projector and a vaguely person-shaped red light flickered against the trees.

"Shut up, you idiot," Gokudera snarled, finally hauling himself out from under Takeshi. His eyes narrowed on their target and more explosives appeared between his fingers. "And this time just go and let me take care of not hitting you."

Takeshi grinned at that and agreed easily. "Sure thing ." He'd been right; practice would make good opportunities to prove his trust in Gokudera.

Gokudera paused and gave him a longer look. "Yeah, whatever," he muttered finally, and lit his bombs.

It took weeks before Reborn declared them ready for a live opponent.

"Fuck," Gokudera muttered, eyes just a little wide.

"I guess Reborn wanted us to practice for so long first so we didn't get killed," Takeshi speculated.

Hibari pushed away from his lounge against a tree and looked them up and down. "Hm." The corner of his mouth curled.

"Okay, look," Gokudera muttered, low, "either one, he goes after you for a good fight or two, he goes after me to get me out of the way. My weapons are mid-range, and in close I'm no match for him. So if one, can you hold him while I get a target and if two, can you distract him so I can open the range again?"

Yamamoto considered. "I can't hold him for long, but yeah. And I'm pretty sure I can be distracting."

Gokudera snorted. "Don't know why I bothered asking." He sighed and flicked out a handful of explosives as Hibari started tapping his foot with impatience. "Kind of hope it's two."

Takeshi looked at him, startled. "You do?" He had never thought of Gokudera as one of the ones who liked this kind of fight for its own sake.

Gokudera gave him a dour look. "If he's looking at you for a good fight, he'll pound me into fucking paste for interrupting. Crazy bastards, all of you," he added under his breath.

Takeshi considered Gokudera for a long moment. "You know, you're really good at this."

"Notice that afterwards!" Gokudera snapped as Hibari stopped waiting for them and they dodged back and apart.

Takeshi laughed. "Okay!" He would, too. And bit by bit he'd get through.

A month later he was starting to have some doubts about that.

Oh, they were getting to work pretty smoothly as a team, at least when there was an opponent in front of them. They were having some really fun matches on the way, too, though Gokudera gave him dark looks whenever he said anything about that. The problem was that, the more time he spent with Gokudera, and the better able to work together they got, the clearer it became that Gokudera was still holding himself apart. He might not be the best fighter among them, but when it came to his heart, he left absolutely no openings, sliding by every overture Takeshi made, slick as ice. It was starting to get frustrating.

Takeshi probably shouldn't have taken that out on Shamal, but when he emerged from Gokudera's smoke screen right behind the man and heard him muttering about his precious girls choking and whippersnappers too smart for their own good, it annoyed him.

"All clear," he called, as Shamal went down in a heap, clouted smartly with Takeshi's hilt. "Don't suppose you can get rid of the smoke?"

"What do you want me to do, blow it away?" Gokudera grumbled.

Takeshi shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

There was a moment of silence. "Why not? Why not throw a bomb in there when I can't actually see where you are? Gee, I can't imagine." Sarcasm dripped off Gokudera's voice.

Takeshi's mouth quirked. "I trust you."

The smoke was thinning enough on its own for him to see Gokudera, standing a dozen paces away, staring at him with a now-familiar expression of wary puzzlement. Takeshi sighed to himself and waited for the usual sort of comment about baseball-addled brains.

Instead Gokudera shook his head and asked, "Why?"

The question, the moment he'd been waiting so long for, sang down Takeshi's nerves and made the world sharp, and now Gokudera was looking at him even more warily. He took a breath for control. The words were sure as a sword stroke in his mind, though.

"Because you see the big issues and you think about them for all of us. Because you'll shoot without a second thought, if it's to protect us. I've watched you give everything you are to Tsuna, and you never hold back. You snarl all the time, but you can't pass by a stray or a kid. You act like a thug, but you read physics for fun. You have a temper hotter than those bombs, but you'd die for any of us; you've proved that."

Gokudera actually backed up a step, eyes wide with shock. Takeshi spread his hands.

"I trust you because you're you."

He could see Gokudera swallow before he managed to speak. "Yamamoto..."

Shamal groaned, between them, and rolled over, squinting up. "Remind me not to underestimate you brats any more," he husked and put an arm over his eyes.

When Takeshi looked up, Gokudera was collected again, face closed, and he sighed. It had been a step, at least, he was pretty sure, and he didn't want to mess that up by pushing Gokudera too far.

At their next practice, though, he decided he should have pushed, because Gokudera was completely distracted.

And Colonello was not someone even both of them together could be distracted, against.

"Gokudera!"

Gokudera hauled himself out of the splinters of a tree, wincing. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine, you have a piece of tree in your arm," Takeshi pointed out, just a bit exasperated. Then he had to bite down a yelp as Gokudera reached around and yanked it out.

"Enough for today," Colonello told them, shaking his head. "Get that fixed." He frowned at both of them, though it didn't have quite the usual coach-scowl impact, on a baby's face. "And get your minds on your training, kora!"

"I'm not going near Romario," Gokudera muttered, as Colonello's eagle flapped off with him.

Actually, Takeshi couldn't blame him for that. "Do you have an emergency kit at home?"

Which was how they came to be in Gokudera's tiny apartment kitchen, Gokudera seated on his table, swinging a foot and watching with rather alarming disinterest as Takeshi cleaned and wrapped the gouge in his arm.

"There." Takeshi tied the bandage off.

Gokudera slid to his feet and flexed his arm a lot more freely than Takeshi would have thought wise when it wasn't absolutely necessary. "Yeah, that'll do." He looked aside. "Thanks."

Takeshi sighed softly. He knew it was possible to get through to Gokudera; Tsuna had done it more or less by accident.

So maybe the question was, what did Tsuna do that he wasn't? He thought about that as he put the emergency kit back in order. Tsuna was diffident, unthreatening. Except when he was in the grip of his Will, and then he got less diffident and more threatening than any two of his Guardians put together, and Takeshi had seen Gokudera watching when Tsuna was like that. If anything, Gokudera's focus on Tsuna got even tighter, then. Tsuna was accepting, but Gokudera wasn't responding to simple acceptance from Takeshi. Of course Tsuna was so completely transparent about it...

Takeshi paused in the act of stowing the kit back in Gokudera's rather bare cupboard. "Gokudera." He turned to look at him, wondering if he'd gotten it at last. "Do you think I'm lying?"

Gokudera blinked at him. "Huh?"

"When I say I trust you. Do you think I'm lying?"

Gokudera's shoulders jerked and pulled tight. "I'm sure your word is good," he said flatly, staring out the kitchen window.

Takeshi had a feeling he'd just stepped in another mafia custom of some kind, but he'd figure that out later. The important thing was that, obviously, his word alone really wasn't enough. He chewed on his lip for a moment, thinking. He didn't think he could be as clear as Tsuna was, but maybe... maybe Gokudera would accept a different kind of evidence. Something that wasn't just words.

And he could think of one thing that Gokudera couldn't possibly misunderstand, no matter how determined he was.

Gokudera looked around again as Takeshi came closer, frowning a little. "What?"

Takeshi smiled, just a little wry. "You can hit me for this, if I'm really wrong." He lifted Gokudera's chin and bent his head to kiss him gently.

Gokudera froze, staring at him. But not slugging him, which Takeshi took as a good sign. He slid an arm around Gokudera and drew him closer, slow and careful.

"What...?" Gokudera was stiff as a board, eyes wide and a little wild.

"I thought you might believe body language more than words," Takeshi explained, one hand rubbing Gokudera's back.

"You can't... It's not..." Gokudera shook his head violently, though he wasn't pulling away, which made something in the back of Takeshi's head sit up and take notice. "You can't."

"Can't what?" Takeshi asked, quietly.

"I'm not... You don't..." Gokudera's jaw tightened. "You can't think I'm worth anything."

Takeshi considered that for a moment, head cocked. "Why not?"

Gokudera opened his mouth and closed it again, looking rather lost. Finally he glanced aside and mumbled, "No one does?"

Takeshi took a slow breath, fitting pieces together in his head. Gokudera might think that was true but he had to be desperate for it not to be, or else Takeshi would have eaten dynamite the second he touched him. "Tsuna does," he pointed out, hoping to springboard from this inarguable fact. Before he could, though, Gokudera spoke again.

"No one else." He wasn't stiff any more, but he was still, completely still, eyes dark and cold as he gazed blankly over Takeshi's shoulder. Takeshi almost shivered at that cold, except that a spark of genuine anger was starting to warm him up.

No one should have something like this done to them.

"Someone," he corrected, firmly, turning Gokudera's head back toward him and gathering him closer.

Gokudera started, jarred out of that frozen stillness, and and still not socking Takeshi one for doing this. Takeshi nodded.

"Someone," he repeated, softer, and kissed Gokudera again, deliberate this time, coaxing, because he'd be damned if he let Gokudera go on thinking like that. This time he was rewarded with a quick, uneven breath and Gokudera's fingers tightening in his shirt for a moment.

"Yamamoto..."

Takeshi wound his arms snugly around Gokudera. "Hmm?" He could feel tiny shivers running through Gokudera and lifted a hand to knead the nape of Gokudera's neck, slow and firm.

"You really...? I mean..." Gokudera looked up at him, conflicting expressions tangling in his eyes—tense fear and disbelief and a tiny glow of wonder.

"I really mean it," Takeshi told him gently. "We're all in this together. I'm glad we are." He smiled, brushing back Gokudera's hair. "You're amazing, you know."

A faint pink crept across Gokudera's cheekbones and he glanced aside again. Takeshi resolved to tell him that was adorable, some time when it wouldn't undo months on end of work.

"Okay," Gokudera said softly. "I... I believe you."

Takeshi smiled. It was a good start.

End

Body Language

Gokudera's trust issues are Yamamoto's new hobby; he has his work cut out for him. Drama with Romance, I-3

"Delivery!" Takeshi called, cheerfully, banging on Gokudera's door. It took a few minutes for Gokudera to answer the door, and another for him to finish staring in disbelief.

"What are you doing?"

"Bringing you dinner." Takeshi dangled the bag of carryout from raised fingers.

"Why?" Gokudera asked, after another long pause.

"Because you skipped lunch today." Takeshi smiled with sunny obliviousness, hiding his amusement as Gokudera scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Fine, whatever, get off my stairs before the neighbors try to kill you for making such a racket." Gokudera took the bag ungraciously, muttering under his breath as Takeshi came in, toeing off his shoes and closing the door. Gokudera turned his back pointedly, taking a step toward the kitchen.

It was too perfect an opportunity to resist, and Takeshi was making a policy of taking all the opportunities he could, these days. If he didn't, Gokudera slid right back into hissing and bristling.

He wound an arm around Gokudera, drawing him back against his chest, and dropped a light kiss on the curve of his neck. He was elbowed in the stomach for his trouble. All right, so there was still some hissing and bristling in any case.

"Oof," he said, ruefully, and smiled as he watched Gokudera stalk across the room, back straight.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Gokudera muttered, smacking containers down on his tiny span of counter.

Hissing or not, Gokudera gave him a lot of opportunities, and this was one Takeshi had kind of been waiting for. "Because you're cute."

Gokudera stopped and turned to stare at him. "I am not cute!"

"Adorable?" Takeshi offered, grinning.

Gokudera sputtered at him, glaring and Takeshi laughed, reaching out again to gather him in.

"Gorgeous?" he murmured, settling the lean, elegant line of Gokudera's body against his.

Gokudera's cheekbones turned pink, which absolutely was adorable. "You say the most idiotic things," he said, looking aside.

"True things."

Gokudera humphed, but it slid into a softer sound as Takeshi turned his head back and kissed him, fingers sliding into his hair, cradling his head. A shiver rippled through Gokudera, but he also relaxed. Touch was the language Gokudera really believed; Takeshi just had to speak it clearly enough. When Takeshi drew back Gokudera's eyes were dark and thoughtful.

"True things," Takeshi told him again, gently, thumb stroking the nape of his neck.

Gokudera shrugged a shoulder and looked down, but didn't deny it. Takeshi chalked up another scrap of progress on his mental scoreboard.

This was not Takeshi's favorite way to spend the term break.

Gokudera was wound up tighter than usual, and it was making Takeshi nervous. Theoretically the lawn of the Vongola headquarters contained only Vongola allies, here for another meet-the-Tenth gathering, but if Gokudera had seen something to alarm him Takeshi wasn't going to second guess him. Gokudera was the one who knew this world.

It took him a while to work his way casually over, but finally he was close enough to murmur, "Anything wrong?"

Gokudera started and looked around at him, eyes abruptly sharpening. "What?"

Takeshi relaxed. If Gokudera had seen something, he'd already have been sharp and focused, as, indeed he was now. "Just wondered. You seem kind of tense."

Gokudera's gaze turned distant and dark again, and he shrugged a shoulder, sharp and jerky. Takeshi frowned. Something personal, then? "What is it?" he asked, softer.

Gokudera looked at him for a long moment, mouth tight. Just as he was taking a breath, though, and Takeshi was calculating the odds whether it would be to spill or to tell Takeshi it was none of his business, another of the gathering stopped beside them.

"Gokudera Hayato, isn't it?" The man was older, hair just starting to gray, and neither his tone nor his expression was what Takeshi would call friendly. A moment fishing through his memory tossed up the name Spigola, though he was pretty sure this wasn't the boss.

Gokudera's shoulders were stiff again. "Yeah?"

The man looked him up and down. "I hear you plan to be the Vongola Tenth's right hand."

Gokudera's chin lifted a hair. "That's for the Tenth to say." His voice was hard and level.

The man's mouth twisted. "I hope he has better sense than to take a punk like you've always been. The Vongola are better than that."

Takeshi frowned after the man, as he stalked past, and edged closer to lay a hand on Gokudera's back.

Gokudera flinched.

Takeshi was starting to think he'd been right the first time, about Gokudera having spotted trouble. It just wasn't the kind he'd expected.

"You asked what was wrong?" Gokudera said quietly, through his teeth, not looking at Takeshi. "There are too many people here that know me, is what's wrong."

Takeshi's frown deepened. How was he supposed to make any progress when jerks like that came along and set Hayato back? "With that kind of attitude, he can't know you very well."

Gokudera made a harsh sound, shoulders shaking. It took Takeshi a long moment to realize it was a laugh.

Gokudera would probably kill him if Takeshi kissed him right here, which wouldn't do at all. Instead Takeshi rubbed his back slowly, turning to stand between Gokudera and the rest of the gathering. "What does it matter, what they think?" he asked. "Tsuna is the only one who has any say in it, isn't he?"

"It wouldn't be entirely wise of him to ignore the opinion of his allies," Gokudera said in a stifled tone.

Takeshi thought about that. "He did, though. You are. I mean you were. Will be. Kind of." Okay, he probably deserved the look Gokudera was giving him. "In the future. Remember?"

Gokudera blinked. "Oh," he said at last.

Takeshi smiled. "Yeah, oh." He slid his hand up under Gokudera's hair to knead his neck. "He wants you. We want you. And we're the ones who know you."

Gokudera looked uncertain, now, but that was better than the harsh expression he'd had. He leaned just a little into Takeshi's hand. "Mm."

"If we weren't in public, I'd show you," Takeshi murmured, coaxing.

Gokudera flushed. "Don't even think it," he hissed, glaring.

Takeshi grinned. That was much better. "Sure." He let go with a last brush of his fingers and wandered off, casually.

But not very far off.

He stayed close enough to slide into the path of the next person to head toward Gokudera and look at the man the way he looked at his targets for cutting practice. When the man flinched and veered off, Takeshi nodded and let the still poise run out of him again and looked around for a drink tray. He figured he'd be here a while.

From the corner of his eye he watched Gokudera's shoulders relaxing from their over-straight line and smiled.

It was all about body language.

Takeshi perched in the window across from the school's music room and listened to the music winding down the empty hall.

He had been there for almost an hour, he thought. He wasn't sure; he hadn't looked at his watch for a long time.

When the music ended, this time in a definite scraping of furniture and shuffling of paper, he sighed. Well, hopefully he'd get to hear more some time. And when Gokudera emerged from the music room and stopped short, staring at him, it was worth it. Takeshi grinned and hopped down.

"That was great."

Gokudera waved a hand, looking uncomfortable. "I'm not professional grade or anything. It's just a hobby, really."

Takeshi cocked his head. "You don't have to be professional to be good."

Gokudera snorted. "Says the man who insists on playing a ball game professionally?"

Takeshi allowed the point and tried another tack. "That first one you played was... well it was something else." He frowned for a moment, fishing for the right words. "It kept my attention. It... didn't let go."

"Chopin's Fantaisie?" Gokudera smiled. "Not surprised. A lot of his pieces are that way, but the Fantaisie especially. You're never sure what's coming next."

"What was the second thing you played?" Takeshi asked, wanting to keep Gokudera going. It fascinated him when Gokudera forgot himself and showed this side.

"The Nocturne in C Minor." Gokudera's eyes brightened. "I like that one. It's the last of his Nocturnes. There's some speculation, lately, that it was based on an Italian opera."

"It reminded me of you."

Gokudera blinked and Takeshi shrugged. He was just about positive he wouldn't find the words to explain this, but it was true. "The way it moved. It just... felt like you." His mouth quirked. "The last one reminded me of you, too."

Gokudera's brows rose. "The Waltz in A Minor?"

"Not exactly the same way," Takeshi allowed, and chuckled as Gokudera frowned. "It made me think of you in other moods." He reached out and stroked the backs of his fingers down Gokudera's cheek.

Gokudera's breath hitched. He always seemed so startled by this, and Takeshi was starting to think very dark thoughts about the people Gokudera seemed to have encountered before coming to Japan. He reached out and drew Gokudera close.

"We want you," he murmured. "I want you. The elegance and the explosions and the growling and all of it."

"Yamamoto..." Gokudera's eyes were wide and unguarded, and it drove Takeshi a little wild to think that something so simple was such a revelation to him. He caught Gokudera tight against him and kissed him, deep and intent and hungry, parting Hayato's lips and twining their tongues together, more demanding than he'd dared be before, trying to show what words apparently weren't quite getting through. Again.

And maybe his instincts were right again because Gokudera answered the kiss, finally, hesitant but wanting, fingers winding tight in Takeshi's shirt. He kissed Gokudera until they were both breathless, hands kneading slowly up and down his back. He kissed his way down Gokudera's neck and made a pleased sound at the way Gokudera relaxed against him, head tipped back with a faint, startled sound. This was what he wanted, yes.

"I'll show you some more, if you want," he said against the curve of Gokudera's neck.

"Maybe not right here in the school hallway." Gokudera's voice was dry, for all the husky edge to it. "Hibari would probably kill us."

Takeshi laughed. "Good point." He lifted his head to smile down at Gokudera. "You mind if I come visit this evening, then?"

Gokudera stared at him for a moment before he glanced aside and swallowed. "I wouldn't mind." His voice was huskier than it had been while they were kissing.

"I'm glad," Takeshi said softly.

Gokudera reached for his bag to sling over his shoulder and glanced up at Takeshi with a tiny smile. "Come on, then."

Takeshi smiled in complete contentment and tucked his hands in his pockets and followed along.

He didn't think for one moment that he was done, but this time he was sure that Gokudera had heard what he was saying.

End

Some Sweet Day

After a hard workout, some privacy finally leads Gokudera and Yamamoto to a significant intimacy. Takes place some time between Comfort Food and Going Back Someday. Drama with Romance, I-3

Takeshi thought he and Gokudera were making good progress. When Reborn stopped by their practices to work with them, these days, they actually made him move pretty briskly.

Of course, he made them flat, exhausted, dripping with sweat and repeatedly, if virtually, dead. But it was progress.

"Hey," he said, rolling over, halfway between panting and laughing as he watched Gokudera eye a handful of muddy, paint-dyed hair glumly. "Come back with me today. Tou-san will feed us and the bath is bigger than the one at your place."

Gokudera only hesitated a moment. "Okay." Takeshi smiled.

It was definitely progress.

Gokudera hissed when he tried to reach his back with the sponge and Takeshi looked up from rinsing his hair and shook his head at the black and blue starting across Gokudera's ribs and shoulders. "You're going to have a lot of bruises."

"Yeah, I got that part," Gokudera grumbled, twisting gingerly on the bath stool.

Takeshi shook his head with a wry grin and came to take the sponge away. "Here."

Gokudera twitched. "You don't have to," he muttered.

"Why shouldn't I want to?" Takeshi asked, reasonably.

Gokudera didn't answer, sitting stiff and hesitant as Takeshi ran the sponge over his back, and Takeshi sighed to himself. Every new touch needed new reassurance. He could do that just fine; he just wished Gokudera didn't need it. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Gokudera's neck, where wet hair parted over his nape. "I do want to."

Gokudera shivered. "Yamamoto..."

"Let me?" Takeshi asked, softly, hands sliding down Gokudera's arms, one still full of the sponge.

After a moment Gokudera nodded. He didn't make a sound as Takeshi gently washed his back, though he settled back slowly when Takeshi pressed against him, reaching around to soap his chest. He was a little flushed, but almost anything could still cause that.

And Takeshi still thought it was adorable.

The flush turned deeper when Takeshi scooted around to run the sponge down his legs and Takeshi was careful not to tickle. He didn't want Hayato tense. Gokudera kept his head down and didn't look at Takeshi as he set down the sponge and reached for the water.

"Here. Hold still." Takeshi washed the suds away, fingers stroking over the fine, lean lines of Gokudera's body. It felt good to be able to do this for Gokudera, something simple and caring.

The one thing he didn't like was how flustered this made Hayato, how unfamiliar it seemed to him. He was definitely going to have to think about hunting a few people up—or down—the next time they were in Italy. Carefully smoothing away the hard line from his mouth he turned off the water and regarded Gokudera.

He knew touch would reassure if he was clear enough. But maybe it was time for something else, too.

Gokudera still wasn't looking up. Takeshi took a slow breath and set his fingers under Hayato's chin, lifting his head. His eyes were dark and hesitant.

"Hayato," Takeshi said.

Gokudera's breath drew in and his eyes widened. After one shocked, still moment, he reached out a hand and Takeshi promptly gathered him up, holding him close, hands sliding over damp skin. "Hayato," he murmured again.

Hayato pressed against him, almost huddled into him, and Takeshi's arms tightened. "You didn't think I would?" he asked, softly. Hayato made a noncommittal sound, and he had to smile; Hayato went to such trouble to seem casual, even when he was pressed tight against Takeshi and breathing quick and unsteady. "Shh," he soothed, one hand spreading warm against Hayato's back, over his heart.

It took a while for the tightness of want and fear to ease out of Hayato's muscles, and Takeshi's knees were complaining a bit about the hardness of the tile, but he ignored them. This was more important. Feeling the clutch of Hayato's hands loosen and his breath slow as Takeshi held him was much more important.

Finally Hayato stirred and Takeshi felt the slow intake of breath against his shoulder. Quietly, a little shyly, Hayato murmured, "Takeshi."

Takeshi couldn't stop the smile that pulled at his lips. "Yeah."

Hayato was quiet in his arms for another breath before he lifted his head and pushed a little against Takeshi's chest. "I want some hot water before all these bruises stiffen up," he said softly, still not quite looking at Takeshi.

"Good idea." Takeshi eased back onto his heels, a bit slowly. He had to laugh at the way they both creaked, getting to their feet. "Here," he held out a hand to Hayato. "So neither of us falls getting in."

Hayato looked at his hand for a long moment before taking it, face flushed again thought a tiny smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah. Okay."

Takeshi smiled back, satisfied.

Definitely progress.

End

Going Back Someday

Yamamoto comes to visit Gokudera and they navigate around their trust and need for each other—indirectly as always. Drama with Romantic Porn, I-4

A knock at the door pulled Hayato out of the depths of differential equations and he glared at the blank wood for a moment before getting up, grumbling under his breath the whole way, to see who it was.

"Takeshi?" He blinked, hands full of his front door and his math textbook, neither free to adjust his reading glasses the way he felt a momentary need to.

"Hey." Takeshi leaned in the doorway, grinning. "Thought it was about time I stopped in for a visit."

After over a month away. Hayato sniffed, but stood aside for him. "I suppose you might as well come in, yes."

Takeshi sprawled out on Hayato's couch. "So? How's the university thing going?"

Hayato gave him a resigned look and set aside his book. "Pretty well. You've checked in with the Tenth?"

Takeshi chuckled. "I think maybe he's not having as much fun as you are." He stretched out long legs, crossing his ankles. "He was looking kind of frazzled over the, um," Takeshi frowned, faintly puzzled, "the macro?"

"Macroeconomics," Hayato translated.

"Ah." Takeshi looked dubious. "Okay."

"Look it up yourself."

Takeshi laughed. "Caught me. Okay, I will."

Hayato shook his head. He was never sure whether Takeshi was genuinely lazy about these things or just doing it to tease him. "So?" he sighed. "How's the idiot ball game going?"

Takeshi's smile quirked. "It's going well. We might actually make it to the Nihon Series this year."

"Good luck." Hayato stood up and went to fetch tea.

"Hayato."

"The Tenth approves," Hayato said, quietly. "That's all that matters. It's true, we aren't under as much threat as long as we stay in Japan for now." He poured and handed Takeshi his cup before going to the picture window that was the one extravagance in his latest apartment. The city lights were starting to come on, as the sun set.

There was a sigh behind him. "I live close enough to come quickly when he needs us. And you can't think I would let a game stop me, if he did."

Hayato's mouth tightened and he lowered his head. "No, I don't think that," he said to his cup.

After a moment Takeshi said, "You know, I've never heard you complain about Ryouhei-san's career."

"Yeah, well, that's him," Hayato muttered and took a sip of tea to loosen the slightly trapped feeling in his chest.

There was a click of porcelain on wood and then Takeshi's arms were sliding around him, easing him back into the lean solidity of Takeshi's body. "So what's the difference between him and me?" he murmured.

"You're the other person the Tenth really depends on." Hayato looked straight ahead, over the city.

Takeshi's arms tightened. "Yeah?"

Hayato was silent. Takeshi waited, just holding him, and finally he sighed and growled, "You're other the person I depend on, too."

"I'll be here when you need me," Takeshi murmured against his hair. "Promise."

Hayato rested his head back on Takeshi's shoulder. "I've got to be a complete idiot to believe that," he complained to his ceiling, because of course he did. Takeshi had the temerity to chuckle and Hayato elbowed him.

"Careful." He could tell Takeshi was smiling. "You'll spill the tea."

He let Takeshi take the cup and set it on the shelves by the window and a low sound caught in his throat as Takeshi folded him more firmly into his arms.

"Do you need me to come back now?" Takeshi asked, softly.

Hayato wrestled with temptation for a moment and finally sighed. "Not really. I just..." he bit his lip.

Takeshi pressed a kiss to his neck. "I'll stay for a while."

Hayato closed his eyes and breathed out. "Yeah." Takeshi always knew.

"Besides," Takeshi's voice lowered, and one hand drifted up to start unbuttoning Hayato's shirt, "I've missed you."

The breath was a laugh this time. "Takeshi..."

"What? I did." Takeshi's lips curved against his neck. "And I missed this, too." His hand spread open against Hayato's stomach and slid up over his chest, warm and slow.

Hayato made a husky sound, unwinding into the stroke of Takeshi's hands, sighing as they slid over his ribs, down to his hips, strong and gentle. The steadiness of Takeshi's touch untangled his thoughts, smoothed them into calm, and he had to admit he'd missed this too. His breath caught on a small shudder of heat as long fingers undid his slacks and slid inside to wrap around his cock, familiar and knowing.

"Easy," Takeshi breathed against his ear, and Hayato made a breathless, amused sound.

"When you're doing this?" But it was true.

"Mm. Especially while I'm doing this." Takeshi's fingers worked over him slowly and he drew Hayato more snugly back against him.

Having made his token protest, Hayato let himself settle into Takeshi's arms and rested his head back. "Okay." Takeshi just about purred as he let himself be supported, and Hayato's mouth quirked even as his hips rocked up into Takeshi's hand. Sometimes he wondered if Takeshi made it so clear he liked it when Hayato relaxed so that Hayato could feel a little less needy for wanting it so much himself. It would be like him.

Right now, though, pleasure was unraveling his mind, so he let the thought go and just sighed as Takeshi's hand stroked his cock slow and firm, building heat in him.

"Mmm, there." Takeshi's mouth moved down his throat, open and wet, and he caught Hayato closer when he shuddered, arching, tipping his head further back. It felt so good to be held, tight and sure, and know Takeshi had him. It felt even better when Takeshi's thumb rubbed slowly over his head.

He opened heavy eyes and saw their reflection in the window, the white of his shirt hanging off his shoulders; the darkness of Takeshi behind him, head bent; the movement of the strong hand between his legs, and heat spiked through him. He moaned as Takeshi's hand tightened, pushing wantonly into that grip as pleasure rose and rose and spilled over, pulling him taut against Takeshi's body, gasping for breath as heat wrung his nerves again and again.

Takeshi made a satisfied noise as Hayato slumped back against him, and cradled him close.

When Hayato had caught his breath he asked, "How long do you think you'll stay?"

Takeshi was quiet for a moment before he said, "As long as I'm needed."

Hayato turned in Takeshi's arms, leaning his head against Takeshi's shoulder, and sighed. "Idiot. You're always needed."

"Really?" He could hear the smile in Takeshi's voice and a warm hand slid up to curve around the nape of his neck.

"The Tenth relies on you." And if Hayato's voice was huskier than that statement called for, well.

"All right." Hayato made a startled sound as Takeshi lifted his chin and kissed him softly, breath catching into quiet when he saw how dark and serious Takeshi's eyes had turned. "When you and Tsuna graduate from here. I'll come back for good."

A shudder ran through Hayato as one thread of tension, years long, finally unwound. He buried his head against Takeshi's shoulder and when he spoke it was muffled. "About time. Fucking baseball idiots, you just can't do anything with them."

He wouldn't be alone, at Tsuna's side.

A chuckle ran through Takeshi's chest. "So, I guess I'll just have to see about the World Series before then. Since I'll have other things to concentrate on after."

Hayato looked up with a wry smile, and this time he meant it when he said, "Good luck."

Takeshi kissed him again, lightly, and tugged up Hayato's pants, refastening them. "So what do you have around here for dinner?"

"Probably nothing you'll approve of." Hayato pushed back and buttoned his shirt himself, face hot.

"Probably not. Grocery shopping tomorrow," Takeshi declared, strolling toward the kitchen while Hayato reflected on the unexpected pitfalls of hanging around the son of a sushi chef. He smiled, though, and followed along to perch on the table and watch Takeshi rummage through his shelves. He had more reading to do, but the books would keep for later.

Later would be all right.

End

Reversal

Hibari looks at the world differently than most people. Written for the drabble exchange prompt: Hibari, Possessive. Drama with Characterization, I-3

"You know," Dino picked his way through what he could only think of as the litter of fallen bodies surrounding Kyouya, "you probably didn't need to be quite so, ah, thorough."

"They insulted the Vongola," Kyouya pointed out. He still had his tonfa in his hands, steel held straight and poised, and Dino was careful to keep one eye on them. Kyouya wasn't picky about his opponents when his blood was up.

"I have to say, you're not the one I'd expected to be the most protective of the Vongola's reputation." Dino folded his arms and leaned against the wall, one foot braced, and considered. "Actually, I guess you and Gokudera are probably tied. But I didn't expect that, either." He kept coming back because Kyouya kept surprising him.

Kyouya sniffed. "Gokudera acts like a herd animal. Or a pet."

Dino's mouth twitched. "So what do you call how you act?"

Kyouya raised a brow at him, finally putting away his weapons. "What do you mean?"

"Well just look at what you did to the poor idiots, just for insulting Tsuna." Dino waved at the fallen. "And you supposed to be the Cloud, the one who doesn't belong to anyone."

"I don't belong to anyone."

Dino was starting to have that feeling. The one he often had, talking to Kyouya. The one that suggested maybe Kyouya lived in a different world than the rest of them. "So what do you call your reason for this, then?"

Kyouya looked straight at him, eyes sharp and bright, and smiled like a crazy thing. "I don't belong to Sawada. He belongs to me."

Dino eyed Kyouya's smile, and the scatter of bodies only now starting to groan, and laughed helplessly.

And wondered, in the back of his head, whether Kyouya thought the same thing about him.

End

The Finest Things

Atobe deals with some trouble among his officers. AU, Drama, I-3

Keigo drew his horse down to a walk, trying to keep a discreet eye on everything as his men filed back up to the castle, sweaty and dusty and noisy, the winners of the mock battle teasing the losers. Their lord was watching, imposingly still on his own mount. Taki was riding with his head down, barely lifting it to snap back when Mukahi prodded him about today's resounding loss. Shishido...

Shishido rode with his head raised for the first time in many weeks, and his eyes burned bright. He had earned that pride back, to be sure. But Keigo rather thought he knew what today had been all about, and he tried once again to catch Shishido's eyes and signal him to leave his victory to speak for itself for now. Once again he failed and stifled an impulse to throw over subtlety and just bang the idiot over the head a few times. Tarou-sama was beckoning Keigo to his side, though, and he would just have to trust fate for now. He drew rein beside their clanlord and bowed. "Tono."

"How badly were Taki's forces defeated?" Tarou-sama asked, evenly, eyes on the men passing him.

"Completely," Keigo reported, keeping his voice dispassionate, no matter how much he wanted to grind his teeth with frustration. "They would have lost two out of three, had we been in the field."

"Hiyoshi will take his place as sub-commander in the future."

Keigo inclined his head, having more or less expected this. Of course, he also half expected the scuffle of abruptly halted horses behind him and Shishido's sharp protest.

"Tono!" Shishido hauled himself out of the last of their men, who, wise to the ways of their clan, were making their way out of earshot as quickly as they could manage without actually running. "This was my victory! You can't...!"

Keigo cut him off before he said anything too unwise. "Shishido, what did you expect? This doesn't erase the way you lost to Tachibana."

Shishido wasn't listening. As usual. He flung himself off his horse and down to the ground before their lord, and his helmet hit the dust beside him. Keigo stifled a sigh. Someday, Shishido would learn patience.

And then none of them would recognize him.

Keigo stiffened as Shishido pulled out his knife, though. Surely he wouldn't... And then he had to force his jaw shut as Shishido sliced away his hair with a few savage strokes. Keigo thought the soft whistle from behind them might have been Oshitari. This was certainly a gesture no one who knew Shishido's vanity would have expected, even in repentance. Even Tarou-sama's brow lifted.

It put the cap on the day's surprises when their youngest captain stepped forward and knelt beside Shishido.

"Oyakata-sama," Ohtori said quietly, formally, "Shishido-dono has worked harder than any of us to repair his weaknesses. Surely he has earned his rank back."

Tarou-sama's other brow lifted and Keigo had to stifle a wince this time. He appreciated courage in his sub-commanders, but couldn't any of them take the trouble to learn to read their lord's moods and pick their times?

"Would you trade your rank for his, then?" Tarou-sama purred.

Ohtori's eyes widened and Keigo saw him swallow; but then his back stiffened. "I would."

Keigo really, really hated it when his officers put him in a spot like this. But he also really, really didn't want to lose Ohtori's talents in the field, and Keigo was the only person who could tip the balance now. He swung down from his horse and came to stand at Tarou-sama's stirrup.

"Tono. Ohtori is a valuable officer. And Shishido has, I believe, overcome his faults." He bowed. "I ask this, as well."

He could feel Tarou-sama's eyes on him for a long, hot moment, before his lord murmured, "Do as you see fit, then," and turned his horse away toward the castle. Keigo let his breath out and straightened up.

And then he turned to glare at Ohtori and Shishido, both of whom looked a little stunned. "You'll be co-captains," he snapped. "And you'd better prove that I'm right."

"Yes, Taishou," Ohtori agreed, dusting off his knees briskly.

Shishido snorted. "As if we wouldn't." And then he looked sidelong at Ohtori. "Choutarou. ...thanks."

Keigo rolled his eyes and left them to it, stalking over to the rest of his officers. "No one says anything about this to Taki or Hiyoshi until I do," he ordered.

Mukahi sniffed, nearly lounging in his saddle with what Keigo could only call aggravated insouciance. "As if they won't have heard a dozen times by the time we get back to the castle."

Oshitari reached over and rested a hand just above the boy's knee. "There is a difference between general gossip and an account of Ouchi-dono's own words directly from our highest general, Gakuto," he murmured, and Mukahi subsided with a shrug.

It was, Keigo reflected a bit sourly, a good thing for Mukahi's continued health that he and Oshitari were so inseparable. Even if Keigo, personally, thought Oshitari could have had better taste. "Let's go," he told them all, mounting again and reclaiming the reins from Kabaji.

Taki was infinitely easier to deal with than Shishido, and Keigo was thankful for the fact. Taki didn't push or snap, and he quietly accepted Keigo's subtle assurance that his skill and accomplishments would be brought to Tarou-sama's attention at an opportune time.

Unfortunately, Hiyoshi was even more of a handful than Shishido, in his own way. He took the news that his impending rank had been snatched away again without a word, merely bowing at an entirely correct angle. His eyes never fell, though, and they burned into Keigo's back as he left.

He resolved to keep a closer eye on Hiyoshi. The times were unsettled enough to give young almost-officers ideas. The last thing they needed in this province was any more of the small samurai seeking to overthrow their superiors.

End

Note: The clan lord is, of course, Sakaki. He is roughly equivalent to a mix of Ouchi Yoshioki and Ouchi Yoshitaka.

Detachment

Yukimura and Sanada discuss the future a little. AU, Drama, I-3

Yukimura lay with his head turned to look out the open screens, into his garden. Spring sunlight, softer and lighter than the heat of summer, made the small leaves glow and skipped over the water of the pool as the breeze ruffled its surface.

It was beautiful and serene, and normally Genichirou would have shared an appreciative quiet, complimenting his friend silently on this space. Today was not normal, though. They hadn't had normal days since the start of winter.

Yukimura turned his head back to look up at the ceiling. "I may not be with you at Kawanakajima this time." The curve of his mouth could not be called a smile.

Genichirou frowned. "Yukimura."

"Have you seen?" Yukimura asked, quietly. "The peach blossoms are already passing." His expression was calm. "As everything does."

An unaccustomed chill settled in Genichirou's stomach. Yukimura could be chilling at times, of course, but it was the brutal, living cold of spring water—something that never froze and always moved. This... this was the dead chill of ice. His own years of study and meditation told him it was a good and suitable thing, that Yukimura realized the passing nature of all life. But the hotter core of him insisted it was wrong.

Attempting to balance his own thoughts, Genichirou found himself remembering another afternoon in this garden, years ago. "You promised you would lead us back there as many times as victory required," he said, and his lips quirked wryly as he looked down at Yukimura. "It isn't like you to break a promise."

Yukimura blinked and his eyes refocused on Genichirou at last, wide with surprise. They were silent for long moments, watching each other while birds called in the garden.

Finally Yukimura smiled, and this time it was genuine. "Of course." The breeze lifted the leaves of the maple beyond the screen, and sunlight poured over them showing gray eyes gleaming and alive again. "I'm sorry to have troubled you, Sanada."

Genichirou waved a hand, disclaiming any trouble, and they both relaxed, looking out once more into the strong, serene lines of the garden.

End

Watermark

Alexiel has a talk with Hatter. Hatter is unexpectedly drawn in. Shameless wingfic. Drama, I-3

There were times when Belial really rather envied the Evils their wings. Not only did Kurai's wings, for example, come out in lovely stained-glass colors, but they were also smooth.

Belial's wings, like the wings of any angel, were feathered.

And most of the time Belial quite liked hir feathers. Feathers made for expressive wings, and loose feathers made an excellent remote vehicle of power. It could not be denied, however, that feathers had some unavoidable drawbacks, one of which was to clump sadly when wet.

Few things looked as utterly ridiculous as an angel, fallen or otherwise, in the process of washing its wings.

It was for this reason that Belial liked to have a bathing room to hirself when washing hir wings, and se took some trouble to ensure that se did, even in the current, unsettled spatial conditions that made it uncertain where any door would go or who might come through it. So hir moment of frozen shock, when the door opened, someone having not only seen it through the illusion Belial laid over the entry but also gotten past it, was, perhaps, understandable.

Belial stood and dripped, having just dunked hir wings for the last time, and stared at Alexiel's smile. A dispassionate corner of hir mind noted that Alexiel probably hadn't even noticed the spells on the door.

"Hatter! I hadn't realized anyone was in here."

Belial tried not to grind hir teeth. "One was just finishing," se said, stepping up out of the water. "Don't let one interrupt you."

"Not at all." Alexiel slid into the water with a pleased sigh. "It can be nice to have company."

Belial made a noncommittal noise, wondering a bit grumpily how Alexiel had retained Setsuna's obliviousness. Se dried off briskly, and then had to pause, caught in a dilemma. Hir wings were sodden. Se couldn't close them, like this, it would be extremely uncomfortable in that annoyingly disembodied way of closed wings. They would take hours to dry, if se just left them wet. But one of the only things that looked sillier than an angel with soaking wet wings was an angel shaking its wings halfway dry. The hopping and shimmying involved came close to embarrassing hir even when se was alone. Which se was most definitely not, at the moment. Belial set hir jaw and made for hir robe. Hours it was.

"You're not going to just leave your wings like that, are you?" Alexiel sounded startled, with, Belial had to admit, some justification.

"One is going out in the sun; they'll dry nicely there," se answered shortly.

A snort came from behind hir. "Don't be silly, you should at least brush them out, or they'll dry itchy." There was a splash. "Here. Sit down, and I'll help." Alexiel padded past hir, pushing Belial down onto a pile of towels with a casual hand on hir shoulder. She rummaged an oiled feather comb out of the bathing room shelves while Belial sat, nonplussed, and came back to settle down behind hir.

"You... but..." Belial sputtered, taken completely aback by the offer. No one touched hir wings, that was... Se started as Alexiel laid a steadying hand on the upper curve of one wing, starting at the top. A shiver ran down exquisitely sensitive skin at the touch. Se looked over hir shoulder, eyes a little wide. "What are you doing?" se asked, softly.

Alexiel glanced up, and made a wry face. "I'm not trying to seduce you, Hatter, calm down. I'm just helping you groom your wings. That's all." She turned her attention back to preening the feathers. "Haven't you had friends help comb your wings before?"

After a long moment, Belial murmured, "No."

Alexiel's movements stilled, though she didn't look up again. "For a long time, neither did I," she said, at last. And then added, "Try to relax enough to let your other wing down, at least. You'll cramp up if you hold it up wet the whole time."

Too flustered by the unaccustomed ripples of sensation under Alexiel's fingers to come up with a good argument, Belial slowly lowered hir other wing.

Alexiel's hands were gentle, careful fingers easing the wet feathers apart and brushing them dry. "One was not expecting you in one's bath," Belial observed, just to fill the quiet around them.

Alexiel chuckled. "Well, I thought I was heading for my own, but this is where I wound up." She sighed, fingertips stroking damp feathers back into place. "The land has a mind of its own, no question."

Belial's mouth quirked. "As does much of the Creator's work. A pleasing irony one feels."

That came out rather more husky than se had intended.

Alexiel patted the wing she was combing and Belial could hear the smile in her voice. "There. I told you you could relax." Belial shuddered as Alexiel's hands stroked over hir still-wet wing and Alexiel paused. "Or maybe not. Come on, now, Hatter, that won't do." Her hands slipped up to Belial's bare back, kneading gently around hir wings.

Belial bit back a gasp. Alexiel's hands were so warm se was sure there was magic in them; it felt like her fingers were sliding into Belial's back, under hir skin, stroking hir body into a different shape. "Alexiel..." Se made to draw away, alarmed at the idea of what the Organic Angel's power could do, even to hir.

Alexiel's hands slipped up over hir shoulders, holding her there effortlessly. "Shh, now. It's all right, Hatter, I'll be careful; promise. Wow you're knotted up back here! You need to take better care of yourself, you know."

The casual, thoughtless caring that Setsuna's life had left Alexiel with might amuse the erstwhile Lord of Hell, but Belial had yet to figure out just how to deal with it. So, once again, se dealt with it by doing nothing.

Of course, that left hir draped over a bathing room bench, increasingly limp and breathless, while Alexiel's hands moved over hir wings, her power stroking over Belial's slow and gentle and intimate.

Hir strategy could, perhaps, do with a little revision, at some point.

"I'm glad that you took care of him, you know," Alexiel murmured. "Lucifer," she added when Belial made an inquiring sound. Her rich voice trembled with amusement. "Even when it meant you were trying to bring my incarnation under your power."

"He is one's lord," Belial whispered. And then more sarcastically, rallying a bit, "One is overcome with gratitude for your merciful forgiveness."

Alexiel laughed, breath ruffling Belial's feathers, making hir shiver. "I didn't say a word about forgiving you for it. I just said I'm glad."

Her honesty, the truth of her words, transfixed Belial and se made a soft, breathless sound as the thrill of that blunt truth twined around the sensation of Alexiel's hands on hir wings.

"Ah. So that's what it is with you, hm?" Alexiel stroked Belial's wings open and smooth one last time and stood. "And you hide your taste for honesty behind a face of trickery."

Alexiel's perception made Belial gasp and se didn't resist when Alexiel bent over hir and lifted hir face in warm hands. "Perhaps I see why he calls you a foolish butterfly." Her lips pressed against Belial's forehead. "I'll remember." Her stern beauty slid into a wry smile and Belial blinked. "And I meant what I said. You should take better care of yourself."

Belial couldn't find words to answer and Alexiel brushed gentle fingers through hir hair and left hir, breathless and undone on the floor of the bathing room.

Belial sprawled in an armchair, staring at the feather se played through hir fingers.

Normally, hir feathers were a very pleasing black. Se had never decided whether the fallen angels' wings had turned black in an act of will and allegiance to Lucifer or whether it was simply the Creator's taste for gratuitous symbolism, but se had always found it satisfying to match hir lord.

Now, though, the very tips of them glowed with vibrant light. As far as se could tell, it was a perfect match for the color of Alexiel's wings.

Se looked like hir wings had been dipped in Alexiel's color.

Belial held the feather up to the light. "I do not belong to her," se told it. "I belong only to my lord."

The white edge of the feather glinted like a smile.

End

In Joy and In Sorrow

Before it all starts, Kou is a bit of a brat. Ryuuko scolds him. After it's all over, Kou is still uncertain of his place. Ryuuko reassures him. Drama with Massive Crush, I-3, MANGA CONTINUITY

One

"KOU!"

Kou dashed down the hall, laughing, and dodged around a startled Ryuuko-sama to hide behind him.

Hikari stalked after him, seething. "I'm going to render you down for parts, you little..."

Kou peeked over Ryuuko-sama's shoulder. "I was just expressing my appreciation, really," he insisted with his best innocent look.

Hikari actually bared her teeth and snarled. Kou was charmed. She was the next oldest among Ryuuko-sama's Children, and definitely the most fun.

When her hands started glowing, though, he squeaked and ducked again.

"All right, that's enough," Ryuuko-sama declared, leaving Kou to go and close his hands over Hikari's.

"But...!"

Ryuuko-sama just smiled at her and she heaved a sigh and let her gathering power disperse again. "All right, Ryuuko-sama. If you say so."

"You can leave it to me," he assured her.

Hikari nodded, her calm, collected self again, and turned back down the hall, leaving Kou with Ryuuko-sama.

Which wasn't quite as nice a thought as usual, Kou decided as Ryuuko-sama turned back to him and raised a brow. He scuffed a toe against the floor and peeked up through his lashes. Ryuuko-sama's mouth twitched, but he crossed his arms.

"Well?"

"I'm sorry for causing trouble, Ryuuko-sama," Kou murmured.

"You always are, afterwards," Ryuuko-sama sighed. "What did you do this time?"

"I, um..." Kou cleared his throat; Ryuuko-sama was so dignified, it was actually kind of hard to say to him. "I snuck up behind Hikari and grabbed her boobs."

Ryuuko-sama actually rubbed his forehead. "Kou..."

Kou ducked his head, hands clasped behind him. "Yes, Ryuuko-sama." More softly, he added, "Forgive me."

Ryuuko-sama's fingers threaded through his hair, ruffling it gently. "I'm not the one you need to ask for that."

Kou knew he was blushing at the touch and couldn't manage to care. "Yes, my King," he murmured, obediently.

"Good." Ryuuko-sama's hand slid down to clasp his shoulder and Kou had to suppress a shiver.

From the gentle way Ryuuko-sama smiled at him, he thought maybe he hadn't managed to.

Two

Ryuuko and Shirogane looked at each other over the last remaining breach in the boundary.

"Well." Shirogane looked like he missed having his hat to pull down over his eyes, even though he wore his regalia with every bit of his old arrogance, in Kou's informed opinion.

Ryuuko smiled. "Yes." He reached out a hand and Shirogane laid his palm to palm against it. "We'll miss you."

Shirogane's mouth actually curled up in a wry smile. "Likewise, I imagine."

"I'll see you again," Ryuuko told him softly.

"Yes," Shirogane murmured. His hand tightened on Ryuuko's and then released it. "Take care of yourself, in the meantime."

He turned away and stepped through the tear, which sealed behind him, not looking back.

Ryuuko sighed.

"You will miss him, won't you?" Kou asked, softly.

Ryuuko turned to him with a small smile. "I miss all those important to me when we can't be together."

Knowing that was to his address, a kindly given reassurance of his importance to his king, Kou flushed, looking down.

"Come." He could hear that Ryuuko was still smiling. "Like Shirogane, we'll need to find new people."

Kou swallowed. "Ryuuko... am I still..." he felt like an idiot and he still couldn't help himself. "Do you still want me as your Child?"

Ryuuko looked at him quietly for a breath, and then another, until Kou was trembling under the weight of his gaze. And then he was swept up into Ryuuko's embrace, held close against his king.

"Do you doubt yourself so much that you doubt me, too, now, Kou?"

"No! Never, I swear—" Kou broke off as Ryuuko set a finger against his lips, hushing him.

"You can feel that light fills you again?"

Kou nodded, silently. His master's power renewed his own again, and it was a vast relief he had to say.

Ryuuko's mouth quirked. "So what was your question, again?"

Kou downright blushed. Yeah, he was definitely an idiot. "Nothing, Ryuuko-sama."

"Oh, Kou." Ryuuko cradled him close and Kou's breath caught at the warmth of it. Ryuuko's hand lifted his chin, holding him so Ryuuko could meet his eyes. "There is nothing to forgive. Understand?"

Husky, caught by the direct clarity of Ryuuko's eyes, Kou whispered, "Yes, my King."

"Good." Ryuuko smiled with just a hint of mischief. "Hold on to this to remind you, if you start to forget."

Ryuuko kissed him, slow and thorough, and Kou melted helplessly into his chest. Before long he was gasping for breath because Ryuuko wasn't stopping; he kissed Kou until he was dizzy with the heat and sweetness of it.

"Think you'll remember that?" Ryuuko murmured against his mouth.

"Yeah," Kou whispered, breathless. "Oh yeah."

"Good." Ryuuko pressed another kiss to his forehead and set him gently back on his feet. "Come along, then."

Kou trailed after his king, pretty sure his grin was illuminating the landscape and totally unable to care.

End

Firebrand

Mukuro likes strong things, and pawns who are loyal to him. Alternate canon history; dark, violent, and twisty.

He leaves a message behind for whatever Estraneo survivors there might be. It's written in smoke and blood, and it says, quite simply, Don't do this again.

The two children who had survived the labs trail after him. Their eyes are wide and dark, and they look at him like he is a hero. He does not disabuse them of the notion.

But they are children, for all that they are strong—he saw the dark one make two kills, and the light one rip the throat out of a scientist with nothing but his teeth—and for now they are a burden to him.

He toys with the idea of killing them; the fewer people who know of him, the better. It would be simple enough to do. Given the way they look at him, they might even bare their throats for him.

Instead he renames them. The names come from an early life, perhaps his first, and though they no longer have faces attached to them, he recalls the sense of camaraderie that goes with them. "You will be Joushima Ken," he tells the light one, and to the dark one, he says, "And you will be Kakimoto Chikusa." They accept that, solemnly, and then he finds them a home.

The Rossi are a small Family, and, in the way of small, weak factions, have made up for it by building one of the finest information networks in Italy. Their boss is a sentimental fool, and adopts the two orphans without a single thought in his head but charity.

Before he leaves Ken and Chikusa to the Rossi's mercies, he gives them instructions. "Grow up," he tells them. "Become stronger. Listen. Learn. Be ready for me when I come for you." There are other things, ones he leaves unsaid—their minds are open to him now, ready for him to stroll through any time he chooses.

They accept that, too, and then Ken—already the brash one—asks, humbly, "What should we call you?"

"You shouldn't," he says, and they flinch. But it's true enough that he needs a name, and the one the Estraneo gave him won't do at all. "Mukuro," he says, finally, picking the name that goes with theirs. "You may call me Mukuro-sama."

The linguistic niceties are lost on them, to be sure, but they nod. When Mukuro leaves them, they are forming the syllables for themselves, eyes wide and shining.

He drifts through Italy on his own, possessing people and discarding them after he's learned the things they won't tell someone wearing a child's body, and what he learns is that he wouldn't give two figs for any of the Families or their so-called values. The Estraneo had been rotten at the core, and so are the rest of them. The more they bleat on about their honor and their codes, the more it disgusts him. They have no honor that they will not sell. They have no codes that they will not break.

The Mafia—humans—are revolting. There's nothing they won't sacrifice if it means gain, not even their own children.

The whole thing should be destroyed.

And then Mukuro thinks, Why not?

He drifts northward, towards the Rossi, with the vague intention of letting himself be adopted along with Chikusa and Ken. The Rossi are as good a place as any to stay while he plans his destruction of the Mafia.

That changes when he hears the rumors coming out of the Vongola—that the Vongola Ninth is getting old, and will select his heir soon. The favorite is Xanxus, his natural son. All the Barassi peon Mukuro is possessing knows of this Xanxus is that he's strong—incredibly strong.

Mukuro absorbs this, and smiles.

He likes strong things.

He goes strolling that evening, walking through his own world until he comes across Chikusa. The boy looks startled to see him, but takes his hand without hesitation. "Mukuro-sama," he murmurs.

"I have need of you," Mukuro tells him, and pushes Chikusa's consciousness aside.

The Rossi are careless among their own people. Mukuro strolls Chikusa's body through the Rossi base unchallenged, conducting his interrogations here and there, gleaning what they know of the Vongola, of this Xanxus. He pays no mind to the bodies he leaves behind him, and is pleased to note that Chikusa doesn't either.

It is terribly useful to have loyal pawns.

What the Rossi know of Xanxus dwells on the fact that he is rumored to be the Vongola Ninth's bastard son, and that he wields the Vongola Flame. He is said to be arrogant and short-tempered, and widely-expected to be named the Tenth any day now. In the meantime, he has taken control of the Varia.

Mukuro thinks that he will do nicely.

Xanxus is even better than he'd hoped.

It takes a while for Mukuro to weed through the man's underlings—killing the weak ones, disabling and marking the stronger ones for later use, if necessary—and reach him where he's brooding in his lair. When Mukuro walks in, carrying his trident and flicking the blood off his fingers, Xanxus is slouched in a chair. Mukuro doesn't make the mistake of assuming that the casual posture means that Xanxus is unwary; the man's eyes are burning.

Xanxus does him the courtesy of not assuming that the child's body Mukuro is wearing means that Mukuro is harmless. "Who the fuck are you?"

He smiles. "You may call me Mukuro," he says, and rolls out of the way of the gunfire—the gun had appeared in Xanxus' hand almost before he could see it. Delightful. "Oh, you are going to be fun to play with."

Xanxus snarls something wordless at him; his Flame sears through the air and Mukuro barely escapes being burnt. He laughs again and vaults out of the way, pivots on his staff and launches himself at Xanxus.

He'd dipped into the minds of the higher-ranking Varia, to see what their experience of Xanxus was. The uniform impression that he'd received was that the only thing Xanxus respected was strength. In that sense, he's a man after Mukuro's own heart. So Mukuro dances with him, trading blows and dodging bullets until the room is in ruins. He lands a hit early, a glancing blow as Xanxus turns his trident aside, but it lays the back of Xanxus' hand open. That's all the opportunity he needs.

He pays just enough attention to what's going on around him to keep Xanxus from injuring him, and goes for a stroll through Xanxus' memories. He's looking for confirmation that Xanxus really is going to be the Tenth. What he finds is something else entirely.

"And to think all of Italy believes you really are his son," Mukuro says, beyond entertained by it. The rot goes all the way to the heart of the Vongola, who pride themselves on the purity of their Family traditions. It's too delicious for words. "To think he even let you believe it—!"

Xanxus howls and lunges for him, but it's too late now. Mukuro has seen to the heart of the man, seen all his doubts and insecurities and the intangible things Xanxus hungers for and knows that he won't ever have. Mukuro steps out of his way and reaches out his own Will to seize control of Xanxus.

The man goes down like a rock, but his spirit struggles against Mukuro's, fighting against the grip Mukuro has on him. "You are strong," he says, going to Xanxus and standing over him.

The man glares at him, eyes fierce.

Mukuro considers him, and crouches. "Very strong," he says, softly. "And yet they don't want you. They fear you and what you can do to them." The spirit of Xanxus flinches in his grip. "You will never belong to them, and they know it." Xanxus flinches again, but Mukuro's hold on him is too strong now, and Mukuro refuses to let him look away. "But they don't mind using you, do they? They don't mind lying to you, and letting you destroy their other enemies. You make a very pretty little pawn, don't you?"

He tips his head to the side, studying Xanxus. "I wonder how long it will be until their fear of you outweighs their need for you, and they decide to kill you? It can't be long... I see you're already planning to take what should be yours. They won't let you, you know. The old man who calls himself your father will see you dead by his own hand before he lets that happen." He smiles as Xanxus' spirit goes still against his. "Remember, it's always the Family first with them. And you? You're not even family, let alone Family."

That has him; Xanxus' will flinches against his one more time, and then goes limp, bleak with despair.

Mukuro starts to shoulder him aside, and reconsiders it. "I wonder what you even want with that," he says. "Whited sepulchers, all of them. Corrupt to the very core of them. Weak little men who can't even do their own killing, and rely on monsters to do it for them. Liars and cheats, all of them." He lays his hand against Xanxus' cheek, lightly, and can feel Xanxus listening to him, intent as a flame. "You are much finer than that, aren't you? You're stronger than they are. Purer than they are, for all their fine bloodlines."

Xanxus' spirit flexes against his; Mukuro relaxes his hold just a bit, enough to give him a voice. "What do you want from me?" he rasps.

Mukuro smiles at him. "I want you to help me burn it all down," he says. "Right down to the ground. All of it—the whole rotten, stinking thing."

Xanxus' eyes change, go bright and fierce. "Yes," he whispers.

Mukuro can see the future burning in his eyes. It's a beautiful sight.

- end -

Neither Fish Nor Fowl

After another experience of Akira's shin-ness interfering with Ryuuko's power, Akira wants to know exactly what's going on. And then he has to think about who, exactly, he is. Drama, I-3, MANGA CONTINUITY

Akira sat on the ground and stared at his hand, trying to catch his breath while Kou and Shirogane argued over his head.

"-the hell did you think you were doing, anyway?!"

"Saving his life." Shirogane's voice was cold. "He'd lost his shadow. He had to change to live, and would you care to tell me how you think I could have made him rei?"

Kou bared his teeth. "You should have tried to awaken him first!"

"Leaving him with even less power to use than he has now, while fighting for his life. Again." Shirogane folded his hands on the head of his cane, eyes glittering. "Oh yes, a fine idea."

"Excuse me," Akira finally put in, very evenly, "what the hell just happened?" His blades had turned into a huge long... thing. That wasn't entirely there. And left him feeling like he'd been run down by a bus.

"You tried to manifest your real power," Kou said, savage. "Only Shirogane-san's contract with you is interfering."

"When he regains enough of his strength to sustain his true form, he will not be stopped by the mere seed of shadow I gave him," Shirogane answered, chilly.

"Quit arguing with each other and answer me!" Akira yelled.

Both of them stopped and looked at him, which was a good start anyway.

"You tried to bring forth the weapon you carry as Ryuuko," Shirogane said, finally. "But that weapon is one of light. You are currently shin, of shadow. The two can't coexist that way."

"Uh-huh. And that's bad?" He looked at Kou-nii.

"He should never have made you shin," Kou said, quiet and intense. "You're rei. You're the embodiment of light. It's your nature."

They both said that. Only, apparently, he had two different natures, now, gee what fun for him. Akira sighed. "Anyway, that Sawaki guy's gone now, right? We're done?"

"For now," Shirogane agreed quietly.

"Akira?" Shirogane asked, as he got ready for bed. "You've been quiet this evening."

Akira paused in the middle of pulling his shirt off. "You know," he said to the wall, "I still don't remember much of that time two years back, when I met Kou-nii. Or the other time you say I did that scythe thing." He hesitated for a moment. "Does that mean... when I'm Ryuuko I'm not me?"

Shirogane was quiet for longer than he liked.

"You are one spirit," he said, finally. "But as Akira you have sixteen years of memories, and as Ryuuko you have ages." After another long silence he added, "I suppose I probably haven't helped. As Ryuuko, as the direct king of the world of light, you can only be rei. But, as Akira, you are shin." Very softly, he finished, "And my Child."

Akira stood with his shirt hanging off his arms, thinking. "Maybe I'd rather be Akira," he concluded, and tossed the shirt into his laundry basket.

Shirogane was staring, when he turned around. "You... would?"

Akira shrugged. "Well, I've seen all the stuff you have to do. If I'm Ryuuko, I have to do that, too, right?" He thumped down on his bed and over on his back, looking up at the ceiling. "Besides, you and Kou, you came to find me and got me into this because I'm going to be Ryuuko, right?" Yeah, and that was a great recommendation for the life of the rei king, wasn't it?

Shirogane stood with his head down, eyes shadowed under his hat, for a moment. "I suppose we did." And then he smiled. "I've been glad I got to know you as Akira, too, though."

That was Shirogane's end-of-discussion tone; after this long, Akira was pretty good at spotting it. So he tried another angle. "What does it really mean, that I'm your Child?" It was certainly the thing Kou seemed to be most ticked off about.

Shirogane tipped his head, giving him a considering look, but he did answer. "A Child has an affinity for light or shadow, but a limited amount of power. The contract allows the Child to draw on his king's power to replenish his own."

"And now I'm drawing on yours," Akira said, slowly. Another thought was niggling at him. "And... Kou. He says I'm his king?"

Shirogane's mouth quirked. "Yes. Kou is Ryuuko's Child."

So Shirogane made him shin and fed him power because he didn't have enough yet, but somehow he was also supposed to be supplying power, only of a totally different kind, and, in fact, Shirogane had done what he had exactly because Akira was supposed to be this super-rei king... Akira rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head with a groan. "I think I'm getting a headache. Can't I just be one or the other?"

After a moment Shirogane's hand came to rest lightly on his nape. "For now, you can be only Akira. My shin. When your spirit has recovered its strength, you can be only Ryuuko, my counterpart, Kou's master."

"Still think I'd rather just stay Akira," Akira muttered from under the pillow.

Shirogane's hand tightened and his voice turned dark and low. "Don't tempt me."

A shiver ran down Akira's spine. Shirogane had no room to talk about temptation.

The hand slid away and lips brushed his neck lightly. "Go to sleep, Akira-kun."

It was the end-of-discussion tone again. Akira sighed and put his head on the right side of his pillow, pulling up his blanket and reaching up to turn off the light.

Shirogane's eyes gleamed in the shadows, watching him.

End

Engraved Here

Kou is concerned over what Akira has gotten himself into. Akira isn't. Drama, I-3, MANGA CONTINUITY

Sometimes, Akira really wondered what Kou thought he was doing.

Aya stalked off down the street, muttering, "Complete asshole, you'd think he'd learn..." Kengo trailed after her at a respectful arm's length, trying to say calming things.

Kou hauled himself out of the pile of rubble where he'd landed and got a grip on Akira's shoulder before he could follow. "Hey, Aki."

"Mm?"

Kou glanced at Shirogane, paused halfway between Akira and Aya, and now looking back with raised brows. Akira sighed and waved at him, and he leaned against the nearest wall, hands folded on his cane, 'I am very patient' practically printed on his forehead. "Yeah?" Akira asked Kou.

Kou looked at him, serious. "He's taking you to bed, isn't he?"

Akira couldn't help the way his eyes widened. "How did you—?"

Kou's smile tilted and he tapped the side of his neck. "He marked you."

For just a breath, Akira was drowned by a moment of sense-memory, of Shirogane's tongue sliding along the edge of his collar which was the only thing he'd been wearing at the time, of a bright tingle of heat that made him moan.

He took a deep breath, face hot. "Yeah. And?"

"Hey." Kou shook his shoulder gently. "I get it. It's only natural." He sighed. "I just worry about you with him."

"Why?" Akira looked up at Kou, half entreating. "Kou-nii, what happened, with you two? Why don't you want me to trust him?"

Kou's mouth tightened. "As long as I've known him, Shirogane's been an ice cold, arrogant bastard. Everything has to be his way. And now he's made a contract with you." Kou's eyes were dark. "Makes it a lot easier to control everything, including you, who should be his counterpart."

Akira thought about that. Finally he said, softly, "He wants to be in control, yeah. He wants to be the one who knows what's going on and calls the shots. But..." he looked up, "that doesn't mean he always gets to. And he's always made sure I was all right."

Kou looked at him for a long moment and finally smiled, wry, fingers running through Akira's hair and ruffling it gently. "Always thinking the best of people."

Akira blinked; that wasn't how he would have described himself.

"Okay. I'll try to trust you to deal, even with him." Kou turned him and gave him a gentle push. "Later, Aki."

"Yeah. Later," Akira said, a little distracted.

Shirogane waited for him and turned to walk beside him without a word.

They were home before Akira finally asked, "You heard all of that didn't you?" He didn't know how, because Shirogane sure looked like he'd been out of earshot, but he was pretty sure.

"Yes, I heard every word the insolent brat said," Shirogane answered in such a pleasant tone it put a chill right down Akira's spine. "Though I suppose," he added a moment later in a more reassuringly normal way, "that he has a point. You always did know how to deal with me."

He was looking at the bookshelf like he didn't see it at all and Akira's mouth tightened. "I did?" he asked, pointedly.

Shirogane started and really looked at him. After a long moment his lips curled up with what looked like genuine amusement. "Yes," he murmured. "You do."

It caught Akira by surprise and he just stared, not moving as Shirogane crossed the room and took Akira's face between his hands, lifting it. The kiss was slow, gentle, coaxing and Akira was clutching Shirogane's coat by the time he released him.

"What..." he had to clear his throat. "What was that for?" That wasn't how Shirogane kissed when he was feeling territorial, which was more what Akira had been expecting.

"For being you." Shirogane pressed another kiss to his forehead.

Akira looked up at him. "You're really weird sometimes, you know that?"

Shirogane chuckled. "Yes."

Akira let himself be gathered close. He wasn't positive exactly what Shirogane had just really said, but he thought it was something good.

End

Inquiring Minds

Aya also wants to make sure Akira isn't in over his head; Kengo is already confident. Drama, I-3 MANGA CONTINUITY

Akira was getting used to the fact that he couldn't have a calm, normal walk home from school, anymore, with nothing more exciting than maybe a gang of seniors wanting to beat him up. If it wasn't kokuchi it was some shin and if it wasn't either it was Aya. And he was starting to think he preferred the attacks to the friendly conversation.

"So." Aya swung her school bag casually in one hand. "You and Shirogane, huh?"

Akira eyed her warily. He hoped she wasn't going to get weird about it, or squeal over it, because then he'd damn well die of embarrassment. "Yeah."

She eyed him sidelong. "You sure you're okay and everything?"

Akira downright stared this time. "Excuse me? Since when are you my lifestyle counselor? Either you've run out of x-rated manga or else you're taking the prefect thing way too seriously."

She blushed. "Shut up about the manga!" The swing of her bag took on more purpose, and Akira kept an eye on it. "And I'm not trying to pry. I just... want to make sure, okay?"

"What, you don't trust him either? I thought you liked Shirogane." Akira dropped back and came up around Kengo's other side, putting him between them just in case; it was always good to have shield.

"Shirogane-san is an honorable man," Aya said firmly. "I believe that. I also believe he's dangerous." She shot him sidelong glance. "And I have noticed that collar of yours is the only thing you take with you when you're shin."

Akira puzzled at that for a moment. It made sense to him that it came along, it was his favorite accessory after all, why should that mean she would worry that Shirogane was... He stopped short and gave Aya an evil glare. She actually giggled.

"Seriously, though." She gave him a definite Prefect Look, all concerned and responsible and nosy. "Shirogane-san is a lot more serious about practically everything than you are. If you come at this as half-heartedly as you did the battle, to begin with..."

"Definitely not half-hearted," he cut her off. "Really definitely not, okay?"

She cleared her throat, cheeks a little red again. "Well. Okay, then. Good."

Akira gave Kengo a look. "You have anything to add? Might as well get it out of the way now."

Kengo smiled, sunny. "Nope."

Akira blinked. Well that was good, if a little unexpected.

Kengo looked over at him, perfectly serene. "He makes you happy. So it's all good."

Akira tried to pretend he wasn't blushing at all. "Yeah. Well." He punched Kengo in the shoulder, sending him crashing into Aya. "As long as pervert-girl over there doesn't try to get details out of me, I guess it is."

"Akira!"

He took off running with Aya on his heels. Running was a hell of a lot simpler than talking about how Shirogane made him feel.

End

Shadow Return to Shadow

Wagatsuma is concerned for Shirogane and tries to speak to both him and Akira about it, with little success. Drama, I-3, spoilers post-32, MANGA CONTINUITY

Lately, Akira was starting to think he'd been right when he was ten and said to Kengo that girls were really all aliens. It made sense of Kengo's sister. It made sense of Aya. And it sure seemed like the best explanation for weird, frilly shin girls. He leaned his chin in his hands, staring down at his toes hooked through the rung of a flimsy hospital chair. "So, Lulu. Is she actually serious? I mean, how can she switch sides when she has this contract thing with Homurabi?"

"Mm. It's possible." Shirogane leaned back in his own chair, eyes distant. "And if her contract holder dies she can make another. Apparently, she's willing to do that if we win."

"After trying to kill some of us," Akira grumbled. "Why would you even let her?"

Wagatsuma shook his head, hands still against the sheets over his lap. "Lulu is drawn to power," he said quietly. "And she is sincere about wanting to return to her proper duty." His mouth quirked. "To be sure, Homurabi's temper with his subordinates gives Shirogane a bit of an advantage in her calculations."

"I'm sure Homurabi thinks it's all very amusing," Shirogane grumbled under the brim of his hat.

"He always had a peculiar sense of humor," Wagatsuma said, agreeably, leaning back against his pillows. "But it doesn't mean it's a bad idea."

Shirogane paused in the midst of crossing his legs. "I beg your pardon?"

Wagatsuma smiled at him wryly. "It's been a long time, Shirogane. I know that hasn't made it stop hurting, but still. You need Children of your own again."

"I have one." Shirogane waved at Akira.

"Just one, yes," Wagatsuma murmured.

"Akira-kun is plenty." Shirogane gave them both a sunny smile.

Akira's mouth quirked. "Yeah, because I'm just that handsome," he said, deadpan.

"Of course," Shirogane agreed, matter of fact, and folded his hands on the head of his cane.

"The two of you," Wagatsuma sighed, though he also looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"Well." Shirogane stood and brushed down his coat. "Speaking of work, we should be going."

Akira made a face and started extracting himself from the chair; that hadn't been as long a break as he'd hoped for. As he turned to follow Shirogane, Wagatsuma touched his arm. "Akira-kun."

Akira recognized his expression instantly and groaned. "Does everyone in the whole world have an opinion about me and Shirogane?"

A breath of a laugh escaped Wagatsuma. "I'm afraid so. Those of us whose duty is to support you will, at any rate."

Akira hunched down on his chair. Great. He wasn't supposed to sleep with Shirogane because of his past incarnation; yeah like that made sense.

"I have no intention of interfering between the two of you," Wagatsuma said, plainly. "But you should keep in mind what I said to Shirogane. All of his Children were killed, and he hasn't taken any more." For someone with closed eyes, he was giving Akira a very effective sharp look. "Except for you."

Akira blinked. "Wait, so... I'm not good enough for him, this time?"

Wagatsuma rubbed his forehead. "That's not it. What I'm saying is, he needs his own Children around him. However much he may not wish to risk it after seeing all of them killed."

Akira eyed him. "Still not quite getting the point," he drawled. "I mean, here I am. Doing my part for that, as far as I can see."

"For now."

Akira frowned. "I'm not going to stop." He shifted a little uncomfortably and mumbled, "Even if I do complain."

"Perhaps the point is that the two of you deserve each other," Wagatsuma muttered, and then lower, barely audible, "...forgotten how stubborn..." He sighed. "Just... be careful, Akira-kun. Please." His head turned toward the door, where Shirogane was lingering patiently. "I serve the direct king of light, but Shirogane is my friend also."

"Okay," Akira said, after a moment. "I'll be careful."

Even if he still wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be careful of. That was okay, he figured. With his life the way it was now, being careful all over couldn't hurt.

End

Love on a Budget

Shirogane has a plan to buy them all time and reinforce the boundary between worlds, provided Ryuuko agrees, and provided Shirogane can bring himself to carry it out. Drama with Sex Magic and Mild Angst, I-4, MANGA CONTINUITY

"We're losing."

Kou blew out a stream of smoke, leaning back on the girder he'd straddled. "Yeah, probably."

Shirogane stood poised on the platform behind him, hands folded on his cane. "I'm going to have to do something about it. If you try to interfere, I'll kill you."

A corner of Kou's mouth quirked. Times like this he really longed for a recorder, just so he could play it back for Akira later. It was reassuring in a way, though. Breath of home and all that. "Well, we'll see if I think it's necessary."

"What kind of lover was Ryuuko?"

Kou choked on a lungful of smoke. The question, out of the clear blue, dragged a chain of memories through his mind. Ryuuko's smile. Ryuuko's fingers ruffling his hair. Ryuuko's hand on his chin. The gentleness of Ryuuko's eyes as he leaned over Kou—

Kou spat out his now mangled cigarette and tried to pretend he was flushed because of the coughing. "What the hell business is that of yours?"

"I suppose we'll see," Shirogane murmured, and walked off another girder into the night.

Kou stared after him. "Okay, that was weird, even for him." He shook his head and tapped out another cigarette, trying not to think too hard about all the ways he missed his master.

"Well finally." Shirogane regarded Ryuuko with a certain amount of exasperation. He knew where Akira got his stubbornness from, that was for sure.

"You bastard!" Kou rounded on Shirogane, eyes blazing. "You let Akira get that hurt on purpose!"

"It was the only way to bring Ryuuko out." Shirogane eyed Kou. "Other than almost killing you. I did consider that."

Kou took a swing at him, which Shirogane had completely expected.

"Kou." Ryuuko was between them, hand wrapped around Kou's fist. "Shirogane knows quite well I'd rather let myself be hurt than let one of my Children be hurt for me."

Kou's mouth tightened and he looked aside, tension washed out of his body in Ryuuko's grip. "Yes, my king."

Shirogane brushed off his hat and put in, dryly, "I hate to break up the touching moment, Ryuuko, but we have a problem." He couldn't help his answering quirk of lips at Ryuuko's wry smile. "Yes, I know that was obvious." He stepped closer, ignoring Kou's glare. "But we don't have time to wait for you to recover all your strength. We have to do something now, before Homurabi tips the balance any further."

"If neither of us have all our strength, what more can we do?" The question was curious rather than despairing—Ryuuko all over.

Shirogane settled his hat back on, speaking from under the brim of it. "You and I are the direct kings. Weakened or not. If we take an action together that resonates through our realms, that may reaffirm the balance for long enough."

Ryuuko looked thoughtful. "I suppose that's true, yes. But what could we do that would be enou— Shirogane!"

Shirogane waved away his appalled look. "No." His lips curled. "It would be the surest way, of course, but I know you wouldn't do it. I won't ask you to kill me." At Ryuuko's side, Kou looked pretty appalled himself, which amused Shirogane a bit, considering.

"What else would be powerful enough?"

Shirogane tipped his hat down a bit further. "Anything that allows the Light to overwhelm the Shadows, really."

After a moment Ryuuko murmured, "Shirogane."

"We'll need Kou's assistance to make sure you can manifest for long enough," Shirogane said, briskly. "I don't expect it to be easy." He started a bit as Ryuuko reached out and tipped up the edge of his hat, meeting his eyes.

"I won't do it by force," Ryuuko said, soft and immovable.

"I know. That's why I don't expect it to be easy," Shirogane snapped.

"Um?" Kou put in, slowly, looking back and forth between them. "What are you talking about? Since I'm supposed to be involved and all."

"We're talking about Ryuuko fucking me," Shirogane said flatly. And then he had to snort at Kou's expression.

"You... that's why... oh," Kou finished, a bit weakly.

Ryuuko touched Shirogane's hand, drawing his attention back. "Call me when you're ready," he said, simply, and raveled away into motes of light.

That, Shirogane though acidly as Kou grabbed the unconscious Akira before he could fall, would mean never. But that didn't matter.

It had to be done.

Akira frowned at Kou and Shirogane impartially and Kou looked shifty. Shirogane rolled his eyes under his hat.

"So Kou needs to give me some fuel so I can be Ryuuko and you and he can do something."

"Yes." Shirogane leaned on his cane, the picture of genteel unconcern.

"And you're not going to tell me what."

"No."

Akira ran his hands through his hair and growled. "Story of my damn life." He frowned at Kou. "Kou-nii, you're sure this is all right?"

Kou ruffled Akira's hair vigorously, probably so Akira wouldn't notice the doubt in his eyes. "Sure it is, Aki. I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

That at least was true, and Akira seemed to know it. "Okay, then," he sighed and crossed his arms, waiting.

He looked a little less sanguine when Kou knelt at his feet and light built between his cupped hands. When Kou lifted the handful of light he took half a step back.

"It's all right, Aki," Kou reassured him, a little husky. Shirogane could see he'd drained himself heavily to produce that seed of power. "Take it."

Akira bit his lip and slowly closed his hands over Kou's. The light flared.

Kou smiled and whispered. "My king."

Ryuuko bent down to press a kiss to his forehead. "Thank you, Kou. Rest now."

Kou barely managed to make an agreeing sound and Ryuuko leaned him gently against the couch before standing to look across at Shirogane. Shirogane lifted his chin.

"So."

Ryuuko smiled and held out his hands.

Shirogane's grip tightened on his cane for a breath. He'd known this wasn't going to be easy. He took a breath and then another and set his cane down, precisely, on Kou's table. He hesitated for a moment and finally left his hat with it; he couldn't hold back in this or they'd fail. Trying to swallow down his tension he walked steadily to where Ryuuko stood and laid his hands in his counterpart's.

Ryuuko laced their fingers together, holding Shirogane palm to palm. "Welcome, my friend," he murmured.

Shirogane closed his eyes and whispered. "Zero."

Light and shadow slid together and a sphere of stillness expanded around them. For the first time in a long while, Shirogane breathed easy, leaving his eyes closed for a moment just to savor the touch of shadow moving through his hands and blood again, as it should.

Ryuuko chuckled. "Well. At least we know Homurabi won't be interrupting."

Shirogane gave him a dirty look. "I did not need that mental image." The joke, however dark, relaxed him, though. It was true; here at perfect zero, in a place that was neither and both light and shadow, no one but the two of them could even exist.

He still shivered as Ryuuko gathered him close. "Don't worry. I'll be gentle," Ryuuko teased, and he growled.

"Ryuuko..." An odd brush against his back distracted him and he glanced back.

Ryuuko was undoing his braid.

"Whatever else has happened, you are the embodiment and lord of shadow," his counterpart murmured. "Your hair should not be bound."

Shirogane drew a breath to protest, and then let it go. Whether or not he had failed his charge, he had to be the king of shadow now, for this. And when his hair spilled through Ryuuko's hands to run free down his back, his breath eased still more. Long, warm fingers stroking through the strands made him shiver again, for a slightly different reason, and he bent his head down against Ryuuko's shoulder, fingers tight in the white cloth over his chest.

Ryuuko's hand closed over the nape of his neck, firm, and Shirogane's hands clenched into fists.

"Shirogane..." Ryuuko's voice was soft and concerned, and Shirogane laughed harshly.

"Stop worrying so much." He took a breath and loosened his grip. "It's not like I'm scared or anything idiotic like that. I just... I don't let go." He lifted his head and smiled crookedly at Ryuuko. "I'm not the nice one."

Ryuuko's mouth quirked at the reminder of their old banter. "Yes, I know, that's me." He stroked Shirogane's cheek lightly. "You're not used to this at all, then. To just feeling."

Shirogane glanced aside. "I suppose not." He was pretty sure he was blushing. Damn it.

Fortunately, Ryuuko really was the nice one and didn't mention it. "I suppose that will probably make this work better," he said, instead.

He also didn't mention the sound Shirogane made when Ryuuko finally kissed him.

Ryuuko took his hands and drew him over to the shadow-and-reality of Kou's bed, touch gentle as he undressed him. Tiny shivers tugged at Shirogane as he held himself back, moment by moment, from pulling away, reclaiming his control and distance. His knees were actually shaky enough that he downright collapsed onto the bed, when Ryuuko tugged him down.

He tried to just breathe as Ryuuko gathered him in and eased him back against the bright-dense sheets.

Ryuuko was his counterpart, the other half of the oneness, the world, they made together, and if he had ever loved anyone besides his own Children, Ryuuko was that person. He clung to that and let Ryuuko's mouth coax his open.

The curl of heat low in his stomach as Ryuuko's tongue stroked his made him gasp.

"Mmmmm."

Shirogane growled a little at the pleased tone of that sound but it caught on a deeper breath as Ryuuko's hands slid down his body, open and slow.

They had been together since awareness came to their realms, but always also apart. They had touched, but never like this.

He hadn't thought it would feel so good, for shadow to feel light's touch.

"Ryuuko," he murmured, and it wasn't as much strain to just accept when Ryuuko pulled him closer, kissed him deeper, gentle and fierce. It called to him, and he shuddered as he let himself answer, hands spread against Ryuuko's back. The careful strength of Ryuuko's hands sliding down his thighs, spreading them apart, drew his body taut, tension and desire twisted around each other.

When Ryuuko's mouth moved over his throat, open and hot, he moaned out loud, letting his eyes close.

Long fingers stroked between his legs and back, pressed slowly, slickly into him, and this time Ryuuko didn't stop as Shirogane's breath turned short and uneven. Ryuuko's touch was gentle and ruthless, and he didn't know which one made this more intense. It was getting easier to let himself go into Ryuuko's hands, and he gasped into Ryuuko's mouth as those fingers pressed deeper.

Ryuuko shifted over him again, and Shirogane almost broke down laughing as he finally realized that Kou's collection of sex aids had, of course, appeared in this space along with all the other nonliving things and that Ryuuko was pillaging it for their own use. The edge of amusement trembled in his sigh as Ryuuko's fingers slid into him again, slicker than before. Ryuuko kissed him quiet, and Shirogane let him, moaning softly under the kisses as Ryuuko's fingers twisted sharply.

If the point of the exercise was for shadow to let itself be overwhelmed by the light, he reflected, a bit dizzy with sensation, they were well on their way.

He hesitated again, though, when Ryuuko's hands urged him to turn over. Ryuuko smiled down at him and kissed him softly. "Let go, Shirogane." His touch was unyielding and that brought comfort and uncertainty and heat all at once.

Shirogane let Ryuuko turn him, a little glad that the fall of his hair hid the quick rush of color in his cheeks. The stroke of Ryuuko's hands down his back, over his rear, made him swallow. The wet slide of Ryuuko's mouth moving up his spine made him gasp, heat tightening through him again.

He shivered, gasping for breath as Ryuuko pressed against him, pressed into him, hard and slow. The stretch of it, the heat of it, the gentle, inexorable demand of Ryuuko's body against his threatened to drown him and his attention locked on the silky slide of Ryuuko's wild black hair falling over his shoulder, a reminder of who was here with him. Inside him. Shirogane shuddered, grateful when Ryuuko's arms closed around him, drawing him in tight to the curve of Ryuuko's body.

Shadow covered by the light, indeed.

"Ryuuko..." he breathed.

"Yes," Ryuuko murmured against his nape, moving against him.

Shirogane moaned openly now, losing himself in the sheer sensation, the steady warmth of Ryuuko's hands on him, the feeling of being opened. "Ryuuko..." He could hear the hunger in his own voice.

His counterpart's arms tightened around him in answer and Ryuuko drove into him harder, fierce and fast and hot. Shirogane groaned, low and wanting, moving under Ryuuko as pleasure twined down his nerves. He didn't care why they were doing this any more, only for the brilliance and power and comfort of his counterpart's presence, with him and around him and in him.

He'd missed it so much.

He moaned wantonly as Ryuuko's hands lifted his hips higher and cried out as a deeper thrust sent fire curling up his spine. Another, and another, and he was lost in pleasure, in the wild heat surging through him, in the tightening of Ryuuko's arms around him.

When he caught his breath again Ryuuko's weight was lean and warm against his back and Ryuuko's breath was quick against his shoulder. "Mmm," he observed, lazily.

Ryuuko's body against his shook with a laugh. "I suppose I might have known you'd be a hedonist if you ever gave yourself the chance." He pressed a kiss against Shirogane's shoulder. "Do you think it worked?"

"We'll know when we release the Zero state." Shirogane wished he were human and could believe in things like crossing his fingers.

He let Ryuuko clean them up and dress him, pliant under his kisses just in case. "I'd never be able to do this with anyone but you," he murmured as Ryuuko's hands cupped his face.

"I'm very glad we could," Ryuuko said softly.

For one breath, Shirogane let himself go completely, leaning against Ryuuko's body entirely relaxed, arms twined around him, laughing. "Yes. So am I." He kissed Ryuuko, open and sweet, resting against him as Ryuuko held him close in answer. The perfection of the moment stilled the very air around them.

And then he pushed away.

"Ready?" he asked, shaking back his loose hair. He'd concluded, after a minute or two of searching, that Ryuuko had most probably pocketed his hair clasp and he would have to shake Akira down for it later.

"As ready as possible." Ryuuko reached out, clasping hands with him again, and they murmured together.

"Light return to light. Darkness return to darkness."

Even with their fingers twined, Shirogane could feel the separation, the letting go, and it wrenched at him. "Ryuuko..."

And then it was Akira's hands he held.

He sighed, catching Akira in one arm and carrying him out to lay him on the couch beside the lightly snoring Kou. He stroked Akira's hair back and murmured to him, "I'll be back later." It was only polite to say, after all, even if Akira wasn't in much condition to hear.

He walked down to the river and stood beside it, watching the light slide over the surface. Eventually he sat by the edge and set his hand flat against the water, watching ripples eddy around it, feeling the cool against his palm and the heat against the back, feeling the palpable difference between realms.

He could feel the same difference spreading out through the world.

"We did it," he informed his absent counterpart, and sighed, leaning his head against his knees.

He missed Ryuuko so much.

Soon he would go back to Akira, tell him that the unspecified "ritual" had been a success, threaten Kou with slow and grisly death if he ever told Akira what that ritual had been, take up his duties again, keep going.

Soon.

End

Unbound

In bed with Shirogane, Akira wants to see his hair loose. It reminds him of things he doesn't quite remember yet. Drama with Porn, I-4, MANGA CONTINUITY

Akira tipped his head back with a breathless sound as Shirogane's mouth slid down his throat, arms tightening around him.

And then he started a little as the silky weight of Shirogane's braid thumped against his shoulder. Not for the first time he decided it was a little odd that he'd never seen it undone, not even when he was pressed up against the wall of the shower by the weight of Shirogane's body.

Shirogane's hand stroked down his back and the thought escaped on a sigh. "Do you ever undo your hair?"

Shirogane paused and lifted his head. He was smiling but his eyes were darker than they usually were in bed. "Not... for some time," he murmured.

Akira hmph-ed at this hint of more things he wasn't going to be told about and Shirogane laughed. He tipped Akira's chin up with light fingers. "Did you want to see it down?"

Akira flushed; it was probably silly, and he couldn't even explain why, if Shirogane asked, but... "Yeah."

Shirogane looked at him for a long moment, and finally nodded. "All right." He sat up beside Akira and undid the clasp that held his braid, running his fingers through the silver swaths, unraveling them turn by turn to fan over his bare skin. Akira watched, eyes wide, breath coming light and fast. It was the most sensual thing he'd ever seen and it made an odd kind of heat uncurl inside him.

Shirogane finally shook the whole sweep of it loose and smiled down at Akira, settling over him again. His hair slid over his shoulders and down around Akira in curtains.

And Akira felt... warm.

He felt relaxed; he felt... home, which was a little weird. Of course they were at home. He couldn't help reaching up to run his fingers though the strands, though.

Shirogane's smile was soft and a little sad, but Akira didn't have time to ask why before Shirogane kissed him, hands moving over him again, slow touches opening him up.

The silver around him made the afternoon different, lighter, closer. Shirogane's touch felt new and familiar, and when Shirogane finally slid into him it felt so right he moaned out loud.

"Yes, please." The words spilled through him. "This... always this."

"Always, yes," Shirogane murmured to him, husky. "With you."

Akira moved with him, perfectly wanton, rocking up to match Shirogane's thrusts, panting with the senseless brightness that filled him breath after breath. "Please..."

Shirogane leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Always one with you."

The words rang through his mind and body and swept him down in a wave of wild yearning. "Shirogane!"

Shirogane gathered him close and held him until he stilled.

And held him some more while he shivered.

"What was... that was so... I mean..." Akira looked up at Shirogane, a little shocked by how different this afternoon had been.

Shirogane's eyes were gentle. "You are always you."

Always one. A harder shiver ran through Akira. "That was... Ryuuko?"

"I expect he would have some words to say to me about binding my hair, yes," Shirogane murmured.

Akira tried to fit that into the conversation and finally resorted to, "Huh?"

Shirogane's mouth quirked. "It's... one of the signs of what we are. The hair."

"Oh." Akira touched Shirogane's hair again, biting his lip. "I just think you look better with it down," he muttered.

Shirogane blinked and then laughed. "That's my Akira."

"Yeah." He looked back up at Shirogane, eyes level. "Yeah, I am." After a moment honesty made him add, "Too."

Shirogane smiled slowly. "I'm glad." His left hand slid down Akira's body to close between his legs and Akira's back arched off the bed at the rush of heat. Shirogane purred, "Because I'm not finished yet."

"Fuck!" Akira gasped for breath; and here he'd thought he was wrung out. "That another sign of what you are, when you do this?"

"Do what?" Shirogane asked, innocently, fondling Akira.

"When you... your left hand... so incredible," Akira panted.

"Ah." Shirogane's smile turned hot. "This hand is where the mark I set the contract with is." He squeezed and Akira moaned. "You respond to it."

That was a hell of an understatement, Akira decided, lightheaded. When Shirogane thrust into him again he groaned, spreading his legs wider. There was nothing strange about it this time, just the hot pleasure of being fucked and the inhuman fierceness of Shirogane's eyes and the silver of his hair falling around them, bright as the sensation inside him.

"Shirogane!"

End

Revelation

In the final confrontation with Homurabi, Ryuuko returns. Afterwards, Akira finds that he remembers and understands a few more things. One of them is why Shirogane has refused to make any more shin than him. Drama with Mild Angst, I-3, MANGA CONTINUITY, implicit spoilers post-32

This was it. This was their last, best chance to corner Homurabi and hopefully defeat him. Akira was somewhere between exalted and terrified.

But not because of Homurabi.

Whenever Akira had changed in the past he'd been too occupied with, most usually, almost dying to notice before he was suddenly waking up again. This time was different. This time, Akira could feel it happening, like walking down a see-saw and reaching the fulcrum, the tipping point, when uphill suddenly became downhill and the world turned over. "Shirogane..." he whispered.

Shirogane looked around at him, eyes widening. "Oh." Swiftly, he was back beside Akira, one hand on his shoulder. "It's all right. Don't fight it." His mouth quirked. "It's only yourself, after all."

Akira swallowed, looking up at him. He could feel the shadow in him thinning. "I don't... I..."

Shirogane's eyes darkened and his already rather strained smile tightened. He took a long, slow breath. "Akira."

And then Akira was swept up in Shirogane's arms, long fingers winding through his hair and tipping his head back, being kissed with ruthless thoroughness. If he'd had a moment to think he might have been embarrassed at being kissed like this in front of everyone, including the damn enemy!, but all he had time to do was respond. So he did, leaning into Shirogane, mouth open under his, moaning softly as Shirogane's tongue pressed deep.

Relaxing, he forgot to be alarmed by the growing light.

Memory unfolded inside him, memories of Shirogane through ages on ages, his temper and his brilliance, and he reached for Shirogane's hands, lacing their fingers together, kissing back.

Finally Shirogane drew back and they stood eye to eye, hands clasped palm to palm. Shirogane's eyes were still dark; he'd known they would be. "I'll miss being sheltered by you," he murmured.

Shirogane smiled, wry and a little painful. "I'll miss your young self."

Ryuuko laughed. "Pessimist," he teased, affectionately. "You'll have both of me back. I doubt I'm recovered enough to stay in this form after we're done here." Though he hoped, as want flashed over Shirogane's face, that he'd be recovered enough to remember why he needed to find Shirogane other Children as soon as possible.

"What a dilemma," Homurabi prodded at them. "Perhaps I can relieve you of it by killing Ryuuko again." He smiled at Shirogane, deliberate and provoking. "Though I admit I never suspected you of such common taste."

Shirogane's lip drew up off his teeth and he straightened, pure and edged as his sword. "A King will die here today, yes."

Ryuuko smiled. "Yes." A King would die, and a King would sleep, and possibly, if they were all very fortunate, a King would heal.

He would have to trust himself, for that.

When Akira came to again he wasn't sure it was an improvement, because he was half-crushed in Shirogane's arms. After a few tries he managed a slightly rough "Hey." It was followed by a squawk as Shirogane's hold tightened before easing enough to breath at least.

"Akira." Shirogane held his shoulders and examined him, and finally sighed. "You're all right."

"Few broken bones, nothing big." Akira blinked as Shirogane picked him up. "Um. That was a joke. I can walk."

"Actually, no, you probably can't at the moment." Kou looked a little wobbly himself, but he was grinning. " 'Sokay. You don't have to for a while."

Akira looked at the torn ground around them, though he didn't really need to. "We won." It wasn't a question. He knew.

"We won." Aya and Lulu each had an arm around Kengo, keeping him upright, but they were both grinning too.

"Good." Akira sighed. "Now I can finally sleep in again."

Aya growled at him and Kou and Kengo laughed. "Need your bed for that," Kou pointed out and held out a hand. "Here. I'll take him."

"No."

Akira looked up at Shirogane, attention locked by the breath of cold ferocity in that flat statement. "Hey." He laid a hand on Shirogane's chest, feeling the tears in his coat. "Doesn't matter to me who my litter bearer is."

A little of the tension under his hand eased and Shirogane smiled down at him. "Brat."

Akira mouthed a quick It's okay, I've got it at Kou when Shirogane looked up again. Kou gave him an odd look but nodded and let Shirogane carry him.

He thought all the way home. Every now and then he asked if he could walk yet, just to prod Shirogane, but mostly he thought.

Shirogane settled him on his bed, or at least settled him on Shirogane, on his bed. Akira squirmed around, ignoring the indignant little oofs that Shirogane made until he was more comfortable—still lying against Shirogane's chest but at least not cradled in his lap.

Somehow he wasn't at all surprised that Shirogane wasn't letting go.

"Hey," he said, after a while.

"Hm?"

"That first night. The night you changed me. Why did you do it?"

The fingers stroking his hair paused a moment. Finally Shirogane laughed. "Panic, I suppose." His fingers started moving again. "I didn't expect half of what happened. I didn't think you'd bolt. I didn't think the boundary would be so thin you'd fall through it." Dryly he added, "You're good at being unpredictable."

Akira snorted.

"And I still wasn't sure you were the one I was looking for, then. It looked like you, but your power was still so faint. So I used what I was most sure would work."

"So," Akira said, reflectively, "the first time in a really long time you make a contract... and it's basically by accident."

"Not the most elegant way to put it, but I suppose so, yes," Shirogane sighed. "It gave you the power to protect yourself so perhaps it was the best thing in the end."

"Considering how much trouble you instantly got me into," Akira grumbled, and then, while Shirogane was drawing himself up, added, "And here I still am, anyway, alive and everything. So it must be all right for you to make someone shin. All right for you to want to."

Shirogane froze. "Ryuu...?"

"No." Akira looked up at him, arms tightening around him. "I'm Akira. I just... I think I understand more, now." At least it was suddenly clear as day to him just how much Shirogane needed shin around him. And how much he would resist making another, in case he lost them. "I'm me. And either way I'm..." he flushed a bit but finished gamely, "I'm yours."

Shirogane took in a quick breath at that and caught Akira against him, kissing him hot and possessive, the way that turned Akira's bones to water. "Mine," Shirogane growled, human politeness stripped away, and his tone sent a shiver straight down Akira's spine to his cock.

Against the rising heat, though, the thought lingered in the back of Akira's mind that Shirogane's hunger for shin of his own couldn't wait much longer to be fed, no matter how much Shirogane didn't want to risk it.

End

Looking Glass

After Shirogane returns to see to his own world, Akira comes to visit and get him to unwind a little. Lulu has a talk with Kou, in the meantime, about finding more shin. Drama with Smut, I-3, MANGA CONTINUITY

Akira sat on Kou's couch, arms folded around his knees and watched while Kou wandered around getting drinks and turning on the AC.

"So you want me to show you how to get between the worlds," Kou sighed as he thumped down on the other couch, bottle dangling from his fingers. "Properly, not by accidentally falling through a weak spot."

"Yeah."

Kou's eyes on him were dark as he took a drink. "So you can see Shirogane."

Akira tried not to squirm. "Well. Yeah."

"Any reason he didn't teach you before he left?"

Akira snorted. "This is Shirogane. Control freak of the millennium. You really have to ask?"

"Mm." Kou hadn't looked away yet. "So you're not worried he'll be pissed off if you just show up unexpectedly?"

"Probably will be," Akira allowed. "So what?"

Kou choked on a swallow.

"Sometimes he needs someone around even if he doesn't want to talk about it." Akira shrugged. "So I should know how to go."

Kou laughed through his last few coughs. "Yeah, you're you all right." He leaned back, mouth quirked. "And totally in love too, aren't you?"

Akira jerked upright. "I am not!"

Kou lifted both brows.

"I'm not... It isn't... It's..." Akira tried helplessly to find a word for what it was like, for the man who had highhandedly turned his life inside out and tried to protect him from the consequences, who was ferociously possessive and who had never even breathed a hint that he was Akira's king and master under their contract, who smiled and kissed and teased and killed with equal ease. "It's complicated," he finally mumbled.

"I'll believe that," Kou agreed dryly. He heaved a sigh. "All right, all right, I'll show you. But," he held up a finger, "I'm coming with you the first time. Just to make sure."

"Deal."

Akira stumbled a little as he emerged through the careful rings of definition and redefinition into shadow and nearly jumped out of his skin as someone right behind him huffed.

"Oh, it's just you." Lulu jumped down from her perch. "What are you doing here?" She cocked her head as Kou emerged on Akira's heels. "Both of you?"

"Just visiting."

Lulu's mouth twisted wryly. "Oh. Right." She waved a careless hand. "Well come on, then."

Akira followed her through a door that hadn't been there a few seconds ago, shaking his head. He still thought this whole place was weird.

"Shirogane-sama," Lulu caroled as she skipped ahead of them. How old was she supposed to be again? "Visitors!"

"I gathered that," Shirogane was saying dryly, as he turned, and then stopped short. "Akira? What are you doing here?"

"Visiting," he repeated patiently.

Shirogane's eyes narrowed, first at him and then at Kou, behind him. "And you thought this was a good idea?"

"Excuse me? Who's my king again?" Kou scratched his head theatrically. "Pretty sure his name isn't Shirogane..."

Akira considered the chill growing in Shirogane's aura and nodded to himself. "You're too alone, here," he stated. And added, at Lulu's pout, "Even with her."

"So you came to keep me company?" Shirogane lifted an arrogant brow.

"Seemed like a good idea, yeah."

Shirogane gave him a long hard look, which Akira waited out. Shirogane had never been dangerous to him, and he wasn't about to start freaking out now. Finally a corner of Shirogane's mouth quirked up reluctantly. "Keep me company, hm?"

"Yeah." A tingle went down Akira's spine as Shirogane stalked toward him. "Um..." He glanced over at Kou and Lulu; the latter was watching with interest. She looked like she only needed some popcorn. "Um." He looked back up at Shirogane, who was now standing very close, face heating.

Shirogane caught Akira up tight against him. "You're the one who insisted," he purred, fingers twining into Akira's hair, drawing his head back.

"Shiroga—mmm..." Heat curled low in Akira's stomach as Shirogane kissed him, deep and relentless. It never failed to make him hard when Shirogane got like this.

He did manage to gasp, between kisses, "No audience!"

Shirogane's lips curled up. "Very well." He leaned down to murmur in Akira's ear, "I admit, I think I'll like it better to have you all to myself when I bend you over in my bed."

Akira's last coherent thought for a while was that maybe he'd left this visit too long.

Lulu shook her head ruefully as Shirogane-sama swept Akira off, and looked at Kou. "You probably shouldn't stay here too long. I'll make sure he gets back all right."

"After that?" Kou snorted. "You may be right, but I'm damn well not leaving until I get Akira back in one piece."

She shrugged. "Your neck. How about a drink, then?"

Kou turned away from glaring down the hallway after Shirogane-sama, at that. "Hospitable of you," he said, slowly.

"There aren't enough of us to avoid working together, right now." She called her door again and beckoned him after her, stepping through into her own home.

"Not as many ruffles as I expected," Kou muttered, picking a chair.

"That's for the bedroom," she told him, just to see his eyes bug, and laughed. "Here." She poured a glass for each of them. "Listen. There's only just me so far, here; Akira is different and I'm not sure he knows what to look for yet."

Kou's eyes sharpened over the rim of his glass. "You want me to keep an eye out for people who could be shin."

She smiled; always nice to deal with someone quick on the uptake. "That too. More than that, though." She took a sip from her own. "Watch for the king."

Kou blinked. "Not already..."

"No, probably not. But soon. By the time Akira grows into himself and Ryuuko, we need the other king."

Kou regarded her narrowly. "There something you're not telling me?"

She looked up, eyes sharp. "Of course there is! You said it yourself. My king isn't your king. My contract is with Shirogane-sama now!"

Kou lifted a hand, palm up, acknowledging the justice of that. Lulu sighed.

"I'll tell you this much. Shirogane-sama needs to be settled with the new king before he has to let go of Akira."

"Because Ryuuko is different," Kou filled in slowly.

She nodded. Shirogane-sama needed more shin period, to convince him it was all right to have them, but the king should come first so he could get the anxiety of having failed with Homurabi out of his system and not pass it on to new Children.

"All right. I'll keep an eye out," Kou agreed after a moment.

Lulu let out a breath of relief. "Good. By the time we need him, the factor should have had time to grow in whoever it is."

And with luck that would help steady her king, who was far more delicately balanced than she was going to tell a lunk like Kou who seemed to like provoking him.

She drained her glass, hoping that Akira's visit would soothe that angry, desperate edge for now.

Akira lay perfectly limp on the bed and moaned a little as Shirogane's hand kneaded his ass, which was feeling very well worked. Husky, he murmured, "Don't think it will ever stop turning me on when you get like that."

Shirogane laughed, low, against his shoulder. "Yes. I'll miss that."

Akira folded his arms under his cheek, thoughtful. "Mm. I remember more now, you know. Or, at least... I know stuff." He turned his head to look at Shirogane. "I think I'll like it even later on."

Shirogane leaned up on an elbow and looked down at him, eyes startled. "You never did before," he said carefully.

Akira shrugged and grinned. "Yeah, well. That was before." He turned on his side so he could look up at Shirogane, serious. "I'm going to be Ryuuko, I guess. But he's going to be me, too."

Shirogane blinked. "Oh," he said at last.

Akira snorted. "It never occurred to you, did it?"

"I'm afraid not, any more than it seems to have occurred to anyone else." Shirogane smiled crookedly, stroking Akira's hair back, and leaned down to kiss him. "Of all of us, I should have known better. Forgive me," he murmured against Akira's mouth.

Akira's cheeks heated just a little. Shirogane didn't use polite language with him very often anymore. "Sure."

Shirogane laughed again and held him close. Akira rested his cheek against Shirogane's chest, hands stroking up and down his back, and smiled to himself. The tension was gone.

He'd have to be sure and visit again soon.

End

Interlude

A year or so later, life is going on. Two moments, one from light and one from shadow. Drama, I-3, MANGA CONTINUITY, spoiler iss 32

"Hah! Take that!"

The screen flashed with colorful explosions and Akira tossed his controller down in disgust. "You're even a demon in games."

Aya sniffed. "You just don't have the concentration for it. Come on Kengo, your turn to be trounced!"

Akira grumbled but sprawled over Kengo's bed while Kengo grabbed the second controller, grinning.

"Speaking of concentration," Aya turned to look up at him while Kengo chose his character, "shouldn't you be studying anyway? I mean, you're the one who's going to take the university entrance exams."

"Ah, I'll be fine." Akira stretched out. "I never have to study."

"It's true," Kengo put in, looking woeful.

Aya just shook her head. "Your problem if you fail, not mine. Finally," she added under her breath.

"Better that than having to do dojo stuff like you. Your grandpa is one scary old man."

Aya's grin flashed. "Yep." Her expression turned thoughtful and she nudged Kengo. "Hey. Have you decided yet?"

"Once a prefect, always a prefect," Akira muttered while Kengo smiled cheerfully.

"Nee-san said I'd like sales better than manufacturing, so I guess it's going to be Japan Toys."

Aya smiled back, looking remarkably sweet for someone who was about to make a career out of terrorizing her students with a shinai. "You'll be good at that." She elbowed Akira. "Not like Mr. Aloof over here. It's a good thing you want to do programming, Akira, because you sure couldn't deal with people for a living. You could stand to learn a few things from Kengo."

"Like what, how to fetch?" He held up his hands as Aya started to get a dangerous glint in her eye. "Yeah, yeah, fine, people skills, whatever."

Aya snorted and turned back to the game with a little huff and Akira grinned, knowing he'd bought himself another round of teasing as soon as she saw the opportunity. Aya was as reliable as Kengo that way.

He'd have to make sure university left time to visit his friends.

Lulu made a satisfied sound as she finally found Shirogane-sama, reading, in the fifth room she checked. She slipped in and quietly set a cup of coffee beside his chair.

"There's no need to be so attentive," he told her, not looking up which was no surprise.

"I like to."

Now he looked up. "And is this supposed to convince me to trust someone who cheerfully betrayed her first master?"

A corner of Lulu's mouth tucked up. "Yes." She laughed at the way his eyes narrowed and curled up at his feet, leaning against the seat of his chair. "I hold to my duty. Always. Doesn't that prove that I'm the right kind of person to serve you?"

"You seemed satisfied enough with Homurabi until he threatened you personally."

She shrugged off the sharpness of his gaze. "If I wanted to be shin, if I wanted to follow my affiliation, I didn't have much choice. And I came to you when I could." She looked up at him, serious. "When I understood which duty was higher. You see," her lips curled, "it wasn't really switching sides at all."

He eyed her with both brows lifted.

"I'm shin," she murmured, leaning against his knees. "You're the direct king of shadow. Whoever my master is, ultimately I serve you. And now you're my master as well."

"Mm." His eyes on her were considering, still wary but no longer entirely shuttered. It was a start. She smiled.

"So drink your coffee and get back to your book." She rolled up to her knees and paused. Maybe...

She reached for his left hand and lifted it and touched her lips delicately to the back, where his mark was. She couldn't hold herself completely steady through the jolt of that contact and her voice was husky as she added, "My king."

His fingers uncurled at that and his sigh stirred her hair. He drew his hand away and touched her bent head. "I suppose so."

She nodded and rose and slipped out silently.

She didn't grin with triumph until she was two halls away. Now if they could just get a few more shin around here, she'd have things back on track in no time at all. She just hoped "no time at all" would be before Akira completely ceased to be Shirogane-sama's shin.

Hunger and fear together had both driven Shirogane-sama to make Akira shin; it was just luck that Akira had the strength to bear the weight of both. She didn't trust that luck would make Shirogane-sama's next Child that strong.

End

The Queen and All Her Men

A series of linked shorts that follows Lys ap Adin's "What to Expect When You're Expecting". Kyouko and Tsuna's first child is a daughter. She's soon followed by a lot of brothers, and the mafia world may be in for a big surprise—provided the Vongola themselves survive the experience. Drama with Humor and Domesticity, I-3

First Step

Kyouko still thought Sicilians had strange ideas about their ceremonies, but at least she could understand this part of the christening perfectly well—the part where Vongola and their allies, and a few who weren't either, gathered to chat and politic on the lawn, all come to see her firstborn. She smoothed the white folds of her daughter's long gown and smiled up at Haru, who had brought her a cup of tea.

"Both of you holding up?" Haru murmured, bending down to check her new goddaughter.

"As well as can be, so far," Kyouko said. "I'm thankful she's slept through most of this."

Haru laughed. "She's probably saving up for later."

"Oh, don't suggest things to her," Kyouko almost moaned. Mari had only just started sleeping through most nights.

"After today's excitement, she'll probably sleep well, even after a nap," Caterina Modigliani said, drifting over. "It seems your difficulties are all ironed out, with this; with the bearing, at least." Her eyes ran casually over the guests. "They're all changing their plans now, sorting through their sons in hopes one will be the true Eleventh boss of the Vongola."

"And you aren't? Donna Caterina?" Kyouko murmured, a steel edge under the softness of her voice.

Caterina laughed. "My son already has a Family waiting for him."

True enough. "Their plans will have to fit reality." Kyouko settled Mari in her arm. "My child is a Vongola."

"Indeed," Caterina murmured, approval glinting in her eyes. "How could she be otherwise?"

Kyouko nodded and looked out over the guests herself, cradling her daughter and heir.

Sugar and Spice

"Uncle Onii-san!"

Tsuna and Ryouhei both blinked and Kyouko laughed softly. "Well, that is what both of us call him," she murmured. "Uncle Ryouhei," she pronounced for Mari, who cocked her head.

"Uncle Ryouhei," she repeated carefully and looked up at her mother's face with a small copy of Tsuna's thoughtful expression that made Kyouko smile and stroke back her daughter's hair. "Okay." She wriggled to be let down and, when Kyouko set her on her feet, made her way across the room to take a hold of her godfather's sleeve, examining him. "Uncle Gokudera?" She looked back at her mother for confirmation, and missed the helpless softening of Gokudera's face.

"Yes, I think that's right," Kyouko agreed with an impish smile. "That's your Uncle Gokudera."

"She's going to have the entire Family wrapped around her little finger, isn't she?" Yamamoto murmured, laughter running under his voice.

Mari looked at him and declared, more confidently, "Uncle Yamamoto."

"She has a good start on it," Gokudera observed, as Yamamoto's smile turned sweet. Kyouko was careful to keep her smugness off her own face.

The brightness of the moment was interrupted a bit when the door opened on Xanxus. "Sawada," he said, peremptorily, "I need a decision about the Leone. Now."

Tsuna sighed, pulling himself back into into his job, and was just standing when Mari walked over to Xanxus, looked up at him, and nodded firmly. "Uncle Xanxus." She smiled, pleased.

There was a breath of absolute silence while Xanxus stared down at her with the most floored expression Kyouko had ever seen on a human face.

It was broken by Yamamoto collapsing into a chair, laughing too hard to stand.

Kyouko came and picked her daughter up and smiled serenely at Xanxus. "Yes," she said, thoughtfully. "I think you're right again, Mari. This is your Uncle Xanxus." She met his eyes, unbending, and he was the one who looked away.

Her daughter would lead the Vongola one day, with both her father's strength and her mother's.

"So what I don't get," Mari crossed her arms, stubbornly, "is why it's isn't obvious that our way is better! I mean, didn't Uncle Dino make his Family rich again, and the second strongest in the alliance, by taking care of the civilians in his territory? Why is this so hard to get? You and Father say we can't change people's minds for them, but I don't see why not."

Uncle Gokudera gave her a long look over his glasses and sat back from the stack of books and journals of mafia history they'd been going over. "Well, what if we did? What if we went to war with the Furetto and, when we won, told them 'you have to stop the drugs and protection schemes in your own territory'?"

Mari felt a strong urge to pout. "I guess they wouldn't want to. But they should!"

Uncle Gokudera shrugged. "And we could probably make them do it. But only by taking over their territory ourselves." He gave her a crooked smile. "And if we come in, having killed the Family in charge, how do you think the civilians would look at us?"

"Better than the old one?" But it was a grumble, because she knew it wouldn't work that way. She slouched down in her chair. "Why do people have to be so dumb?"

"Because they don't know any better, yet." Uncle Gokudera got up and came around the table to kneel down by her chair and rest his hands on her shoulders. "You're going to be the Eleventh, Mari-san. I know it's hard, but you have to have patience. We can't make things better by force; that isn't the way that lasts."

She wanted the better to last. That was what she was here for. She straightened up and looked her godfather in the eye. "Show me how we do it, then."

He smiled and tapped the stack of books. "We're getting there."

Mari sighed. Yes, she'd thought that might be the answer.

High Energy States

Yamamoto slipped in the side door and closed it quietly behind him. Ryouhei laughed to see the small form draped over Yamamoto's shoulder.

"What did he get into this time?"

Yamamoto's mouth quirked up. "He wanted to help cook. I'm pretty sure he was hoping for a share of the pastries, but he was a little late in the day for that so he wound up helping Ettore with dinner instead."

"Helping, huh?" Ryouhei grinned; they'd all learned, as soon as Daisuke started walking, that the boy's helpful streak was only matched by his no-brakes enthusiasm. Ryouhei approved; it was clearly Kyouko's side of the family coming through. "He wear himself out, then?"

Yamamoto looked a bit rueful. "Well, he wound up snitching enough of the grilled tuna and then enough of the marzipan left over from Kyouko-san's tea that he got a little sick. So Ettore gave him a little wine to settle his stomach, and, well..." He shrugged the shoulder that didn't have a small boy slung over it.

"Kyouko's going to kill you, you know," Ryouhei pointed out, laughing.

Now Yamamoto chuckled. "A few times, probably. But it's just how Daisuke is; it's no use trying to stop him from being himself." He carried his godson off to bed and Ryouhei smiled after them. It was a good thing his nephew had Yamamoto to look out for him.

Otherwise, none of them might survive the kid growing up.

Daisuke eyed the study door. He was pretty sure this was where his sister was hiding. Haruka was better at actually picking well hidden spots, even though he was the youngest, but Nee-san usually won hide-and-seek games anyway because she picked spots no one else dared to go.

Daisuke took a deep breath and eased the door open, peeking around it. "Um."

The man inside looked up, eyes dark and kind of scary.

"Um." Daisuke edged a little further in. "We're playing hide-and-seek."

"I noticed," the study's owner said flatly.

She was here, then. Daisuke nodded and stepped all the way inside, and Mari stood up from behind the desk, looking indignant. "Uncle Xanxus! You gave it away!"

He just looked at her and she sighed and turned to Daisuke. "Did you find Haruka?"

"Yep!" He was pretty proud of that, too, since Haruka had hidden in the bottom of a library bookcase. He and Mari were both already too big to hide there and it was hard to remember to check the spots he couldn't use.

Mari shrugged. "Okay, then. Next round is outside!"

She trotted out the door and, as he turned to follow, Uncle Xanxus called his name. Daisuke paused, looking back. "Yes?" They were all polite, even when Uncle Xanxus was scary, because Father said so. Though Uncle Gokudera didn't seem to mind that very well.

Uncle Xanxus' eyes were still dark, resting on him. "Do you ever wish you'd been born first?"

Daisuke blinked. "No." Nee-san had to study even harder than he and Haruka did, after all.

"Never wanted to be the heir?"

"Oh, that." Daisuke thought, because Uncle Xanxus really did seem curious. "I don't think so. Father says we'll all be doing Vongola stuff together, so no one gets left out. And Mari likes to be bossy, so she'll probably be good at being Boss."

He wasn't sure why that made Uncle Xanxus snort, but it made him look a little less scary. "Go on," he said, and Daisuke did.

Mari always had lots of fun ideas. He'd like helping, he thought.

Between the Lines

Haruka sat curled up in a corner chair of the study, watching his father work, watching him go through stacks of paper, watching Uncle Gokudera come in and mention other Families and talk for a while and go out again. Finally he stirred. "Father?"

His father looked up and smiled; he almost always had time for questions. "Yes?"

"I can understand why not Daisuke; he'd be really bored doing this. But why is Mari heir and not me? Other Families don't have girl heirs."

"The Giglio Nero do," Father pointed out. "And Caterina is the head of the Modigliani."

"Even Donna Caterina has a son coming after her," Haruka objected.

"True enough." Father sat back in his chair with a sigh. "It's been tradition, in the mafia, to choose the eldest boy to be heir, unless there aren't any boys. But I think there are a lot of mafia traditions that should change." He smiled, only it was a very different smile this time, and Haruka didn't think it was a happy one. "It's also a tradition that all the possible heirs of a Family complete to see who survives. I don't like the idea of all of you feeling like you have to fight each other. I'd like you to feel like a real family, like you can help each other, instead."

"Oh." Haruka considered this. "So Vongola is going to be different." That was satisfying.

"I hope so," his father said, quietly.

Haruka nodded. "All right. How am I supposed to help Mari and Daisuke and Mamoru, then?"

"Mari will need people she can trust, that she can talk to. People she knows will listen and tell her honestly what they think." Father's smile was happier again. "I think you'll be good at that."

Haruka thought so too. "And Daisuke? And Mamoru?"

Father laughed. "I think Daisuke just needs to be reminded to slow down sometimes. And Mamoru needs his big brother's protection for now."

"I can do that." Haruka smiled back at Father.

"Yes. I think all of you will do a very fine job."

Haruka tucked those words away to hold on to the next time he had to deal with boys from other Families, and came over to the desk to see what Father was writing.

Tsuna thought that Ryouhei was more bright-eyed about visiting the Etnaland park than any of the kids. Certainly more enthused than his godson.

"That was an extreme waterslide!"

"Sure, Uncle Ryouhei."

"Let's go see the lions!"

"Okay, Uncle Ryouhei."

"Are you hungry? I'm starving. Let's get some food, and then the dinosaur park!"

Haruka rolled his eyes a little but trailed along willingly enough when Ryouhei slung an arm around his shoulder. "Whatever you say, Uncle Ryouhei."

Fortunately, Mari intervened before Ryouhei cajoled Haruka into a sundae. "Oh, hey, look Haruka, they have your favorite soda," she said, sounding perfectly innocent and casual as she leaned on Ryouhei's arm. Their uncle instantly changed the order to include soda instead.

"She's definitely her mother's daughter," he murmured to Kyouko, who was stifling giggles, or possibly horror, in his shoulder. "Let's sit down for a little and let everyone catch up before we go on," he added, louder.

Gokudera herded everyone over to a table and Haruka and Mari settled down to comparing the merits of the water slide versus the crocodile rapids while Ryouhei beamed over them both.

"Onii-san should have children of his own," Kyouko murmured, as they collected their own bottles of water.

"Well, I believe Hana-san thinks a little the way I used to. Perhaps I should talk to her." The approving smile Kyouko gave him still made him want to blush after all this time.

"...and maybe we'll have time for the waterslide again!" Ryouhei was saying to the kids when Chrome and Yamamoto came into view with Mamoru and Shin. Haruka leaned his chin on his hand and grinned with a lot of wry affection, for a ten-year-old.

"Sure, Uncle Ryouhei. That'd be fun."

Tsuna thought Haruka was definitely Kyouko's child, too. At least he couldn't imagine where else the boy had gotten his patience from.

Leavening

You might think, Haru reflected, that Daisuke would be the explorer of Kyouko's children, but somehow it was Mamoru who managed to show up in every nook and corner of the mansion sooner or later. This morning it was her breakfast table, which had meant Hayato's kiss goodbye had been more restrained than usual, but she supposed she couldn't hold that against the boy. He was a very sweet kid.

"Aunt Haru? Why aren't you and Uncle Gokudera married?"

Haru tried not to choke on her coffee. "That's... that's kind of a long story," she managed. Mamoru, she reminded herself, was also very good at asking the hard questions.

Mamoru just nodded and kept looking at her, waiting, clearly quite willing to listen to a long story. Haru looked back, helplessly. "I'm not sure you're old enough to hear it."

Mamoru looked up at her, eyes wide and direct. "I bet I am. If that means it's something we have to not talk about outside the Family, I'm good at that."

Haru had to admit that was true. And besides...

She sighed and set down her cup. "Actually, I'm hoping we can be married sometime kind of soon. We haven't been able to because of my work," she said, carefully, "and I'm hoping I'll be able to hand down that part of my job soon." Possibly to Mari's friend, Fiorela, who seemed to have inherited Dino's charm and Sofia's grace, thank goodness.

Mamoru frowned. "That's awful," he said, firmly. "You must have been really sad." He got up and came around the table to hug her and Haru had to blink away sudden tears. Mamoru really was a sweet kid.

"Nee-san says she won't marry anyone just because of her job, and she gets really upset about it. Kind of the other way around, I guess. But I bet she'll change that, too, so people don't have to get married or not if they don't want to. Or do." He took a moment to double check his own logic and nodded, satisfied, and smiled up at Haru. "We'll change it."

She smiled back and ruffled his hair. "If anyone can, I'd bet on Mari and you guys."

Mamoru peeked into Uncle Hibari's practice room and shook his head. Mari was training again.

Personally, he thought his sister was just a little crazy. Uncle Gokudera said all sisters were crazy, and when Mari was training with Uncle Hibari she looked it. She got all narrow-eyed and super determined, and when she had her Flame burning... well, he wouldn't have wanted to take her on.

He supposed that was a good thing, overall.

"How's she doing?" Father whispered over his shoulder.

Mamoru grinned. "Like Mari."

"So are the two of you going to join us?" Uncle Hibari called without even looking around.

"If you think we should," Father called back easily.

"Mm." Uncle Hibari sounded cool and thoughtful even when he was slamming his students into the walls. "Yes, it's about time she had more practice facing another Sky Flame." He beckoned and Mari hauled herself up again, eyes glinting. "Your cub has teeth, Sawada. I suppose she'll do."

Mamoru stifled a laugh at the way that made Mari light up.

Uncle Hibari strolled over to stand next to Mamoru as Mari and their father squared off. Mamoru eyed his godfather with just a shade of caution. "Did you, um, really want to work out with me?"

Uncle Hibari was silent for a while, but Mamoru was used to that; sometimes you had to wait for Uncle Hibari to decide whether he was using his words today or not.

"There is more than one kind of strength," he said at last, eyes on Mari as her longer knife met Father's glove. "I get more entertainment from hers, but you have teeth of your own."

Something in Mamoru settled a little at that. It was good to know the strongest of Father's Guardians thought he was strong too.

Even if he did sometimes think that Uncle Hibari was kind of strange.

Trip the Light

"Shin! Shin, you little creep, when I find you I'm going to wring your neck!"

Mari stormed on down the hall, and a door creaked slowly open. Two heads peeked out.

"Is the coast clear?" Shin whispered, looking up at his godfather.

"I think so," Uncle Lambo whispered back.

Shin leaned against the wall, wide-eyed. "Wow she's mad!"

Uncle Lambo smiled down at him and ruffled his hair. "Girls are like that sometimes, especially about boys they're dating."

"But she doesn't really want him," Shin said plaintively. "I mean, she always complains about how many boys from the other Families she has to see at parties."

"Mm, well that's kind of another girl thing. Even if she complains about them, she probably wants to decide for herself when they get to know about that."

"Oh. So I guess I shouldn't have told him she thinks he has bad breath, huh?"

Uncle Lambo grinned. "Probably not."

"Dating seems really complicated," Shin complained. "I don't know if I want to do it."

"You have plenty of time to make up your mind." Uncle Lambo held out a hand. "For now how about we go into town and visit the docks until Mari calms down?"

Shin perked up. "Sure!"

He liked having the youngest godfather.

Haruka was the one who saw it first, the strangers' hands reaching for guns, and shouted. Their bodyguards turned to tackle the kids down, but Daisuke got to Mari first, pushing her back into the cafe. That was good. It meant Shin had a clear path to the men who were interrupting their family lunch.

Who were threatening his family.

In the tangled whirl of rushing toward them he could feel the air on his bared teeth. He didn't reach for his box. The weapons he needed were in the hands of the three men facing them and he aimed for the one in front, hand striking aside the muzzle and holding, knee coming up to crack a wrist across it, foot slamming into the softness of a stomach. He turned the gun and pressed it under the man's chin.

And then it was over.

"Shin," Uncle Yamamoto called, gently, from where he stood over the other two. "It's okay. You can let go now, the men have them covered."

Shin's eyes narrowed and his hands didn't move. "He tried to shoot my sister." The man under him tried and failed to swallow against the pressure of the gun.

And then slim, strong hands settled on his shoulders. "I'm all right, Shin," Mari said, cool and sure. "And we need to know who sent them. Let the men take them."

Shin sighed, but Mari was probably already pissed off that she hadn't gotten to fight, and she didn't like backtalk even when she was in a good mood. "All right, then." Pinned under both their glares, the man didn't even twitch when Shin stepped back and their bodyguards moved in. Shin didn't look away until both the survivors had been hustled off, though.

"Hate it when people do that," he grumbled.

Mari wrapped an arm around his shoulders, hugging him for a breath. "I know you do." She smiled at him sidelong. "Don't worry. People will always try to mess with Vongola, but they'll always fail."

Because of us was the unspoken trailer and Shin grinned back at her and relaxed under Daisuke's cheerful clap on his shoulder. "Yeah."

The Queen's Bishop

"...and I hate scrambled eggs!" Mari stomped away from the table in a teary huff, followed by their mother, and all the boys stopped trying to hide in their chairs. Kazuya reminded himself to mark the calendar; forewarning next time would be good.

"Girl stuff," Daisuke declared, shaking his head.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask about that," Haruka put in, thoughtfully, looking over at Kazuya.

Kazuya raised both brows. "...why ask me?"

"Well, you've got Aunt Chrome," Mamoru pointed out. "Has she mentioned anything?"

"Once or twice." Kazuya ate another bite of toast. "She'd tell you too, if you asked."

Mamoru turned red. "Um. Well."

"Stop being annoying because you can," Haruka told Kazuya, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "Did Aunt Chrome say anything about what helps?"

"Chocolate, apparently." Kazuya nibbled his fork, thinking. "And she said it isn't just temper. She said sometimes it hurts. It sounded kind of like having a sprain for a week, only in your stomach."

Eyes widened all around the table.

"Chocolate," Daisuke said, firmly.

"Ice pack?" Haruka hazarded.

Kazuya shook his head "Hot water bottle," he corrected. "I asked. And someone to be nice to her."

The two oldest looked at Mamoru and Shin. Mamoru sighed. "Yeah, yeah, okay."

Kazuya decided not to add that Uncle Mukuro had said it happened because the girl's body was pissed off that it hadn't gotten a baby that month. For one thing he was almost positive Daisuke or Shin would say just the wrong thing at the wrong time, trying to be helpful, if they heard that. For another, Uncle Mukuro had kind of flickered, right after he said it, so he thought maybe Aunt Chrome disagreed, and she was the woman after all.

Kazuya believed in paying attention to your experts.

It was a game, that's the way Kazuya looked at it. Mari punched him in the shoulder when he said that, and insisted she wasn't anyone's game piece, not even his, but that wasn't it at all. He watched for the spaces, when people moved, so that he could stand in them. That way he could get all the way across the board before anyone even realized he was moving. It was exactly the way his sister talked about her hand-to-hand training with Uncle Hibari, after all, he'd have thought she'd understand better.

His godfather understood perfectly well, but maybe that was why Uncle Mukuro seemed to make a lot of people nervous.

"Ah, and here's the youngest, eh?" A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, as he leaned against the buffet table and he looked up to see the head of the Orsini Family giving him a rather hungry smile. "All alone? Not very nice of your family, to leave you out of things."

Kazuya wondered for a moment whether he'd actually heard correctly, but then he remembered Uncle Mukuro's casual words about looking through another's eyes. He supposed it might look that way from the outside.

The Orsini were not allies.

"It's all right," he said, looking away toward where Daisuke was loading up plates for their mother and Aunt Haru. Mamoru was trying to convince him to pass one over before he dropped both. Haruka and Shin were following their sister as she followed their father through the gathering. "It's all right," he repeated softly. "I'm interested in different things than most of them are."

It was perfectly true, and he smiled just a little as the Orsini's eyes brightened and narrowed, hearing the lie it implied. The smile too would be mistaken.

Standing in the spaces.

It was all a game, and the thing most people didn't understand about games was that, win or lose, they had a price. For the sake of his family, of his brothers, of his sister who would lead their Family, he would pay the price of winning this one.

Next Step

Tsuna leaned back in his lawn chair and watched the brilliant streaks of color as his children played tag over the lawn with their Dying Will Flames. Even Mari had abandoned her fresh adult dignity to shriek with laughter as she dove to evade Kazuya. Sometimes Tsuna wondered just what—or perhaps how—Mukuro had taught his youngest, because despite being only fourteen Kazuya had control as fine as Mari or Haruka.

"Looks like you did it, boss," Gokudera commented, leaning on the back of his chair.

"Did what?"

Gokudera smiled down at him. "None of those six will try to fight each other for your position."

Tsuna chuckled as Shin skidded across the grass, trying to avoid Daisuke, and splashed into the ornamental pond with a squawk. Daisuke paused to laugh and was tagged by Mamoru. "And I'm grateful for it." Quietly he added, "Especially Haruka."

"He matches her strength, yes, but he doesn't have Mari-san's passion, and he knows it," Gokudera answered, just as quiet. "Don't worry, boss."

"Too late," Tsuna murmured, wry. He had to admit, Mari had inherited his own passion, the thing that could drive both of them past their limits over and over. He wasn't sure that was anything he'd have wished on his child, but it was a fact.

"They have each other," Gokudera told him gently. "And she hasn't even chosen her Guardians yet. At this rate, she'll kind of have two sets."

Tsuna's mouth twitched at that. "Mafia beware."

When the children returned to the table, out of breath, they wanted to know what was so funny.

End

Exigencies of Service

Takes place some time early in "The Queen and All Her Men". Tsuna has to be convinced that his children need to learn early how to fight. Fortunately, Kyouko is more pragmatic. Drama, I-3

"Stop acting like an herbivore, Sawada."

Tsuna glared at Hibari across his desk. "One of the reasons I took this job was to change enough of our world that children don't have to fight!"

"Well you aren't there yet," Hibari pointed out brutally, "and if you want your children to live, they need to know how to fight. Now."

Kyouko sighed to herself and crossed her ankles, waiting for them to get it out of their systems. Once they were reduced to glaring at each other silently, she rose and gently pushed Hibari back from the desk and into a chair. "That's enough, both of you." Ignoring Hibari's raised brows, she came around to lay her hands on Tsuna's shoulders. "Tsuna," she said softly, "you mustn't be selfish about this."

"Selfish?" he whispered, eyes wide.

"I know you want to protect us all. To make a place for us to live where we don't have to worry about these things. But you can't do that alone." She smiled sadly. "Keeping the ones you love in ignorance didn't work very well last time, did it?"

He turned red and his eyes slid away from hers.

"I know you want that safe, wonderful place for your family to live and for yourself to come back to and rest," she whispered, and then tightened her hands and shook him once, firmly. "But you can't make that place without us, and if we're to help, we have to know!"

After a long, taut moment, he sighed, tension easing out of his shoulders under her hands. "Almost did it again, didn't I?" He smiled up at her, rueful and sweet. "I'm sorry."

She bent down and kissed his forehead. "Don't worry." Just a bit impishly she pointed out, "I'm here to remind you when you start to do something foolish. It's my job."

Standing he gathered her close and murmured into her hair, "I don't deserve you. Thank you." With a long breath he let her go and looked over at Hibari, who was watching them with a cool look, legs crossed, hands folded on his knee.

"If you're quite done with inappropriate displays?" he asked, dryly. "Living in this country has corrupted you, Sawada."

Tsuna laughed. "This isn't Namimori, and it isn't against school rules."

Hibari sniffed, though his eyes glinted at the banter. "Well?"

"All right." Tsuna held up a hand. "They'll be taught." His mouth quirked wryly. "The ones who don't run screaming will even be taught by you."

"I suppose that will do." Hibari stood, straightening his cuffs fastidiously. On his way out he paused to look back at Kyouko and give her a slow nod.

Kyouko just smiled.

End

Festivity

A person can learn all sorts of useful, interesting things by eavesdropping. Takes place early on in The Queen and All Her Men. Warnings for unabashed adorable fluff involving toddlers, and the general Hibari outlook on life.

Kyouya supposed that it was all well and good that Sawada's cub had survived another year. Given the general atmosphere in which she'd done it, he even supposed that he could understand commemorating the accomplishment. What no one had been able to explain (to his satisfaction, at any rate) was why doing so involved filling the south garden with every squalling mafioso brat from one to ten years old, and why he was required to attend.

"Mari likes her Uncle Hibari," Sawada Kyouko had said, firmly, and there was something in her smile that suggested teeth. "She wants you there. Don't worry, all you actually need to do is be present. We won't force you to have fun, I promise."

Kyouya had found the novelty of seeing Sawada's woman showing her fangs like that amusing. It was his duty, he felt, to reward such efforts, so he had agreed to attend, albeit grudgingly.

Her word had been good, though, and he had been allowed to retain his dignity and sit in the shade beneath the terrace in peace, save for the handful of times Mari had bustled over to him, full of a four-year-old's newfound authority. Once had been to inquire after his comfort, and another had been to bring him a plate of cake, carried carefully in her own pudgy hands. He'd been forced to eat a bite under her command, but after that, she'd let him alone in order to terrorize the rest of her guests.

Kyouya supposed life could have been worse, and closed his eyes—not that he had any intentions of actually sleeping, since it was much too loud for that—to keep anyone else from disturbing him.

He should have known better.

"My goodness, will you look at that?"

The voice—female, older, probably one of the other Families' matrons—sounded like it was right in his ear.

"Isn't that just a sight to warm your heart?" asked a second voice, also older and female.

That meant they weren't discussing him. Kyouya slitted his eyes open and tipped his head further back to look—ah, yes. They were above him, two of them leaning against the terrace railing, looking out at the garden.

"It's a sight to warm something," the first one agreed—she was from the Valetti, he thought.

Her companion giggled, a sound that was distinctly at odds with her stout figure and her grey hair. "Absolutely. That one is positively delicious. I could eat him up with a spoon."

They definitely didn't mean him, then. It seemed entirely likely that they hadn't even noticed him. Kyouya raised an eyebrow, and wondered what the Orsini boss would say about hearing his wife saying such things.

"I certainly wouldn't kick him out of bed," Valetti murmured, fanning herself with a bit of paper.

Kyouya opened his eyes a bit wider, to see who they might be discussing. The only one in easy sight was Yamamoto, who currently had small children dangling from every extremity, and was laughing even harder than they were.

That made sense, he supposed, and closed his eyes again, the better to listen.

"Is he attached?" Orsini asked, slow and thoughtful.

"That one is... hm, the Vongola's Rain, so no, he's not, as far as I know." Valetti's voice turned sly. "Why, were you considering him?"

"And if I was?" Orsini asked, arch. "There's no harm in a bit of fun. And don't you think he'd be... fun?"

"Oh, undoubtedly," Valetti agreed, practically purring the words. "Younger lovers always are." Then her tone turned practical. "But it's not sensible to get mixed up in another Family's Guardians."

Kyouya muffled a snort.

"Pity," Orsini said, regretfully. "Actually, I was thinking of something else. HÃ©lÃ¨ne is about the right age to catch a boy's eye, you know. If that one's not attached yet..."

"Mmm," Valetti said, the sound a thoughtful one. "Mmm, yes, I see what you mean. It would be a good in, no less."

"Exactly. And he seems like a good enough man. He might even make a decent father, if his showing here is any indication. And surely he must be looking for a wife by now."

Valetti hummed. "Mm, you would think. Well. It certainly wouldn't hurt to look into. Makes me rather wish I had a spare niece at the moment. Pity."

"Indeed," Orsini said, sounding altogether too smug about it. "I think I—my goodness, what do you suppose he's coming this way for?"

Valetti giggled. "Maybe he knows we're talking about him?"

Kyouya snorted and opened his eyes to see Yamamoto ambling over as the women on the terrace fluttered. He tilted his head back again so that he could watch them, and waited until Yamamoto had hailed him to smile, so that when the two women finally looked down, he was showing all his teeth.

They disappeared in a flurry of red faces and squeaking, which was as satisfying as scattering herd animals ever was, and left him in peace as Yamamoto dropped himself onto the grass next to Kyouya's chair with a gusty sigh. "You know, I'm glad we're Tsuna's Guardians," he announced. "Mari's a holy terror, and I don't even wanna think about what she's going to be like when she gets older."

Kyouya just snorted at him, letting him know that he wasn't fooling anyone.

"No, I'm serious." Yamamoto grinned up at him. "Can you imagine how she's going to boss her boyfriends around?"

That was a topic too close to what the idiot women had just been prattling about, so Kyouya grunted at him, noncommittal.

Yamamoto peered up at him. "What's wrong?"

"Watch out for the Orsini," Kyouya said, short and precise. "They have a niece they'd like to see you married to."

"What, again?" Yamamoto groaned. "Damn it."

Kyouya looked down at him, curiosity piqued. "Is it that regular an occurrence?"

"Yeah, sometimes." Yamamoto's smile was wry. "Most of 'em seem to think they'll get closer to Tsuna that way." His eyes went darker. "I would have thought they'd learned better by now."

"Mm. You should pick one, then. From inside the Family."

Yamamoto blinked up at him, slow and herbivorous. "Why would I want to do that?"

Kyouya's chair was comfortable enough that he settled for simply kicking Yamamoto rather than interrupting Mari's party with a fight. "To keep the other Families from siccing their daughters and nieces on you. And so you can have your own brats to play with."

"But I don't want that," Yamamoto said, with a faint smile. "Would've done it a few years ago, if I had."

Kyouya snorted, but he supposed that was true enough—they'd all had plenty of chances to join the headlong rush into marriage and domesticity. "You like the brats," he pointed out.

Yamamoto's shrug was probably grinding grass stains into the back of his shirt, but he didn't seem to care. "The kids are fun," he said, admitting it easily enough. "But this way I can give 'em back at the end of the day." His eyes went darker again. "And they probably wouldn't mind it as much if Uncle Yamamoto doesn't make it home, one of these days. It'd be different for Yamamoto-tousan."

"Sheep," Kyouya told him. "Don't be stupid." He aimed another kick at Yamamoto's ribs.

Yamamoto caught his foot before it could connect, hand curling around his ankle and holding it, grip solid. "Baa," he drawled, with a grin and sharp eyes. "I've already got just about everything I want," he added, looking up at Kyouya, a considering sort of look on his face. "Not everything, though."

Then his fingers slid up the inside of Kyouya's slacks.

Kyouya blinked as Yamamoto's thumb stroked over the bare skin just above his sock. "You can't be serious."

"Can't I?" Yamamoto asked, voice pitched low, just for him, thumb still moving slowly, dragging something hot down Kyouya's spine to curl in the pit of his stomach.

Kyouya thought it over. "Make sure you are," he said, and watched Yamamoto's smile stretch wider at the note in his voice.

"Oh, I'm serious," Yamamoto said, fingers creeping higher. "Plenty serious. I play for keeps."

Kyouya regarded him, and then nodded, short and sharp. "All right, then," he said, and then kicked free of Yamamoto's hand. "Mari's looking for you," he announced, at the surprise in Yamamoto's eyes. "We'll finish this later."

Yamamoto grinned up at him. "Sounds good to me," he said, and rolled to his feet.

Kyouya watched him divert Mari's determined march in their direction by swinging her up onto his shoulders as she shrieked joyfully, considering, and then nodded to himself, stretching out in his chair again and leaning back.

He caught just a glimpse of Sawada Kyouko's satisfied smile above the terrace railing before it vanished in a swirl of bright hair.

Kyouya growled, but had to admit, on second thought, that it was better her than the Orsini harridan. Still. If Yamamoto had known she was there, Kyouya was going to do more than just kick him.

That promise made to himself, Kyouya settled back in his chair and watched the rough-and-tumble happening among the brats, contemplating the possibilities before him.

It was turning out to be a satisfactory sort of day after all, he decided, all things considered. And the evening promised to be even better.

- end -

The Overarching Sky

Mari chooses her Guardians, which runs into occasional trouble with both family and Family foibles. Drama, I-3

"You wanted to see me, Father?" Mari closed the door of the study behind her, noted her father's expression, both affectionate and harried, and looked around for a baby in a suit. Sure enough, Reborn was in one of the armchairs with a tiny cup of coffee. "Reborn, welcome back."

"Mari, you're twenty-six already. It's about time you were officially confirmed as the Vongola heir," he answered with typical briskness. "It's time you started choosing your Guardians."

Mari put her hands on her hips, brows raised. "What do you mean, started?"

Her father chuckled. "I thought you might have a few ideas already."

"You can't choose your brothers for all of them," Reborn cautioned.

"Of course not. Haruka and Shin both have the Sky attribute, same as me. No, we've already discussed this. Well, mostly." She hurried along. "Daisuke and Kazuya, and Rei, from the family."

Father tipped his head to the side and asked, softly, "Not Mamoru?"

Mari nibbled her lip. "Well. That's the mostly part."

"Finish that, then," Reborn told her. "And we can talk about the rest."

"I already know the rest," Mari muttered. "Mostly." Before they could ask about that part, too, though, she slipped out and took a good breath and headed for her brother's room.

"Mamoru?" Mari stood in the doorway, looking more hesitant than his big sister usually did, and Mamoru waved her in.

"What's up, Mari?"

"Well. It's, um. See, Reborn just got back and he and Father think it's time to make things official, and they want me to name my Guardians, and..."

Mamoru smiled and held up a hand, cutting off the single-breath explanation.

"Don't tell me, let me guess. You want to choose Mario instead of me."

"Mm." Mari nibbled on her lip and he got up to go and hug her.

"Nee-san, stop being silly," he said into her hair. "Mario will be a good Lightning Guardian for you, and it's not like it makes me any less your brother, does it?"

"Of course not! I just..."

"You just want to make everyone happy. Kind of like Father."

She looked up with a smile, if still a small one. "I am his heir, after all."

"I will be happy supporting you the same way Haruka and Shin do," he said, firmly.

"I know you will," she admitted. "I just don't want you to be hurt by what other people say about this. I mean, with Daisuke as my Sun Guardian and Kazuya as my Mist. Haruka and Shin, well, people will understand that. But here you are, the odd man out."

Mamoru shrugged. "So maybe that will be useful some time." He grinned. "I bet Kazuya can tell us if it is."

She finally laughed. "I wonder sometimes if it was really a good idea, making Uncle Mukuro his godfather."

"At least he's as well trained as it's possible to be," Mamoru said, practically. He tucked a strand of his sister's bright hair back. "Now stop worrying. Mario couldn't be more loyal to you, and you and I know I'm always here when you need me. That's all we need."

"My extra good sense, yes." She hugged him. "Thanks, Mamoru."

"Not as though you don't have plenty of family among your Guardians, what with two brothers and a cousin." And they'd all known, since the day Rei had coolly broken the arm of one of Mari's suitors who got a little too pressing, who Mari's Rain Guardian would be. The incident itself hadn't ruffled Rei in the least, but the weeks of Uncle Ryouhei's loud pride in his daughter had almost embarrassed her to death before Mari had spoken to Aunt Hana, who made him stop. The girls had made a mutual protection pact in the best mafia tradition.

"I don't need one of the Vongola rings to take care of my sister," Mamoru finished, firmly.

Mari hugged him again, squeezing him nearly breathless this time, and grinned up at him. "Thanks, little brother."

He laughed at the family joke; he'd grown taller than her four years ago. "Go on, then. Ask Mario. Oh, wait! Let me get my camera first."

When Mari knocked on Mario's door, she was hoping to get her friend in person, but luck didn't seem to be with her that much today. It was his father who answered, and she'd always had the feeling that Fedele was conflicted over both her and her father. And that was before Uncle Gokudera had told her enough Vongola history for her to figure out why, before she'd known there had ever been a different heir to become the Vongola Tenth or that he'd been killed while the man who would have been his right hand had lived. The man whose son she had come to call on to serve a new heir.

Well, no one had ever said her job would be easy.

"Fedele," she said, courteous and firm. "I'd like to speak with Mario."

His eyes flicked between her and Mamoru and his mouth tightened for a moment. "Come in."

They waited in the sitting room, Mari in one of the armchairs and Mamoru standing at her shoulder. Her mouth quirked at his silent insistence that she was the Eleventh and would be respected as such. Mario saw it, too, when he came clattering down the stairs, but, being Mario, misread it a bit.

"Mari, hey, what's..." he trailed off, "up?" His eyes were shadowed for just a moment, resting on Mamoru, but he pulled himself together and straightened. "Was there something you needed to tell me?"

Mari shook her head at him. "Of course there is, you idiot, but not that." She couldn't help smiling a little at the confusion that relaxed his spine. "You always jump to conclusions. So?" She stood and held out a hand, grinning. "You with me or what?"

The caution in his face thawed into the Mario she knew, and he grinned back at her, brilliant, catching her hand. "About damn time!"

They both jumped at the click and flash of Mamoru's camera, and Mario growled at him. Mamoru just laughed. "Oh, come on. That was adorable."

"I am not adorable," Mario declared, firmly. "I'm way too old to be adorable."

Mari elbowed Mamoru before he could tease Mario any more, and Mario drew himself up, reminded that this was, theoretically, a formal occasion. "I will be honored to serve the Eleventh."

Mari squeezed his hand, sealing the deal. "I'll be pleased to have you as my Lightning Guardian."

Mamoru, tucking the camera away, clapped a hand on Mario's shoulder. "Take good care of my sister."

"Well, hey." Mario ran a self-conscious hand through his hair. "That'll take both of us, won't it?"

"Probably," Mamoru agreed, trenchantly, and caught a slightly more serious elbow for that one.

They might have stood there grinning at each other like idiots for a lot longer if Fedele hadn't spoken from the stairs where he'd been watching. "The confirmation is coming up, then?"

Mari turned to him. She always gave Fedele her full attention, feeling like she was waiting for something—for some kind of sign from him. "Father and Reborn both feel that would be wise."

He looked at his son for a long moment, eyes dark. "Don't fail her," he finally said, quietly, and turned to go back up the stairs. The stifled pain in every line of his body pulled Mari forward a step; screw waiting, she couldn't just leave it at that.

"Fedele!" When he paused at the sharpness of her voice, Mari crossed the room to him and looked up into his eyes. Fierce and soft she told him, "It wasn't your fault."

"It was my responsibility." His usually stern expression was even remoter than usual.

"I don't deny that," Mari said quietly, and his eyes flickered, maybe startled. "But it wasn't your fault. You were overwhelmed. You weren't strong enough to protect him all by yourself. None of us can do that! That's why we have each other." Her hand cut across at her brother, at her new Guardian, Fedele's son. She looked around at the dim room, the small room, of a small house, far from the Vongola mansion and knowledge came together in her heart. "And I don't care what other people might have said. I know you didn't betray your boss." When he started to look away, face twisting, she stepped closer, not letting him. "You did not betray him. I know." Softly she added, "And he knew, too."

He blinked at her, shadows broken by startlement, and finally smiled just a little. "Blood of Vongola." He took a breath and let it out. "The Vongola will pass into good hands."

She supposed that was a start and when he turned away again she didn't try to call him back. Though she did make a definite mental note to speak to Father about this, because they couldn't just leave one of their people in such a state.

Mario was staring, when she turned around. "Mari."

She blushed just a little. "Um. Yeah?"

He crossed the room and knelt down for a breath, pressing his forehead to the back of her hand. When he looked up, he was smiling. "He's right."

She tugged him up, blushing. "Well. Glad you think so, considering."

Rei was a lot easier.
Mari strolled with her young cousin to the other end of the terrace where their mothers were having tea. "Have you heard?" she asked.

"That you're choosing?" Rei glanced at Mari under her lashes. "Yes."

Mari smiled. "Will you be my Rain Guardian?"

Receiving all of Rei's focused attention was a little like being hit by a bus and Mari was glad she'd had years to get used to it. "Of course I will, Mari-san."

Mari touched Rei's hand. "Thank you." She didn't even think of chuckling at the faint color that crossed Rei's cheeks.

She started to ask the rest of it and paused. Of all her Guardians-to-be, Rei—dedicated, serious, responsible Rei—would surely be the best suited to be her right hand, when she took the Family. But something held her back; it just didn't feel quite right.

Well, it wasn't like she didn't have plenty of time to work out that choice. She'd mentioned it in passing to Reborn and gotten an inscrutable baby-smirk in answer that made her roll her eyes. At least he wasn't pressing her to choose right away, though.

"So, how's Uncle Ryouhei doing?" she asked instead. "He's been away for months."

"Loudly," Rei said dourly. "Like he's always doing. He called Mother last night and I could hear him in the next room."

This time, Mari laughed.

"Mari, Kazuya! To what do we owe the pleasure?" Uncle Dino paused on his way through the halls to ruffle her hair and smile at Kazuya.

"Hey, Uncle Dino. I just stopped by to talk to Fiorela."

His eyes sharpened and moved from her to Kazuya. "I see. I wondered if that would be coming soon. Well, Fiorela is up in her room. I'm sure she'll be pleased to see you."

"We've only been friends since we were three years old, I should hope so!" Mari laughed, wondering whether all the parents had Guardian Radar this week.

"Well, why else would I be with you, to visit her?" Kazuya murmured as they continued up the stairs. "Uncle Dino hasn't been the Cavallone boss this long without learning politics."

"I suppose it would be unreasonable if I said I don't want my friends to be politics," Mari sighed.

"Not unreasonable." Kazuya bumped her shoulder sympathetically. "Just not very likely."

Mari snorted a little. "Yeah, that. Hey, Fiorela!" she added, throwing open her friend's door.

"Mari, perfect timing! Which of these looks more demure?" Fiorela spun around, holding two dresses up. Mari eyed the hem of one and neckline of the other.

"Neither, really." She leaned a hip on the dresser. "Who are you after?"

Fiorela's eyes gleamed. "The Rosetti. Geno, the second son."

Mari grinned. It was always nice to see someone enjoying her work. "Getting the inside scoop before negotiations next week, huh? Hmmmm." She examined the dresses again. "You're right, you probably need a bigger hammer to get through to him. Maybe the green? The frilly sleeves should look all girlish."

"I think you're right." Fiorela shrugged off her dressing gown and started wriggling into the clinging, green dress. "So, you here for business? Or is Kazuya just your bodyguard of the day?"

Kazuya, who was looking out the window, mouth quirked as he ignored Fiorela's half-naked squirming, said, "A little of both."

Mari spared a moment to be thankful they both found needling each other amusing. Having her Storm and her Mist constantly fighting for real wouldn't have been fun.

Though she'd heard some stories about Uncle Gokudera and Uncle Yamamoto, from the early days.

"They want to confirm me as the Eleventh," she told Fiorela, quietly.

Her friend paused in the middle of running fingers through the dark, curly hair she'd gotten from her mother, and met Mari's eyes in the mirror. "So it's time to make it official, hm?" She turned to face Mari, straight and proud, games set aside.

"Will you be the next Vongola Storm Guardian?" Mari asked, simply.

"I will."

Their eyes held for a moment and Mari found the absolute dedication in Fiorela's comforting. "Thank you," she said, softly.

And then the moment was past and she grinned and waved at Kazuya. "In that case, meet your new consultant."

Fiorela curled her lip. "Oh, please."

"You need to work with someone who spends more time considering things," Kazuya said firmly. "You're very good, but sometimes you get carried away."

"I'm supposed to!" Fiorela protested.

"The Storm is supposed to be your strength, not your excuse," Kazuya told her dryly.

Fiorela glared at him for a breath before looking at Mari. "Are you sure he's really only eighteen and didn't get switched out for a forty year old at birth?"

"Afraid so." Mari grinned, wryly.

Fiorela heaved a sigh. "Okay, fine. So what does my consultant have to say about Geno?"

"That he won't believe in the possibility of an alliance marriage, not with you. String him along with the suggestion that you have your brother's ear, instead, and use the flirting as a simple distraction."

Mari sat back and watched them plotting, and wondered if all her Guardians would be like this, if the fit and connections between them would all snap into place so firmly. It was almost enough to make her believe in the mysticism surrounding the Rings.

"So it's the Cloud she's unsure of?" Reborn asked, ankles crossed on the chair seat in front of him.

"It isn't too surprising, is it?" Tsuna smiled. "I think the relationship between a boss and the Cloud Guardian is probably the hardest to even describe. At least she's recognized who she wants."

"So? Is Lucia willing or not?"

Tsuna leaned back, looking out the window thoughtfully. "I think she is. I even think she'll be a very good Cloud. But exactly because of that, her loyalty to Mari won't be quite like what Mari sees from the others. I think she's having a hard time recognizing it."

Reborn sniffed. "Her intuition should tell her, by now."

"Hm." Tsuna knew his daughter hadn't exactly had an easy childhood, but she also hadn't been forced to grow with quite such drastic speed as he had. Her gifts weren't always consistent yet. "Maybe I'll write Chrome and invite her to bring Lucia to visit," he murmured. "By now both of the girls are probably thinking about this. Maybe Mari's intuition just needs an opportunity."

The corners of Reborn's mouth curled up. "Maybe I'll stay and see, then."

Kazuya looked up from his quiet conversation with Aunt Chrome as Mari and Lucia swept into the room, both shower-damp and stumbling a little but looking extremely pleased with themselves.

"That was fun," Mari declared, easing down into a chair.

"Not bad at all," Lucia agreed, showing her teeth as she folded up cross-legged by the low table. She stretched her arms over her head, eyes glinting.

Lucia was the only person besides Mari herself and Uncle Yamamoto who actually enjoyed training with Uncle Hibari. Kazuya figured she must have gotten the taste for fighting from her father, since Aunt Chrome seemed like a regular, sensible person that way. Fortunately, Lucia didn't have her father's loud brashness, even once she relaxed enough around someone to drop the most reserved of her manners.

Or maybe that should be 'unfortunately' since then, at least, Mari would have been sure of Lucia by now.

Mari glanced around. "Is Father still busy with the Pozzo Nero thing?"

"Mm," Haruka agreed, looking up from his book. "I'm afraid so. You'd think they'd just give up already, but no. It's the Orsini they're trying to ally with this time."

"You should take care of them for good," Lucia stated. Not really an unexpected sentiment, given her family, Kazuya reflected; Uncle Mukuro could be extremely direct, in some ways, and all his people picked it up.

Mari shook her head. "That would only set the other Families off worse, given they haven't attacked us directly."

"They have attacked directly, just not with guns." Lucia gave Mari a challenging look that Mari returned with a cheerful smile.

"A good point, I suppose." Kazuya watched Mari veer off from the argument and sighed. Sometimes he really thought what these two needed was to have a good fight.

Sure enough, Lucia stiffened just a little. "You know I hate it when you do that," she muttered.

Kazuya was just getting ready to say something, to distract them, when Mari paused and looked at Lucia, eyes suddenly direct and piercing. "It doesn't mean that I don't trust you," she said, abruptly.

Lucia lifted her head and stared at Mari.

"That's what you thought, isn't it?" Mari asked, softly. "Because you're only really polite with people until you trust them."

"Well, that's the way you smile at people you're fooling, isn't it?" Lucia asked, a little harsh. "You think I don't recognize it?"

"I..." Mari hesitated. "I didn't want to fight with you."

Lucia stared at her blankly. "Why not?"

Mari's mouth twitched at that, and she finally broke down laughing. "I'm sorry," she managed, waving a hand. "You're right."

Lucia looked satisfied for a moment and then frowned and poked Mari with her toe. "Why didn't you want to fight?"

Mari took a deep breath and wiped her eyes. "Ah. Well." She looked down at her hands, clasping them tightly for a moment, and finally said, low, "Because I'm hoping you'll agree to be my Cloud Guardian."

Lucia was silent for a moment. Finally she snorted. "And you thought not fighting with me was the way to get me to say yes?"

"All right, I admit it, I wasn't thinking!"

"You know," Haruka drawled, "I'm glad it's you who has to deal with this, Mari. I don't think I'd like having to juggle all the Guardians and their," he paused as Lucia caught his eye, brows raised, and finished, "quirks."

Lucia snorted softly. "Well." She eyed Mari. "You could certainly use someone to keep you from getting too fluffy."

"Fluffy?" Mari asked, eyes glinting.

"Soft, even," Lucia added, with a provoking smile.

"There is nothing soft about taking the time to do things right, to make changes that will stick instead of just flailing around with brute force." Mari's voice was intense.

"There's no point in being afraid to use the force you have," Lucia shot back. "Especially if it's the right tool for the job."

Mari leaned forward. "Some jobs. Not all. We have to judge when it's really the best option and not just the easiest."

Lucia matched her stare for stare. "But if it is the best option, then we have to use it."

"Done."

They held each other's eyes locked for another long moment and finally Lucia leaned back and gave Mari a judicious look. "All right. That was more like it." Her sharp grin flashed. "I'll do it."

Mari lit up and Kazuya couldn't help a laugh. He'd been right; they just needed a good fight. Considering Uncle Hibari, he couldn't be surprised.

There wasn't any particular ceremony, and Mari was grateful for that. She was nervous enough already, just knowing that all of the top members of the Family were here as witnesses. If all went well, she would be presented again to their allies, but by then she'd at least know for sure that everything was all right.

She could feel Uncle Xanxus' eyes on her back.

"In years past, these rings were kept hidden most of the time," her father said, laying his hands on the two boxes on the table in front of him. "Now they are the first and final defense of our Family. The seven of you will not hold them constantly until I retire. But today your right to them will be confirmed."

Mari appreciated his trust in them, in her, but she knew that this could also be the day her right to the Sky Ring was proven false.

Father opened the boxes and drew out two ring-halves, fitting them together. Mari's nerves fought with her sense of the absurd, that the rings had been broken apart this morning, only to be fitted together again as a gesture.

Well, not exactly a gesture, she had to admit, eyes flicking to Irie. It was also proof that both the Boss and the outside advisor agreed where to bestow them.

"Sasagawa Rei," he said quietly, and held out the Rain ring. Rei stepped forward to take it and only the Guardians, old generation and new, were close enough to see her fingers shaking just a little. Uncle Ryouhei shifted on his feet and Uncle Yamamoto elbowed him and winked at Rei. Her back straightened, eyes narrowing with disapproval of the byplay on a solemn occasion and she slid the ring onto her finger with steady hands.

"Fiorela Cavallone," Father called next, face straight but eyes twinkling.

Mari held on to that, reminding herself to breathe nice and slow, as the Guardians she had chosen, who had chosen her, came one after another to take the rings.

"Sawada Mari."

She took one last breath and walked forward to take the ring from her father's hand. Their eyes met and he nodded just a little, confident and encouraging. She nodded back and slid the ring onto her hand.

Heavenly lighting failed to instantly strike her, which seemed like a good sign.

She turned to her Guardians and held out her hand. They closed around her, reaching out, and her eyes widened as the rings lit with a rainbow of Flame. She hadn't channeled her Will into her own and, from the startled eyes looking back at her, she didn't think anyone else had, either. But the rings burned on their hands, bright and wild.

"The Vongola Rings accept Sawada Mari as the eleventh boss of Vongola," her father declared behind her, and a murmur of approval ran through the room. She barely noticed it, though, as she looked at the faces around her, their unwavering focus on her, and felt understanding singing through her. This, right now, these people were her Family. She would fight to protect them with everything in her and they would always be beside her.

Beside her...

It really was almost a flash of light, the sudden rightness of the thought that came to her. She turned to look at her three brothers, standing to the side with Mother. Haruka looked satisfied and Shin was nearly laughing. Mamoru just watched her, eyes steady.

"Mamoru." She held out her hand to him. "Stand beside me."

He met her gaze and stepped away from the others, coming slowly to her side. He looked around at her Guardians, head cocked. Mario looked enlightened and Fiorela was grinning. Daisuke nodded, pleased, and Kazuya followed after a considering moment. Rei looked back and forth between Mari and Mamoru a few times and added her own firm nod, and Lucia's mouth was curled in a sardonic smile. Mamoru took a slow breath and nodded back to them and slid down to one knee before Mari. His lips touched her ring and he smiled up at her. "Always, boss."

Mari almost shivered, feeling the last thing she'd been missing click into place as her right hand rose to stand at her shoulder. She lifted her head and looked at her father, finally calm and sure in the certainty that this was right.

His gaze was steady. "The rings choose well for the Vongola."

Mari and her people turned together to face the rest of the Family, and Reborn, perched in a windowsill at the back of the room, met her eyes and smiled.

End

Enthroned Heart

Kou thinks he's figured out who the next king of shadow is. Now they have to convince Akira to let him go. Drama, I-3, MANGA CONTINUITY

Kou sighed. He was going to have to refresh his liquor cabinet. He always did, after Lulu visited.

"All right, you said you found something," Lulu said, settling on Kou's best chair. "So what is it?"

Kou blew out a stream of smoke. "Think it's the king you want. You'll never believe who it is, though." He certainly hadn't.

Lulu's eyes narrowed. "One of the kids?"

Kou nearly pouted at her. It wasn't fair when she dropped the fluff-head act and got all sharp.

"That was awfully fast for a factor to develop enough for you to think it's the king and not just the next of Shirogane-sama's Children," she said, a bit suspicious, and Kou grinned.

"It hasn't developed suddenly. Actually, I think the shadow world was trying to make another king for kind of a while now."

"...Kengo," she concluded slowly. "Kou, are you sure? That synch factor..."

"That's why I think it." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, drawn into the excitement of his deductions. "His affinity for shadow has been growing, you know. After we got the mess with Homurabi straightened out I tried to seal it again and I couldn't; he was already too strong. The best I could do was tone it down a little so he didn't cause another break in the boundary just by walking around and breathing!"

She sat back. "You're right. That is the kind of strength that makes a king. But the synch?"

"The first time it happened he took on the aspect of a kokuchi, right? But the second time he stayed in human shape. At first I thought it was just that I caught him earlier, but now I'm not so sure. Both times, he was synching as a human." He pointed his cigarette at her, eyes gleaming. "What if he becomes shin and synchronizes with shadow then, at a much, much greater capacity?"

"Hm." Lulu took another drink, eyes distant. "I guess either he becomes a king or he turns into an unstoppable monster that only Shirogane-sama could possibly kill."

Kou just looked at her for a long moment. "...if you don't mind, can we not put it quite that way when we mention this to Ken and Aki?"

She looked back down at him, mouth quirking. "Of course not. But someone has to keep these things clearly in mind."

"You're scary, you know that?" He took a comforting drag on his cigarette.

She leaned back with a laugh. "Of course. That's why I belong so well to Shirogane-sama."

He couldn't argue with that when her smile was putting a chill right down his spine.

"So," Kengo said, at the end of the explanation, "basically it'd be like taking a job overseas."

Kou, Lulu, Akira and Aya all stared at him. Mayu was too busy chewing on a nail.

"You want to run that by me again?" Kou asked.

"Well, if I'm a king then I have to be in the shadow world, right?" Kengo said, in a reasonable tone. "I can't visit here too often or it would cause problems. So I can only see Nee-san and Akira and everyone every now and then, but I could probably send messages more often, right? Just like from a job overseas."

Kou really couldn't help smiling and ruffling Kengo's hair. This kid was way too good, too nice, for the shadow world and Shirogane.

"It's, um. Probably going to be a whole lot harder than a normal kind of job," Lulu said, a little helplessly. Kou could practically see her trying to figure out how to fit the truth into the space between Kengo's ears.

Of course, his head wasn't where truth needed to fit, for Kengo.

"Mm. Figured. I mean, we all saw how Mas— um." Kengo eyed his sister sidelong and started again. "We all saw that, yeah. But," a cheerful shrug, "everyone always says I have a lot of endurance."

"Kengo." Mayu looked even more concerned, eyes wide. He patted her hand.

"It'll be okay, Nee-san. Shirogane-san is back, so it won't be like that. I'll make sure!"

She sniffed in face of his grin. "Idiot." He made a strangled sound as she threw her arms around him. "You'd better write, then!" she said, muffled, into his shoulder.

His smile turned very gentle. "Of course I will."

Kou snuck a glance at Lulu and almost laughed. She looked downright doting. He'd figured Kengo would reel her in, considering her thing for cuteness.

"All right," Aya cut in briskly, "that's one. Now what about the other. Akira?" She looked at him with a raised brow.

"What about me?" he muttered, sulky enough to make Kou cock his head. Usually Akira sounded a little more mature than that lately.

Aya rolled her eyes. "We're not blind, okay? And I, at least, remember how you got when Homurabi was messing around with Kengo. You're the most possessive person on the face of the earth! It's no wonder you and Shirogane-san get along, really."

Kou pretended to take a drag on his cigarette so he could cover his grin as Akira's mouth opened and closed soundlessly and Kengo's eyes got big.

"So are you okay with Kengo going and being a king of shadow?" Aya concluded.

Akira crossed his arms and glanced around, not meeting anyone's eyes. "Well. I mean. It's not really any concern..."

"Akira?" Kengo said, eyes fixed on him, and Kou blinked. Kengo really wouldn't go if Akira didn't want him to, factor or no factor.

Akira looked at Kengo and was absolutely still for a moment. Finally he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. When he spoke again, the rhythm of his words changed just a little and Kou leaned forward, eyes wide.

"It's your choice, Kengo. If you do want to go," a long pause and then a tiny smile, "I'd be glad there's someone there to help Shirogane."

Kengo's eyes were soft and his smile was brilliant. "I will."

Akira looked down at his crossed arms and said very quietly, "I know."

Longing shivered through Kou. Almost. It was almost Ryuuko.

He made a strangled sound to match Kengo's when Lulu grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back. "Okay, then," she said with a cheery smile at everyone. "Let's do it!"

Shirogane stared at Kengo and then at Kou. "Are you very sure about this?"

"Close." Kou shrugged. "Can't think of anyone else who'd have a factor this strong."

"And you're willing to risk it?" Shirogane asked Kengo. "Knowing that if it goes wrong I'll probably have to kill you to stop you?"

"Oh, don't worry about that! Akira would stop me." Kengo smiled with sunny confidence. "And he probably wouldn't kill me."

Kou thought, not for the first time, the Ken and Aki had a very strange friendship. Shirogane looked like he was thinking the same thing.

Akira just snorted, leaning against a pillar. "Yeah, don't worry. It's Kengo."

Why that made Kengo's smile brighten, Kou wasn't sure.

"If I make you shin, and this works the way we think it will, you'll be here the rest of your life, which may be very long," Shirogane pressed. "Are you sure of this, Kengo?"

Kengo cocked his head, fixing that perfectly direct look on Shirogane. "Sure I am. You're scary sometimes, Shirogane-san. But I like you."

For once, Shirogane looked completely at a loss. Against his pillar, Akira chuckled. "I told you." He smiled at Shirogane. "It's Kengo."

"Very well," Shirogane said quietly. He held out a hand to Kengo and his eyes might just have softened a little at how readily Kengo took it.

Kou backed up with everyone else as the Shirogane's words echoed and wound around them, around Kengo, changing him. Spell light speared through the entire space and, looking at the intensity of Shirogane's expression, Kou thought he might finally understand why Lulu was so insistent that Shirogane needed his own shin around him. Having all that focused on just one person seemed downright dangerous.

In the still moment when the spell completed, the whole world flexed. Kou flinched, shocked, as shadow rushed down on them, rushed in to the two at the spell's center. It was suddenly hard to breathe against the weight of it, and it went on and on. When it stopped he stayed crouched against the wall, panting. Even Lulu and Akira looked a little shaken.

Kengo stood in front of Shirogane in a black tabard, falling over a white shirt.

"It's heavy," he whispered.

"It is," Shirogane agreed, gently. "Will you still carry it?"

"Of course. I have to take care of you for Akira, don't I?" Kengo's grin hadn't changed.

Akira jerked upright as if he'd been stuck with a pin. "Kengo!"

Kengo looked over his shoulder, eyes laughing and violet. "That's what you meant." He smiled at Akira. "Wasn't it?"

That small change moved over Akira again, like the shadow of a cloud moving over the ground, and he smiled faintly. "Maybe."

Kengo looked back at Shirogane, whose mouth was twitching at the corners. "And I have to take care of you for you."

Shirogane looked at him for a long moment and finally laid a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you." He took a breath and added, "Go slowly. I can carry most of it still."

"I know. I can tell." Kengo's eyes were steady. "But I'm here now. You shouldn't have to."

"Go slowly anyway," Shirogane said firmly, and Kengo grinned again.

"Whatever you say, boss."

Shirogane blinked and Kou had to snicker. Lulu thought that Shirogane deserved to have a king like Kengo to help him.

All things considered, maybe Kou agreed.

End

Over, Under or Around

Mari decides that something has to be done to make Fedele comfortable in the Family again. Drama, I-2

The study was quiet; Mother hadn't come in yet and Mari had sent Mamoru out with Uncle Gokudera to talk to the Cometti. In fact, the study was a little too quiet. Mari dropped the latest report on the Leone and gave up trying to concentrate. "Father, we have to do something about Fedele."

Her father looked up from his chair across the room, smile wry and unsurprised. "For that to work, he has to be willing for something to be done." At Mari's frown he sighed and leaned back. "Do you know how hard it was to get him to accept a place as one of your mother's bodyguards? And nothing I said stopped him from stepping down after—" He broke off, mouth tightening. "Well, there were some... remarks made."

Mari remembered her moment of insight and crossed her arms. "Are there really people in this Family who still think he betrayed Federico?" she asked, low.

"Fedele lived when Federico didn't."

"Because he was left for dead! I've read those reports!" Mari glared. "What, couldn't the people who doubt just ask Uncle Xanxus about it directly? It's not like he wouldn't tell them the truth."

Father burst out laughing, and Mari waited impatiently for him to get a grip again. "Mari," he said, finally, "you have a bit of a unique relationship with Xanxus, you know."

"Yes, I've read those reports, too. I know he used to be kind of crazy. But you managed him just fine, and he's not running around blowing people away at random any more, is he?"

Father sighed. "No, he isn't. But Mari," he met her eyes, suddenly serious, "have you ever thought that might be part of the problem, for Fedele? The man who killed his boss is still a part of this Family."

Mari felt a bit like she'd run into a wall. "Oh." She bit her lip. "And he can't challenge Xanxus, can he? Because you don't want that happening inside the Family." All right, this was a drawback to her father's policy she hadn't foreseen.

"That's why I've tried to let him find his own distance," he admitted.

Mari stared down at her crossed arms, thinking. Fedele was loyal to the Vongola, she had absolutely no doubt of that. But maybe, and this was the new thought, maybe he didn't feel much like the Vongola were loyal back to him. What, short of letting him try to kill Xanxus which could only end badly, would make him feel a proper, valued part of the Family?

What did she do for anyone who was part of her Family?

Finally she looked up. "I think," she said, slowly, "that I want to try something different."

Fedele looked a bit surprised when he answered the door to find Mari standing there. "Mario left earlier; did you miss him?"

"Oh no, he's up at the mansion now." Mari breezed in and made for the kitchen. "No, I wanted to visit you today." She'd been here often enough to know where the cups were and swiftly set out coffee and a tray for the pastries she'd brought along, fruits of a long conference with her mother's pastry chef.

Her mother usually used tea for this purpose, but Mari had grown up with coffee and so had her target, after all.

"You're never up at the mansion, so you miss Lucia's baking," she informed her host and victim, light and social. "Mother's cook Lucia, that is, my Lucia burns water. Mother's Lucia said you might like the ones with honey." She pointed those out helpfully as she set the plate and two cups of coffee on the table and seated herself with a cheerful smile.

Fedele opened his mouth, closed it again, and gave her a long look. "I see." He pulled out the chair across from hers and sat, taking up his cup for a sip. "Sometimes a single person's company only emphasizes solitude," he murmured.

Fedele had been chosen as a prospective boss' right hand, after all, and had well over twice her lifetime's experience to boot, Mari reflected ruefully. He wasn't going to be an easy job. That was all right, though; they could start with small steps, like coffee. "The quality of the company has to be taken into account, doesn't it?" she sallied back. Of all people, Fedele should know that the heir trailed the weight of position and Family wherever she went, alone or not.

"You won't do yourself any favors by this, Mari," he said, almost gently. "Or me, for that matter."

"The idiots who have their heads up their asses will be suspicious of you whether I'm here or not." Mari took a bite of an almond cookie to start the eating off. "And if they prove it in my hearing it's no trouble at all for me to yank their heads out, I assure you."

His mouth twitched at that, and Mari hid a tiny smile in her coffee. Small steps.

"Father is probably a bit hampered by feeling guilty for being the one who bound Xanxus properly into the Family," she pointed out. "But I'm not. And I inherited all of his stubbornness, just ask any of my Uncles and Aunts."

Fedele made a faintly exasperated sound. "I never really doubted that." He absently picked up a pastry.

"Good!" Mari leaned her chin in her hand and smiled brightly. "So, are Tuesdays good for you?"

He paused, perhaps becoming aware of his mouthful of pastry, and eyed her for a long moment. "I suspect," he said, swallowing, "that it won't matter in the end whether it is or not."

"Oh, no," Mari protested. "If another day is better I'm sure I can change my schedule."

"Yes, that's what I meant," he said dryly.

She returned his gaze, letting the brightness slip away for a moment, quiet but immovable. "It isn't right. This is your Family. You have never failed us. If we've failed you, then something must be done."

He twitched back in his chair at that, rueful amusement wiped away to show the shadows plainly again. Mari didn't look aside and at last he bent his head over his cup. "Blood of Vongola," he murmured. "I'd forgotten, a little." He took a slow breath and finally said, "Actually, Tuesdays would be fine."

"Good," Mari said softly.

Step by small step.

End

Transferable

Kengo convinces Shirogane to let him help with work. Drama, I-3, MANGA CONTINUITY

Shirogane stood at one of his balconies and looked out over shadow, testing the weight and movement of it in his senses, and sighed. He'd expected this but that didn't make it any less tedious to deal with.

"Shirogane-san?"

He looked over his shoulder as Kengo leaned in the doorway, frowning.

"Do you feel...?"

"Yes." Shirogane smiled; his new king was coming along nicely. "It's because the kings are still unbalanced, with Akira not fully awakened. Until he does we will need to hold shadow back from overwhelming the light again."

"Oh, okay." Kengo seemed perfectly pleased just to know there was an explanation and came to stand beside Shirogane. "So what do we do?"

"I'll take care of it. Watch what I do, so you can learn it."

Now Kengo frowned, stubborn. "I should do more than that. I can do more than that, I know it."

Echoes of the past twitched at Shirogane's nerves and he told himself firmly that Kengo was nothing like Homurabi had ever been. "In time."

Kengo looked up at him and said quietly. "All the weird things that happened to me while I was little, all the strange things that happened all over the whole city when I got older, all the stuff I never understood... all that was because of this, wasn't it?" He waved a hand down himself, at the black-over-white regalia.

"Because of your potential for this, yes," Shirogane admitted.

"So let me fulfill it. Let me make it mean something."

Shirogane's mouth tightened; the entreaty of Kengo's expression tugged at him. Clearly he'd gotten soft while wandering around in the light. All he should be thinking about was the best answer for the purposes of balancing their worlds, not a young king's eagerness. His heart still tugged.

While he was trying to decide how to answer, Kengo stopped waiting and stepped to the rail, stretching out a hand. He pulled at shadow, calling it, and Shirogane made an exasperated sound, raking his hair back. "Not like that." He reached out also, laying his command of shadow over Kengo's, giving shadow a boundary for light to fill in against.

"Oh! Okay. Here, then." Kengo's influence sank down to run under his, supporting him, and Shirogane had to steady himself. Not against Kengo's power, but against his openness, his willingness.

Not like Homurabi at all, he reminded himself.

As they worked, gathering shadow back into its proper bounds, Kengo closed his eyes, chin sinking toward his chest. "Kengo," Shirogane murmured, attention on curbing his realm but not so entirely he didn't feel the ebb of Kengo's strength.

"Let me," Kengo said softly. "Please, Shirogane-san."

Shirogane cast an exasperated look at Kengo's bent head, but let it pass. It would be just as well for Kengo to learn his limits while Shirogane was present. And he had to admit, to himself at least, the unstinting solidity of Kengo's support made the work go more easily. It almost seemed to make his breathing go more easily, but that was probably just wishful thinking.

By the time they were done, Kengo was clinging to the rail, panting. "Is that it?"

"Yes, that's all. For now." Shirogane was feeling a bit worn himself, he had to admit.

Kengo slithered down in a heap. "Oh good. Wow. That's hard."

"I did tell you." Shirogane gave him a sharp look, which seemed to make no impression at all. Of course, he recalled with a sigh, this was Kengo who was used to being called dreadful names by his best friend as an expression of affection.

"Yep. You did." Kengo grinned. "Thanks for letting me help." He looked down, bright smile turning shy, and added, "It's my job to support you, isn't it?"

"Kengo..." Shirogane hesitated, but it could be an issue and better to know, "are you really sure of this? After all this time being Akira's support...?"

Kengo looked up, eyes wide and surprised. "Of course I am. Akira is going to be rei, isn't he? The direct king. So if I'm shin and we're opposites, well... that means I still have his back, doesn't it? From the other side."

"I suppose so, yes," Shirogane said slowly, startled by the wisdom of that. "But it is still on the other side."

Kengo smiled up at him. "Yeah, but I kind of always have been, from Akira. It still works." More softly, he added, "And now there's you, too."

Shirogane blinked. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, lapsing into his mask of human politeness out of startlement.

"Akira's my best friend, yeah. But he's not the only one who's important to me. I mean, there's Nee-san too. And Aya. And now you."

"Kengo," Shirogane murmured after a long, silent moment. He would not, he thought, have trouble again remembering that Kengo was nothing like his last subordinate king. He stepped forward and laid a hand lightly on Kengo's head.

Kengo colored a little but still smiled, happy.

"Come find me again, if you feel something wrong with our realm," Shirogane told him quietly. "And we'll fix it."

Kengo lit up like sunrise. "Yes, Shirogane-san."

Shirogane smiled back and took a slow, deep breath. It wasn't his imagination.

The old, old tension was easing.

End

Experienced

Some years post-canon, Ciel wants Sebastian, the only one he can trust, to guide him through what sex is like. Written for Porn Battle with the prompt: Ciel/Sebastian, experience. Porn with Drama, I-4, post-canon

Warning: References to rape of a child.

I want to know what it's like, Ciel had said. And that was how he'd come to be naked in his bed with Sebastian, every muscle of his body tense.

Sebastian's hands moved over him patiently, soothing, stroking his limbs straight. Sebastian's lowered eyes, the bend of his head as he kissed down Ciel's chest, the lightness of his touch, all spoke eloquently of submission, of no threat, and still Ciel's breath came fast and shallow.

Maybe it was the glimmer of amusement around the edges of Sebastian's smile.

Or maybe it was the memory of other hands pawing him, but that was what he was here to get a grip on, and a flash of true respect had shown in Sebastian's eyes when he'd asked. A shudder still ripped through him and he clenched his teeth on it.

"Shh," Sebastian murmured against his stomach. "There is nothing here that is not bound to your command. Nothing to fear, my master."

Sebastian had been calling him that all night. Ciel knew perfectly well why, and it did help, and it also annoyed him that he needed that reassurance and reminder that Sebastian was under his control. Which was probably also why Sebastian was doing it.

It was the reminder of his demon's connoisseur taste for irony that finally relaxed him.

"Ah, there." Sebastian sounded both approving and entertained, and Ciel growled at him.

It turned to a gasp at the heat that closed around his cock, soft and wet. It was two breaths before he could even place the sensation as pleasure. "Sebastian!"

"Mmmm..." Sebastian's hands slid over his hips, up his body, gentle and strong, and Ciel moaned softly at how good it felt to have the support as Sebastian's mouth stroked over him and heat twined through him.

He watched, eyes heavy, as Sebastian wet his fingers from a jar he'd brought with him. "What's that?"

Sebastian's lips slid off him and he murmured, "Oil." He didn't look up to see Ciel's sudden blush, but he smiled anyway and pressed a kiss to the hollow of Ciel's hip.

The return of Sebastian's mouth to him was barely a distraction, and Ciel's fingers were white knuckled where he gripped Sebastian's arm and shoulder. Sebastian's fingers were light, gentle, only stroking between his cheeks, but it took Ciel some time to really notice that. When he did, when he realized he could, he figured that was close enough to ready and gasped, "Go on."

Sebastian laughed low in his throat. "Gently." He took more oil on his fingers and stroked more firmly. "There is a rhythm to these things. The body tenses and then relaxes. One chooses the right moment." The instructional tone was familiar from years gone and grounded Ciel enough that he got a grip on himself and rolled his eyes. In that moment of ease, Sebastian's fingers slid into him.

"You see?"

Gasping, eyes wide, Ciel tried to think of an appropriately bad name to call his butler, but the slow touch kept distracting him. "Ahh..."

Sebastian only smiled, stroking him slowly open until Ciel was flushed and panting, starting to yearn toward the pleasure he could feel gathering. "Sebastian..."

"Yes."

Ciel clung to Sebastian's shoulders, gasping, shuddering, as Sebastian pressed slowly into him. It was heat and strain and he couldn't identify it, couldn't classify it, didn't know what to do with it, even as Sebastian's hand kneading his lower back eased him down into it.

"Talk to me," he whispered, rough. "Tell me... tell me about the other times you've done this." Anything to reassure him that Sebastian knew what he was doing.

Sebastian's mouth curled. "There are too many other times to count," he said blithely, barely even breathless. "Demons use seduction frequently, after all. To tease and blind humans with pleasure until they walk all unknowing and perfectly happy to their end." He moved slowly inside Ciel, and heat started to curl towards pleasure. "I have little taste for that any more; it's too easy. There's no challenge in it for me. No desire to flavor the pleasure and make it last." He lifted Ciel up, easily, sliding into him deeper, and Ciel moaned softly. When Sebastian went on, his voice had turned lower. "But you, my master. I desire you. The power of your mortal soul after you've sharpened it on your will, I desire that. I cherish the waiting and the little tastes of you."

Sebastian's eyes burned in the dim room, fixed on Ciel with a hunger and passion that made him even more breathless than the slick thrusts and the heat of Sebastian's hand between his legs, and he reached up for Sebastian, whispering, "I want to taste, too."

Sebastian smiled like a knife and caught Ciel up, kissing him deep and hot. When Ciel kissed back, aggressive, tongue pushing past Sebastian's, he made a low sound of pleasure, grip tightening on Ciel. Ciel bucked up into the hand on his cock, gasping, and moaned as Sebastian drove into him harder. This was right, this ruthless heat, and the hunger of his demon, unable to take him yet but savoring him anyway. That was the way to face the world and everything in it, and he let the rightness sweep him up, burn through him sweet and wild, groaning with how good it felt.

When he finally relaxed from that rush of pleasure, he was clinging tight to Sebastian, panting softly. His rear felt warm and just a little sore and Sebastian wasn't inside him anymore.

"A rhythm to it," Sebastian repeated, mouth curling in that particularly self-satisfied smile that always made Ciel try to find an impossible task to ask for. "You aren't ready for the refinements yet."

"You can show me later, then," Ciel stated, imperious as if he weren't cradled naked and wrung out in Sebastian's arms.

"As you command," Sebastian murmured, eyes glinting, and Ciel relaxed into their personal status quo. Sebastian leaned closer, though, and purred in his ear. "It will be my pleasure to taste your ruthlessness again, my master. You tempt as well as any demon."

Ciel blushed—they never paid each other direct compliments—and grumped at having blushed. "Go to sleep," he growled, settling himself down amid his pillows and butler.

The last thing he saw before the candles went out was the curve of Sebastian's smile.

End

A/N: In RL terms, Ciel is doing something rather dangerous with the inside of his own head, here, and it only works because he's Ciel and the inside of his head is a bit non-standard. Do not try this at home.

Precipitate

Akira, Ryuuko and Shirogane get some closure, and some reopening. Drama with Porn, I-4, MANGA CONTINUITY

Akira lay in Shirogane's arms and wondered if humans, or shin for that matter, could purr. He felt like he wanted to try. The sun had gone down, but the air was still clear and warm with spring, and Shirogane's hands were just that comfortable bit warmer as they slid up and down his back and over his shoulders.

"The shadow in you is thinning," Shirogane murmured against his hair.

"I know." He'd actually been holding onto it with teeth and toenails, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold the change off. Perhaps... perhaps now would be a good time to do something he'd been meaning to. Akira leaned back a bit to look up at Shirogane. "I'm still yours."

Shirogane's mouth quirked and he cupped Akira's cheek gently. "Two years ago you'd never have been able to say that without blushing, if you managed to say it at all."

"Two years is a long time."

Shirogane's smile turned more real. "You're still young, to say that."

Still-faint memory stirred in Akira's mind and he tugged Shirogane down against him, arms sliding around him. "So," he said softly in Shirogane's ear. "I can say it now. Take me while you're still my master."

Shirogane's hand tightened on his nape. Silent tension curled and sang through the air. Finally Shirogane let his breath out.

"I've never been your master, regardless of our contract. I hope you know that."

Akira smiled. "I know." He'd just needed to hear that Shirogane knew, too.

"Aggravating creature," Shirogane grumbled. He leaned up on one elbow and looked down at Akira, smile wry. "To answer the question you don't ask: Yes. I wanted you to be my shin, to stay my shin, because I love you."

This time Akira did blush, eyes wide, old memories and experience or no. Shirogane softened, gathering him close again. "Yes, Akira. I do. I have."

"Thank you," Akira whispered, holding Shirogane tight. He could feel light and shadow turning inside him, shifting, and the rising light pressed words from him. "I love you. I am yours. I always will be yours. Shirogane, please..." He needed Shirogane to accept this.

"Akira." Shirogane took a breath. "Ryuuko. You know I'm also yours."

Akira gasped as change spilled through him, the fine layer of difference between one side of a mirror and the other. When it faded he and Shirogane lay entwined, rei and shin, and he moaned softly with the relief of feeling it again. Shirogane's breath was quick and light against his neck.

"I'd almost forgotten." Shirogane pressed against him, fingers sliding up into his hair. "Ryuuko... Akira..."

"Either. Both. It doesn't matter," he whispered. "Oh, it's been so long..." Even the sudden weight of the boundary against his power didn't matter in face of being able to feel Shirogane's shadow clearly. For a while they just lay together, hands stroking over each other, but finally he stirred and said, "You agreed that I'm still yours, didn't you? Show me." When Shirogane stirred against him, startled, he murmured "Please," again, coaxing.

Shirogane's shoulder shook with laughter and his eyes were bright as he pressed Ryuuko back and settled over him, both hands carding through his hair. "Evil creature," Shirogane murmured and kissed him, deep and slow and possessive.

Ryuuko moaned softly into the kiss. Shirogane really only needed the tiniest encouragement, and he did want this. After so long apart, he wanted very much to feel his counterpart's touch.

And nothing made Shirogane more himself than being high-handed and possessive.

Shirogane kissed him more and more fiercely, the veil he usually kept over his aura these days stripping away to leave it bare and wild and sharp against Ryuuko's. He spread his hands against Shirogane's back and moaned out loud as long, strong fingers opened his body.

"Mine," Shirogane breathed as he slid into Ryuuko. "You're mine, Ryuuko, always mine."

Ryuuko laughed breathlessly, body taut with the rough heat of Shirogane's thrusts, delighted with the raw power of his counterpart in his arms. "Forever," he answered, husky.

Shirogane fucked him hard and slow until they were both panting for breath, both straining toward the edge of pleasure, light and dark twined so tight they almost broke each other apart. The heat of Shirogane's hand on his cock pushed Ryuuko over the edge with three fast, demanding strokes and he pulled Shirogane tighter against him, groaning as fierce heat wrung his whole body. Shirogane held on, watching him with burning eyes and if Ryuuko had had the breath to laugh again he would have. Instead he rocked up to meet Shirogane's last, wild thrusts and watched him in turn as his head tipped back, lips parted.

"Beautiful as creation," he murmured, drawing Shirogane back down to him, and got a hard kiss in return.

"As if you should talk," Shirogane murmured into his mouth.

A soft shiver ran through him as their old, old teasing settled into his memory, old and new, and joined them. "Thank you," he whispered.

Shirogane smiled at him, sweet and soft and true, the way almost no one ever saw. "Because I love you."

End

Inversion

To win the battle, Kou needs a king's power to back his. There's really only one king available... Picks up post-35. Drama, I-3, MANGA CONTINUITY, mild spoilers

Kou hauled himself up from the bed, wincing a little. "You're a real bastard, you know that?"

"A fine way to talk to someone who just finished healing the wounds your own idiocy bought you," Shirogane observed, pulling his gloves back on.

Kou's mouth tightened at the reminder. "You're serious about taking the fight into the shadow world, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. Shisui can't hold on much longer." After a moment, not looking at him, Shirogane added, "Neither can I. I've stayed here almost as long as I can."

"You'll be fine on the other side, though, won't you?" The thought that had been in the back of his mind all evening was nagging again.

"Another advantage of fighting there," Shirogane agreed, coolly. He gave Kou a sharp look. "A handicap for you, though. Do you have enough strength, even now, to do it?"

"Yeah, that's the question of the hour." Kou scrubbed a hand over his face. "I met Sawaki, when I went to get Kengo back."

Shirogane's eyes glinted under the edge of his hat.

"Yeah, I wanted to take the damn traitor apart too, but that isn't the point now." Kou paced once around his room, unable to hold still. "Look. If he could... could change. It means it's possible, right?" Kou stopped and laid a hand against the wall, staring at it. "Could I?"

"Are you honestly suggesting that you become my shin?" Shirogane asked, slowly, and his tone suggested that maybe there was an injury to Kou's head he hadn't taken care of.

"Only for this! Only until Ryuuko's back!" Kou spun around and glared at him. "I wouldn't even be thinking it if I was..." He deflated, reminded by his own words and finished quietly, "if I was strong enough." He leaned back against the wall with a sigh. "Thing is, I'm not. And Ryuuko isn't recovered enough for me to touch his power, yet. And Shisui-san is practically killing himself as it is. That leaves you."

"How thrilling for us both," Shirogane said dryly. He folded his arms, eyes sharp on Kou for a long moment. "I could change you, yes. But only one of the rei kings could reclaim you. Are you really willing to be my Child for however long it takes Ryuuko's spirit to recover?"

"I would kind of rather gnaw off my leg, actually," Kou said brightly, "but if I don't have more power for this fight than I have right now, Ryuuko might just be killed when we lose. And," he finished, tone turning steely, "I'm not letting that happen again."

Shirogane's mouth twisted. "You have a point." After another few minutes of brooding, while Kou tapped his foot and fidgeted and nearly started pulling his own hair with frustration, he finally sighed. "All right."

Kou swallowed, abruptly faced with the execution of his brilliant idea. "Okay," he said, low, and stepped away from the wall.

Shirogane looked at him for a long moment, eyes hooded, and nodded. He opened one hand and shadow swept around them both.

"I am the shadow of all things..."

Shirogane's words echoed in his skull, and Shirogane's power wrapped around him like deep water, leaving Kou gasping for breath, unsure which way was up. Change burned through him, though he couldn't have said what was changing. When it released him he was dizzy and panting.

The arm he put out to catch himself was in black.

Kou shivered, wrapping both arms around himself. He should feel more different than he did.

"All right?" Shirogane asked quietly.

Kou nodded and took a slow breath and straightened. New strength sang through him like running wire; he knew Shirogane had been weakened by spending so long in the light, but you couldn't tell it by him. It felt... really good to have this again. "I'll be ready when we go."

"Good." Shirogane collected his cane and turned for the door; he rested a hand on Kou's shoulder as he passed. Kou had to bite back a shiver at the light tug of his power. The power of the one he was bound to.

He collapsed onto the couch as the door clicked shut and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. "Ryuuko," he whispered. "Come back soon."

End

The Balance of Intention

After Homurabi is defeated, Kou and Shirogane have to reach some understanding of what they are to each other. Drama, I-3, MANGA CONTINUITY

The shadow world could be kind of boring, Kou had decided. At least now that there weren't any crazy kings around stirring it up. And he certainly didn't wish Homurabi back, but with only two people around to talk to, and neither of them Akira, he was definitely feeling out of sorts.

Fortunately there was a solution.

"I'm going to check in on Akira."

Shirogane looked up at that and frowned. "Wait, Kou." He turned away from the window and came to examine Kou more closely. "You've spent too long in the light already; it's wearing you down. Stay here until you're recovered."

Kou frowned back. "No. I need to make sure Akira is okay," he insisted.

It really shouldn't have been a surprise, because he knew he wasn't the only one getting frazzled, what with only two kings active. He still backed up in shock when Shirogane's eyes narrowed and his power slammed down on the white-walled room like lead falling.

"You will do as I say."

Kou's back hit the wall and he swallowed as Shirogane paced towards him. He hadn't felt the raw edge of Shirogane's temper and power since he'd been changed, and it was different now. It was inside him, now. Loyalty was the one thing he refused to back down on, though, and he wrenched his eyes away from the vice of Shirogane's and found his voice. "He's my king! I won't leave him just because I'm tired!"

Shirogane was right in front of him, now, and gloved fingers caught his chin, turning him back to face that scorching gaze. "I am your king, now."

"I..." Kou's teeth nearly met in his lip. It was true, but...

Shirogane sighed faintly, and closed his eyes for a breath, and the weight of his power gentled a bit. Kou shivered anyway as it folded around him, because the one thing it wasn't doing was releasing him. "Ryuuko is my counterpart. Akira is my friend. I care for him too, Kou. Can you believe that I will be sure nothing happens to him?"

"But..."

Shirogane wasn't letting him look away. "And you're mine now, so I care for you, also. You need to recover before you can spend much time in the light again." His hand tightened on Kou's chin. "Tell me you will obey me."

"I..." Kou closed his eyes. "I can't, please... I can't stop there, not for Ryuuko. I can't give just half of my loyalty."

Shirogane was silent for a moment. Finally he murmured, "Haven't you, though?"

Kou's eyes opened in shock and Shirogane was looking at him, cool and distant. The way he used to.

"You're shin, for now, Kou. You're my Child, and you agreed willingly to that. But you've only come half way, and stopped here." A gesture released Kou and took in the argument, Kou's frequent absence, the whole thing. "You are fed from my strength, but you give as little of yourself back as you can. Is that the loyalty you're so proud of?"

It felt like a punch in the gut, that kind of shock, that kind of breathlessness.

Shirogane stepped back, power contained again. "I'll leave you to consider that. Consider it here, though."

Kou almost didn't notice the last bit, as Shirogane left. He slid down the wall to the floor, staring straight ahead.

Lately he'd resented so much the limitations of being shin, of not being able to be near Akira constantly, that he'd forgotten the other side. The power that sustained him wasn't just his own. The reason he had lived through the final confrontation to have the chance to be resentful was that Shirogane had taken him in, made a contract with him.

A contract he wasn't honoring.

Shame bit at him. He wanted, needed, to return to Ryuuko, yes. But that wasn't going to happen for a while yet, and right now...

Right now, Shirogane was his king.

And, his conscience reminded him now it was getting its licks in, Shirogane hadn't flattened him just now, as he'd have damn well been within his rights to do when Kou defied him. The whole argument had started because Shirogane was...

...was taking care of him.

Kou banged his head against the wall a few times. "I'm an idiot," he sighed.

The question was, what was he going to do about it?

"Um."

Shirogane looked up to see Kou standing in the door, and raised a brow. "Yes?" He didn't sound in all that much better of a temper, yet.

Kou fidgeted as he came in. "I... Look, it's..." He stopped and sighed. When he spoke again his voice was low but sure and serious.

"Only until Ryuuko returns. Only that. But until then." He bowed down to the floor before Shirogane. "You are my king." Softer he added, "Please, forgive me."

He waited there, wincing a little internally. He was probably in for something after the scene earlier. Ryuuko had let him get away with a lot, but Ryuuko was kind. Shirogane was brilliant but it was a fierce brilliance, harsh and unforgiving and—

A warm hand rested on his bent head, fingers threading through his hair. Kou's breath caught as the touch resonated with the power running through him, something he'd only ever felt with Ryuuko.

"Yes, I suppose I do."

Kou looked up to find Shirogane smiling down at him, crooked, eyes lightened with amusement.

"You're mine, after all," Shirogane told him, softly.

Kou swallowed, almost shaking with the warmth of belonging that he hadn't let himself feel before. Maybe because he wanted it so much. "Yes, my king," he managed.

Shirogane's smile turned real, if a touch wicked. "And the next time you defy me like that, I'll make very sure you regret it."

Kou flushed and looked down. "Yes, Shirogane-san." That was, after all, how it should be.

"Go rest, Kou," Shirogane ordered gently. "You can see Akira again when you won't collapse in front of him."

The warmth of Shirogane's touch stayed with Kou as he left.

End

Five Things That Never Happened to Xanxus

These are things that never happened to Xanxus, but could have done, if only things had started out just a bit differently. This fic is what happens when you say to yourself, "Gosh, I've been writing a lot of Xanxus angst lately. I wonder if it is possible to write Xanxus in such a way that he is, well, functionally broken instead of just psychopathically insane." And then you get tackled by a plot bunny that is the size of a goddamn linebacker. Teen and up; warnings for Xanxus doing the things that make him Xanxus.

1. First Encounters

Xanxus stared up at the old geezer—this smiling old fool was supposed to be the Vongola Ninth? please—and lifted a hand to show him the Flame when he asked for it. Surprise widened the geezer's eyes. "Oh, I see now," he said, voice quiet, and actually knelt right there in the street, ignoring all the garbage and crap and what it was doing to the knees of that fancy suit. He laid his hands on Xanxus' shoulders.

Xanxus stiffened. "What the hell?" he demanded.

His mother trembled at his back. "Xanxus, don't be rude—"

The geezer raised a hand, and Xanxus glared at him harder as he touched Xanxus' jaw and forehead, fingertips cool against Xanxus' skin. "I see," he said, again, slowly.

"Wish to fuck you'd explain what the hell that means," Xanxus told him.

"Xanxus," Ma moaned. "Don't—don't—"

"It's all right, Madam." The geezer stood, dusting his hands. "I believe the two of you should accompany me. We have much to discuss."

Xanxus could feel her shake again. "I knew it," she said, in that voice she got when she was about to go off on one of her fits. "Oh, I knew this day would come."

"Yes, I expect you did," the geezer said, looking back down at Xanxus. "Come along, then." He held out a hand to Xanxus.

Xanxus sneered at him; what did he look like, a kid?

The geezer huffed, and let it settle on Xanxus' shoulder instead. Xanxus tolerated it for the time being, letting him guide them over to the cars—big black ones, gleaming against the rottenness of their neighborhood, making it even clearer how crappy the place actually was, and how much the geezer and his goons didn't belong here.

"They'll ride with me," the geezer told his men. They all got constipated looks at that, which was funny to see.

They put Xanxus up front, and Ma rode with the geezer in the back. Xanxus listened in, but it wasn't shoptalk, not yet, just the geezer asking a lot of nosy questions about how he and Ma lived. She sounded pretty much like she was back in control of herself, so Xanxus ignored her. Not like she couldn't handle herself when it came to actually negotiating her prices. Was the one thing she actually managed to do right, most of the time.

Since he didn't have to monitor her and the geezer—and fuck, he hoped he'd still be able to get it up at that age—Xanxus watched the city roll by, wavery behind thick glass, until it gave way to the countryside. That was weird, too empty by half, so he turned his attention to the interior of the car, which was all gleaming metal and wood and leather, one more way of demonstrating that he and Ma were either way out of their league, or moving up in the world.

"Don't do that," the driver said, first thing he'd said since he'd put the car in gear, when Xanxus reached out for a set of buttons.

"Don't tell me what to do," Xanxus retorted, and kept on reaching.

"I said don't," the driver said, and caught Xanxus' hand, all without looking away from the road. He twisted it tight, till Xanxus gasped at the strain. "Those go to the windows," he added, all conversational. "We don't lower the windows, not with the Ninth in the car. That way, no one can shoot him. Got it?"

"Yeah," Xanxus grunted, eyes beginning to water.

"Good," the driver said, and released him.

Xanxus rubbed his wrist and glared at him, but it rolled right off the bastard. That was new. People usually reacted more when he did that. "What do those do?" he asked, finally, pointing at another set of buttons.

"They go to the radio." Xanxus saw him glance at the mirror, and then he reached over and pressed another button. Behind them, a screen rose, separating the front seat and the back seat. "Here, see?" he said, and demonstrated. "Find a station you like."

Xanxus spent most of the rest of the ride scanning the stations—the car radio picked up more than Ma's crappy old set did. A lot more clearly, too.

Even so, it wasn't really until they rolled up to the house that Xanxus began to believe that the geezer might be for real. The house—hell, it might have even qualified as a House—looked about as big as a city block to Xanxus' eyes. It was just like the car inside, too—big and luxurious, more money than Xanxus had ever seen in his life all in one place, and that was just in the goddamn hallways. The geezer spoke to his men, and then led them to a room that was full of sunlight and heavy old furniture, and had the same kind of wavery view as the car windows had. The geezer had them sit, but stayed on his own feet.

Xanxus was starting to hate the way the geezer kept staring at him.

Before he could say something, Ma spoke. "Why did you bring us here?" she asked, all breathy, the way she got when she was trying to charm some new man of hers.

"I couldn't not," the geezer said, blunt, like he hadn't even noticed. "The Vongola can't afford to have you fall into another Family's hands. And it would be a shame if another Family tried to kill you, or we had to do it ourselves. You'll live here now."

Killing? That was interesting. Xanxus looked up, actually interested in the geezer for the first time, while Ma made a sound, like that wasn't what she'd expect to hear at all. "But he's your son."

The geezer didn't look away from Xanxus. "No, Madam, I am afraid that you are mistaken. He is not my son."

Xanxus ignored Ma's tiny, broken sound and looked back, straight at him. "Yeah, so what else is new?" Not like he wasn't used to the names people called him. He wasn't anybody's son. He'd gotten to the point where he liked it that way.

"You have a Vongola Flame," the geezer said, candidly. "And a certain look, around the forehead and the jaw. I expect you're descended from one of the Second's by-blows. They crop up with depressing regularity." He moved, leaning against the desk, relaxed. "Sometimes my predecessors chose to simply eliminate individuals such as yourself," he added, casual. "You can't be allowed to inherit the position of the boss, since you're not of a legitimate line. That hasn't stopped certain people from trying anyway, so a sense of prudence suggests that we ought to avert those incidents by nipping them in the bud."

Ma was crying now, soft and gulping, but she wasn't really all that good at paying attention to what people were saying when it didn't fit in with how she thought the world was supposed to work. Xanxus leaned forward, interested in spite of himself. "Yeah? So why aren't you doing it that way?"

"I haven't decided not to," the geezer said, and actually smiled when he said it. "But I'd prefer not to kill anyone unless it becomes strictly necessary. I hate to be wasteful."

"Makes more sense to stop trouble before it ever starts," Xanxus retorted.

"There are more ways of doing that than just killing the source of the potential trouble," the geezer replied. "You have a Vongola Flame. You are of the Vongola. We have a responsibility to our Family, and our Family has a responsibility to us."

"So... what?" Xanxus replied, narrowing his eyes at the geezer. "You want me to... what? In exchange for... what?"

The geezer was still smiling, like he was in on some joke that Xanxus wasn't getting. "We take you and your mother in. We educate you, and find a place for you, and name you one of our Family. In return, you serve us in whatever capacity best fits you."

The hell he said. "What if I don't want to serve?"

"Then you must not be allowed to bring harm to us," the geezer said, voice soft. "The Family is paramount to all other considerations."

Xanxus snorted. "I'd like to see you try," he retorted, calling on the Flame.

The geezer just smiled at him some more. "Don't do something you'll regret," he said, voice soft.

"Don't think that I'm going to just knuckle over to you, old man." Xanxus gathered himself, prepared to spring forward, and—

The geezer stood and gestured, and was holding a goddamned scepter all of a sudden. Xanxus would have cared more about that, but the geezer had a Flame of his own, and the sudden weight of it, so heavy that he had to gasp for breath, pressed Xanxus back down into his chair. "I doubted that you would do any such thing," the geezer—except he wasn't a geezer, was he? the whole thing had been some kind of act—the Ninth told him, voice cool and heavy with Flame. "But make no mistake. You can serve and stand with us, or you must stand against us." He reached out and laid his hand against Xanxus' forehead. Xanxus thought he might have made a sound against the weight of that touch, but couldn't manage to care as the Ninth's Flame wrapped around him and held him. Xanxus struggled against that grip, but it was stronger than he was. He'd never met anyone stronger than him before; the surprise of it made him still. "I would greatly prefer it if you were to become one of ours."

Behind the strength of that Will there was an offer, a conditional one, and a choice, all backed by an unshakeable resolve to do what was best for the Family, regardless of the cost.

Xanxus could just about respect that. "All right," he gasped. "All right! I'll do it!"

The Ninth curbed his Flame and Xanxus sagged, panting, as the weight came away from him. "I am pleased to hear it."

"Yeah, don't get used to it." Xanxus flexed his hands; he didn't remember banishing his Flame, but it was gone like it'd never been there. "You might be worth it. Don't know about anyone else."

The Ninth inclined his head at that, still smiling faintly. "If you like," he said. "But I'd advise you not to put your faith in men like me."

"Whatever," Xanxus said, eyeing him warily.

The Ninth chuckled. "Put it into the Family, which is bigger than us all."

"Yeah, we'll see," Xanxus muttered.

The Ninth's smile turned broader. "Yes," he said, "you will."

2. Stray

The old man had told him to stick close to the Vongola's Rome headquarters, and Xanxus had given that about as much consideration as he'd thought it had deserved. Now, standing in the middle of a slum in Rome, surrounded by men in suits who weren't Vongola, he was starting to think maybe the old man'd had a point after all. "The fuck do you want?" he demanded, assessing the numbers and deciding that this was going to be a cast iron bitch to get himself out of.

"You're the Vongola's bastard, aren't you?" That was the biggest one of the goons, the guy who was probably in charge.

Xanxus sneered. "Who wants to know?" He called on the Flame, since this wasn't going to end with them all holding hands and singing together, and it never hurt to look impressive.

"That's him all right," one of the other goons said. "Can't mistake the Vongola Flame."

Yeah, showed how much they knew.

The head goon tried for a smile and failed. "Why don't you just come along with us, and we'll talk about it?" the head goon told him.

Xanxus curled and uncurled his hands. "Why don't you blow me?" He launched himself at the head goon and had smashed his face in before the stupid piece of shit had finished gaping at him.

It had been a while since he'd been in an all-out brawl. Xanxus bared his teeth at the rest of them for the fierce joy of it. "Come one, I'll take you all on," he promised them, while they stood frozen in that moment before reaction. "C'mon, you fucking trash."

That woke them up, all right. Xanxus waded into them, lashing out with Flame and fist and laughing at the satisfaction of it. Been way too long since he'd been able to beat the shit out of someone. He'd missed it.

What he hadn't missed was being fucking out-numbered, and out-gunned. The goons all had guns, which was really fucking inconsiderate of them, considering how all he had was his Flame.

He'd just started sorting through his options—all two of them, surrender or go down fighting—as he eyed the closing circle of guns and grinning goons when the balance of things shifted again, this time in his direction.

The first sign of it was a ripple of disturbance in the ranks at the back of the crowd, and then the sound of someone shouting a warning that got cut short by a gurgle. That was enough to distract some of them, which was all Xanxus really needed. As they turned, he lashed out with his Flame again, whipping it across faces and hands, and was viciously satisfied by the shrieks and curses of the men who clutched at their burns.

He never actually saw the man who shot him.

One minute he was laughing; the next, something had punched him, so hard that the shock registered on some gut level, and his arm was hanging at his side, useless.

Xanxus swore, good hand coming up, Flame wrapped around it as he tried to find the bastard who'd dared. Someone crashed into him before he could, knocking him sideways and flattening him against the pavement. He struggled against the weight and the hands that were holding him down, until the guy swore at him. "Just stay down, you stupid brat, and stop making yourself a target!"

He recognized that voice, and blinked up at the old man's youngest son, confused as all fuck. "The hell are you doing here?"

Federico looked down at him, impatient for the first time that Xanxus had ever seen. "Saving your sorry ass," he retorted, and rolled back to his feet.

Xanxus had never seen Federico so much as raise his voice at someone in the two years since the old man had dragged him and Ma out of the slums. Now the man was burning like a torch, Flame as bright as the old man's was, as he whirled into the goons like grim death itself, sword flickering against them, fast and deadly.

Be damned. Xanxus hadn't actually thought Federico had had it in him.

It was over fast, after that. The goons—what was left of them at that point—broke and ran for it, and a few of Federico's men gave chase. Xanxus was pushing himself to his feet, which was surprisingly difficult to do with only one working arm, when Federico turned on him. "You," he said, as his hand collided with the side of Xanxus' head. "What the hell do you think you're doing out here all by yourself? Didn't you hear Dad tell you not to go out alone?" Federico stripped the tie from around his throat as Xanxus stared, frankly astonished by the blow, and hauled Xanxus closer. "Were you trying to get yourself killed?" he demanded, wrapping the tie around Xanxus' arm, yanking it tight.

Xanxus hissed at the rough handling. "The fuck do you care? You don't even like me."

"That's true," Federico said, turning him again and pushing him down the alley, propelling him—ah, there were cars waiting for them. "You're a violent little psychopath, and I would have definitely preferred it if Dad had just brought home a stray puppy instead of you." He shoved Xanxus into the car ahead of him, and had barely climbed in after Xanxus before it lurched into gear. "But you're Family now. Fucked if I'm going to let the Pozzo Nero fuck with my Family."

As Xanxus stared at him, blinking and stupid—it was the blood loss, had to be—Federico tore strips out of his own shirt and folded them into a pad. The stab of pain when Federico pressed it against the wound shocked him out of it again. "Oh," he said, and then rallied himself. "I don't like you, either."

Federico grinned at him. "Yeah, tell me something I didn't already know, brat," he said, holding steady pressure on Xanxus' arm. "Seriously. We could have just gotten a puppy. Lot less trouble, puppies, since they don't go out and do stupid shit like getting themselves shot by disobeying direct orders."

"Fuck you." Xanxus glared at him.

Federico ignored it, still grinning. "That the best you can do?"

Xanxus growled at him, wordless, and looked away, staring out the window determinedly.

After a moment, Federico huffed, and added, "Good fighting, by the way. Never seen someone take out that many men with just their hands and a Flame."

"I want a gun," Xanxus told him, still staring out the window. "My own gun. Maybe two."

"Mm. You're a little young."

"I'm twelve!"

"Like I said. A little young."

Xanxus turned and glared at him. "How am I supposed to deal with situations like these, then?"

"By not being reckless enough to put yourself into them in the first place?" Federico suggested, mildly. "Considering who you are—"

"Fuck that. I'm not actually his bas—"

"Not actually Dad's kid, I know," Federico said, in that really fucking obnoxious way he had of putting everything into nice words when the actual truth was ugly as sin. "But people think you are, so they're going to try to use that against us. Like it or not, you have to deal with that. Not going out alone when we're at war with the Pozzo Nero would be a nice first step."

"I don't want a fucking bodyguard," Xanxus said, and looked away from him. "I can handle things myself."

"You can, sure," Federico told him. "But you don't have to. That's what Family is, you stubborn brat."

"Whatever," Xanxus muttered. "I still don't want a bodyguard. I'm strong enough on my own."

Federico sighed. "Stubborn," he muttered, and then his voice changed, and the atmosphere inside the car turned taut. The warning came too late, and Xanxus cursed as Federico's fingers dug into his arm and Federico's Flame lit his eyes again. "You're not strong enough on your own," Federico announced, Will holding Xanxus in place, implacable as the Ninth's. "I saved your life today. If your Family hadn't been there, you would be dead right now, shot in the back in a stinking alley." Xanxus jerked against Federico, pushing against Federico's Will, but Federico held firm. His fingers tightened on Xanxus' arm again, and his Will reached into Xanxus, implacable, forcing him to listen and to hear. "You are strong, but your Family is stronger, and will make you stronger. You are not alone any more. Understand?"

Federico's Flame underlined the question, and so did Xanxus' blood on the remains of Federico's shirt and on the hands that were gripping his bicep. "Yeah," Xanxus said, slow and grudgingly, not about to admit that Federico had won. "All right."

Federico held him in his Will a little bit longer, and then released him, looking satisfied when he did. "Good," he said.

Xanxus looked aside, now that he could. "You and the old man are crazy." The hell did they think they were doing, just taking him in like that, anyway? It was like they didn't even know how dangerous he could be.

And never mind the faint suspicion he had that he had given in this time, instead of being overwhelmed. That was just crazy.

"Hey, don't go blaming me. I already told you that I wanted a puppy." Federico's voice was cheerful. "But we got you instead, so I'll make do."

Xanxus just growled at him, especially when Federico set a hand in his hair and ruffled it lightly. Before he could do anything about it, the car had pulled in at the Vongola house, and it fell away again in the rush for a doctor and the storm of the old man's anger.

Xanxus didn't think about it again until a box showed up in his room several days later, without a card or a source or anything to say where it had come from. But he didn't need a card, not when the box had a pair of matched handguns in it—the message was loud and clear.

3. Canis lupus

"Hey there, pup."

Federico had the most fucking irritating way of being able to find Xanxus when Xanxus least wanted to deal with any members of the Family. "Fuck off," he growled, dodging the hand that descended to ruffle his hair. "And I'm not a damn puppy. Stop treating me like I'm your fucking lapdog."

Federico whistled. "You are in a temper," he observed, and settled himself on the roof next to Xanxus. The sniper whose post this was made a pained noise, probably because Federico didn't look like he intended to go anywhere any time soon.

Xanxus growled at him again, but the effect was ruined when his voice broke halfway through. Fucking puberty. "Go away."

"Not till I know what's bothering you so much that you're terrorizing poor Lucien."

"Poor Lucien my ass," Xanxus muttered. "He's a fucking menace, is what he is."

"He's a tutor," Federico said. Bastard wasn't even trying to pretend he wasn't laughing. "The most dangerous thing he knows is trigonometry."

Xanxus begged to fucking differ. "Dancing lessons. Motherfucking dancing lessons!"

Federico hooted with laughter. "So you tried to shoot him. I see now. You know Dad's going to have to pay him an awful lot to stay on after that little stunt, right?"

"He should save his money." Xanxus glared out across the landscape, all Vongola land as far as he could see, since glaring at Federico did a whole lot of nothing. "The fuck do I need to know how to dance for?"

"Comes in handy at parties, or so I hear."

"Parties." Xanxus sneered. "Fuck. What do I look like, some kind of diplomat?"

"I sincerely doubt that any of us are going to mistake you for the Family ambassador, I promise." Federico was still laughing, damn his eyes. "But they'll start inviting you to parties sooner or later. You're going to have be ready for when that happens."

"Fuck." Xanxus shuddered at the very idea of having to deal with more people, ones who weren't even Family, and who would all think... "Fucking fuck."

"...hey." Federico's hand landed on his nape. "What's really bothering you, pup?"

Xanxus stared away from him. "You're as bad the old man," he said, finally. Language lessons and etiquette lessons, horseback riding and history and mathematics, like he was the old man's actual bastard and not just the stray that politics had forced the old man to adopt. "Trying to make me into something else." He tried to lean away from Federico's fingers.

They just curled tighter and kept him in place. "How so?"

"Dance lessons." Xanxus looked out over the orchards to the north of the House. "Etiquette lessons. Parties. Fuck. It's like you fucking think that's the kind of person I am. Hell, it's like you think I really am his bastard."

"People are going to think that no matter what," Federico said. "You need the tools to negotiate—"

He sounded all sympathetic, and something in Xanxus snapped. "I don't want to fucking negotiate! I want to fucking shoot people!" he shouted, twisting away from Federico's hand on his nape, this time successfully. "I don't want to smile and make nice with our enemies, I want to fight them! I'm not your fucking lap dog—I'm a fucking wolf, only you and that shitty old man won't let me be!"

Federico let him get the whole damn thing out, wearing his patient I'm listening and I care deeply face the whole time. "Don't hold back," he said, when Xanxus had finished and was panting and feeling raw with having finally said it out loud. "Tell me how you really feel."

"Fuck you. Fuck you a whole lot." Xanxus turned away from him and hunched himself over his knees.

"One of these days, I'm going to have to teach you some more creative ways to swear at people." Federico shifted, climbing to his feet, and then held a hand down to him. "C'mon."

Xanxus glared at it, and thought about smacking it away, except that the sniper was really giving him a nasty look for all the shouting, and would probably shoot him for striking the Ninth's precious Heir. "What?"

"We're going to go talk to Dad."

Xanxus glanced up at him, wary; Federico was still smiling, but there was steel in it now. "What about?"

"Finding you something that'll be a better fit." Federico jerked his head at the door. "C'mon, no time like the present."

Now what the hell was that supposed to mean?

Federico sighed while Xanxus puzzled over this new turn in Federico's mood, and leaned over to haul him to his feet. "I'd swear, sometimes it's like you don't understand a word I'm saying."

"That's because sometimes I don't," Xanxus muttered. "Seeing as I don't speak Lunatic."

"Really? And here I thought you were a native speaker." Federico pulled him inside and dragged him back downstairs.

They really were going to go see the Ninth—Federico took him right to the old man's study and waltzed right on in like he owned it. Xanxus guessed he did, sort of, or would eventually. Federico didn't even seem to mind that he was interrupting the old man at work.

"Federico," the old man said, giving his son a tolerant look and Xanxus a rather sharper glance. Yeah, he'd heard about the thing with goddamn Lucien by now, all right. "What is it?"

"It's time we found Xanxus a place in the Family that can make use of his skills, don't you think?" Federico said, maneuvering Xanxus to a spot in front of the desk and planting himself next to him.

"I beg your pardon?" the old man asked, those bushy eyebrows of his climbing up his forehead.

Federico set a hand on Xanxus' shoulder. "A more suitable position, I think," he said, casual. "Some place where he can do the things he does best. I'm thinking he might try a stint with the Varia."

Xanxus looked up at him, sharply—the fucking Varia? That would be—

"Out of the question," the Ninth said, flat. "Have you lost your mind? He's still a child. The Vongola are not so desperate for soldiers that I would send a child to fight for us."

"I'm fourteen," Xanxus said, offended to his core, but they both ignored him.

"He may be a child, but he's a fighter, Dad." Federico's own voice had gone flat. "He's always been a fighter, and he always will be. You think that it is a kindness to shelter him from the harsher realities of our life, but it's not. He doesn't want the Vongola to shelter him. I say that it's time to stop caging him and hoping that doing so will tame him, because it's not working. Keeping him penned up is only going to make him wilder."

"No," the Ninth said, eyes gone steely. "No, I will not countenance it. When he's older, when he knows what it is that he's deciding—"

"Xanxus," Federico said, face and voice going still, like he was on the edge of calling his Flame. Xanxus found himself responding to that tone without quite meaning to, spine snapping straight as Federico addressed him. "How old were you when you killed your first man?"

"Dunno," Xanxus said, which was the honest truth. "Eight, maybe? Something like that. He was hassling Ma, I think. Wanted more of her take than they'd agreed to—no, wait, that was someone else. I think." He shrugged. "Never kept track. Sorry."

The old man was starting to look pained. Federico just squeezed Xanxus' shoulder. "Thank you," he said. "I don't think the details are really that important."

"If you're sure," Xanxus said, watching the old man's mouth go tighter.

"Federico—"

"No, Dad." Federico's voice was quiet, and the first echoes of his Will were stirring below its surface. "He's not an innocent to be protected, and he hasn't been for a long damn time. It would be nice if we could make up for that now, but we can't. What we can do is respect what Xanxus is by letting him serve the way he's fitted himself to serve us. The way he wants to serve us."

Xanxus held his breath through the whole of Federico's speech, shocked by the clarity with which Federico saw him, and the stubbornness in his voice and his Will, all set against the Ninth for his sake. Who would ever have thought that Federico would do such a thing for him?

The old man seemed just as surprised about Federico taking Xanxus' part as Xanxus himself was. "This is what you'd set yourself against me for?"

"I would set myself against the world for any of my people," Federico said, perfectly serene, and that casual claim drew Xanxus taut. Federico squeezed his shoulder again. "Ask him. Let him tell you what he wants for himself."

The Ninth's eyes flicked to Xanxus' face. "Well, boy?" he asked, slow and reluctant.

"Could I join the Varia?" Xanxus asked, and fuck if he cared how eager that made him sound. "They get the really interesting missions, right?"

"They slaughter the Vongola's enemies." The Ninth's voice was harsh. "They are assassins and remorseless, ruthless killers."

Xanxus matched him, stare for stare. "Like I said. Interesting."

"You see, Dad?" Federico's voice was soft. "Just be grateful that he's ours. Forget the rest. It's not going to happen."

"It seems not." The Ninth looked away from them booth. "I'll speak to Tyr."

"Thank you, Father," Federico said, and bowed, old-fashioned and formal. He pulled Xanxus down with him. "My apologies for interrupting you." He clapped Xanxus on the shoulder when they'd straightened up again. "C'mon, you."

Xanxus was pleased enough with matters—the motherfucking Varia, hot damn!—that he let Federico shuffle them out of the old man's study without protest. Federico stopped them in the hallway. "All right," he said, looking down at Xanxus, still in serious business mode. "You owe me, and I'm going to tell you how I plan on collecting."

"How?" Xanxus asked, wary, since it always paid to be careful of Federico in this mood.

"You're going to be one of the Vongola's best fighters," Federico said. "Possibly even one of the fighters who'll live on in our legends after you manage to get yourself killed, depending. But I'm going to ask you to do something harder than spilling blood for us."

"Like what?" Xanxus said, pretending that he wasn't pleased by the praise.

"Learn the social rules. And the dancing. You don't have to like them, but you have to learn them," Federico said, and he sounded absolutely implacable about it. "I will not have you disgrace me, and I will not have you be vulnerable to our enemies by not knowing how to handle them when shooting them isn't an option. Do you understand?"

Xanxus scowled at him. "Can't I just—"

"No. You can't," Federico told him, flat. "You have to do this. This is not negotiable." Then his mouth quirked. "Think of it as a method of fighting, just in a different medium. If it helps."

Xanxus huffed at him. "It doesn't." He looked away. The Varia. And Federico had faced down the old man to do it. Goddamnit, he did owe him, didn't he? "Fine."

"Thank you," Federico said, and ruffled his hair. "It won't be so bad," he promised. "Not if you're going to be Varia. People will be too terrified to talk to you."

"Hmph." But the idea had a certain appeal to it.

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that, cub." Federico ruffled his hair again and turned away.

"Cub?" Xanxus echoed, raking his hands through his hair and reordering it. "The hell?"

Federico grinned over his shoulder. "You're not a wolf yet," he said. "Yet. But you're getting there."

And he laughed as he strolled away, as Xanxus stared after him, too surprised to say anything to that at all.

4. Dies Irae

Tyr listened, impassive as a stone god, as the Ninth explained the mission he'd like the Varia to take, and when the old man had finished, simply said, "No."

Xanxus felt his commander's refusal like a blow, but the old man—and damn it, he really did look like an old man now, and moved and spoke like one, showing every last year of his age now—the old man just sighed. "Less than a ninety percent chance of completing the mission successfully, then?"

"The Cetrulli are an old and powerful Family," Tyr said. "Their strength is comparable to our own, and they did manage to breach our own security to kill Federico." The old man flinched at the name of his son, but it just made Xanxus' rage sharper to hear it spoken so casually. Tyr took no notice of either of them, and carried on with his analysis. "We cannot move against them in a covert fashion, retaliate as you have asked us to do, and remain undetected."

"And that would mean open warfare, which is outside the Varia's purview," the old man said, and rubbed his forehead. "All right, thank you. We'll find some other way."

That was the absolute limit. "Fuck that," Xanxus ground out, even though it wasn't his place to speak up in this council, or do anything more than observe. "Fuck keeping it a secret. Kill 'em all and let the whole world know what you get for fucking with our Family."

"It's not that easy," the old man said, weary. "I'd like nothing more than that, but—"

"But nothing! They killed Federico!" Had punched right through Federico's security while he'd been on holiday with his family and had killed them all—and just the thought of it made Xanxus curl his hands into fists, both the Vongola Flame and the other one, the one he hadn't used in years, rousing in response.

"But I am not willing to declare open war on the Cetrulli," the Ninth said, flat, while his advisors stirred and muttered, and Tyr hissed, "Control yourself!"

Xanxus flexed his hands, Wrath and Will burning hotter. "Fuck the politics," he gritted out. "You know I'm right."

"And I know that I have no right to tell the commander of the Varia which missions he will accept!" the Ninth retorted. "Your commander has said no, and will not take part in an open war against the Cetrulli. The Vongola will find another way."

"Is that how it is?" Xanxus breathed, possibility crystallizing itself for him, clear and perfect as ice.

"That's how it is."

Xanxus furled his Flames away, against the moment when he would need them. "Fine."

The old man nodded, because he'd never understood Xanxus half as well as Federico had, and had never seen far enough. "Moving on, then."

Tyr stayed to listen to the old man and his advisors argue over alternative schemes, and to give his advice. Xanxus waited them out, darkly amused by the fact that the old man and his men couldn't come to any satisfactory conclusions, and by the covert frustration that showed every time they looked at Tyr, until the old man called an end to things for the morning.

Tyr ignored all of them and swept out of the meeting with his usual magisterial calm. Xanxus followed after him like a good little squad leader.

His commander was no fool. Tyr went straight to the Varia's practice yard, and only spoke to Xanxus once they were there. "You spoke very much out of turn this morning," he noted, as he faced Xanxus and loosened his sword in its sheath.

"But I'm right, damn it," Xanxus said, and let his Flames unwind themselves again as he faced the man down. "You know I am."

"I know that you think that you are right." Tyr was as dispassionate here as he was in everything, and that made Xanxus want to grind his teeth. "I know that you do not have to concern yourself with the same things I do, and that you have the luxury of being able to allow yourself to be angry."

"It's not a fucking luxury." Xanxus flexed his hands, opening and closing them, watching him. Fucking luxuries weren't supposed to hurt so damn much. "What are the chances of doing the mission successfully, open warfare aside?"

Tyr lifted a shoulder, his eyes never leaving Xanxus'. "If we don't worry about remaining concealed? Nearly a hundred percent. But we can't do the mission without revealing ourselves, and I will not let that happen."

"Why the hell not?" Xanxus demanded, rage burning hotter, till the air shimmered around him. "It's not like anyone doesn't know we exist, even if they pretend not to."

Tyr smiled, faint, just the corners of his mouth lifting. "Nevertheless. While I am the leader of the Varia, we will remain a secret. An open secret, if necessary, but a secret."

Even while that made him growl, Xanxus had to admire how well his commander knew him, and appreciate the opening. "Maybe it's time the Varia had a new commander."

"Think carefully," Tyr told him, still wearing that little smile. "Are you ready to do this? You're nineteen—do you really think you're ready to take over if—if—you can cut me down?"

"I guess we'll have to find out," Xanxus told him, and attacked.

Tyr had twenty years and some on him, and had trained with the sword his whole life. He had been one of the best training partners Xanxus had ever had, even without a Flame of his own, and Xanxus had always enjoyed their sparring matches. This was no training match, however, and Tyr hurled himself at Xanxus, grim and intent. Xanxus caught Tyr's sword on one of his guns, and they closed with each other. Tyr's lips peeled back from his teeth as Xanxus lashed out with his Flames. "It seems that Federico's wolf has gone rabid," he noted.

Xanxus just snarled at him, wordless, and they broke apart.

The battle dragged on, since neither of them would give way; Xanxus was dimly aware that the clash of it was drawing spectators to the training yard—other members of the Varia coming to linger at its edges, silent observers who didn't move to interfere. He paid them no mind, being more concerned with Tyr's sword and the gun that had gone spinning away, thanks to a particularly clever twist of Tyr's blade.

They closed again, and again; he raised a line of blisters along Tyr's cheek with the Wrath. Tyr laid his forearm open in return, on the next pass, when Xanxus wasted a precious fraction of a second reaching into his boot for his knife. They were both soaked with sweat when Tyr spoke again, against his ear, hushed. "Think, if you still can," he said, as they wrestled with each other. "Killing them all won't bring him back. Killing them won't lessen the grief that you feel."

"You're wrong," Xanxus retorted. "Killing them all will make me feel much better."

Tyr's bark of laughter was short and harsh. "God save us from reckless young fools and madmen," he said, as they broke apart again.

"You're a superstitious old fool," Xanxus growled at him.

Tyr just laughed again.

The sun had sunk behind the walls of the House and cast the training ground into shadow before the balance of the fight finally shifted. Xanxus harried Tyr across the yard, maneuvering him until the man put a foot down in one of the places where Xanxus' Flames had gouged at the earth. He wobbled for just a fraction of a section, but Xanxus had been waiting and ready for it, and lunged forward, ignoring the glancing blow of the sword against his shoulder and the way it sliced him open, and sank his boot knife into Tyr's chest, all the way to the hilt.

Tyr breathed out, a sigh that sounded regretful, and folded in on himself.

Xanxus caught him—he owed the man that much—and let Tyr's weight bear them to the ground. The look Tyr turned on him was resigned. "I always did wonder if it was going to be you," he managed, with one of his teeth-baring smiles. "Tell me something."

Xanxus raised his eyebrows. "What?"

Tyr's breath was starting to turn short and to gurgle. "Why didn't you just shoot me?"

Was that all? "No one would have followed me if I had."

"Maybe you know what you're doing after all," Tyr gasped, and died with laughter, frothy and red, on his lips.

Xanxus regarded him silently, and then closed his eyes and eased him the rest of the way down. Then he unpinned the Varia's crest from the dead man's jacket and rose. The edges cut into his fingers as he faced the other members of the Varia who were watching him. Xanxus lifted his hand, showing it to them. "This is mine now. Anyone want to argue about it?"

The training yard was silent, until one of the squad leaders shrugged and called, "All yours, Boss." He was echoed by a murmur of agreement.

"Good." Xanxus lowered his hand and retrieved his gun and knife, and turned away from them all.

"Where are you going, Boss?" someone called.

"To see the old man," Xanxus said, without breaking stride. "To see about our next mission."

People scurried out of his way as he stalked back inside; one of the serving girls shrieked outright at the sight of him. Xanxus ignored them all as he made for the old man's study and booted the door open.

The old man was clearly startled to see him. "What the—you look like a hot mess, boy."

He was probably right, but Xanxus couldn't find it in himself to care. He made his way to the old man's desk and dropped the badge on it. "When do you want us to move?" he asked.

The Ninth looked down and a series of emotions chased themselves over his face as he stared at the pin. "Oh, my boy," he said, finally, softly. "What damn fool thing have you gone and done now?"

That seemed like it should have been obvious, so Xanxus ignored the question and picked the badge up again. He weighed it in his fingers, and then pinned it to the remains his shirt, and was acutely conscious of the slight weight of it hanging there. "When do you want us to begin?"

The Ninth looked up at him, eyes grave and dark. "Get cleaned up," he said. "Tend to those wounds. Then come back, and we'll discuss it."

"Yes, Boss." Xanxus bowed, quick and sharp, and turned away from him.

The old man's voice stopped him at the door. "You didn't have to do this."

Xanxus looked back at him. "No," he said, at length. "You're wrong. I did."

The old man sighed, but didn't try to argue with him. After a moment longer, Xanxus went to clean up.

The Cetrulli died as easily as any men did, though in rather more pain than most. Xanxus led the mission against them himself, repaying the fire that had killed Federico with his own Flames and tearing the very heart of the Cetrulli Family out with his own hands. When the Varia were done with them, not a one of the Cetrulli's actual family was left breathing, nor any of its advisors or most of its commanders, and its shattered remains had scattered and were seeking shelter with any of the Cetrulli's allies that would take them in.

And Tyr, damn him, had been right. The fighting had been satisfying, had let him freeze himself over and throw himself into the fierce pleasure of extracting vengeance from the Cetrulli, but left Xanxus at loose ends when it had ended.

Fortunately, Tyr had been right about the other thing, too—the Varia could no longer remain secret, not when half the old Families were appalled that the Vongola had moved so ruthlessly against one of their own, and the other half had applauded. They were all at open war within the year, giving Xanxus all the battles he could desire. He bent his will on those, and ignored everything else.

By the time the last of the Ninth's sons fell, Xanxus no longer felt much about it at all, save for a certain weariness with the boredom of having to chase the last ragtag members of the Cetrulli to the ground in order to exterminate them.

5. Fire and Ice

Enrico had been dead for a year and a half, and the ceasefire between the surviving Families had held for an uneasy eight months, when the Ninth called Xanxus into his study.

Xanxus was glad of the summons. He'd been getting bored with all the peace and quiet.

"I have a question for you," the old man said, and laid his hands flat on his desk as he looked Xanxus over. "Many people think you are going to be my heir."

"People think a lot of things," Xanxus retorted.

"They do." The Ninth looked at him, head-on and serious. "I need to know. What do you think?"

"I think people are full of shit." Xanxus shrugged. "Not actually your bastard, remember? Some other guy's bastard. Therefore, not eligible."

"What if I told you that we could make the argument that you were?" The Ninth watched him, eyes sharp and focused. "What would you say then?"

"I'd say you're full of shit." Xanxus waved a hand at the old man's office. "You wanted me to take this, you would've been grooming me for it. If not when they got Massimo, then after they got Enrico. You don't want me as your heir. You've got something else up your sleeve."

"Is that so?" The Ninth leaned back in his seat. "How do you figure that?"

"You think I can't tell when you're testing me, old man?" Xanxus leaned back, too, and set an ankle over his knee. "You're too calm. You want to know what I think before you go order me to do something."

The Ninth's eyes glinted, just faintly. "Very well." He picked up one of the folders that was sitting at his elbow and passed it across the desk.

Xanxus flipped it open; there was a photo of a boy right on top, looking about as feckless as they came. "Who's this?"

"Sawada Tsunayoshi." Indeed, there was the label, on the back of the photo.

Xanxus glanced up. "Any relation to...?"

"His son, yes." The Ninth was still watching him.

Xanxus paged through the little dossier, till he came to the piece of paper that was a family tree. "You've got to be fucking with me," he said, and flipped back to the photo. No, the kid still looked like a fucking baby, and not even genetics could change that. "This is your new heir?"

"He's still a little raw," the Ninth said.

"A little raw? Fuck. He hasn't even been in the oven yet." Xanxus flipped the dossier closed. "You might as well invite all our enemies to a party and ask 'em to slit our throats."

"Mm." The Ninth picked up the other folder and offered it to him.

Xanxus flipped it open, expecting to find another possible heir. Instead, his own face stared up at him. "What's this...?" he asked, paging through the dossier rapidly. The Ninth didn't answer, didn't say a fucking word, until Xanxus reached the piece of paper, very like Sawada's, that traced his own family tree, right back to the Second.

He stared at it for so long that the Ninth finally cleared his throat. "The major distinction between you and Tsunayoshi," he said, as Xanxus raised his eyes from the family tree, "is that Tsuna's line is legitimated by the First's remarriage, and yours is not."

Xanxus just stared at him, silently, waiting for him to get to the point.

The Ninth gestured at the two dossiers in his hands. "Most of the Vongola favors you," he said. "The irregularities of your family tree can be overlooked, in light of that."

"Most," Xanxus repeated, hearing the harsh edge in his own voice. "What does that mean?"

"It means that the boy isn't one of us," the Ninth said. "He hasn't been raised in this world. Reborn has been with him since Enrico died. He says that Tsuna's heart is... very pure. Rather like Federico's." He stopped, and ran a hand over his face.

"Why tell me this?" Xanxus demanded, holding up the folder that someone had compiled on him. "If you want him, then why should I even matter?"

The Ninth dropped his hand from his eyes, and looked at him, steady. "Because I am asking you which one of you I should choose to be Tenth after me," he said, slow and even, and upset Xanxus' entire worldview by doing so.

The Varia had swung into action without a murmur of question when Xanxus went from the Ninth's office to their quarters, not even when Xanxus gave them some admittedly peculiar orders. They moved without question, proof that all the bastards knew what was good for them, and didn't even bat an eye at his choices, or the announcement that they were going to Japan. It wasn't till they were on the jet that Bel looked up from playing with his knives, grinning as sharp as they were, and asked, "What's up, Boss? We got a mission to kill someone or what?"

It was an understandable assumption; he'd assembled the strongest squad leaders the Varia had for this. "Something like that." Xanxus cast his eye over them, assessing them. "It's time to figure out who's going to be Tenth, me or Iemitsu's brat."

"Well, hot damn." Bel's grin stretched wider. "We gonna go kill him?"

"Maybe," Xanxus allowed; it wasn't out of the question. "We have to fight him for the rings."

Lussuria was the one who did the math first, looking around at the other five of them and then squeaking. "All of us?" he asked, breathless, and they stilled.

"Yeah," Xanxus told him, and watched them all grin at each other.

"We won't let you down, Boss," Levi vowed.

"You'd better fucking hope not," Xanxus told them, and hauled himself up, heading to the front of the jet's cabin, away from them and their speculations.

Squalo joined him there, all uninvited, and sat across from him. "So," he said, after a moment. "What's the plan?"

He should have known. "What plan?"

"Boss." Squalo gave him a long look, and then snorted. "Please. Like you don't always have a plan. And like you didn't have us do some damn weird things to get ready for this. So. What gives?"

Yeah, Squalo wasn't just his second because he was good with a sword. "Tell you later," he said, since Squalo got loud when he was surprised, or excited, and this was going to be one hell of a surprise, all right. Squalo wasn't going to see it coming, no matter what he'd put together in that pointy head of his.

Wasn't anybody going to see this one coming. Xanxus settled back into his seat, and smirked at nothing at all.

Xanxus didn't think much of Sawada Tsunayoshi the first time he met the boy. His photo in the Ninth's dossier hadn't encompassed the full flailing, wailing reality of the brat's existence. "That brat isn't fit to lick the boots of a real heir," he told Squalo, sourly, after the Cervello had outlined the way the ring battles would happen and they had retired to their headquarters.

"You're going to massacre him, Boss," Levi agreed, readily, missing the point entirely. "You're the only one fit to be the Tenth."

Squalo aimed a kick at him. "The boss wasn't talking to you," he grunted, and then jerked his head at the door. "Get out, all of you. We've got strategy to discuss."

They went, obediently or sullenly, each according to his kind, and Xanxus mused on the usefulness of having a second like Squalo, someone who understood Xanxus' moods without his ever having to make them clear. Once he had booted the door shut after Lussuria's slinking ass, Squalo underlined the point by getting Xanxus a drink, two fingers of whiskey, neat, all without a word.

"This is a fucking farce," Xanxus told him, when the alcohol was a warm glow in his belly.

Squalo kicked a chair over and straddled it, showing his teeth. "You're not wrong. Buncha weaklings, all of them. Beats the fuck outta me how they took Rokudou down."

"Luck," Xanxus grunted. "And probably Reborn." That one couldn't seem to help meddling.

Squalo's teeth flashed again. "Guess we'll see how far luck gets 'em this time."

Xanxus grunted at him.

Squalo didn't need more of a hint than that, and rose immediately. "Night, Boss," he said, and went out.

Xanxus let him go, considering the nature of luck and the Vongola's shitty run of it, these past few years, and then went to check the Gola Mosca, while he was thinking about it.

He reconsidered his stance on Sawada after the battle for the Lightning Ring. Even an observer could feel that there was power in the brat's Flame, as long as Sawada's people were concerned. Perhaps it hadn't been all luck and Reborn that had contributed to Rokudou's defeat.

But the brat was still ten years too early to be the Tenth. Too fucking naÃ¯ve, too—that much was clear in the shock on Sawada's face when the Cervello declared his half of the Sky Ring forfeit. Xanxus had to laugh at that—hadn't the brat known what kind of sacrifices a real boss had to be prepared to make? Especially when one of his Guardians was a damn toddler?

Ten years too fucking early, definitely, Xanxus decided, while the brat's friends consoled him for his stupid mistake. He had potential, yeah, but even the fucking Arcobaleno couldn't turn someone that wet behind the ears into a boss overnight.

The Zero Point came as a complete fucking surprise. Xanxus hadn't known that Will and Flame could turned in on themselves like that, going through heat to come out into cold that burned just as fiercely as the accusations that he had betrayed the Ninth. The image that Xanxus took with him as the Zero Point closed around him and dragged him down was the cool, regretful look in Sawada's eyes, and the last thing he felt was the shock of recognition at the sight—the face was all wrong, but he'd seen that look before, in the old man's eyes and in Federico's eyes.

When light and heat broke through that arctic darkness and dragged him out of that frozen silence, Xanxus could barely gasp for breath, stunned by the betrayal of his Flames and the weakness that gripped him. Mammon was hovering over him, holding a double handful of Vongola Rings and wearing a shit-eating smile that said Forgive and forget, eh Boss? as Bel proclaimed Xanxus the Tenth.

All Xanxus could do was laugh at that, at the utter ridiculousness of it, when he couldnâ€™t even get off the goddamn ground under his own power. Bel had to shove the damn ring on Xanxus' finger himself while Mammon prattled on about the mystic power the rings would give the new heir. "You don't know shit," Xanxus rasped to them, and clenched his fist around the ring.

He'd heard of the Vongola trial, mostly in whispers and the fragments of rumors, and hadn't given them more than cursory attention, because they'd never concern him. As the outside world fell away again, Bel's triumph and Mammon's smugness blending with the protests of Sawada's people, Xanxus had just long enough to wish that he'd listened to those whispers more closely.

Then the screaming started: a whole succession of voices, agonized and terrified, pleading for mercy or more time or just plain howling in senseless pain. Images came with the screams, explosions and shattered bodies, blood running across a thousand different floors and sliding off the edges of blades, and the empty gaze in the eyes of corpses, identical in men and women and children alike.

Revenge, someone whispered.

Ambush. Another voice.

Eradication. And another.

He was suspended in some kind of space, surrounded by a throng of shadowy figures. Their voices rustled like dead leaves brushing against each other, blending and overlaying each other, nearly indistinguishable.

Our past sins. Murder, revenge, betrayal. An insatiable thirst for power.

Xanxus looked through the throng, but their faces were shadowed, and even though he had seen portraits of them all, had lived for years in the house where their faces gazed down at him on a daily basis, he could not tell one from another, nor could he keep a count on them—were there eight? Or nine?

This is the bloodstained history of our Family, they whispered to him. Xanxus only half-listened, peering at them, trying to make a count, trying to bring their faces clear. You who hold the ring of the Vongola, you who claim the Sky—do you have the resolution to inherit the weight of these sins?

That one—that one might be the old man. Xanxus strained after him, but the shadow slipped away, replaced by one that may have been the Third. Xanxus snarled his frustration, and then snarled again when that shadow whirled away, too.

Do not look away, the throng whispered. Look and see the destiny of the successor of the Vongola. This is the purpose of the life you were given.

"Of course it is!" Xanxus flared, facing them and trying glare at all of them at once. "You think I don't know exactly what I am? You think I haven't given the orders to kill? You think I don't know exactly what my guns and my Flames are for?"

The throng of them circled closer, a sigh rippling through them at his answer. Will you pay the price? they asked. Will you shoulder the burden of our history and all its glory? Will you uphold the Vongola?

Xanxus snarled at them again. "I'll do whatever it takes," he told them, gesturing at the flood of history streaming around them. "I serve the Vongola. Doesn't matter who gets in the way of that, I'll cut them down."

They sighed and swayed as one. Ah...

It was the wrong answer; Xanxus knew it before the voices and images of their history fell away, before he found himself standing before the circle of them, nine in all. Only the old man showed any regret, looking at him.

The First spoke. "No," he said, and the weight of his voice and Will drove Xanxus to his knees. "That will not do. Your heart is frozen. You haven't shouldered our burden, even a little bit." He lifted his hand. "As you have rejected us, we reject you."

"Like that's a fucking surprise," Xanxus managed, before nine generations' worth of Vongola-caused suffering came crashing down on him.

When he came back to himself, he had screamed himself raw, and one of the Cervello was stooping over him to strip the Sky Ring off of his hand. "The rings have rejected Xanxus' blood," she announced. "The winner of the Sky Ring battle has defaulted to Sawada Tsunayoshi."

That sparked protests all around, from Bel's squawk to Sawada's Sun proclaiming his confusion. "How can it reject his blood? Isn't he the Ninth's son?"

Laughing hurt. Xanxus did it anyway, and forced himself to his feet, because he wasn't by damn going to do this lying on the ground like a fucking worm. "Told you all you didn't know shit," he wheezed, and spat the blood out of his mouth. "I'm not the old man's son. Never have been." He laughed again, laughed at all of their stupid, shocked faces. "And you're surprised it rejected me?"

"No." That was Sawada, swaying on his own feet, speaking up before anyone else could. "That's not it at all, is it? That's just what you want us all to think." He took a wobbling step away from his companions, towards Xanxus. "I understand, now," he said, eyes and voice clear. "What the Ninth showed me."

Bel took a step, and stopped when Xanxus growled at him. "Bullshit," he told Sawada. "What can a brat like you understand?"

"Everything," Sawada said, confident, closing the distance between them, step by shaky step. "You didn't betray the Ninth at all, did you? You're not here because you wanted to be the Tenth. You're here because he sent you here."

Xanxus coughed and spat on the ground between them. "Not bad," he said, and ignored the shock and disbelief from the Cervello and Varia and Sawada's own people. "No other way to make sure a brat like you was ready to take over for him."

Sawada came closer, till he was tilting his head back to look up at Xanxus. "No," he agreed, still in the grip of that clear, steady calm. "I'm much stronger now, thanks to you."

"Damn right," Xanxus told him, with the grim satisfaction of a job well done. "Would've killed you myself if you hadn't gotten stronger. Might still do it if you fuck this up."

"I know." That clear gaze was starting to be unnerving. "You love this Family very much."

"The hell you say." Xanxus rolled his eyes. "What are you, brain-damaged? I was following orders."

"That's what you want to think. That's what you want to believe. But you're wrong. I felt it." Sawada frowned, lifting a hand. "It's still there. It's covered over," he murmured, and even though he looked like he was half-dead on his feet, his Flame lit again. "It shouldn't be," he murmured. "You're only hurting yourself with it."

"Mind your own business," Xanxus told him. "Maybe I like it better this way."

"No," Sawada said, very softly. "No, I see now, what else he meant."

"Sawada," Xanxus said, warning him, but Sawada ignored him and came forward anyway, pressing his hands against Xanxus' chest.

"You've given a great deal," he said, Will pressing against Xanxus', the raw heat of it gentled enough that it didn't burn. It was no less determined for that. "You are owed this."

"Fuck off," Xanxus grated out, resisting the pressure and warmth of Sawada's Flame. "I don't want this." Not again. He wasn't going to survive another round of this.

"You're still lying," Sawada told him, unshakable as a mountain, and folded his Will around Xanxus and held him.

Xanxus lost the rest of his voice on the cry that tore out of his throat as Sawada's Will pressed against the places he'd walled off years ago, after the first of the old man's sons had died. "These are hurting you," Sawada said, softly, Flame burning hotter, purer. "He would not have wanted this."

"How the fuck would you know?" Xanxus gasped, hating the parts of himself that strained towards Sawada's Will, responding to it. "You weren't fucking there."

"I just know," Sawada told him, simple as that, and brought the walls the rest of the way down.

As his knees bucked and he went down for the third time that night, overcome by the torrent of things that he'd wanted to never have to think about again, Xanxus decided that, fuck it all, this time he was going to stay down.

When he woke up, he was in a pleasant room that was filled with sunlight, and the old man was sitting beside his bed, doing paperwork.

The rush of relief—and shock at realizing he was relieved—at seeing the old man doing something so emphatically normal as his paperwork rendered Xanxus' voice into a rasping croak. "You."

The Ninth looked up, and even Xanxus couldn't mistake the look that crossed the old man's face as anything but pleasure. "You're awake," he said, with every evidence of delight.

"No fucking kidding." Xanxus' throat ached with the effort of speaking, and was barely managing a whisper. "You're not dead."

"Hardly." The Ninth smiled. "I told you I'd do just fine."

Yeah, and Xanxus had seen how he'd looked when the kid had sliced the Gola Mosca open. "You were—I saw you." It'd been clear, too, when he'd had the ring. "With the other bosses."

The old man fucking smiled at him. "One doesn't have to be dead to attend the trial of one's successor, even if it often ends up that way."

"You shitty old man." Xanxus looked away from him, stared out the window—the sky was the deep blue of the Mediterranean; they were home. And even focusing on that fact couldn't stop him from saying, "You scared the fuck out of me."

He heard the sound that the old man made, surprised and wondering, and then the sound of papers being set aside. "I'm sorry," he said, and set a hand on Xanxus' shoulder. "I didn't... expect it to affect you. Not like that."

"No, you just knew it'd tear me apart from the inside out when they rejected me." The old man had told him as much when they'd discussed what would happen if he had to take up the ring. At the time, it had seemed like an acceptable risk to take.

Now he wasn't so sure. The thought of the trial recalled the burden that they'd placed in front of him, and that brought on a wave of nausea. Xanxus closed his eyes and fought it, and the groan that wanted to come with it, back down. "The fuck did Sawada do to me?"

"Forced you to recall yourself, I believe," the old man said, after a moment. "And asked you to recall that you are, in fact, human."

"I don't think I like it," Xanxus told him, from behind teeth that he had to clench against the nausea and sense of dizzy unbalance. Fucking hell, what was he supposed to do with all this goddamn emotional shit?

"You never have, much," the old man agreed. His hand moved to Xanxus' forehead and rested there, cool. "I find myself hoping that it sticks, I'm afraid. I should like very much if I could have one of my sons returned to me."

Xanxus squeezed his eyes tighter, so he wouldn't have to look at the man. "I'm not your son."

"Not by blood," the old man agreed, voice quiet. "Not by the measures of the world. But you're the son my heart recognizes. You're the brother Federico claimed for himself. Those are enough for me." He sighed. "I wish they could be enough for you."

Xanxus turned his face away at the mention of Federico and all the things that the mention of his name brought surging out of the places he'd buried them. The old man's hand settled on his shoulder again. "Fuck," he said, when he could breathe past the knife edges of the hurt. "Fuck. I should have been there. It should have been me."

What the fuck had Sawada done to him, that he was saying these things out loud?

The old man's hand clamped down on his shoulder. "No," he said, fierce. "No. He would not have wanted that, any more than I would have." His grip eased again. "You've seen the reports. The presence of one more man—even one such as yourself—would not have saved him. I would have lost both of you if you had been there." He stopped, and then started again. "As it was, I rather thought I had."

"You always were sentimental, old man," Xanxus muttered after a moment.

"Perhaps," the Ninth said, and squeezed his shoulder. "Nevertheless."

Nevertheless, indeed. Xanxus took a breath, and another, and decided it was time for a safer subject, until he could gain some control of himself again. "Sawada has the ring now?" he asked, and opened his eyes.

"He does, and has found it in himself to face what that means." The Ninth was looking into the distance and probably not seeing anything that was in the room. "He will do great things for our Family, I think."

"Kick his ass for him if he doesn't."

The old man's eyes returned to the present and flicked down to him, and he laughed. "Yes, I've not doubt that you will."

Xanxus snorted at him. "Glad you approve of the choice."

"I do." The Ninth went serious on him again, looking at him with dark eyes. "I would have approved the other, too."

The fuck? "Don't be stupid." Xanxus glared at him. "You saw what happened when I put the ring on."

"Mm. I did." The Ninth lifted a shoulder, as if it weren't even worth mentioning. "The Ring chooses the successor the Family needs. And sometimes what the Family needs is a new direction, like what I expect Tsuna will give us, and sometimes it needs the strength that will guide it and protect it, as you would have done." He stopped, studying Xanxus, and then continued, apparently satisfied with whatever he saw. "What was rejected was the coldness in your heart. We are a Family, my boy. The boss must care for it. Do you see?"

Xanxus listened to that—the boss had to care?—and then snorted. "Definitely made the right choice," he muttered.

The old man's smile was faint. "Mm. He's done well with his people so far."

It was impossible to mistake the old man's intent, not when the old man was looking at him, practically mooning over him. Xanxus grunted. "Whatever. I guess he'll do."

"Yes," the Ninth said, with the smile that all three of his sons had inherited, and that made Xanxus' breath hitch to see. "I think he will." He took his hand away from Xanxus' shoulder and busied himself with his paperwork. "Now that you're awake, there's someone who'll be wanting to see you. I'll just send him in, shall I?"

"Whatever," Xanxus muttered, and settled back against his pillow as the old man went out. It'd be one of the Varia, wanting to report their status—Bel, probably, wanting to talk about who was going to take Squalo's place, since he had exactly the right kind of initiative to put himself forward in a time of chaos. Of course, he trusted Bel about as far as he could throw the little shit, but it wasn't like he had a lot of options to work with in the other squad leaders.

Damn Squalo for getting himself killed, anyway, and that thought came with another wave of sickness—damn Sawada and his fucking Will, too, because this was already getting fucking impossible to stand.

Xanxus gritted his teeth and was trying to ride it out when a ruckus raised itself outside his door. The distraction was a welcome one, and he raised himself up on an elbow to listen to the voices as they spiraled upwards, until someone yelled, "I can fucking do it myself!" and booted open the door.

Squalo wheeled himself into the room, expression mutinously clear even through a layer of bandages, while a handful of the lowest-ranking Varia hovered behind him. "See?" he demanded of them. "Now piss off!" Xanxus stared at him, at a loss for words, as Squalo slammed the door in their faces and wheeled himself over to the bed. "Hey, Boss."

It was as bad as waking up and finding out the old man wasn't dead; the shock made him dizzy. "Squalo," Xanxus said, feeling like he had a case of fucking whiplash. "The fuck. You're not dead."

Squalo snorted. "Fucking Cavallone fished me out before the shark finished me off. Guess he thought he'd be able to get me to spill my guts to him for doing it."

"That little bastard," Xanxus managed, after a moment, some of his whipsaw dizziness grounding itself in familiar anger. "He never said a word." And it went without saying that Squalo hadn't, either, or else he'd have known about this a lot sooner when Cavallone spilled the plan wide open.

Squalo snorted again, baring his teeth. "Yeah. You shoulda seen the look on his face when it all came out. Turned so red I thought he was going to pass out."

"Serves him right," Xanxus said, because it did. Goddamn Cavallone, keeping one of his people from him like that. "Bastard. I thought you were dead." Fuck, he was going to kill Sawada for afflicting him with this case of verbal diarrhea.

Squalo's surprise showed in his eyes, and that only briefly. "Not yet," he said, after a breath of silence. "Which is a damn good thing, since Bel's already started making a hash of Varia business. Gonna take forfuckingever to get it all straightened out."

That was so close to what Xanxus had been thinking before Squalo had come in that it startled him into a laugh; once he started, he couldn't quite stop, till Squalo peered at him, clearly anxious, and demanded to know whether he was all right. "Yeah," Xanxus told him, when he'd managed to get a grip on himself again. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just glad you're not dead, is all."

Squalo blinked, clearly startled, something like pleasure flashing in his eyes. "Yeah, well, me too," he said, and cleared his throat. "So, anyway, here's where we're at."

Xanxus settled in to listen to Squalo's report. He could just about imagine the way Federico would have smiled at that, and said, "Not bad, cub." For once, the thought didn't do much more than ache.

Yeah. Maybe he was going to do all right after all.

- end -

Anger Management

In which Federico teaches his brother a lesson about the importance of controlling one's temper. For Round III of khrfest, prompt II-62. Xanxus — Anger Management; "He who angers you conquers you.". General audiences.

The heir to the Vongola would never do anything so crass as eavesdrop, not least because the Vongola had people for that. But, as Federico told himself, if he happened to be in the right place at the right time he could hardly help what he overheard, could he?

Although one did have to wonder, sometimes, whether there was any such thing as the "right time" when it came to Xanxus. Considering his adopted brother's nature, there probably wasn't. The way Federico looked at it, though, that was all the more reason to keep an eye on Xanxus. Especially when Xanxus was being let to roam unescorted through parties these days, and especially when not everyone in attendance happened to be particularly friendly.

Though there was "not particularly friendly" and "outright stupid," which, Federico thought, annoyed, he would have expected the Orsini to have taught their kids to distinguish. If they had, he couldn't tell it from the way they'd managed to corner Xanxus, a half-circle of them facing him down and offering their opinions about how much he looked like the Ninth—or, rather, didn't. It was right about the time that Taddeo Orsini said, thoughtfully, "How d'you suppose that a bit of street trash managed to fool the Vongola Ninth into mistaking her brat for his bastard?" that Xanxus lost what little control of his temper he had.

Federico stepped in as Xanxus snarled and launched himself at Taddeo—before Xanxus had lit his Flame, which was something, anyway—and gave Taddeo one of his mild, friendly looks as he held Xanxus back. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was just passing by and couldn't help overhearing something about my family. What was it that you were saying?"

The Orsini did tend to be stupid, and petty, and small-minded, but they had all the cunning native to those who were intrinsically bullies. When confronted by someone both older and clearly stronger than they were, Taddeo and his little pack of thugs shuffled their feet and denied saying anything, while Xanxus strained against Federico's hands and growled like a feral animal.

It was that last that made Federico angry; Xanxus had been making progress lately, and now these little bullies had sent him right back to the place he'd been when they'd first adopted him. "Are you quite sure?" he asked, letting his voice go sharper. "I could have sworn that you were saying something about my brother and our father. It sounded like it was a positively fascinating conversation."

"It was nothing," Taddeo said, sullenly. "We were just talking."

"I'm sure you were." Federico looked them over, trying for the look of cool disdain that his father managed to toss off so effortlessly. It seemed to work, judging by the way they glared at him. "It would be good to remember that loose talk often leads to trouble," he said, putting an edge on it that made a couple of them—the smarter ones, he suspected—look nervous. "But as it so happens, I was looking for my brother. I'd like to speak to him privately, if you don't mind."

They took the hint, which was good. Xanxus didn't seem to be in any mood to let himself be dragged away, but Taddeo and his little back were willing enough to disperse. They slunk away, shooting nasty looks at Xanxus as they went.

Xanxus didn't relax even after they'd gone. Federico couldn't make himself be surprised. When he loosened his grip on Xanxus' shoulders, he left his hand on one, hoping that the human touch would ground his brother. "You'll have to deal with them, one of these days."

Xanxus growled again; the shoulder under Federico's palm vibrated with it. "Could have done it right now," he said, finally, and looked up at Federico, eyes dark. "If you hadn't interfered."

"Could you have done it without killing them, though?" Federico returned.

The look Xanxus gave him then was purely puzzled. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Dad doesn't like it when we start wars without his permission," Federico said, dry, and got a blank stare for his pains. Well, that was Xanxus, so Federico clarified it for him. "If you had killed Taddeo Orsini just now, the Orsini would have been able to declare war on us for it. Even if you'd have been doing them a favor. Get it, pup?"

Xanxus growled, though Federico wasn't sure whether it was for the nickname or a reaction to something else. "The Vongola could destroy them."

His conviction regarding the Vongola's strength was touching, if perhaps a touch optimistic, but that was a lesson for another day. "So?" Federico said. "We don't want to destroy them." His conscience prodded him, and he added, "Mostly, anyway."

The joke sailed over Xanxus' head, just one more sign that the kid really needed to lighten up, and he gave Federico another puzzled frown.

Federico sighed and came at the problem from a different angle. "Anyway, you're going to have to get a grip on that temper of yours," he said and tried not to smile as Xanxus' eyes began to glaze over at the familiar lecture. "It makes you vulnerable."

That was a slightly different approach than their father usually took; it caught Xanxus' attention again, the way Federico suspected other lectures, no matter how kindly-meant, didn't. "Explain," Xanxus demanded, frowning at him.

"What is there to explain?" Federico asked him. "As long as your temper leads you, all anyone has to do is make you good and angry, and then point you in the direction they want you to go and stand back." He rubbed his chin, thinking. "I'm pretty sure that's not what the Orsini brats were doing, but some of the other Families probably wouldn't mind sacrificing one of their spares just to have an excuse to declare a fully-justified war on the Vongola." It wasn't a particularly pleasant thought, of course, but it was true enough.

Xanxus wasn't stupid; his eyes turned sharp, and then thoughtful, as the point sank home. All he said, though, was, "Some people need killing."

Federico snorted and ruffled his hair. "Not going to disagree, pup." And he'd let the point ferment in Xanxus' head for a while before they came back to it. As Xanxus protested and tried to escape the hair ruffling, he added, "Let's see what kind of spread the Valetti have put out, eh? And then maybe we can borrow their back lawn and spar for a while."

The possibility of food didn't seem to interest Xanxus much, but his eyes gleamed at the prospect of a fight. "Yeah, sure," he said. "Okay."

There was that crisis dealt with and the beginnings of a lesson administered. And, if they played their cards right, they'd leave another lesson behind them after they'd sparred. Not bad for an evening's work, all things considered.

Just let the other Families try and tell themselves that Xanxus wasn't a Vongola after they'd seen his Flame.

Federico kept his grin under wraps and let Xanxus lead the way towards the buffet table, pleased with a job well-done.

end

Three Things that Might Have Happened to Xanxus

A spin-off from Lys ap Adin's AU "Five Things that Never Happened to Xanxus" (read that first). What if Federico had lived and Squalo's duel with Tyr had happened on schedule? What would happen then? And how would Tsuna come into it? Drama with Occasional Romance, I-4

Many Roads

Promotion, in the Varia, happened for all kinds of reasons: when a squad leader decided it was about time, when the person wanting promotion decided it was about time, when the Boss needed another squad leader, in the field when someone had to take charge, for political or family influence though those didn't usually survive very long. It all usually worked out, on way or another. The question of who would lead the Varia, though, wasn't left up to anyone but the one who led already and the one who wanted to.

"Watch him," Tyr had murmured as he passed Xanxus on his way to the open, tree-fenced practice ground the Varia kept. So he was watching, standing off to the side with folded arms while his commander and some scrappy silver haired punk with a sword went at it.

He had to admit, the kid was good; he'd trained with Tyr often enough himself to know he wasn't holding back, and it had been hours and the kid was still standing. They pressed each other back and forth and, as the hours ran on and the sunlight slanted down into dark, they did things Xanxus had never seen, moves that looked like they belonged to a wrestling match, moves made for a spear or a lead pipe, moves that he almost couldn't follow, that took such subtle advantage of the shape of their swords there were probably books written about how and why it worked.

They didn't stop when the sun went down.

They didn't stop when it came up.

They stopped at midday, but only because they'd both passed out from exhaustion, and only to start again when they could stand.

They stopped when Squalo lost a hand, but only long enough for him to back off and tie the stump off with vicious force, before he charged in again.

They stopped for good when Tyr finally fell.

Xanxus ran a disgusted hand through his hair. "Fantastic," he muttered to himself. "Watch him, yeah, right. Fuck you, boss." He could feel eyes on him, feel the watchers waiting to see what the second in command would do. He pushed away from the brick wall he'd leaned against and walked forward until he faced Squalo over Tyr's body. Silence spread out, the murmurs of the watchers dying away again. He stared at the kid and the kid stared back, eyes dark and dilated. Squalo didn't speak, and Xanxus wondered if that was just exhaustion or there was more going on here that Tyr had wanted him to see.

"Fucked if I'm gonna be led by a brat like you," Xanxus said, finally, and another murmur swept around them.

The kid didn't even blink. "Fight me, then."

Xanxus glanced down at Tyr and back up, eyes raking over Squalo, who was swaying on his feet, blood still dripping from the end of his arm. He snorted and turned away toward the watching crowd. "Don't just stand there! Take him to the hospital, dump some blood back into him, and some fucking food while you're at it. Tomorrow," he added, looking back at Squalo, who had his mouth open, glaring even as bled-out and flattened as he was.

Squalo snapped his mouth shut and grinned. "Tomorrow."

The kid left on his own feet and Xanxus glared down at Tyr's body. "Hope you're fucking amused," he muttered, leaning down to straighten Tyr's limbs. The other squad leaders came forward and he flipped the commander's badge at one of them. "Hold onto this."

He and Squalo met the next afternoon, on the same field.

Squalo focused on him the same way he'd focused on Tyr and Xanxus wondered briefly if he was like that in all his fights, and whether this actually had anything at all to do with who led the Varia. There was a way to tell, now he thought of it. He locked eyes with the kid, lifted one of his guns and fired just to the side of Squalo. A swath of trees blew away into splinters.

The kid glanced at the destruction and turned back to Xanxus, eyes hot, teeth bared. "Fight me," he said again, low and eager.

Yeah, maybe this wasn't about who led, not for Squalo. Xanxus shrugged. "Fine." He beckoned sharply with the barrel of the gun and Squalo came in on him, poised and taut. Xanxus caught the sword on the metal of the gun and kicked out, watching as Squalo twisted aside. It took three exchanges for him to decide he'd better go all out. Even half dead from the fight with Tyr, Squalo was damn good. Besides, it would be no kind of win if the kid passed out again.

And it had been a while since he'd been able to take all the brakes off.

Squalo made a husky sound the next time they closed, and his movement turned sharper, faster, like he was reflecting Xanxus or pulled along somehow. It was weird, a distant corner of Xanxus' mind observed; Squalo was focused on him like a fucking laser but he also seemed, as Xanxus smashed aside a thrust, almost distracted by something. And Xanxus was positive now, shooting out Squalo's footing to stop a lunge, that he was fighting to fight, not to lead. That would, he decided as he ducked a tearing cut, make for a good Varia member. It made for a good fight, and in the end Xanxus was bleeding from a dozen slashes, limping from two of them, head ringing from one damn vicious hilt strike. But he was still the one standing and one of his guns was pressed to Squalo's forehead. Squalo looked up at him, eyes as wide and dark as they'd been yesterday, before he closed them, waiting.

There was no fear in them, though.

Xanxus thought about that and nodded and caught Squalo a good crack across the side of the head with the butt. Squalo went down in a heap and Xanxus turned to look at the medic who'd brought Squalo from the hospital. "Take him back."

"Damn straight," the man muttered, marching onto the field to collect Squalo, mouth set in a disapproving line. Xanxus snorted, amused for a moment when he thought about how someone like Squalo probably reacted to being told to take it easy. "Well?" he added, hands on his hips, looking around at the witnesses.

The senior squad leader tossed him the commander's badge. "We're good."

Xanxus eyed the bit of metal with little favor. "All right. I'll tell the Ninth, then." He limped over and grabbed a roll of gauze from the medic before he left, winding it tight around his thigh. He swore under his breath all the way to the Ninth's office, and not because of the pain. "Watch him," he growled to himself, as he reached the door. "You could have just said 'tame him, but don't kill him'. You could have just said 'ready or not, sucker'." He respected his commander... his ex-commander. But sometimes he really wondered about Tyr's sense of humor.

The old man looked up and smiled to see him, but sighed. Xanxus ran that through his "sentimental old bastard" filter and snorted. "Kid's still alive. I'm not going to kill a member that valuable just because he hasn't got the sense god gave a fucking duckling."

Federico, leaning over the Ninth's shoulder to read whatever it was they were looking at laughed. "Sounds like he's a good match for you."

Xanxus gave him a dire look, which had no effect at all. He was used to that, but it still pissed him off.

"Tyr told me it would be you who led after him, whichever way this went," the Ninth sighed and beckoned Xanxus over. "Come. There's a job we may need the Varia for within the next month."

The little metal badge suddenly felt like it weighed a lot more. Xanxus wondered if this was how Federico felt all the time, these days, and glanced over at him, curious. The wry smile he got made him think it probably was.

"Yes, Boss," Xanxus answered and came to stand at Federico's shoulder.

The World on its Side

Federico liked to use one of the sitting rooms for most of his talks with Family members, but when a killing needed to be planned, he preferred his office. It reminded him to stay focused on business and not sidetrack or delay the inevitable.

"All right." Squalo pushed back his chair and stood. "I'll get my squad ready." He waited for Xanxus' nod before actually leaving and Federico stifled yet another chuckle. Xanxus paused in rising and eyed him.

"What? You've been smirking a lot lately."

"Oh, it's just Squalo." Federico shook his head at the door.

Xanxus frowned. "I know he's young to be a squad leader, but hell so was I..."

Federico waved a hand. "No, no. Not that. It's just his crush on you."

Xanxus stared. "You're shitting me," he said finally.

"Not at all." Federico cocked his head. "Xanxus. Did you really miss it?"

"He just likes people who can fight!" Xanxus protested.

"Well, yes. That was kind of my point." Xanxus bridled at the heavy patience of Federico's tone and he laughed, pushing himself up out of his chair. "You'd think you would recognize it."

Xanxus glared death at him and Federico snorted, reaching out to close a hand around his nape. "It looks awfully familiar from here," he murmured, grip tightening as Xanxus stilled under his hand.

"Boss..." When Federico tugged, Xanxus came to him, mouth opening under Federico's. Federico leaned back against the desk and pulled Xanxus against him so he could kiss him properly—properly being until he was breathless and flushed, hands fisted on the back of Federico's jacket.

"You're mine," Federico said quietly, catching Xanxus' gasp at the words in another kiss. "You always will be. But it would be good for you to have people of your own, too."

It took Xanxus a minute to gather words, and they came out husky, but he finally managed. "Boss, are you really trying to get me to screw my second in command who's seven goddamn years younger than me?"

"What?" Federico grinned. "Look at who I'm screwing."

Xanxus was starting to glare again so Federico pulled him back for another kiss. "Just think about it," he murmured into Xanxus' mouth.

He got a wordless sound of agreement this time, and yes it was probably cheating but Xanxus had always required unusual measures.

Xanxus went about his duties feeling distracted for a few months.

Federico had to be seeing things. Squalo was... well, he was Squalo. He was Xanxus' second, the one who did the personnel stuff.

"Did that look like an attack to you?!" Squalo's voice echoed off the walls of the training hall. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, walking in the park?!"

He bitched out subordinates and opponents at the top of his lungs, louder than a man his size should be able to; even if four years had given him height he was still pretty damn scrawny. He was more determined than any two other Varia members. He trained and fought like he didn't care if he died. If Squalo was in love with anything it was his damn sword.

Xanxus couldn't deny, though, that, now he was watching for it, he kept finding Squalo watching him. Across the practice grounds. Sidelong, when Xanxus couldn't avoid the paperwork in his official office any longer. After jobs.

Okay, all the Varia watched him, then, but Squalo didn't watch him like he was wondering whether this would be the time Xanxus forgot which ones his allies were. Squalo watched him like... like...

Federico had to be seeing things.

Squalo strode over and leaned against the wall beside him with a thump. "Swear to God, half of them don't know which end the bullet comes out of."

Xanxus grunted. Squalo didn't have any patience with less than perfection, or at least "really fucking good". It was one of the things Xanxus liked about him.

Not liked liked, just liked, damn it. There was no reason for him to even have had to think that. He shoved away from the wall with a growl. "Spar with me."

Squalo's teeth showed as he grinned. "Sure thing, boss."

The other members scattered out of their way, and scattered further when Xanxus shot out one of the windows and part of the wall around it. That was fine; it would do them good to get used to keeping out of the way when one of the top members cut loose.

Squalo was laughing.

They went for over an hour and it didn't end until Xanxus got Squalo down, kneeling on his sword arm, one gun pressed firmly under his jaw. Squalo lifted his chin, looking up at him, just waiting. Varia didn't yield.

After a long breath Xanxus let him go and they both hauled themselves upright. "Not bad."

"You too." The quirk of Squalo's mouth wasn't nearly as insolent as his words, and he gave Xanxus a measuring look. "Feel better?"

Xanxus blinked at him, startled.

Squalo nodded, for no reason Xanxus could see. "Yeah, looks like it. Good." He stretched, lean and casual as an alley cat, and lifted a hand. "See you tomorrow, boss."

Maybe, it occurred to Xanxus as he watched Squalo go, Squalo had been watching him closer than he'd realized.

The Varia slid through the Scioneri perimeter like a knife, heading for the main House through the heavy dark of three in the morning. Xanxus watched ahead, poised. If they had to get loud about this job, they would, but it would serve the Varia's reputation better if some of the foot soldiers were left around the edges.

When they reached the walls they scattered.

Squalo was watching the last of his squad go, frowning a little at the audible click of the latch as they went through one of the windows, and Xanxus stifled a snort. Some day he'd decide whether Squalo was just a perfectionist of if he really was a control freak too. He set a hand on Squalo's shoulder to pull his attention back. They were supposed to take the door themselves.

Squalo's head snapped around and a shiver ran through him.

Xanxus paused. Squalo's eyes were wide and dark in the faint house lights, and Xanxus swore he recognized Squalo's expression though he couldn't put a word to it. That would wait, though; they had a job to do now. He jerked his head for Squalo to follow him and his second nodded silently.

The focus of the job didn't ease until they were out and nearly back to their headquarters, and when it did he frowned, scrubbing absently at his sleeve with a scrap of towel. Good thing someone way back had decided the Varia would wear leather, or the dry cleaner's bills would break even the Vongola bank. What had that expression been? Where did he know it from?

"...looks awfully familiar from here..."

Xanxus stared blankly out the car's window. Federico had said that. He'd said that while he held Xanxus, the way he'd always damn well been able to.

The thought threw him completely out of the game, and he barely got through his report on the job without either hauling off and punching Federico for putting the idea in his head or turning to ask Squalo what the hell he was thinking. Once they were safely back into their own halls, Xanxus leaned against the wall and shook his head vigorously; it didn't knock anything loose, unfortunately.

"Boss?"

Squalo was looking at him curiously, no sign of that earlier flash of awareness or want or insanity or whatever the hell it was. Now Xanxus was wondering if he was seeing things.

Well there was one way to be damn well sure.

Xanxus reached out and curled a hand around the back of Squalo's neck, sliding it up into the thick softness of his hair.

Squalo went very still, even his breath stopping, except for the tiny shiver Xanxus could feel under his hand. That look was back and, yeah, it was definitely want. Xanxus did recognize it, and damn Federico for being right. Because, recognizing it, he had to do something about it.

"Boss," Squalo said, low and husky.

"Come here," he said, quietly, tugging Squalo closer, feeling how readily Squalo came to him. When he caught Squalo's mouth it opened under his and after a moment of hesitation Squalo leaned into him, kissing back just as sharp and intent as he did everything else. That made heat curl low in Xanxus' stomach. When he finally let go they were both breathing harder, and this time he recognized the look in Squalo's eyes right away. The first time he'd seen it was over Tyr's body. "Do you really fall in love with your opponents?" he asked after a considering moment.

"The good ones." Squalo didn't pretend not to know what he was talking about. "Doesn't last very often."

"Maybe because you kill most of those."

"I couldn't kill you, though." Squalo's thin, hard body eased against him a little more, and he grinned. "Still couldn't."

"And you like that," Xanxus guessed.

The heat in Squalo's eyes was open this time. "I like the reason why."

Xanxus' mouth quirked. He supposed he could relate to that.

He pulled Squalo tighter against him and kissed him again.

Atavus

The bulletproof glass of the mansion's windows turned the sunlight hazy and white and scattered it through the office where three men sat.

Reborn settled back in his chair and crossed his ankles on the cushion. "So. You wanted to see me?" A glance around the Tenth's office showed that it was serious, whatever it was. Iemitsu was here, too. Was there internal trouble in the Family?

"Yes." Federico folded his hands and leaned his chin on them. "Iemitsu, tell me. Would you be willing to have your son serve the Vongola?"

"Tsuna?" Iemitsu actually blinked. "I... hadn't thought of it yet, to be honest."

"Think of it now," Federico directed quietly. "The Cetrulli killed both Enrico and Massimo. Even I barely got out of that ambush alive. Even if I let the Varia come out of the shadows, we're under strength now. Your son's heritage could be a great asset during a time of need."

"It isn't that I would object if he chose to serve or if the Family needed him." Iemitsu rubbed the back of his head looking helpless, not a usual expression for him. "It's just... well, Nana's letters... you see, I think he has the potential, he just hasn't, um, expressed it yet."

In other words, Reborn translated to himself, the kid was a limp noodle. A normal kid, in fact.

"Just as well I asked Reborn to sit in, then." Federico grinned a bit and tilted his head at Reborn. "What do you think? I wanted you to evaluate the boy anyway; if he has any promise, do you think you could bring it out?"

Reborn sniffed. "I straightened out Dino, didn't I?"

"You did that." Federico leaned back in his chair. "Iemitsu? Are you willing to have this go forward?"

Iemitsu bowed his head formally. "If the Family has need, we will answer it."

Federico was still smiling as he looked back at Reborn, but his eyes were serious. "Do it."

Federico had been waiting for the call and picked up quickly when he saw who it was. "Reborn? How is it going?"

"The boy is pathetic. Absolutely hopeless." Reborn's voice was flat, and not just with the distance. There was no one else in the office right then so Federico let himself slump in his chair. Damn it, this had been his best hope... "So I'm going to need your permission to take some extra measures," Reborn went on and Federico nearly swore at him for that scare. It wouldn't do any good, though, Reborn was Reborn and he did things his own way.

"Go on."

"Tsuna won't find his strength on his own behalf." Federico swore he could hear Reborn's tiny smile. "He reminds me a bit of the Ninth that way. So I'm going to need to recruit some more members, people who will bond with him and who he can fight for."

"A Family of his own?" Federico's brows rose as he turned his chair to looked out the tall window.

"A starter set. There are a few possibilities I can see here, but someone from the mafia itself would be wise to add. How do you feel about Gokudera Hayato?"

"The Smoking Bomb?" Federico murmured after a moment's thought. "I think he reminds me a bit of Xanxus as a boy, actually."

"And if he could be tamed similarly?"

"You know, Reborn," Federico drawled thoughtfully, "this is sounding less and less like you really think Tsunayoshi is pathetic."

"He is most definitely pathetic at the moment. That's why I'm here, after all."

Federico laughed. "All right. New members that you've chosen can only be an asset. Go ahead."

Federico tapped his finger waiting for the call to go through. This was not good news he had today. "Reborn?" he snapped as soon as the click came at the other end. "Keep an eye out around you. Rokudou Mukuro escaped from the Vendicare and we think he's gone to Japan."

"Hm. That could explain what's been happening." Reborn merely sounded thoughtful but Federico's tightening grip made the phone creak.

"What has been happening?" he asked flatly.

"A handful of the kids Tsuna's age have been attacked. It's gone in ascending order of strength according to Fuuta's rankings." Reborn sniffed. "They're probably trying to smoke out Tsuna himself, but they obviously know nothing about him."

Federico took a breath and pulled the cold of business down over his flare of worry. "Searching for him to use against Iemitsu? Or a general strike against Vongola, trying to whittle down our strength from the edges?"

"I don't know yet. I'll find out, though."

"All right. Keep Tsunayoshi away from them." Reborn made a slightly worrying sound and Federico frowned. "Reborn?" he asked, a bit warily.

"This could be a good opportunity," Reborn mused. "Some of those struck already have been Tsuna's new Family. He'll fight to protect them, and this might finally bring out his true potential."

After a long moment, Federico sighed. "You do what will serve the Family. Very well. I'll write the order."

Which he did, at once, and sent it. All the more time to contemplate how poorly he was likely to sleep that night.

"I didn't expect a trip back in person just to report on the Rokudou affair." Federico eyed Reborn narrowly. "So suppose you tell me what this is about."

Reborn had his hat tipped down, today, which he only did when he was troubled or angry. Not good signs. "I was right," he said quietly. "Mukuro was exactly what Tsuna needed to touch his true strength. He's only shown the start of it, and I have to tell you: he might be dangerous."

Xanxus straightened from where he'd been leaning in the window, behind Federico's chair. Federico kept his eyes on Reborn. "Dangerous how?"

Finally Reborn looked up, eyes deep and shuttered. "If he keeps developing he may well become stronger than you."

Federico sat back, startled. "You're serious?" With no false modesty, he knew his fighting skills were sharp and his Flame one of the more powerful among the Vongola bosses.

"Sawada Tsunayoshi is a throwback," Reborn said flatly. "The weapon Leon produced for him was gloves. He even looks like the First. Even this young and untried, his Flame is powerful; he didn't just defeat Mukuro, he subdued him and cleansed his aura."

"And you think he might challenge me?" Federico frowned.

Reborn's mouth tightened and he tugged down his hat brim again. "It depends."

Federico waited.

"I said, at the start, that he reminds me of the Ninth. He's reminding me more and more of the First, too. And, like both of them, Tsuna is an idealist. He'll do anything to protect his people—anything at all. If he binds himself to the Vongola and ever believes that the path you choose is going to harm the Family, then yes. He will challenge you." Quietly, Reborn ended, "And if he keeps growing at this rate, he might win."

Xanxus snorted. "So that's why you wanted me to hear this. Fine. He can't be too hard to take care of yet."

Federico sighed, leaning his head back against his chair. "It would be the safest way, I suppose. By one calculation at least. But the Vongola need strong members; that hasn't changed." His mouth quirked a bit, ruefully. "And I was the one who called on Tsunayoshi. I'm responsible for this."

"You're the Tenth," Xanxus shot back, inflexible. "We can't tolerate a threat to you."

"He isn't a threat yet, though." He smiled up at his wolf as Xanxus growled in annoyance. "And even if he does grow stronger than me... Reborn says he will only challenge me to protect the Family. That's not a threat. That's a test of faith." He straightened, feeling his father's support behind him. "I won't turn aside from it."

Reborn was smiling.

After a long moment, glaring, Xanxus crossed his arms. "I want to see him for myself, then."

Federico cocked an eyebrow at Reborn, whose smile had gotten wider and picked up a cheery edge; yes, he'd thought so. "I suppose that could be another useful test for him, hm?" Federico observed dryly.

"It could." Reborn hopped down from his chair. "I'll ask Iemitsu to finalize his choices of Tsuna's Family. Be sure you bring along enough of the Varia to test them, too."

Xanxus gave him an incredulous look. "The Varia? For a pack of brats?"

"Rokudou Mukuro," Reborn reminded him, and Xanxus rolled his eyes.

"Okay, okay, fine, whatever." He slouched back in the window, looking like he was trying to think of swearwords sulfurous enough.

Federico shook his head. "You know, I think I'm glad Dad never needed to ask you to tutor me."

"It's for his own good," Reborn said piously.

Federico snorted. "Like I said."

Reborn watched the last battle quietly, marking Tsuna's progress. His student had done well, as was only to be expected under the circumstances. Xanxus made a very credible threat, and when he'd told Tsuna that if Tsuna didn't prove good enough for the Vongola Xanxus would kill him and everyone near him, Tsuna had clearly believed it.

Xanxus was practically the walking embodiment of extreme prejudice, after all.

"You don't think he'll really kill Tsuna, will he?" Dino murmured, worried, and Reborn stifled a flash of amusement. Case in point.

"I doubt it." He'd be sure of it if Tsuna hadn't started to intuit the First's techniques. If Xanxus knew that Tsuna had mastered a technique made to contain another wielder of the Dying Will Flame, he might just have an "accident" and shoot Tsuna five times in the back to be sure of him. Xanxus had no tolerance for threats to Federico. Fortunately, Tsuna hadn't fully grasped it and Reborn had kept his silence on the nature of the Zero Point. It was for Tsuna's own good, really.

Xanxus' rapid fire flashed and died around Tsuna, leaving him standing, if smoking.

The variation that Tsuna had found for himself, half finished as it was, had given Tsuna time to make another leap forward. All was going well, by Reborn's lights.

Tsuna was blasted through a wall and Reborn tsked.

"Never thought you'd use the actual Cervello for this," Colonello muttered beside him, as they watched the last of Tsuna's little Family reclaim the last puzzle seal to unlock the antidote in Chrome's wrist band.

"The Tenth thought it would be wise to have outside arbiters. You know what Xanxus is like when he's in the middle of a fight."

They watched Xanxus and Tsuna pile into each other, burning, Xanxus' teeth bared as though he'd as soon bite Tsuna's throat out.

"Yeah, but the Cervello nearly poisoned them," Colonello pointed out.

"They have a point. The Family is everything, to the Vongola. If these boys can't come together and support each other in life and death, they aren't worthy of the Vongola. And if they're not, we can't just leave them knowing so much about us."

"Reborn!" Dino sounded disapproving, but Squalo laughed until he coughed and hunched over in his wheelchair.

"It's no wonder the boss likes you," he wheezed.

Reborn raised a brow; this was the first he'd heard of Xanxus liking him. But the battle above them fixed his attention, because Tsuna and Xanxus were both gathering their Flame, preparing what looked like one last strike against each other. He pulled his hat down to shade his eyes from the glare and waited, watching the screen, to see who was still standing after that.

In the clearing smoke and dust, they both stood, both swaying on their feet. But it was Xanxus who stumbled to his knees first.

"So. Are you satisfied now?"

Everyone started at the voice through the speakers, and the figure that stood at the edge of the crater Tsuna and Xanxus had made.

"Tenth," Reborn murmured. He had wondered whether Federico would be content with a second hand report, actually, but he hadn't quite expected this.

"Federico-sama!" For the first time, he saw a Cervello flustered, one hand pressed to her ear as she whispered with her compatriots and finally fumbled with the deactivator on the spectator's cage. "The Tenth has taken over the judgment of the battle," she announced unnecessarily.

"Boss?" Xanxus muttered, sounding a little dazed. Everyone piled around the buildings, Squalo snarling as he wrested his wheelchair out of Dino's control and made for his boss, in time to see Xanxus raise his head, eyes widening. "Boss?!" He surged to his feet, staggering. "What the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

"I came to see if you were satisfied," Federico said in a perfectly reasonable tone.

Xanxus slashed a hand down and staggered a few more steps when it overbalanced him. "Don't give me that! You're in fucking Japan with no fucking bodyguards for fuck's sake!"

Federico's mouth twitched. "You're backsliding, there, you know. I thought I taught you to swear more creatively than that."

"Goddamn it, Boss!"

Tsuna's group gathered together, Tsuna leaning on Gokudera and Yamamoto, and watched wide-eyed. "Um. That's the Tenth?" Tsuna asked Reborn as he stopped beside them.

"Yes."

"And, um. Xanxus is... he's..."

"He's a bit of a mother hen about the Tenth, these days," Dino filled in easily, coming to join them with a smile. Reborn noted that he didn't say it loud enough for Xanxus to hear and nodded, satisfied that he didn't have any stupid students.

Tsuna's eyes crossed a little as he contemplated Xanxus as a mother hen. Xanxus was still yelling.

"...wouldn't let me destroy the fucking Cetrulli, so you can't just fucking waltz around the goddamn world like you're taking a cruise vacation, and—!"

"Xanxus." Federico met Xanxus' furious gaze, cool and unyielding, and Xanxus bit back the rest of his outrage, mouth pressed into a tight line. "I asked you a question. Answer me."

It obviously took Xanxus a moment to remember what it had been, and when he did he snorted. "Am I satisfied?" He turned his glare on Tsuna, who met it steadily even through his increasing puzzlement. After a long moment, Xanxus muttered, "He won't betray anything, I'll say that."

"Then the rest is my business to look after." Federico clasped Xanxus' shoulder and shook him gently. "Right?"

After a taut hesitation, Xanxus breathed out and bent his head. "Yes, Boss."

Federico smiled, hand tightening for a moment, before he left Xanxus to his gathered squad leaders and turned to Tsuna, walking across the gouged, uneven ground as if it were his own reception hall. Tsuna's people straightened a little, watching him come, and Reborn nodded to himself.

"Tsunayoshi." Federico addressed them evenly, not rejecting and not welcoming. "You've seen some of what our world is like. It's a harsh, dangerous place with many bad choices in it. I wouldn't ask anyone to join us lightly, but the Family has need of you so I'll ask you to make a choice now. Will you serve us? Lend your strength to the Vongola? Protect the Family?"

Reborn hid a moment of surprise under his hat and heard Xanxus' growl behind him. Federico would let them go, even now?

Tsuna stepped forward, hesitantly, looking up at this man he'd never met before. "I... I don't know," he admitted. "I don't think I understand the Vongola, really." A faint, flashing smile tugged at his mouth. "Reborn doesn't really explain things like that very well."

Well of course not, no explanation would bring understanding. That was what experience and God-given brains were for, provided a student could be induced to use the latter. Reborn returned Federico's raised brow with a blank look.

"I see." Federico tipped his head, considering Tsuna and his people and the battlefield around them, and finally smiled. He gestured at the Varia, carelessly fierce and arrogant in their strength, gathered around their leader as Xanxus rested a quieting hand on Squalo's shoulder and listened. "That is the Vongola." He waved at Dino, hovering by Tsuna's people and giving orders into his phone in a low voice. "And that is the Vongola." He opened a hand at Tsuna's group and finished quietly. "And this is the Vongola."

Tsuna's eyes opened wide, and Reborn saw the change in them he'd seen a few times before, the look both distant and immediate that meant Tsuna's intuition had perceived and understood something. "Oh." Tsuna looked around at his little Family, at Gokudera's unstinting loyalty, at Yamamoto's matter-of-fact support at his back, even at Hibari standing aloof to one side, and back at Federico. "Yes," he said, quietly. "I will."

"Thank you," Federico said, soft and sincere. And then he relaxed and the atmosphere of the entire field lightened. "We'll speak more later. For now, we need to have everyone's injuries seen to."

"We've got it," Dino put in, clicking shut his phone as a small horde of Cavallone descended and started gathering up the wounded.

Reborn stood back, satisfied. "So?" he murmured to Federico, as the man came up beside him.

"Keep going," the Tenth ordered. "We'll need him." He laughed, soft and true. "Maybe I'll even need him, myself, for all that he is. I'll have a matched set. My wolf and my conscience."

Reborn pulled his hat down and smiled. Just because someone wasn't officially his student didn't mean he couldn't see that they learned a few things.

End

A/N: Canon would have it that Squalo is still two years younger than Xanxus after the latter's eight year suspended animation. This would make him fourteen when he defeats Tyr, and I'm sorry but no; I just don't buy it. Given how massively Amano screws with her worldbuilding and timelines, usually out of pure carelessness, I'm just going to say he's sixteen at the time.

Notice of Waking

Lulu notices that Kou is starting to settle in as a shin, and teases him about his new bond to Shirogane. Drama, I-2, MANGA CONTINUITY

Kou didn't realize he was humming until Lulu leaned over the back of the couch, positively smirking. "You're looking more like yourself lately, Chibi. Did something good happen?"

Kou gave her an aggrieved look to remind her that he hated to be called that. "I always look like myself."

"No you don't." She perched on the back of the couch, examining him like a specimen. "Ever since you got here, you've been moping. And hiding yourself away and not talking to me at all." She pouted at him and he rolled his eyes.

"Go play with the kokuchi, then."

"That's not the point." She rapped him over the head and he yelped and ducked. "The point is, you're finally acting like you think you belong here." She leaned over him and he leaned back. "Come on," she coaxed, "tell senpai what happened."

"Nothing happened," he muttered. "I just... got comfortable."

She pursed her lips judiciously. "Hm. Well I know it wasn't me. I guess that leaves Shirogane-sama." She eyed him up and down, smirk creeping back.

Even though he knew it was the worst idea in the world, Kou couldn't help flushing just a little.

Lulu squealed. "He did! He did do something!"

"No, he didn't," Kou insisted, because who knew what Lulu was thinking. "He just... we just had a talk, okay?"

She sobered. "A talk, hm? Did he finally lose his patience with you?"

Kou winced.

"I'm not surprised." She fixed him with a chiding look. "You've been the most pathetic excuse for a Child I've ever heard of. Even if this is only temporary—"

"I know, I know!" Kou cut her off, waving his hands to stem the lecture. "I got that, okay?"

"You haven't seemed at all guilty, though," she mused. "So that wasn't all that happened."

Lulu, he decided, was way too perceptive for anyone's good.

She laughed, probably at his expression. "All right, I won't ask what else. But it's good to see you've accepted him as you should." She ruffled his hair, ignoring his indignant attempt to bat her hand away. "Besides," she added with a wicked smile, "you've always been one for the formalities. Bet it feels good to serve a king properly again."

"Oh knock it off," Kou grumbled, face hot again.

Shirogane's presence tugged at him and they both looked up to find him standing in the door. Looking amused, Kou noted dourly.

"You're not very kind to your juniors, Lulu," he observed, strolling over to join them.

"It keeps everyone young," she said serenely.

"Perhaps we should look harder for more shin, so you'll have more people to spread your efforts among?" Shirogane rested a hand on Kou's shoulder, a glint of teasing in his eyes.

"I'd be all for that," Kou agreed, fervently. Anything to get her attention off him. He leaned into Shirogane's hand a little, just basking for a moment in the warmth of his presence, his power, the feeling of belonging. He didn't know how he'd held out against this so long. In fact, he couldn't quite remember why he had; Shirogane would give him back to Ryuuko when it was time.

"I need you to take a message to Shisui today." Shirogane smiled. "You can keep an eye out while you're there."

Which was as good as permission to look in on Akira for a visit. Kou smiled up at him, grateful. "Sure, Shirogane-san."

"Tell me how they're doing." Shirogane brushed Kou's hair back lightly while he colored a little, and turned to go.

Lulu leaned down to whisper in Kou's ear, "Chibi-puppy is so cute with his master."

Shirogane looked over his shoulder and shook his head as Kou did his damnedest to catch the laughing Lulu and strangle her, but left them to it.

End

Heat in the Shade

Kou wrestles with his standing attraction to Ryuuko and his new attraction to Shirogane. Fortunately, Shirogane provides him with a resolution. Drama with Porn, I-4, MANGA CONTINUITY

Kou leaned his chin on this folded arms and watched shadows curl below him. This balcony was a good place for thinking and he felt a need to think today.

He was getting much more comfortable, here in shadow, since he'd let himself accept that Shirogane was his king. It was a relief to feel Shirogane's power in him; it was familiar and comforting. And that was starting to worry him.

Should it feel this good when it wasn't Ryuuko?

He really didn't want to think that Lulu had a point when she called him "puppy", that he was that... that undiscriminating, ready to any hand that patted him. And, after all, Shirogane was Ryuuko's counterpart; about as close as someone could be to Ryuuko without being the same person.

Was he just making excuses, to think that?

And to make it all even more fun, the inarguable fact remained that Shirogane was the one he was contracted to now, and his own honor demanded he serve that contract faithfully.

He just... didn't want to lose what had always been between he and Ryuuko. And every time his thoughts got that far he called himself an idiot, because he knew good and well Ryuuko would understand what he'd done, would accept him again wholeheartedly, because that was the kind of person Ryuuko was. That closeness wouldn't just go away.

Unless he let it.

He dug his chin into his arms, almost squirming against the discomfort of that sneaking thought, because Ryuuko and Shirogane weren't alike, for all their similarities, and he... he liked that. Ryuuko's vast strength had always, always been gentled for him. Shirogane's sometimes wasn't. And those were usually the days when he had to lock himself in his room and have a really long shower, because he just couldn't stop responding to that edge.

He sighed as he watched the shadows curl around each other, over the edge of the balcony. Should he really be letting this happen?

Shirogane stood in the doorway and watched Kou with a tiny smile. He was sprawled out on the floor of a balcony, dangling his head over the edge to watch the shift of shadows. Lulu was right; it was good to see Kou relaxing and finding his place here.

Of course, that wasn't all she'd had to say.

"Finding anything interesting?" he asked, strolling to Kou's side.

Kou looked up and started to push himself to his feet. "Shirogane."

He rested his fingers on Kou's shoulder, shaking his head. "It's all right. There's no work to be done right now."

Kou settled again with a tiny, shy smile that made Shirogane think of Lulu's dropped hints again and nodded toward the drifting shadows. "Nothing special. I just like watching."

"I'm glad you're happier here, now," Shirogane murmured, settling beside him.

Kou's eyes dropped. "I'm sorry I was such an idiot, at first."

He looked so penitent Shirogane couldn't help reaching out again to stroke back his hair, to reassure him with the closeness of touch. "I knew it wouldn't be an easy transition for you." Kou leaned into his touch, so simply and easily he had to add, "I never really hoped you would settle so completely with me."

"You're my king," Kou said softly, eyes direct and clear. "You were right to remind me. It... it's something that means a lot to me."

"Even though I'm not Ryuuko?" Shirogane asked gently, hand cupping Kou's cheek to assure him it wasn't harshly meant.

Now Kou flushed, eyes sliding away though he didn't draw back at all. "You're more like him than I thought you were."

There it was again, the flash of want and something else, something like fear, tangling in Kou's expression for just a moment. "Is that a bad thing?" he probed.

"No!" Kou looked up, eyes wide and earnest again. "No, not at all. It's just... I hadn't expected it. Hadn't expected to..." His words stumbled to a stop and his cheek was hot against Shirogane's palm.

"Most people don't notice our similarities at all," Shirogane mused, giving Kou time to collect himself. "I suppose it makes sense. We are supposed to be opposites, after all; that difference is the only way we can balance each other."

Kou stopped absolutely still for a breath, staring up at him as if he'd said something very important. "Yes," he said at last, husky. "Yes, of course it is." He relaxed all at once, turning his head a little into Shirogane's hand, trusting.

Shirogane's brows rose. What had Kou heard in his words? "Everything all right?" he asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is." Kou smiled, rueful, looking older and younger at the same time. "I was just worrying over something I didn't need to."

"It's always good to realize that," Shirogane murmured, dryly. He let Kou go, fingers stroking gently down the line of his jaw to soften it as he drew back.

This time the flash of heat in Kou's eyes was unmixed and the way he lifted his chin with the slide of Shirogane's fingers, lips parting, was unmistakable. It drew Shirogane's focus back like a chain and his fingers stopped, just under Kou's chin. "Kou."

Kou just looked up at him, waiting, holding perfectly still under Shirogane's touch.

Shirogane took a breath for control. He knew perfectly well how submission from his shin affected him, and Kou already had him catching himself back more often than he hoped Kou realized. "I know you were with Ryuuko that way," he said, finally. "I don't want to press you."

He could feel the slight shiver that ran through Kou, under his fingers, see the quick breath Kou took through parted lips.

He could hear the way his own voice turned low and silky when he added, "Unless that's what you want."

Kou's throat moved as he swallowed and his voice was husky. "Yes."

"Well, then." Shirogane slid his hand down to grip the back of Kou's neck and hold him as he leaned down to take possession of Kou's mouth.

Kou was a little dizzy with the double hit of relief and arousal—relief that it was all right, of course it was all right, because Ryuuko and Shirogane balanced, and wanting both of them this much just meant he was... well rounded. Or something.

Arousal was getting the upper hand, though, because being held for Shirogane to kiss sent a tight curl of heat through his stomach. It was getting hard to breathe as Shirogane's power unfolded, blanketed the space all around them, pressed down on him until he was moaning softly with the the force of it—his king's presence, unbridled and blazing.

Finally Shirogane let him go and stood, smiling down at him. "Kou."

A thrill ran through Kou at the bright wildness in Shirogane's eyes and he swallowed, slowly pushing himself up to kneel on the cool tiles at Shirogane's feet. It put a hot shiver through him to be there. "Shirogane-san," he said, husky, reaching up, fingers not quite brushing the buckles across Shirogane's hips. "Please. Let me...?"

The brightness in Shirogane's eyes turned hotter. "Yes," he said, low.

Kou wet his lips, fingers fumbling just a little as he undid Shirogane's robes because he couldn't look away from Shirogane's slow smile. Shirogane's fingers slid through Kou's hair as he finally closed his eyes and swallowed, unable to bear the weight of Shirogane's gaze and the weight of his power at the same time. "Please," he whispered, palms finally stroking over the skin of Shirogane's hips. Shirogane's low laugh sent a hot shiver right down his spine.

"Yes," his king murmured, fingers tightening, guiding Kou forward.

Kou licked his lips again and parted them, moaning as the sleek weight of Shirogane's cock slid between them, over his tongue. The moan turned lower, husky, as Shirogane's muscles flexed slowly under his hands and he rocked back and thrust into Kou's mouth again, one hand holding Kou still while he did.

This was what Shirogane did, what he was, that Kou wanted so much. Shirogane's hands weren't rough on him, but there was no apology in that touch for the overflowing strength that pinned Kou to his knees or the slow force of Shirogane fucking Kou's mouth. No caution or restraint. Just the absolute power and casual confidence that had always driven Kou wild. And now it was his king's power, and it was okay, it was right, for Kou to submit to it. To want this, too. To drop a hand down between his own spread legs and whimper a little as he bucked into the pressure of his palm. Shirogane thrust in a little harder and thought spun away into heat and want and raw pleasure running through him. Even when the shudders eased, the firmness of Shirogane's hand caging his head, the steady, unrelenting slide of Shirogane's cock in and out of his mouth, the purring undertone of Shirogane's moan as he came, sent another shock of heat through him.

He was still dazed when Shirogane pulled away from him, grip gentling. "Mmm." Shirogane smiled down at him, lazy, fingers stroking through his hair. "My Kou."

The words settled over him, warm and sure, and Kou looked up at Shirogane with a tiny smile and answered, "My king."

Shirogane laughed and leaned down and kissed him, slow and easy and possessive. "Yes."

Kou closed his eyes again. That was really everything he needed.

End

Surprised Into Greatness

In the universe where Federico survives, Byakuran is still a problem ten years later. This time, it's someone else who dies to send Tsuna and Xanxus against the Millefiore. Drama with Angst, I-4

Federico sat back in his chair, eyes fixed on the harshly lined face of the man across from him. "I see why you insisted this meeting be so secret," he finally said, mildly.

Irie's tightly clasped hands twitched. "I know it sounds insane," he muttered, but Federico waved that off.

"I hold fire in my hand and it doesn't burn; we're used enough to insane-sounding things, I think. And we've been watching the Millefiori for a while now. Some of my people are very suspicious of coincidence." He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "How sure are you that this will work?"

"I'm not sure at all," Irie said, low and harsh. "But this is the only thing that has a chance. Sawada is the only factor that holds Byakuran back in this world, but even he can't do it alone. It has to be both of them."

Fedele stirred at Federico's back, where he'd been listening in what Federico suspected was frozen horror. "Boss, Xanxus will... I mean, he'll..."

Federico winced, thinking about it. "I know. You're sure that bullet won't kill me?" he asked Irie.

Irie nodded silently.

"Good." Federico smiled with no amusement at all. "Xanxus and Tsuna deserve the chance to kill me themselves, afterward, for doing this to them."

Sunlight fell gracefully through stained glass and into the open coffin.

Fedele had known it was going to be hard. It couldn't be any other way when the Vongola's Boss had been killed—not killed, the back of his mind whispered, clinging to that but he couldn't let it show or it would all go for nothing—killed by an ambush no one had seen coming. He had forbidden anyone to tell Federico's wife or son, saying it was for their own safety in hiding, which was true enough. But the fury and pain in the eyes of the other Guardians, the stripped, blank looks on the faces of the two kneeling by Federico's coffin, sliced his heart like a knife.

"It was the Millefiore, wasn't it?" Tsuna said at last, a little sense coming back into his eyes as he looked up at Fedele.

Xanxus' head came up, too, though it wasn't sense that was creeping into his expression.

Fedele took a breath and dropped the last pebble on the poised mountain face. "Yes."

Tsuna nodded and he and Xanxus stood as one, and their people stepped towards them, out of the small crowd of Vongola leaders, drawn into the sudden, silent tension.

"Don't get in my way," Xanxus growled, shreds of brightness already crawling over his clenched hands.

"Don't be stupid," Tsuna cut back, cool and level with the rising of his Will. "We'll go together. Otherwise Byakuran might get away."

Fedele could almost hear the click as those words locked around Xanxus, and he could tell Xanxus felt it too even though he bared his teeth. "Fine. Hurry up, then."

"Wait." Fedele swallowed as both of them turned to stare at him; the weight of their combined focus was like running into a steel wall. "One of you has to take the Ring."

Sandro spun around to stare at him. "Fedele, what the fuck?"

Fedele met the Lightning's outraged look evenly. "Ricco is too young to lead, even if we all support him. Not if we're at war. It has to be one of them. They're the only two with the strength and the right."

Before anyone else could start arguing Xanxus made an impatient sound through his teeth and stooped down to Federico's body again, drawing the Sky Ring off his finger. He straightened to the sound of breath being taken in all through the church.

And threw the Ring at Tsuna.

Tsuna's hand closed around it, though he never looked away from Xanxus. "You're sure?" he asked, low.

"The Boss can't lead the Varia too. We're wasting time. Take the damn Ring and let's go," Xanxus bit out.

After a long, still moment, Tsuna nodded and slid the Ring onto his finger, closing it in a fist. He raised his chin and his Flame flared up in his hand, running over his glove to shape the Vongola crest. That was all Fedele had time to see before the light of Tsuna's Flame turned brilliant, actinic white that etched people's shadows behind them as they flung up hands and arms to shield their eyes.

When the light died and he could look back up, he found Tsuna on his knees, hands braced against the stone of the floor, breathing like he'd just run a marathon. "Anything," Tsuna, whispered, as if he were answering someone's question. "Anything."

"Boss?" Gokudera asked quietly, kneeling beside Tsuna with a hand under his arm.

Tsuna looked up and smiled, wry and serene. "I'm all right."

Fedele took a deep breath as Gokudera got the Vongola's new Boss—sort of the back of his mind pointed out, not helpfully—standing. One more thing to do. "The Vongola Ring has accepted Sawada as the Eleventh," he announced, completely unnecessarily but it was tradition to say it out loud, and pulled the Storm ring off his own finger, holding it out to Gokudera.

"Um. Fedele?" Giancarlo wasn't as loud about it as Sandro, but he managed to convey what the fuck do you think you're doing? just as well.

"The Guardians are the members of the Family closest to the Boss, most trusted to watch his back." Fedele kept his eyes locked on Gokudera's. "We're the Tenth's Guardians, not the Eleventh's." Gokudera's eyes darkened and he nodded slowly and reached out to take the ring.

Giancarlo made a sound like someone had punched him in the gut and Fedele stifled a flinch at the acid rush of guilt. His fellow Guardians were going to pound the shit out of him for this, after, and he was going to deserve it. Giancarlo stepped past him, though, and held the Rain ring out, steadily enough, to Yamamoto.

"Great, fine, now can we go?" Squalo snapped, once the transfer of the Rings was complete. Fedele started to give him an evil look but noticed the way Squalo's eyes flicked toward Xanxus, who was glaring murderously at thin air.

"Someone has to stay and guard the headquarters," Tsuna started, and Fedele lifted his hand a little.

"We'll do that." Guarding the mansion, and Federico's body, would keep his fellows from doing anything too rash, and he saw the knowledge of it in Tsuna's eyes as he nodded.

"Very well. Let's go, then."

Xanxus stalked out immediately, his squad leaders swirling after him like a kite's tail. Tsuna followed, slower, with a word to this or that underboss, a sharp beckoning gesture to Giannini, a hand on Yamamoto's shoulder sending him after Lal Mirch as she started to slip away.

Fedele felt dizzy, head stuffed with what was true and what was apparently true and what might or might not happen. But in the midst of all that he was, at least, grateful that Tsuna seemed to be fit for the role he had to play. Whatever the truth of it wound up being.

Tsuna didn't bother with an office, and certainly didn't even consider taking Federico's; if they came back from this alive he'd think about it then. Besides none of the office rooms were big enough.

Instead he took over the reception hall.

Maps and lists scattered over the tables and the parquetry floor as Gokudera pulled reports together and called in the people who kept observation on the Millefiore headquarters. Some of the reports were written in Chrome's neat hand, and he sent Lambo to find her with a question about the underground entrances. Ryouhei and Squalo argued at the top of their lungs in one corner, pulling the blueprint of the Millefiore main building back and forth between them, stabbing at access points and each other's chests with stiff fingers. People swirled in and out under Xanxus' silent, brooding eye, as he leaned against the wall, and Tsuna could barely remember their names though he knew them all. The world was in freefall and the only thing holding his feet down was the promise he'd given to those who'd come before, in the no-place where they'd judged him. He would do anything it took to protect his Family and his Family's heart.

Lal stalked in, snarling over her shoulder at Yamamoto, and Tsuna wrenched his thoughts onto yet another track. "Lal," he cut through her protest and Yamamoto's inexorable smile, "have any of CEDEF heard from my father yet?"

"No, nothing," she snapped.

Tsuna breathed out, torn between cursing and giving thanks. "Then you'll have to lead them."

She folded her arms, giving him a stony look. "We're not part of the Vongola."

"This is an emergency. You are," he rapped back.

"Besides, where else do you expect to find the one who killed Colonello?" Reborn rolled into the room with a motorized purr and Tsuna's mouth twisted with the mix of affection and relief and pain he'd felt for most of a year.

They hadn't been fast enough for everyone. They hadn't been fast enough to save Verde or Skull. Or Colonello. Even the other arcobaleno didn't know what had become of Fon, and none of them would speak of what had happened to Uni. But they had, at least, understood the non-trinisette radiation in time to save Lal and Mammon from most of it. And to save, at least, Reborn's life.

He had insisted the protective suit be tailored into a proper, black mafia suit, and had only agreed to the wheelchair after Giannini motorized and armed it. But he was still with them, and looking up at Lal with black eyes as unreadable as ever as she whirled on him.

"Who?" she demanded, voice dark and hungry, and for one moment Xanxus glanced over at them.

Reborn shrugged. "Who knows? But we know who's doing this, and we know where they'll be."

"The foot soldiers we take with us will clear the way," Tsuna said, eyes running down yet another list as Gokudera handed it to him. "But we need CEDEF to secure our retreat. Will you do it?"

"I'm not staying in the rear," she said flatly, arms folded.

"I wouldn't expect you to."

"Fine." She turned away and stalked out, and Tsuna's mouth quirked up for a moment at the way Yamamoto drew smoothly back out of her path and winked at him before following her. If any of them were sane by the time they left, it would be thanks to Yamamoto, he thought.

"I suppose you're coming too?" he asked Reborn.

"Yes."

No other explanation was forthcoming, and Tsuna hadn't really expected any. He just nodded and turned back to the maps and hoped that Xanxus' version of patience would last as long as he needed it to.

Details ticked through Tsuna's mind, past the eye of his focus, and in the back of his mind one of the voices he was currently ignoring was busy cursing Byakuran for placing his headquarters in a city. "Lal, open up a corridor to the south to get the bystanders out," he snapped into his headset.

"Basil is taking care of it," she snapped back. "You're a fool. We have to have lost surprise by now."

Tsuna's eye measured the fire coming from the buildings that surrounded the headquarters, channeling his people toward that massive, central building. "He knew we were coming already."

A final explosion sheared the front off one of those firing galleries and Gokudera's voice said flatly, "We're clear."

"Then let's go."

Byakuran's front door was locked, the entrance barred by a wall of something that probably wasn't just steel. On the surface it looked like a good tactic, just the place to pin the attackers up against, but... "Xanxus," Tsuna called.

A column of raging Flame licked out over his shoulder and struck the wall, flaring, eating into it, and it was only a breath before it burst.

Tsuna's eyes narrowed, intuition ticking over. "Byakuran has something in mind," he stated. "Keep alert."

The strongest box and ring holders, and their support squads, fanned out to clear the building.

Ryouhei jogged at Lal's shoulder and worried just a little. He wasn't normally one to complain about anyone else's single mindedness, but the darkness in Lal's eyes made his nerves twang. He respected Lal's professionalism, though, and when she stiffened and shouted "Down!" he dove for the floor without hesitation, along with the rest of the squad.

Lal was the only one hit.

"Lal!" He reached for his secondary box.

"Ah~h, just like that the stupid flies walk into my web," a light voice sighed from the darkness of the ceiling. "I expected better from Lal Mirch. Colonello was thinking about you in his last moments, you know. Can't you try to be more worthy?"

"Ginger Bread," Lal grated, hand pressed to her shoulder.

"Quick, before you go after him," Ryouhei muttered, eyes fixed on the floating thing in the corner that looked like a kid and talked like a devil.

Lal elbowed him back. "No. This fight is mine."

Ryouhei had his mouth open to protest when she turned her head just a little and looked at him. Her expression made him sigh and step back. "All right. It's yours," he agreed, resigned; he couldn't deny her determination or her right. He waved to their support squad, drawing them back as Lal's rings lit with Flame, and prepared to wait.

To witness for her.

Yamamoto's mouth quirked and he stuffed the map they'd made of the Millefiore headquarters into his pocket and called Tsuna. "The building is moving."

"Yes." Tsuna sounded calm, but he always sounded calm when his Will was roused. "Can you still find your way?"

"I'll manage. I got cut off from my support squad, though, and they were pinned down by some Millefiore foot soldiers. Think anyone can get to them?"

"We'll try."

Yamamoto accepted that as philosophically as he could and moved on down the hall, snorting a little at the doors that opened ahead of him and closed behind. "A simple invitation would have done, you know," he called out.

"This is an invitation."

Yamamoto looked up and smiled, slow and hard. "Genkishi." He lit his Ring and opened his boxes, not rushing. Genkishi might or might not be a true swordsman, but he was close enough to open a duel formally, properly. Shigure Kintoki sang in his hand, delighting in the purity of Flame the Vongola Ring provided to wrap around it. "Squalo's still really pissed at you, you know."

Genkishi flicked his fingers before resting his hand back on the hilts of his swords. "Superbi Squalo's temper tantrums mean nothing to me beside my duty to carry out God's orders." His eyes fell on Jirou and he lifted a brow. "So it's true. You use four blades. Perhaps there will be no need to hold back, then."

Yamamoto set his stance and sent Kojirou winging above them with a flick of his Will. "It will," he murmured, letting the stillness of the sword wash over him, "be my pleasure."

Lambo was not in a good mood. First his support squad had gotten locked behind one of the sliding walls, and then he had wound up in company with Lussuria (and really, Lussuria was the kind who gave all of them a bad name), and now they were facing four piles of mobile muscles and a really disturbing woman who needed to figure out what the zipper on her top was there for.

It was not a good day.

And those muscles were really hard to do anything about.

And when Lussuria vanished into one of the piles, knee first, Lambo had had enough.

He shot the scary woman's weapon out of her hand to give them some time and hauled out his Bazooka, groping for the trigger. Ten years from now, he was probably going to be pretty annoyed with himself, but only until he remembered how important this was.

Squalo was muttering evilly under his breath as he watched their backs and Tsuna found himself amused, inappropriate as it seemed under the circumstances.

"...fucking Yamamoto gets all the goddamn fun..."

Xanxus didn't even seem to notice his second's seething, and Tsuna wasn't sure if that was good or bad, or even if he truly cared right now. No closing door or shifting wall had stopped them, and the Millefiore foot soldiers seemed to have finally drawn back from their path. Tsuna was distantly glad for that. It was Byakuran he wanted, and he would go through whatever was in the way, but the weight he could feel building up behind his floating fury would be less heavy if he didn't have to go through stacked bodies.

There was someone ahead of them now, though. Someone leaning against the wall, tapping a crop against his leg.

"And here are the little Vongola," the man sneered, straightening up. "Didn't you learn from your burned fingers last time?"

"Glo Xinia," Tsuna identified him. This one he would feel little guilt about.

"Indeed. And if I alone could kill your precious Rokudou, what makes you think any of you will survive to reach Byakuran?"

Tsuna glanced aside at Chrome, who had been following him quietly the whole way, and frowned. "Chrome?"

"We will deal with this," she said, soft voice sweet and cold as she stepped forward and her trident flashed between her hands.

"But..." It was true, Tsuna hadn't seen Mukuro for a little while, but that wasn't uncommon and he hadn't worried until now.

"Boss." Chrome looked over her shoulder and smiled, and the smile had a dark quirk to it that was very familiar. "Go ahead. We'll take care of it."

Tsuna heard what she said, this time, and nodded slowly. "Very well."

He would, after all, feel little guilt about Glo Xinia.

Gokudera swore as half the room suddenly fell away and the floor rose under him. It had been a risk to let him scout ahead, and now it looked like he'd just have to trust that nothing would stand against both Xanxus and the Eleventh until he got back to his boss.

Uri's growl recalled him to his own risks and he slid under cover just as a small, heavy ball crunched into the wall where he'd been with a nasty, final sort of sound.

"I almost wish we didn't have to do this," a whimsical voice echoed through the room.

"Gamma," Gokudera said quietly, watching the ball spark and pull itself out of the wall, soaring back over head. He flipped his jacket back from his belts. He'd read all the reports on this man, and this wasn't going to be fun.

"Unfortunately, the princess sent me a message. Or a puzzle. Hard to tell which. Either way it was orders to go all out, I'm afraid."

Gokudera's hands flicked through his boxes and he sent his defenses spinning out just in time to meet the lash of lightning that hammered down in a column on all sides. "Then we'll just have to go all out," he said, loud enough to be heard, and rolled out from under cover, slamming home the Flame Arrow cartridge and sighting on the blocky blond man above him.

Gamma smiled wryly as he watched the shot come.

In the end, the Millefiore squads hadn't fallen back, they had just prepared an ambush for the moment when Tsuna and Xanxus were alone, the moment when Squalo had finally been drawn off by an attacker who looked disturbingly like Belphegor and separated from them. Tsuna supposed he wasn't surprised, but he did wish there weren't so damn many foot soldiers hemming them in. He kicked another Millefiore away and fell back beside Xanxus. He couldn't put this off any longer.

"Cover me," he shouted over the snarl of Xanxus' guns and the screams around them.

Xanxus' lip lifted but he shot the attacking squads away from Tsuna as Tsuna closed his eyes and started to build his Flame carefully.

He'd always had to be careful; he'd broken more than one ring before he learned how to feel for the limits of the one he was using. This time the process was strange. The Vongola Sky ring didn't seem to have any limits, no matter how he built up his power. So he let it grow and breathed through it and fought to balance the Flame reaching outward with the softer Flame that would brace him. Finally, from the heart of the conflagration he lifted his head and spoke, quiet and sure.

"Xanxus. Look out."

He stepped past his companion and released the shot, and bodies and walls blew away from them, floor after floor and room after room.

As debris rained past them, Xanxus brushed himself off and eyed Tsuna with something besides rage in his expression for the first time in days. All he said in the end, though, was "Let's go."

Tsuna nodded and they climbed through what looked like some labs and maybe the communications hub unopposed.

Irie waited until the footsteps faded away to cautiously lift his head and look around his shattered control center. His mouth quirked as he looked at his smoking box weapon. He wasn't sure any of the Vongola had realized exactly what this building was, but they'd stopped Melone's ability to move just the same.

Now it was time for him to move.

He found his guns mostly intact in their cabinet and put a tranquilizer into each of the Cervello, just to be sure. He slipped down into the mechanics lab and dragged an unconscious Spanner under a desk where he'd hopefully have some shelter from whatever happened next. He closed the eyes of the three technicians who hadn't lived through the demonstration of the Vongola Eleventh's power.

And then he started stripping off his uniform.

He was down to the, in his slightly light-headed opinion, incredibly ugly boots when a voice spoke from behind him with no warning.

"Turning your coat literally and hoping to escape? How improper."

Irie looked up, wide eyed, into the narrow, predatory gaze of the Vongola's most dangerous and unpredictable man. "I... I can explain," he gulped, setting his ring down and raising his hands slowly.

"Indeed?" Hibari Kyouya leaned lightly against a broken wall. "Make it fast, then. I don't like to leave Namimori for longer than necessary."

Once the building stopped moving, Tsuna's people started regathering, and some of Xanxus' with them: Gokudera scorched and limping and tight-lipped; Yamamoto in company with Squalo, laughing as he obligingly described a sword fight for Squalo's growled critique and moving a little stiffly with a bandage across his back; Ryouhei looking battered but carrying Lal Mirch, who flatly refused to be evacuated, and guarded by Reborn and Viper despite their unremitting contemptuous jabs at each other; Belphegor waited for them, perched in a broken window, covered in blood and giggling, to say that Lussuria was busy making sure Levi survived and that Lambo was watching over them; no one knew exactly when Chrome rejoined them, but she was there, stepping silent as a shadow over the creaking floors with a soft, full smile on her lips.

They seemed to have left the Millefiore squads behind, as they gained the upper floors, and if they'd left their own support squads too, Tsuna only thought, distantly, that it was just as well. The next thing they found should be Byakuran himself.

So he was more than a little surprised when the form that stepped out of a side room and into their path was child-sized—a girl, looking weighed down by the Millefiore cloak over her shoulders.

"Sawada Tsunayoshi, Vongola Eleventh?" she asked, quietly.

His gaze caught on the ribbon around her neck and the familiar shape hanging from it. "Uni," he murmured.

"You've come," she said, with an evenness he recognized from his own voice these last few days, and that tugged at his heart but he stifled it; this was one of the two bosses of the Millefiore. She was still speaking, though, and her next words caught him entirely by surprise.

"I am the boss of the Giglio Nero, and on this day I dissolve the alliance between my Family and Gesso." She took a step closer, level gaze turning pleading. "I am also the boss of the Arcobaleno, and as the keeper of the pacifiers I ask for the Vongola's protection."

"You what?" Tsuna managed after a moment, feeling like his brain was spinning.

She looked down. "Byakuran doesn't care about my Family. It's only my heart he wants, to control the pacifiers. I went away, inside, to protect my heart and my charge, and sacrificed my Family because of it. There was no other way. But now," she looked up, biting her lip. "Now you're here, and you've won this far, and this is the time! Please." She lifted her hands, and he started, seeing they were full of the faint, colored glow of the lost pacifiers. "He must not have these."

"She is correct."

Tsuna looked around sharply to see Hibari climbing the last stairs with a rather bedraggled man Tsuna recognized after a moment as Irie Shouichi in his wake. "This," Hibari announced coolly, "answers the questions I have had for the past five years. Byakuran must not have the pacifiers and the rings." He beckoned peremptorily and Irie stepped forward, fidgeting.

"I have to tell you. You see, ten years ago..."

Turning the things Irie had told them over in his mind, Tsuna was unsurprised to find another of those impressive-looking and yet entirely insufficient metal walls blocking their way up to the top floor. It was the kind of mockery he was starting to recognize as Byakuran's manner. Xanxus fired once at it without breaking stride and Tsuna gathered his Flame in his hand and punched it viciously to shatter the weakened metal, sending shards flying through the ceiling and walls above.

His anger was sizzling on the edge of his ability to control it.

He was also unsurprised to find Byakuran smiling at them, bright and cheerful in the middle of his blown-out top floor. "What a good job!" The congratulatory tone was gruesome, considering the bodies scattered behind them, and Tsuna clenched his jaw and closed a hand tight on Xanxus' arm. They needed to know what Byakuran thought he had up his sleeve before they moved.

"What a shame you had to waste all that effort, too," Byakuran sighed, and turned a little, crooking a finger at the one door still standing. His smile turned smug and chill as six people Tsuna had never seen or heard of filed out to stand behind him. "These are the real six Funeral Wreathes, you see."

Gokudera made a choking sound, indignant for his opponent as much as for himself Tsuna thought. Xanxus just spat on the smoking, broken floor. "So what?" he growled.

Byakuran tapped a finger against his lips in a way that would have been playful under other circumstances, and Tsuna held back a sick shudder. "Well, I don't want to be unfair. You're all so tired out. So how about this! We'll have a round of Choice." Poison-cold eyes turned to Irie. "You'll like that, won't you Shou-chan?"

Irie stepped forward, faint ravaged hope showing in his eyes. "For what stakes?"

"The Trinisette, of course!" Byakuran spread his hands, the image of reasonableness. "If you win, you get all the rings and pacifiers I've gathered. If I win, I get all of yours." His gaze brushed over Uni as if casually, and she shivered and moved closer to Reborn, pacifiers gathered protectively to her chest.

"Irie," Tsuna said quietly, eyes not leaving Byakuran. "What does he mean by 'Choice'?"

"A battle," Irie explained, low and quick. "There are rules to it, that would limit him. It's a game we invented years ago—"

Tsuna held up a hand to stop him. "I see." His other hand tightened on Xanxus' forearm and then let go. Xanxus smiled.

"You've mistaken us, Byakuran," Tsuna said, lifting one hand and letting his Flame start to build. He dropped the other hand behind him and met Byakuran's eyes, levelly.

"This isn't a game."

Xanxus drew and fired in one motion, and Tsuna had one moment to see rage twist Byakuran's face before one of the six newcomers was in front of him, meeting Xanxus' Flame.

The fury Tsuna had held back, channeled into his Will, not given in to, built and built, and now he let it go, called it up, fed it to his Flame until his burned and raged like Xanxus'. He tracked the shouts, the explosions as their people hemmed in Byakuran and his six Wreathes, and he pressed against Xanxus' shoulder and shouted, "Together! Both of us!"

He could feel the vibration of Xanxus' snarl, but Xanxus stopped his fire and set his feet beside Tsuna, and his Flame started to build too. "For our world," Tsuna murmured. "For our Family." He heard Reborn calling for everyone to get back, and whispered, "For Federico."

Xanxus screamed as he fired, raw and agonized, and Tsuna stretched out his hand and drove his own heart and Flame out, after the thing that had twisted their world and their lives, the living person he could not allow to continue living. He met Byakuran's eyes one last time before they disappeared in the wild fusion of Flames, blank and somehow surprised.

And then they really were in freefall and Tsuna barely had the strength left to keep himself on top of the rubble instead of underneath it. The jagged ruin still stole the world away when he landed.

Tsuna woke up with Reborn's shoe in his ribs, which was comforting. Hazily, he decided that said something about his life. "Gokudera," he rasped, and coughed. Dust hung thick in the air.

His right hand appeared in his field of vision, leaning over him. "Here, Boss. We're all accounted for. Ryouhei has broken bones and Chrome is still unconscious. Mammon's protective suit tore and he's been evacuated back to headquarters. Squalo has a concussion and Irie has internal bleeding; we're waiting on immobilizers to move him. Everything else is minor."

Tsuna sagged back against the rock with a sigh of relief. "Thank you." After this long, Gokudera knew what was most important to him. He looked at Reborn. "Uni?"

"I'm fine," Uni answered herself, coming to kneel beside him. "Thank you for doing this."

"You're welcome, though we didn't have much choice." Tsuna waved a hand and Yamamoto stepped in to helped him up. Once he was standing, Xanxus left off growling at his people and stalked over, attitude only slightly impaired by an exhausted stagger every now and then. Tsuna couldn't help a tiny smile.

"Is he dead?" Xanxus demanded, hard eyes tracking over each of them. A ragged edge of tension still ran through him.

"Not like you left any bodies to check," Gokudera pointed out dryly, but Uni shook her head.

"He's gone," she said with certainty.

"Gone." Xanxus looked at them, and then around at the rubble that was all that remained of the Millefiore. The tension in him wavered uncertainly.

Tsuna took a long, slow breath. "All right. It's over, then." He let the breath out. "So it's time to go home."

A murmur of relief ran through his people until a raw crack of laughter broke it. "Home?" Xanxus swayed on his feet. "What for?"

Tsuna flinched. "Xanxus..."

"Um?" Irie edged cautiously closer. "He... he isn't dead. Federico."

Tsuna just looked at him, completely unable to make sense of the words. "What?"

"The bullet he was shot with. It was one of the special bullets. It didn't kill him; he's only suspended." Irie's words came faster in face of their stares. "It was the plan he agreed to, for the sake of defeating Byakuran. He's still alive."

Tsuna's stunned thoughts worked through that slowly. A plan. For defeating Byakuran. That required Federico be dead. Only not. He looked around at the flattened ruin he and Xanxus had made of the building and thought about the constant pain at the back of the past few days. Finally he bowed his head. "It worked," he whispered, which was all the forgiveness and blame he could possibly afford his boss.

His head snapped up again at the sound Xanxus made. Xanxus was staring around too, eyes wild and wounded. "Boss..." he whispered, harsh, and sank to his knees like the strings holding him up had been cut.

Maybe they had.

"Xanxus!" Tsuna slid to his own knees in front of Xanxus, grabbing his shoulders. Xanxus wrenched away from him in wordless denial, but Tsuna didn't give way

Xanxus was one of his Family.

He reached down into himself even though his Will and spirit felt scraped raw and pulled up strength out of the oath he'd given.

Anything.

He leaned his forehead against Xanxus', and wrapped his Flame around memories of Federico, and and pressed them against the void of Xanxus' pain. He held Xanxus' Flame in his, held on to the knowledge, the memory, that Federico loved them. "He wouldn't have done it for anything less than our world, for anything less than the life of our whole Family. You know that!" And he knew it, because he'd given the same promise himself.

Anything.

Eventually Xanxus sagged in his grip, whole body shaking. Tsuna sighed softly and leaned against him. "I know," he whispered. "I know." Slowly he levered himself to his feet again. "Come on. We need to get home." He looked over at Uni and Irie. "You too."

He was careful to put Irie in a different car than Xanxus, though.

Federico had believed Irie when he said this was the only way, that Federico himself had to be out of the picture so that the Sky ring could go to Tsuna, that only rage at his death would drive Tsuna and Xanxus to do what had to be done and see it through to the bare, blasted end. He would never have agreed if he hadn't believed it.

When he saw Tsuna shepherding Xanxus toward the mansion, though, and saw the broken slump of Xanxus' shoulders, that didn't really help.

Chaos surrounded them as the wounded were unloaded and the dazed looking prisoners-turned-allies of the erstwhile Black Spell were led off to one of the emptier wings, and all of it required his attention, his direction, the reassurance that he lived. But the idea of betraying the pain and need in Xanxus' shuttered eyes, again, made him sick. Xanxus hesitated as he came to them, turning his head away, and Federico bit the inside of his lip hard.

Tsuna made an exasperated sound and gave Federico a stern look. "Until tomorrow morning," he said, and held up his ring hand. "Until then. Just go." He pushed Xanxus firmly toward Federico and turned to march off toward the knot of Vongola underbosses gathering around the young Giglio Nero boss and her second, Gamma.

Federico blinked and his mouth quirked. "Well. I suppose we'd better do as he says, then." Xanxus didn't answer, and Federico's heart twisted again. "Come here," he said, softer, and closed an arm around Xanxus' shoulders, leading him into the House. He could feel the tremors running through Xanxus and cursed himself and fate and Byakuran impartially.

He only waited until a few doors were closed behind them to pull Xanxus against him and hold him tight.

A shudder ran through Xanxus and he clutched Federico's shoulders. "Boss..." he said, low and hoarse.

"Only to save our Family," Federico whispered to him, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. "Not for anything less than that, I swear it. I'm sorry."

Someone like Xanxus didn't cry easily, and the harsh, stifled sobs that wrenched out against his shoulder set Federico to damning Byakuran and his ancestors for ten generations, and himself for doing such a thing to the one most loyal to him, no matter the reason. He held Xanxus to him tightly, and drew in a deep breath. "Never again," he said, closing his eyes at what he was promising. "Never again, for any reason; you have my word."

Slowly, Xanxus quieted, though he still didn't look up. "Your word?" he asked, finally, voice choked and rough.

"My word," Federico swore, wrung out by the pain he'd caused. Maybe what he promised now would lead him to a betrayal of his greater Family, but he couldn't. He couldn't think of doing something like this to Xanxus again.

Xanxus nodded just a little against his shoulder. "Okay."

"I'm sorry," Federico murmured again, at a loss because the words weren't nearly enough but he couldn't think of anything that would be.

Xanxus shook his head. "Just... let me stay?"

Federico caught him closer, fiercely. "Yes."

Eventually he pulled Xanxus into the bedroom and down onto the bed, and worked off his shoes and jacket, careful to never let him go entirely. Xanxus watched him quietly, with bruised eyes, and pressed close when Federico settled beside him. It was an hour, maybe two, before the tightness of his arms around Federico finally relaxed a little, and his breath started to come deeper. Federico stayed awake, holding him close, fingers running slowly through his hair, watching over him as the sky lightened.

Never again, he promised in his heart. Whatever it took, never again.

And as Tsuna leaned wearily over a table, drinking the coffee Gokudera brought him as he spoke to Uni about the anti-Trinisette generator, the Sky ring gleamed for a moment on his finger.

Federico called in all the Family's leaders the next afternoon, and sighed at the way they shifted and murmured among themselves. "All right, everyone shut up and listen." He laid it all out as clearly as he could, the danger Byakuran had posed, the evidence across time that said Tsuna and Xanxus had to be the ones to bring him down, the stakes that they had gambled against, the Trinisette itself. He watched his people's eyes move over Reborn, in his wheelchair, and over Uni, with the gently glowing box set between her hands on the table, and over Tsuna and the six who stood behind him.

"We won that gamble," he told them, putting as much assurance in his voice as years of experience let him, "and the Family is safe."

"And you're alive," Tsuna added, with just an edge of dryness. Federico was sure he'd hear more of it in private. "So there's something left to do."

Another stir ran through the room as Tsuna rose. He met Federico's eyes, mouth twitching just a bit at the corner, and pulled the Sky ring from his finger. "This is yours." He offered it on his open palm. "Boss."

Federico took the Ring back, smiling wryly up at Tsuna. "I know you never wanted it," he murmured, just between the two of them, and then raised his voice for the rest. "You've done everything I asked of you and more. Thank you."

Tsuna snorted softly, covered by the generally relieved rustle in the room as he took his seat again. Behind him, the rustle continued as Tsuna's Guardians passed their Rings back to Federico's. Not the way things usually happened, but Federico took a certain comfort in the relief on a few of their faces. At least he could relieve these few from the burden of the last few days.

"Now," he gathered his people's eyes back to himself. "We have two last things to deal with. One is our new alliance with the Giglio Nero." He nodded to Uni, who nodded serenely back. "We will be working together to recover the Mare rings from the Millefiore headquarters and restore that balance."

A generally approving murmur went around. From Fedele's quick report, it seemed that some of Uni's people had impressed the Vongola, who appreciated honorable opponents.

"The second thing is a new member of our Family." Federico opened his hand at Irie, sitting quietly off to the side. "Irie risked more than his life to bring us news of Byakuran and a plan to defeat him. I have taken him and a few of his own people who survived into the Vongola."

The murmur was more dubious this time, and cut across by the harsh sound Xanxus made as he pushed half out of his chair, glaring at Irie. Federico had expected that, all things considered, and started to reach out to him, but someone else beat him to it.

"Xanxus." Tsuna laid a firm hand on Xanxus' shoulder, and there was compassion but no shred of compromise in his voice. Federico's brows went up. Apparently this experience was going to have some lasting effects; he'd never heard Tsuna speak like that except in the deepest grip of his Will and in the middle of a fight.

Xanxus glowered at Tsuna, but subsided under his hand.

Another murmur went around the room, this one with a thoughtful undertone, and any protests over Irie were lost in the sudden sidelong looks at Tsuna.

Federico resisted the urge to rub his forehead and curse. Damn, damn, damn it all anyway.

He'd hoped to avoid this.

"So Cienna and Ricco are coming back to the main house soon?" Tsuna leaned back in his hair with a sigh. "Good. That will be the last thing we need to get things back to normal."

"Mm."

Tsuna cocked his head at Fedele. "What? Is Cienna still upset with Federico?" Not that he could blame her in the least.

Fedele ran a hand through his hair, not meeting Tsuna's eyes. "It... might not be the best moment for Ricco, especially, to come back."

Tsuna frowned. "Is he that upset with his father?" He could understand being a little shocked over the whole temporarily-dead thing, but Ricco had always struck him as quite resilient.

For some reason, Fedele was giving him an exasperated look. "No, it's this thing with you."

Tsuna blinked, at a loss. "With... me?" Surely no one else had heard him tearing strips off his Boss for this whole affair? And even if they had, who would have told Ricco about it?

Now Fedele was staring. "Tsuna. Are you telling me you really don't know?"

"Know what?" Tsuna was starting to get irritated with all this obscurity.

Fedele sat back, frowning at him. "That a good two thirds of the Family is saying that you should be the Eleventh, after Federico. That you already are, in fact."

For a long moment, the words didn't even make sense. When they did, Tsuna's chair went over with a clatter.

"They're what?!"

Federico was trying to find just the right ending to his exquisitely polite letter to the Vendicare, telling them that it wasn't his problem if they couldn't keep track of their prisoners and no they could not search his headquarters for Rokudou Mukuro, when his office door flung open with a crash. He had his gun halfway out before he realized that it was Tsuna.

Tsuna, panting and rather wild eyed.

"Have you heard about this?!" Tsuna demanded, before Federico would ask what the hell was wrong.

"About what?" he asked, holstering the gun and sitting back down.

"Everyone thinking I'm supposed to be the Eleventh!"

Ah. Now it made sense. Federico sighed and gave Fedele, just now coming up behind Tsuna, a wry smile. "I've heard it mentioned in passing, yes." No one was quite saying it to his face, yet, any more than they'd mentioned it to Tsuna himself, which just went to show that the Vongola didn't have any stupid underbosses.

"Sorry, Boss," Fedele murmured, closing the doors after them. "I didn't realize..."

Federico waved it off and pointed to a chair. "Sit."

Tsuna sat, looking thoroughly unnerved. "I mean, when we were at war, yes, I suppose it made some sense. When it was the only way. But I'm not in the line of real descent! I would never take that away from Ricco!"

"I know you wouldn't," Federico said, quietly. "But, Tsuna, the fact is you are in a legitimate line. And the whole Family has just watched you prove your strength." And his leadership, more to the point.

Tsuna downright glared at him, rather the way he often did at Reborn. "Stop helping! You can't possibly want to see that happen."

Federico sighed. "No, I don't. But I have to deal with the facts as they are, and this idea has gained a great deal of momentum. I have to consider the good of our whole Family; an internal fight will serve no one."

Tsuna's mouth tightened and he lowered his head. "If it is your judgment that taking the Ring after you is the best service I can give to the Vongola, I will, of course, do as you wish," he said, low.

Federico winced. The conscience of the Vongola had a way with pointed words. "I'm trying to calm things down. Just give it a little time."

"I'll try." Tsuna sounded dubious, and Federico couldn't really blame him.

Tsuna did his best to give things time for a month. And then another. He did his best not to fry the liver of any Family member who mentioned the possibility of being the Eleventh to him, and stopped being able to complain about it, either, because Gokudera looked like he secretly agreed with them even while he was sympathizing and Yamamoto laughed and Hibari asked what was stopping him. He held onto his patience with both hands, and his teeth on bad days, and tried not to give Federico too many reproachful looks.

The part that really got to him, though, was the way Ricco had started looking at him.

"He has to know I wouldn't!" he insisted to Federico, almost pleading. "He knows that, doesn't he?"

"I'm sure he does, Tsuna, he's known you for years." That would have been more soothing if Federico hadn't had a little frown line between his brows. "I think it's just that he keeps hearing the edges of conversations about this."

Tsuna slumped back in his chair a little, contemplating fried livers again. "Boss," he said quietly, "I don't think this is going to go away."

"Not easily, no," Federico agreed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Not unless we make something of it. I'd hoped to avoid that."

"I'll be happy to make something of it," Tsuna growled, and Federico's mouth tilted.

"I know it's an insult to your loyalty," he said softly. "I'm sorry to have asked you to stand and swallow such a thing. I hope you know that I have no doubts of you at all."

Tsuna's temper ebbed away on that assurance, and he ducked his head. "I know."

The moment of ease was broken by a quick rap on the door. "Dad? Are you... oh." Ricco hesitated, and Tsuna's heart twinged. "Well... actually, maybe it's good if I can talk to both of you?"

"Come in, son." Federico smiled and held out a hand. "What's on your mind?"

"Well..." Ricco perched on one of the chairs, shifting nervously. "It's about this thing I keep hearing, about, um, Tsuna being the Eleventh instead of me."

Tsuna took a breath and braced himself. "Ricco," he said as calmly as he could, "please believe me, I have no intention of doing any such thing."

"Well, about that." Ricco shifted again. "Um. I think it might work out?"

Tsuna stared at him, caught completely by surprise, distantly aware that Federico was staring too.

"Ricco," Federico managed, finally, "why would you say that?"

"Well, Dad," Ricco huffed a little, "if I'm the next Boss then I have to get married, right? And have heirs too, right?" His face wrinkled up like he'd smelled something bad. "And that means going to bed with a girl. And the... the squishy bits." He didn't add yuck! but he might as well have.

Tsuna opened his mouth and closed it again, exchanging completely bemused looks.

"I think you might feel differently when you're older," Federico started, and for a moment that made sense to Tsuna, but... thinking back he was very sure he'd grown out of the girls-are-icky stage much younger than Ricco's current sixteen, and so had everyone he'd known.

Ricco had stopped fidgeting and was giving Federico a look of complete exasperation. "Dad. I don't mean it like that at all."

As Federico blinked, Tsuna ran Ricco's phrasing past his mental ear again and started to have a glimmer of suspicion. "Ricco?" he asked, and when Ricco turned that grownups-are-idiots expression on him, murmured, "Am I right in thinking it's the having sex with girls that's the problem, and not having sex with girls?"

Ricco brightened up. "Yeah!" And then he glanced at his father and started fidgeting again.

Federico made a couple of tries before he settled on, "I'm sure there are ways to deal with that..."

Ricco crossed his arms and looked mulish. "I haven't heard of any way to have a kid with another guy, have you? And I don't have any cousins last I looked. Except Tsuna." He hunched down a little more and added, "And have you heard what they want me to do?! They want me to marry Mari!"

Tsuna sat bolt upright. "Exactly who has suggested marrying off my daughter?" he asked, very evenly. His two-year-old daughter!

Ricco blinked and edged back in his chair. "That was, um, Filippo Diatto."

"I see."

Federico looked like he was getting a headache. "Tsuna, please don't kill anyone without letting me know first," he murmured, and sat back, running a hand through his hair. "Ricco. I suppose I can understand why you might be hesitant. But giving this up... do you really understand what this means?"

Ricco looked up at him, serious. "It means that Tsuna will be Boss after you, and take care of the Family. It means I'll be an underboss, I guess."

"And under Tsuna's orders," Federico added, gently. "Even if you disagree with him. Can you give him your whole loyalty that way?"

Ricco looked over at Tsuna and said, directly to him, "Yes." He broke into a sudden smile, the same one that melted resistance when Federico showed it. "I trust you. You'll take good care of everyone."

"Ricco," Tsuna said, softly. He reached out and laid a hand on Ricco's shoulder. "I'm honored by your trust."

Ricco blushed and ducked his head. When he looked up at his father again, his eyes were wide and entreating. "Dad. Please. I think this would be best for everyone. I mean... if I'd had a sister you wouldn't have forced her to marry someone she didn't like, would you?"

Federico shook his head, looking stunned. "No. No, of course not." He pushed away from his desk and held out his arms. "Ricco, come here."

Tsuna smiled softly and looked away, giving Ricco's teenage dignity a little privacy as the two of them hugged each other tight.

"I never intended to do any such thing," Federico said, a little husky, and Ricco nodded vigorously against his shoulder. He took a deep breath and looked across at Tsuna. "So. Considering this... are you willing to take the Family after me, Tsuna?"

Tsuna took a moment to reorder the thoughts that Ricco had turned upside down and settled his shoulders, meeting Federico's eyes. "I am."

Federico smiled that sweet, bright smile for him. "I have no doubts of you," he said, quietly.

Tsuna bowed his head, giving again, silently, the promise he'd given once before. Anything for his Family.

Ricco straightened up and scrubbed a hand, as if casually, over his eyes. "Okay! I can tell Lambo it's all okay, then!"

After a moment of silence, it was Tsuna who said, "Lambo?"

Ricco froze. "Oh. Um."

"Lambo?" Federico echoed.

"Um. Yeah." Ricco smiled at them both hopefully, edging backward toward the door all the time. "So, that's all cleared up, right? Great!" He was out the door before either Tsuna or Federico could frame the question hovering over both their heads.

"On the bright side," Tsuna finally said, a little weakly, "after this, managing the Family should be simple."

Epilogue

Gokudera leaned back in his chair and gave Tsuna a wry smile across the desk. "Well, at least this time we have a little more notice to prepare."

"I'm not sure that's actually an advantage," Tsuna told him. Staring down the gauntlet of inheritance without a mafia war to distract him was doing bad things to his nerves.

"Well I appreciate it," Gokudera said dryly, and Tsuna shook himself and smiled at his right hand.

"I know. Most of the re-organization is falling on you. I'm sorry I can't—"

Gokudera waved a hand to cut him off with a small smile. "Boss. It's my job, and it's one I'm glad to do for you. You take care of boss-stuff and leave the rest to me."

Tsuna reflected, once again, that he didn't know what he'd done to deserve the friends, and soon the Guardians, fate had given him, but it must have been something pretty stupendous.

"Speaking of which," Gokudera added, "have you found anyone who might take over—"

A tap at the door interrupted them, and Ricco stuck his head inside. "Tsuna, do you have a moment?"

"We were just," Tsuna started, but Gokudera shook his head, suddenly smiling cheerfully.

"No, it's nothing that can't wait. Go ahead." He stood and gathered his paperwork and was out the door before Tsuna could do more than blink.

"Well, I guess I have a moment." He waved Ricco to a seat. "Something on your mind?"

"Only the same thing that's on the mind of absolutely everyone in the entire Family," Ricco snorted, and Tsuna had to stifle a laugh.

"So what about your dad's retirement?" he asked, obligingly.

"Well." Ricco ran a hand through his hair and took a breath. "I was thinking that I should take the Varia."

There were still times, even after all these years, when the mafia world shocked Tsuna, and this was one of them. "Why?" he finally managed to ask.

Ricco just looked back at him, eyes dark and serious. "We both know Xanxus is going with Dad, when he retires. There's no way it could be different. And the knowledge that the leader of the Varia wields the Sky Flame has been one of our hole cards for a long time, hasn't it? There's only one person with the Sky who can take the Varia now." His mouth quirked. "Mari is way too young."

Tsuna, who had had his mouth open to mention how young Ricco still was, closed it. He was starting to have a suspicion of why Gokudera had left so fast; Ricco had a solid grasp on strategy, at least, if he'd spoken to Tsuna's right hand ahead of time.

"Tsuna." Ricco leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I know you don't like assassination or most of the rest of the Varia's business. But there will still be times we need it. And when those times come, the Varia had better still be the best. I can do that for the Family." Softly he added, "And for you."

Tsuna spread his hands flat against the desk, examining them, looking at the wink of the ring he was using now and remembering the oath he'd given to win the approval of the Vongola Ring. "I know," he finally said, quietly. "I know you're right. And I know you can." He looked up with a wry smile. "I should have done what I was thinking about and asked you to take CEDEF, a few years ago, when my father retired."

Ricco grinned at him. "I'd still have suggested this instead. I've been thinking about it for a while."

"You're your father's son," Tsuna murmured, and smiled a little at Ricco's faint blush. "All right. I want to discuss this with a few other people, but... If you're willing, I'll be glad to have you."

Ricco nodded solemnly. "Thank you." The grin flashed again and he added, as he rose, "Boss."

Tsuna watched him leave and thought about the future fast approaching. It wasn't one he'd expected, when Reborn showed up on his doorstep or when he'd agreed to follow Federico. He'd never wanted to be the Vongola Eleventh. But this was the future, and the Family, that had come to him, and he'd found that he loved that Family too much to refuse.

"Anything," he murmured again to the waiting shades of those who'd gone before.

They followed along at his shoulder as he went to find Gokudera.

End

Happily Ever After

Companion to Lys ap Adin's "Bloodsport"; a series of linked shorts that follows Gokudera, Yamamoto and Tsuna after the end. Lots of fang-sex, a bit of humor, and a smidge of crack thrown in at the end. Romance and Fang-porn, I-4

Positive Reinforcement

When Hayato had agreed to become part of Tsuna's clan, he hadn't expected to be spending much time in Tsuna's own company. The clan lord would obviously, he'd thought, have better things to do than meet in person with a scruffy little dhampir. It appeared, though, that Tsuna liked his news first hand, and so it was that Hayato found himself sitting in that arm chair across from his new lord at least once a week.

And Tsuna's rooms might be nice and warm, but it still gave Hayato the shivers.

"So, both Belphegor and Rasiel were out that night, hm?" Tsuna paced slowly beside his chair, eyes distant. "I think perhaps Xanxus isn't as much under Byakuran's control as he would prefer." Tsuna focused on Hayato again and smiled. "I'm impressed you spotted them."

Hayato stomped hard on a blush. He was not one of Shamal's fluttery girlfriends and he did not blush for pity's sake. "They were concentrating on fighting each other; they didn't take much care to conceal themselves."

"Nevertheless." Tsuna rested his fingers on Hayato's shoulder. "Few would look beyond their own hunger, when feeding, to notice who they were."

Hayato swallowed. The mention of feeding made him remember the way his... his... his dinner companions leaned against him when he drank, and that reminded him of his faintly guilty curiosity over how it felt and why they did it, and, as always in Tsuna's presence, that made him wonder what it would be like. And that made him, once again, have to grab hold of his never to be sufficiently damned human hormones and try to stuff them back in their box before Tsuna noticed. Which was probably a lost cause, but Tsuna had been forbearing enough not to press the issue so far.

Cool fingers lifted to touch his throat lightly, making him gasp. "And are you well fed now?" Tsuna murmured.

Only it looked like his dispensation might have run out tonight. He'd been half expecting it for weeks, when Tsuna looked at him with that tiny glint of speculation behind the sympathy. "Boss," he said, husky, unable to meet the dark gaze above him.

"Are you willing to share with me?" Tsuna asked softly, and Hayato swallowed, remembering the times he'd listened to that question be asked, the few times he'd had the nerve to ask it himself.

"I'm half-blood," the last gasp of his sanity drove him to protest. Vampires might kill other vampires, but they didn't drink from them. Unless they were watchers and he wasn't thinking about that, damn it.

"That means you're both, not that you're neither." Tsuna's smile showed just a hint of his fangs, as was mannerly when asking for a meal, and that stunned Hayato; Tsuna was really serious about this. "So?"

Hayato closed his eyes; he refused lie to himself about how much he wanted even this kind of belonging, no matter how ridiculous that was, or had seemed right up until now, and it was obviously pointless to lie to Tsuna. "Please."

Tsuna's slender fingers ran up his throat to his chin and effortless strength tipped Hayato's head back. Tsuna's lips brushed Hayato's once and moved down the line of his jaw, slow and gentle. Hayato was tense, breathing in quick gasps, and Tsuna's lips moved against his skin as he murmured, "I won't leave you. Relax." The sound Hayato made was uncomfortably close to a whimper, and Tsuna's fingers combed through his hair, slow and soothing. Tsuna's knee slid up onto the chair beside him, caging Hayato under the slim arch of his body and Hayato jerked up against him, breathless, at the delicate prick of fangs on his throat.

"Shhh."

Hayato was nearly writhing in the chair with the slow, light nip of Tsuna's teeth up and down his throat, never quite breaking skin. He couldn't tell whether Tsuna was teasing him or marking him, and oh god he shouldn't have thought that because the idea of walking around marked by Tsuna's fangs made him harder than he'd ever been before in his life.

"There, that's better."

Hayato took a few seconds to understand the words, and then it didn't matter because Tsuna finally bit down properly. Heat struck straight through the core of him and he couldn't even form the thoughts "sharp" or "ow" because all he could feel was the way Tsuna's teeth in his throat held him, the slow surge of thrill and sweetness when Tsuna sucked.

Now he understood why the people who came to the clubs did it. It was incredible. It was just on the edge of bearable, and it went on and on, sensation like a blood-starved limb waking up, so intense that he couldn't tell if it was pleasure or pain, only feel it.

When Tsuna finally let him go he felt wrung out, too dazed to speak. He let Tsuna settle him back in the chair, feeling the faint throb where he'd been bitten.

Tsuna smiled down at him. "I like the taste of you."

Hayato could feel his face getting hot.

"Both," Tsuna reminded him. "You live in both worlds. That is one of the things I value in you." His fingertips brushed the bite and Hayato shivered, lips parting.

"Rest," Tsuna told him and kissed his forehead.

"Yes, boss," Hayato managed, before lethargy and the overstuffed cushions of the chair sucked him down into drowsing. The thought meandered through his mind that he'd shared blood both ways now. Vampire and human.

He eased down in the chair, liking that thought, and Tsuna's soft laugh followed him into sleep.

The Return of the Vampire...

There was always the risk, when the doorbell rang after dark these days, that it would be another thrilling moment of flight come calling, so Hayato was already scowling when he opened the door. It was good to get off on the right foot. What stood there tonight wasn't an invitation to airsickness, but the scowl didn't go to waste.

It was Yamamoto.

"You have a lot of goddamn nerve," Hayato growled after a moment. "After all this time with no word unless, oh yeah, I watch for the trail of vampires only an idiot would look for, now lying around in scattered soggy bits! Email is faster, you know! Asshole." It wasn't anywhere near his best reaming out ever, he hadn't had much of a run-up, but it was definitely heartfelt.

Yamamoto just nodded. "Can I come in?"

Hayato told himself he wasn't going to be that much of an idiot. He told himself Yamamoto obviously didn't need any of his help any more, and he was probably twice as crazy as before. Watchers usually were. He was going to close this door and go back to the life he'd scraped together for himself after the last time he was stupid enough to get involved with Yamamoto Takeshi.

"Yeah." He turned his back, leaving the door open. "Go ahead."

...And What Happened After

"Well?" Hayato asked, voice flat as he stalked down the hall and into the kitchen to finish making his tea. "I don't imagine you just dropped by to calm my concerns about your continued life, undeath and health."

Yamamoto sighed faintly. "I'm sorry."

Hayato turned around at that, and stared at him. "You... what?"

"I shouldn't have assumed you were like Byakuran's people," Yamamoto said, and promptly ruined the apology by adding, "Even if you were going around drinking blood."

"Excuse me." Hayato's eyes narrowed. "Unless I'm very mistaken indeed, you now 'go around drinking blood' yourself, so just be careful whose eating habits you start getting all high and mighty about."

"Mm." Yamamoto's eyes were dark and distant for a moment, and Hayato shoved down a shiver. He'd known already that Yamamoto wasn't very well going to be coming back after Hibari got a hold of him. "Anyway." Yamamoto focused on him again. "I did want to see you."

"Why?" Gokudera demanded, arms crossed.

Yamamoto shifted, hands stuffed in his pockets. "To ask if you'd have dinner with me."

Gokudera blinked, and his first thought was that that was ridiculous, Yamamoto couldn't drink from humans, and the appearance of a young watcher in one of the clubs would cause absolute chaos. Then his brain caught up. "You what?"

Yamamoto ran a hand through his hair, lingering at the back of his head. For a moment he looked so like the old Yamamoto, smiling and sheepish and thoughtlessly determined, that it took Hayato's breath away. "Kyouya wants to, um, introduce me to Tsuna, but I kind of wanted to eat with someone I knew first."

"That hasn't seemed to trouble you a whole lot until now." Hayato's voice sounded a little weak in his own ears. It was just the moment of shock, he told himself.

"Well, that was different." Yamamoto didn't say how it was different, and that, too, was Yamamoto all over. Hayato scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Why me, though?" he asked, muffled.

"Well," Yamamoto said slowly, "I guess because you're a friend."

Hayato knew right then he'd lost the argument. "Friend, huh?" he managed to snap. "You always leave your friends totally in the dark for months on end?"

Yamamoto was just watching him. "This is the first time I'll feed from someone I'm not killing."

Hayato stared at him, incredulous. Yamamoto clearly had not the tiniest inkling of manners or couth or the right fucking moment; some things apparently never changed. "Is it? That's nice." Hayato leaned against the kitchen counter and muttered, "I've got to be fucking crazy." And Yamamoto was suddenly right there, and Hayato hadn't even heard him move.

"Yes?" he asked, one hand sliding around Hayato's back and drawing him closer.

"You know this might not actually work, right?" Hayato asked, a little uneven. "I mean... half-blood, right?"

"You're vampire enough to need human blood," Yamamoto pointed out, perfectly logical if you ignored the way his eyes were fixed on Hayato's throat.

A tiny part of Hayato was laughing hysterically; first he was human enough to feed Tsuna and now he was vampire enough to feed a watcher? After all these years of being neither, the irony was killing him. Not that Yamamoto compared to Tsuna in any way, especially considering the stunning lack of subtlety with which a lot of the vampires of Byakuran's clan had been strewn over the landscape with parts ripped off lately. Which reminded him.

He set a hand on Yamamoto's chest and pushed him back a bit, and tried to ignore the distinct feeling that it only worked because Yamamoto let him. "That Hibari had better have taught you decent table manners," he said sternly.

Yamamoto cocked his head, considering. "I think so."

"How wonderfully reassuring," Hayato grumbled. "If you spit, I'm going to punch you. Okay, fine, fine, yes I'm willing to share."

It was neither the old Yamamoto nor the crazy Yamamoto who looked down at him, two fingers running down the line of his neck, and said quietly, "Thank you."

"Yeah." Hayato's voice was husky. "All right."

He shivered as Yamamoto tipped his head back, hands closing tight in Yamamoto's shirt as lips moved over his throat, tracing a vein unerringly. A low, wordless sound left him on a breath as Yamamoto bit down, swift and sharp, and Yamamoto made a soft, inquiring noise. Hayato couldn't actually answer, so he just leaned into Yamamoto and moaned a little as an arm came around him and held him up. He was used to the way Tsuna's power, carried on the very scent of him, folded around him when Tsuna fed, but this was different. Yamamoto burned in his senses, sharp and wild, and the movement of his mouth on Hayato's throat was more demanding, more raw. It made heat tighten down on Hayato like a vise, heat that surged up and up until it unstrung Hayato's very bones, and the sounds he made turned broken with his panting.

When Yamamoto finally took his mouth away Hayato could barely stand, with the fiery echo of sensation still rolling through him.

It did finally penetrate that they were still standing in the middle of his kitchen, and he managed to smack Yamamoto on the shoulder. "Thought you said you'd been taught manners," he said hoarsely.

"Was that wrong?" Yamamoto's fingers stirred in Hayato's hair and he shivered softly.

"Not... not wrong." A breath. "Just gauche. Should have expected that, I guess." He managed to lift his head and declare, "Next time, we are using the bedroom."

Yamamoto smiled, and if there was an edge of satiation and a definite glint in Yamamoto's eyes Hayato was too drained to excoriate him for it properly. Later. "All right."

"All right, then."

After a moment of quiet Yamamoto said, "You taste good."

Hayato gave up. He leaned his head on Yamamoto's shoulder and laughed, wobbly and breathless. "All right, fine. Maybe we can have dinner again some time."

"Good."

Hayato growled at that, but let Yamamoto steer him toward the couch and bring the tea over. "Glad you're back," he muttered into his cup.

Yamamoto smiled that new smile again, the one that made Hayato have to swallow.

"Yeah."

Two to Three Servings Daily

Hayato knew he was in trouble when Tsuna stopped in the middle of giving instructions and frowned at him.

"Hayato, how long has it been since you last ate?"

Hayato shook off the tiny bit of fog he'd been in, only a tiny bit really, and protested, "I ate just the other day!"

Tsuna's frown was joined by a wry tilt to his mouth. "I see. And when, exactly, did Takeshi last visit you?"

Hayato cleared his throat, eyes sliding away from the glint in Tsuna's. "Um. Well. Last night."

Tsuna sighed. "Haru," he murmured, "I don't wish to impose, but if you could do us both the favor...?"

Haru had her hands on her hips and was looking sternly at Hayato already. "Well of course!" She linked her arm though Hayato's and towed him off to the far corner of the room, scolding him the whole time. "Honestly, Gokudera-kun, you never take enough care of yourself. You have to eat right!" She positively shoved him down onto a small couch and he told himself he only let her because he was being nice, not because his knees were a bit shaky. "I bet you don't even have your knife on you!" She plumped herself down on his lap, rummaging through her purse. "Here, now." She pulled out a small, plastic case of razor blades and plucked one out, briskly nicking her wrist.

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" Hayato caught her wrist as blood dripped down, lapping at it quickly. "Don't go around wasting that, it's important stuff."

Haru laughed and snuggled comfortably against him, sighing as his lips closed properly over the little slice. "I know."

Hayato wanted to make sure she knew he meant it was important to her, not just to him, but he couldn't quite draw his mouth away from the taste of her to do it. He knew he was probably still in trouble, that Tsuna would likely scold him for being careless, but right now the whole world was Haru's pulse and the living heat of her blood shared between them.

Hunter and Hunted

Hayato had never worried about drunks when he wandered the human parts of town after dark. Half-blood or not, and however delicate he looked, he was more than strong enough to deal with any little annoyances. Walking the vampire parts of town, on the other hand, still had its risks when Lambo wasn't with him.

"Filthy half-blood." The vampire standing in front of him wasn't swaying and wasn't slurring his words, but he was obviously blood-drunk anyway. Hayato hooked his finger through the pin of a flash grenade and judged his distance coolly.

The cool wavered a bit when a second vampire faded out of the shadows, but this one put a hand on the first's shoulder. "Don't bother. That one is tied up with the Vongolas." Too-bright eyes flicked over Hayato, dismissive and wary at the same time. "And he's that new watcher's prey. Not worth it."

"No accounting for taste," the drunk snarled, but let himself be tugged off, and Hayato relaxed a little.

"Maybe I should eat them tonight."

Only to nearly jump out of his skin when Yamamoto's voice came from behind him. "Fuck, are you trying to give me a heart attack?!" And then the fact that Yamamoto was apparently shadowing him some nights came together with what the vampires had said, and he glared at Yamamoto for all he was worth. "And does the entire world now know I'm having dinner with you?"

"Well, you are." Yamamoto sounded reasonable enough, but he also reached out and pulled Hayato firmly against him. His next words were low and intent. "You're mine."

Hayato banged his head against Yamamoto's shoulder a few times and reminded himself strenuously that for all his apparent control Yamamoto was still a very young vampire with instincts still screaming in his ears at top volume.

Yamamoto's fingers touching his hair were light, though, and his voice turned just a little hesitant as he asked, "You are, aren't you?"

Hayato sighed, defeated by that tone. "Yeah," he muttered. And he would deny until the day he died the warmth that thought lodged in his chest. He had a dark suspicion Yamamoto could smell it, though, because he made a satisfied sound.

"Where were you going?" Yamamoto finally asked.

"Downtown. For dinner."

"Okay." Yamamoto let him go and smiled faintly. "I'll watch."

Hayato opened his mouth to protest that pathetic excuse for a pun, but Yamamoto was already gone, at least to his senses. "Smartass," he said anyway, pretty sure Yamamoto would hear it, and turned back down the street.

And tried really hard to ignore the heat at the idea of Yamamoto watching over him.

Double Your Pleasure

Everyone knew that Tsuna had impeccable manners, and Hayato had had plenty of evidence over time that he was no exception to them in Tsuna's eyes. It could still fluster him a little, though, especially when Tsuna courted him for dinner. He certainly couldn't deny how much he liked it, how good it felt to know his clan lord very definitely wanted him—to be kissed and charmed and settled gently back on Tsuna's large, low couch—but he was usually flushed and shy by the time Tsuna bit down.

After that, of course, he was generally too busy with sensation to be flustered any more.

Tonight, though Tsuna had barely started to drink when he tensed and raised his head just a little. His voice was low and sharp as he said, "Hibari. I'm occupied tonight."

"I see you are."

Hayato flushed again, uncomfortable and embarrassed at having this moment seen and watched by Hibari of all people. Tsuna's arms tightened around him, though, and he relaxed again, comforted. He gave himself to Tsuna when they did this, and Tsuna wanted him.

Hibari, predictably, sniffed. "Very well. Come along, then."

"I'll, um, catch up with you, okay?"

Hayato started, looking up, and sure enough that was Yamamoto with Hibari. Hibari was eyeing his fledgling with a dubiously raised brow. Yamamoto was only looking at Hayato.

"We need to educate your palate," Hibari declared, sounding faintly disapproving, and vanished out the window.

"Kyouya," Tsuna murmured, exasperated and affectionate, and added politely. "What was it you wished, Takeshi?"

Yamamoto took a slow step toward them. "Gokudera," he murmured.

Hayato made a breathless sound as the weight of Tsuna's power in his senses abruptly increased.

"Gokudera Hayato is one of my people," Tsuna said, low and even. "I will not allow him to be harmed."

"Boss," Hayato managed, husky. "It's all right." His face turned hotter as Tsuna looked down at him, brows raised a little. "It's... Please." He was definitely crazy, but there it was; the idea of both of them feeding on him made him almost too hot to think.

"All right. If it's what you wish." Tsuna caught his chin and added firmly. "I still will not allow you to be harmed."

That was just fine with Hayato, actually, and he breathed, "Yes, boss."

Tsuna looked up and held out a courteous hand to Yamamoto. "If you care to join me, then."

"Mmm." Yamamoto settled down beside the couch. Long fingers stroked down Hayato's throat, and he moaned softly as Tsuna's tongue lapped at his bite, coaxing the blood to flow again. When Yamamoto leaned in and bit down on the other side, Hayato couldn't hold back a sharp gasp, arching taut against the couch.

Two sets of arms closed around him, supporting him, and Hayato lay back in them, lax and panting. His senses spun as their mouths moved on his throat, and he shuddered and closed his eyes. The power of them was heavy in the room, pushing against each other, slowly building over him until he could hardly breathe. Their occasional, barely voiced growls plucked at his nerves with little twists of fire and thrill, and he moaned whenever a growl was followed by a sharp nip. He couldn't even tell whose hands were stroking over him, because they were each just as possessive as the other.

And he belonged to both of them.

The thought pushed him over the edge, and he gasped, shuddering between them as an extra edge of pleasure washed through him. And again. And again. On and on, until he was crying out, half voiceless.

It was Tsuna who drew back and reached over him to press Yamamoto gently and firmly away. "Enough."

Hayato lay in their arms, dazed and dizzy and wordless. Slowly their power concealed itself again, at least somewhat, and he managed to smile up at them. Yamamoto smiled back, the bared edge of hunting, of having, fading from his gaze. Tsuna kissed his forehead and reached for the side table. Hayato winced a little as small gauze pads were pressed to his throat; he was definitely going to be a bit sore after this.

"Are you all right?" Yamamoto murmured, starting to look just a little concerned and maybe a tinge guilty.

"Fine," Hayato whispered, husky. "No, I'm good." Really good. More than good, even.

"I know you want this," Tsuna told him softly, "but you can't do it often. Give me your word you'll take care."

Hayato was pretty sure he'd be blushing if he had the blood for it right now. "I promise." Tsuna always saw right through him.

And Tsuna was giving Yamamoto a thoughtful look. "You are welcome here, this evening, if you wish to say with Hayato."

"Of course. Yes, I mean, I'd like that." Yamamoto gathered Hayato closer and Hayato caught Tsuna's smile. There was some kind of maneuver or politics behind that, but if Yamamoto wanted to be possessive of Hayato he'd have to deal with Tsuna's hand on the reins sooner or later.

The thought of getting to watch that kind of amused him.

Toothmarks

Hayato wondered, sometimes, if he should just accept Tsuna's offer of a place to stay, here in Tsuna's house. He wound up sleeping here half the time anyway, when he'd been to report in, and tonight—he yawned as he trotted down the hall—was going to be no exception.

"Boss?" he called softly as he opened a door and slipped into Tsuna's sitting room. "You wanted..."

He trailed off staring, because Yamamoto was kneeling beside Tsuna's chair, head bent over Tsuna's wrist as he drank.

It was entirely possible that Hayato shouldn't be watching this. Shouldn't be watching the way Yamamoto sat back on his heels, spine straight, the way his hands curved under Tsuna's arm, the way his throat moved when he swallowed. But he couldn't pull his eyes away. And when Tsuna looked up, eyes dark and half closed, he merely smiled and Hayato stood rooted to the spot by the sight of Tsuna wrapped in the lazy heat of being fed from.

Finally Yamamoto drew back and straightened. "Thanks," he murmured, and the satisfied purr in his voice made Hayato shiver.

"You are welcome." Tsuna laughed softly. "And so are you, Hayato."

"Oh." Yamamoto turned his head. "It was you."

Hayato firmly suppressed the warmth at the thought that Yamamoto noticed his presence through the haze of feeding and stepped further into the room. "Yeah. I was going to report in tonight."

"Hmm." The speculative hum sent another shiver down Hayato's spine, and somehow he wasn't surprised when Yamamoto came to him and drew him in close. He tipped his head back with a gasp as Yamamoto's lips brushed down his jaw, hands spreading against Yamamoto's chest.

"No, Takeshi." Tsuna's voice slid between them like a blade, and Yamamoto looked up, frowning. "You have no need of more tonight," Tsuna told him inflexibly, "and Hayato is still in his recovery time."

Yamamoto's hands tightened on Hayato and a faint growl rose in his throat. Tsuna's mouth quirked, more amused than threatened, and Hayato wondered for the umpteenth time exactly how strong his boss was.

"You don't need to draw blood just to mark your territory, you know."

The growl faded and Yamamoto looked down at Hayato with a suddenly speculative light in his eyes.

"Um," Hayato started, husky, only to break off on a moan as Yamamoto bent his head and the points of his teeth closed on Hayato's throat, holding him sharp and sure. Up and down his throat those teeth moved, biting without penetrating, only promising. Only leaving Yamamoto's mark on him. Some other time Hayato would have to try to be indignant about that, but right now he just hung on to Yamamoto's shoulders and shuddered with the heat curling down every nerve.

By the time Yamamoto stopped it was a very good thing he was holding Hayato up, because Hayato's knees sure weren't going to. Hayato made a protesting sound, though, when Yamamoto let him slip down into one of the soft armchairs. "That's it?" He aimed a swat at Yamamoto and glared when it was dodged. "You fucking tease! You're just going to leave me to die of blueballs, is that it?" Which was not actually that much of an exaggeration, and he shifted a little uncomfortably.

Yamamoto slid a thoughtful glance at Tsuna, who was still sitting with his arm curled up and a cotton pad pressed to his wrist. Tsuna gave him a stern look back. Yamamoto looked thoughtful for another moment and then pleased.

"Well, if that's the problem." He sank down between Hayato's knees, fingers busy undoing Hayato's pants.

Hayato stared, stunned. He wasn't really going to... Disbelief evaporated in the leap of his pulse as Yamamoto's fingers curled around his cock. "Yamamoto...!" His eyes flicked up to Tsuna, watching them with a tiny smile, and then Yamamoto's mouth closed on him, hot and wet and so very good Hayato just sank back with a moan.

The slow, wet slide made him shudder and when the edge of Yamamoto's fangs brushed against him it brought him up half out of the chair. And there was something very familiar about this, about the feeling of Yamamoto's mouth moving on his cock. It was... Hayato's eyes widened. It was the same way Yamamoto's mouth moved on his throat, and the wild rush of heat at that thought nearly made him scream. His hands clenched on Yamamoto's shoulders as pleasure raked through him over and over and left him absolutely limp.

Too limp to bawl out Yamamoto properly for the smug look on his face when he sat up and tucked Hayato back away, which was a shame. Hayato made a slightly light-headed note for later. He seemed to do that a lot with Yamamoto.

"Better?" Yamamoto asked brightly, in one of those flashes of his old self that always made Hayato's chest try to squeeze.

"I suppose so," he said as forbiddingly as he could manage while sprawled back in the chair and still panting.

"Good." Yamamoto finished fastening him up and stood, nodding quite calmly to Tsuna before he strolled out onto the veranda and vanished.

Tsuna looked awfully pleased about something, and frankly Hayato didn't think it was because of the view; that would have been too simple.

"What," Hayato finally managed, "was that all about?"

Tsuna waved a hand. "Watchers tend to be quite territorial."

Which was pretty rich coming from a vampire. Or possibly just pretty scary. And it didn't explain everything. "And?" Hayato asked quietly.

Tsuna smiled at him. "And I am making sure that Hibari's fledgling is raised with better manners than Hibari himself. I'm sure you've noticed that he's a bit rough around the edges."

His boss had a positive genius for understatement, Hayato reflected. "Was he an orphan?"

Tsuna folded his hands, looking down at them. "In a way, I suppose he was. He wasn't exactly turned unwillingly, but he never did get along with his progenitor at all. He and Mukuro fight whenever they meet, and always have." His smile showed his fangs fully. "It appears to be a source of some entertainment to both of them. Mukuro says that's why he turned Hibari in the first place."

Hayato considered the degree of respect Tsuna's show of teeth indicated, applied the principle of understatement to his words, and concluded that it would be terminally unwise for Hayato to dispute this Mukuro's version of events if they ever met. "I see."

Tsuna's smile warmed and gentled. "Yes, I'm sure you do. You see many things clearly." He stood and was beside Hayato's chair in that unthinking flicker of speed he let show when he was in private and relaxed. His fingers ran through Hayato's hair. "Go sleep, now. You can tell me what you've found in the morning."

Hayato flushed. "Yes, boss."

All right, so, clearly it was going to be a bit of a juggling act, letting himself be fed on by both Tsuna and Yamamoto. He didn't actually think he'd trade in a second of it, though.

Omake

"I really don't see how you can abide feeding on him. Human blood tastes dreadful."

Hibari was at it again, and Hayato glared at him over his orange juice, hunching down a bit further into his chair.

"Gokudera isn't human," Yamamoto pointed out. "I like how he tastes."

"As do I, I must say," Tsuna put in, smiling at Hibari with his teeth hidden, which Hayato swore he sometimes did just to provoke Hibari. "He has a very pleasant spicy taste."

Yamamoto looked interested. "Really? I think he has a really light taste."

Gokudera put a hand over his eyes; he couldn't believe he was actually hearing this.

"Perhaps that's not surprising." Tsuna looked thoughtful. "Vampire blood rather burns the mouth of another regular vampire, which I suspect contributes to his taste to me. And the human elements of his blood would make the flavor lighter to a watcher."

Actually, Gokudera could perfectly well believe he was hearing this from Yamamoto the Clueless. What he couldn't believe was that Tsuna was egging him on.

Hibari's lip curled as he looked at his fledgling. "So you like bland food."

"I am not bland!" Gokudera finally burst out, at the same time Yamamoto said, "Stop being a snob, Hibari-san."

Gokudera swore he was never accepting an invitation to a vampire dinner party ever again.

End

Nine Tenths of Ma'at

A series of linked vingnettes. Ryou reflects on his past with the Ring and chooses a new present. Drama, I-3

Ryou sat cross-legged on his bed, looking down at the ring of gold that lay on his blankets.

He hadn't really expected it would stay buried.

And he knew that his friends would probably think he was crazy to ever touch it again. This ring, or at least the spirit in it, had been responsible for him being possessed, shuffled into a lead figurine, nearly killed, stabbed twice and almost flamed to a crisp. The Spirit had ruthlessly manipulated his friends, carried the darkness that had nearly destroyed them all and made Ryou's life a very strange patchwork for years.

From the beginning, the Ring had turned his life inside out.

RPG

Ryou watched his new friends trapped on the game table and about to walk into destruction, and shuddered. He couldn't let this stand. He couldn't let it happen again.

Ryou moved in that strange way the Spirit had used to push him down, and gritted his teeth. Moving with or past the Spirit had been uncomfortable so far, hot and abrasive, but this, fighting his way through the Spirit's Zorc figurine, was horrible! Cold closed around him, viscous and slow, and he had to force himself through it, dragging himself along the thin, golden string of words spooled out from the vast, heavy shadow he thought was his pendant, the way it looked in this strange spirit world.

But however horrible it felt, he couldn't let this happen to his friends. It was his game the Spirit was using to trap them, and... and...

And it was his game!

He pushed part of himself out of Zorc's coldness, the lead or the spirit, he wasn't sure which, pulled substance around him, named it the White Wizard, and sank back with a breath of relief. It wasn't the first time he'd played with himself as one of the pieces, really, and now he'd just have to watch for his chances.

And hope he never had to touch that cold thing again.

Duelist Kingdom

Ryou watched Pegasus and Yuugi-kun duel, and felt the heat of the Spirit against his spine, as though someone actually stood right at his back, looking over his shoulder. It made his heart beat faster, and he couldn't tell whether the excitement was his own or the Spirit's. Certainly the Spirit's thoughts were affecting his.

At least he was fairly sure he'd never have told Yuugi-kun to kill Pegasus entirely of his own accord.

He bit his lip as Pegasus declared the match a Shadow Game, and knowledge flickered through his thoughts, indistinct and echoing with distance or time. The Spirit pressed tighter against his back, hot and sharp, moving into him, and he breathed in someone else's rhythm as his voice said, "They are in a world only they can see. That is the meaning of a Shadow Game."

He shivered and clung to the sights and sounds around him, not wanting to be pushed all the way down. Yuugi-kun was his friend; he needed to watch.

And he needed to know what the Millenium items were and did, and why one had come to him.

Laughter brushed past his ear. As you wish, my host.

Later, after another while away inside his own mind, when he came up to awareness on the steps of the castle as they were all leaving, the things he had seen were enough to stop him from asking the Spirit what he hadn't.

Dungeon Dice

Ryou frowned at the striped shirt on top of his laundry basket; he didn't remember wearing that recently.

He fastened his uniform jacket neatly, thinking. None of his friends had said anything, so he'd thought that the Spirit was leaving them all alone, the way he'd promised. Well, not exactly promised, but said he would. Implied he would, at any rate. But he had been a bit more tired than usual some mornings, lately. If the Spirit had been coming out while Ryou slept, then he might not know. That was nice, in a way, that he wasn't interrupted in his day, but...

Perhaps he should ask Yuugi-kun if anything had happened, after all.

Heat prickled at him like a grumble. I've done nothing to your precious friends but help them.

"Well..." Ryou hesitated. It was true, when he'd woken up back in the Black Clown, Yuugi-kun had said the Spirit helped him. Finally he sighed. "All right, then."

He was sure his friends would mention if anything strange happened again.

Battle City

Ryou had started to expect disorientation every now and then—waking somewhere he didn't remember going to. This time it was worse.

This time there was pain.

He couldn't catch his breath; it panted out of him with each jar and pulse and stab of pain from his arm, turning his sight dim.

What had happened? Had the Spirit fought something? Had he been beaten? The only thing he could feel of the Spirit, past the pain, was crazy-wild exultation, and sometimes he thought that meant danger and sometimes he thought that meant winning.

Either way, though, why had he been left like this?

Ryou collapsed against the taxi's seat cushions beside Yuugi-kun's grandfather, biting his lip to stifle a whimper as his arm was jostled. The question circled in his head through the car ride, through the exclamations of nurses and the bustle of being whisked off to a hospital room, through the sudden, dizzy relief of the injection that numbed the tearing hurt in his arm.

However they had been injured, why had the Spirit retreated and just left him bleeding, to be picked up by a stranger? Why was the Spirit gloating? What was going on?

This time, when he felt the rush of darkness over him, like the shadow of a cloud crossing land, he clung to his questions, pushed back to stay as close to the Spirit as he could. The echo of a laugh was familiar, the hint of teasing malice, the hot, uncontrolled anger and the stiff line of the Spirit's back.

And the heavy slide of chill.

That made Ryou retreat, fast. He remembered that cold.

Something was very, very wrong.

Finalists

Ryou felt very strange.

Guess what, little host? the Spirit murmured to him. I've arranged for you to be able to play in the Battle City finals with your friends. Won't that be fun?

Yes, it would. Ryou liked very much to play with his friends. If only he didn't feel so fuzzy...

So here's your deck and winnings, and friends. Talk to them.

Yes. Yes, he should. Oh, and look, the nice young man who had helped him earlier was here too. That was good. He should say thank you, so his friends would know how nice the young man was. Yes.

How odd that his arm didn't hurt. The hospital must have done a good job; yes, of course they must.

If only he didn't feel so peculiar.

Battle Ship

The gauziness over Ryou's senses ripped away and it was ten times worse than the last time. Pain blugeoned him, cold and pressure and the ripping fire in his arm. He couldn't make the world around him make sense.

Yuugi-kun. He recognized Yuugi-kun, in front of him. But what was going on?

The pain and dizziness and knife-like cold made it so hard to think.

And then it was gone again, pain and fear blocked away along with the world, and for a moment all he could do was pant for breath and try to understand. When he managed to look up, the Spirit's back was in front of him again, the Spirit's arms spread out as if to embrace the blinding light beyond, and that wild laugh echoed through both their minds.

The Spirit was burning, burning in the light, and it suited him somehow to welcome such mad destruction, even his own. Ryou could only kneel in the shelter of his shadow, stunned.

When the world snapped back into focus, crashing down on him with light and cold and fire, passing out seemed the only sensible thing to do.

Dark Duel

Ryou had only just gotten himself settled in his own mind again when he felt a very peculiar jostling. He was used to the Spirit's rough passage, and the creeping chill that he always tried to avoid, but this was... fuller.

His first reaction was absolute exasperation. His mind wasn't some kind of clown-car! How many spirits or boarders or, or meddlers was he supposed to contain?

The echo of the Spirit's vicious exultation suggested a game or a fight, though, and Ryou supposed he should be used to strangeness surrounding all such things, by now. It had ever since he first touched the Ring. Sometimes he wondered why he hadn't just found a fire to throw the thing in.

But it felt right in his hand.

Was this bizarre clutteredness supposed to feel right in his mind, then?

Before he could decide whether to try to come close, to find out who else was here, his mind started sliding out of place around him. Walls, floors, space melted and the jagged heat of the Spirit swept past him, swept him up and along with it, and they were moving, shifting.

When the world stilled again, it was dark and snug, and downright radiated heat, all around him. Ryou reached out, cautiously, blindly, feeling for his surroundings, and felt only roughness lick against his fingers like sand-heavy wind. This heat... he knew it.

Was he inside the Spirit's mind?!

Ryou wished, earnestly, for a wall to bang his head against. What had the Spirit done now? Where on earth could they be, that the Spirit was his host? He couldn't see a thing, and all he could hear was a faint echo, like footsteps on stone.

At least, he decided, rubbing his incorporeal forehead, the coldness didn't seem to be near.

Or, if it was, the Spirit's close, rough heat sheltered him from it.

The Tower—Aftermath

When the world changed again, it turned inside out. The rough pressure of the Spirit's mind all around him faded away and Ryou found himself staring up at the sky. Levering himself up confirmed that he was back in his body, with all the aches and pains of a body that had, apparently, been lying in a pile of rubble.

At least his arm felt better than it had.

He felt chilly, though, especially considering he was sitting outside in full sunlight. He reached for the Ring, to reassure himself.

It was gone.

Conflicting feelings whirled through his heart. He missed the Ring's weight on his chest, and he missed the Spirit's prickly heat against him and he was nearly wild with frustration because now he couldn't ask what had happened! Not that the Spirit told him very often, but he did sometimes, if Ryou insisted.

Ryou hauled himself out of the rubble and made his way back to the Battle Ship, where he at least knew there was hot water and towels. And, just maybe, someone who could tell him what was going on.

And where his Ring was.

He had a great many questions for his Spirit, this time.

Dark RPG

Ryou had felt the heat of the Spirit's presence, making him that odd sort of drowsy he hated, when Yuugi's own Spirit had been drawn away into memories, but it had broken when Bobasa sent him away. Or maybe the heat of his own anger buried it. How dare some stranger send him away from his friends! The Spirit had said nothing and even seemed a bit distracted while Ryou found a deserted gallery and leaned against the wall stifling tears of frustration.

So he was completely unprepared for the wild swirl of heat and sinking cold that sucked him down into darkness.

Coldness was all around him.

Everywhere he turned, everywhere he tried to draw back to, was the touch of that leaden cold. Finally, in desperation to escape it, he searched for the Spirit. Even the scouring edge of the Spirit's presence would be better than this.

The Spirit's sharp glee wasn't hard to locate, and Ryou hesitated, fearing just what kind of game he would find his tenant playing now. But he slipped closer on disembodied tiptoes anyway, easing up against the heat of the Spirit's 'back'. The closer he came the stranger he felt, though. He frowned and snuck closer still.

The cold was threaded throughout the Spirit's presence, gleaming and oily.

Ryou started to draw back, horrified, only to be caught by a glimpse 'past' the Spirit.

That was his diorama! The one he'd made for his father's exhibit! And it was full of tiny figures, now...

And Yuugi's other was beyond it, glaring, teeth bared.

Fury and indignation burned through him, hot as the Spirit's passage usually was. Another RPG! Another of his games! The Spirit was playing another RPG with his friends! Again!

Or... the coldness was playing. It flexed and darkened and the Spirit moved with its motion.

Ryou scowled in the interior darkness, immaterial fingers flexing. They'd just see about this. He'd turned the game the last time; perhaps he could again.

He pressed closer, reaching out to touch the golden strands of magic or words or whatever they were from the Ring, slipping his soul between the threads of dark cold to see what the Spirit was doing.

Apparently what he was doing was winning, or almost, and Ryou chewed his lip. This would take... strategy.

How lucky for everyone that was what he was good at.

He took a breath and whispered to the Spirit, Easy games are boring, aren't they? Give them a clue.

The Spirit's own heat flared and grated against the grip of the coldness and Ryou narrowed his eyes in satisfaction. Hope rose as he heard the echo of the other Yuugi's words about how a real RPG player would play out their encounter, only to be caught back, along with the Spirit's forward rush of response, by that twining net of coldness. He glared at those strands of darkness.

This was personal, now.

He frowned listening to the echo of outer-world words coming down the threads of the Ring's magic. It felt... like both the Spirit and that cold thing. Were they actually connected, somehow? He listened closer.

...any duelist... ...thrill, facing a worthy opponent... ...but I'm just a killer...

He shuddered. That, that, wasn't the Spirit at all.

The coldness flinched, cracked for a moment, and he pressed forward, tighter against the Spirit, whispering to him that he did want the thrill, he didn't want the game to end badly, did he? But the cold tightened down again, spreading, and Ryou could only stare in horror as the third hourglass turned and the whole table begant to fall apart.

His damn table!

He gritted his teeth and reached around and through the coldness and shook the Spirit hard. This is your game! Yours and mine! Play it!

The sharp arrogance of the Spirit flashed and dragged back up against the iron cold, and he heard the Spirit laugh, taunting the other Yuugi, holding the final blow with gleeful malice just to grind the defeat in. Ryou prodded and whispered while the coldness stirred impatiently, playing for time, hoping their friends would figure their part out and do it!

Light burst up from the table and the cold recoiled, lashing through them both until Ryou could only scream. He'd come too close—

But the darkness that sucked him down was warm.

The Rite

Ryou wasn't sure how he felt about not wearing the Ring. On the one hand, the knowledge that the heavy cold he'd felt in the Ring and around the Spirit had been a piece of pure evil made him shudder every time he thought about it. He was deeply glad that he'd never feel that thing again. And, just personally, it was also nice to know that his games wouldn't be stolen again for the purposes of tormenting his friends. On the other hand...

He missed the beauty of those golden strands of words, of magic; he missed touching and listening to them.

In an odd way, he missed the Spirit; he'd been arrogant and annoying and more than a little crazed, and dealing with him had been like handling sandpaper by and large, but he'd also been heat and brightness that Ryou had never seen before.

The thought tickled the back of his mind, as they made the round of Egypt's tourist sites, as they sailed down the river, as they stepped slowly down into an underground temple, that perhaps Yuugi hadn't been the only one whose Spirit had taught him new things.

Present

Ryou stroked his fingers along the cold, gleaming curve of gold lying on his bed, feeling only the natural chill of metal. "He's gone, isn't he? Zorc. "

...Yes.

"Good!" Ryou declared fervently. "So? What is it that you want?" The Spirit was silent and he sighed, exasperated. "You wouldn't have come back if you didn't still want something for yourself." It wasn't just his friends who forgot he was a strategist and gamesman himself.

My village, the Spirit said slowly. My family. The Items were buried but not destroyed. I wasn't released from this Ring. Is it just me, or are all of their souls still trapped by the damned things?

Ryou bit his lip. Family. He understood that. But still...

"I want to see what's happening," he said, firmly. "When you're in front. I want to know what's going on."

For the first time, speaking like this, he caught a glimpse of the Spirit's face. He was smirking. Whatever you wish, of course.

Ryou had second and third thoughts, at that, but no matter how alarming it was it had to be better to know. He took a deep breath. "Promise."

The smirk had a thoughtful edge, now. All right. I promise you. You'll be aware of it all.

Ryou let his breath out. "All right." He lifted the Ring and slipped the cord over his head. "Oh, yes. One more thing."

The Spirit's smile was downright unnerving, all gleaming teeth and bright eyes. Hmmm?

"No more stabbing!"

End

Archimedes' Lever - One

What if Squalo had been taken in by the Vongola earlier, and met Xanxus much sooner? What change would that have made in both of them? Drama, I-3

In the end it all came down to Xanxus, Rafaele decided later. He didn't normally pay much attention to the mafia children until they were old enough to seek a real position. As both Gianni and Maria were wont to say, each in his or her own way, they had their fellow Guardians to satisfy any such urges. But having Xanxus running around the main house like a kid-shaped bomb, ready to go off at any second, would make anyone a little more alert. So when Tyr mentioned, after the sparring session when they were both wrapping their various cuts and bruises, that there was a promising new swordsman coming along among the children, Rafaele listened.

"Ten years old?" He paused with a palm full of salve and looked over at Tyr. "I'm not saying you're wrong, but how can you judge his promise so young? Or, perhaps I should say, his endurance?"

Tyr ran a cleaning rag down his sword in steady, even strokes. "You can tell with this one."

Tyr never used two words when one would do, or would do for the sufficiently alert mind willing to puzzle at it. You can tell, he'd said.

Which was how Rafaele came to be walking across the lawn of one of the mafia-run schools, tracking down a boy called Superbi Squalo. The teachers had known who he wanted as soon as he said the word "sword", and he thought that should probably tell him something. When he stepped through the last grove of bay laurel and out onto a grassy ring to see a thin boy lunging ferociously against practice dummies, he had the first inkling what that something was.

The boy spun toward him, sword in a low guard that looked so perfectly natural and unthinking in a ten year old's hand it send a faint shiver down Rafaele's spine.

"Who are you?" The question was a little wary and a little predatory, too.

Well, fair enough, he was a stranger and this was a school full of mafia children. "Rafaele Martelli of the Vongola."

The wariness relaxed a bit, edging toward the kind of dismissiveness Rafaele more expected from a kid. "Something you wanted?"

"I heard you were good with a sword," Rafaele answered easily. "I came to see."

Squalo frowned, easing back on his heels. "You're not with the Varia. I know Tyr already. Who are you?"

Rafaele silently aimed a mild curse or two at Tyr for not mentioning the part about already having scouted the kid for his own division of the Family, and then wondered why he hadn't. "I'm the Ninth's Rain Guardian," he supplied, wondering how that would be taken.

Squalo's eyes lit and gleamed. "The one who's supposed to be a swordsman." He was forward on his toes again. "Show me."

Rafaele blinked. "That's a bit presumptuous of you, don't you think?" he murmured.

"I don't care." Squalo's stare was fit to burn a hole through him and focused like... focused like the edge of a sword, Rafaele finished the thought slowly.

"Well, perhaps we can show each other, then," he allowed, and considered how those words echoed in his own mind as he shrugged out of his jacket and chose a practice blade from the rack.

Squalo's style was far more aggressive than his own, but it wasn't thoughtless. In fact, Rafaele could see the boy learning—sharpening, he couldn't help but think—as they fought. And when he eventually brought Squalo to a halt with the blunted point at his throat, Squalo's eyes were steady on him, unflinching. Rafaele drew back slowly, almost ready for Squalo to drive in on him again, not acknowledging his defeat.

Maybe he'd lived with Xanxus for too long already.

Instead, Squalo straightened up and nodded sharply. "I'll get better than that."

Rafaele gave him a thoughtful frown. "Why?" he finally asked. Tyr was right; Squalo's dedication was unmistakable and he had some notion of progress and pace already. But what was driving him?

Squalo was looking at him like he'd suddenly started speaking Russian instead of Italian. "To get better."

Rafaele's mouth quirked. "I gathered that, yes. But what do you want to get better for? What's the ultimate purpose of your swordwork?"

Squalo was still giving him the strange-foreign-language look, and Rafaele was getting a bad feeling about this. Perhaps he just wasn't using the right words, though; Squalo was from an established mafia family after all. He thought for a second and finally tried it the way he thought Gianni might phrase it.

"What does your sword serve?"

Ah, that seemed to click. Squalo settled and nodded a little and looked up at Rafaele more calmly. "Perfection," he answered.

Rafaele took a slow breath. This. This was what he had felt, hovering in the back of his head ever since he first saw the boy. This was why Tyr had wanted him to come. "Perfection itself must serve some larger end, or it's sterile," he said quietly. And Tyr believed that, but he was a little too given to the love of perfection, himself, to make someone like Squalo believe it. It was on Rafaele to make sure their new young sword didn't set himself up to snap.

Their new young sword, who was just about scoffing at him; well, if he'd wanted an easy life he shouldn't have said yes when Timoteo came asking for Guardians. "Perfection is weakened by thinking like that," Squalo declared. "You can't look away from it at other things."

"And yet I won today," Rafaele pointed out. "And my sword serves the Vongola Family, not itself."

Squalo glowered at him and muttered. "Just 'cause you're older."

Rafaele smiled wryly. "That is an advantage. But having something to serve gives you strength that you'll never find in the sword alone."

Squalo crossed his arms and eyed Rafaele skeptically for a long moment. "Prove it."

Rafaele thought about that for a moment. "All right, then." He held out a hand. "Come with me. We'll visit some other people who serve the same thing I do and perhaps you'll see."

If they hurried, he could probably catch Maria's afternoon training session.

They were in good time to find Maria grinding her training partner into the mats with her customary efficiency. Even Squalo looked a little impressed by the sound Alberto made landing. Maria shook her hand out briskly and looked over at Rafaele with a raised brow.

"You're early."

"I was hoping I could catch you for a bout today."

She smiled at that, slowly. Alberto managed about half a laugh as he levered himself to his feet. "Sounds like that's my cue." He waved at them as he staggered out.

"For a little more than just practice today, I think," Rafaele added.

Maria's brows went up at that and she glanced at Squalo as Rafaele directed him over by the wall. "Who's this?"

"Superbi Squalo. We're having a philosophical debate." Rafaele smiled a bit at the exasperated look Maria gave him, just about a match for Squalo's.

"Fine, whatever." She smiled again when Rafaele chose an unblunted blade and beckoned him onto the floor.

Fighting with a sword against bare hands required a different technique than against another sword, and fighting against Maria required total concentration. Rafaele couldn't spare anything to watch Squalo watching them as they pressed each other harder and harder, only hope that he would see everything. Rafaele held out as long as he could, drove himself the way he would for a fight the Family required and pulled Maria along with him, hoping it would be enough for Squalo to see.

Eventually even his speed and footwork wasn't enough, and Maria twisted past his blade and slammed him into the mats, one arm against his throat, teeth bared in a grin. Rafaele let his breath out and nodded.

And then he just lay there, panting for breath as Maria hauled herself upright. Finally he turned his head to look over at Squalo who did, indeed, look impressed. "Maria," Rafaele told him, a bit hoarsely, "is one of the Vongola's strongest fighters." He looked up at her and asked, levelly, "Maria, what does your strength serve?"

She snorted and toed him in the ribs, probably for making her into a teaching demonstration. "Stupid question. The Vongola, of course."

He gave her a wry shrug, asking silently who else he should have used. She glared, but held down a hand to help him up, tacitly forgiving him. "One person alone, even the strongest, will fail in the end," Rafaele said to Squalo, pressing a hand against his ribs. "The Vongola have always known this. If we fight as part of the Family, though, for the Family, there is always both need and strength beyond just ourselves."

Squalo was frowning again. "But all that will distract you from being the best fighter you can be," he protested.

Maria's snort was more emphatic this time. "Do I look distracted to you, kid?"

Squalo hesitated. "Well. No, I guess not."

"Rafaele reads too much." She waved at him dismissively. "He makes it more complicated than it has to be. If you don't fight for something, if it's just for the sake of fighting, you're nothing but a mad dog."

Squalo opened his mouth, eyes hot, and then closed it again slowly, frowning at Maria, and then at Rafaele. "Tyr... is better than you are," he finally said to Rafaele.

Rafaele suppressed a smile at the edge of uncertainty in Squalo's voice. "He is. And, yes, part of it is probably because he cares so much for the sword itself." He came to crouch in front of Squalo and laid a hand on his shoulder. "But once you have that sword, what are you going to do with it? Just keep looking for people to fight and kill?" Because then, he was starting to fear, you became Xanxus and he really didn't think they needed any more like that. He felt Squalo's shoulder settle under his hand, and those sharp eyes were focused again when Squalo looked up.

"No. Not like that."

This time Rafaele let the smile show. "Good. I'll be glad to fight beside you, then."

Maria put a knee in his shoulder and shoved him over. "Yes, yes, good fellowship toward all men, and the rest of that. You're in front of the medicine cabinet, move."

Rafaele righted himself with a low laugh as Maria pulled out the antiseptic and started spraying it over her cuts from their fight. "Maria is our Cloud Guardian," he told Squalo, by way of explanation. He watched it sink in, that the Cloud thought fighting for the Family was the right thing, and nodded to himself, pleased.

"Come and meet some of the others," Rafaele offered. "It's good to learn to fight against many kinds of opponents."

"Okay." This time Squalo didn't bristle at the hand Rafaele rested on his shoulder to guide him through the halls.

It didn't take long for everyone to get used to Squalo popping in and out of the main house, usually in search of Rafaele but he'd take anyone he could pin down for a training session. That included Piero, and Rafaele supposed he should have known that meant Squalo and Xanxus would meet sooner rather than later. He still had a moment of unease the day he emerged onto the outdoor shooting range and found Squalo quietly watching Xanxus shoot.

Squalo was never quiet without a good reason.

Xanxus, on the other hand, was always quiet when he was shooting, and the way he looked at the targets never failed to put a chill in Rafaele's veins. Piero praised Xanxus' focus and dedication, but to Rafaele the boy looked more than a little crazy like this—like he had someone particular in mind to aim at and was enjoying it a lot.

And Squalo was leaning against the rail of the gallery, eyes fixed on Xanxus.

When Xanxus emptied his clip and stepped back and saw them, his face shuttered instantly, eyes flicking between Rafaele and Squalo a few times before settling on the other boy. "What are you staring at?" he demanded.

The rudeness rolled right off Squalo, who was downright grinning. "You. That. That was cool. Hey, do you fight close-range, too?"

Xanxus snorted, hands moving over the gun, reloading without looking. "Of course."

Rafaele raised a brow at Piero, who shrugged and mouthed, "Street fighting." Rafaele remembered where they had found the boy and sighed. Squalo was far more enthused.

"Great!" He practically bounced down the steps and held out a hand to Xanxus. "Fight with me!"

Not for the first time, Rafaele reflected that mafia children grew up in a very different world than other children. Piero was nodding approval, though. "Yeah, you two should be decently matched, and you should get more practice against edged weapons. Go ahead."

Xanxus grunted and jerked his head at Squalo.

Rafaele trailed the three of them inside, hoping that his bad feeling about this was an overreaction.

Xanxus fought without any kind of restraint that Rafaele could see, but that didn't seem to faze Squalo. Of course, in justice, Rafaele had to admit, neither did getting hammered through the mat by Maria, who didn't believe in mercy to her training partners no matter how young. Squalo met Xanxus' vicious blows and kicks with fluid twists that were starting to be his personal style, and matched Xanxus' bared teeth with a grin of his own. When he landed on the mat for the last time, arm twisted hard behind him, he actually laughed breathlessly as he tapped out.

"That was great," he declared, working his shoulder a little as Xanxus let him up. He stuck out his other hand, shaking fine hair back from his face, and grinned up at Xanxus. "I'm Squalo. Good to meet you."

Xanxus nodded a little, looking satisfied at having won, though he ignored the extended hand loftily. "Yeah."

Squalo' eyes were just about glowing. "So. You want to train some more some time?"

Xanxus gave him a proud look, the kind that always made Rafaele feel a headache coming on. "Think you're good enough to train with the Ninth's son?"

Squalo tipped his head to the side. "Oh, you're his fourth son? I thought you were older." He shrugged it off. "Well, whatever."

Xanxus turned very still, staring at him. "You... didn't know who I was?"

"Sure I did." Squalo grinned as he stood. "You're good, that's what."

Rafaele could think of reasons, though none he liked, why that would make Xanxus look annoyed, but none why it would make him look, just for a moment, lost. He frowned and tucked the moment away to think about later.

"So, what about it?" Squalo prodded.

"I... sure, I guess so," Xanxus muttered.

Squalo was pleased and Piero looked approving, so Rafaele resigned himself. Hell, maybe having someone close to his own age would help civilize Xanxus a little, he thought, wistfully. "Come on then," he told his protege. "You can have another round with Xanxus later. Tyr wanted to see you today."

As he shepherded Squalo out, he glanced back to see Xanxus watching them leave with a tiny frown of what looked like genuine puzzlement.

TBC

Archimedes' Lever - Two

Squalo bonds with Xanxus, and none too soon as Xanxus finds out some things the Ninth had kept from him. Drama with Angst and Sort-of Romance, I-4

Squalo strolled around the edges of the wedding crowd beside Xanxus, keeping an eye out for any unattended cake they could nail down. He didn't have all that much of a sweet tooth personally, but it was a way of keeping score among the kids. After all, twelve year olds couldn't rack up kills yet, or negotiations concluded in their Family's favor. "Vieri are here," he observed. "Furetto, too. Guess that means Bertoldi's dad made him stop sulking and come along." He snorted a little; as if Bertoldi had ever had a chance with Dianora Leone.

Xanxus just grunted, and Squalo grinned crookedly. Sounded like Xanxus was in a bad mood. Again. He just kept chatting. Xanxus brooded a lot; Squalo hadn't been sure what the word really meant until he'd met Xanxus, but Xanxus was practically the definition of it. He came out of it eventually, if you just stayed close.

Well, and didn't lecture, which was where the grown ups always seemed to go wrong.

"Orsini, too," he observed idly, watching Giotto and Ignacio maneuvering for the punch bowl—good luck on that.

His head snapped up at the sound Xanxus made this time, low and ugly. "Xanxus?" His friend's face was dark and hard, lips curled up a little over his teeth, and a tingle slid down Squalo's nerves at that signal of a threat or fight on the horizon. Xanxus wasn't looking at the Orsini boys, though. His eyes were fixed straight ahead where Pino Tomasso and a few of his friends had come to stand.

Oh, great.

"Wedding isn't the place to start a fight," Squalo sing-songed under his breath, not that he thought that would do a bit of good if Xanxus lost his temper. The only answer he got was a snarl. Squalo sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed along, because Xanxus wasn't turning aside a single centimeter. He never did, and Squalo liked that, no matter how many lectures from the grown ups it meant.

"Hey, Xanxus," Pino called, crossing his arms. "Didn't expect to see you here."

The only answer he got was a stony stare. He plowed on anyway.

"Doesn't seem like the kind of place you'd be comfortable." He grinned at his friends, who grinned back and nudged each other. "I mean, a wedding. Must be kind of new to you, huh?" His smile turned vicious and his voice lowered as he finished. "Since your mom never had one, did she?"

Brightness flashed around Xanxus' clenched hand, and something very dark twisted his face. Squalo felt like that twist was in his gut, too. A few heads turned out among the crowd of grown ups, but damned if Squalo was waiting for them.

A man took care of his own business.

And wiping the smirk off Pino Tomasso's face with a fist to his stomach and an elbow across his jaw was damn satisfying business. Pino spat blood and straightened up with the help of a hand under his arm, glaring at Squalo as a few more boys materialized out of the crowd at his back. Squalo could see Xanxus staring at him, from the corner of his eye, but he kept his gaze on Pino, daring him to say more. "You'll regret standing by a bastard like Xanxus," Pino told him, low and vicious, and then there weren't any more words, just fists. Squalo could hear Xanxus snarling, behind him, and the memory of how his face had looked at Pino's words drove Squalo's feet faster and his fists harder. By the time Rafaele and two of the Tomasso's men arrived to pull them apart there was only one of Pino's friends still standing.

"Honestly... can't even stay out of trouble at a wedding..." Rafaele muttered as he swiped at their faces with a wet handkerchief.

"They asked for it," Xanxus growled, twisting aside.

"Even if they did, this wasn't the place for it," Rafaele told him severely. Squalo didn't think that was entirely fair.

"You'd have done it too, if they'd said that about your mother," he pointed out.

Rafaele paused and sighed. "I see."

"Besides, I was the one who punched Pino first." Squalo grabbed the cloth away from Rafaele to clean his own face with, frowning. "And you were right."

Rafaele blinked. "Excuse me?"

"It is different, when you're fighting for... for a reason." Squalo didn't look up. "For Family." He glanced at Xanxus, who had stopped still and was looking at him very oddly. Squalo shrugged and finished wiping the blood off his chin and offered Xanxus the handkerchief.

After a moment, he took it, not quite meeting Squalo's eyes. "Yeah. Whatever."

Squalo snorted a little, and winced at the way it made his ribs hurt. He was still amused. Xanxus was really bad at the people stuff.

Rafaele was shaking his head. "The two of you," he sighed.

Squalo considered that for a moment and smiled. "Yeah," he agreed, flashing a grin at Xanxus.

Xanxus finally met his eyes and took a slow step closer.

Squalo leaned back on his un-sprained hand and gave his mentor a satisfied look. "The two of us. That was what you wanted me to do, wasn't it?"

Rafaele put a hand over his eyes and laughed helplessly.

Training with Gianni was kind of like training blindfolded, only worse, because you saw things all right, but you couldn't trust any of them. Squalo absolutely hated it, and badgered Rafaele to convince Gianni to come more often, because anything he hated that much was obviously a weakness. Today there were real obstacles among the illusions, which was a particularly nasty touch that Squalo appreciated. Or, at least, he would appreciate it as soon as his head stopped ringing.

"Urgh," he said, and rolled over on his back to see what it was he actually tripped over. A footlocker sat where none had a minute ago, and the opponent he'd been chasing after had disappeared.

No wonder the Ninth's right had was supposed to be so good at negotiations.

By the time Gianni called a halt for the day Squalo was covered in bruises and Gianni didn't have a mark on him, the bastard. Squalo grinned at him. "I'll be better when I come back."

Gianni smiled just a little, but whatever he'd been about to say slid out of Squalo's mind as one of the shadows along the wall stirred.

"Xanxus!" Squalo trotted over before his friend could slip away or do any of the other stupid things he'd been doing this whole week. "Here to train or just to watch?" he asked. Xanxus' answer was a particularly inarticulate grunt and Squalo's smile quirked. "Well, anyway, come on." He took the precaution of towing Xanxus along with him as he racked his sword and nodded to Gianni, and didn't let go until they were out in the hall. They walked together silently, and Squalo waited.

"You're really going?" Xanxus finally asked, head down, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Yeah," Squalo said quietly. "Tyr thinks it's the right time. That I need to see and fight more styles than I'll find here. Feels like he's right." He glanced up at Xanxus' dark expression. "It'll probably only be a year or so."

"Mm."

Squalo rolled his eyes silently and tried another approach. "Well, how am I supposed to be able to keep up with you, if I don't keep advancing?"

That nudged Xanxus into an equally familiar but different response, one brow lifting as he eyed Squalo. "Think a lot of yourself, don't you?"

Squalo laughed. "Wherever you go, I'm following." He grinned as Xanxus' stride hitched; Xanxus never expected things like that, it was almost too easy. "I have to be the best to keep up, right?" He looked up to find Xanxus staring at him and shook his head, jostling Xanxus' shoulder companionably with his own. "Come on, you know that by now, don't you?"

Xanxus looked away and walked on. After a few more strides he said, quietly, "You want to train a few rounds before you go?"

Squalo smiled. "Sure."

Squalo expected to be welcomed home after a year away, but Rafaele had greeted Squalo with such a fervent "Thank God you're back," that Squalo was instantly suspicious.

"What's going on?"

"It's Xanxus."

Squalo narrowed his eyes and sat down at Rafaele's kitchen table with folded arms. "Okay, what did you guys do wrong this time?"

Rafaele gave him a stern look for a moment before sighing. "All right, perhaps there's some justice in that." He poured two cups of coffee and sat down across from Squalo. "There's been some factional trouble brewing, a few of the under-bosses starting to say that Xanxus should be heir, not Federico. What we're afraid of is that they aren't moving on their own."

"Outsiders stirring up trouble?" Squalo had seen that often enough in school.

"Maybe. The Cetrulli, Gianni thinks." Rafaele took a sip of his coffee and leaned back. "The problem is that Xanxus has heard and seems to be taking to the idea."

Squalo shrugged. "Well, why wouldn't he?"

Rafaele coughed on a swallow of coffee and frowned at him. Squalo leaned back and frowned right back at him.

"Look. I follow Xanxus, okay? That doesn't mean just calming him down so he'll go along with whatever you and the Ninth think is good. If he wants to compete with Federico to be the Tenth, it's him I'll be helping."

Rafaele set his cup down carefully. "If you follow him, and intend to aid him, doesn't that include protecting him from the manipulation of outsiders? It won't serve him if the fight just breaks the Family apart for the Cetrulli to pick off. This is why the Family must come first, Squalo."

Squalo thought about that. "Yeah, okay. I guess you're right." Of course, if Xanxus still thought it was a good idea, some other month when it wouldn't just stir up trouble some other Family could take advantage of, well that would be another time.

Rafaele breathed out. "Good. Help me keep this from getting out of hand, then." His mouth quirked wryly. "You're probably the only one he'll listen to right now."

Squalo snorted and pushed himself onto his feet. "That's because none of you understand him."

At the time, even he didn't know how right he was, but they all found out six weeks and four days later. Squalo remembered that day very clearly for a very long time.

It started with an explosion.

Squalo ran for the Ninth's office, and at first everyone around was running in the same direction. The closer he got, though, the more foot soldiers were retreating just as quickly, and Squalo had to shove his way past to break out in the clear area around the office door. Which was when he could hear who was shouting.

Xanxus' voice pulled him in the door like it was a rope tied around him.

The room was a wreck. The bullet-proof glass of the window was shattered and blown out. Chairs and a table were overturned. As Squalo came in he had to duck the vase Xanxus had just hurled at the wall, and was pelted with shards as it burst.

"All this time!" Xanxus shouted, pointing at the Ninth, and Squalo could see why Gianni was standing in front of his boss looking tense; Xanxus' Flame was flickering in and out around his hands. "What the fuck, were you just laughing at the idiot who fell for it?!"

The Ninth pulled Gianni gently back, brows twisted. "Xanxus, no..."

Xanxus laughed, harsh and raw. "Telling me I was your son so your goddamned Family could use me! And all this time it's a lie, and I'm nothing!" Squalo's eyes widened, hearing that.

"No! I didn't ever mean to use you, and I never wanted it to be a lie...!"

"Shut up!" Xanxus screamed. This time it was a chair he picked up and hurled against the wall with wild strength, cracking the back and two legs off. The rage and outrage and raw fear in his voice made Squalo flinch.

"Xanxus," he called, trying to break through.

"Nothing," Xanxus grated, glaring at the old men like he didn't see them, like he hadn't heard Squalo at all. Squalo took a breath.

"Boss!"

Both the Ninth and Xanxus looked around at that, but Squalo only had eyes for Xanxus. "Boss," he said, more quietly. "What does it matter?"

"...what?" Xanxus really looked like he didn't understand the words, and Squalo told the crinkle down his spine to go away and stepped closer.

"What difference does it make?" he asked as he came to stand in front of Xanxus, holding those blank eyes with his. "You're still you. You're Xanxus. That hasn't changed. That's all that matters."

Slowly Xanxus' eyes focused on him properly. Very quietly, hoarse from screaming, he asked, "Are you telling me the truth?"

Squalo stomped down a wince at that. Man, when the Ninth fucked up, he did it in style, didn't he? "I am," he answered, flat and sure, and reached up to grip Xanxus' shoulder. He didn't move as Xanxus' own hand flashed up, though he did relax when it clamped down on his wrist, holding his hand in place.

Xanxus took a slow, shuddering breath and looked up at the Ninth. "Why?"

"Because I wanted it to be true," the old man said, and even Squalo could hear the ache in his voice. "Because it was true in my heart. Not to use you, I swear it. If you'd chosen to leave the mafia and go be a citrus farmer, I'd have still thought of you as my son."

Xanxus had that blank look again, but his voice was more normally puzzled and exasperated when he asked again, "Why?"

The Ninth sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Finally he said, quietly, "Because underneath the angry, sullen child I first met, I could see the man you might become. And I wanted very much to know him." He looked up, and Squalo glanced away, embarrassed by the raw emotion in his face. "I still want to know him."

A shudder ran through Xanxus, under Squalo's hand. "I'll... I need to... I'll just..." Xanxus spun around abruptly and stalked out the door. Without letting go of Squalo's wrist.

Squalo waved his fingers at the Ninth and Gianni in what he hoped was an It's okay, I'll handle it, stay there sort of way, and let himself be towed along, down the halls as people ducked out of their way, and back to Xanxus' rooms. Xanxus slammed the door behind them and stood for a moment, half turned away from Squalo.

"You called me 'boss'," he finally said.

Squalo shrugged. "You're the one I follow. Doesn't matter to me whether you're his blood or not. You have the Flame. You have the strength."

Xanxus looked around at him, eyes dark, still breathing fast from the fight and their retreat here. "But not the right."

Squalo smiled, crookedly. "You have the right to me."

He didn't quite realize the double meaning of what he'd said until the agitation in the set of Xanxus' shoulders, and tightness around his eyes, changed. "Do I?" He pushed Squalo back up against the closed door, grip on his wrist shifting, and asked again, lower. "Do I? Are you really mine?"

Squalo swallowed; there was hunger in the way Xanxus looked at him, and more than one kind of hunger. He thought he could answer the part that wanted a place and reminders of his worth, but the other... He'd only just started getting to grips with all this hormone stuff and still wasn't entirely sure about the whole women thing, but... this was Xanxus. And that was different. Slowly he reached up with his free hand, winding his fingers in Xanxus' jacket. "Yeah."

Xanxus' mouth covered his, hot and wet and a little awkward. Squalo didn't care, because it felt good to have Xanxus' body pressed against his; it felt right. When Xanxus' thigh slid between his legs it felt better than good.

"So," he said, breathless, "if being the Tenth is out, how about the Varia?"

Xanxus lifted his head. "With you, you mean?"

Squalo shrugged, looking up at him. "I'm yours, right?"

The tautness in Xanxus finally relaxed and he leaned against Squalo, letting out a slow breath.

"Yeah."

"He's still in there, huh?"

Squalo leaned in Xanxus' doorway, arms crossed. "Yeah."

Rafaele sighed. "I guess we have to come to him, then."

"Not yet, you don't." Rafaele blinked and Squalo glared. "Not until he's ready to talk to you." And he closed the door firmly.

"Still not yet?"

"No."

"We can't just wait on his brooding forever," Gianni said over the maid's shoulder.

Squalo took the tray of food from her and raised his brows at Gianni. "Why not?" He closed the door.

"Are they still out there?" Xanxus asked as Squalo sat on the edge of the bed.

"It is the main house," Squalo pointed out. "I don't think they're going anywhere."

Xanxus ran a hand through his hair. "Why?" He sounded at a real loss and Squalo cocked his head.

"Guess you won't know until you ask them," he said quietly.

"Okay, go get the Ninth, you can come in," Squalo told Rafaele, and ignored the things Rafaele muttered under his breath. He just went back to stand at Xanxus' shoulder.

Once the Ninth and Gianni and Rafaele had gotten themselves settled, there was a moment of uncomfortable silence. The Ninth finally broke it with a cautious, "I'm glad to see you're doing all right, my boy."

Xanxus twitched. "Quit calling me that. It's not like I'm really your son."

Squalo thought the Ninth almost flinched.

"You've been my son in my heart," the old man insisted.

Xanxus' hair was a complete mess from how often he'd been running his hands through it. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he demanded. "You said you didn't lie to me just so you could use me, but why else would you do something like that?"

The Ninth looked down at his hands. "When I first saw you I saw a child who'd been hurt and denied far too often. I didn't want to deny you again, and you'd been told you were mine. If I was to take you in and raise you as my own, what harm in letting you, and the rest of the world, believe you were mine by blood, too? At least," he finished, quieter, "that was what I thought then. I..." he sighed. "I'm sorry."

Xanxus just stared at him, face blank. "I don't get it."

Rafaele stirred, glancing between the Ninth and Xanxus and... Squalo? "Look," he said, "Squalo doesn't care where or how you were born, does he? He follows you anyway."

Squalo's spine straightened at that and he gave his mentor a hard look. "Damn right." He glanced down at Xanxus, and settled a bit as he saw the hard line of Xanxus' shoulders relaxing a little.

"It's like that," Rafaele went on. "Timoteo doesn't care about those things either. He wants you to take a son's place in this house, regardless of whether you were born to it or not."

Xanxus' eyes on the old man were dark, now, and confused Squalo thought. "But why me?" he finally said, voice low and cracking a little, and Squalo couldn't help reaching out to close a hand on his shoulder.

The Ninth smiled, gentle and maybe just a little wobbly. "I told you that already, didn't I? I saw some of what you might become. And I think I'll like that man, and I want to know him."

A shudder ran through Xanxus, under Squalo's hand, and he bit his lip. "But I... I'm just..." He bit down harder, stopping himself.

Squalo considered the tension he could feel and made shoo-ing motions at the old men with his free hand. After a judicious look at Xanxus, Rafaele nodded and stood. As the Ninth and Gianni followed, and turned toward the door, Xanxus said, low and rough, "Come back tomorrow...?"

Squalo felt like he might need to squint in face of the Ninth's sudden smile. "Of course, my boy."

Squalo listened for the door closing before he came around to kneel between Xanxus' legs and pull him close. Xanxus' arms locked tight around him, and now Squalo could feel his whole body shaking. "Hey," he said, quietly, not adding any idiocy about was Xanxus okay, just letting him know Squalo was there. They stayed there for a long time.

TBC

Archimedes' Lever - Three

Xanxus is finally finding his place in the Family when everything is upset again. Drama, Angst, I-4

When Xanxus finally came out of his rooms the way people looked at him made him twitch. He really wanted to scream at them that it was all over, now, didn't they know he was a fake anyway? But they wouldn't have any clue what he meant.

His fa— the old man had explained it, when Squalo had, eventually, let him in.

"Even if we put it around that you're not mine by blood, half of them won't believe it," he'd said quietly. "And the other half... well. If your blood comes from the Second instead of me, it's still Vongola, and there have been times in our history when legitimacy was... made not to matter."

"And we have to deal with the situation as it is," Staffieri had added. "Simply disowning your claim and suppressing this would be no service to the Family. Or to you."

Part of him was glad they felt goddamn guilty about this, and part of him was uncomfortable about feeling glad, and most of him was pissed off about both parts.

When they got to the Varia, the looks changed, and Xanxus was glad of it. These looks were only assessing, only wondering Are you stronger than me? and he could deal with that a lot easier. He straightened his spine, and listened to Squalo pointing out this or that squad leader and listing out his strengths and weaknesses, and recalled that Squalo had been trained to lead this group.

Eventually Tyr met them, a lean graying man, one handed, who cast a dry glance over the tail of Varia members they'd picked up. "Squalo," the man said, not sounding loud but clear enough for everyone to hear, "is it true you're willing to step aside in Xanxus' favor?"

A low murmur ran around the watching crowd as Squalo raised his chin. "Of course."

Tyr ran a subtle eye over the watchers and nodded to himself. "All right, then." He beckoned to Xanxus. "Come show me what you're made of."

Xanxus shrugged. He'd expected a trial of some kind.

"The Varia's standards of training are harsher than most," Tyr noted, apparently to thin air as he led Xanxus out into open air. "Nothing is forbidden. No blow, no weapon, no technique, as long as you don't actually kill each other."

Xanxus considered that. So he couldn't shoot the man straight on with his Flame, and that was about it. Not bad. "All right."

Tyr turned fluidly and lunged straight for him, blade suddenly out.

Xanxus bared his teeth as he spun aside. Now this he understood.

Tyr was good. Maybe even a shade better than Squalo, with a sword, and Squalo had come back from his year away able to beat Martelli two out of three. Xanxus didn't have attention to spare from the fight, but still quick flashes of awareness of the watching Varia came to him: people standing silently, people hidden in the shadows of trees and buildings, the glint of sun on metal, the rising tide of whispers running under the crack and roar of his shots.

When he and Tyr stopped still, the edge of Tyr's blade against his throat and the barrel of his gun pressed to Tyr's chest, there was silence.

Tyr's expression was just as cool and dry as it had been at the start. He nodded and flicked his sword away, stepping back. "You'll do."

A low laugh ran through the crowd and the watchers unraveled at once, talking quietly, smiling, hands cutting the air demonstratively. Xanxus caught a few bits of conversation.

"Another year at least..."

"...months, maybe."

"...right now if it were for real, but..."

Tyr murmured, undervoiced, "The day you can defeat me clearly is the day they will accept you as the Varia's leader."

Well all right, that made sense. Xanxus nodded. "Okay."

"At least," Tyr added, even dryer than usual, "with the both of you here I can be fairly sure you'll give your whole attention to it. Squalo has been rather distracted this year."

Squalo gave the man a dirty look. "Some things come first." He edged closer to Xanxus.

Xanxus let a breath out. He understood this place. He could deal with it. And Squalo was right here with him. He'd have a place of his own to stand in while he tried to figure out how the hell to deal with his... He hesitated and finished the thought slowly.

His family.

Xanxus pulled out a chair and slouched comfortably down into it. "So? What's this about?" He noticed Staffieri's faintly disapproving look and traded him a half-hearted sneer. Getting the old man's Guardians to frown used to be kind of a fun game, but there wasn't as much shine to it these days.

Not that that stopped him from sitting any way he damn well wanted to.

"Tyr said you asked for my squad," he prompted, crossing his legs.

"I'm not sure it isn't overkill, but I'd rather be safe this time," the old man sighed. "More than one of our mainland holdings has been attacked this month."

Xanxus' brows rose. "I didn't hear anything about a new war."

"All of the attacks were specific hits on the under-bosses in charge there," Staffieri said quietly, folding his hands. "They were all done by the same man. He alleges to be an independent, but we doubt that very much."

Xanxus cocked his head. "So you want him taken out, or the people behind him?" He smiled thinly. "Or both?"

Staffieri glanced at the old man, and then across the table at Federico. "That is the subject of some debate."

Xanxus eyed his bro... Federico with real surprise. "You think we should go for the source?"

Federico gave the old man a rueful smile. "I'm afraid so. Less," he looked back at Xanxus sharply, "to make a clean sweep of it..."

Xanxus snorted. Yeah, he'd always been the only practical one as far as he could tell.

"...than because I don't think we can avoid it and we might as well face them on our own terms."

The old man leaned forward on his elbows and sighed. "Perhaps you're right, and we can't avoid it. But I would like to try for a little longer. We're aware of the threat now, and by answering it this way," he opened a hand at Xanxus, "we leave the door open for less explosive negotiations."

Xanxus grunted. "Guess I can wait for later, then." The old man looked a little pained and he rolled his eyes. "Tell me who I'm after, then. We'll take care of it." Staffieri slid a folder down the table to him and he flipped through it. Finally he flipped it closed with another snort. "Piece of cake."

Federico laughed a little. "Good to see you enjoying your work." He leaned over and ruffled Xanxus' hair.

Xanxus swatted at his hand indignantly. "I'm not goddamn twelve anymore, knock that the fuck off!" He would have thought his damn brother got the hint when Xanxus bit him for doing that, when he was fourteen.

Federico leaned his chin on his fist, grinning. "What? I am glad, that's all."

"Well yeah, since it doesn't involve you dying, I bet you are," Xanxus muttered.

"That too," Federico agreed.

Xanxus considered, glumly, what kind of boss Federico was likely to be to work for. Maybe, when he was in charge, he could move the Varia headquarters further away from the main house.

The old man was smiling a little.

Xanxus pushed himself up and waved at the lot of them with the folder. "We'll take care of it. I'll tell you when we're done." He stalked out while he still had some fucking dignity and went to find Squalo. Squalo was good at planning this kind of stuff.

And he made the world feel a little more real after Xanxus had had to deal with his damn family.

"It was the Cetrulli. We caught a few of them who were slow getting away from the ambush."

Xanxus felt like his brain was buzzing. He could barely make sense of Maria's words. Or maybe that was because of her voice, flat and toneless.

Federico's body was laid out laid out under sheets in front of them. The useless doctors had already gone away.

"The Cetrulli," someone said, and he realized distantly that it was him.

The Cetrulli Family had killed Federico.

They had killed his brother.

He turned his eyes from the body to his father; it felt like his neck muscles creaked, like he'd been frozen there, staring, for years.

"They're going to die," he said, as flat as Maria had been. "I'm going to kill them. Every single goddamned one of them." The more he thought about that, the more he wanted to move, to go, right now. His voice rose. "I'm going to burn their House to the ground." Nothing he was looking at made sense to him, except Federico's still body.

And the slicing edge of rage in the old man's eyes as they rose to meet his. That too.

"Yes. Take who you need and do it."

Staffieri stirred, looking up. "Timoteo..."

"I will not forgive this," the old man said, low and harsh. "He was right all along. We should have taken this war to the Cetrulli months ago. I'm done speaking to them." His voice fell to a whisper. "Let his brother avenge him in the name of our Family."

Xanxus couldn't listen to anything else. He felt like he could barely hear anything else. The Ninth said he could go, that was all he needed. He spun away, and Squalo was at his side as he stalked through the halls, snapping orders, calling not just for his own squad of the Varia but all the others too.

His guns were around his hips. People were boiling out of the house behind him. Squalo was beside him, sword in one hand. So were the old man's Sun and Storm, and Xanxus remembered that the body laid out beside Federico's had been Rizzo's son.

There was road and city and road, and then the climb through the low hills to the Cetrulli main house, and the silence of the Varia spread out around him, the faint rustle of other foot soldiers following after.

And then there was Flame.

There was rage like he hadn't felt for years, blind, red fury at the whole world. No, not the whole world—just the Cetrulli. They had taken something, stolen it, they had tried to make his world the bleak, filthy scrabble it used to be, and he was going to destroy them for it. The Flame of Wrath rose up out of the core of him, pressed diamond hard and sharper than any steel, and he fed it to his guns and fired it out, away from him.

Walls cracked and burst and he barely noticed them falling around him. Men ran through the burning halls and he shot them down as they crossed his path. There was nothing but the Flame and his rage and the screams and movement of the world fading around him.

"Xanxus. Xanxus! Boss!"

He snapped back into focus, because those were Squalo's hands on his arms, shaking him. "What?"

Squalo's mouth twisted. "It's over."

Xanxus looked around at the smoking ruins of the Cetrulli house, the litter of rubble and bodies. "Oh."

Squalo pushed him down on a reasonably flat pile of concrete, hands still firm on his shoulders. "You back with me, now?"

Xanxus had to think about it for a moment. "...yeah."

Squalo just nodded and sat down beside him and fished out a rag to start cleaning his sword with.

As the shock of coming back lifted, Xanxus leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He hurt. There was no blood of his on him and he hurt anyway. That was not, he decided, fair. He'd destroyed the ones who tried to break his world, shouldn't he not hurt any more?

Except that the part they'd broken was still gone.

The thought made him suck in a fast breath between his teeth and swallow down a raw sound in his throat. Squalo left his sword and rested a hand on his back without looking up. "Here," he said quietly.

Yes. What was his was still here.

At least... part of it. Another part, part of his... his family, wasn't, no matter how much he destroyed. All told, he'd have preferred spending all this effort before that happened; that seemed like a fairer exchange.

Xanxus scrubbed a hand over his face. "Maybe," he said, very low, "you and Martelli weren't crazy after all. What he always said about doing things for the Family."

"Yeah," Squalo said quietly. "I think he was right."

Eventually Xanxus stood up again and looked around for his squads to take them back home.

Xanxus slouched in a chair and snorted under his breath as yet another ambassador from another Family danced around trying to tell the old man that he shouldn't have smashed the whole Cetrulli Family for killing his son.

The Orsini's man glanced at him nervously. "The destruction of the entire Family..." he started, and Xanxus lost his temper and slapped a hand down on the table. He took some satisfaction in the way the man jumped.

"They touched my Family," he growled, and ignored the way Staffieri's brows quirked at his emphasis. Too bad if he didn't like it; the man wasn't his right hand, after all. "They should have goddamn well expected it, and so should the rest of you spineless little—"

"Xanxus," the old man cut in, firmly.

Xanxus snorted and leaned back, still glaring at the Orsini idiot.

"The Cetrulli took it upon themselves to assassinate my heir," the old man told the ambassador levelly. "The Vongola were well within our rights to return such a mortal blow and insult."

"Well, perhaps, but the whole House..." the Orsini man dithered.

"Then perhaps," the old man said quietly, "their allies should take the lesson to heart."

Xanxus' lips curled up as the man excused himself, looking spooked.

"Well, this has been enlivening," the old man's Outside Advisor said, sounding genuinely cheerful as he and the whole lot of the Ninth's Guardians stretched or relaxed in their chairs, ranged behind their boss.

Xanxus eyed them. "There aren't any more idiots come to complain, then?"

"That was the last of them," Martelli agreed.

"Mm." He was almost disappointed. The more he could scare the envoys, the less those Families would ever consider touching his again.

Piero chuckled. "Don't worry. You'll get to intimidate more of them at the next social gathering, I'm sure."

Xanxus paused in the act of slouching a little more. "The next what?" He scowled at his father. Hadn't everyone figured out years ago that he didn't mix with all those damn parties where he was supposed to smile and not shoot anyone?

"I wasn't going to mention that quite yet," the old man murmured, and Piero looked abashed.

"Um. Oops?"

"You are not making me go back to parties again," Xanxus stated.

"I'm afraid it's likely you'll have to," the old man said, and it didn't help at all that he sounded apologetic. "If you're going to be the new heir."

Xanxus stared at him. "That's not possible," he finally managed. "I'm not really..."

The old man held up a hand. "I said, years ago, there have been times in our past when legitimacy was made to not matter. And, in fact, there is no actual evidence that you are not legitimate."

Xanxus opened his mouth and closed it again, totally at a loss. "But... my..." His mother. The son of a whore was pretty damn illegitimate, wasn't he?

The old man stood and came around to the chair beside him, lying a hand on the rigid line of his arm. "Your mother was married. The license was among her papers. I don't know why or exactly when the man left; we don't know for sure that he's still alive. But they were married."

"But she said..." Xanxus felt like something important was upside down somewhere.

"She said you were my child, too, and she and I never met." The old man shrugged. "As for your earlier lineage... well, you do favor the Second. He had a handful of children outside his marriage, to be sure, but there was also a legitimate child who married out of the mafia, and her children are not well documented in our records."

"And more importantly than that," Martelli said, quietly, "you have taken this Family as your own and proven you will defend it."

"You're definitely the strongest of Timoteo's sons," Piero put in.

"And while you will be a bit of a change in leadership style," Staffieri observed dryly, "you have demonstrated leadership among the Varia. With more flair, it must be said, than either Enrico or Massimo."

Xanxus stared at them. "You agree with this?!"

"You're not the barbarian brat you used to be," Maria said bluntly. "You haven't even shot any of these idiot envoys, over the past few months. We agree."

Xanxus looked over at Sawada, who was looking back steadily at him. "The Family comes first, among the Vongola," the man said quietly. "You, among all the Ninth's sons now living, will do the best job of protecting the Family." He smiled suddenly, showing his teeth. "At least you will now." Sobering again, he added, "You might think of it as fulfilling the wishes of your brother Federico."

Xanxus almost flinched.

The old man patted his arm. "So I'm afraid there are parties in your future," he concluded with a tiny smile. "If it helps, you have my permission to continue intimidating the Cetrulli allies all you like."

Xanxus was quiet for a few moments. "Give me some time, okay?" he finally said. Time to actually make this make sense, which it wasn't quite doing yet.

His father smiled, a little sadly. "As much as you need, my boy. I think we all need a little time for this."

That, Xanxus decided as he rose, was an understatement. But he didn't suppose any of them had a lot of choice, now.

TBC

Archimedes' Lever - Four

Squalo is growing into his place at Xanxus' side, and starting to look around them for some support. Drama, I-3

"Here." Gianni handed Squalo a second wineglass. "Take Xanxus a drink before he sets something on fire with his glare."

Squalo snorted. "If you think another drink will make him glare less..." And here he'd thought the old men had finally figured Xanxus out better than that.

"No, but you're bringing it to him and that will," Gianni noted with dry amusement.

Okay, maybe they had gotten it.

"Hurry up, before we have another incident like the Mondial wedding," Gianni added.

Squalo laughed, remembering the Tomasso heir retreating like something a lot more important than a bit of his hair had been singed. "You sure?" he asked a bit wistfully, recalling the satisfaction on Xanxus' face as he'd reholstered his gun.

"Yes, very."

Squalo rolled his eyes a little at the repressive tone. "All right, all right, I'm going. Mom." He strolled off though the shifting after-dinner crowd, mouth quirking as he listened to the grumbling behind him about insolent brats with no respect. He'd had two Family mentors, ever since the day Xanxus had said yes to the Ninth, and he understood why. Everyone knew exactly who Xanxus' right hand would be, and Gianni was the one who could show him how that worked. But the man really needed to loosen up, now and then.

Besides, between Gianni's indignation and Rafaele's snickering, he figured his teasing was pretty much right.

"Hey, boss." He slid up onto the windowsill beside Xanxus and offered him the second glass.

Xanxus grunted and took a swallow, eyes still tracking restlessly over the crowd. Unfortunately, there weren't any Family enemies to terrorize at this party. Eventually Xanxus sighed and glanced over at him. "So, what are we going to do about the Varia, anyway?"

Squalo grimaced. It was starting to be a familiar conversation. "Still isn't anyone I'd call ready to take it over, even if Tyr is getting old. Not besides you or me."

"I can't run the Family and the Varia too." Xanxus tilted his glass, frowning at the wine in it. "Have you seen the crap that lands on the old man's desk?"

That, and what landed on Gianni's too. Squalo leaned back against the cool glass. "I can probably handle most of it, if I have to," he said quietly. "We'll just have to keep looking for the right person."

"And that's another thing." Xanxus crossed his arms, glass dangling from his fingers. "The old men run on about how my Guardians are supposed to be the ones closest to me, but I don't have people close to me!" He glanced at Squalo. "Not besides you."

"Well, you know who your Rain will be, then." Squalo smiled at his boss' irate grunt. "Don't worry so much. The more you have to do with the rest of the Family, the more chances to meet the ones you need."

Xanxus downright glowered at him. "If this is a trick to get me to agree to more goddamn parties..."

Squalo laughed. "Only if there's more idiots you can shoot, promise." As Xanxus settled down again he added, thoughtfully, "What about Levi?" Levi was definitely loyal to Xanxus, and gave him the respect Squalo knew his boss still craved.

Xanxus made a dubious noise instead of rejecting the idea outright, which Squalo figured for a good sign. He added Levi to his mental list along with Enrico's oldest boy.

"Speak of the devil," he murmured as a confused scuffle broke out on the other side of the room and Tazio appeared out of the crowd, strolling toward them with a perfectly innocent expression.

"Hey, Uncle Xanxus, Squalo," he greeted them, easily.

"What'd you do this time?" Xanxus asked, eyeing the brief hubbub as the girl Dino Cavallone had escorted flounced away.

"Not a thing." Tazio gave them both an angelic smile. "I was all the way over here, wasn't I? I couldn't possibly have gotten Camilla to tell her big sister that Dino hadn't wanted to go with her in the first place, could I?"

Xanxus snorted with dark amusement. "Sure you couldn't."

Squalo watched the way Tazio grinned for Xanxus and recalled the way Tazio had always called Xanxus "uncle" despite only being three years younger, and nodded and silently checked the Sun off his list. The only question now was how long it would take Xanxus to realize.

"I don't like you leading this one yourself," the Ninth... fretted was the word, Squalo decided, and settled back in his chair with a sigh.

"If it's going to succeed for sure, I need to be there. And if it isn't going to succeed, why the hell are we sending it?" Xanxus told him bluntly.

"At least don't go in first, then." The old man was starting to look stubborn.

"How are we supposed to get in, then?" And Xanxus was starting to sound exasperated.

"What if someone else goes first to breach the walls?" Rafaele put in.

"Like who?" Xanxus snapped.

Squalo shrugged and elaborated. "There really isn't anyone else we have right now better suited to blowing things up."

Rafaele's lips quirked. "I'm not surprised. But I was thinking of an outside contractor. Do you know Gokudera Hayato?"

After a moment Gianni said, cautiously, "Isn't he a bit of a... lone wolf?"

Loose canon Squalo translated to himself, and sat up, more interested.

"So maybe he and Xanxus will have a topic of conversation," Rafaele murmured dryly.

Squalo glared at his mentor, but couldn't quite put as much force behind it as he wanted; it might be true.

"Isn't he rather young?" the Ninth asked, frowning.

"A bit perhaps, but he's very good at what he does."

"Mm," Gianni nodded, agreeing. "Word is that he was trained by Shamal."

Xanxus waved a hand. "All right, we'll take him." He cast a look at his father and added. "And now will you stop worrying?"

The Ninth smiled wryly. "I'm afraid not, my boy, but I will stop objecting."

Xanxus looked satisfied for a moment, and then gradually more uncertain. Squalo caught the suddenly softer smiles on Rafaele and Gianni and clapped Xanxus on the shoulder to distract him from noticing. "Let's go get everything together, then, okay?" He paused on their way out only to grimace at his mentors; why was it so hard for everyone to understand that Xanxus just wasn't good at the whole warm and fuzzy thing?

Fortunately the team they were taking in against the Tomasso holdings in Catania was about ready to go; Squalo had made sure of that. Contacting their "contractor" was the most time consuming thing left, and Gokudera agreed to meet them in the city.

When they met Squalo understood why the Ninth had hesitated. The kid couldn't be more than fifteen. But that was the age he'd been when he went on his training journey, after all. Squalo looked at Gokudera's eyes instead of his age.

That was when Gianni's hesitation made sense to him. He'd seen eyes like those before. His boss used to have them.

"...so we want the walls down here and here," Squalo finished explaining, watching too-sharp eyes track over the building plans as he pointed. "Can you do both at the same time?"

"Yeah, I can do it." Gokudera slung a small pack over his shoulder, fingers drifting over the canisters at his belt, gave them a jerky nod and vanished into the falling evening.

"Well." Squalo looked after the kid, brows raised. "Guess we should get ready, then."

Squalo barely had their people positioned when the explosions started. Kid worked fast. Xanxus made an approving sound, and Squalo had to smile wryly. They had impatience in common, that was for sure.

And then he set those thoughts aside for later, because it was time to move and his mind was divided into the him that kept track of their people, of who was where, of whether they needed to slow down or speed up, and the him that ran at Xanxus' back, guarding it, exulting in the speed and fire and grace of destruction. This didn't have quite the edge of a Varia mission; this was a warning to the Tomasso. A sharp one, but only a warning. The men with them were regular foot soldiers of the Family, and they were here to destroy property not lives. Except for the unfortunates who got in their way.

Squalo listened to the reports from the watchers spread blocks away. "Boss! Time to be going," he called. Reinforcements were coming thicker and they really would be in an all-out war if they didn't go now.

Xanxus looked around the shambles of the building and everything in it with some satisfaction. "All right. Guess so."

Squalo called for everyone to pull back, watching with some amusement as Xanxus fired on a few gaming tables and reduced them to finer splinters on his way out. Xanxus' edge wasn't as whetted on these trips, when they went out for general destruction, but he seemed to get more enjoyment out of them. Squalo suspected the Ninth's desire to have his son not lead from the front was doomed to disappointment.

More of his mind was taken up, now, with their men, with the pace of the withdrawal, and his eye tracked over the small squads as they regathered, counting up. Only a few casualties, that was good. And here was their contractor, slipping out of the shadow of a broken wall, hard eyes passing without really seeing over the gathered Vongola. Squalo shook his head, thinking absently that the kid needed to keep a better eye out around him.

Later, when he had time, he wondered if the universe just waited for him to think things like that.

One of the early, scattered Tomasso reinforcements came running heedlessly through the flickering darkness and broken concrete and straight into Gokudera, sending them both down. The Tomasso man's eyes were dark and blind with rage, and he didn't seem to notice the people just beyond; his attention was all on Gokudera, and he had a gun already in his hand.

Squalo hissed, without even time to swear as he turned, feeling for footing for a lunge, and he wasn't sure even he would be in enough time. Gokudera had one of his slender explosives in his hand, but the gun was trained already...

A line of Flame cut the night and blew the Tomasso man back through one of the remaining walls.

Squalo breathed out. For a second he wondered if Gokudera had been hit anyway, because the kid was just kneeling there in the rubble, staring at them. No. At Xanxus. Squalo saw his lips shape the word "Why".

"Well, what are you sitting there for?" Xanxus asked, and jerked his head at the waiting vans. "Come on."

"I... But... Yes." Gokudera stammered, and rose and followed after Xanxus, eyes still wide.

Squalo strolled after, mouth quirked. If he was reading this situation right, there was some potential here.

"So," he murmured to Xanxus once they were all rolling, "we could probably use an explosives expert for this kind of job, don't you think?"

Xanxus cocked a brow at him. "Thinking of recruiting the kid?"

"Thought I'd mention it, yeah. See what you thought."

Xanxus snorted. "I'm not the one you should talk to about bringing people into the Family."

"Yes you are," Squalo said with absolute surety and then had to come up with an explanation that would make sense in face of Xanxus' startled look. "Look, you're the heir. You're going to be the Tenth. It's about time you started building up your own people." Which was also true.

Xanxus gave that a generalized grunt of acknowledgment and Squalo sat back, satisfied. It never took Xanxus long to act once he'd made up his mind.

Today it didn't take any longer than the drive back home. As soon as Gokudera had been passed through by the medics, Xanxus cornered him. "You're not affiliated, right?"

Gokudera looked a bit wary at that. "Yeah, I'm not."

"Good. Any problems with coming into this Family, then?"

Squalo nearly laughed out loud, both at Xanxus' bluntness and the kid's stunned expression.

"But... You mean... You want me?" Gokudera sputtered.

"Yeah. I could use you."

It took the kid a few swallows to speak. When he did, his voice was husky. "You saved my life." He bowed his head formally. "I place my life in your hands. Boss."

Xanxus blinked a bit at this evidence of high manners. Or maybe just at Gokudera's utter sincerity. "Well. All right, then." He set a hand on Gokudera's shoulder to steer him toward the house, and Squalo was nearly blinded by the brilliance of the kid's smile as he looked up.

He followed along after them, wondering idly what Gokudera's alignment was. Definitely potential, here.

Squalo watched Xanxus knock briefly on the Ninth's door and casually boot it open, and shook his head, amused. Xanxus was always going to ignore manners and forms, and unlike the stray they'd adopted he didn't have to work to do it.

"You wanted me?" Xanxus slung himself into one of the chairs and Squalo came to lean against the back.

"Yes." The Ninth was smiling. "Reborn is back from the Cavallone Family assignment, and I wanted you two to meet again."

Xanxus nodded at the baby in the suit sitting in one of the other chairs, just a bit warily. After all, they'd both worked out now and then with Lal Mirch and you tended to respect the kind of people who came up to your knee and still pounded you into the mats like a tent peg. Squalo was wondering about something, though.

"The Cavallone?"

"Indeed." The Ninth was smiling into his mustache, Squalo thought. "Reborn does... tutoring, I suppose you could say, at need. The Cavallone heir needed some personal attention to settle him down."

Squalo snorted. "Dino? Didn't need settling down as much as stirring up. He drove me so damn crazy..." And then he woke to the implication of Reborn being back, and straightened. "You mean he is?"

"Dino is taking up his responsibilities in an acceptable fashion," Reborn said calmly.

Squalo was impressed.

"More than just acceptable," the Ninth murmured. "The Cavallone are making a strong recovery under his leadership. Nevertheless, I'm glad you're back with us, Reborn."

"So?" Opaque black eyes raked over both Xanxus and Squalo. "You need me for your own heir?"

The Ninth waved a reassuring hand as both Xanxus and Squalo stiffened. "Only in that he will need to have confidence in you when he takes the Family. I would like Xanxus to have your support."

"It's the same thing, isn't it?" Reborn sipped a tiny cup of coffee. "One way or another." He hopped down and strolled over to stand by Xanxus' boot. "I'll watch them."

For some reason that made the Ninth smile. "Try not to inspire my heir to shoot you, please."

Reborn smiled faintly. "We'll see."

"The hell is this?" Xanxus asked, eying Reborn.

"We're seeing what kind of boss you'll be," Reborn told him.

"One that's too busy for idiocy," Xanxus said, brusque, and looked up at the Ninth. "Was there anything else?"

The Ninth was still smiling, and his amusement gave Squalo a bad feeling. "Not immediately. Though I must say, I'm pleased to see how well young Gokudera is settling into the Family. He's had a reputation for being untamable for years now."

"Wouldn't say I've tamed him," Xanxus muttered, and Squalo had to roll his eyes. Since Xanxus apparently didn't notice these things until they hit him over the head a few times, no, he probably wouldn't.

"Gokudera Hayato?" Reborn mused. "Is he really the kind you want in the Vongola?"

Xanxus focused back on him sharply, eyes narrow, and his words picked up an edge of growl. "The decision was mine to make." Squalo automatically eased forward onto his toes in response to that tone, started to ease himself back when he remembered where they were, and hesitated when he recalled who they were dealing with.

Mayhem was not forthcoming, though. Reborn looked at Xanxus for a long moment and nodded. "Possessiveness can be a good trait in a boss." He nodded again at the Ninth while Xanxus was staring and Squalo was trying not to gape. Who the hell was this guy to come in and read Xanxus that well with just a look? "We'll get started, then." He sprang lightly up to the chair arm and then the back and then Squalo's fucking shoulder, and gave him a companionable smile sharp as a knife.

Squalo was getting the feeling it was going to be a long month.

Shouting and crashes were not unusual things to hear from the rooms the regular Family members used to train. Explosions, however, were. Squalo strode quickly down the hall, wondering if one of the Varia had wandered into this wing and why.

It wasn't one of the Varia he found, though. It was Gokudera.

Gokudera and Dangelo Ceirano, one of the rising young hitmen, were being pulled away from each other as smoke cleared. Squalo's eye traced the scorch marks and the hide-out knife in Ceirano's hand, reconstructing the fight. Gokudera had attacked first, he thought.

"What the hell?" he asked conversationally, strolling over to Gokudera and taking his shoulder, gesturing the other men away with a jerk of his chin.

Gokudera's glittering eyes never left Ceirano and his spine was stiff. "He has no right to say that about the Tenth," he snarled, completely ignoring the line of blood starting to trickle down his jaw.

"I say what I see," Ceirano snapped back, gesturing with the knife. "Xanxus doesn't give a damn about the Family, about the mafia, about our traditions or rules. Not really. And if that's true, he has no place as heir."

Squalo cocked his head, considering. If this was just disaffection, he would take Ceirano down himself and be done with it. But there were murmurs running around the room, just on the edge of hearing—not agreeing but doubtful and that was just as much of a problem in its way. He sighed, briefly damning Rafaele and Gianni for teaching him to think about these things. The Varia were so much easier to deal with.

He squeezed Gokudera's shoulder, quieting him as he sucked in a breath, probably to yell back some more, and stepped forward. "Someone who's only watched from a distance has no business having an opinion." Which should get Ceirano's mind off Gokudera and onto Squalo, seeing as Squalo had basically just insulted his profession as a sniper.

Sure enough, Ceirano's lip curled up and he glared at Squalo. "It doesn't take being up close and personal to see this."

Squalo's eyes narrowed at the unmistakable emphasis on "personal". Yeah, he went to Xanxus' bed, and no one was damn well going to comment on it unless they wanted a very personal fight indeed on their hands. Before he could invite Ceirano to that very fight, though, a tall shadow stirred in the doorway opposite and Xanxus stepped into the room.

"If I'm so out of touch, then when you surrender after I beat you I should just kill you instead of accepting it, right?" he said casually. "You still have the guts to say that shit to my face?"

Ceirano's glare tracked around to Xanxus, never wavering. "Damn right I do," he answered, voice flat.

A corner of Xanxus' mouth curled up. "Well, then." He crossed the room, stride easy, and opened the door to the outside before looking over his shoulder. "Come on," he said softly, eyes bright.

Ceirano stalked after him out the door, and the people in the room and the hall drifted after, including Gokudera who was looking vengefully pleased.

"Hmm. He still has a very short temper."

Squalo looked down to find Reborn beside him, and wasn't really surprised. He showed up in the damnedest places, and always when Xanxus was around. Squalo shrugged. "He's strongest when he's angry."

Reborn looked up at him, eyes dark and unreadable. "Do you think that's the way it should work?"

"That he's strongest when he's angry? Don't see why not. It works that way for a lot of people, as long as they can stay focused."

Reborn shook his head. "No. Do you think it's right that he's angry so often?"

Squalo sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "There are a bunch of things I don't think are right. That doesn't usually change them."

Reborn sprang up to his shoulder, ignoring Squalo's exasperated glare. "If you're his right hand, it's your business to change them for him, just as it's his business to change them for the Family. Let's go see how he does with that."

Squalo muttered under his breath about not being Reborn's damn chauffeur all the way outside.

Xanxus and Ceirano were squared off at either end of one of the terraces, and they both had their guns out. Squalo was actually a little interested to see how this went; Xanxus didn't often face someone else who used guns with the kind of precision he did. Xanxus was practically lounging against the stone balustrade, smiling darkly at Ceirano, daring him to shoot first.

Ceirano loaded calmly and did.

After the first few shots, Squalo sighed. Xanxus was playing with the man. He hadn't aimed a single shot of Flame at Ceirano himself, only using it to dodge. He was laughing, by now, with that exhilarated and just a little crazed note in it that always made Squalo smile and a lot of other people back away slowly.

"He spends too much time fighting his past," Reborn observed in Squalo's ear.

"There's a lot of it to fight," Squalo said quietly, glancing over at him.

"If he loses track of which is past and which is present—" Reborn broke off, leaning forward as Xanxus finally left off his game and drove in on Ceirano, coming hand to hand. Ceirano's knife flashed out again, glanced off the barrel of Xanxus' gun, caught his shoulder as Ceirano was thrown back by a kick to the stomach.

"Stubborn little shit, aren't you?" Xanxus asked, conversationally, and aimed a gun straight at Ceirano. He smiled, teeth showing as startled protests started to rise around them, and pulled the trigger.

"He forgets less, these days," Squalo told Reborn, leaning back against the outer wall and crossing his ankles.

Ceirano, smoking a bit, slowly hauled himself up from the crater Xanxus' shot had left in the lawn, and looked up a little blankly as Xanxus stood over him, second gun pressed to his forehead. For a long moment neither of them moved, and the watching crowd seemed to hold its breath.

"Well?" Xanxus prodded, and not just metaphorically. The blank waiting cleared from Ceirano's eyes at the brief jab of the barrel, replaced by startlement and then anger and finally a rueful twist of his mouth.

"You win," he said.

"Damn right I do." Xanxus holstered his guns and put his hands on his hips. "And you get what you paid for, Ceirano. You serve me and I'm stuck with you. Imagine how overjoyed I am." He turned on his heel and strode off the impromptu field, gathering Squalo up with a gesture, leaving Ceirano staring after him.

As the door closed behind them, Squalo heard Ceirano start to laugh.

Xanxus eyed Reborn as they moved through the halls. "Have a front row seat?" he asked, sarcastic.

"That would be Ceirano's," Reborn noted, sounding perfectly serene. "Mine was close enough, though." He hopped down without a word or wave and trotted off down the hall toward the Ninth's wing. Xanxus growled.

"You know," Squalo murmured, thoughtfully, "one of these days I think I'll start wearing spikes on my shoulders. Could we say that was a new part of the Varia uniform, you think?" He was satisfied when Xanxus relaxed enough to laugh, even if it was just a snort.

Change things for Xanxus, huh? If Reborn couldn't see the ways Squalo did that every day, he could just go suck eggs, legendary hitman or not.

TBC

Archimedes' Lever - Five

Just when things might be settling down, Mukuro appears, targeting the Vongola's heir. Drama, Action, I-4

Seven months and sixteen days—he'd counted—after Reborn started shadowing them with his measuring looks and annoying observations, Xanxus walked into the old man's office to find both Reborn and Sawada already there.

"What's this?" he asked, instantly suspicious. His father's Guardians might be his closest protectors and advisers, but the outside adviser was the outside adviser, after all, and Reborn seemed to be the old man's personal weapon or something.

The old man just chuckled and waved him to a chair and looked at the other two men. "Well?"

"He'll do." Reborn tipped his hat down. "I'll serve him after you."

Sawada leaned back with a wry grin. "Yeah. When it comes time, the Rings can go to him and his."

Xanxus, barely seated, stared at them; he thought distantly that his mouth was hanging open but couldn't seem to do anything about it. "You..." he started, and couldn't actually think of any way to finish that. He looked at Reborn, dazed. "You?"

Reborn looked back at him, serene as ever, and repeated, "You'll do."

"It's good to have that decided," the old man said briskly, "because we may need you elsewhere very shortly, Reborn." He slid a file across his desk. "It appears that Rokudou Mukuro has escaped."

"Escaped?!" Sawada snatched up the folder, paging through it. "I didn't think that was possible!"

"This is Rokudou we're talking about." The old man leaned back tiredly. "And, perhaps more disturbing, no one has heard about or seen him since. We don't think he's left the country, but we don't know where he is or what he's doing. All the Families are nervous. So," he smiled at Xanxus, "I'm glad to see all of us are in agreement today. I don't want any doubts or instability that could be attacked."

Xanxus pulled himself together and took the folder as Sawada handed it on, scanning it. "How much of this is hearsay?" he asked, settling his nerves with the familiar sense of working on a target. "We know the Rossi were destroyed, but is any of this about his methods solid?"

"Since there were no survivors, all we have is hearsay." The old man looked grim. "And all we can do for now is watch for him and be ready to move quickly."

Xanxus tossed the file to Reborn. "Squalo will speak to the Varia squad leaders about keeping their eyes open."

"You want me to go for him when he's found," Reborn stated instead of asked, running an eye down the pages of the folder in turn.

"I think you have the best chance," the old man said quietly.

"As you wish." Reborn closed the folder and set it aside calmly.

Afterwards Xanxus thought, a bit wistfully, that it would have been nice if things had worked out that way.

Two months with Rokudou on the loose and everyone in the House was whispering and looking over their shoulders and Xanxus could barely stand to be inside.

"What the fuck is wrong with them all?" he growled, throwing himself down in a chair out on one of the east balconies.

"Damned if I know." Squalo pulled out another chair, frowning. "It's even getting to the Varia. We really need to find someone else who can take that branch; we're both too busy to thump on the idiots like someone should and Tyr can't take the stronger ones anymore. Stubborn bastard," he added. Xanxus growled some more. Almost two years since he'd been named heir and still there were no candidates who really seemed to suit.

Gokudera, perched on the railing, piped up, "People think there's something weird going on. Some of the men are talking about drugs getting slipped in somehow, or something."

Squalo cocked his head at their shadow. "Why drugs?"

"Some people are acting weird, they say." Gokudera shrugged a shoulder, frowning a little himself. "No one I've talked to can get any more specific than that."

"'Acting weird'." Xanxus slouched lower, disgusted. "Are they mafia or little kids? For fuck's sake."

Fast steps rang down the hall and they all looked around as the door jerked open. "Xanxus," Rafaele called, leaning out, "the Ninth wants to see you. Quickly."

"Some action, thank God," Xanxus muttered as he stalked inside, and ignored the amused sound Squalo made, behind his shoulder.

The old man didn't agree, of course.

"Reborn will go to watch your back," he stated, flat and hard. "Whoever did this said they would negotiate only with you, but you are not going alone."

Xanxus ran his eyes down the letter found beside the bodies of ten Vongola foot soldiers. "Negotiate." He snorted. "If they asked for me, it's a fight they'll get."

"I suspect they know that," Reborn observed, ankles crossed on the chair seat in front of him.

"It's a trap, then." Squalo leaned over Xanxus' shoulder to read. "They want to kill the heir. We'll take Levi along too; whatever the hell has been going on around here, we know he's solid for you."

Xanxus grunted. He knew he wouldn't get away without an escort, but he didn't want too many people between his guns and whoever did this. "All right. Squalo, Levi and Reborn. That's enough close-in backup." As his father opened his mouth, frowning, he added, "Any more might spook the bastards off. They asked for me." He stood. "They'll get me." And afterward they'd never touch what was his again.

The old man sighed. "All right. Just be careful, my boy."

Since Xanxus wasn't really going to agree to that he substituted, "Don't worry."

From his father's wry smile he didn't think it worked, but at least it got them out of the office.

"We have a day to plan this," Squalo said, all business. "I'll get the maps of Primosole and meet you."

When Squalo joined Xanxus and Levi in Xanxus' office, though, he had more than the maps. Xanxus frowned at Gokudera and Ceirano as they tagged in after. "What are you doing here?"

"We're coming with you." Ceirano's tone added you idiot. Xanxus stopped glaring on general principles and started glaring for real.

"Boss," Gokudera said, quietly, "if they're gunning for you, you should have your own people around you."

"I'll have Squalo and Levi," Xanxus said brusquely, and jabbed a thumb at Reborn. "And him."

Ceirano leaned against a chair and folded his arms. "Think the Ninth would agree?" he asked, and the grin that answered Xanxus' growl showed teeth. "We're coming; deal with it. Boss."

Short of shooting them himself, Xanxus couldn't really think of a way to stop them. He considered the shooting option for a moment, during which Ceirano looked cool and immovable and Gokudera ducked his head apologetically but looked stubborn as hell. Finally he snorted. "Fine."

"Um." Everyone looked around as someone spoke from the door. "I'd like to come too."

Xanxus stared for a blank moment as Tazio stepped into his office. "What the hell makes you think I would agree to that? Or that Enrico would agree, either?"

"It doesn't really matter what Father agrees to," Tazio took a deep breath, "if I'm one of your people."

Xanxus was reduced to blinking. "One of... Tazio... What the hell?"

"I think he's saying that he wants to serve under the Tenth," Squalo said, a little dryly.

Xanxus spared a glower for Squalo's sense of humor before he looked back at Tazio, frowning. "Why?"

Tazio spread his hands. "Because you're amazing, Uncle Xanxus! I mean," he was practically bouncing on his toes for god's sake, "you take all the crazy-hard jobs, and you always come back, and you've run the Varia, and," he waved his hands exuberantly, "I want to help!"

"You want to help," Xanxus repeated slowly. "And that's why you're running up to risk your life?"

Tazio just looked at him, perfectly open. "Of course."

Xanxus felt at a bit of a loss, in face of that, and glanced up at Squalo.

Squalo was smirking the way he did when he found something privately amusing. "Well," he glanced down at Xanxus, totally unsympathetic, "looks like the only thing we're missing is your Mist."

Everyone in the room stared at him, not just Xanxus. It was Xanxus he looked at as he shrugged and smiled, though. "What? I told you it would become obvious who your people were. If the Ninth asked you today who you would choose, aren't these them?" He waved a hand at the four other people in the office.

Xanxus looked around at them, feeling a little like he was seeing all of them for the first time.

"You know I'll follow you anywhere, Boss," Levi murmured. "The name doesn't matter."

Ceirano made a face but opened a hand palm up. "You won my service."

Tazio was just about fucking glowing. "I would," he breathed. "I swear. Uncle..." he grinned brilliantly, "Boss."

Gokudera, at least, looked as stunned as Xanxus actually felt. "Boss," he whispered.

Xanxus looked back at Squalo's crooked smile. "I'm your right hand," Squalo said quietly. "It's my job to know what you need and see it's done."

"All right," Xanxus said a last. "Yeah, okay." From the corner of his eye he caught Reborn's faintly amused look, and shook himself. "All right, then, if all of you are coming, come here and look at where we're going."

He spread out the map as his people gathered around, and buried himself in planning, and barely noticed the tension easing bit by bit out of his shoulders.

"What a dump," Gokudera muttered.

Looking over the patchy, crumbling walls of the little resort, its overgrown grounds with pathetic, scruffy little groves of trees, and the "for sale" sign which had obviously been up for years, Xanxus had to agree. "At least there won't be anyone else in the way," he growled. Which reminded him, and he looked down at Reborn. "The old man said he wanted you to cover our backs. Fine. Do that and stay out of my way, or I'll damn well shoot you myself."

Reborn cocked his head and looked up at him for a long, unreadable moment. Finally he nodded. "All right. I'll watch from here."

"Good enough." Xanxus jerked his head at the rest of them and vaulted up over the low gate.

They made it as far as the golf course before they were interrupted.

"Fucking amateurs," Squalo muttered as they ducked behind the rocks by the water hazard and the chick with the clarinet laughed.

Gokudera popped up for a look and ducked back, wall cracking a little over his head. "She's a bit out of range. Someone cover me while I close it up."

"No need," Xanxus grunted, leaning back against the rocks and counting down in his head. He snorted when Gokudera looked around at him, puzzled. "Haven't you noticed who isn't here?"

Two flat cracks sounded, and the annoying laugh cut off, and a breath later Ceirano called, "Clear!"

Xanxus stood up and dusted himself off. "Come on." Ceirano had a definite sneer on his face as he rejoined them. Xanxus couldn't really blame him; the chick had either been a total amateur or else off her rocker. Either way she was no challenge for a real sniper.

The next annoyance was waiting at the parking lot. Xanxus just stared at the old pervert as he gibbered about hostages and battles of the mind and why couldn't they bring him any soft little girls. "The fuck?" Hostage? Who did this guy think he was dealing with?

"Boss?" Levi asked, looking disgusted. Xanxus waved a hand.

"Yeah, go ahead." His mouth quirked as he watched. Levi didn't even bother with his specialized weapons; he just took the two creepy looking twin bastards bracketing him apart with his fists. When he was done Xanxus eyed the gaping old pervert up and down and sneered. Hell if he was going to waste a shot on this. One kick threw the old guy back against the broken asphalt with a satisfying crunch.

"These jokers took out ten of our people?" Tazio asked, as they went on.

"Doubt it," Squalo said, clipped. "They're here to slow us down, let the real enemy know we're coming and get a little of our measure."

Xanxus growled at that and almost missed the approaching hiss.

"Above!" Gokudera shouted, and they all dodged back as a massive ball of metal came down where they'd been standing.

"Not bad."

Squalo stilled as they saw their next opponent. "Boss."

Xanxus snarled. He'd seen that face not long ago in a file folder. "Rokudou."

The tall man hauled his weapon back and half smiled, dark and bitter. Before Xanxus could line him up for a shot, though, Squalo grasped his shoulder hard.

"This is wrong," he said, low. "There's still someone in that building, you can feel it. And Rokudou is out here with those other trash?"

Xanxus frowned. "You really think...?"

"I don't know. But it he's not really the one, you shouldn't be the one who deals with him."

Xanxus' mouth tightened, but Squalo was his strategist. "Levi," he snapped, throwing out an arm to hold the rest of them back. He watched as that ball sped out again, and Levi's parabolas snapped out to answer, and both of them dodged aside from the attacks. "Hm." They met hand to hand, and his scowl got deeper; the man was strong all right, stronger even than Levi maybe. But there was someone watching from the building. Xanxus gritted his teeth and finally barked, "Ceirano!"

"It'll take a while to get a clear shot if they stay that close," Ceirano observed, distant, eyes tracking each blow.

"Don't worry about killing him first shot, then, just take him down," Xanxus growled.

Ceirano nodded silently and faded aside, passing through the grove behind them with barely a rustle. Xanxus gathered up the other three with a sharp gesture and stalked on toward the building.

The inside was as much of a wreck as the outside, and Gokudera and Squalo frowned almost identically at the broken staircases. "Bastards are herding us," Gokudera declared, getting the flat glint in his eyes Xanxus hadn't seen in a while. When feet scuffed off one of the side halls, Xanxus wasn't surprised that Gokudera snapped alight a fistful of explosives and flung them before anyone else had turned all the way around. "I'll take care of this one," he snapped and stalked forward into the settling clouds of debris.

Squalo's mouth quirked. "Kid's got the Storm's temper, that's for sure."

They'd barely gone five steps when Tazio tensed. "Boss!" He lunged forward, intercepting the maniacally laughing blur heading for them, and when the dust settled he was glaring across the hall at a crazily grinning kid crouched on all fours. "Squalo," Tazio called, spinning his knuckle knife out of its sheath, "get the Boss where he needs to go."

While Xanxus was staring in disbelief, he darted in on the blond kid and they were gone, circling and lunging at each other through dusty, broken exercise equipment, leaving him with Squalo's snickering. "I can damn well get myself where I'm going," he grumbled.

"Sure you can. You're the Sky. But let your people do their jobs," Squalo told him.

Xanxus grunted and stalked on down the hall.

They finally found what they were looking for on the second floor, a big, open hall that might have been meant for a ballroom or receptions. The light from the dusty windows at one end was dim, and it took a few moments to spot the person sitting, lounging, in one of the equally dusty leather armchairs from the lobby.

"Welcome, gentlemen. You must be Xanxus, of the Vongola," a light voice greeted them, and the figure stood and stepped out of the shadows.

"The hell...?" Squalo murmured.

It was a kid. He looked around sixteen or seventeen. A kid with a creepy smile, but still a kid. "Who are you?" Xanxus demanded.

The kid laughed, merrily, and the sound actually made Xanxus' skin crawl. "What, you still haven't figured it out?" He spread his hands and smiled at them with a sardonic twist and the creepiest part was that it didn't look affected. "I'm Rokudou Mukuro."

Squalo's sword slid free and he ghosted a few steps away from Xanxus, opening space between them. Squalo believed it; Xanxus nodded a little, silently.

"You made a mistake, attacking the Vongola," he said, flatly, and fired.

The shot shattered the wall behind Rokudou, but Rokudou wasn't there anymore. Xanxus turned to put his back to Squalo, scanning the room, and that laugh echoed around them.

"No, actually I think I made a very good choice indeed. Let us see, though, shall we?"

The floor under Xanxus bucked, broke, they were falling. But he'd trained against Mammon more than once, and his logic wrestled his senses for control. This was illusion; it had to be. His feet were on the floor and his eyes would see what was really there. They would!

The room faded back in around him, though Rokudou was still nowhere to be seen. He glanced over his shoulder at Squalo, who was down on one knee, but looked steady again. And pissed off too.

"Very nice."

Xanxus' head snapped back around. Rokudou was in front of him, a few meters off, smiling, and one of his eyes was red.

"Let's try this, then." There was a trident between Rokudou's hands and he spun it, slamming the butt down on the floor. Pillars of fire burst up, and no matter how Xanxus disbelieved in them, they were still searing hot. He'd figure out later how the hell Rokudou was doing it, though. First things first. He bared his teeth and lifted a gun.

"You think I don't know about fire?" The blast of his Flame cut through those pillars and they died as Mukuro dodged aside, faster than anyone had a right to, laughing.

"Of course you do."

The voice came from behind him and Xanxus spun, catching the crosspiece of the trident on the barrel of his other gun while Squalo lunged for Rokudou's back. Somehow the little bastard twisted out from between them and Squalo hissed as the trident scored his shoulder.

As far as Xanxus could tell, sanity took a walk after that, and instead it rained snakes and self-proclaimed hellfire. That was okay, though, he'd grown up without sanity and as long as he could find Rokudou in his sights everything was going just fine. The building was creaking ominously around them by the time he and Squalo finally managed to corner Rokudou. The crazy bastard was still laughing.

"You're everything I hoped for," he murmured. And then he pulled out a gun, lifted it to his temple, and shot himself.

After a frozen moment, Xanxus stepped forward and turned the body over with his toe. "That was weird as all fuck," he muttered.

"You can say that again." Squalo came up beside him, a bit wide-eyed. "Was he just plain crazy?"

"Sure looked that way." Xanxus was still frowning down at the body and the sudden slash of Squalo's sword came as a total surprise. He threw himself back, one hand locked over the gash in his arm, more stunned than he could remember being before in his life. "Squalo?!"

Squalo's gaze was fixed on his own arm, and shocked. "That... wasn't me." He sucked in a hard breath and looked up at Xanxus, urgent. "Boss."

Xanxus' mouth tightened and he nodded shortly. Two steps forward, ducking under another slash and he brought the butt of his gun down and clubbed Squalo unconscious.

Rokudou's laugh rang out again.

Xanxus spun around, teeth bared. The body was gone. No, the body... was standing and smiling at him.

"Just what one would expect of the man who led the Varia," Rokudou purred. "You'll do perfectly."

Xanxus stood very still, looking down at Squalo's body, hearing again Gokudera saying that people were acting strangely, remembering that one bullet Rokudou had shot himself with. "They were destroyed," he said, very softly, and looked up. "The Estraneo."

"Very good!" The son of a bitch actually applauded. "It's my inheritance, you see," he added with a hard twist to his lips.

Xanxus fired both guns at him.

"Now, now," Squalo's voice came from behind him. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

Xanxus turned to see Mukuro's eye in Squalo's face and snarled wordlessly. A smile that wasn't Squalo's curled Squalo's mouth.

"Anyone I've drawn blood from with my trident is mine. And to further my plans, I'll be adding you to my collection."

Xanxus glared, breathing hard, hands tight around his guns. "You will, huh? You think you can take me by using my people?" He laughed, harsh and wild. "Come on, then, you son of a bitch!" He slammed his guns back into their holsters and shoved one sleeve up and held his arm out, teeth bared. "Try it."

Squalo dropped bonelessly back to the ground and the trident licked out from behind him, drawing a line down his arm.

"If you insist," Rokudou murmured at his shoulder.

Xanxus wanted to answer, but he was too busy. The possession technique was based on a special bullet, and all of those were based one way or another on the Dying Will. And he would, by damn, stake his Will against this bastard's. He sank down to the floor, but he barely noticed that; fire was running down his veins and nerves. Fire, or maybe Flame. He drew on his own Flame, his own Will, as though he were going to feed it to his guns. This time, though, he turned it inward, burning back against that invading fire.

And the invasion flinched.

It surged back the next second, hard and vicious, heavy and cold for something that burned so fiercely. But that second was all the proof Xanxus needed and he raged back against it with nothing held back. He could barely feel the hard floor under him, had no idea what his body was doing, only knew he had to burn Rokudou out. He didn't care if he burned the whole world, as long as he burned Rokudou out of himself. He turned all the wildness of the Flame of Wrath against the thing inside him, the flashes of fury and hate and madness, the half-thoughts that lashed at him, trash and traitor and failure. He couldn't tell whether the moments of crushing pain were attacks or just side-effects. He wasn't stopping for them. For anything.

And in the end, scorched and smoking from the inside out, he looked out of his own eyes through the whirl of Flame and met Rokudou's, wide and shocked. Rokudou's lips moved. "You..."

Then the world was Flame. Or maybe fire.

When Xanxus woke up he was in a hospital bed. "What the hell happened?" he asked, or tried to; it came out as a croak.

"Xanxus? Are you awake?" His father leaned over him, and there was a nurse with a glass of water.

"What happened?" he tried again.

"Rokudou escaped," Reborn's voice said, and Xanxus turned his head to see Reborn perched on the bedside table, "while I was getting you out of the burning building."

Xanxus blinked. Burning? Maybe all the Flame hadn't gone inward after all. And then another memory jabbed him and he started upright. "Squalo!"

The old man pushed him firmly back down. "Squalo is just fine. Considerably better than you are, in fact." As Xanxus opened his mouth again, he went on. "All your people are fine. Some broken bones, some blood loss, but nothing too serious. It's you who's been unconscious for two days."

"Bastard was Estraneo," Xanxus rasped. "Picture was totally wrong. The Possession Bullet. Be careful going after him."

"Squalo told us," the old man soothed, hand on his shoulder. "We put the rest of it together. It's clear now he must have possessed the man everyone thought was him."

Xanxus' lips pulled up off his teeth. "Fixed the son of a bitch, though. He couldn't take me." He grinned up at the ceiling with slightly dizzy satisfaction. And it sounded like Squalo hadn't taken any permanent damage from being possessed, which maybe meant he wouldn't have to skin Rokudou before he killed him. "Where is he now?"

After a moment of silence he looked down at his father and Reborn, both of whom were looking at him with open startlement. "What?"

"You... resisted possession?" The old man smiled slowly. "I suppose we might have known."

Xanxus snorted. "Damn right." He ignored the sneaking warmth in his chest.

"As for where he is," Reborn put in, sounding his annoyingly calm self again, "we think he's left the country."

"He's what!?" Xanxus tried to sit up again and was pushed back down. "Goddamn it!"

"We have people on his trail," the old man said firmly. "We'll find him. I can't spare you to go off hunting him, though, not when three other Families have already taken far too much interest in what no doubt appeared to be a secret attack on us."

Xanxus grudgingly lay back into the pillows. Rokudou was going to be found, all right, and when he was Xanxus was going to turn him into dog meat.

No one touched what was his.

A week later, he was walking around on his own again, even if the old man did fuss over him, and he made it down the hall just as fast as ever when he got the call.

"You found him?" he demanded, throwing open the office door.

"He's gone to ground in Japan," Staffieri said, "but that's as far as we've gotten. He's good at hiding."

Xanxus thumped down in a chair and growled with pure frustration.

"I sympathize," his father said dryly. "But even Iemitsu hasn't been able to find them." He frowned. "And even if he did, I'm afraid he might not be able to hold them until you got there." He sighed. "It would have complicated things dreadfully at the time, but now I find myself somewhat regretting Iemitsu didn't inherit the Vongola Flame."

Xanxus frowned as a faint memory tugged at him. "Hey." He glanced at Staffieri. "Didn't I hear something about Sawada's kid?"

Staffieri lifted a brow. "The Ninth believes Tsunayoshi may have inherited the Flame, but the boy's shown no open signs of it."

"If he's got it, he's got it," Xanxus argued. "And if he needs it, he'll use it. And he's on the spot."

The old man made a thoughtful sound. "Perhaps I should ask Iemitsu about this again..."

"Tsuna?" Sawada ran a hand through his hair. "Ah. Well. The thing is..."

"Spit it out already," Xanxus grumbled.

Sawada sighed. "Tsuna doesn't seem to have much interest in, well, anything at all, really." He looked at the old man. "I believe you when you say he has the potential, of course, but I've seen no sign at all of it coming out."

"He'd be interested in survival, wouldn't he?" Xanxus said bluntly. "What if Rokudou has heard about him? He wanted someone with the Flame, that's for damn sure."

Sawada's face turned still and cold. "That is a good point," he said slowly.

The old man leaned back in his chair. "Perhaps," he murmured, "I should send Reborn to the boy."

Sawada lost his stone face and sputtered.

The old man smiled wryly at his outside adviser. "What do you say, my friend? Would you be willing to have your son serve me?" He glanced at Xanxus. "And my son after?"

Sawada snorted magnificently. "My blood is the Family's blood, and it will serve the Family in whatever way you require. Don't ask silly questions."

The old man's smile softened, and Xanxus had to glance aside from the way they looked at each other. "Very well, then. I'll ask Reborn."

It was a reasonably even deal, Xanxus decided, as he walked back to his own rooms. Someone else might get first crack at Rokudou, but at least Reborn would harass someone else for a little while.

TBC

Archimedes' Lever - Six

Xanxus and his people take up their place in the Family. Drama, I-3

Rafaele turned another page, torn between amusement and horror. "You know, I think I'm starting to understand just why young Cavallone is so skittish when he comes here to visit," he said in a reflective tone. "Not to mention why Xanxus seemed so happy that Reborn was going to be elsewhere for a while."

"Reborn never used that kind of tactics with Xanxus," Gianni pointed out, setting a glass of wine down in front of him and taking a seat across the kitchen table.

"Certainly not, and a good thing to." Rafaele shook his head. "I mean, 'traditional Vongola birthday party'? Reborn has a really evil sense of humor."

Gianni's mouth twitched. "Yes, well. I get the impression that Tsunayoshi is a good deal younger than Xanxus ever was." He took a sip of his own wine and shrugged. "As long as it works, I suppose. And if you look at Dino Cavallone today it certainly seems to work."

"I just hope it works in time," Rafaele sighed, closing the folder and taking up his glass. "Before Rokudou makes his move. And before Xanxus completely loses his patience and tries to turn Japan upside down and shake it until Rokudou falls out," he added wryly.

"Mmm." Gianni frowned. "He does seem a bit fixated, doesn't he?"

"It was Squalo Rokudou possessed and used against him," Rafaele pointed out, sober. "Xanxus has turned possessive of the whole Family, but Squalo especially so."

Raw envy flashed over Gianni's face and Rafaele reached out and laid a gentle hand over his.

"At least we know he'll be ready to go help take care of Rokudou whenever he does surface," he went on, conversational tone at odds with the sympathy in his eyes.

Gianni took a breath, and another drink. "Yes. I just hope that works out." He frowned again suddenly, but it was his business expression and Rafaele relaxed. "What do you think of the way Reborn is drawing Tsunayoshi's friends into our business?"

"I think our business may be the reason Tsunayoshi has friends," Rafaele answered a bit dryly. "At least if I'm reading between the lines correctly."

"Not very like his father at all," Gianni murmured, sounding rather puzzled.

"Perhaps." Rafaele leaned back, considering the reports Reborn had sent, and the things Sawada himself had said in passing. "Does it seem to you that each time Tsunayoshi makes progress, it's for the sake of something besides himself?"

Gianni's brows rose. "Hm." He smiled slowly. "More like his father than I'd thought, then."

Rafaele smiled. "Yes. I think the boy might just fit in with the Family very well, in the end."

Rafaele watched Timoteo set the phone down, slow and controlled. "Rokudou is moving?" he asked.

"Yes." Timoteo had a bit of fire in his eyes. "Not directly for Tsunayoshi, but he's struck at the people around him. Reborn says Tsunayoshi insists on going to find the man himself."

"Xanxus is still out on that raid against the Tomaso," Gianni murmured. "Should we call him back?"

Timoteo was quiet for a long moment, eyes on his folded hands. "Reborn feels that Tsunayoshi may be able to deal with this himself," he said at last, quietly. "And the Vendicare are already moving in any case. This may be the time for Xanxus to learn that there are more important things than personal revenge."

Gianni hesitated and glanced at Rafaele.

"Showing him that—catching Mukuro without him—is a heavy burden to place on Tsunayoshi." Rafaele made his voice as neutral as he could, but Timoteo still winced a little.

"I know," he said, softly, and was silent.

Rafaele watched the hand Gianni laid on Timoteo's shoulder and sighed. He wouldn't want to be the Family boss for all the money in the world; not when it meant making decisions like these.

All they could do was support Timoteo and hope for the best.

Iemitsu sat back with a sigh of what sounded to Rafaele like profound relief. "Well, that's that, then."

Xanxus made a grumpy sound and slouched down a little further into his chair. Rafaele was quite willing to admit that Xanxus had come a long way since the day Squalo had walked into his life and turned it on its side, but he could still beat any five year old for marathon sulking. And wasn't it just typical that he was sulking because he hadn't personally gotten to tear Rokudou to bits? Timoteo was right; it was high time Xanxus learned that it didn't matter who did it as long as it got done.

Timoteo ignored his son's snit, focused on the oddest part of Rokudou's recapture. "So you say Tsunayoshi actually cleansed Rokudou's aura?"

"That's what Reborn said." Iemitsu smirked just a bit. Rafaele supposed his pride was excusable; no one had expected his son to have that kind of ability. Iemitsu sobered quickly, though. "Speaking of cleansing, in a way, how are negotiations with the Vendicare over Lancia Rossi going? That was... well, it was important to Tsuna."

"That was clearly a miscarriage of even our justice," Timoteo said firmly. "We will get him free."

"You need someone else to talk to them?" Xanxus asked, looking out the window.

Timoteo's mustache twitched, as if he'd suppressed a smile. "That would be very helpful, yes. Thank you, my boy."

Rafaele gave his boss a long look as Xanxus pushed himself up and strode out of the room. "Now, was that a nice thing to do?"

"It will be helpful," Timoteo said. "Both to defuse some of his temper and to get Lancia out of the Vendicare's hands as quickly as possible."

"His temper does worry me sometimes," Gianni murmured.

"He's growing out of it," Timoteo insisted, which Rafaele couldn't help thinking represented more optimism than was quite warranted.

Iemitsu was looking after Xanxus with a thoughtful expression. "Maybe I'll see about bringing Tsuna here after he graduates," he said.

"You think it would help?" Timoteo sounded so hopeful Rafaele instantly took back his thought about optimism.

Iemitsu smiled wryly. "We'll see how far Reborn takes him. It might."

Rafaele stared at the official letter on Timoteo's desk and sighed. "And it's been such a nice quiet month," he said wistfully.

Right on cue, Timoteo's office door slammed open, and almost off its hinges, and Xanxus came through it just about breathing fire.

"They lost him?! Barely one damn month and that bastard escaped?!"

"The Vendicare recaptured Rokudou almost at once," Gianni said firmly.

"How the hell do they think they can capture someone who goddamn well possesses people?" Xanxus demanded with unreasonable volume but unfortunately good logic. Rafaele sighed.

"His body, at least, won't be getting away again. And we are tracking those of his followers who did get away," he said firmly. Xanxus didn't look convinced.

"Come on, Boss," Squalo said, leaning in the doorway. "We'll find him when we find him. And in the meantime, why should he get to interrupt a good workout?" Indeed, there was blood running down his jaw from a split lip and the redness of a proximity burn on his sword arm.

That got Xanxus turned around and stalking back out the door. Squalo spared a grin for everyone's expressions before following.

"Squalo is just as crazy as he is," Gianni declared.

"I imagine that's why they get along," Rafaele pointed out mildly.

Iemitsu, who had been staring out the window quietly while Xanxus burst in, finally spoke. "Rokudou's followers did get away, didn't they? And it sounded like he let himself be recaptured to let them."

"It did sound as though the Vendicare themselves thought so," Gianni agreed.

Iemitsu looked at Timoteo. "Perhaps we can make some use of that."

Timoteo frowned. "Use his people as hostages?"

"No, not that." Iemitsu crossed an ankle over his knee and leaned back. "No, I was thinking that his care for their escape indicates some reform, let's say, in him, and about the things Reborn reported he said during his fight with Tsuna. That Rokudou seems to have some respect for Xanxus. I can't imagine Rokudou's dealt with anyone, before, who could throw off possession; he certainly seemed to think it would still work fine on Tsuna. And if Rokudou has started to value Family properly, perhaps, between his respect for Xanxus' strength and his regard for his own people, we can do something with him." Iemitsu had a definite gleam in his eye. "So, what if we bring him in?"

There was a long moment of silence before Timoteo said, carefully, "Iemitsu, are you really suggesting that we make Rokudou Mukuro one of the Vongola?"

"Not sure if he'd quite swallow that," Iemitsu allowed. "But if we trade him, if we offer to take care of his followers in return for his services..." he smiled, sharp, "especially his service to Xanxus, that he might agree to." The smile turned downright wicked. "After all, isn't it traditional that the loser serves the winner, after a leadership challenge?"

Timoteo snorted, but he also looked thoughtful.

"Iemitsu?" Rafaele managed, after a moment.

"Hm?" Iemitsu gave him a cheery look of inquiry.

"You get to explain this to Xanxus."

"This is complete bullshit," Xanxus muttered, pacing back and forth through the room. "He can't possibly be willing to fucking well work for me."

Rafaele raised a brow at Squalo, who shook his head firmly. Rafaele sighed; if Squalo thought it was better to let Xanxus pace, the boy was probably twice as tense as Rafaele thought. "Well, we'll know soon," he said, calmingly, more in hopes that Xanxus' people would relax than that Xanxus himself would.

"No, we won't. That's the point. If it's Rokudou we won't know that it didn't work until the day he tries to kill us all."

Rafaele had to admit that Xanxus had a point. This time he looked at Iemitsu.

"Mukuro has changed," Iemitsu put in obligingly. He looked perfectly relaxed, leaning against the wall with casually crossed arms. "Have some faith in Tsuna's work."

Xanxus started to turn and give Iemitsu a dire glare, but the door at the far end of the hall opened and he whipped back around to face it.

Through the door stepped Piero and Maria, escorting three young people. The two boys Rafaele thought he recognized from the reports of both Xanxus' and Tsunayoshi's encounters. They looked around with hard, bitter eyes, the dark one blank and the blond one sneering. If the history Reborn had passed on was accurate, he could understand why. The third person held the trident Xanxus had described, but she most certainly did not look like Rokudou Mukuro.

"You didn't say he'd changed that much," Tazio said, staring.

"His body's still held by the Vendicare," Squalo said, tight and quiet. "Could have figured he'd come in someone else's."

"She's not," Xanxus said, very quietly, staring hard at the girl. "Not... quite."

The girl stepped forward with perfectly unnatural composure, looking up to meet Xanxus' glare. "You wish to speak with Mukuro-sama?"

Xanxus was silent for a long moment before he finally said, slowly, "Yeah, I think so."

She nodded and closed her eyes, clasping the trident closer to her chest. White mist twined up around her and Gianni stiffened.

"Illusion," he murmured, stepping closer to Timoteo's shoulder.

The mist blew away on a light laugh. "Yes and no," said the tall young man who stood where the girl had been.

Rafaele stifled a frown as Squalo actually flinched a little. Xanxus took one long step ahead of his right hand, eyes fixed on Rokudou and burning.

Rokudou's mouth curled. "This should be an interesting game, shouldn't it?" he murmured. "How can you know that I'll actually serve you instead of merely stalk you for my own use? How can I know you'll shelter these three children instead of simply kill me?"

"You don't," Xanxus said bluntly. "And I don't. I damn well should kill you for laying a hand on what's mine. Even think about it again, and I will."

Rokudou blinked once and burst out laughing; this time he sounded genuinely amused. "Very well. And what all is yours?" He cocked his head, inquiring, eyes sharp on Xanxus.

"The Vongola," Xanxus said, flatly. "All of it."

Rokudou's smile quirked as his eyes tracked over the five men leaning or perching around the room who focused on Xanxus instead of Timoteo. "Indeed," he murmured. "And these," he waved his fingers at the two boys who flanked him, tense and protective now, "are mine. You will guard them as well."

Xanxus considered Rokudou narrowly for a long moment and Rafaele wondered if Xanxus also heard the similarity in what the two of them were saying. Finally Xanxus smirked. "As long as they're Vongola. As long as you are."

Rokudou's chin jerked up, and his smile turned sardonic. "Very good." A breath of hesitation and he finished, "Very well." Mist swept around him again and when it fell the girl stood there again, leaning on the trident. She opened her eyes slowly and looked up at Xanxus again, weirdly serene for someone who seemed to timeshare her life with Rokudou. "My name is Chrome Dokurou," she said, and dipped her head. "Boss."

Xanxus actually took a step back. "What?"

"Aren't you?" she asked.

Squalo finally stirred and laughed, a little roughly. "Well. I was starting to wonder where we might find a Mist for you."

Rafaele expected Xanxus to glare like death at that crack, but instead he looked at Squalo level and serious. "Yeah?"

Squalo shrugged a shoulder. "If it holds. Yeah."

After a long moment Xanxus nodded. "All right." He eyed the two boys consideringly and a corner of his mouth tilted up. "Gokudera! Tazio! Get them settled somewhere."

Tazio and Gokudera exchanged unenthusiastic looks and even less enthusiastic ones with Rokudou's followers, and Rafaele remembered they had been the ones to fight them when Xanxus came up against Rokudou.

"Yes, Boss," Gokudera sighed and slouched over to the newcomers. "C'mon, you."

Rafael had to stifle a laugh as the five moved off, four already bickering.

"Well done, my boy," Timoteo said, chuckling. "Very well done."

Xanxus grunted and gathered up the rest of his people with a gesture. "We'll see."

Rafaele watched him go. "Well," he murmured, "maybe this will work."

Rafaele stood with the rest of Timoteo's Guardians and watched solemnly as Xanxus and his people came forward to accept the Vongola Rings. There were little stirs among the watching witnesses, especially when Xanxus took the Sky Ring. The Family had horror stories about what happened if the Rings rejected a candidate; in fact Timoteo's mother had added one, about the brother who'd made the mistake of thinking his sister couldn't lead the Family. It was the gleam in her eye as she'd told it that had really made the story, he'd always thought.

Xanxus didn't seem to notice, though Rafaele wouldn't have laid money that he hadn't, and marked exactly who was doubting him, too. He slid the ring onto his finger and closed his hand into a fist. The six Guardians he'd chosen, who had chosen him, all showed their teeth at that, one way or another, and held out their hands to him.

Flames lit on each Ring.

Rafaele almost expected them to flutter as the entire room seemed to breathe out. He let himself grin as Timoteo announced in a firm voice that his choice of heir was confirmed and that Xanxus would be the tenth Boss of the Vongola, and everyone broke up to chatter about it.

"We might actually live to retire after all!" Michele said, and Rafaele smiled at this flash of his old irrepresibleness—that kind they hadn't seen much of since his son died with Federico.

"Let's go congratulate the children, then," he suggested.

"As long as Chrome stays Chrome," Michele specified, promptly. "I can deal with a cute girl, even one who doesn't know she's pretty yet. But that Mukuro gives me the creeps. Especially when he thanks me for complimenting her." He shuddered and Rafaele chuckled as they spread out. Mukuro's sense of humor was a pretty good match for his boss', at that.

Eventually he worked his way to where Squalo was leaning against the wall and watching the crowd. "Congratulations," Rafaele said, nodding to the ring on Squalo's hand.

"Mm. Nice to have it all official, I guess," his protege murmured.

Rafaele leaned beside him. "You know, I'm not sure I've ever mentioned it," he said at last, "but I'm glad you came back to the Family with me, that day I first met you. When I look back at how Xanxus was before... well, I think this turned out better for everyone."

Squalo's mouth quirked. "Yeah, 'Mom' said kind of the same thing just now. Only he didn't sound quite as cheery about it."

"Gianni belongs to Timoteo a lot like you belong to Xanxus," Rafaele said gently, and then grinned. "I imagine you'll think Xanxus' son is an uppity little brat, too."

"Oh God." Squalo slumped back against the wall. "You're going to start encouraging the girls, now, aren't you?"

"I imagine their own Families will do that," Rafaele pointed out dryly. "Don't worry; I'm sure you'll be able to find him a woman to suit him."

Squalo stared. "Me?"

"You're his right hand," Rafaele pointed out inexorably. "And he certainly isn't going to do it left to his own devices, is he?"

Squalo slumped again. "I really hate you sometimes," he said into his glass.

"Shows I'm doing my job."

After another silence Squalo said quietly, "I suppose I'm glad, too."

Rafaele smiled and held out his glass. "To the Vongola Tenth, then."

Squalo laughed. "Yeah, all right." He clinked his glass against Rafaele's and they both drank.

Whether he retired or died in the harness, Rafaele decided, he would leave the Family in good hands.

End

Omiai

In the universe where Xanxus is the Tenth, what happens to Tsuna and his friends? Drama with Humor and Tangential Romance, I-4

Tsuna stood in the shade of the small 'control tower' building and watched as a sleek private jet rolled to a stop, and tried not to fidget.

"Why did the Tenth have to come here?" he asked Reborn one more time. "I haven't even graduated from high school yet!"

"Because he's the one you'll serve when Iemitsu retires and you take over CEDEF," Reborn told him. "It's about time you met each other. Quit complaining."

"Who said I was going to take over CEDEF?" Tsuna muttered, more out of habit than hope at this point.

"I did."

Tsuna sighed and then stood up straighter, nervous, as the jet's door opened and a tall, dark man prowled down the stairs. He was followed by another man, lean and not quite so tall with a fly-away brush of short silver hair, and—thank goodness!—a boy about Tsuna's age, looking around with sharp eyes under a curtain of darker silver hair.

"Xanxus," Reborn greeted the one in the lead, not that Tsuna had really had any doubts.

"Reborn." Xanxus looked Tsuna up and down and lifted a brow. "You're sure he beat Mukuro?" he added doubtfully.

"Quite sure. Not that he wasn't pathetically clumsy about it." Tsuna rolled his eyes and caught what might have been a glint of sympathy in Xanxus'. "Which is why I wanted you to come help with his training," Reborn finished.

"What?!" Tsuna yelped.

"Well of course," Reborn told him, perfectly serene. "I can't arrange escaped mafia criminals for you all the time, you know."

"He didn't tell you," Xanxus stated rather than asked, and snorted.

"He usually doesn't," Tsuna admitted.

Xanxus looked him up and down again, more measuringly this time. "Hm. Got a problem with training against me?"

"I, um, don't want to die and I don't like pain?" Tsuna suggested, not entirely sure this would weigh with the kind of people Reborn seemed to know.

"Ah, don't worry about that," the lean man put in with a rather unnerving smile. "You probably won't die."

Tsuna sighed, slumping. Yeah, that was about what he had figured.

"This is the Vongola house in this town," Reborn announced when they arrived.

It was the first Tsuna had heard of any such thing, and the first time he'd ever seen the large, western style house they had pulled up to. For the first time he wondered exactly how much money Reborn had at his personal disposal, to set this up.

Actually, considering property damages, maybe he should have wondered that sooner.

He helped haul luggage into the spotless foyer while Xanxus looked around, hands on his hips. "Nice place," Xanxus observed with a hint of what sounded like suspicion. Xanxus, Tsuna reflected, seemed to know Reborn awfully well.

"I called in some of the Family to get it ready." At Xanxus' frown Reborn added, "They've already left again."

"Good," Xanxus grunted. "Can't stand having a bunch of fawning idiots around."

Tsuna blinked, started by the harshness of that comment on the Tenth's own Family.

"They're not actually pretending, you know," Squalo said, in the tone of someone who'd said it many times before. "Just because they're not afraid of you any more. I mean, how long has it been since you even broke someone up during training? Someone who wasn't Varia," he added.

Xanxus made a noncommittal sound and turned down the hall, glancing into each room as if he expected to find concealed attackers. Squalo looked after him, shaking his head and smiling crookedly, and jerked his chin at Gokudera, who followed quietly after Xanxus.

"If he doesn't believe his own Family respects him, there will be trouble," Reborn said.

The tolerant look slid off Squalo's face and he narrowed his eyes at Reborn. "He's getting there," he snapped.

"He's the Tenth now," Reborn shot back, inflexible. "Get there faster."

"Mind your own business," Squalo growled, and Tsuna tip toed back a little, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. "You're the Ninth's man. You don't know the Tenth."

"If he can't inherit the Ninth's men, the Vongola will fail at the end of this generation," Reborn said quietly.

Squalo's mouth tightened and he said, just as soft, "And do you really think Iemitsu will give Xanxus everything he gives the Ninth? Do you really think you will?"

Reborn pulled the brim of his hat down, quiet for a moment. "That's why I'm here," he finally answered.

"Then I guess we'll see." Squalo turned away, following Xanxus and Gokudera.

"Tsuna."

Tsuna started a little, and tried to breathe normally again as the tension in the front hall eased. "Yeah?"

"Tell Yamamoto to stop by and see us, once he's done with his team practice."

Tsuna stared at him. "Um. Okay?"

Reborn didn't explain the non sequitur, just hopped up onto Tsuna's shoulder as he turned back for the next suitcase.

To Tsuna's temporary relief he was not tossed to the Tenth's un-tender-looking mercies the very next day. Instead he was training with the boy his age, Gokudera Hayato. His relief was only temporary because this involved getting blown up.

"You need to increase your endurance," Reborn declared. "We'll start easy; just put out all the bomb fuses before they go off."

"Put out the fu—?"

Gokudera flicked and fanned sticks of dynamite through his fingers and lit them off his cigarette quite calmly. Tsuna didn't have time to protest further before the bombs bracketed him on all sides and he'd been shot.

More bombs. Fewer bombs. Bombs further away. Really a whole lot of bombs. Small bombs hiding among bigger bombs.

It was the last that got him, and when he came to he was still smoking.

"Idiot," Reborn told him. "You need to pay better attention."

"I was paying attention," Tsuna protested, spitting out dirt. "It's just... they looked..."

"Perspective," Gokudera supplied, perched on a rock with one knee drawn up. "If I can distract you with the larger ones, the smaller ones will seem like regular bombs further away. They're scaled to look exactly alike."

Xanxus, leaning against a tree to watch the show, made a satisfied sound. "Hayato will be our best strategist, eventually."

Tsuna blinked as Gokudera's cool, businesslike look evaporated into a soft smile and bright eyes and... was Gokudera actually blushing?

"Tenth," Gokudera murmured. Then he seemed to notice Tsuna smiling and cleared his throat. "So. We going again?"

"Of course," Reborn said, and Tsuna stood with a sigh.

It was getting on towards evening when Reborn finally said they were done, and Tsuna just collapsed where he stood. "Ow," he added, after a moment to catch his breath.

"What the hell?" Xanxus was asking Reborn, not quite quietly. "He acts like a total wimp, but he's been running around like a crazy man putting out bombs like it's nothing all day."

"That's Tsuna," Reborn said, uninformatively. Tsuna figured that meant he was going to have to do this again tomorrow.

"Hey, Tsuna!"

Tsuna hauled himself to his feet with a smile. "Yamamoto."

Yamamoto strolled up, bat over his shoulder, and blinked at Tsuna's ragged, dirt streaked clothes. "Been practicing hard?"

"I guess so, yeah," Tsuna sighed.

"Yamamoto, good, you're here." Reborn landed hard on Tsuna's shoulder. "There are things you need to work on, too. Squalo," he added, "Yamamoto uses a sword."

That seemed an odd way to introduce them, to Tsuna, but sure enough Squalo straightened up and took a long step forward, eyes on Yamamoto. He didn't speak, though.

Yamamoto cocked his head in friendly inquiry, bat shifting just a little against his shoulder.

Tsuna yelped as a sword blade slid out of Squalo's sleeve and he lunged at Yamamoto. Everyone else, he realized, was just standing there looking on, and he wondered again when he had stopped knowing any sane people.

One strike that Yamamoto met, bat suddenly a sword, laughing; a second that he dodged, and Squalo's face was completely still; a third that he stepped into and Squalo's eyes narrowed and something small flew from Squalo's sword and Squalo was leaping back from the explosion that blew Yamamoto through the air.

Yamamoto lay still where he'd landed.

"Yamamoto!" Tsuna started to go to him only to fetch up short against Gokudera's grip on his arm.

"Don't," Gokudera said quietly, eyes on Yamamoto as he stirred and slowly levered himself upright.

"You wave a sword around, but you're not a swordsman," Squalo said, loud and flat. "With that skill level you're no use to anyone." He turned on his heel and stalked away from them all. Xanxus, Tsuna noted even in his distraction, watched Squalo go with a tilted smile.

"Let me go," Tsuna hissed to Gokudera.

"Do you really think he'll want sympathy when he's just been beaten that easily?" Gokudera asked, though he also let Tsuna go. Tsuna hesitated.

"Well." Yamamoto walked toward them and he was smiling the way he always did, but there was something different in his eyes. "It's good to see you, Tsuna, but I guess I should get back to practice." He patted Tsuna on the shoulder companionably and walked on.

"Yamamoto." Tsuna hesitated.

"Good."

Tsuna glared at Reborn. "What's good about it?"

"Yamamoto needs a reason to be serious." Reborn was smiling his barely-there smile. "And Squalo wouldn't have been that angry if Yamamoto didn't have it in him to be better."

Xanxus snorted. "If it's the sword, yeah. You're a complete bastard, you know that?"

"I," Reborn said, "am the very best home tutor."

Tsuna thought about that, and about himself and about Yamamoto and about the Family that Reborn said he was already a part of, the whole way home.

For three days Tsuna tried to catch up with Yamamoto at school and completely failed. Yamamoto seemed just as sociable and cheerful as ever, but he was always on his way somewhere: to buy lunch because he'd forgotten his; to team practice, though Tsuna didn't see him there when he stopped by on his way out to his own training; to take a make-up test, and that was when Tsuna got suspicious, because he usually had to take all of those and he didn't have any that day. Finally Tsuna asked Reborn if he thought something was wrong. Reborn smacked him casually over the head.

"Idiot Tsuna. Of course something's wrong. Yamamoto isn't the kind of person to take being beaten easily."

After that, Tsuna insisted on visiting Yamamoto's house and finding out what his friend was doing.

"Takeshi?" Yamamoto's father smiled. "So, it's something to do with your business, is it?"

"Um." Tsuna fidgeted guiltily.

"Takeshi is at the dojo two blocks down." Yamamoto-san went back to chopping ingredients, knife flashing, still with that odd smile.

"I'll... just go see how he's doing, then." Tsuna slipped back out of the shop and looked at Reborn. "Was that weird, or is it just me?"

"I didn't see anything odd about it," Reborn told him, and pointed down the road. "That way."

Tsuna sighed and headed on toward the dojo. It was a nice one, large and traditional and set back on a big lot with willows and pines leaning around it. Tsuna peeked in the window slats to see if Yamamoto was really in there, and wound up clinging to the slats in shock. Yamamoto was there all right.

He was moving through the open room like water flowing, one form after another, and Tsuna would almost swear his sword was leaving trails in the air. "Since when..." he whispered.

Yamamoto paused and came to the door, looking around. "Is someone...? Oh, hey, Tsuna!" He grinned. "Come on in. I'm sorry," he added, penitently, as Tsuna slipped inside and toed off his shoes, "did I worry you?"

"No, no, it wasn't—" Tsuna started, only to be overridden by Reborn.

"Yes, Tsuna is an idiot, so he was fretting. So? How is it going?"

Yamamoto smiled wryly. "It's good. At least I think so." He looked round at the scattered remains of straw bundles. "If you don't mind, though, I think... I think I'd rather not show you yet."

"I understand."

Tsuna was glad someone did. "You're sure you're doing all right?" he asked, hesitantly.

Yamamoto smiled at him, open as always though there was a layer of darkness in his eyes now. "Honest, Tsuna. I'm good."

Tsuna smiled back; obviously there wasn't anything he could say to change this. "All right. I'll let you get back to it, then." He made a face. "I was on my way to training anyway."

Yamamoto laughed. "Hey, good luck. Oh." He paused, back to them. "Don't mention this to Squalo, all right?"

"If you want, sure," Tsuna assured him.

"Thanks."

Tsuna was silent for a while as they walked on down the road. "Reborn," he said, finally, "is this really going to be all right?"

"Yamamoto is strong enough to be your friend," Reborn said, serenely. "Have some faith in him."

Tsuna took a deep breath and let it out.

"All right."

"All right," Reborn announced, "today you're working with Xanxus."

Tsuna looked at Xanxus and instantly felt scrawny. And breakable.

"You use very different techniques, it should be interesting." There was, Tsuna felt, something ghoulish about Reborn's good cheer as he cocked his head at the Tenth.

Xanxus gave him a dark look. "Interesting, huh?" Tsuna was slightly cheered by this evidence that other people than him knew Reborn was evil that way. His eyes widened, though, when Xanxus drew a gun and a hard glow lit his hand on the grip.

"That's..."

"The Vongola Flame," Reborn agreed.

Xanxus raised the gun and fired at the cliff face, a lot of which turned into rubble.

"Heee!" Tsuna squeaked. He really couldn't help it.

"It's about time you got some experience against someone else who uses the Flame," Reborn told him with perfect ruthlessness.

Tsuna missed most of Reborn's lecture about special bullets and Wrath and some other Vongola boss who'd also used guns, because he was staring at the cliff in horror. When Reborn shot him he was actually relieved, because it was a lot easier to look at the Tenth's Flame and not run screaming when Dying Will was humming through his nerves and thoughts. He was also grateful for the week of practice against Gokudera, because he needed every bit of speed and precision to dodge Xanxus' shots; he had more agility, especially in the air, and that was good since he absolutely had to close hand-to-hand.

The thought stirred, in the back of his mind, that he should do something about that.

More and more of his attention, though was taken up with the taste, for lack of a better word, of Xanxus' Flame. It was hard and wild, and there was something running through it like a scream heard in the distance. The word Reborn had spoken came back to him: Wrath. A compression and sharpening of the Flame.

He thought Xanxus' Flame could get a lot sharper than this, too, if he were facing a real enemy. Someone who threatened the things Xanxus cared about.

That reminded him of someone.

When Reborn finally said they could stop and Tsuna collapsed on a rock, panting and aching in every muscle, that thought stayed with him. "Xanxus-san?" he finally said, hesitantly.

"Hm?" Xanxus was leaning back, legs crossed, looking like he'd maybe had a decent workout and could go another round any time.

"Reborn said that Mukuro was with you, now?"

Xanxus snorted. "As much as he's with anyone."

"I'm glad," Tsuna said quietly. He got an odd look from Xanxus for that.

"Glad?"

"The things they talked about, that their own Family had done to them." Tsuna groped for the right words. "I don't understand a lot of what Reborn talks about, the traditions and things. But that... that's just wrong. They need someplace to be that will be better. So if they're with you, now, I'm glad."

"You think I can be better for them?" Xanxus asked, brows raised, and Tsuna looked up at him.

"I think maybe you're a little like Mukuro when you care about something. I think maybe you can understand him better than other people."

Xanxus eyed him for a long moment and then, rather to Tsuna's surprise, turned and gave Reborn a very hard look.

"That's Tsuna," Reborn said evenly. "You've seen his technique up close, now, and you know what he did to Mukuro. It's his intuition that's developing fastest, not his offensive abilities." He cocked his head. "Isn't that good, for someone who will be your outside advisor?"

Xanxus answered with a wordless grunt, leaning back to stare up at the sky.

"He could probably master the Zero Point, too," Reborn added, and sat calmly as Xanxus jerked back upright. "If you agree."

Tsuna had no idea what they were talking about, but he did his best not to quail under the burning stare Xanxus gave him.

The Tenth stood abruptly. "I'll think about it."

"What's the Zero Point?" Tsuna asked as Xanxus strode away.

Reborn was smiling. "If he agrees, I'll tell you."

Their next visitor was a lot more unexpected than Yamamoto had been.

"Hibari-san!" Tsuna scrambled to his feet as Hibari looked him up and down, because he could already hear Hibari's admonishment about letting his school uniform get dirty by sprawling around on the ground. And Hibari's admonishments never stopped at words. Tsuna dusted himself off, nervously, as well as could be when Xanxus' last shot had slammed him into a small crater.

Hibari sniffed and glanced at the others. "Baby." He nodded acknowledgment to Reborn, fingers already working delicately around the handle of his tonfa.

"Hibari." Reborn was almost smirking, Tsuna swore. "I'm still a bit busy, but I thought you might like to go a few rounds with Xanxus."

Hibari's focus shifted and he examined Xanxus for a long moment. "Are you strong?" he finally asked.

Xanxus' mouth curled. "Are you?" he returned.

Somehow Tsuna wasn't at all surprised when they both lunged for each other and Xanxus caught the first tonfa on the barrel of his gun. He backed up out of the way along with Squalo and Reborn.

"He's good," Squalo said, arms folded, eyes fixed on the fast, brutal exchange ranging up and down the boulders in front of them. It was the most civil thing Tsuna had heard him say in days, which was a bit of a relief.

"Of course he is." Reborn crossed his ankles. "I wouldn't have recommended this if he weren't."

"He's also," Squalo noted as Xanxus shot the ground out from under Hibari and Hibari sprang forward instead of back, teeth bared, "crazy."

"Hibari enjoys fighting, and he likes fighting strong opponents the best," Reborn answered, composed. "You should understand that."

"Mmm." Tsuna didn't understand the sidelong look Squalo gave Reborn.

The open area they'd been using as a practice ground was smoking and scattered with rubble by the time Xanxus got Hibari down. "So?" he asked, out of breath and dripping blood from the side of his head but also grinning, gun trained straight at Hibari.

Hibari looked up at him, expressionless, and twisted, coming up, steel first, inside Xanxus' reach.

Xanxus laughed as he rolled back and kicked Hibari hard over him and against the broken rocks.

"Um," Tsuna murmured. "Is this a good idea? I mean," he went on as both Reborn and Squalo looked at him blankly, "one of them could get seriously hurt if they keep it up."

Squalo shrugged. "That's how we've trained, for a long time." With another of those looks at Reborn he added, "Been a while since someone else could keep up."

It was getting dark before Xanxus and Hibari stopped, and they only did because this time Hibari was actually unconscious. Xanxus took a while to straighten up, too, before spitting out a mouthful of blood and slinging Hibari's body over his shoulder. "Persistent little bastard," he panted, limping over to them and letting Hibari slide down to the rock beside Reborn. His teeth glinted in the dusk. "He'd fit right in with the Varia."

The words left a little silence behind them that wasn't broken until Squalo stirred and looked down at Reborn. "When you said you'd serve the Tenth," he said quietly, "you weren't kidding were you?"

"I'm going to forget you said that." Reborn tugged his hat down a bit.

Squalo looked away. "Yeah. All right."

Xanxus was frowning down at Reborn. "Wait. Are you saying that's why you called the kid here today?"

Reborn shrugged. "I thought you'd both enjoy it, either way." When he looked up he was unreadable, even to Tsuna. "But the thought occurred to me, when I met Hibari."

Xanxus looked at Reborn for a long, silent moment, eyes dark, before he glanced down at Hibari, who was beginning to stir. "A new leader for the Varia, huh? He'd have to work his own way up."

"With Hibari," Reborn said dryly, "it couldn't possibly happen any other way."

"Well, good." After a moment, Xanxus added, "Tell Sawada what the Zero Point is."

Reborn smiled. "As you wish."

Tsuna wondered again what the Zero Point was, that Xanxus was so wary of trusting him with it.

Five days later, he stood on the cliff, staring at his hands with wide eyes, and understood. "I can't," he said, husky, raising shocked eyes to Xanxus. "I can't do that to you!" Now he understood why Squalo had been so tense these past few days.

Xanxus' mouth twisted. "Not without this, anyway." He pulled something out of his pocket and flipped it through the air, gleaming. It was a ring. "That's why I sent Hayato back home to get it."

"Ah." Reborn sounded pleased. "That," he lectured Tsuna, "is the Sky Ring. With it, Xanxus will be able to melt the Zero Point again. With all of the Vongola rings together, anyone could do it."

"Oh." Tsuna nibbled on his lip. "Well, I guess..." He could tell, though, that the Zero Point was a harsh technique, and he didn't like the thought. Finally he straightened up. "Show me, first, then. Use it on me."

Xanxus' brows lifted. "What are you, kid, a masochist?"

Tsuna frowned. "You're telling me to do this to you aren't you?"

Xanxus snorted. "That's different."

"How?"

Xanxus was silent for a long moment, hooded eyes fixed on Tsuna. Finally he sighed, exasperated. "Fine, fine. Don't complain to me after." He holstered one of his guns and laid his hand over the remaining one, closing his eyes. The alternation of his Flame was slow to build but eye-hurtingly bright when it flashed. Tsuna took a breath and gathered his own Flame. Finally Xanxus' eyes opened, dark and clear, and he raised the gun and fired. Tsuna met it, as he was learning to, but this time the touch of Xanxus' Flame was very different—draining, slowing his strength, stilling everything. Tsuna gasped as ice closed around his gloves, not really cold but an absence that seared him. It was a shock like being cut and not seeing his blood flowing.

When Xanxus' hand settled over his, with that ring glinting on his finger, and Tsuna could feel it, could feel his own Flame again too, the relief made him dizzy. "Xanxus-san," he whispered, looking up at him.

Xanxus frowned a little. "You okay?" he asked briskly.

"Why is it all right for me to do this to you?" Tsuna demanded, voice cracking a little.

Xanxus looked away abruptly. "I'm used to it," he finally answered.

He didn't mean the Zero Point itself, Tsuna could see that. Trying to think what else might feel like that, though, made him sick. And angry. A small, hot anger in the center of his chest at people he'd never met and probably never would.

The Zero Point was something that might stop those people, though.

"All right," he said, low, and Xanxus looked back at him, sharp and startled. "I'll do it. I'll learn it. But I'm stopping for the day if I think we've done too much." He looked up at his prospective boss, Will rising, lifting his determination like a tide.

Xanxus' mouth quirked. "You will huh?" He stepped back again and aimed at Tsuna, the hard glow of his Flame steady this time. "Ready or not, then."

Xanxus fired on him again and again, ruthless, pushing Tsuna back and back as he tried to catch the rhythm of the Zero Point. But even when the shots left him smoking, they didn't break that new determination. Every now and then Tsuna caught a glimpse of Squalo, off to the side, leaning against a tree with crossed arms and a sardonic smile. He thought maybe he was starting to understand Squalo, too, a little.

It took hours, but finally Tsuna found his balance and when he closed with Xanxus that time he left Xanxus' gun hand frozen. Xanxus' expression didn't alter a hair as he laid his ring hand over it and melted the not-ice. "Again," he said.

"Wait." Tsuna stepped back, frowning down at the ground. "There was something..." He placed his hands together, as if for the Zero Point, and felt it again, like something he'd heard years ago and forgotten but might remember if he could just find the thread of it. Finally he looked up, determined. "Yes. Again."

Xanxus frowned at him, and frowned at him some more when he backed off to take the shots again. "What the hell, Sawada?" he asked after the first few left Tsuna smoking again.

"It's something else," Tsuna insisted. "There's something else I could do with this." He took a breath and focused again. "Please."

Xanxus' mouth tightened, but he fired again. And again. And again.

As he watched the last shot coming, Tsuna thought what he wanted was like the Zero Point inside out. Moving with the thought, he turned his hands around.

The flow of his Flame reversed.

This time he didn't stop, either his Flame or Xanxus'. This time Xanxus' Flame ran into him with no resistance and flared through him—out from him, overflowing. He let it, let the new strength drive him forward, closing hand to hand before Xanxus could move. "This," he said quietly, hands closed around Xanxus'. "This was it."

He stepped back, meeting Xanxus' shocked stare calmly.

"I told you," Reborn said into the silence. "Tsuna's intuition is what's growing the fastest. That's how he'll best serve you."

Tsuna smiled at that. "Yes." He looked up at Xanxus, calmed by the way he'd found, by the assurance that he could do better for Xanxus than piling more pain on him. Xanxus looked back at him, and Tsuna could see something slowly relaxing in him.

Leaning against his tree, Squalo was downright grinning.

Tsuna thought it was just typical that whenever Xanxus and his people were running out of groceries it was him, and sometimes Gokudera, who got sent out for more.

"Here," Gokudera said, holding out a bag. "I'll put stuff away upstairs if you get the kitchen."

Since it had already been a very long day and the thought of not climbing stairs was extremely appealing, Tsuna agreed.

Most everything was easy enough to find the right place for, in the refrigerator or the pantry, though the package after package of instant noodles amused him as he stacked them neatly on their shelf. This, he thought, might be what people usually meant when they talked about the eating habits of bachelors. The only one of those he'd known previously was Yamamoto's father, and that was obviously a special case.

He heard the refrigerator open and close while he was putting away the last of the rice, and then the sliding door out onto the deck behind the house.

"So? What do you think?"

Tsuna peeked around the pantry door to see Squalo setting a beer down by Xanxus, who was lounging in one of the deck chairs and might have been there the whole time. Squalo leaned against the rail across from him.

"What do I think of what?" Xanxus asked and took a long swallow. Tsuna went back to trying to find room for the new bottle of vinegar.

"Sawada."

Tsuna froze.

Xanxus snorted. "I think he's crazy. Pretty sure I said that before."

Tsuna reached for the last bag, trying to stack things quickly and silently so he could see about sneaking out of there.

"He'll fit in, then. But do you think he'll be loyal?"

"To the Family? I'm guessing so; he's a protective little bastard. Should have seen him when you were having your go at his friend the swordsman."

Tsuna anticipated another loud and profane tirade over how far Yamamoto had to go before Squalo would call him that. Instead Squalo said quietly, "That's the Family. Do you believe he'll be loyal to you?"

There was a moment of silence and then Xanxus snorted. "As long as he does his job, what difference does that make?"

"You know," Squalo said dryly, "if anyone ever wanted to know all the things that are really important to you, all they'd have to do is listen and see what you act most careless about."

"Squalo." It was a growl, and Tsuna peeked around the edge of the door cautiously. He saw Squalo push away from the rail and come to kneel beside Xanxus' chair instead, looking up at him.

"Boss," was all Squalo said, but Tsuna could hear things in that one word he didn't even have names for.

Xanxus looked down at Squalo for a long moment, eyes dark, and finally glanced away. "Have I told you have have a really damn smart mouth?"

The mouth in question quirked. "Not just lately."

"Well you do." Xanxus reached out, though, and rested a hand on Squalo's shoulder. After a moment he turned back and Tsuna, still trapped at the pantry door, could see he was smiling a little. "There are better uses for it." He slid his hand up into Squalo's hair and pulled him closer. Squalo went easily, eyes sliding half closed as Xanxus' mouth covered his. "Come here," Xanxus murmured after a moment, and Squalo slid up to straddle his long legs and be pressed tight against him as both Xanxus' hands slid up his back and pulled him down to another kiss.

Tsuna took the chance while they were distracted and scuttled for the hall, face burning. There were no crashes behind him so he thought he'd gotten away clean, but he didn't slow down until he ran into Gokudera at the bottom of the stairs.

"Sawada?" Gokudera's hand slid to his belts, and he glanced around sharply. "What's wrong?"

"Huh? Oh." Tsuna realized he must look a little wild. He felt like it, wide eyed and probably very red. "No, no! No, it's not... Nothing's wrong, it's just... um... Xanxus-san and Squalo-san... um..."

Gokudera frowned at him for a moment before his own eyes widened a bit. "Oh. Yeah." He was turning a little pink himself. "Yeah, they're um. Yeah." He glanced down the hall Tsuna had come out of and cleared his throat. "So. I guess we shouldn't start dinner yet, huh?"

"No! Really not!" Tsuna squeaked.

"Right." After a moment Gokudera suggested, "Delivery?"

"Good idea," Tsuna agreed fervently.

Dinner was enough to get them both past the embarrassment and talking sensibly about the weather in Italy, but as he walked home that night Tsuna remembered the question Squalo had asked about his loyalty to Xanxus and the way Xanxus hadn't answered it.

He thought especially hard about the things Xanxus acted careless about.

Tsuna was back to exercises against Gokudera's explosives because Hibari had been back for Xanxus today. Again. Tsuna was reminded of the last time Dino had come to visit, and the way he laughed when he'd said Hibari didn't need a reason to fight, just an occasion. Xanxus seemed to like being the occasion.

Tsuna thought they were both kind of weird.

"Ninety percent chance of success is going to get a whole new meaning with him, I can tell," Squalo was saying to Reborn as Tsuna and Gokudera came in for a drink. "I can't wait until he meets Bel."

"It will probably take a while to pry him out of Namimori," Reborn cautioned. "But if he knows he can find so many strong opponents by coming to Italy we can convince him to transfer his attachment. Dino is already telling him little things about the honor and traditions of our world."

Squalo's smile tilted. "Ceirano will like having someone else around who's into tradition; they'll get along."

"As much as two people aligned with Cloud ever do," Reborn murmured.

"No surprise." Xanxus joined them and caught the bottle of water Squalo tossed him with his off hand. He was favoring his ribs today, Tsuna noted. Hibari was already halfway into the trees, one arm dangling.

They were definitely both weird.

"So, we're done for the day?" he asked hopefully, glancing up at the clouds. He'd felt a drop here and there and it looked like it was just about to open up and pour.

"Of course not. This is a good opportunity to train in low visibility," Reborn declared.

Tsuna groaned. Of course.

Tsuna was drenched and gasping for breath, and the puddles were nearly ankle deep before Reborn finally declared himself satisfied for the day. Squalo wasn't in quite such bad shape, but he hadn't spent the first half of the day being blown up either. Tsuna dragged himself back under the trees, feeling like a drowned rat.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Yamamoto spoke from the shadows beside him.

"So, is it my turn now?"

"Yamamoto!" Tsuna's first response was relief, because he had been starting to get worried. His second was to get worried, because Yamamoto had a glint in his eyes that he didn't get even when he was pitching in a tight game. Yamamoto was also carrying a shinai over his shoulder where his bat normally rested.

Squalo's lip curled. "Back for more?"

Yamamoto's answering smile was perfectly affable. "Yeah. I'm going to stay with Tsuna."

"Even if you're too weak?"

"We won't know that until I try."

"Bad timing, fighting the Rain on ground like this," Squalo said very quietly, and vanished into the falling water.

"Yamamoto..." Tsuna started to say, only to be stopped by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Don't interrupt," Xanxus told him, eyes narrowed on Yamamoto.

Yamamoto just stood, head cocked, not even looking focused. Tsuna was about to say something, and never mind what the crazy people he was with thought, when that stillness broke. Yamamoto spun on his heel, sword dropping low and coming up in a sure slash, and...

Tsuna stared. The shinai had become a katana. And Yamamoto had caught Squalo's descending stroke out of nowhere.

"Hmm." Squalo smiled slowly. "Not bad, kid. Not bad." He disengaged and sprang back. "Just not enough." He came in again, faster this time, and Tsuna took in a breath to call something, he didn't know what, because Squalo was looking a lot more serious than he had while he nearly skewered Tsuna himself. Gokudera seemed to agree, because he took a step forward with a worried frown.

The tip of Yamamoto's sword dipped to the ground and slashed up, and water followed it. When either of them could be seen again, Yamamoto was behind Squalo. Now it was his turn to charge. Squalo was already turning, though, and Tsuna bit his lip hard.

"Quit worrying so much," Reborn said, landing on Tsuna's free shoulder. "Yamamoto is a natural."

"But," Tsuna started, strangled, and then gasped. Yamamoto's hand slashed up and across as Squalo blocked a sword that wasn't there. Instead it was coming in the other hand, and Squalo's jacket fluttered, torn. He looked down at it for a long moment.

"Huh." His eyes on Yamamoto were sharper than ever. "Your style. What's it called?"

"Shigure Souen," Yamamoto said, and smiled a little differently than he usually did.

"Thought I'd seen it before." Squalo's teeth showed. "Of course, the last time I saw someone using it, he lost."

They met again, fast and sharp and brutal, and Tsuna felt like he could barely breathe. He knew Yamamoto, he knew Yamamoto always found a way when something was important, but he'd also spent some of the last few weeks fighting Squalo himself. He knew Squalo was the Tenth's right hand, the strategist who taught Gokudera, the strongest among the Vongola after Xanxus himself. This couldn't possibly end well.

"Been a while since I watched Squalo get serious," Xanxus said, leaning back against a tree. "It's good to see. Is that kid strong enough to take it, Reborn?"

"Yamamoto?" Reborn was smiling under his hat. "Of course."

There was no question; Tsuna was surrounded by maniacs.

Xanxus grunted, watching.

"He thinks fast," Gokudera murmured. "Most don't realize how Attaco di Squalo works." He straightened suddenly and Tsuna looked back at Yamamoto and Squalo. They were lunging for each other with what looked like exactly the same stance.

At least it looked that way until the actual strike.

Squalo landed hard in the mud and rolled back to his feet, eyes blazing. "What the hell was that?!"

"Shigure Souen," Yamamoto gasped, down on one knee but grinning. "Eighth form."

"That wasn't Autumn Rain," Squalo growled.

Yamamoto blinked. "Of course not. It was the eighth form, Pouring Rain."

Squalo opened his mouth and froze. "Like that, is it?" he finally said, very quietly, voice almost lost in the downpour. "Well, then." He smiled, thin and sharp, and beckoned. "Get up and turn your goddamn sword around and show me the real thing."

Yamamoto met him again, and Tsuna listened to Reborn explaining what must be the shape of Shigure Souen to Xanxus and Gokudera. His eyes were fixed on the flash and dart of swords in the rain, the hard, fierce light in Squalo's face and the smile on Yamamoto's. Watched as water swept up and away from Squalo's charge and Yamamoto leaned into his stance, sword steady. Watched as Yamamoto fell.

"He's still alive," Reborn said quietly in Tsuna's ear.

"Wasn't that overkill, using Scontro on him?" Xanxus asked, as Squalo hauled Yamamoto back under the trees and dumped him there.

"No." Squalo's smile was wide enough to belong on his namesake.

Xanxus lifted an eyebrow as Yamamoto stirred and Tsuna hurried to help him sit up. "He's that good?"

"He will be." Squalo flung wet hair back with a toss of his head and kicked the bottom of Yamamoto's shoe. "Keep working on it, kid."

Yamamoto's unsteady laugh broke the glare Tsuna started to give Squalo. "I will."

"Are you all right?" Tsuna demanded.

"Yeah, sure." Yamamoto blinked up at him as if he didn't know why Tsuna might have asked, and Tsuna had to restrain the urge to bang his head against something. They were all crazy.

"Well then." Xanxus stood over them for a moment. "Looks like you have someone for CEDEF, Sawada."

Tsuna opened his mouth and closed it again. "I'm glad you'll be with me," he said at last, to Yamamoto.

As they gathered everything, and everyone, up to slog back to the mansion Xanxus and his people were staying at, Gokudera helped Tsuna get Yamamoto upright and finally ducked under his other arm to help him walk. "Swords make you crazy," he muttered.

Tsuna couldn't help laughing, even as Yamamoto looked slightly bewildered by both of them.

At least one person agreed with him.

Tsuna stood out on the private runway again, this time with Yamamoto beside him, and watched the stairs wheeled up to the side of the jet.

"...and for fuck's sake learn how to use your edge," Squalo was lecturing Yamamoto. "If you're not serious about the sword it'll kill you, and damn good riddance."

"Yes, Squalo." Yamamoto smiled agreeably, and Squalo eyed him with suspicion.

"Hmph."

"Are you sure this guy isn't just a complete idiot?" Gokudera asked his senior doubtfully.

"Idiot savant, maybe," Squalo muttered.

Gokudera eyed Yamamoto and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds right."

Tsuna could see that Yamamoto was trying not to laugh out loud.

"Nice that Squalo's found a toy that bites back," Xanxus murmured, a sardonic glint in his eye.

Tsuna turned to him. "I'm glad you came, and that I had a chance to meet you and work with you, Xanxus-san," he said politely, which seemed to amuse Xanxus.

"You should be ready for the next insane mafia criminal Reborn finds for you anyway."

Tsuna quailed a little at the thought, because he knew quite well Reborn would. He pulled himself together, though, because there was something else he needed to say. "Tenth."

That pulled Xanxus' attention to him, all right, and Tsuna looked up at him.

"I'll get stronger. I promise." At Xanxus' startled look, he waved a hand, trying to take in the whole mafia thing. "For this." He took a breath. "For you."

It was hard to stand there under the sudden sharpness of Xanxus' gaze, but Tsuna had thought long and hard about this and watched Xanxus with his people, and listened to the little things Reborn said about the Family heir. Xanxus had been hurt, like Mukuro had been hurt, and it was wrong. Tsuna couldn't see that and do nothing.

"For me?" Xanxus' voice was harsh, and in the disbelieving edge of it Tsuna heard the darkness he would need to cleanse this time.

The calm that was almost Dying Will stirred in Tsuna and made his voice low and even. "For you." He remembered how Squalo had said it and smiled. "I'll be the Tenth's man, won't I?"

After a long, still moment Xanxus nodded. "All right." No more than that before he turned away toward the jet, but Tsuna settled back, satisfied. Xanxus hadn't pretended it didn't matter, this time.

He and Yamamoto, Reborn on his shoulder, retreated indoors as the engines started.

"So," Yamamoto said as they watched the jet rise. "Italy, huh?"

Tsuna gave his friend a long look. "You're sure you want to come too?"

Yamamoto smiled, eyes still on the jet. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

Tsuna clasped his hands and told his nerves to go away. "Italy, then."

"You'd both better start training harder, then," Reborn told them. "I'll call in some favors."

"Harder?!" Tsuna had a bit of difficulty imagining that.

"And you should tell Kyouko soon," Reborn added. "She'll need time to decide."

Tsuna just squawked wordlessly. It didn't help that Yamamoto was stifling laughter.

"You can start with running the distance home." Reborn pulled out his gun. "How can you expect to take over CEDEF without being in better shape?"

"Who said I was going to?" Tsuna demanded out of pure reflex.

Reborn smiled. "You did."

Tsuna sighed. He supposed he had at that. On the bright side, he decided as Reborn took aim at him, he probably had an answer that would keep the career counselor at a distance for the rest of the year.

He supposed he'd better start learning Italian.

End

Keeping Up with the Vongolas

Tsuna goes to Italy to get settled in his new job, and brings Yamamoto and Hibari with him. Settling in goes fine, but he finds his job is bigger than he'd thought it would be. Drama, I-3

Tsuna stepped out of the car and tugged his jacket straight. He still wasn't used to the suit.

"Big place," Yamamoto remarked, emerging behind him. It was certainly that; the huge building looked to Tsuna as though someone had taken at least four separate mansions and pushed them together.

"It's the main House," Basil said, closing the car door. He smiled cheerfully at Tsuna. "Don't worry; you'll be used to it in no time!"

"Hmph." Hibari climbed out of the back and looked around with a gimlet eye. "So where's Xanxus?" His hand flexed, already prepared for the grip of his weapons.

"Looks like he's coming," Kusakabe said, closing the door behind Hibari and nodding at the stairs the led down from the house, or House rather, to the drive. Hibari smiled.

"Ah, you don't think you could maybe wait just a little while..." Tsuna trailed off at the look Hibari gave him, which conveyed quite efficiently that Hibari would be willing enough to warm his teeth up by biting Tsuna first. Tsuna held up his hands. "Just asking."

Xanxus was followed by Squalo, Gokudera, someone Tsuna didn't know, and someone else he couldn't see clearly. "Sawada." He nodded briskly at Tsuna. "Good, you're all here. This is Tazio," he jerked his thumb at the young man with the bright grin beside him. "He and Gokudera will show you around." He glanced at Hibari as he stepped forward, clearly not interested in a tour of the House, and snorted. "Got someone else to settle you in."

The fourth person in the party stepped forward and Tsuna started. "Mukuro!" Beside him, Hibari turned very still.

"Sawada," Mukuro greeted him with a smile, eyes sliding toward Hibari. "And I see you brought me a present; how thoughtful." He laughed, flickering aside as Hibari lunged for him, and they were gone.

"That should keep him occupied for a while." Squalo showed his teeth. "Give him a chance to shake the kinks out after the long trip."

Tsuna shook his head, a rueful smile twitching at his lips. "It was very thoughtful of you." Kusakabe just sighed and pulled the rest of Hibari's luggage out of the trunk.

"He's the one you're thinking of for the Varia?" Tazio asked, looking after Hibari and Mukuro. At Xanxus' nod he laughed. "I want to watch that."

Tsuna couldn't help laughing a little too. At least one of them was fitting in right away.

After an extended tour of the house which mostly left Tsuna confused, they fetched up in a pleasant sitting room with the current boss of the Vongola and his heir. Tsuna was glad he'd seen a picture last year or he might have blurted out the thought about not looking like a mafia boss, and then all the other old men in the room would probably have laughed. Except for the old woman, whose expression was alarmingly similar to Hibari's, and who might have done something more extreme.

"You know Squalo and Gokudera," Xanxus said, from where he was slouched in an arm chair. "You met Tazio. Levi and Ceirano are away, you can meet them later." He waved at the older people. "They belong to the old man."

The slim, neatly suited man standing beside the Ninth made a faint grimace, as if he'd refrained from rolling his eyes, and the lean, dark, elegant man sitting to one side with an ankle crossed over his knee quirked a tiny smile, either at his companion or at Xanxus. "We're the Ninth's Guardians," he supplied. "I'm Rafaele Martelli. That," opening a hand at the man standing by the Ninth, "is Gianni Staffieri, the Ninth's right hand." He went around the room with graceful introductions. The alarming woman was Maria Purezza. The large, quiet man with dark, thoughtful eyes was Paolo Gemello. Apparently he had a twin, Piero, who wasn't here today and there was a Michele Rizzo who was off taking care of family things. Though why this information should cause everyone in the room to grin or snort or roll their eyes, Tsuna wasn't sure.

He supposed he'd find out over the next few months.

"And of course, you know Iemitsu and Reborn," Rafaele finished with a wry smile.

"Well, I thought I did," Tsuna couldn't quite help muttering under his breath with a somewhat exasperated look at his father, who looked his part in a dark suit far more serious than anything he'd ever worn or even seemed to own at home. His dad stopped looking serious and looked perfectly, infuriatingly innocent instead, and Tsuna positively glared. At least until he noticed the startled looks around the room. Then he flushed and straightened. A faint sound made him glance over at his own immediate boss, and Tsuna surprised a dark look on Xanxus' face for a breath. Some of the things Reborn had hinted at without saying suddenly came together in Tsuna's head and he stole a fast look at the Ninth.

Sure enough, the Ninth was looking rueful. Like the byplay between Tsuna and his dad was familiar in some not completely pleasant way. Xanxus was now looking out the window, brooding. Tsuna reminded himself that these signs were why he had really agreed to take this job in the first place, and pulled himself together. "I'm very glad to meet you," he said, nodding politely around the room. "This is Yamamoto Takeshi, who's agreed to work with CEDEF," Yamamoto bobbed a cheerful nod to everyone impartially, "and this is Kusakabe Tetsuya, who is here with Hibari Kyouya." Kusakabe nodded silently and Tsuna cleared his throat. "Hibari-san seems to still be out with Mukuro."

"This is the one you want for the Varia?" Gianni asked Xanxus, one brow raised dubiously. "Will he really be willing to dedicate himself to the Family?"

"He's dedicated to exactly what he needs to be: completely destroying his enemies." Xanxus didn't stir, but Tsuna thought he looked like he was hunching down further in his chair.

Tsuna tried not to let his growing disturbance show and interjected, "If Hibari-san was willing to come at all, it means he's considering the Family, and whether it's a thing he wants to preserve. If he agrees, he'll be completely dedicated." He shrugged with a rueful smile at the older people. "Hibari-san doesn't do anything half way."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Xanxus relaxing a little from that still tension, and decided that had been the right move. Squalo was looking at him with approval, which was a good sign anyway.

Hibari took that moment to stalk in, looking a bit battered and scorched but just about gleaming with satisfaction. "And this is Hibari-san," Tsuna introduced him with as much aplomb as he could muster.

"Mm." Hibari glanced around with only mild interest, though he paused and looked twice at Maria before turning to Xanxus. "These Varia. Where are they?"

Xanxus grinned at that, clearly entertained. "Show you tomorrow."

Hibari drew himself up, and Tsuna was resigning himself to a fast trip to wherever the Varia were when Maria stepped in.

"Tomorrow," she snapped. "You'll have to fight all the unit captains to convince them. Get some sleep first. It would be absolutely pathetic if you lost just because you were too stupid to gather your resources properly."

Hibari actually stopped and cocked his head at her. "You then, instead."

She crossed her legs, lip curled. "After dinner, boy."

Hibari considered that for a moment, while Tsuna held his breath, and finally nodded agreement and settled into the chair Kusakabe pulled up for him. Clearly, Tsuna reflected, there was a good reason Maria had reminded him immediately of Hibari; at least they might keep each other occupied.

"All right, Chrome?" Squalo asked quietly, and Tsuna realized there were two new people in the room, not one.

A slight young women had slipped in behind Hibari, and Tsuna started a little when he saw her eye patch and noticed her hair style as she nodded to Squalo. "Um...?"

Xanxus flicked his fingers at her. "This is Chrome. She's Mukuro's host out here." He raked a look up and down her and grunted, turning back to the gathering while she found a chair and let herself down into it with a rather tired sigh. Tsuna caught a frown on Paolo's face, and had to stifle an exasperated sigh of his own. Even he knew that, when Xanxus sounded like that, it meant he'd looked and was satisfied Chrome was all right and just didn't want anyone to notice he cared. Really, whatever had happened between these people before he came must have been huge if it had left this many misunderstandings lying around.

"Well, you're quite welcome, here, Tsunayoshi," the Ninth said, gathering all eyes back to himself, and Tsuna relaxed to see the faint smile under the Ninth's mustache.

"Thank you, sir." It was Xanxus Tsuna looked at as he finished, though. "I'm glad to be here."

The next morning, Tsuna barely had time for a piece of toast before Hibari set down the tea he had somehow extracted from the kitchen here with a click and demanded to know where the Varia were. Tsuna paused to fill his coffee cup before trailing along after the resulting crowd, figuring he would want to be awake enough to duck when Hibari started throwing things, and people, around. The way Xanxus and Squalo were both smiling as they led the little parade only confirmed his wariness.

They left the main House and crossed down a hill to an annex set back on its own. A bit to Tsuna's surprise, though only a bit, Xanxus stopped outside the door and waved at it. "There you go. Have fun."

Hibari didn't dignify that with a reply; he just stalked inside. There was definitely, Tsuna decided, a glint of anticipation in Xanxus' eyes as he strolled after. Kusakabe sighed and muttered, "Cavallone and Romario were a lot easier to deal with." Tsuna gave him a sympathetic smile, swallowed the rest of his coffee in a long gulp, and followed along.

There was a lot of black clothing, inside, which Tsuna had started to get used to, and a lot of leather, which he hadn't.

One of the men in the leather tried to stop Hibari, who was by now stalking a ways ahead of everyone else. "Hey! What are you doing here?"

Hibari gave the man a dubious look and a fast, hard swing of one tonfa, and snorted when he went down. "I thought you said there were strong people here," he said over his shoulder to Xanxus.

"Keep going. You'll find them at this rate." Xanxus would never look bland, but he was as close to it as Tsuna had ever seen.

Hibari sniffed and stalked on with Kusakabe a respectful distance behind his shoulder, and Xanxus prodded the downed man with his toe in passing. "Pay more attention next time," he ordered briskly, and strode on after Hibari before the man quite finished groaning an agreement.

"I know you said the Varia was more demanding than the other branches," Tsuna said quietly to Squalo, "but..."

"He got off lightly." Squalo didn't look at Tsuna, eyes following Hibari and Xanxus ahead of them. "He should have known with one look that Hibari was dangerous."

Well, all right, Tsuna couldn't really argue with that.

"Most people are paying better attention," Yamamoto murmured behind Tsuna, and when Tsuna looked around his eyes were bright and focused, tracking over the growing number of people in the hall. Squalo grinned.

"There are strong people here. You should think about it."

"Hey," Tsuna protested this attempt to poach his friend, the latest in an ongoing series. Yamamoto laughed.

"I'm staying with Tsuna. But I'll come visit a lot, how's that?"

Squalo gave him an exasperated look. "What the hell do you think this is, a neighborhood slumber party?"

"Hadn't thought of that. Do you think it would be fun?" Yamamoto smiled at Squalo with innocent cheer and Squalo growled and stalked further ahead.

Tsuna shook his head. "He should be glad you are staying with me."

Yamamoto laughed, and Tsuna reflected, not for the first time, that his friend had a fairly evil sense of humor once you got to recognize it.

The next room they came into was obviously their destination, because Kusakabe and Xanxus were leaning against the wall beside a fascinated Tazio, and Hibari was in the middle of it, tonfa hammering into another unfortunate in black leather. More people were quietly slipping in, and most of them seemed content to watch.

"So what's this?" A slight blond man had appeared beside them, and his smile instantly put Tsuna on edge.

"Your new boss, maybe."

The smile flickered. "Him?" The man gave Hibari a hard look as he kicked his latest opponent into the wall and something cracked. "I've never seen him here before. Is he from another Family? A hitman?"

"No." Xanxus didn't look away from Hibari. "He's not from the mafia at all."

The blond man was still for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was cold. "What kind of a joke is this?"

"No joke," Squalo put in, leaning beside Xanxus. "Go see for yourself, Bel. Looks like Hibari's done with the small fry."

Indeed, Hibari was looking around disdainfully as his half-conscious challenger was helped off to the side.

"We'll just see, then," Bel murmured, and strolled toward Hibari, a sudden fan of small, wicked looking knives appearing in his fingers.

"Um." Tsuna edged closer to Squalo and murmured. "So, you said Varia aren't actually supposed to kill each other, right?"

Squalo bared his teeth. "Usually." Just when Tsuna was relaxing a little, he added, "Course, Hibari isn't Varia yet." He shrugged at Tsuna's glare. "You think Hibari wants anyone going easy on him?"

Tsuna slumped against the wall with a faint groan. Yamamoto laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's Hibari. He'll be okay." Kusakabe didn't look away from Hibari, but he nodded a silent endorsement of this.

Tsuna tried to hold on to that thought, but it wasn't easy when he saw the things Bel's knives could do, and watched Hibari's blood start running. "Why?" he asked, soft and harsh, as they watched and did nothing.

"The Varia are the best," Xanxus answered, voice a little distant. "And this is the mafia. Negotiations are a big part of it, yeah, but they only happen because they're backed up with guns and knives every second. You want to see less bloodshed, Sawada? Then we need the threat of the Varia in hand. And that means no mercy here and now."

Tsuna looked up at him, lips tight. "You know I'll try to change it."

Now Xanxus glanced down at him, a wry tilt at the corner of his mouth. "Okay," he said eventually.

Tsuna took a breath and nodded and stayed where he was, watching silently as Hibari and Bel fought. And if he sighed with quiet relief when Hibari found the wires and smashed Bel into the floor three breaths later, well no one but Yamamoto heard him.

Hibari made considerably shorter work of the rather flamboyant man with the colored hair who stepped up next. Tsuna wondered if there would be trouble when he faced what was obviously one of the arcobaleno, but when Mammon turned out to be an illusionist Tsuna just winced and hoped Hibari would let him get away in the end. He was pretty sure he would. Mostly sure, anyway. Probably.

"Um. Does Hibari not like illusionists?" Tazio asked, cautiously, a few seconds later, over Mammon's chopped-off grunt as the first tonfa found him.

"He's still pretty mad at Mukuro," Tsuna sighed, clinging to the wall with his eyes closed as the floor disappeared. He opened them again when he heard the crack and thump. "I think he's kind of taking it out on this one."

"You were totally right, Boss," Tazio told Xanxus with assurance as Hibari chased Mammon across the room. "This guy will like the Varia."

Xanxus just snorted.

In the quiet after Mammon disappeared, though, the person who stepped up next was an old man. Tsuna glanced over at Xanxus and Squalo, who had straightened a little and were watching closely.

"So," the old man said, looking Hibari up and down. "You're strong. That's good. Seems like you can think while you fight, and that's better. But you're not mafia. Why do you want to serve the Vongola to begin with?"

Hibari gave him a blank look. "Serve?" He pointed at Xanxus. "He said I could find the best here."

"Is that all that matters to you?" the old man asked quietly, and a chilly crinkle ran up Tsuna's spine.

Hibari actually paused and seemed to be considering it. Finally he smiled. He gestured with his chin at Xanxus. "He'll make something that works properly. I approve of that."

The old man's brows were raised as he glanced at Xanxus. "Are you sure about this, boy?"

Xanxus was trading an extremely sharp smile with Hibari. "Yeah. He's the one I want." He shrugged impatiently when the eyebrows stayed up. "He'll keep everyone on their toes. Me too."

"All right," the old man sighed. "It won't be official until I'm satisfied he's not actually crazy, but all right." He gathered up the other people in the room with one look and announced. "The Varia has a prospective new boss. See about it."

The room broke up into excited conversation, some of them crowding around Hibari, though not too close, and a few, who Tsuna privately considered the smartest, heading for Kusakabe.

Squalo pushed away from the wall and stretched, grinning. "So. Is it lunch time yet?" Tsuna laughed a little, helplessly, knowing that Hibari would agree completely with that casual attitude, and that Yamamoto probably would too.

Maybe he'd have lunch with Gokudera, for his daily dose of sane-person.

With Hibari settled in, for Hibari-values of the concept, Tsuna had a few days of relative quiet to actually learn to navigate the huge House. He supposed it wasn't any harder than learning his neighborhood, at home, he just had to learn it faster.

Knowing full well that Reborn was waiting in every office or sitting room he had to find, perfectly willing to shoot him if he was late, lent something extra to the effort, of course.

"Don't you have other things to do these days?" he asked Reborn, panting a little as he dropped down into his chair.

"I don't leave jobs in the middle, and you're obviously not finished yet," Reborn told him over a sip of the poisonously strong coffee all the mafia appeared to favor.

A man Tsuna hadn't met before laughed. "You're a hard task-master, Reborn! No vacations, even?"

"Certainly none of the kind you would recognize."

Since that resulted in a certain amount of laughing and elbowing, Tsuna wasn't entirely surprised when the man was introduced as Michele Rizzo, the Ninth's Sun Guardian. He'd definitely gotten the impression that Michele and Kyouko's brother had a certain approach to life in common.

Xanxus shifted impatiently in his own chair. "Screw Reborn, I have better things to be doing."

The dark look that flickered over Michele's cheerful face caught Tsuna's attention.

"You have nothing better than the business of this Family to be doing."

The spark that lit in Xanxus' eyes made Tsuna wince. Clearly this was another person Xanxus didn't deal well with. And apparently vice versa.

"Your business," the sneer that accompanied that said volumes about Xanxus' opinion of Michele's 'vacation' activities, "is none of mine."

Michele slapped a hand down on the table. "Damn it, when are you going to take some responsibility and do this job right? If Federico had..."

"Michele," the Ninth said firmly, and Michele bit off the rest of it, but Xanxus was already leaning over the table, teeth bared.

"Where the fuck do you get off talking to me about responsibility, or about Federico? You're so cock-proud of all your damn bastards, but your precious son couldn't keep the boss you really wanted alive, could he? Who should be taking the responsibility for that?!" Michele started up from his chair at that, and Squalo was moving forward from where he'd been leaning against the wall, and Tsuna wondered a little despairingly just how often Xanxus and his father's men had to be pulled off each other.

From the weary slump of the Ninth's shoulders and the resignation in the tight set of Squalo's mouth, he didn't think he'd like the answer to that.

"They're both dead now, and after all Federico did for you you're just going to throw away everything they worked for!" Michele was almost shouting, and Tsuna could hear the pain behind what he said, it was clear in every gesture.

The old, dark pain in the hunch of Xanxus' shoulders was louder to him, though, and that was what had brought him here in the first place. He hesitated, but this was exactly the kind of thing he was starting to realize he would keep needing to do for a long time and it wouldn't get any shorter for delaying. He let the still calm that Reborn had taught him was the first unfolding of his Will rise.

"Rizzo-san." Tsuna's voice cut across them, and he took a slow breath as everyone turned to look at him, reminding himself to use Italian. "That wasn't what Xanxus said. And it wasn't what he meant either," he said, quietly.

Xanxus stiffened. "Sawada," he said, low and harsh, and Tsuna saw the alarm behind his frown, the fear of what Tsuna's intuition would pull into the open.

"It serves nothing for them not to know," he said quietly, and waited, watching Xanxus, watching him understand that Tsuna was waiting for his consent.

Xanxus growled out a curse and flung himself up out of his chair, stalking out of the room with tight shoulders. Squalo gave Tsuna a distinctly "better you than me" look and followed him. Tsuna watched him go with a tiny, wry smile, at least until Michele made an indignant sound behind him.

"Why that little...!"

"No," Tsuna said low, turning back. "You don't understand. That was Xanxus telling me that I can say whatever I feel I need to."

Michele frowned at him, obviously not making the connection and Tsuna sighed.

"Xanxus doesn't set his heart out where people can find it easily. You're not like that, I can see," and he could see a faint flicker of startlement as Michele met his eyes, "but this is Xanxus. When he said that he blamed you in some part for Federico's death, what he meant was that he loved Federico too. The thing he most cares about is the one he'll try to ignore. When he turns his back, that's when you know he's listening."

Michele scrubbed a hand through his hair. "That's insane," he said, rather plaintively.

"Actually," Rafaele put in, looking enlightened, "that's one of the best descriptions I've ever heard of Xanxus in a nutshell."

"How am I supposed to deal with someone who's all backward like that?" Michele demanded, aggrieved.

"He isn't asking you to deal with him," Tsuna pointed out. "What he wants is for you to understand him. He won't believe in it, but that's what he wants." He stood and nodded politely to the older men and turned to go look for Xanxus, because he was only half done with today's work. And today's work was only the beginning. The nonplussed expressions on almost every face told him it would be a long project, reconciling Xanxus to the Family he was inheriting and vice versa, though he did take some encouragement from Rafaele's soft, rueful snort as he left.

Tsuna checked both Xanxus' rooms and the east terrace before finally running him down in his office. Squalo opened the door at his tap and waved him inside after a long look, slipping out himself. Tsuna smiled, warmed by that silent vote of confidence. "Xanxus," he said quietly.

Standing looking out the window, Xanxus stirred but didn't answer. Tsuna took a deep breath and let it out.

"I'm not going to stop, you know."

A harsh laugh shook Xanxus' shoulders. "I got that part, yeah."

"If I'm going to be your outside adviser, my job is to see the things you don't isn't it?" Tsuna stepped softly closer.

"Is it your job to share them with the whole world?" Xanxus asked tightly.

"It's my job to use what I see however will serve you and the Family best." That much, Tsuna was sure of, from the things Reborn had said about how Tsuna's father served the Ninth.

Xanxus just growled, one hand curling into a fist against the window.

Tsuna watched him, thinking again about the things Reborn had told him about the First and the Vongola traditions; about the things his father had told him of the Ninth and his ideals on the few occasions Tsuna had been able to pin him down about the Vongola Family; about what he knew of Federico, the brilliant son who'd been the first to accept Xanxus, and of Xanxus' past. Intuition stirred again, and he thought that no one who'd been beaten down that hard would believe in kindness or care he couldn't see and touch. Tsuna understood that. He also understood, a little, when Reborn and his father insisted that the Family was everything, but he thought neither he nor Xanxus was here just to protect an ideal. Finally he said, quiet, "I'll serve the Family, yes. But I came here for you. Not for an abstraction." He crossed the office and folded his hands around Xanxus' fist, tugging it away from the window as Xanxus looked around at him, startled.

"Sawada, what...?" Xanxus broke off as Tsuna knelt down at his feet, lifted his hand, and brushed his lips over Xanxus' knuckles.

Tsuna knew the history of the gesture; it was one of the things he'd pried out of his father after quite a few beers one night had turned the conversation sentimental. It wasn't the Ring Xanxus wore that he kissed, it was his hand—the man and not the office. From the sharp intake of breath, he knew Xanxus had understood.

He stood up and looked at Xanxus steadily. "Not for an abstraction," he repeated.

Xanxus stared at him, for once shocked out of any defensive temper, and Tsuna smiled up at him quietly. Xanxus finally recovered himself enough to scowl, and added a growl for good measure when Tsuna laughed softly.

"Yes, Boss," Tsuna agreed to that unspoken acceptance.

This was his job and his place, and he had a good grip on it now.

After the upsets that most of the Family provided, Tsuna found CEDEF unexpectedly restful. Most of them even seemed sane.

"So," Yamamoto said, tipping his chair back on two legs, teacup cradled between his hands, "we're not part of the Vongola but we work for them?"

"Essentially," Oregano agreed. "You might think of us almost as an allied Family." She smiled. "Though a very small one."

"And, like the Varia, we answer directly to the Vongola boss," Turmeric added.

Tsuna sketched a few more lines on his growing table of organization and shook his head at the spaghetti-mess it was. "This all seems awfully complicated. We're separate, but the head of CEDEF has to know everything that's going on because he might have to take over as second-in-command, or even act for the Vongola boss at any second!" Why had he thought this was a good idea, again?

"When loyalty and betrayal are two sides of one coin," his dad said quietly, arms folded against the table, "the outside adviser is also the person the boss knows is absolutely loyal to him."

Tsuna thought about Xanxus, and his hands, which had been nervously turning the pencil over and over, stilled. "Yes," he agreed softly.

"So what kind of work do we do?" Yamamoto asked, breaking the silence, and Tsuna smiled gratefully at his friend. Yamamoto would always bring life back to the practical.

"Lots of things," Oregano said. "Scouting, negotiations, courier work... Anything that needs a touch of authority but that the boss or the heir shouldn't be seen doing."

Yamamoto laughed. "Anything the Vongola are interested in, but don't want to look interested in?" He cocked his head at the older members. "Or anything they want to show an interest in but only sideways?"

Oregano blinked and Turmeric nodded slowly. "That's a very good way to put it." He smiled faintly. "I won't be surprised if you get sent out often for negotiation."

"Anything I can do to help out," Yamamoto agreed, cheerfully, causing everyone to look twice at him and Tsuna to grin wryly. He supposed it took a little while to get used to Yamamoto.

"Yamamoto-san?" Basil's voice drifted up the stairs.

"Up here," Yamamoto called back. Basil ran lightly up and through the door.

"Lal Mirch is, ah..." He hesitated.

"Yamamoto!" Lal's voice didn't drift so much as march. "You're late for training, get your sorry ass down here!"

"Impatient," Basil finished.

A huge grin spread over Yamamoto's face. "Yes, Lal," he called back, lilting. "Coming." He turned the grin on Tsuna. "Want to watch? She said she'd make an obstacle course for me today."

"Better you than me," Tsuna said fervently, though he got up to follow after Yamamoto willingly enough.

The rest of CEDEF trailed along, and Tsuna relaxed at the warmth of their obvious amusement. He liked this feeling, of being accepted, being one of them. He liked that they took Yamamoto's enthusiasm as much in stride as they did Lal's hard-as-nails dedication and cutting sarcasm.

It was still a little weirder that his dad was involved, but he'd just have to manage that.

This time, Lal had made the course for Yamamoto on one of the open hillsides beyond the House. It appeared to involve explosives, as well as traps and obstacles, and Tsuna shook his head ruefully as they watched Yamamoto fling himself into it, leaping and slinking and ducking.

And laughing, when he had the breath.

Lal was a demanding trainer. She reminded Tsuna a lot of Reborn, that way, only with less bland-faced evil and more shouting. She accepted no excuses and she drove anyone who fell under her influence without a hint of mercy. Tsuna could tell that she was just a little bemused that Yamamoto seemed to enjoy that.

"Swords really do make you crazy," a new voice said, behind Tsuna, and he turned to smile at Gokudera.

"Did you help Lal make the course today?" The occasional explosions did suggest it.

"Yeah." Gokudera's eyes were fixed on Yamamoto's progress, rather darkly. Tsuna's smile gentled.

"Yamamoto likes pushing himself, and stretching as far as he can go," he explained, the way he hadn't quite had the nerve to yet, to Lal. "He didn't used to get much opportunity for that, I think."

"Doesn't look much like he's stretching," Gokudera observed, still sounding rather sour. He added, far quieter, enough so that Tsuna wasn't sure he'd been supposed to hear, "Does everything come easy to him?"

Tsuna looked at Gokudera a lot more sharply, suddenly wondering.

Yamamoto came out the other end of the course, smoking and bruised but still grinning, to face Lal's critique. It was loud enough to be heard up the hill and included a lot of terms like "reckless damn idiot" and "charging in like a thundering elephant", and Yamamoto bobbed his head with earnest attention to each one. Tsuna's mouth quirked, rueful; Lal was taking a little longer then most of CEDEF to catch on to Yamamoto's sense of humor. Gokudera, who Tsuna suspected hadn't gotten it yet either, growled and stalked down the hill to join them. He gestured sharply at the course and then at Yamamoto and planted his hands on his hips, glaring. Yamamoto spread his hands innocently, but Tsuna noticed that his smile had turned more sincere and less teasing.

This time Tsuna was really watching, and so this time he also noticed the way that blunted the fine edge of Gokudera's irritation.

Before he could consider the implications of that too deeply, though, Turmeric moved up to stand next to him, and Tsuna turned his attention to the older man. When Turmeric said something it was usually worth listening to.

"Takeshi will be very good at negotiations, here. It's something you should probably keep in mind."

Tsuna laughed. "Yeah, I don't know anyone else who can keep smiling like he does."

"That's not quite what I mean," Turmeric said quietly. "It will be an advantage, yes; but his real strength at the table will be, well..." Turmeric's mouth quirked a bit as he looked down the hill to where Lal and Yamamoto and Gokudera were walking the course, arguing and gesturing over bits of it, "his strength."

Tsuna looked up, curious. "What do you mean?"

Turmeric looked out over the hills for a moment, and when he spoke he sounded a little distant and maybe even a little sad. "Negotiations, in our world, are not always a matter of reason. Maybe not even often. Unless you have the strength to win it as a battle, you won't usually win it at the table, either. A successful negotiator is a threat." He finally looked down at Tsuna, serious. "Takeshi will be the threat in your hand."

Tsuna flinched from that, lips pressed tight. "I don't want," he started, only to break off as Turmeric rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I know you don't. And we like you for that, Tsuna. But I also know you'll do it when you have to. And that," he finished, gently, "is why we also trust you."

Tsuna took a deep breath and let it out. "If I have to," he agreed, low.

That was the promise he'd given Xanxus, and now he understood it was the promise he had to give the people who would work under him.

"Whatever I have to do," he said quietly, looking up at the House above them.

Another day, another meeting. Tsuna was starting to feel like he'd taken on that civil service job the school counselor had kept hopefully suggesting, after all.

"Those Pozzo Nero assholes won't back off until we make them!"

With some significant differences, of course.

"We might at least try to negotiate first," Gianni answered Xanxus, rather dryly.

"Why?" Maria asked, with a glint in her eye that looked just like the one in Xanxus'.

"Because we aren't the Pozzo Nero; we're the Vongola," Paulo said firmly.

"That doesn't mean rolling over and being nice to scum," Tazio shot back just as firmly.

Xanxus leaned forward, hand closed into a fist on the table. "I'll negotiate with them the way they understand," he growled.

Tsuna stifled a sigh. Why did he always get to be the reasonable one? "Xanxus," he put in, "they are in the middle of a city." A city full of innocent bystanders that might be caught in the fire. And if they were, that would be very bad for Xanxus, even if Xanxus didn't seem to understand that yet.

Xanxus turned to look at him and Tsuna's thoughts froze. He suddenly felt like he'd stepped off the edge of a cliff without realizing it. Xanxus' eyes on him were cold and shuttered.

"So what?" he asked, low and vicious, and cut his hand at Gianni and Paulo, somehow including Tsuna in the gesture. "I know what the fuck I'm doing, and I'm not going to let them get away with the same shit the goddamn Cetrulli pulled!"

The magnitude of his misstep cut off Tsuna's voice. He hadn't meant to take their side against Xanxus! But of course, now, too late, he could see clear as day that that's how it would look to Xanxus. And not just Xanxus; even Tazio was frowning at him. So Tsuna did the only thing he could think of that might calm Xanxus down.

"Yes, Boss," he murmured, bowing his head.

After a moment Xanxus made a wordless, frustrated sound and turned to look at the Ninth, who sighed.

"You make a strong case. Very well."

Tsuna stood slowly as the meeting broke up, still a little shaken. He wasn't quite sure what to do now.

It was almost comforting when Reborn landed on his shoulder and cuffed him across the back of the head. "Idiot."

"Shut up, I know already," Tsuna muttered, watching Xanxus and Squalo disappearing through the far door.

"So, what are you waiting for?"

Tsuna blinked at Reborn, who smiled faintly.

"You're his adviser, aren't you?"

Xanxus' adviser, yes. The one who'd promised to stand by him. The world snapped back into place and Tsuna took a deep breath and smiled back. "I'm waiting for some privacy."

Reborn hopped down onto the table. "Well, then."

Tsuna slipped past Maria as politely as he could, trying not to flush at her sardonic glance, and out into the hall. He wasn't entirely surprised to find Xanxus, just one corner away, leaning up against the wall with his arms folded tight and Squalo speaking to him, low and intent. Squalo looked up and his mouth tightened. Tsuna ducked his head apologetically, and Squalo rolled his eyes and beckoned with a quick jerk of his head.

Xanxus noticed that and looked up, expression freezing again the instant he saw Tsuna.

"Boss," Tsuna protested, taking the last few steps quicker. "I said it for you, not for them!"

Xanxus' shoulders hunched faintly, and Tsuna reached out, resting a hand on Xanxus' chest.

"I swear," he said, softly. "It's you I'm thinking of."

"Me, huh? Nothing about all those civilians in that city?" Xanxus asked, low and edgy, not looking at him.

"Them too," Tsuna agreed, easily. "But I can tell you one thing I wasn't thinking of at all, and that's that you'd be careless. Or screw up. Or not succeed."

"That's three things," Xanxus said after a moment, but the line of his shoulders had relaxed, and Tsuna smiled.

"They count as one."

Xanxus looked at him now, with the kind of exasperation Tsuna often saw; it was very welcome, and his smile got more cheerful. Xanxus snorted and shrugged his hand off, straightening. "If you want to help, go pry Hibari and Ceirano away from each other and bring them down to my office. We have planning to do."

"Yes, Boss," Tsuna murmured, just a little teasing, and slipped off down the hall, grinning, when Xanxus growled at him. The grin faded a bit as he paced down halls and stairs toward the practice rooms.

He would have to be more careful, from now on.

Tsuna sat in the outer room of the suite he'd been given and chewed the end of his pen as he sorted his words. It was turning out to be more difficult than he'd expected, when he wrote to Kyouko. He didn't want to alarm her, but if he didn't say anything about the dangers here her next letter might just inform him that she'd bought a plane ticket.

He'd attempted to suggest that she might like to simply stay in Japan, the way his mother did, instead of eventually joining him in Italy. She'd smiled at him sweetly and told him not to be silly, and there'd been just enough edge under the softness of her voice that he'd never mentioned the idea again.

He was trying to find some un-alarming way to mention that Hibari had had another go at Mukuro today, and a sparring match with Yamamoto after that had certainly alarmed Tsuna, when someone knocked on his door. "Come in!" he called with momentary relief.

It turned to curiosity when his visitor turned out to be Paulo Gemello. He hadn't spoken very often to Paulo, though he struck Tsuna as quite like Turmeric—quiet but thoughtful. Tsuna fetched his guest a drink, still getting used to the sideboards everywhere, and looked inquiring.

Paulo turned his glass in his hands, looking down at it. "I wanted to ask you something, man to man," he said finally.

Tsuna made the sort of generally acknowledging noise one made to such a vague statement.

"We haven't worked with you long, but it's already clear you're a kind young man. You take thought for the people who might be hurt. You hold on to your optimism, even in this world. Those are good qualities."

Tsuna felt a 'but' coming, and reflected ruefully that the Ninth's Guardians seemed to have a lot of attitudes in common with the Tenth's, really.

"I have to wonder," Paulo said slowly, "if that gives you as clear a view of Xanxus as you'll need."

Tsuna sat very still for a long moment, feeling a chill uncurl in his stomach. He found himself wanting to point out that "nice" did not mean "fool". To point out that it was this old suspicion that made Xanxus so volatile. But that would not, he thought, make Paulo understand. He looked at Paulo, really looked, seeing the tense lines around his mouth, the unhappy tightness of his eyes, and felt his stillness sliding into the calm of intuition.

So what he said, instead, was, "Why did the Ninth lie to Xanxus?"

Paulo stiffened, abruptly frowning.

"You're angry," Tsuna said quietly, watching him. "You don't like it that I should accuse the Ninth of doing something like that. Even though it's true."

"Of course I don't, he's my Boss and I protect his honor as well as his life," Paulo stated firmly.

Tsuna cut off whatever he'd been going to say next with, "Then why do you think it's acceptable to accuse my Boss to me?"

Paulo blinked at him, startled out of his anger. "I... But..." He took a deep breath and set his hands on his knees, quiet for a moment. "I see," he said finally.

"Do you still have doubts about my perception?" Tsuna asked.

After a moment, Paulo's mouth quirked up. "Perhaps not. That was an effective demonstration."

Tsuna sat back with a sigh, releasing the tautness of seeing that way. "I didn't choose this work just because it's what my dad does, or because Reborn insisted. I chose it because I met Xanxus and saw how badly he'd been hurt, and that I could do something to help. That's what I'm here for. So yes, I look for ways to keep the innocent out of harm's way. And I believe we can succeed in protecting what's important without losing ourselves. Because those are the things I need to do to help Xanxus, and the Family." He hesitated a moment and added, half apologetically, "I'm afraid the way some of you are with him really doesn't help."

Paulo ran a hand through his hair. "I don't understand Xanxus," he admitted. "My brother says he does, but I honestly don't see how. And I certainly don't see how someone as kind and," he smiled a bit wryly, "as clear-sighted as you can give him your loyalty when he doesn't give his back."

Tsuna stared at him startled. "He does, though!" Paulo's look of puzzlement made him laugh a little, helplessly. "He does. He'd rather be hung by his toes than say it out loud, but surely you've watched him with his people? Seen how protective he is of the Family?"

"Possessive, maybe," Paulo muttered.

"Well, yes, that's where it starts," Tsuna admitted. "Xanxus protects what's his. Maybe that isn't the way everyone does it, but if it works why does that matter?" Paulo hesitated, and Tsuna added, softly, "If you hold the past against him, we're going to need to talk about who else made the mistakes that led to it."

Paulo's mouth tightened, but there was a glint of respect in the look he gave Tsuna. "Well. As long as you can tell me you'll watch over him, I'll do my best to let it go."

Tsuna smiled, quiet and serene. "You have my word." And if he meant to watch over Xanxus in a different way than Paulo meant it, he didn't really think he needed to say so right now.

Reborn, he reflected with a secret grin, would probably approve.

Two months after arriving, Tsuna had asked, a bit anxiously, whether the property damage bill from Hibari's training with the Varia would be a problem. Squalo had stared at him for a long, blank moment and then burst out laughing. Watching Xanxus and Hibari fight, and eyeing the rubble and splinters they left behind them, Tsuna finally understood why.

"Now, you see, he has the right attitude," Ceirano said as Hibari ducked under Xanxus' fire to drive the end of his tonfa into Xanxus' stomach. "If a thing is worth doing, it's worth doing all the way."

"I thought that was 'worth doing right'," Tsuna ventured.

"That's what I said." Ceirano suddenly sounded distracted, though, and a moment later he strolled off. Looking after him, Tsuna saw Reborn sitting on the terrace rail watching Xanxus and Hibari.

Tsuna shook his head, a bit bemused that anyone, even another hitman, would court a training session with Reborn on purpose. Though he supposed he wasn't really surprised that Xanxus' Guardians all shared with him a certain cheerful bloodthirstiness.

"Barbarians, the lot of them," Mukuro murmured behind his shoulder.

Each in their own way, of course. "Mukuro," Tsuna greeted him, turning a little.

Mukuro looked him up and down. "And not even an apology for entangling me with them."

"That wasn't my idea!" Tsuna defended himself roundly. "That was my dad; I would never have thought of doing anything so crazy."

"Ah. So you, sensible creature that you are, would only think of doing something like coming after a notorious criminal with a pitiful one or two followers. Oh, yes, and a baby." Mukuro gave him a silky smile. "You match the likes of Xanxus very well after all."

"I'm glad to see you're settling in here, with him," Tsuna offered.

Mukuro raised a supercilious brow. "And what, precisely gave you the impression that I am?" he asked coolly. "I am merely..." The other brow went up. "Sawada?"

Tsuna finally got a hold of himself and managed to stop laughing. "Ah. Sorry." He wiped his eyes. "It's just you sound so much like him."

Mukuro actually blinked at him. "Like who?"

"Like Xanxus," Tsuna smiled. "You sound just like him when he's trying not to admit he likes something." He paused a moment, considering. "Only with more syllables."

"Mukuro?" he ventured after a moment when Mukuro just stood and stared at him, perfectly still.

Abruptly he wasn't talking to Mukuro any more. Chrome wobbled a little as she regained her own feet, catching her balance on the arm Tsuna quickly held out.

"Just like," Tsuna murmured, mouth quirked.

Chrome looked at him, grave and quiet. "Mukuro-sama takes care that we are well."

Since that could have been either agreement, that Mukuro wasn't fooling anyone with his careless pose, or a warning, that Mukuro wouldn't brook any interference from Tsuna, and Tsuna really couldn't tell which, he just nodded. The very faint smile that flickered around the corners of Chrome's mouth as she turned away made him wonder if it was actually both. He supposed no one could have Mukuro in her head so much and not grow subtle herself.

Sometimes he just had to look around and wonder how a normal guy like him had ended up here.

Tsuna had never been a fan of parties, even, or especially, in his own honor, and despite the dangers of the mafia world he couldn't help a tiny, wistful wish that Kyouko had come this year instead of next. She was much better at these things. He, on the other hand, was eventually reduced to hiding in a corner with his drink.

Rafaele looked faintly amused when he found Tsuna there. "So," he leaned against the wall beside him, "how is your debut going?"

Tsuna gave him a dour look. Despite their difference in years and nationality, Rafaele reminded him an awful lot of Yamamoto sometimes. "It's going just fine," he said, repressively.

Rafaele laughed softly.

"Though it does seem as though everyone expects me to be crazy." Tsuna cast an eye over the Vongola allies moving through the room, chatting with each other, many trying to keep one eye on him and another on Xanxus, and muttered into his glass, "I really hope that someday everyone realizes just how hard they're making my job."

Rafaele sighed and when he spoke again his voice was far more serious. "We're trying to understand, Tsuna. That much I can promise you." He rested a hand on Tsuna's shoulder. "It's good that you've come."

Tsuna studied his drink again. "I wish," he said softly, "that it didn't take waving someone who's obviously harmless in people's faces to make them take a second look at Xanxus."

"First of all, I very much doubt anyone trained and approved by Reborn is harmless." When Tsuna looked up, Rafaele's tilted smile matched the briskness of his tone. "And second, you might consider it a compliment to Xanxus. All his hard work in keeping us from thinking he might feel gently for the Family paid off."

Tsuna frowned stubbornly. "No. That isn't a compliment. He hides it out of fear, and for his own family not to notice is..." he couldn't quite think of a right word that wouldn't be insulting and finished a bit lamely, "a bad thing."

Rafaele was quiet for a moment, eyes dark and unfathomable. "You're right," he said finally. His stillness broke into a wry snort. "I don't know how we'll manage to deal with someone who's trying very hard to deny all of this, but we'll just have to find a way."

Tsuna looked out over the room. "He can't possibly be the only difficult person any of you have ever had to deal with." His eyes fell on Yamamoto and Gokudera, apparently arguing. Or at least Gokudera was arguing, waving his hands vigorously enough to endanger unwary passers-by. Yamamoto was just listening, perfectly attentive, and smiling.

Speaking of difficult.

"He certainly isn't," Rafaele sighed. "But after Timoteo he's... disconcerting. I'm grateful we have Squalo around too, you know."

Tsuna, watching Gokudera glare, was reminded of his comments about sword-idiots all communicating in their own universal language and stifled a snort of amusement. Catching another wary glance from one of the men in the room turned it into a sigh. "If you don't want this Family alliance of yours falling apart because everyone is afraid the heir is a mad dog, you need to stand behind him," he said bluntly, suddenly tired of trying to put it more delicately.

Maybe he'd been with Reborn too long.

"You make a good case," Rafaele murmured. "I'll speak with the others."

"Thank you," Tsuna said softly.

Rafaele patted his shoulder again and strolled off, elegant and casual as always, and Tsuna sighed with relief as eyes drew away from him to follow Rafaele instead. He'd known this wasn't going to be a simple job from the start, and after a bare week here he'd known it was a bigger one than he'd thought, too. But at least he felt like he'd made a good start on it.

He glanced back over at Yamamoto just in time to see him catch one of Gokudera's waving hands before it smacked a passing ally. Gokudera didn't seem to notice, though Yamamoto's eyes were dancing with silent amusement. He was glad that Yamamoto was settling in, too, and only hoped that Kyouko would find it as easy when she joined him. He didn't think he could have handled it to know following him into this job had made his friends and loved ones unhappy.

Gokudera finally noticed that Yamamoto hadn't let go of his hand, animated words and gestures trailing off into startled quiet. Tsuna smiled and turned to move through the room again, nodding and speaking calmly to the Family allies as they slowly came closer.

It was a good start.

End

Two Birds

Mari has to deal with choosing a husband and an outside advisor. The one actually solves the other. Drama with Romance, I-3

Mari shifted her bag of pastries to her other hand and rapped on the door. When Fedele opened it she stomped inside, declaring, "Men!"

"I noticed," he said dryly.

"It's like they think you can have brains or breasts, but not both." Mari made for the kitchen and and rummaged for coffee cups with unnecessary force.

"They're already out."

"Oh." She took a deep breath and let it out. "Right."

Fedele shook his head, looking a little amused, and pulled out a chair for her. "Sit down and I'll get things."

Mari sat and glowered broodingly at her coffee while he laid the pastries out and brought them to the table.

"I can't imagine your own people are being that foolish, so I take it one of the other Families has annoyed you?" he asked, sitting down.

"Not just one! All of them!"

"Even the Cavallone? And the Giglio Nero?" Fedele raised his brows over his cup.

"All right, not Uni, but Uncle Dino is in on it too, this time," Mari growled. "They all want me to get married. Uncle Dino actually told me I should think about it!" Which had felt all the more like a betrayal because Uncle Dino was the one boss who hadn't been throwing his sons at her head all her life. She'd thought he had better sense. If Stefano hasn't distracted his father from the discussion, Mari might have done something drastic.

"Can you really blame them? The Tenth has made no secret that he wants to retire soon, and there's no one to come after you."

"Daisuke has a kid already, and Shin probably will too, any day now." Mari bit into a cookie as though she could bite off all the arguments the same way. "There's plenty of Vongola blood to go around."

"And you know as well as I do that the Vongola prefer to keep the Boss' descent direct, to preserve the strongest Flame if nothing else." Fedele set his cup down and looked at her steadily. "What's the real problem, Mari?"

Mari leaned her chin in her hand and smiled at him wryly. "It's too bad you aren't about thirty years younger, you know." She grinned at the expression on his face and took a more delicate bite of cookie. "I don't suppose I really have any objection to marrying. Mother and Father certainly make it look nice. The problem is that all my prospects are from other mafia Families, and I swear every one of them has been raised to believe that he can take over the Vongola by marrying me."

"Ah." Fedele poured a little more coffee for both of them. "And the allied Families? There are no possibilities among them?"

Mari traced a finger over the smooth wood of the table. "This is probably going to sound petulant." She smiled wryly and his elaborately unsurprised expression. "I've dated most of them at one time or another, except the ones who were too busy acting like extra brothers and trying to sneak frogs into my sock drawer, and none of them feel... right. Perhaps it's foolish of me to hold out for romance, but..."

"But it's what you grew up with," he finished for her, gently. "The Tenth was very fortunate in love. I imagine few bosses can really say that."

"What a tactful way to tell me to give it up," she murmured, and waved a hand at his sterner look. "I know my duty, Fedele. And I'll do it. But it is what I grew up with. Even Uncle Gokudera and Aunt Haru. Even Uncle Yamamoto and Uncle Hibari, for God's sake!"

"Well, if you look at it that way, I suppose you could expand your search, if the young men are insufficient," he mused. "Children would be a bit more difficult, but still..."

Mari nearly spit a mouthful of coffee across the room and barely managed to choke it down so she could laugh herself breathless. "Oh, imagine people's faces!" She wiped her eyes and sat back. "Ah, I needed that."

"You looked like it," he agreed, smiling faintly. "Try not to worry too much about it. Sooner or later it will solve itself."

"Or some new problem will come along to distract me at least." Mari chose another pastry, chuckling.

"Mari, can I have a moment?"

Mari looked up from handing her coat to the housekeeper, surprised to see the sturdy, serious man waiting in the entry hall. "Irie-san! Of course." She waved Mamoru to follow and nodded to Rei. "Tell Father I'll be in in just a moment to report about the Catania holdings."

Rei brushed her jacket smooth over her shoulder holster and nodded soberly. "Yes, Mari."

Mari spared her cousin and Rain's earnestness a smile as she led Mamoru and Irie to one of the hall parlors. "What's up, Irie-san?" she asked, pulling up a chair to the room's low table, aware of Mamoru leaning by one of the windows.

"I wanted to speak with you." Irie seated himself more deliberately, the way he did everything that wasn't an emergency. "I'm considering retiring when Tsuna does."

Mari sat back, startled, this being the first she'd heard of any such idea. "Then CEDEF..."

"I'll stay as long as I'm needed," Irie assured her. "I just thought... well, if you have any idea who you might want as your outside advisor after me..."

"Then I could be thinking about it." Mari smiled wryly. "I see."

"It isn't that I'm not happy, serving the Vongola," Irie said quietly.

"But Father is special to you." Mari firmly stomped on a flicker of inadequacy; this was hardly the first time she'd had to deal with standing in the shadow of the Tenth. "No, I do understand." But who on earth could she call on to serve as the leader of CEDEF, to be her advisor?

Irie smiled a little, apparently seeing the question written in the air above her head. "There's no urgency, if you can't think of anyone yet."

"I can't, offhand," Mari admitted. "Someone who's inside and outside at the same—" She broke off, thoughts arrested. "Hm."

"A thought after all?" Irie's brows rose.

"Hm." Mari stood and paced the room twice. Finally she turned back toward Irie, hands clasped behind her. "Irie-san, advise me," she ordered, intent. "What characteristics do you think are most needed in the outside advisor?"

Irie sat back, eyes sharp. "I would say... detachment," he said after a moment.

Mari crooked her fingers at him, beckoning. "Say more."

"The leader of CEDEF must be able to know everything that goes on in the Family, be prepared at any moment to step in if he's called on or there's an emergency, and yet never do so unless he is called or a true emergency exists." Irie's mouth quirked. "It isn't always easy."

"Detachment," Mari repeated slowly. "Yes." She smiled slowly. "Perhaps I do have a thought for this. I'll just have to convince him it's a good idea. That will be the hard part." She paused, considering. "One of the hard parts. The first hard part, anyway."

Irie laughed. "Somehow, I doubt that will stop you."

"Of course not." Mari smiled at him brightly. And sometimes her father's shadow, and her mother's too, supported instead of stifling.

Irie excused himself and Mari started back to make her delayed report, Mamoru at her shoulder.

"You're thinking of Fedele Rizzo, aren't you?" he asked, quietly.

"Like I said, there will be hard parts."

He snorted. "My sister, the master of understatement."

She stopped and looked up at him, serious. "It feels right, Mamoru. Right for Vongola and right for him. He advises me well already, and we owe him both respect and peace."

"This might not give him either." Mamoru's eyes were dark. "Nor give them to you."

"Perhaps. But this is what I owe him." Her shoulders straightened with the inner certainty that was still fairly rare for her. "And this is what he owes me, as the Vongola."

One breath and Mamoru smiled. "Yes, Boss."

Mari smiled back. "Good! Let's go report to Father, then. And after..." she narrowed her eyes at the future, "...after, I think I'll want to talk to Kazuya about strategy."

Fedele stared at her, coffee halfway to his lips. "You can't possibly be serious."

Mari hadn't really needed Kazyua to tell her that this would be the first response. "I'm quite serious." She folded her hands on the table between them, gaze level. Fedele set his cup down with a clack.

"Mari, just for starters, I'm too old! You'd have to choose another advisor in the middle of your tenure, and that isn't something you want to do."

Reluctance she understood, but this she wouldn't put up with. "It's my business to decide what I do and don't want to do," she rapped out. "Your business is to advise me on the consequences, but that is all."

He sat back sharply and Mari let her tone soften. "If I have to choose someone new later on, then I will. Right now I think you are the best choice, and that's all that matters."

"Not quite all." His voice was calmer, quieter, but still stubborn.

"If you truly do not wish to serve the Vongola this way, then say so and I won't speak of it again. But," Mari leveled a finger at him, "you had better have more of a reason that 'it will cause talk'."

"It will cause talk," he muttered, but he hadn't refused yet and that was progress. Mari gathered her cards and laid them out.

"You are older, and that means you have perspective that my Family so far doesn't. You've seen how the Family operates both as a foot soldier and as the right hand of the heir. And," she finished quietly, "none of the other positions your loyalty and service should have earned you will make you happy."

"My service failed," he said harshly, eyes shadowed in the low afternoon light through the kitchen windows.

"It did not," Mari told him flatly. "You were defeated. Your boss was killed. But your service did not fail. Not then and not since." The way he flinched from her words didn't make her any happier, but she refused to leave them unsaid. "You have not left us. In face of all the idiot tongues wagging about how you must have been in conspiracy with Xanxus to live through the attack, you stayed. You kept faith with us. You served. Tell me who better I could possibly name as my outside advisor?" She reached across the table and touched his arm. "Who else has better earned the right to both guide and stand free of the Vongola?"

He ran a hand over his face, eyes squeezed shut. "God you sound like Federico, when he got into one of his Vongola moods."

"Blood tells, I suppose," she murmured, mouth quirked.

He looked up at her, and she was satisfied to see the tight lines around his eyes easing just a little. "I won't say anything else idiotic, then, like 'are you really sure'."

Mari laughed. "Good. Much more of that and I'd have had to get a little annoyed."

He looked down at his hands and fetched in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It's a hell of a job, sometimes. But I'll do it for you."

Mari took a nice deep breath of her own. "Thank you."

Catching her father alone took a lot more ingenuity. In the end, she and Mamoru picked the least contentious meeting that month and hoped to cage some time at the end of it.

That meant, of course, sitting through the meeting instead of walking out the instant one of the Colli under-bosses smiled fatuously at her and called her "our young Eleventh" with his hand on the Colli son's shoulder. Mari had never gone out with Pino herself but Fiorela had, and her report had not inclined Mari to him. Even if he hadn't been making the most ridiculous cow's eyes at her.

"You're not actually considering him, are you?" Uncle Gokudera asked, after the Colli left, looking dubious.

"God no!" Mari shuddered. "At this rate, I may never marry at all. I'll go into a convent as soon as Daisuke's boy is old enough."

"I take it you had another reason for being so forbearing, then?" her father murmured. Mari ignored the twitching at the corners of his mouth and leaned back, folding her hands on her knee.

"I do." Mamoru drifted over to stand at her shoulder, making his support evident. "Irie-san has said he would like to retire when you do, so I've been thinking who I might want as my own outside advisor."

"Ah." Father straightened. "Have you found someone?"

"Fedele Rizzo."

Father and Uncle Gokudera both blinked at her for a moment. "He's older than we are," Uncle Gokudera pointed out.

"All the more experience in my service, then." Mari felt a little the way she did facing Uncle Hibari on the practice floor, poised and waiting, taut with not knowing what would come but knowing she could respond to whatever it was. That, more than anything, told her she was choosing rightly in this.

"Mari," Father said quietly, "are you sure you aren't letting sympathy color a business judgment?"

"Yes, I am." She lifted her chin. "I wouldn't call it sympathy, though. Call it compassion."

Father's mouth quirked. "And I an hardly object to that, hm?"

"Of course you can object." She shrugged. "But why would you?"

"Because you will already be facing tensions enough as a woman in charge of the Vongola Family, and taking someone there are still rumors about as your outside advisor will only add to that."

Mari looked at her father for a long moment and finally recognized what was lurking under the sharpness of his eyes: worry. "Are you sure you aren't letting your concern for me color a business judgment?" she asked softly.

Father opened his mouth and closed it again with a sigh. "Perhaps," he allowed. And then he tilted his head and looked at her curiously. "Have you actually spoken to Fedele about this?"

"Of course I have. He agrees."

Father and Uncle Gokudera looked at each other, brows raised. "Well," Father said at last. "If you've convinced the sun to rise in the west already, I don't see where it's my business to stop you now."

"Which just leaves the rest of the Family," Uncle Gokudera murmured.

"I'll deal with it," Mari said firmly. "My Family and I."

"Hm." Father gazed out the window for a long moment and finally nodded. "All right. I approve this. But only," he held up a finger, "if you can bring enough of the Vongola to agree to be sure it doesn't cause waves that will weaken us."

Mari stood, shoulders straight. "Of course."

She had considered doing it her mother's way, by smiling and chatting lightly to people who knew the people whose minds she wanted to change.

Then she had considered doing it her father's way, by speaking directly, quietly, earnestly to the underbosses, the hitmen, the allied bosses.

In the end, though, she decided to do it her way.

She did wait for the next garden party, at least, instead of doing it in the next alliance meeting. And perhaps she did take a small hand with the invitation list, and make sure that the Grecav, the Iveco, Carlo Stanguellini, and Bruno Ansaldo were all there. And may be she did ask Fiorela to leak just the tiniest rumor, beforehand, that she was considering Fedele for her advisor. There was no sense in not using all the tools available to her.

The hardest part, actually, was making sure Uncle Xanxus would be there. Fortunately, he approved of her in somewhat the same way Uncle Hibari did, and was stalking the edges of the gathering in his shirtsleeves with a glass of something a lot stronger than the punch in hand. Mari kept half an eye on him as she listened to the Iveco boss hold forth on the need for absolutely trustworthy advisors, especially for young women, and kept a white-knuckled grip on her temper while she waited for Stanguellini to join them. Ansaldo was already shadowing Xanxus with a faint, stubborn frown on his face, and the Grecav were just one terrace down, close enough to hear everything.

"...and we must all be able to have absolute confidence in someone with the power of the Vongola's outside advisor," Iveco lectured, and Mari womanfully refrained from baring her teeth at him. Ah, here was Stanguellini at last.

"I'm sure the Eleventh will make the best possible choice," he said to Iveco firmly, coming up beside her, and she'd have appreciated the support more if he hadn't turned that earnest and respectful face to her and added, "We know that you'll take the feelings of the Family into account, ma'am."

Mari's tactical sense, trained year after year by Hibari and Lal and Xanxus, by living with one eye always on the shadows for the glint of a weapon, tingled in her fingertips; this was it. She frowned thoughtfully. "I hear what you're saying," she said, rather more carryingly than she normally would. "So you're still concerned by the possibility that Fedele Rizzo colluded with Xanxus in Federico's death?" Those nearest quieted for a moment and glanced over at their little group.

"Well, there were never any witnesses, ma'am," Stanguellini murmured. "And he did survive..."

Mari tapped her lips with a finger. "Well, you know, that's not exactly true. That there weren't any witnesses, I mean." While the two men blinked at her she turned and leaned over the stone rail, waving a hand. "Uncle Xanxus!"

He looked up at her from across most of the gathering, mouth in a sardonic twist. "Yeah?"

"Were you and Fedele working together, when you killed Federico?"

Dead silence fell over the party and everyone turned to stare. Mari continued to look brightly inquiring, though she could see her father, from the corner of his eye, putting a hand over his face.

Xanxus snorted explosively. "Fuck no. What kind of idiot thinks I need help killing anyone I damn well go after?" He glared at Iveco and Stanguellini, who turned a little pale.

Mari waved a casual hand. "No, no, I think people just wondered because Fedele lived."

A corner of Xanxus mouth curled up in a sneer. "What, I should have taken time to finish off the small fry when he was down? He wasn't my target." A stir rippled through the gathering, remembering that Xanxus led the Varia, their pride and their long record of perfect success.

"Yes, I thought so myself." Mari nodded agreeably, and turned back to Iveco. "So there you have it, from the one person who has to know for sure, right?" She smiled at him and then down at the Grecav. "I'm sure that takes care of any doubts." She turned her smile on Stanguellini and then Ansaldo, letting it turn harder.

Stanguellini swallowed. "Yes, ma'am."

She turned back to Iveco, who still seemed to be speechless. "And I hear you're opening up some interests in Catanzaro! Tell me, how is that going?"

"Ah. It's... it's going well. Yes." The man looked at her like he'd never seen her before and maybe, Mari thought as she chatted about business, maybe he hadn't really.

It looked like that had probably changed, though.

"That wasn't quite what I had in mind, when I said you should gain the Family's support," her father said dryly, leaning back in an armchair.

"If you wanted to set limits on my methods, you should have said." Mari crossed her legs and took another sip of her wine. "There are no more doubts about Fedele's loyalty running around, are there?"

"No, I think you broke the kneecaps of every last one."

Mari nodded, satisfied. "Good."

Father looked helplessly at Mother, who shrugged, smiling faintly. "Mari grew up in this world," she pointed out. "And you can't fault the care she takes of her people."

Shin looked up from his perch in the window seat where he was reading a letter from his latest girlfriend in the last sunlight. "It's Mari, Dad, what did you expect? She's like that."

"Not sure that was a compliment, but thanks all the same," Mari told her brother, who grinned at her.

"Mari?" Mamoru looked in the door, and Mari was instantly suspicious of the bland look on his face. "You have a visitor."

Fedele stepped in after him and Mari brightened. "Oh, good, I wanted to tell you—"

"That you asked Xanxus to confirm my 'innocence', which he did in the most insulting manner possible in front of half the Vongola alliance?" Fedele crossed his arms. "Yes, I've heard. From nearly everyone who spoke to me in the past three days."

Mari winced. "Hell. I wanted to get to you first, before the rumors got around."

"You'd have needed a teleporter."

Mari sighed. "Yes, I suppose so." She set her wine aside and looked up at him, seriously. "It was something that should have been done decades ago, and wasn't. I understand why you never wanted to, but it let the rumors of your complicity get entrenched, and I figured I needed the biggest hammer I could lay hands on to shift them permanently."

A corner of his mouth twitched. "That was certainly a very big hammer," he allowed.

"I am sorry I didn't think to warn you," she said penitently. "I should have."

"What, and give me a chance to talk you out of it?" he murmured. "Perish the thought."

She smiled. "To give you time to prepare yourself. Don't worry, you wouldn't have talked me out of it."

A snort of laughter escaped and Fedele leaned on one of the sturdy, wing back chairs, running a hand through his hair. "You really do remind me of him."

"Will that be a problem?" she asked, quietly.

He sighed and smiled down at her wryly. "Not the way you mean it. I imagine it will be other kinds of problems, but we'll deal with that as we have to."

She downright glowed at him until Mamoru ruffled her hair. "You deserved that," he declared.

"Which is why you brought him up here, yes, I know." She smacked his hand away. "I don't know why I ever thought giving you more chances to say 'I told you so' was good idea."

"I'm very glad you've agreed to support Mari," Father interjected, speaking to Fedele but giving the two of them the 'now, children' look that never seemed to wear out even when some of them had kids of their own.

"Yes," Fedele answered quietly. "I think I am too."

"Well, at least the allied Families have stopped running on about getting me married off. That's something." Mari nibbled a cookie and sighed.

Stefano Cavallone looked up from the corner where he'd been having a lively discussion with his sister about whether he needed to break the hands of Storero's second son for trying to put them up Fiorela's dress. "Shouldn't you sound happier about that?" he asked curiously.

Mari bit down more sharply, scattering crumbs over her desk and the papers that covered it. "There's always something," she growled.

"Now Mari." Fedele crossed an ankle over his knee looking ridiculously at ease. "You knew you'd have to give up my kitchen when you convinced me to serve as your advisor."

Mari made a grumpy sound into her coffee cup. Mario had avoided today's meeting too, the rat; she supposed it did take some practice to get used to having business meetings with your dad but if she could do it surely he could.

"At least your mother's Lucia still made pastries for us," Fedele pointed out, so blandly Mari knew she was being teased.

"Wait, so, Mari's upset that you're not having this meeting in the Rizzo kitchen?" Stefano asked his sister.

"It's just nice to get away from the House now and then," Mari answered for herself, and Fiorela smiled wryly.

"Come on, Stef, you've seen Dad sneaking out of our place to go spar with Hibari. I figure it's pretty much the same thing."

Stefano cocked his head at Mari. "What's keeping you from it, then?"

Mari took another sip and sighed. "It wouldn't be good if rumor got around that the Eleventh relies too much on the opinion of her outside advisor. I've just been to a good deal of trouble to squash one set of rumors, I'd prefer if we could avoid another right away."

Stefano leaned his elbow on the back of his sister's chair and smiled at her gently. "Okay. But is there any reason you can't visit a friend more often than that?"

Mari opened her mouth and closed it again. "...oh."

Fiorela gave her brother an approving look. "You're not as dumb as you look, you know."

"Runs in the Family," he said innocently and dodged her (mostly) play-punch, laughing.

"Deliver your message and get out of here," Fiorela told him, settling back in her chair with a sisterly glower.

Still grinning, Stefano turned to Mari. "Dad says to tell the Vongola Tenth that the Cizeta are giving the Valetti the cold shoulder lately, and he thinks it means the Valetti interests on the west coast are failing."

Mari nodded briskly, drawn back to business. "I'll tell him. That matches with some moves the Orsini have been making lately."

Stefano nodded in turn. "I'll tell him."

Mari leaned back in her chair as Fiorela saw, or chased, her brother out, nibbling thoughtfully on a pastry. "I'm kind of surprised the Orsini aren't cutting their alliance with the Valetti, though," she mused. "They're such rampant opportunists. I wonder if the Valetti are letting the west coast interests go entirely. Fedele, have you heard any thing about this?"

"Hm." Fedele turned back from watching Stefano go. "Nothing yet. If they are, they're keeping it quiet."

"As they would. Fiorela." Mari leaned her elbows on her desk, ignoring the crumbs still scattered over it. "I want you to look into this."

Business swept them along and Mari forgot to ask what Fedele had found so interesting about Stefano's departure.

Fedele detached himself from Irie's side and drifted across the room to fetch up discreetly by Mari. She had to admire how smilingly unobtrusive he managed to be. Federico had chosen well, and she thought she had too. The Family was definitely coming around to her way of thinking, as they watched him, and the other Families... well, if any of them harbored doubts or plots she was sure Kazuya could entertain himself with them.

"You've spent a lot of time talking to Stefano Cavallone this evening," Fedele murmured, and then she had to be annoyed at how apparently oblivious even the best advisor could be. Men!

She was going to have that made up into a flashcard she could just carry around with her.

"He's the only one here it's safe to talk to." She hid her snarl behind her wineglass. "Our allies might have backed off a little, but everyone else is still aiming their sons at me like the latest in guided missiles. Thank God Uncle Dino always had more sense than that."

"Hm." He looked at her sidelong and then out over the room where the careful steps of mafia manners were being danced. "You don't think your attention might be mistaken for something else?"

"Not by now." Relaxing a little in the safety of that assurance, Mari smiled over at the table where Stefano was talking with Lanz Furetto, nodding and smiling just as though he'd never called Lanz crawling vermin in his life. "Stefano's practically been family since we were little, and the other Families know Vongola and Cavallone have recent blood ties. He's one of the only men of our world I've managed to actually be friends with." When she turned back Fedele was looking at her oddly and she asked, "What?"

He opened his mouth and closed it again. At last he said in the mild tone of voice that meant he thought she was missing something obvious, "A friendship seems like a better basis for a marriage than missiles, don't you think?"

It took every year of experience and every bit of her mother's teaching Mari had ever had to keep from choking on her mouthful of wine. She stared at the far wall and breathed carefully until she could manage to swallow. Then she looked at Fedele and hissed, "Stefano?!"

Fedele took a measured sip. "Unless I'm very mistaken," he said softly, "Stefano Cavallone likes you very much and has for some time. You can ask Mamoru if you think I'm imagining it," he added, as Mari just stared at him. "I would bet he's seen it too."

Mari stared for another moment, trying to fit her friend Stefano into the mental space of "suitor" and completely failing.

"You seem to like him too," her clearly insane advisor murmured.

"I like him fine, but that's... that's..." Mari didn't feel she had quite the right words for how that was different from everything that courting seemed to involve. Fedele just lifted his brows and flicked his eyes in Stefano's direction.

Stefano had shaken off Lanz and was strolling back towards them. "Holding up all right?" he asked under his breath, setting one of the two plates in his hands down beside her. It held, she noticed, mostacciolli cookies, her favorite out of those set out tonight.

"Yes," she murmured, distracted. "I'm fine."

He tipped his head at the angle that meant "Are you sure?" and when had she learned that? Years ago. She gave him back the tiny, provisional, "Yes, for now" nod and he settled himself firmly at her elbow, nudging the cookies closer.

She was positive Fedele was trying not to laugh.

Stefano was one of her oldest friends.

Stefano had played with her when she was little.

"Mari?"

Stefano had been her escort to her second public event, after the absolute disaster of the first one, and had helped her sneak extra sweets.

"Nee-san?"

Stefano had listened to her complaining about the boys from other Families, and sympathized, and never once suggested a date or a kiss or any such thing.

"Mari?" Haruka tapped on her forehead. "Knock, knock; anyone home?"

Mari started and looked around the room at her family. "Huh? What is it?"

"That was kind of our question," Haruka observed wryly. "What are you thinking about so hard?"

Mari hesitated for a long moment and finally sighed. Her brothers were going to find out sooner or later anyway, and thank goodness none of them were teenagers any more was all she could say. She looked over at Mamoru, sprawled on a couch with a book and asked, "Okay. Do you really think Stefano likes me?"

Mamoru propped himself up on an elbow, brightening. "Hey, you noticed!"

Mari gave him a long look. "I guess that's a yes." She ran a distracted hand over her hair, tugging strands loose from her clip. "Fedele mentioned it."

"Sounds like you really did choose a good advisor," Haruka murmured, leaning against the wall beside her window seat.

"But he's never said anything about it!" Mari protested.

Later she would remember the thoughtful look Kazuya gave her and the quiet way he slipped out of the room.

"Well, yeah, he's not stupid," Shin put in. "He's seen what you do with the guys who do mention it." He mimed dropping an object from a height and made crashing sounds.

"Very eloquent," Haruka said, chuckling. "Also accurate."

"Well they're all such a pain in the ass about it," Mari muttered. Haruka held up his hands.

"No arguments from us Nee-san. Just, you have to figure, Stefano noticed how much you don't like dealing with that, and respected your wishes."

"I guess so," Mari said quietly, winding her arms around her knees.

Her brothers looked at each other. "So how are the holdings in Napoli doing?" Haruka asked Mamoru. "You just visited, right?"

Mari smiled a little as they turned the conversation to other things, business and teasing Shin about his latest girlfriend and whether they should get a puppy for Daisuke's son's birthday. Her brothers could be as annoying as any siblings, but they were always there for her.

She had cause to remember that thought two hours later, after their parents had joined them, when Stefano appeared in the doorway, out of breath.

"Mari?"

"Stef." Talking about someone could not actually summon them up, therefore... "Is Fiorela all right?"

"Huh? Yes, of course she is." He took a hesitant step in. "I... I came to see you."

"You..." Mari caught Mamoru giving Kazuya a thumbs up and glared at her brothers. "You," she said in a very different tone.

"It was just a matter of the right timing, Nee-san," Kazyua told her calmly. "Now is the right time."

Mari firmly ignored Shin's mutter of about time and give Stefano a helpless shrug. What could you do about siblings, killing them all being out of the question? Stefano grinned.

"Well. I think we already got pretty far, all these years, without making it official. I guess we should do this properly, now." He glanced at her father.

"Oh no," Mari groaned, instantly besieged by memories of idiots who tried to court her parents instead of her, "no, we shouldn't."

"I don't think we're thinking of the same properly." Stefano pulled his shoulders back and took a deep breath. "Let's try this." He came to her and she stared, eyes widening, as he knelt down at her feet and took her hand. "Sawada Mari, I love you," he said, soberly, looking up at her. "And it would be my honor to support the eleventh Boss of the Vongola. Will you marry me? Or at least," he added, a little less certainly, when she kept staring at him, "think about it?"

Mari laughed, breathless, and closed her fingers on his. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll think about it." From the way he relaxed, she figured he'd probably heard what she really meant. Stefano usually did.

He looked back over at her parents, a little wary again. "You, ah, do approve, right?"

Mari's parents broke out laughing, which Mari felt rather detracted from the mood of the moment. "Yes, we do," her mother told them, finally. "As long as you make her happy," her father added.

"I'll do my very best, sir," Stefano said, very serious, and Mari rolled her eyes and pulled him up to actually sit beside her.

"He already makes me happy," she told her family sternly, "or I wouldn't have said yes." Stefano had pretty much always made her happier when he was around.

Maybe her advisor wasn't completely crazy after all.

Uncle Dino was looking so smug Mari was starting to seriously consider asking Uncle Hibari to visit, just to wipe that expression off him. Fortunately for her soon-to-be father-in-law, Uncle Hibari's people didn't know where he was this month.

"I hope your next advice to me is less earth-shaking," she murmured to Fedele, watching the allies and associates milling around, some still looking shocked, many having progressed to indignant, and none of them looking especially congratulatory.

"When I'm working for you? I don't see how it could be."

"Pessimist."

"I would have said optimist."

Mari grinned, eyes still on the guests.

"You two deserve each other," Mamoru told them, shaking his head. "Ah. Here's your real escort." He stepped back to let Stefano take the place at Mari's side. Fedele nodded to Stefano and stepped back as well.

"I don't think I've ever been congratulated so sourly," Stefano informed her under his breath, eyes laughing.

"Yes, well, they all think you got the big prize." Mari cast a dry look over the crowd.

"Which of course I did." Stefano lifted her hand and kissed it. "Just not the way they're thinking."

"I am too old to be blushing," she muttered, blushing anyway.

"So is it true, what Mamoru said, that Fedele Rizzo was the one who started you thinking of me?"

Mari smiled ruefully. "I chose him for his wisdom and experience. I got that all right."

"I'll have to remember to do something very nice for him, then," Stefano murmured.

Mari looked back at her advisor, at the straightness of his shoulders as he moved through the crowd, remembering the withdrawn man she'd first set out to drag back into life and honor. "I hope we have already."

Stefano smiled at her, pleased and proud. "You'll be the best Boss."

Mari lifted her chin as she looked out over the gathering, hand closing tight around his. "Damn right." She would be, because she had her Family behind her, and her friend beside her, and a man of such loyalty that even despair couldn't shake it watching over them. Throughout the room, disgruntled expressions melted to blankness under the weight of her eyes. "We're the Vongola.

"This is our world."

End

Sweet and Spicy

Touya keeps trying to draw Yue out, and Yue wrestles with his fear of losing again. Drama with Romance, I-4

Touya was enjoying a very nice afternoon, lying on the couch with a book in one hand and Yuki dozing against his chest. Yuki had finished his writing for the day, making three chapters of his second novel to send along to his agent tomorrow. The day was just cool enough to make Yuki's warm weight feel extra nice. In fact, it was just about a perfect afternoon.

So of course it was interrupted.

Not by the rush of light and feathers that abruptly filled Touya's arms; that wasn't an interruption. No, it was when Yue opened his eyes and said, "The Master needs me."

Touya grunted; of course Yue wouldn't have come out just to chat. He smoothed back Yue's hair, as he'd been stroking Yuki's. "Think you'll be back for dinner?" Food was starting to be a good way to get Yue to spend some time acting like a normal person.

Yue started, seeming to notice for the first time that he was lying against Touya. "I... I don't..." He set his hands against Touya's chest, pushing himself back, eyes wide.

"Oof," Touya complained, and pulled Yue back down so he could breathe. "Legs off the couch first," he directed. "You really need to get more used to this."

Yue lay still for a moment before he tried to sit up again, more slowly this time. "I... wouldn't wish to interrupt more than I do." He looked away, color sneaking over his cheeks.

"You aren't interrupting," Touya told him firmly. How many times was he going to have to say this before both of them understood? "Whichever shape you are, whichever you you are, it's still you. You belong here." Yue was starting to look alarmed, and Touya sighed, going back to the less intimidating questions. "Do you think you'll be back for dinner?"

"I... I'll try," Yue said softly.

"Good."

Touya sat at the kitchen table, triangulating between a medical text, a cookbook, and a book of magic.

Cooking for Yue was more difficult than your average menu planning.

"Apricot ginger glaze for the chicken," he muttered, scribbling notes, "bean salad maybe? Yeah that should be okay since it's fall. Not too much rice, though. Hm. Lemon ice for dessert?" He chewed the end of his pencil for a minute. "Better make it green tea ice—better balance."

He did more homework to cook food for his boyfriend and his boyfriend's other self than he'd done for his chemistry degree, he swore. Well, at least now he know why Yuki was so fond of wheat breads.

Yue got back just as dinner was sizzling and chilling nicely; Touya decided it was a good omen. "Set the table," he directed, handing Yue the plates. The more prosaic he could make Yue's life, the better, he figured. "See if you like the chicken, tonight."

Yue set the table, but he did it slowly, with a lot of little glances at Touya. He hesitated before sitting down. "I shouldn't," he said, low. "Yukito..."

"I made dinner for you," Touya told him firmly, hanging up his apron and grabbing his own chair. "You should eat it."

Yue finally sat. Touya kept him busy through dinner by asking what Sakura had been up to. Apparently what should have been a tame consultation with a wizard from up north had turned into a ghost hunt through the whole town and half the next. Yue actually smiled faintly over the bean salad, though that might just have been satisfaction at recounting how Keroberos got himself stuck trying to slide underneath someone's porch. After dinner, Touya handed Yue a dish towel without asking and recounted his hours lecturing that day as they washed the dishes, just as normal and domestic as he was capable of making things.

Yue seemed puzzled by the whole thing, which made him want to bang his head against the wall.

When they were done and Yue just nodded quietly to him, wings starting to open, Touya decided he had had enough. "Yue." He reached out and gathered Yue into his arms, wings and all. Yue stiffed and Touya sighed; was it always going to be like this? He touched Yue's jaw gently, meeting wide, ice-colored eyes. "Is this really so hard to understand?" he asked quietly.

"I don't... I... yes," Yue stammered, and Touya's mouth quirked; for all his reserve, Yue was very straightforward.

"I'll try to make it easier, then," he said, and leaned in and kissed Yue's forehead softly. "How's this: I want to be with you. All of you."

Yue stared at him, shivering, lips parted, and Touya wished he could think that was invitation and not just shock. When Yue clung abruptly close he felt a flash of hope, but the next instant he was holding only light, and then Yukito was leaning against him, shaking his head.

"What on earth?" Yuki murmured.

Touya sighed, letting his head drop to Yuki's shoulder. "Argh."

"Ah. I see." Yuki stroked his hair. "Don't worry, Touya. We'll get there. Is there leftover ice cream?" he added hopefully.

Touya laughed, which he thought was probably the point. "I made cookies for you. Come on. There's tea ready too."

Yue stood at the furthest edge of the Cards' Place and tried to be calm. The memory of Touya's lips on his made it hard. Other memories kept slipping through his mind, even here—of Mirror blushing when the others admired her new hair ribbons, of even Watery allowing that the Master's brother was very kind, of Dark looking at him from the corner of her eye.

He couldn't think about these things!

"Yue-sama?"

He looked up, startled, to see Dark standing by him, brows drawn down in worry. "Yue-sama, are you... are you well?"

"I'm fine," he told her flatly, folding his arms tighter.

She tipped her head and smiled at him softly. "It's the Master's brother again, isn't it?"

Yue drew himself up; he wasn't going to have any backtalk from the Cards, not even one of the highest. Dark sobered and bowed to him in apology. "Forgive me, Yue-sama. It's only that I wish you could be happier."

"He's mortal." Yue looked aside. "There's no happiness in that, not for me." That had been abundantly demonstrated once already; Yue didn't feel any need to learn it again.

Dark hesitated a moment and came to stand before him, taking up one of his hands in hers. "Yue-sama, happiness and sadness are like Light and Dark. They are not separate." She looked up at him gravely. "You are trying to separate them, to deny happiness so you won't risk sadness. But in doing so, have you left yourself anything but the old pain?"

Yue started to pull away, not wanting to hear this or think about what it meant, and Light stepped from behind Dark. She bowed deeper than her sister, cautious as all the Sun-ruled Cards were with him, and held out her hands entreatingly. "Please, Yue-sama." Softly, she added, "You rule half the cards, under our Master. Your pain troubles us, as well."

Yue stilled, and looked back at Dark, startled. Dark didn't quite meet his eyes, which was confirmation enough. "I see," he said. "I have neglected my duty to guard you, then."

"It's not that!" Dark looked up at him, hands tightening on his. "It's only... until now there was nothing to be done. But now there's him."

Light set her hands on Dark's shoulders, pressing close to comfort her. She looked past Dark at Yue with a soft smile. "As we are not separate, as joy and sadness are not separate, you and your other self are not separate either." She bent her head, diffident, but there was no yielding in her words. "Don't you love him already?"

Yue closed his eyes. "Leave me," he said quietly. When the soft rustle of them had faded, he took a slow breath and let it out. Light could be as artlessly direct as the ruler of her half of the cards. Was she also right?

Would he be fighting it this hard, if she weren't?

Yue sighed. He could almost hear those words in Clow's voice.

Or was it Touya's?

Yukito was being patient. Possibly a bit elaborately patient, but if that provoked Yue to stop lurking just past the edge of clear perception and actually communicate what had him on edge, Yukito thought it would have been in a good cause.

The front door clacked and Touya called, "I'm home!"

"Welcome back!" Yukito called back, tossing his notebook onto the table and starting to rise. Touya was there before he got all the way up, leaning down to kiss him lightly, and Yukito laughed. "Long day?" he guessed. Touya wasn't usually quite that eager.

Touya flopped down onto the couch beside him with a groan. "I have got to get a lab job soon, the kids are going to drive me nuts."

Yukito was going to tease Touya about how he always said that and somehow always kept signing up to lecture again the next term when Yue stirred inside him and pressed a little—not rising to the surface, not yet, just asking. That was rare enough that Yukito smiled. "Someone else wants to talk to you," he murmured, and let himself sink down past the rise of Yue's coolness, until it was Yue sitting on the couch, stiff and tense. Touya smiled at him anyway.

"Yue."

"Touya," Yue returned, hesitantly. He glanced at Touya and away, swallowing. "Did... did your day go well?" he finally asked, low.

Touya blinked at him for a moment, and then the smile was back, softer. "Pretty well. There are a few students I could do without, but most of them are good kids." He rested an arm casually along the couch, behind Yue's shoulders, hand curved down just enough to make Yue feel welcome. "Thanks for asking." There was more than surface meaning in his words, and Yue had to bite back the panic that would normally have sent him fleeing down under Yukito. "I'm glad," he managed.

"Yue." Touya drew him closer, gently. "What's wrong?"

The answer to that was so large that Yue could only shake his head at first. Touya just waited, though, patient with him and finally he said, "Clow left us." It was the first piece of the answer, at least.

"I won't leave you," Touya answered immediately, too fast to have really even thought about it, and Yue looked directly at him, frowning.

"You will when you..." he bit off the last word. He didn't want to say it out loud. Every creature of magic knew words had power.

"When I... oh." Touya's snort startled Yue. "Death is no excuse, just look at my mother." He grinned as Yue stared, thoroughly taken aback. "No, not even then." He drew Yue closer, smile sliding away into seriousness. "I won't leave you. Yukito. Yue. You. Not ever."

Yue found his fingers clenched tight in Touya's shirt. It hurt. It hurt knowing that Touya was right, and this was something Clow could have given them and hadn't.

But Touya did.

Touya's fingers stroked his hair back, and his voice was quiet and sure. "I promise you."

Clow had never given his word. Touya did. It wouldn't be the same, after he died, it wouldn't be enough, but he promised even so. Maybe Yue wouldn't be completely alone, after.

He leaned slowly against Touya, breathing as unsteady as if he'd just run a race against time, and a small, husky sound escaped him as Touya gathered him up close and warm. It was so warm, so good, it had been so long since Yue had felt that. Out of the warmth he finally found the courage to lift his head and touch his lips to Touya's, for all he shivered when Touya's arms tightened. It wasn't with chill. Nor was it him alone; in that warmth, Yukito was there also, feeling with him, and Yue could feel the joy and pleasure of his other self's response.

He could feel it too much, in fact, and without quite meaning to he slid under the rising brightness of Yukito's open love until it was Yukito sliding his arms around Touya's shoulders and kissing him slow and sure.

Yukito broke off with a soft laugh. "We'll have to get better at that."

Touya was looking down at him, worried. "Is Yue all right?"

"Of course! He just isn't used to this." Wasn't used to being happy, that was; but he wasn't sure it was time to tell Touya that yet.

Touya took a long breath, relief lightening his eyes. "I see. Well, you're right then. We'll have to get better at it."

Yukito laid a hand against his cheek. "Don't worry, To-ya," he said, quietly. "We will."

End

Six Pomegranate Seeds

Yue has a wish for his future; Touya is a little startled and a lot enlightened. Romantic Drama, I-4

Yue felt with his other self. He felt the warmth and satisfaction Yukito felt at lying snugly in Touya's arms, felt the bright bubble of Yukito's amusement as Touya tried to reach the lamp without letting go, even almost felt the soft pressure of Touya's mouth against his.

But only almost, because feeling that warmth himself had sent him sinking down again, frightened by his own response, letting Yukito, who had practice with this and no loss weighing his memory, be the one to answer.

Even the echo of Touya's weight and warmth settling over them made him gasp, and Yukito's soft laugh was at him this time. His other self didn't see why they both shouldn't have what they wanted. He conveyed, at every opportunity, the idea that Yue obviously wanted to be with Touya.

He did. Oh, he did. But the fear wouldn't leave him, not even with Touya's promise. If Yue had to admit what he wanted, finally, he wanted to be with Touya, not just his ghost! If only Touya weren't mortal. If only Yue weren't immortal. If only he could cling to Touya's warmth wherever it went, even out of this world. If only Yue had Clow's power to change what he was. He closed immaterial eyes and sighed, retreating a little further from the sweetness of Touya's hands against Yukito's skin.

"...last night before we stay over with family," Touya's words drifted down to him like snow, low and amused and suggestive, the way he could hear them himself if only...

"Were you thinking that should make a difference?" Yukito asked, mischief nearly sparkling.

"We'll be in Eriol's house, Yuki! Ruby Moon would probably try to watch!"

Yue frowned into nothingness at the thought. Ruby Moon had no right. Eriol should see to the manners of his current creations, even if, Yue had to privately admit, he had no history of doing so as Clow.

As Clow...

Yue's eyes widened on interior darkness as Yukito's closed on the lamp's glow above and his lips curved under Touya's.

Family gatherings were always pretty lively. With three magicians, four magic creatures and a ghost, Touya supposed they couldn't be anything else, and he was pretty used to it by now.

"Kero-chan! Wait until you're out of the car to change!" Sakura glared at the full-sized creature stuck half in and half out of their car.

"But I smell pudding!" Keroberos protested, rustling his stuck wings and flailing his paws.

Yuki had a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughing at the sight of Sakura pulling on her idiot sun-tiger's paws while her husband pushed from inside the car. Touya didn't take the time out to laugh. He had to admit, it was funny, but any minute now...

"Ah! And you brought snacks for me, too!" Ruby Moon bounced down the front steps and latched on to Touya's arm. He rolled his eyes. Ruby never got tired of that joke.

A large, white wing cut abruptly between them.

Touya backed up until he no longer had a faceful of shining feathers, spitting out a stray curl of fluff. Sure enough, Yue was standing beside him now, glaring icy death at Ruby Moon.

Ruby pouted. "You're so stingy, Yue. He has magic again, now; don't you know it's nice to share?"

Yue's palm started to glow with ice crystals and Touya sighed. This was why Ruby never got tired of the joke, he was sure. He slipped around the wing still extended in front of him and laid a hand, gently, on Yue's wrist. When Yue relaxed a hair, and Touya was sure there wasn't going to be any immediate destruction, he shook his head at Ruby Moon. "Since you have someone to feed you a lot more then enough, isn't it greedy to ask for snacks from other people?"

Ruby laughed. "Oh all right."

Yue glowered some more as Ruby skipped back up the stairs to lean on Eriol's shoulder; Keroberos finally emerged from the car with a muffled squawk from Sakura, who he landed on; and their mother appeared, perched on a gate post, waving as their father's car pulled up. Touya snorted a helpless laugh.

Just another family party.

Lunch was finished, Yuki had helped Keroberos decimate dessert, Sakura was whispering in a corner with Kaho while Li looked uncomfortable, and Yue was walking off down one of the mansion's corridors with Eriol. Most of these things were not cause for alarm, but Touya had gotten increasingly edgy about just how much of Clow Eriol still was, and exactly what had happened between Clow and Yue.

Touya slipped after them.

It wasn't that he intended to eavesdrop or anything like that. It was just that Yue always seemed to be ruffled after he talked with Eriol, and this time Touya wanted to know why. Yue wasn't easy to soothe under the best of circumstances, and when he was ruffled he withdrew all over again, Yuki was uncomfortable, and Sakura worried. Touya watched as Eriol ushered Yue into one of the sitting rooms and settled against the wall, in the shadows across from the open door.

"What was it you wished to discuss?" Eriol asked, settling onto a small, brocaded couch by the long windows, in clear view of the door. Touya had his suspicions right then, but stayed still and quiet. Just in case Eriol didn't know he was there.

Yue didn't settle. He actually paced a few turns through the room. "I don't want to go on," he said, low voice huskier than usual.

Eriol's eyes narrowed for a moment. "Go on?"

Yue folded his arms tightly. "When Clow died, I went on. I didn't know how to do anything else. But things that live don't go on forever." He gave Eriol a brief, silver glare. "Clow didn't." After a silent moment he continued. "I don't want to go on again. I don't want to sleep and be cold and wait, and know I have to lose again." He turned to face Eriol full on, wings flaring out. "When Touya leaves this life... tell me how to follow him."

Touya had to grip the wall to stay standing. He'd known that the time before Sakura had been bad, but this...! It took him a moment to recognize the amusement in Eriol's raised brows, and then he had to stifle a furious growl.

"Even after years of practice, it's still strange to be surprised." Eriol smiled and leaned back in the cushions. "I was going to speak to you about this today, to warn you." Dark eyes were kind, in a distant sort of way. "Unless you put a good deal of effort into stopping it, you're going to pass away when Touya does, already."

Yue looked as stunned as Touya felt. "I am?"

Eriol shrugged. "You accepted the gift of his magic, to support you, years ago, until your Master could do so. To be honest, I had expected him to recover more of it by now. I believe the reason he hasn't is that you are still bound to his magic for your life, rather than taking it from Sakura-san, even now that she's grown strong enough."

"But..." Yue stammered, "he is recovering now. I thought... "

"He is," Eriol agreed gently. "But too slowly. He should have regained more of his strength by now. Unless he were still giving it to you."

"Oh." Yue was quiet for a moment. When he spoke his voice was steady. "So I will go with him?"

"Yes."

Yue nodded. "Thank you for telling me." Wings flashed in the glass doors to the garden, and he was gone.

After a moment, Eriol added to the air. "I meant to talk to you about it, too, of course. It still amazes me, sometimes, how things work out."

Touya finally shook himself and pushed away from the wall. "Without interference, you mean?" he asked as he crossed the room to the wide garden doors. The jibe was absent, though. He was thinking about Yue, not Eriol, or even Clow.

He found Yue out by a clump of birch trees, looking up at the moon. Yue's arms were loose at his sides and he was smiling. Not the quick, furtive smile that came when he had been surprised by some good thought or happening, but the clear, steady smile of someone who was happy. The contrast made Touya's chest tight. "Yue."

Yue turned and Touya didn't think it was only the moonlight that made his eyes bright. "Touya." For once, Yue's voice was not merely low, but soft. Touya was stunned wordless by the fact that the promise of being able to stay with him could make Yue so happy, so at ease. It was finally crystal clear to him what Yue's reserve really meant. It had been unspeakable fear of being happy only to lose it all. He crossed the clearing in two quick strides and gathered Yue close.

He didn't often touch Yue without some invitation; Yue's usual coolness didn't make it easy, and his flusterment at other times made Touya go slowly. But seeing that cool eased, seeing what Yue could be, should be, made Touya...

Well, it made him blazingly mad at Clow Reed, for one thing.

"I didn't realize how bad it was," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Yue's hands closed on his upper arms and he leaned back far enough to blink at Touya. "You didn't... Oh." Bright eyes slid aside. "You... heard?"

"Yeah."

Yue looked at him levelly, some of his usual reserve folding back around him. "Do you mind? That your magic won't completely recover?"

Touya snorted. "Of course I don't mind. I can see Kaa-san again, what else would I need it for?" He laid a hand lightly on Yue's back between his wings. "I... would rather you could be happy living on. But if you can't be," he shrugged and smiled, "living my life with you is what I want to do. Doing the next bit together will be good too."

Yue tucked his chin down a bit, smile sneaking back. Touya brushed his thumb over the unaccustomed curve of Yue's lips, and felt a little rush of warmth that Yue let him without flinching. "Tell you what," he said, a little teasing, "why don't we go back in. And we can tell Ruby Moon that I'm yours for good and there's no snacking allowed, ever."

A gleam lit Yue's eye. "Hm."

Yeah, Touya had thought that idea would appeal to Yue. "Come on."

He left his hand resting on Yue's back as they turned toward the lighted windows, and Yue's feathers brushed delicately over it.

Yue could feel Yukito with him, feel Yukito's unrestrained approval of how good it felt to rest in the circle of Touya's arm as he leaned back against the window, and had to stifle a perfectly silly urge to blush.

Though perhaps it got away from him just a little when Touya, who seemed to have all his attention on the game of cards his sister was playing with Kaho, Spinel and Keroberos, eased him gently closer. If anyone asked, Yue was fairly sure Touya would explain he was only doing it for the sake of putting a permanent stop to Ruby Moon's jokes. Sometimes he thought Touya had spent too much time with his other self, to learn that kind of innocent excuse making.

Still, it did feel very good. And if Keroberos cocked a knowing and affectionate ear at him more often than usual, and Sakura smiled like sunrise whenever she looked at him, and Eriol looked amused by the whole thing... well, perhaps that was all right. Perhaps it was all right to feel this happiness, to cherish it even.

This time, it would not be taken from him.

End

A Theme in Pentatonic - One

Post Infinite Fortress arc. Kazuki takes care of Juubei while he recovers from their fight, and they find their way back to each other—even if Kazuki still can't entirely admit his place in the relationship. Drama, Fluff, Porn, I-4

After the shouting was over and the rush of people had ebbed away again and all the wounded had been marched back to Gen's back rooms by a frowning Ren, Kazuki had a chance to finally think about what he had found by returning to Mugenjou. He listened to the crunch and hush of medicines being mixed, to Ren scolding Emishi, to Sakura's quiet as she sat beside Juubei, and hoped that this time he and Juubei could say what they meant, to each other, and not what they feared.

His search for a way to start that was preempted, though, when Gen stumped over to Juubei and gave him a look of professional disapproval.

"You turned your own arts against yourself; you should know better than anyone what that means. It was only the luck or fate of this place that you missed the critical points but you came close enough to shock even your system badly. I don't know," he added, more quietly, "if your eyes will recover."

"No matter," Juubei said evenly, and Gen grunted without either surprise or agreement.

"At any rate, if there's to be any chance you'll need to rest for at least a week. Take this once a day," he handed Sakura a small, blue glass bottle, "and don't do any of these things." He passed over a closely written sheet of paper.

Sakura read down it and pursed her lips, looking down at her brother dubiously. "Thank you, sir," she said all the same.

Kazuki slipped out of bed and looked over her shoulder. "Well, then, it seems that after I've wrapped up this job I'll be back for a while," he said dryly.

"Back?" Juubei asked, and perhaps only the two of them heard the crack of hope in his voice. Kazuki took a breath.

"Of course," he answered, voice as cheerful as he could make it. "After all, no one else will be able to make you follow the doctor's orders, will they?"

Sakura pressed a hand over her mouth, eyes dancing. Juubei was silent, though, and Kazuki made himself reach out, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You need me here. So I'll be here."

Juubei still didn't speak, but his muscles relaxed under Kazuki's touch.

"Perhaps you should take him back to your own apartment, then," Sakura suggested, smiling up at him with a light of mischief. "A little extra distance between him and his work won't hurt."

"Ane-chan," Juubei objected, but Sakura kept looking at Kazuki and he finally bowed his head.

"If you think that's for the best, Sakura," he murmured.

She laid a hand over his, on Juubei's shoulder. "I do."

He was glad to have Sakura's blessing on this renewal of an old friendship. And perhaps... perhaps more than that.

"I don't want to be away from Lower Town," Juubei grumbled.

"Nonsense," Sakura said firmly. "Kazuki-san may not live in the heart of Mugenjou any more, but he's only moved to the edge of Lower Town."

"...oh." Juubei subsided.

Kazuki fought for a moment with simultaneous pleasure that Sakura had kept that much track of him and the twinge that Juubei obviously hadn't. "Rest here while I close this job," he told Juubei. "I'll come get you when that's done."

And they would see what it was going to take to repair hearts and bodies both.

As Kazuki had expected, having been a spectator the last time Juubei got a cold, Juubei spent exactly one day in bed before he was sneaking out of it every time Kazuki's back was turned. Kazuki was fairly sure that one day was only because he'd been concentrating on readjusting his senses, because he moved as silently as ever when he did get up.

That didn't make Kazuki any happier about it.

"How are your eyes going to have any chance to heal if you don't rest?" he remonstrated, catching Juubei moving methodically through the kitchen, cataloging dishes and cans with his fingertips.

"I doubt they will," Juubei answered, sounding perfectly serene about it. "And that's as well. I raised my hand against you; it's just and right that I be punished for that."

Kazuki touched Juubei's cheek below the wrap over his eyes, just about ready to howl with frustration except that he didn't do such things, any more than Juubei did. They'd both been well taught. "I don't like to see you hurt," he said instead.

Juubei rested his hand over Kazuki's. "I am not in pain."

Kazuki sighed. That complete equanimity was as comforting as it was frustrating, to tell the truth. That was the Juubei he'd known for so long, this serenity and not the harsh, driven edge Juubei had shown when they fought. Juubei had always been a rock, standing firm in any stream of events, even the madness of Fuuchouin's fall.

Of course, the tiny, resentful part of his mind that he tried not to pay too much attention to said, the foundation of Juubei's serenity was still intact. His family had not fallen, and he had left it of his own will to follow the one tradition had bound him to. Even in exile, Juubei knew he was walking the straight path of his house and clan, following...

...following Kazuki.

Kazuki felt his breath stop for a moment. Without him, Juubei had not been himself. Now that he was here again, Juubei was at ease. Secure in his place in the world.

"Kazuki?" Juubei asked softly, hand closing on his shoulder.

Kazuki wrapped his arms tight around Juubei and pressed close, reassuring himself that they were both here and alive and as safe as anyone could be. Husky, against Juubei's shoulder, he murmured, "Did it truly trouble you that much... No." He took a breath. "Never mind. I shouldn't have to ask that."

He knew the answer already, in his heart. The Kakei family was proud, a samurai House who kept their traditions. It must have driven Juubei half-wild to be masterless. Kazuki understood perfectly, in the abstract.

It was only when he faced the fact that Juubei's master was him that it made him flinch away.

So instead he concentrated on the living warmth of Juubei against him, on the comfort of Juubei's arms slowly sliding around him, on the soft pleasure lurking in Juubei's voice when he said Kazuki's name. That was enough.

After a week, during which he had been only marginally successful in making Juubei rest, Kazuki had to admit that Juubei was probably as recovered as he was getting, at least for now. Juubei was moving easily and his non-visual perception had made a leap forward such as Kazuki had never heard of before.

He just hoped that advance would hold outside of Mugenjou.

The moment he was sure Juubei was going to be all right was when Juubei cocked his head to one side and turned to him with a faint frown, as Kazuki was dressing for the day. "Kazuki? You're favoring your right hand."

Once it was pointed out it felt like the faint ache and twinge got deeper, as if pleased to be noticed. Kazuki sighed, twisting his wrist carefully. "Yes. I suppose there's still a bit of forearm strain."

"Sit down." Juubei pushed him down onto the edge of the bed and knelt down beside him, taking Kazuki's arm in his hand and running a thumb down the length of the inner tendon. He made a disapproving sound as Kazuki's fingers twitched. "You're the one who should have been resting more."

Kazuki couldn't help laughing; this was so familiar, this physician's grumpiness. "Well you're fully recovered, at any rate! I'm fine, Juubei."

Juubei paused, head bent, fingers resting on Kazuki's wrist. Finally he said, low, "Allow me this."

There was a plea in those even words, and it caught at Kazuki's heart. "Of course..." he started, impulsive, and then paused himself.

It touched a chord in him, seeing Juubei at his feet, waiting on his word. Part of him could not help feeling that it was good and right, it was their familiar fate as the heirs of their Houses. Kakei was vassal to Fuuchouin.

But that thought, that way, led back into the fire.

Juubei was still waiting.

Kazuki's jaw tightened and he took a slow breath. Forget their Houses; this wasn't a House before him, it was a person! Juubei. He lifted his other hand and rested it on Juubei's head.

"Yes." As he said it, his voice turned fierce, finally saying what he had spent years turning away from. "You are mine."

The sudden openness of Juubei's face as he lifted his head, the husky note in his voice as he said, "Kazuki..." settled in Kazuki's chest and he laughed, softly, and slid down off the bed, pleased when Juubei's arms caught him. Juubei's mouth was soft, under his, startled perhaps, and Kazuki took ruthless advantage of that, kissing Juubei deep and slow until he moaned, arms tightening hard around Kazuki. Kazuki made a satisfied sound at that.

"Kazuki," Juubei murmured against his mouth, breathless.

"I will allow you a great deal," Kazuki purred back, enjoying the way Juubei's breath hitched. "Because you're my own."

And why on earth had he waited so long to say that? He couldn't really recall just at the moment. Never mind their pasts, he could have Juubei just as himself, and that would be all right.

Juubei's hands spread against his back, supporting him, and Juubei turned his face up to Kazuki. "Kazuki... may I...?"

Kazuki shivered, pressing close, half laughing with the dizzy pleasure of the way he'd found to have this. "Yes." He let Juubei lift him back up to the bed and tugged Juubei after him. If he could have managed to undress without letting go, he would have. Finally, after a few tangles of arms and legs and cloth ended in laughter—an open smile from Juubei was just as good—he leaned back, sighing, as strong deft hands trailed slowly over his skin, just as if Juubei had never touched his body before.

In fact, the familiarity of the touch was what soothed him, relaxed him until he was arching up against the weight of Juubei's body, arms twined tight around him. "Mmm, Juubei..."

Juubei's voice was husky as murmured, between kisses, "Do you have...?"

Kazuki stretched to reach the little bedside nook, purring as Juubei's hands slid over his ribs. "Here." He dropped the green glass jar into Juubei's palm.

It was very different, to feel Juubei's hands kneading gently up his thighs, to be gathered close as Juubei's fingers touched him more and more intimately, to hear Juubei's breath come quicker as Kazuki made a soft sound against his shoulder and shifted closer. The few other men and women he'd been with had been... well, they'd been brief, and most of them rather in awe of him. This was Juubei, who grumbled at him when he didn't eat enough, who had guarded his back faithfully for years, who needed jokes explained to him. This was his Juubei, touching him now with complete reverence and no hesitation.

"I missed you so much," he whispered against Juubei's ear, breathless. Juubei's arms tightened around him.

"I beg your forgiveness," Juubei said, low, in the most abject form, and Kazuki moaned as Juubei pressed slowly into him.

"Wasn't your fault," he gasped, and laughed a little as Juubei's silence disagreed with him. Juubei protected him even from himself.

Usually.

"I didn't want to leave you," he offered, softly, sliding his leg up to wind around Juubei's hip.

"Shh." Juubei's hands slid up his back, kneading hard and slow, and Kazuki gasped as muscles he hadn't realized he'd tensed unwound again; it put an edge on the rise of pleasure as Juubei's cock worked slowly in and out of him. "I lost my way, and I was a fool for letting it happen. But you brought me back to it. My life and honor are yours. Always."

That skirted close to the things Kazuki didn't dare think of too hard, hoping not to tempt fate. So all he said, as Juubei's hand slid down between his legs, was "Stay with me?"

"Forever." The intensity of Juubei's voice wrapped around him like another hand, and Kazuki let that touch carry him over the edge, moaning openly as pleasure swept through him, deep and slow and thorough.

The catch of Juubei's breath, the way his head bent, made Kazuki smile, reaching up through the brightness of it all, to run his fingers through Juubei's hair. "Juubei," he murmured, low, and rocked up into the next thrust. Juubei gasped, body arching taut as he drove forward harder, and Kazuki made approving sounds. He pulled Juubei down against him as he started to relax, and murmured in his ear, laughing, "I said say to stay with me, didn't I?"

He could feel the heat in Juubei's face against his shoulder. "Kazuki!"

Kauzki laughed again and cuddled closer, happier than he could remember being in a long time.

And as long as fate and his enemies didn't notice, perhaps he could keep some of it.

A Theme in Pentatonic - Interlude One

Sakura and Kazuki reach an understanding of their own, though Sakura understands it rather better than Kazuki does at this point. Drama, I-3

Sakura walked with her hands clasped and her eyes down. She knew Makubex had run ahead with Juubei to leave her with Kazuki. Kazuki didn't walk out with them very often, and Makubex had taken his opportunity promptly, leaving her with a meaningful look and a bright smile as he tugged Juubei off.

Sometimes, Sakura wished Makubex were a little less perceptive.

"Are you well, Sakura?" Kazuki asked, after they'd walked a few blocks in silence.

"Surely Juubei would say if I wasn't," she murmured, hoping to slip aside from this.

He only smiled. "Probably he would. Unless he thought it would worry me, of course. I still don't see you very often, to check for myself."

"You could come to visit." It slipped out before she could catch it.

"I..." Kazuki hesitated. "I'm sorry," he said, at last, low. "It's just that Mugenjou pulls at me, when I'm here, and it pulls harder the closer I come to the center. To the Beltline," he added, lower. "And Makubex is a good friend, he's becoming a wise leader, but he isn't Ginji-san, to hold that off from me just by being present."

Sakura bowed her head. Perhaps she had no excuse to reproach him, even in her heart, because she'd felt the pull he spoke of, the temptation to exaltation or despair or both. And she remembered the ease of following Kazuki, of trusting her honor to the brightness of his spirit. Could she grudge him, that he needed that ease also? "Perhaps I will visit, instead, then," she said softly.

"You'll be welcome, always." Kazuki's smile was bright. "You, of all people."

That, she hadn't expected to hear, and the surprise of it made her start.

"Sakura?" He paused, turning toward her, concerned. "What is it?"

"I..." Her voice caught in her throat and she swallowed, but could find no words.

"Sakura." Kazuki caught her hands and drew her over to some crates stacked by the wall, guiding her down onto one. He looked down at her with a faint frown. "Sakura, surely you knew that. You and Juubei have been with me from the start."

She tugged her hands free and clasped them so he wouldn't feel them trembling. "It had seemed, when you left, that we had no more claim on you."

And she had hoped, for one bright moment, when he returned, when she saw that the bond between he and her brother was still so strong. But he had returned only to Juubei, it seemed.

She tried hard not to begrudge her brother that.

"Sakura!" He sounded so genuinely shocked that she looked up. "You have always had a claim on me. You always will!" Perhaps he saw her doubt, because he bit his lip. "Maybe it isn't the same one that it used to be. But never doubt that you are one of those who will always be in my heart and have the right to call on me."

His words settled over her shoulders like a blanket on a cold night, and suddenly she was smiling. It was a complete contradiction. He said that they were not bound as they had been. No longer liege and vassal. But in the same breath he spoke of her rights in the language of their childhood. "One of those?" she asked, still wanting the reassurance of hearing him say it. "Who are we?"

His smile was completely unselfconscious, warm as sunlight. "The ones who stood at my side and made this place a home instead of a prison," he said, so gently that she blushed and lowered her eyes again.

It was enough. He might fear to say it, fear that it would pull him back into Mugenjou, but Fuuga was still his heart. They had not been abandoned after all. The knot in her chest that not even Makubex's renewed smile had been able to undo completely loosened at last.

"Ane-chan," Juubei called, reappearing at the corner of the road. She stood and brushed off her skirts.

"We shouldn't make them worry."

"If you ever find a way to stop him, do tell me?" Kazuki murmured ruefully, as they walked on.

Light-hearted with relief, she laughed.

Makubex was waiting for them at the corner too, with a satisfied smile. Warmed by their care, Sakura linked her arms with both Makubex and Kazuki, leaving her brother to trail behind them with a faintly bemused look.

The world felt right side up again. Her leader didn't take nearly enough care for himself, and her lord refused to admit that he was, but that was all right. It would all be all right. She had a proper place, and knew it, and stood firm in it again.

Everything else could be dealt with in time.

A Theme in Pentatonic - Two

After the Kami no Kijitsu arc, Juubei brings Toshiki home to Kazuki and the three of them fit themselves together with a little more honesty and understanding this time. Porn, Drama, I-4

Toshiki walked quietly beside Kakei through the familiar sounds of the Lower Town. "Makubex is everything you said he is," he finally said.

"You're content to help him, then?" Kakei asked, cutting to the heart with his usual bluntness. Toshiki's mouth quirked, hearing it again.

Only for a moment, though.

"Is this what Kazuki wishes?" he asked, low. And he had to ask Kakei, because he hadn't been able to get an answer out of Kazuki any time over the last few days. Kakei was quiet for almost a block.

"Kazuki will not stay to lead without Amano Ginji as his beacon," he said at last, "but that does not mean he doesn't wish our home safe and well. It pleases him that we support Makubex."

"Lower Town's new beacon," Toshiki mused.

"Not so powerful a one that Kazuki will follow it, but worthy of our help."

Toshiki smiled at the undertones he heard in that. Kakei would support Makubex all right, no doubt with all his strength, but there was only one person he would follow. And if that pleased Kazuki, well that was good enough for Toshiki, too. "All right," he agreed, and paused on the streetcorner, looking around at the bright chaos. It took him back, and maybe that wasn't a bad thing; maybe he should go back and try again. "I should find some place to stay, here," he murmured.

Kakei cocked his head and Toshiki had, again, that odd new feeling, that blind eyes were measuring him, considering. "It's good to stay close," he said, finally. "Come back with me, for now."

Toshiki stopped himself before he asked if Kakei was sure. Kakei was always sure, and if that got a little wearing it was also comforting right now. Familiar. He followed his old friend and rival down narrow alleys to broader streets into a tangle of shorter buildings with washing strung window to window overhead. On one side of a cracked concrete plaza they went up creaking iron stairs to an outside door in the top floor. Toshiki approved of the high ground. The rooms inside opened up, free and airy, half the interior walls knocked out long ago, much newer windows open to catch the breeze as evening came on.

Kazuki was standing in the middle of the second room, turning and smiling to see them.

"Juubei! Is Toshiki staying, then?"

"Yes," Kakei said firmly, while Toshiki stood and stared.

"But..." He was trying not to sputter, and that didn't leave him with much else to say.

"I said it's good to stay close," Kakei told him. "This solves the problem between us, doesn't it?"

Toshiki was suddenly remembering exactly why he found Kakei's habitual surety so frustrating. How was a person supposed to answer it? "I can't..." he tried, only to be cut off by Kazuki's hand on his chest.

"Do you object?" Kazuki murmured, knowing eyes holding his, and Toshiki flinched under that question, reminded now of exactly why he had followed Kazuki so long. That one question was everything he had tried to take by force from Kazuki, everything Kazuki had no need to force from him, laid bare as a drawn blade between them. He closed his eyes.

"No."

"Good. I've missed you." Kazuki's voice had no edge of triumph in it and Toshiki shuddered with the gentleness of his defeat.

"Let me stay," he begged, softly. Kazuki had been the one to release him, but he had been the one to leave; he knew better now. If only Kazuki would take him up, it would never happen again.

"Of course you'll stay." Kazuki's hands closed around his face and he opened his eyes to meet Kazuki's, bright and pleased, forgiving him before he even asked, and his arms closed around Kazuki before he could think. When Kazuki only laughed, softly, he breathed again, light-headed at being allowed this.

He started a little when Kakei's hands closed over his shoulders from behind, but they only smoothed across his back, stroked down his arms, palms open, and that wrung a wanting sound from him. It had always been love and hate both, between he and Kakei.

"You're Kazuki's knight," Kakei murmured in his ear, as if he hadn't noticed. "You'll stay."

This time the surety was entirely comfort.

Toshiki bent his head to Kazuki's kiss, breath catching just a little as Kakei's hands slid under his shirt and across his stomach. This was everything he'd wanted for years and he felt like the world's own idiot for running away from it for so long. Even that thought unraveled, though, under the slow heat of Kazuki's mouth and the small sound of satisfaction he made. He didn't think, after that, just let them strip away clothes until he was caught between the heat of their skin, light-headed with the sweetness of just being here. Wanted. It was almost too much to take in when they nudged him back toward the bed and Kazuki's eyes laughed at him.

"Juubei?"

"Yes." Kakei settled onto the bed and pulled Toshiki down over him. That made him awkward again, for a moment, unsure how they fit, but Kakei's hands were patient, stroking down his body, spreading him out, and when he felt the bed dip as Kazuki settled behind him he understood and shivered. Kakei's hands smoothed the shiver away.

In fact... they were easing away all of the places where his muscles still ached and trembled, firm, knowing fingers pressing and stroking here and there until he was just about draped over Juubei's body, breathing deep and slow.

"Kakei... what...?" he managed.

"Shh," Juubei told him, hands still passing over him. "Your punishment was harsher than mine; you aren't entirely recovered yet."

"It was only what I deserved," he muttered against Kakei's neck.

"Don't say that," Kazuki said, quick and soft. "You didn't deserve that."

"You deserved to be thoroughly beaten for being such an idiot," Kakei agreed, matter-of-fact, "but not to die."

Toshiki couldn't help laughing at that. "Juubei," he sighed. Juubei just made a self-satisfied sound, and Toshiki snorted again. Comfort and annoyance; yes, he was home again.

"So," Kazuki murmured, hands sliding up the back of Toshiki's thighs. "Is our Toshiki ready for me, Juubei?"

Juubei's hand settled at his nape. "He is."

"Toshiki?" He could hear the smile in Kazuki's voice, and it made his voice husky.

"Yes."

"Good." That was nearly a purr, and Toshiki moaned as slick fingers pressed between his cheeks, rubbing firmly over his entrance. The touch wasn't rough, by any means, but it told him that Kazuki didn't intend to be terribly patient. The heat of that thought rushed up his spine like a river and set him panting softly.

"Please," he whispered. "Kazuki."

"Yes." Kazuki's voice was darker this time and an entreating sound caught in the back of Toshiki's throat as strong, slender fingers pressed into him, again and again, working him open. They played his body with the same precision and grace as Kazuki's strings until he was gasping, hips pushing up into the slow thrust of Kazuki's fingers fucking him. Juubei caught his mouth and swallowed his moan as those fingers drove deep and twisted, and he shuddered as Juubei's hips ground up against his.

Kazuki's fingers withdrew and palms stroked up his back. "I always saw you, Toshiki," Kazuki murmured to him. "I always knew you. I'm sorry I was careless of you, my friend."

Toshiki groaned openly as Kazuki's hands spread him open and Kazuki's cock slid into him slow and hard.

"My Toshiki," Kazuki said, husky, "stay with us." The promise of being wanted, being Kazuki's pulled a whimper he couldn't be ashamed of out of him.

"Kazuki doesn't leave things, not in his heart," Juubei said softly against his ear, and Toshiki could hear perfectly well the relief in his even tone. It was what Toshiki felt himself, after all.

That and heat as Kazuki fucked him, slow and strong, never quite stopping, until he was panting, moaning against Juubei's shoulder. "Please," he begged, breathless, spreading his legs wider over Juubei's hips, and gasped as Kazuki drove into him hard enough to rock his ass up in the air. "Please, yes..."

Kazuki's hands closed on his shoulders, pressing them down, and his long thrusts turned faster, rougher. "Juubei," he bit out, breathless.

Toshiki moaned as Juubei's hand closed around both their cocks and stroked, sure and hard. It was too much, too good, caught and welcomed home between them, and he buried his face against Juubei's neck, breath torn short as the heat took fire and pleasure wrung him out ferociously over and over again. The whole world was the press of their skin against his, their movement, his as he bucked and shuddered in their hold.

The sound of Kazuki's moan sent an extra last shiver down his spine, and he thought he could have just sprawled there forever while Kazuki's hands stroked slowly up and down his body. Juubei's breath was coming quick now, though, and he mustered a grin as he reached down and batted Juubei's hand aside, stroking him quick and firm until he arched under them.

Juubei, he was distantly amused to note, didn't make any noise, and wasn't that just like him. The thought made him snicker and Kazuki made an inquiring noise against the nape of his neck as he eased back.

"Nothing." Toshiki took a few moments to untangle himself from Juubei, and he was glad when Juubei promptly pulled him down between them again. "So," he said, finally able to wind an arm around Kazuki, finally, finally, "this is where you both live?"

"This is home," Kazuki said quietly, reaching across him to tangle fingers with Juubei. "Will you stay?"

"Of course..." Juubei started, in his inarguable tone, only to be silenced by a look from Kazuki.

"I want to hear it from Toshiki," Kazuki said, firm.

"I'll stay as long as you want me. As long as you'll have me." Toshiki was light-headed with how much he wanted it; he couldn't believe Kazuki even needed to ask.

But maybe that told him something he hadn't realized about Kazuki. Who was smiling at him, soft and pleased.

"Welcome home, then," Kazuki told him, and he had to close his eyes until he could catch his breath again.

"Yes. Yes." He lifted Kazuki's hand and kissed his fingers, and managed a smile that didn't feel too shaky. "I'm back."

It was a promise.

Working for Makubex was strange and familiar. Being back in Lower Town was familiar enough, and the basic business of keeping order hadn't changed. The twisted things that came down from the Beltline were hideously familiar, and fighting beside Juubei was pleasantly familiar, though he missed the fluid chill of Kazuki's strength behind them. It was good to have a purpose he could trust again, though. And it was good to go home, after all the fires were temporarily put out, and know that Kazuki or Juubei and sometimes both would be there.

He found himself smiling again, and only realized then that he'd stopped years ago.

Sometimes he thought he was the one of them who really needed a keeper.

"Toshiki?"

He looked up from his rueful contemplation of the sky out the window and felt that smile tug at his mouth again. "Kazuki."

Kazuki came to fold up on the couch beside him, running carelessly graceful fingers through Toshiki's hair as he sat. "Is everything well?"

That casual caress still made him breathless and it took a moment to reply. "Everything's fine. I like working with Makubex. It's good..." he cut that thought off before it could get all the way out of his mouth. He was not going to whine in front of Kazuki.

Kazuki just smiled at him. "What's good?" The brush of his fingers against Toshiki's cheek drew the words out of him.

"It's good to be needed," he said, low, looking down at his hands.

"Oh, Toshiki." The breath of a laugh in Kazuki's voice made him flush and it didn't help when a cool hand on his cheek turned him back to face Kazuki. He only had a breath to take in the fond smile on Kazuki's lips, though, before he could barely breathe at all. The weight of Kazuki's presence, normally so smoothly concealed, intensified abruptly, singing in the very air around them. "Who am I?" Kazuki asked, quiet and cool.

Toshiki had to swallow before he could speak, and the name he spoke wasn't his friend's or lover's. It was the name still feared down every street of Lower Town, the name of the one he followed. "Kazuki..."

"I don't need anyone to protect me. Not Juubei, and not you." Kazuki softened again, and the pressure of him eased. "But having people people I love close... that's good to have."

"You have it," Toshiki promised, husky.

Kazuki smiled like the sun coming up. "Thank you." His arms slid lightly around Toshiki's shoulders, and Toshiki took a shaky breath, catching Kazuki tight against him.

"I'll serve you with all my life, I swear it," he murmured into Kazuki's shoulder, reminded by that moment of open dominance of everything Kazuki was to him.

Kazuki pressed closer and whispered, "Just be with me. That's all."

Toshiki stilled, suddenly remembering the way Kazuki hadn't looked at them when he'd told them they could leave if they wanted. "Was that...?"

Kazuki made an inquiring sound, drawing back a bit to look at him, and Toshiki shook his head. "Nothing," he said, mouth quirking as he spread his hands against the slim line of Kazuki's back, reassuring himself and... and maybe Kazuki too. "I'm just a fool, that's all."

He hadn't seen.

"No more than any of us," Kazuki said softly, and yes, now Toshiki thought he knew what that darkness in Kazuki's eyes was.

"Kazuki..." he hesitated, but he honestly couldn't imagine how this had happened. He lifted one of Kazuki's hands and murmured against his fingers, "If you wanted us to stay, why didn't you hold us by you?"

Kazuki shook his head sharply. "I couldn't do that! How could I demand something like that?"

Toshiki blinked. The words fit together but they didn't make any sense at all; wasn't Kazuki their leader? Wasn't it his right, the right they'd given him when they chose to follow him? He could feel Kazuki's muscles tense, though, so he left it for now and only promised again, low, "I won't leave again. Not ever."

That made Kazuki relax and settle against him, and there was so much wonder in being allowed so close, in being wanted, that he set aside the oddness and just held him.

"Yes," Kazuki sighed, hand sliding down Toshiki's chest to rest over his heart. "Now you're here." He smiled up at Toshiki with a hint of teasing. "Now you're mine."

Toshiki smiled back, though he'd never been more serious. "Always." There had never been a time when he wasn't, however he'd twisted and betrayed that trust, and Toshiki promised all over, silently, that he would serve and stand by Kazuki until the day he died doing it.

And perhaps, his sense of irony couldn't help pointing out, after. He'd done it once already, after all.

Even as Kazuki drew him down to a kiss, though, the thought lingered in the back of his mind that he should find out why Kazuki thought he didn't have every right there was to keep his own people.

A Theme in Pentatonic - Interlude Four

Post-canon. After everyone returns from the Beltline, Sakura talks with Kazuki about what Fuuga is to him. Kazuki finally accepts it. Drama, I-2

Sakura had kept her word to come and visit them, and Kazuki was glad of it. She was usually the calmest thing in the apartment.

He settled next to her at one of the windows, chuckling as Juubei and Toshiki started arguing over the best way to contain the little gang that had sprung up a handful of blocks north, scribbling building outlines on a piece of paper and pulling it back and forth between them.

"Makubex can model the stability of that building for them in a few seconds," Sakura murmured. "But of course they won't ask him to."

"I think they have more fun arguing," Kazuki agreed. "Even if it means they have to come home to do it where he won't hear." He cocked his head at her curiously. "We've seen more of you, too, since then."

None of them spoke much of what they did and didn't remember from their fight through the Beltline, but everyone knew what then meant.

She looked at him with a faint smile. "You called us back together."

"I didn't mean to hold you, after," Kazuki murmured, half apologetic.

Her glance turned direct. "Didn't you? After fighting so hard to reclaim us?"

Kazuki opened his mouth to insist that he wasn't selfish enough to put his wants before theirs, only to close it again as he looked around the room. They were here, and not because he had demanded it. It wasn't only his wish. Maybe it really was all right, even after all the trouble following him had brought them to.

"Kazuki-sama, you're so stubborn," Sakura sighed, shaking her head. "I didn't leave my childhood home only for my brother's sake, you know."

About to protest the title she used, Kazuki tilted his head, surprised. Of them all, Sakura was the one he had asked the least of because she had always stayed by her brother; he had thought Juubei was her reason for being here. "What was it, then?" he asked, quietly.

Sakura looked down at her hands, fingers pleating her scarf. "My own honor." Her voice was cool and low. "I understand why our father chose to serve Fuuchouin still even under the Kokuchouin. He acted for the good of our whole House; that was his duty. Juubei won't accept that, even now, but... Juubei has been bound to you and only you from the moment you met. If you hadn't been the heirs to your Houses, if the world itself had been completely otherwise, he would still have dedicated himself to you." She looked up, and Kazuki almost leaned back from the purpose and determination showing under her habitual calm, deep as the ocean. "Duty wasn't enough for me, though. And Juubei wasn't the only one who watched you all those years. There is light in you Kazuki-sama. Light and joy. Nothing has destroyed that, not all of the fire and death and terror we've come through. I chose to follow that light and make that service my honor." She smiled, serene and immovable, very like her brother. "Do you understand now?"

In a way, of course, it made every kind of sense there was; Sakura was a true daughter of her House, and her honor was as iron as Juubei's. Still... "What about Makubex?"

"I love Makubex like a brother. I will always support him." Her eyes fell again and she added, softly. "When it seemed that you... you didn't wish our service, he gave us a place. His vision is a bright one, and I'm glad to do anything I can to help him reach it." She paused for a breath and her spine straightened, chin lifting to meet Kazuki's eyes straight as a sword. "But you are my lord."

It was every bit as inarguable as Juubei's insistence on staying at his side, and Kazuki couldn't quite find it in him to protest the company he'd wanted so badly for so long. His smile was rueful, though; however traditional Sakura insisted on being she was rather overstating things. "You've chosen a lord without a House, Sakura. That's in Yohan's hands now."

Her gaze didn't waver. "Kazuki-sama, what do you think this is?" She waved at the room, at the four of them, and Kazuki stilled, startled. She laughed softly, probably at his expression. "What did you think Fuuga was?"

"I hadn't... thought," Kazuki murmured, staring wide-eyed at the past. For years, he'd thought only of the clan he'd lost, and of the fear that the tiny remains of his life and love would be taken too. And even when he faced Fuuchouin again and set his hand on it, well in the end he was not the one who could lead it in a new way and he'd placed it in the hands of one who would.

Sakura laid a hand over his and said again, with emphasis, "There's light in you that doesn't die. That's what we follow."

In a way it felt like going back on his decision. As the head of his House and clan, he'd chosen to relinquish it, to give it into the care of its next lord. He hadn't meant to save anything aside. And yet... This was not Fuuchouin. This was something new. He wasn't the heir to the House, taking up his inheritance. He was just Kazuki.

And apparently that was enough to make a leader nevertheless.

"I'm very fortunate to have your wisdom, Sakura," he said softly, laying his other hand over hers.

"It is my honor." And if the words were formal, her tone was light again. He caught her eye and the flash of satisfaction in them, and couldn't help laughing. At least, among his people, he had one who was willing to take her chosen lord politely to task, if it was needed.

That was really a very comforting thought.

A Theme in Pentatonic - Three

Saizou has been watching Kazuki and the others only from a distance, and Kazuki finally corners him and convinces him that his proper place is with them again. Drama, Porn, Angst, spoilers vol 33, I-4

Kazuki felt a stray breeze brush his cheek and sighed. Saizou seemed determined to be the most troublesome one of all for him.

Juubei had been the first to detect him shadowing them, never coming close, only watching, but never leaving them. Kazuki had tried, once or twice, to drift closer, but every time Saizou slid away. Thinking about it, Kazuki didn't suppose he was actually surprised.

Part of him had always known that Saizou felt differently about their past than he did. That Saizou wanted his clan back. He had been the one, after all, to suggest that Kazuki form a new House. Once Sakura pointed it out, Kazuki could see perfectly well what Fuuga had been. At the time, though, that knowledge had been one of the things he turned his face from.

So he also understood why Saizou held back now, why he couldn't trust the thing he most wanted. Kazuki had lived the same way for a long time. Kokuchouin had forced Saizou to plant the seed of falseness in his hope for a new clan, claimed he could save Kazuki only by betraying and defeating him, and Saizou had been burned too painfully to even try grasping hope again. Kazuki knew that mind so well it hurt.

And he would not let Saizou stay there, not even if it meant flexing his own old burns. He would be what he needed to be.

"Kazuki-san?" Makubex had paused to look back at him, smiling, eyes questioning.

"I was just contemplating the view," Kazuki murmured. "Go on ahead a bit, would you?"

Makubex stilled for a moment before smiling a bit wider. "Of course." He caught Toshiki and Juubei and drew them along with him, a quick glance bringing Sakura after, trotting out into the plaza behind the building where they lived. Kazuki wondered, ruefully, when Makubex had started looking so much like Ginji to him. They both had that vision that a leader needed. Kazuki drew a slow breath; despite Sakura's insistence, he had a hard time feeling he had any of that himself.

Perhaps, though, he could borrow some of it from their example.

He watched them. It had been his purpose for so long it came naturally now, though now he watched from the shadows. As was only fitting, really. He still wasn't sure if this was his prize or his penance, but he couldn't bring himself to stop; not even when every hand Kazuki laid on Kakei's arm, every smile he gentled for Uryuu, made Saizou's heart tug. The heart he'd given for Kazuki. To Kazuki.

That part hadn't hurt. To die for Kazuki's sake was more than he'd deserved by the end. What hurt was being alive again. Alive to see Kakei's simple confidence that Kazuki would permit his protection despite being the strongest of them all. To see the flush of pleaure on Uryuu's face whenever Kazuki asked even the simplest thing of him. To see Sakura's smile as she sat beside Kazuki and he listened to her words. The worst were the nights, the ones when he couldn't quite keep himself from seeing, from hearing the way Kazuki sighed as he stretched and relaxed into Kakei's hands, the way Uryuu gasped as he surrendered himself to Kazuki. The way Kazuki laughed as he knelt over them.

Kazuki was the prince Saizou had named him, no question. He was ally and clan lord and liege to the Eastern House. Part of Saizou told him he should be there with Kazuki, that he was heir to one of the daylight schools and belonged at his clan lord's side under the sun. But all those years as a changeling, vanquished and stolen by the shadows, answered that this was his place now and he had no right to call Kazuki his lord.

"How long were you planning to stand there watching?"

Saizou's head jerked up, startled. Kazuki stood with his back to him, head cocked, apparently watching Uryuu playing tag across the plaza with Makubex while Kakei and his sister looked on tolerantly.

"Saizou?" Kazuki murmured. "I asked you a question."

Saizou winced. He supposed he'd put this particular weapon in Kazuki's hands himself, admitting his love and loyalty in such an undeniable way. "As long as I can?" he tried anyway, hoping against all just desserts for mercy.

Kazuki's head tipped down a little. "And if I tell you that you no longer can?" he asked quietly.

It took Saizou a few moments to unlock his lungs and speak after that. "Then I will not," he said, husky, and stepped back deeper into the shadows, swallowing pain as best he could.

"Saizou." Kazuki turned at last, and the irritation in his tone made Saizou's stomach turn over. "Come here."

Saizou wavered for a moment on one foot, startled. "Kazuki...?"

"I said," Kazuki said, soft and sharp, "come here."

That tone reversed his direction before his brain caught up with the rest of him, and he stepped, halting, out into the light. Kazuki was, he reflected ruefully, nothing if not ruthless when he thought there was cause. Saizou smiled, wry and crooked, and murmured, "I am here, my Prince," acknowledging the accuracy of Kazuki's chosen approach.

Kazuki sighed, sounding rather exasperated. "I never thought you would be the most stubborn one. Do you really not trust my forgiveness? Or theirs?"

"Do I really deserve it?" Saizou shrugged. "I... don't think so."

"You gave your life to protect mine," Kazuki told him gently. "More than that. You gave your very soul, for years. What kind of leader would I be to you if I failed to acknowledge that?"

The clarity of those words, of Kazuki's vision, were like a punch to the chest. "When I said that people would fear your gentleness," Saizou said, quick and breathless, "I didn't know the half of it."

Kazuki considered him for a moment, calm as he was in the heart of battle, and when he moved the grace of battle was in each step he took toward Saizou. Like any of the fools before him, Saizou was caught by that beauty and stood unguarded as Kazuki laid his hands on Saizou's shoulders.

"If this is the only way you'll hear me, very well." The soft voice bound him like Kazuki's strings would have, unable to move. "I order you, then, to come forward and stand beside me. You gave yourself to my service long ago, and I do not release you."

Shock unstrung Saizou and he sank down to his knees, staring up at Kazuki. He knew, heir to the main house or not, that Kazuki had never wished to retake that place. He'd said it often enough, that he was no longer the lord of Fuuchouin. But for this, for him, Kazuki had laid his hand on that mantle again. Saizou bent his head, outflanked and overwhelmed, and answered low and rough, "Yes, lord."

"It's a very different House we have, here," Kazuki said gently, resting one hand on his head. "But I love it all the same, and I won't leave one of my own wandering in the dark."

Saizou pulled in a harsh breath and let it out, shaky. Gentleness and strength, yes; those were what had always bound him to Kazuki—guard against one and fall to the other, turn to the second and be utterly conquered by the first.

Willingly conquered, he had to admit.

"So, are you done lurking?" Kakei asked from behind them, perfectly casual, and Saizou snorted as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Yeah, I suppose I am..." His eyes widened. "Wait. Wait, you. Um." Shit; Kakei didn't need his eyes to spot a person, even now he had his vision back, and it was possible Saizou hadn't concealed his presence as thoroughly as he should have—had he known all this time, that Saizou was watching? Watching... everything?

Kakei looked back at him, completely bland and expressionless, and Saizou clapped a hand over his eyes. The wicked edge in Kazuki's laugh only confirmed it.

"Aw, look, he's blushing!" Uryuu grinned and elbowed him in the ribs.

"Shut up," Saizou told him, heartfelt.

"What?" If anything Uryuu's grin got wider. "I thought you liked listening to me."

Saizou made a pathetic sound. They really did intend revenge: they were going to kill him of embarrassment.

"Well!" Kazuki linked his arm through Saizou's lightly, not that he fooled himself that he'd be able to get away. "Why don't we talk about that, then?"

He was doomed, Saizou decided fatalistically as he was surrounded and chivvied off toward an apartment building he knew very well by now, listening to Kazuki's soft laugh and Uryuu's shameless suggestions and Kakei's distinctly smug silence and Sakura's fading giggles as she and Makubex strolled on.

Willingly doomed, he had to admit.

In the end, they spent more of that first night talking than anything else. They held him the whole time, hands stroking gently over his back, fingers lacing through his, but mostly they just lay and spoke of what had happened after he'd died.

He still couldn't quite take it all in. He could believe that Juubei would put himself between Kazuki and the Kokuchouin siblings, and even that he'd survived doing it. That was actually the easy part. That Kazuki had defeated Yohan, though...

He stared up at the ceiling and decided he needed coffee before thinking more about that. Easing out from between Kazuki and Toshiki he pulled his jeans back on and went looking for the kitchen.

Obviously, he thought as he watched his brain-helper brew, it was true. After all, here they all were alive and with all parts attached and everything. And without any trace of the black thread; he'd checked that, as surreptitiously as possible. Which brought it all down to this Phoenix technique Kazuki spoke of, the true heart of Fuuchouin, the hidden heart. Down to Kazuki's heart and how all-encompassing it was.

Actually, when he thought of it that way, it all made perfect sense. It was never Kazuki's power alone that made him truly terrifying. Saizou sipped his coffee and contemplated that truth. If Kazuki's mercy could gather even Yohan to him, perhaps Saizou wasn't as much of a stretch.

"Saizou?"

He looked up and had to smile. Kazuki stood in the door of the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, holding a robe around him. Even just woken up, with his robe falling half off one shoulder, Kazuki managed to look elegant and poised. "Hey. Just thought I'd get some coffee."

"Mm, good idea." Kazuki came and stole his mug for a sip, giving him such a teasing look that Saizou laughed; he'd never seen Kazuki quite this relaxed.

"Well, all this did some good for you, at least." He brushed his fingers against the cut ends of Kazuki's hair and finally said what he'd been wanting to say ever since he'd seen it. "This wasn't necessary. It isn't as though you ever lost to me."

"At the time, I thought I had lost everything to you," Kazuki said softly, eyes darkening for a moment.

Saizou was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. "You cut your hair for the loss of your people... but not for your family?"

Kazuki's smile was crooked. "I couldn't fight for my family. But for Fuuga," he reached up to touch Saizou's cheek, "for you, I could."

"I'm honored," Saizou murmured, a bit rueful. It was true. To be Kazuki's target or his treasure, either was an honor.

"You're being foolish," Kazuki corrected in a firm tone. "Even then... even then I still believed in you."

Saizou flinched a little.

"Was I wrong to?" Kazuki demanded, holding his eyes. "It was for my sake, from first to last. Do you think I'm cruel enough to hold that against you still?"

"Of course not." Saizou ran a hand through his hair, trying to find words for why Kazuki's faith in him could still hurt. It was times like this he remembered how much younger Kazuki was.

"Then stop this nonsense," Kazuki told him and pulled him down to a kiss.

Saizou made a startled sound; even having watched them, he wasn't quite prepared for Kazuki to offer him this intimacy so easily, so quickly. His hands came up to Kazuki's hips to steady him and one found skin instead of cloth. Kazuki's robe wasn't belted, he recalled hazily. "Kazuki..." he half protested against Kazuki's mouth.

"Hmm." Kazuki drew back and looked at him with a thoughtful light in his eye. Finally he smiled in a way that made Saizou downright nervous and backed up a few steps, enough to bring him into the light from the window.

His robe was very definitely not belted.

Saizou swallowed eyes helplessly drawn to the lean, elegant lines of Kazuki's body, framed in the folds of soft, red cloth and lit by the morning sun. "Kazuki..." he tried again, husky.

Kazuki smiled, gentle and sweet and perfectly ruthless, and held out his hand. "Come here, Saizou."

Saizou gave himself up for lost. If Kazuki wanted him there was no way he'd be able to resist. He followed Kazuki those few steps and sank to his knees on the cool tile floor looking up at the beauty of him, hands sliding up Kazuki's legs to find his hips again. Kazuki looked entirely pleased, and ran his fingers through Saizou's hair.

"Yes."

Saizou didn't have any more words; instead he bent his head and closed his mouth over Kazuki's cock, shivering with the soft sound Kazuki made. He'd had dreams like this, even years ago, and scolded himself in the morning. Kazuki had been too young, and Juubei would have carved out his liver with a spoon, quite rightly.

Now Kazuki was positively purring, rocking forward into his mouth, and the slide of his cock between Saizou's lips made Saizou moan himself. His hands slid over the curve of Kazuki's rear, up the line of his back, back down to stroke his thighs, and the flex of Kazuki's fingers in his hair, the weight of him on Saizou's tongue, was making his jeans extremely tight.

He closed his eyes, just feeling the texture of Kazuki as he sucked harder, listening to the breathless gasps of pleasure above him and enjoying the knowledge that he was the one coaxing them out of Kazuki. That knowledge was enough to eclipse everything else, and so it took him a moment to process it when Kazuki's hands eased him back.

"What...?" He looked up at Kazuki, panting a little.

"I want more." Kazuki took his shoulders and tugged him up. His eyes danced as he undid Saizou's jeans and Saizou couldn't help the shiver of relief that ran through him. "Turn around," Kazuki murmured.

Saizou blinked and turned, and realized that he'd been edged right up to the kitchen table. "Um...?" Kazuki's hands settled on his shoulders and pressed him down and his breath caught. "Kazuki...!"

"Do you not want this?" Kazuki asked gently, hands stroking up and down his bare back.

"No, I... That isn't... I just didn't think..." Actually, now that he was thinking of it, Saizou's brain might just be melting. "But I mean, are you sure?" Kazuki's hands were still stroking his back, soothing, and when he glanced over his shoulder Kazuki was laughing silently.

"I'm very sure." Kazuki's hands slid down to ease Saizou's jeans down off his hips and Saizou's eyes widened as the thickness of Kazuki's cock slid between his cheeks. "See?"

Saizou shuddered, subsiding the rest of the way down to the table. "Yes," he agreed, husky. "It's just..."

"Shh." Kazuki leaned over him and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of his neck, sending another shiver trailing down Saizou's spine. "You're mine. You have all of me."

That undid him, and yes, it was really no stretch at all to imagine that Kazuki's compassion had conquered Yohan too. He put his head down on his arm and said quietly, "Yes. Please."

The rustling of cloth he expected, and the warm slide of Kazuki's palms over his ass. The low click of something glass being set down, though, puzzled him enough to look around and when he saw the open jar sitting beside them on the table he just stared. "You... planned this?"

"Well, we didn't get around to it last night," Kazuki told him, bright and innocent, as slick, cool fingers stroked against him. Saizou laughed helplessly into the crook of his arm until they pressed in and his breath caught.

Kazuki was gentle about opening him up, and it wasn't until Saizou was panting again that his fingers started to move differently. The sheer fact of having Kazuki's fingers inside him was momentous enough that it took him a while to understand why those movements plucked at his nerves. The ripple of fingertips as they drew back was what Saizou finally recognized, and groaned as electric response tightened his body.

Those were the motions to control strings.

"Mm. I thought you might like that." Kazuki sounded pleased, and his fingers twisted in the gathering motion for Autumn Rains, curved at the angle that set a barrier. Every stroke and gesture was from an enclosing technique, and Saizou moaned with the rush of heat that realization brought.

"You don't need to capture me any more," he gasped, "I'm yours." Hell, he'd been Kazuki's since they met.

"Good." Kazuki's voice was low, now, and Saizou swallowed, anticipation crinkling down his nerves as Kazuki's fingers drew back. The press of Kazuki's cock, hard and big against his entrance, pulled a wanting sound out of him.

Kazuki held him steady against the table and fucked him, rode him, slow and hard, and Saizou's thoughts broke up into little bits. He remembered the brightness of Kazuki's eyes, that first meeting, and the sharpness that surfaced when they fought; Kazuki's rare ease with Fuuga, the moments when the bleakness around his mouth smoothed away; his own hunger as he watched Kazuki move, watched all the arrogance of Lower Town fall before him. Every thrust twined him tighter into the grip of that grace and strength, and it was right, it was finally what he'd wanted from the start. He moaned openly as pleasure spilled over and swept through him like the tide, fierce and hot. Kazuki's gasp fell over him like sunlight, and the sudden roughness of Kazuki's rhythm, driving into him, trailed extra ripples of pleasure down his nerves.

He made a low sound when Kazuki finally eased out of him, and Kazuki settled against his back again, arms sliding around him. "I'm so glad you're back," Kazuki murmured against his shoulder.

Saizou rested his cheek against the table, smiling for real, for the first time in far too long. "Yeah. Me too."

Even if he was recalling, belatedly, that Juubei and Toshiki were two rooms with no doors away, and that Toshiki was probably going to tease him unmercifully, and that he probably didn't really deserve all this. He was still glad.

A Theme in Pentatonic - Four

Sakura wants Saizou to stop holding back from them, and from her in particular; it takes some coaxing, but she eventually succeeds in style. Drama, Angst, Porn, spoilers vol 33, I-4

Sakura was more impressed with Saizou the more she watched, after he returned to them. He was very smooth about turning attention aside. Today he was egging Juubei and Toshiki on with a laugh to a contest of who could strike most accurately at the greatest distance. It was hard to even spot the moment when he eased himself out of the competition and stood back.

No wonder he had hidden his troubles from them so well for so long.

That wouldn't do now, though. The Kokuchouin no longer held his heartbeat and will hostage. There was no reason for this any more, and it would do him no good to continue the habit. She expected Saizou would deny he was doing it if the others confronted him directly, though, especially if it was Kazuki.

That left her. Just as well, perhaps; they had unfinished business, he and she.

Sakura slipped up beside her quarry on soft feet until she was close enough to be heard by no one else when she asked, "Why do you hold yourself apart from us, Saizou?"

He stilled, laughter dying, eyes turning dark and distant though he didn't look at her. "Is shame so hard to understand?"

"No harder than forgiveness," she pointed out. She sat down beside him on the broken wall he'd been watching Juubei and Toshiki from, hands folded in her lap, and waited. Saizou couldn't hide from her after what they'd been through, and eventually he would realize the sense of that.

"It isn't that I don't want to believe it," he finally said, quietly. "I just don't understand. I stole your bodies and bound your wills. Your very hearts! I set you against your allies. And you forgive me for that, just this easily?"

Sakura was quiet too for a little, marshaling the words she needed. "It's true. You did that. But you didn't do it for ambition or hatred. You did it to save all our lives." She looked up at his hard profile. "Toshiki thinks it was only justice, considering he did much the same to Kazuki; he's almost grateful to you. And you healed Juubei's eyes, which no other technique could have done. And above all," she laid a hand on the one he had clenched, "you didn't bind our hearts. You held them safe, inside your own." He ducked his head a little and she smiled. "Yes. How else could we have seen what was in your heart? I knew; that was why I spoke, and told Kazuki why you had done all that."

"But that doesn't make up for..." he started softly, and she cut him off, brisk.

"No. It doesn't. Nothing could. But we forgive you anyway." When he finally turned to look at her, eyes wide and defenseless behind his glasses, she let her smile turn teasing. "There's only one thing I haven't forgiven you for, out of all that. And that's the uniform."

He turned red, and she smacked him on the shoulder with the backs of her fingers.

"I thought so! It was your idea!" She'd had her suspicions when she realized the thing left her bare from hips to the bottom of her breasts.

He turned redder and looked everywhere except at her. "So, I, um, I guess now you're going to tell Juubei and I'd better get ready to be a pincushion, huh?" he asked, meekly.

Sakura sniffed. "I don't need my little brother to look after my honor or avenge my slights. I can do that myself." Now he looked genuinely alarmed, and Sakura made a thoughtful sound, head tilted as if considering the appropriate retribution. He slid off the wall onto his knees, hands clasped entreatingly.

"I'm so very sorry, I honestly am, I don't know what I was thinking. The curse seal must have been affecting my brain or I'd have never done it, I swear," he said with becoming earnestness.

Sakura gave him a cool look, ignoring the fact that her brother and Toshiki had both stopped their little game and were staring. "Well. I suppose I might let you make it up to me."

"Anything you say; anything at all," he assured her.

"Very well, then." She couldn't entirely stifle the smile that crimped the corners of her mouth. "Kiss me."

Saizou stared up at her with his mouth open.

"You did say anything," she pointed out.

"You... but... Sakura," he murmured, hushed.

She smiled softly and held out a hand to him. "I'm waiting."

He took her hand slowly, wondering eyes never leaving her face. "Yes, ma'am," he finally said, husky, and leaned up on his knees. Long fingers touched her cheek softly and she bent her head to meet him. The kiss was soft and reverent, and he ducked his head after, pressing another to her hand. She stroked his hair gently and gave her brother a steely look over his bent head.

Juubei blinked and turned back promptly to his contest with Toshiki, and Sakura relaxed, pleased.

That was that taken care of, then. She'd certainly waited long enough.

Saizou knew Sakura was getting impatient. She was too well-bred to show it openly, but they'd grown up in the same kind of houses and it was there to see in the angle of her head when he hesitated to put his arm around her, in the way she turned toward him and then looked up when he was slow to take the invitation. They both understood it.

So when he finally gathered his courage to ask, he didn't need to explain. He'd brought some fresh strawberries to the pretty, airy apartment she kept high enough up the central building of Mugenjou to catch the breeze and see the sun. He watched her easy grace as she washed them and sliced a few, and remembered that same grace turning away countless men with such indifference few of them even managed to protest before she was out of sight, and he finally had to ask.

"Why me?"

Her knife paused against the cutting board for a moment before she made the last two slices and turned to wash the blade. "Because you see all of me."

That wasn't the kind of answer he'd expected and he blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

She smiled over her shoulder as she took down a plate for the strawberries. "Most men, especially here, only see that I have curves. They don't see any more of me than that. That's boring."

Saizou looked away guiltily from the curve of her breast against her arm and cleared his throat. "I imagine so."

She didn't even seem to notice, and went on calmly. "But the men who do come close enough to know me... well. To Toshiki, I'm almost as much of a sister as I am to Juubei. And Kazuki respects my strength, he honors my council, but he doesn't look at surfaces at all." Her voice softened and turned low. "He sees deeper. And that's as it should be, but... the surface is real too." She stroked a hand down the line of her hip. "This is me, also."

Saizou had to swallow. "It is," he agreed.

She looked up at him and smiled. "That's what I mean. You look at me and see both. I like that." Her gaze fell to her fingers, which were re-arranging strawberry slices more precisely than was really necessary, and she murmured, "Do you?"

"Do I...?" Saizou's brain finally kicked in and he blinked. "Do I like it? Of course!" He'd kind of thought the thing with the uniform made that obvious—more obvious than it should have been, but people who thought they were going to die before they could be pounded for their temerity did crazy things.

He could see the breath she took before she looked up, chin lifted, and said, "Show me."

That hit the off-switch on his brain again for a few moments. When he spoke his voice was husky. "Show you? That I like it?"

She colored a little, but her eyes were level. "Yes."

He crossed the kitchen quickly, catching up her hands. "I'm sorry," he murmured ruefully against them. "I shouldn't make you doubt yourself when it's only me I'm doubting."

"Do you doubt your welcome?" she asked softly. When he shook his head she stepped closer. "Then what else matters?"

He had always known that Sakura was the one with the brains. He should, he thought, rely on them more often. The thought was distant, though; most of his attention was taken up with the faint sweetness of strawberries on her fingers.

Show, hm?

Sakura's eyes widened as he drew one of her fingers into his mouth, lapping the strawberry juice slowly off it. "Oh." Her flush deepened.

"You're beautiful, Sakura; all of you," he said softly against her fingertips. "I would be honored to show you how beautiful you are in my eyes." Conscience twitched at him and he paused. "You, ah... you really don't mind? I mean, Kazuki..."

A spark of amusement lit her smile as she looked up at him. "Kazuki-sama has a generous heart. I'm sure he won't mind sharing."

This was so manifestly true that he almost forgot she hadn't answered his actual question. "Yes, but I mean, you're sure you won't mind...?"

Her smile gentled and turned serene. "I'm part of Fuuga too, you know."

Yes, and this did seem to be the pattern of their little House. Saizou gave up and smiled back. "Okay, I'll stop asking silly questions."

"Good." She caught his hand and stepped backward, toward an open door and the corner of a bed that showed through it.

Saizou followed her.

Sakura slid out of her dress and turned her back to Saizou. "Will you undo this for me?" A glance over her shoulder showed he was blushing a little, which charmed her quite unreasonably. Saizou's diffidence could be frustrating, but she was more than willing to put up with that when it also made his fingers, undoing her bra, so light, so careful. She leaned back against the warmth of his bare chest with a soft sigh as he slid the straps down her arms.

"Sakura," he murmured against her shoulder, husky, arms closing around his waist.

She rested her head back against his shoulder so she could whisper in his ear, "One more thing to go."

His laugh puffed warm against her skin and he slid his hands obligingly down to her hips and eased her panties down. She liked it very much that Saizou knew how to laugh at all these little games. She liked it even more when his hands slid back up and over her stomach, up her ribs, to stroke her breasts slow and gentle. The touch sent enticing little shivers down her body to strike heat between her legs, and she made an approving sound.

Saizou released a shaky breath and she turned to twine her arms around him. "Shh," she murmured. "It's all right. You're one of us, Saizou; you've always been one of us, even when it hurt you so much you wanted to die from it." She held him tighter as he tensed. "We are Fuuga. Be with us." She leaned back and smiled. "Be with me."

He closed his eyes for a breath, smile turning fragile and soft. "Gladly."

She backed toward her bed, hands sliding down his arms to catch his hands and pull him after her. That made him laugh, and the tension was gone from his movement as he settled onto the bed with her and drew her close. Sakura felt like purring with satisfaction as they traded slow kisses, twined together on her rumpled sheets. The reverence of his hands on her made her breath catch and the open wonder in his eyes made her press closer, torn between offering passion and offering comfort.

When his tongue slid down her collar bone to dip between her breasts she decided passion was appropriate.

"Saizou..." She gasped as his hand stroked down her stomach, muscles shivering under his palm, and long fingers slipped delicately down between her legs.

"Sakura," he whispered against her breast, husky, fingertips easing between her folds. She moaned softly as he stroked her, light and sure, and pleasure tightened low in her stomach. He followed every shift of her body as if she'd spoken aloud, fingers now firmer, now lighter, now dipping down to tease inside her, fingers sensitive and sure.

There were definitely advantages to a lover from the Fuuchouin clan.

This lover of hers certainly knew what he was doing, and seemed determined to pleasure her. His mouth closed on her nipple and she arched, pressing up into the wet heat of his mouth. His fingers slid further into her, deep and slow, and hers flexed, digging into his back as her breath caught. She gasped out loud when he dragged his fingers back up, stroking slickly over her and rubbing slow, and her nerves tingled in response.

"Saizou." She wound a leg around his hip and pulled him down against her, catching his low laugh in a demanding kiss. "Now."

"Yes, my noble lady," he teased, and gasped when she nipped his lower lip in retaliation. "Sakura..."

She rocked her hips up, smiling to feel his hardness against her. "Now."

His agreement this time was heartfelt. She laughed softly and spread her legs wider, sighing with the pleasure of his weight over her, savoring the lean solidity of him, letting her hands wander over the line of his shoulders and down his back to feel the flex of his rear as he pressed into her. The thick, solid slide of him inside her eased the taut hunger his fingers had started and she moaned, pushing up to meet him.

He would have gone slow, but she didn't want that right now and let her whole body flex, rocking up wantonly, taking him deeper, driving their pace faster. Saizou groaned and caught her closer, body answering hers. "Sakura!" His long, driving thrusts finally answered the heat in her and she gasped as pleasure started to build again.

"All of you," she said against his shoulder, starting to pant for breath. "All of you, Saizou."

He kissed her, hot and passionate, in answer, and she tightened her arms around him, kissing back just as open and hungry. She wrapped her leg around him, grinding against him, and shivered with the first crest of pleasure. Saizou thrust deeper and she bucked against him, gasping as sensation turned bright, swept out through her and clenched her body tight. Saizou's breathless moan made her smile and she reached up to run her fingers through his hair as another wave of pleasure rippled through her. She was starting to relax when he stilled over her, gasping, shuddering, and she gathered him close again.

They lay for a while that way and she carded her fingers through the length of his hair in back, trailing down his spine.

"Thank you," he finally said, breath tickling her throat.

"Mm. Thank you too." She kissed his forehead. "You're not going to be so difficult about it next time, are you?"

His shoulders shook with a laugh. "No. I promise I won't."

"Good," she said firmly. "Because you belong to us, and I'm not having any more of this foolishness."

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured, meekly enough except that she could feel his lips curve against her shoulder.

Well, that was Saizou. And he wanted her, wanted this, after all.

His arms tightened around her and she settled against him with a pleased sigh.

Cat's Cradle - Chapter One

Post canon. Kazuki wants to build a relationship with Yohan. Yohan wants to find a new way forward for his clan. Saizou wants to escape the fear of his years with Yohan. And his sister wants everyone to be reasonable for a change. Contains spoilers for Saizou's backstory in vol. 33 and Yohan's in vol. 36. Drama, Fluff, I-3

Kazuki didn't think it was his imagination that this spring was more beautiful than any he remembered. Circumstances might be adding shine to the season, to the faces around him that looked up at the clearing light and the drifting petals, but they were circumstances everyone shared, that everyone felt even if they didn't quite know the reason. He wondered a little whether Yohan let the seasons of the Beltline turn, let himself see and feel this.

He wondered things like that a lot these days.

Did Yohan let the changing season touch his House, was he learning happiness now, had he let go that crane, the child's paper wish, and taken up a Fuuchouin's bell for his strings? As the breeze came up, touched with sun and green, Kazuki wondered. And he could find out, of course. There was no reason he couldn't visit Yohan; they were neighbors after a fashion. More importantly they were brothers.

He also wondered whether Yohan would see it that same way.

It was the flowers that decided him, finally. A few irises had taken hold in one corner of the plaza outside the apartment building where the cement had cracked and water pooled, a striking composition by the hand of nature itself, and they reminded him of Yohan's taunt about flower arranging and their mother's death. At the time it had only been meant to enrage him, but looking back he thought Yohan's faint regret when he said he couldn't arrange flowers had been genuine.

Well of course he couldn't! He'd been raised in Kokuchouin, and Kazuki very much doubted if the fine arts of the main house were taught there. Koto, dance, flower arranging, calligraphy. Though, his mouth quirked at the memory, Yohan had clearly learned to compose poetry one way or another.

Kazuki knew those things, though. And surely it wasn't too late.

It was just as well, perhaps, that the others were out today. Kazuki left a note saying that he had gone to visit his brother and would be back shortly, and walked out into the bright day to cross Lower Town and climb upwards.

He understood the nature of the Beltline much better now than he had at fourteen. The monsters there were shadows of the souls that lived in the place, and he felt neither fear nor satisfaction in clearing them from his way. On this trip he saw only a few people he thought might be real, and they didn't come close, fading away into the Beltline's fluidity. He concentrated on his path and it wasn't too long before the steps of Yohan's compound were under his feet.

The trees were still in summer leaf here, but at least it was the small daytime moon overhead and no flowerless petals skirled past him on the wind. It was a start, he supposed.

The doors opened as he reached them, with no hand on them, and Kazuki smiled. Yohan knew he was here. He followed the path that presented itself through gardens and over pools, through stands of pine that had not grown on the main house grounds; and yet the place was familiar. He wondered if Yohan had created a home here that was both the omote and ura compounds. That would be a hopeful sign, he thought.

At last he reached a room with its screens standing open, overlooking a low waterfall beyond. Yohan sat alone looking out at the water, still and collected. "Aniue," he said quietly.

"Yohan," Kazuki returned, smiling.

"Why have you come?"

"Because I wanted to see my brother again," Kazuki said gently, coming to sit beside him, setting down the small box he'd brought along. Yohan looked at him, solemn and wary but with a shadow of hope at the back of his eyes that gave Kazuki heart. "Besides, there's something I wanted to bring you," he continued, opening the box and lifting out the small arrangement of iris, water, and stones.

Yohan actually blushed. "I didn't..." he started quickly and then stopped, not looking at Kazuki.

"I know that already." Kazuki set the flower quietly before them; as deeply as the Phoenix had touched Yohan's heart, he'd known then that Yohan had lied about their mother being the one dead "flower" he had arranged beautifully. "It's spring." He touched Yohan's shoulder gently. "What does the poet's heart say of that?"

After a moment, Yohan said, softly, "In the spring chill, / as I slept with sword by pillow, / deep at night / my elder brother came to me / in dreams from home."

That caught at Kazuki's heart with the hint that he was indeed welcome here. "You are home now. And courage and friendship come to you and bloom for you."

Yohan reached out and touched a petal lightly. "Truly?"

"Life changes us, just as the seasons change the flowers." Witness the fact that after just five minutes in Yohan's company the language of Kazuki's childhood was coming back to his tongue again. He smiled. "Truly."

Yohan darted a quick, uncertain glance at him, and back at the flower. "I thank you," he murmured.

"There's no need." Nor could Kazuki think of better thanks than being able to sit with his younger brother this way. Remembering his earlier thought, he added, "Did you ever learn the koto?"

Yohan's mouth tightened. "No."

"Would you like to?"

Yohan finally looked up at him, startled. Kazuki waited, patient, while Yohan regathered his composure. "I would like that," he finally said, and looked back down at the flower. "Aniue."

This time the title had less of the bitterness that flavored Yohan's every word about the past, and Kazuki cherished the shy hint of acceptance in it.

That was more than enough to compensate for the argument he was sure would break out at home as soon as he told them he intended to visit the Beltline more frequently.

Kazuki flexed his fingers, making sure the ivory picks were secure on his fingertips. "The more you hear, the more you'll be able to play music by ear, but the way we speak of it is in numbers."

Yohan gave him a sidelong look. "Numbers?"

"Mm." Kazuki smiled. "One for each string. Listen. One." He plucked the first string. "Two. Three." Up the rank he went, and then stilled the strings with his hand. "And if I say ten-nine-eight, five...?" He played the little turn quickly.

Yohan blinked, tilting his head. "Oh."

"Here." Kazuki scooted over, patting the tatami in front of the koto.

Yohan was stiff, at first, prone to plucking the strings too hard, but by the end of the day he could run up and down the full tally of thirteen strings and make them ring clear. Better still, his shoulders had stopped stiffening each time Kazuki set his fingers over Yohan's to guide them.

Yohan frowned faintly at his fingers, touching thumb and index finger together as if testing the sensation, which Kazuki expected was just a bit numb from the pressure of the picks. "Does it have application?"

Kazuki firmly stifled a sigh. He shouldn't expect to undo the habits of years in a handful of days. "Several different ones, I would say. Here. Rest your fingers on the strings down at the end." He shifted around back in front of the instrument and thought for a moment. "Midare Rinzetsu", he decided; he thought Yohan would like the energy and sweeping runs of it better than the slow, melancholy sweetness of the simpler compositions Kazuki had first learned.

It took concentration; it had been a long time since Kazuki had played regularly, and Yatsuhashi's music was always a challenge. He didn't look up until the last notes, measured and resonant. When he did, though, he smiled. Yohan's expression was distant, fingers still resting lightly at the base of the strings, but there was a tiny breath of wonder in his voice as he sighed.

"It really does feel just like our strings." He blinked and looked up at Kazuki. "This is why you always speak of the song of someone's technique."

"Exactly," Kazuki agreed softly.

"I didn't know."

It was only an observation, with no particular emotion in it, but it twisted Kazuki's heart all the same. "That was wrong. How can anyone be expected to understand our arts without this?" Kazuki bent his head over his hands, resting on the strings. "It's been wrong for so long."

Yohan's voice turned dispassionate again. "I expect the division started here, actually." At Kazuki's startled look, he gestured at the instrument. "The left hand and the right are both necessary, but they do very different things, don't they?" The distance in his tone turned darker. "And while the right hand strikes the notes and draws the eye, it's the left that controls the sound."

"Yes," Kazuki said slowly. "I wouldn't be surprised. But both hands are needed, and no one could play if they ignored the left hand techniques." A sudden thought came to him and his mouth quirked. "Well, then, perhaps the new song of Fuuchouin will be a bit more... modern."

He bent over the koto again and struck the opening of Sawai's "Yume". This time he listened to more than just the music, and smiled at the sound Yohan made as his left hand flashed over again and again to pluck the strings, melody weaving back and forth between his hands.

When he sat back this time, he had to shake out his left hand. "I like Sawai's compositions very much," he said, breathless, sweeping his hair back, "but they're very demanding!" He smiled at his brother. "I believe you can master it, though."

Yohan flushed just a little and concentrated on rearranging his sleeves, and Kazuki let it go, satisfied that Yohan had heard what he meant.

Another day, another lesson. Yohan's touch with the picks was getting lighter, and Kazuki thought about that as he listened. Yohan had yet to even attempt one of the more passionate compositions, gravitating instead toward the delicacy of the oldest, most abstract music.

"Yohan," Kazuki said softly, as his brother finished, "what is it you fear?"

Yohan's head came up quickly, and his eyes were wide. Kazuki shifted around to sit beside him, arm around him. "Everyone has their own style, their own favorite music," he continued, feeling Yohan's tension, "but there's music you refuse even to attempt. The music," he finished, quietly, "that would take from what's inside you and set it free on the air."

Yohan laughed, soft and harsh. "Do you really think that's wise, Aniue?"

"I do."

Yohan glanced at him, still tense, but a little less rigid, perhaps startled by Kazuki's firmness.

"This is where our arts began," Kazuki touched the koto's strings, "but setting our passion into these strings will draw no blood. What is there to fear?"

"Myself." Yohan looked away, hair slipping down over his face. "I doubt someone like you understands that."

Kazuki was quiet for a moment, and his voice was cool and light when he spoke, drifting over the memories he never lingered on willingly. "You were not the only one marked with the stigma, little brother. I know that fear. But that seal is lifted now; it's the passions every one of us deal with that you face now." His lips quirked. "If they weren't, you wouldn't hear their reflection in that music you won't touch."

Yohan was still for a long breath. "Everyone?"

Kazuki softened at the innocent unknowing of that question. "Everyone." He drew Yohan closer and murmured, "You're no demon. You never were. You're a child of the world, like all of us." He shook Yohan gently. "So stop trying to escape from life. Both hands are necessary, remember? Pain and joy both."

Yohan looked up at him, and Kazuki's brows rose. He expected the flash of startlement at his rather peremptory tone; he'd meant to rock Yohan out of his habits of thought a bit. What he hadn't quite expected was the flash of yearning, of... happiness? Yohan looked down again before he could be sure.

"Yes, Aniue," he murmured.

Kazuki had more than usual to think about as he left that day.

Kazuki sat with his hands folded and listened to Yohan play.

Another might have wasted time in wonder that, after a mere few months, Yohan was able to play complex compositions with such firm skill. In fact, when Kazuki had considered that at all, he had wondered how frustrated Yohan must be that his progress had been so slow. The cleansing of the stigma had thrown a blanket over the absolute purity and simplicity of Yohan's perception and art, had left his brother uncertain, and his temper the same sometimes.

No, what caught Kazuki's breath short today was the way Yohan played.

Yohan had obeyed him, so meekly it had taken Kazuki aback, and chosen a composition that showed his heart. "Tori no You Ni" demanded a light hand and could easily have been turned into another performance of delicate technique. Today, though, Yohan played with his eyes half closed, swaying with the force of the music. The force of his strike, the timing, the clarity and vibrato he drew from the strings wrung Kazuki's heart. There was grief in the song, wild and passionate, rushing like the wind under straining wings. There was wanting, so intense it almost tore the constraints of the strings themselves. Yet they held.

When Yohan finished, he turned his face quickly away from the instrument and Kazuki rose and came to wipe away the dampness on his brother's cheeks. "This," he said gently. "This is what the koto teaches us."

"This..." Yohan swallowed and said, husky, "this is the Phoenix."

"It's the source of it, yes." Kazuki stroked his hair back.

And then he frowned. This close he could see dark smudges starting under Yohan's eyes. "Yohan, have you been sleeping poorly?"

Yohan waved a hand shortly. "I don't have time to sleep right now. I need to re-learn half my own techniques, and half the servants with the cursed seal don't want to be freed, and..." He broke off blinking as Kazuki touched a finger to his lips.

"In other words, you haven't been sleeping enough." Kazuki shook his head at Yohan. "You have to take better care of yourself than that."

"In what time?" Yohan asked flatly.

"Right now." As Yohan just stared at him, Kazuki smiled and gathered him closer. "No one will disturb you while I'm here, will they?" He tugged gently until Yohan rested against him, stiff and startled. "So sleep. I'll see nothing happens while you do." He eased Yohan down to his lap, smiling as Yohan looked up at him, apparently at a loss.

"Aniue... But..."

Kazuki trusted his intuition and scraps of experience so far and said, very firmly, "Hush. Rest now, little brother." He knew he was right when the stiffness when out of Yohan, and settled Yohan's head comfortably in his lap. "Sleep." There was so much he couldn't restore to Yohan, but this he could give—an elder brother to watch over him.

He stroked Yohan's hair gently, steadily until Yohan's eyes closed, and his breath finally evened out into sleep.

Kazuki had less experience than Yohan with imposing his will on the Beltline, but he focused intently on the quiet, the isolation, the sunlit calm of this room, on turning away all worries and concerns. And, as minutes slid by and the sun moved slowly across the tatami, warming them, the only sounds were running water and the light, shifting song of birds beyond the screens.

The sunlight was slanting downward, and the air was cooling before he heard the scuff of feet out in the hall, and an approaching voice.

"Finally found you, honestly Yohan it's not like you have to hide..."

Kazuki snorted softly to himself as Maiya slid a screen aside.

"There you are!"

"Maiya. Quietly," he said, low.

She looked at Yohan, curled up asleep, and pressed a hand to her lips. "Sorry!" she whispered. Slipping in she closed the screen silently. "You actually got him to sleep?"

"He certainly needed it." And he wasn't exactly blaming Yohan's people, but his voice was cool on the observation.

Maiya sighed, folding down to the tatami, long sleeves flipped expertly out of the way. "I know. We do try. He just doesn't listen." She smiled wryly, looking down at him. "Well, not to us anyway."

Kazuki was quiet at that confirmation that he wasn't imagining things. Yohan really did seem to want Kazuki to guide him, and even scold him, like an older brother. Well, Kazuki thought he could do that; he was very glad to, in fact, to reclaim this little bit of what they might have had. He smiled down at Yohan, stroking back his hair again.

"I... never did get a chance to thank you."

Kazuki looked up at that, brows raised. Maiya was looking down at her hands.

"You saved us. All of us, in the end."

"That was my duty as the head of this House at the time," Kazuki said quietly.

"I know. Even so." Maiya set her hands on the tatami and bowed profoundly. "For Yuuri's life and mine. For the soul of our brother and Master. For the existence of our very House. I thank you most humbly, Kazuki-sama."

"And for the care you've taken of my brother, I thank you as well," Kazuki told her gently, and smiled when she looked up, eyes wide. "Only continue to stand by him, and that will be all the return I could ask."

She ducked her head again, and murmured, husky, "I will."

Yohan finally stirred, rubbing his eyes. "Maiya?" he yawned, and sat up blinking. Kazuki steadied him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Good morning!" Maiya chirped, and Kazuki had to swallow a smile at the distinctly exasperated look Yohan gave her. If nothing else, she would surely help him learn to deal with people a bit less formally.

"What is it, Maiya?"

"Ah. Well." Maiya coughed delicately. "You do remember that Gorou-san wanted to speak to you?"

Yohan sighed. "I remember." From his tone he would rather not.

"Something troublesome?" Kazuki asked, sympathetic, tugging Yohan's kimono and haori back into order.

"Since I have yet to work out exactly what it is he wants, I don't know yet." Yohan sounded irritated by that, too.

"Well, perhaps it will be something cheerful like marriage candidates," Kazuki soothed. And then had to laugh at the horrified look Yohan gave him, eyes flicking ever so briefly to Maiya. "And when you've chosen, I'll teach her the Phoenix," Kazuki teased gently.

"I... I'm sure it isn't that," Yohan managed past his unaccustomed flusterment.

"You're evil Kazuki-sama," Maiya said, admiring.

"Only in a good cause." Kazuki relented, smiling. "Whatever it is, I'm sure you'll deal with it well."

Yohan collected himself. "Will I see you Friday, then?"

"Of course." Kazuki leaned over to press a quick kiss to Yohan's forehead. "And before that, if you need me."

That made Yohan color just a little. "Thank you, Aniue," he murmured.

Kazuki rose, pleased with his new insight and the opportunities it offered to protect and cosset his brother. "For now, though, I should get home before the others worry so much they come looking for me."

Maiya grinned at that, looking past his shoulder. "Too late."

Kazuki blinked and looked around and sighed. Indeed, Juubei was standing in the open screen across the room. "Juubei."

"You weren't back at the usual time."

"I am perfectly capable of walking here and back without coming to any grief," Kazuki pointed out, though he knew quite well that this simple fact would have no impact on Juubei's protectiveness. Juubei didn't dignify the observation with an answer, simply waiting for him quietly. Kazuki shook his head, giving in. "Take care of Yohan, Maiya," he directed, in parting.

Maiya looked back and forth between Kazuki and Yohan, thoughts moving behind her bright eyes. "Of course, Kazuki-sama," she agreed, leaning over to twine her arm through Yohan's. When Yohan glanced up at Kazuki and failed to pull away, she and Kazuki exchanged a look of understanding and complicity. Maiya, Kazuki was satisfied, would borrow Kazuki's name as often as necessary to make Yohan take care of his health at least.

Kazuki swept up Juubei as he left, well pleased with the day's progress.

Gradually, Kazuki had started to see more people than Yohan, when he visited, sometimes Maiya or Yuuri, sometimes someone from one of the surviving cousin branches who nodded to him uncomfortably, sometimes one of the silent Kokuchouin retainers. Today the man who opened the gates for him was startled out of his usual unobtrusive quiet to stare at Juubei, pacing at Kazuki's shoulder.

"This really isn't necessary you know," Kazuki said one more time as Juubei followed him into the summer green of the Fuuchouin compound.

"We can hardly guard you, as is our duty, if we aren't with you." Juubei paused by one of the outer pavilions. "I can wait here if you wish, though."

Kazuki sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was about time he started binding the length of it back again, he noted absently. "I should leave you to Maiya's company." Juubei gave him a perfectly bland look and Kazuki couldn't help a laugh. "Oh, all right."

He left Juubei in the outer gardens and went to find Yohan. He found his brother in one of the inner rooms, today, looking out across a small, raked courtyard, hands folded on his knees.

"Aniue. May I beg a favor of you?" Yohan asked, more formally than he usually spoke these days.

"Of course." Kazuki settled beside him, curious. Yohan's face was very still.

"Spar with me."

Kazuki took a breath. In a way, he'd been expecting this for weeks; their conversations over the koto had always turned, sooner or later, to the application of the Fuuchouin arts. To the distinctions and interrelations of the omote and ura techniques. "If you wish."

"I don't entirely know where I stand anymore," Yohan said quietly. "You're the only one strong enough to test that against."

"I understand." Kazuki stood and held a hand down to his brother. "We can both find out."

And he did understand. For those first few weeks after he'd sealed away the stigma, when he was younger, he'd felt as though he couldn't quite see properly any more. As though nothing was exactly where he'd thought it should be. As memory had faded, he'd forgotten the disorientation too, but it had come back to him after the recent troubles, after he'd wakened and then rejected the stigma. He truly wasn't sure what he himself was capable of now, and as they walked out, beyond the delicate groves of trees to an open, grassy ring, he wondered how this would end.

They started slowly, with the simple barriers and direct strikes that children of the clan might use. Both of them controlled those techniques easily, only just touching each other when a strike slipped through. As they moved faster, turning around each other, they worked up the scale of complexity and one strike and counter built on another and sang through the air around them, Rain to clear the Mist, the Red Bird to ward away the Comet, strategy and power twining together into a single strand. It was intoxicating and, even as Kazuki felt his art wavering on the edge of his ability to grasp, he was almost laughing.

Yohan, though, was frustrated; Kazuki could see it in the tightening of his mouth, the tension in his forearms as his control, too, faltered. One moment his attacks were hard enough to push Kazuki's strings back but too hard to slip past; the next they flowed through like water, like light, but too slow to catch him.

Kazuki hesitated, hand poised to form the Flower Dance, looking a question at Yohan. Were they ready to try the final scroll? In answer Yohan's hand flashed up, sending the form darting for him first. Kazuki breathed and stepped into it, and threw the Whirlwind back at him.

Both of them were bleeding by the time they regained their stances.

Kazuki felt none of the crushing power that had marked Yohan's strings the last time they'd fought, but moment by moment Yohan's fingers steadied and, slowly, the line of his mouth relaxed. Kazuki nodded to himself and pushed harder, faster, spinning the Empty Moon around his brother. A breath passed as it closed.

Another.

When the countersurge of Yohan's strings undid the sphere, Kazuki laughed out loud even as Yohan's strings closed around him in turn.

Kazuki shook back his hair as Yohan released him, and went to catch his brother in his arms. "You watched me for a long time, didn't you?" he murmured as Yohan stiffened, startled.

"What..."

"You didn't use the black strings at all today," Kazuki pointed out. "Only the omote techniques."

Yohan shrugged. "It never made any difference to me where a technique came from; they were all the same."

"Once you saw them, yes." Kazuki smiled as Yohan's eyes shifted, even it it was a bit sad. "I was the only one you could have learned most of that from." He shook his head as Yohan started to speak. "I'm honored to teach you. It's my job, after all; you're my heir, aren't you?"

Yohan opened his mouth and closed it again, eyes a bit wide. "Aniue."

Kazuki rested his hands on Yohan's shoulders. "Better now?"

Yohan actually smiled a little. "Yes." He glanced down and back up, collected but Kazuki could read the shyness in his reserve now. "May we do this again?"

"Of course," Kazuki told him gently.

He was sufficiently distracted by his pleasure at this development that he didn't think what it would look like to Juubei when he emerged from the House scuffed and bloody, and had to spend a solid five minutes talking him down. Juubei didn't quite mutter under his breath, but he looked like he wanted to as he briskly sewed up the cuts before letting Kazuki go another step.

"You've seen me in considerably worse shape from training, when we were younger," Kazuki pointed out, wincing a bit but holding still.

Juubei actually glowered at him and Kazuki sighed, resigning himself to another few days of overprotectiveness. As Juubei led the way back down the steps of the Fuuchouin House, back stiff, though, Kazuki paused, attention caught.

"Kazuki?" Juubei looked back, as though he was contemplating carrying Kazuki home bodily, but Kazuki didn't mind that at the moment.

He reached up and touched the delicate leaves of the maple that grew by the steps. They were just barely tipped with autumn red.

"It's all right," he told Juubei, softly. "Everything's all right."

Cat's Cradle - Chapter Two

Saizou has to find some way for his House to be a part of the Fuuchouin clan when he can't bring himself to face or follow Yohan, who now leads it. Drama, I-4

Saizou trudged up the stairs of Yohan's compound, trying to not think and just admire the falling leaves instead. He was also trying not to curse himself out loud for an idiot, and a pathetically spineless one at that, which at least helped distract him.

His nerves were practically twanging.

Fortunately, Kazuki was already nearly at the gates, as Juubei had said he would be.

Unfortunately, Yohan and Maiya and Yuuri were all with him.

"Saizou?" Kazuki stepped forward, frowning.

He swallowed down his nerves and waved a hand lightly. "You're usual escorts were called away, so I came instead. Makubex needed them rather urgently, and Sakura kind of told Juubei off for hesitating, so they went."

The frown got deeper. "He shouldn't have asked you to come!"

"Oh, he didn't." Saizou grinned. "Just looked all nobly conflicted, the way he does you know, and I couldn't take the brooding any longer so here I am!"

Kazuki and Yohan gave him such identical looks, sober and piercing and too perceptive for anyone's good, that he twitched before he could stop himself. The urge to kneel down in greeting to Yohan scraped against the urge to pull Kazuki behind himself and attack. Both were well out of date, but he'd had them for a long time after all. He could feel his smile tilting grimly out of his control.

He relaxed minutely as Kazuki came to him, steps light, understanding in his eyes. "Well, then..."

Yuuri snorted. "Not even going to say hello to your betters? Your manners have gone to hell."

It was the last little snowflake, floating down on the mountain of Saizou's self control, and in a breath it all came crashing loose.

Faster than thought his feather was between his fingers and his strings flashed out, slamming Yuuri back against the nearest wall and binding him there. When he shouted and struggled to reach his own bells, Saizou pulled the strings tauter.

"I am no longer constrained to tolerate you, and if you wish to know who is the superior I'll be very happy to demonstrate," he said, flat and cold. His fingers itched for the ura techniques, with the urge to spin his strings into a spear and drive it through Yuuri's stomach and pay back just a little of the hell the past eight damn years had been.

"Saizou." Kazuki's voice cut through the ice of his rage, soft but unyielding, calling him back.

One breath, and another, and he made his fingers relax, called his poised strings back. He turned on his heel, leaving Yuuri tied up right where he was, and stalked back to Kazuki's side. "As my lord wishes," he said, low and clear. He wanted everyone present to know exactly where he stood, and what Yuuri owed his continued existence to, because it wasn't Saizou's own patience!

Kazuki smiled up at him, just a bit rueful, and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Yes."

"Wow, Saizou is actually really strong!" Maiya put in, chirpily, trotting around Yuuri's trussed up body for a better look, and Saizou rolled his eyes. Well, he'd always known she had a really low sense of humor.

"I did tell you," Yohan murmured. Saizou looked around to see him reach out and lay his fingers on Saizou's strings, damping and loosening them until Yuuri slid down to the ground, coughing. The sight lit a spark of vengeful satisfaction in his heart.

Yohan's glance chilled it again.

"So, do you intend to withdraw the Eastern House from the Fuuchouin?" Yohan tipped his head as if merely curious. "Or will you give your House over to another leader? Now that you serve another, yourself," he added, nodding to Kazuki.

Saizou froze.

He hadn't thought. He'd known Kazuki had given over Fuuchouin to Yohan, and he'd never thought. His heart had said it was all over, that everything was all right now, but he'd placed Toufuuin under Yohan, and Yohan, not Kazuki, was the clan lord then and now.

The clan lord he, the head of Toufuuin, couldn't serve any longer.

"You will withdraw them, then?" Yohan asked, watching his face.

But Kazuki had no wish to rule more than their tiny House of Fuuga, now. How could he demand Toufuuin leave their clan with no place to go?

But he couldn't abandon them. He couldn't, the very thought clawed at his heart. His sister, his aunt, his little cousins, the old councilors who had supported him as their lord even while hell was breaking loose... "I can't," he whispered, and there was a certain cool sympathy in Yohan's eyes but no mercy, and the familiarity of that sent a shudder down his spine.

"Enough," Kazuki said sharply, shaking his shoulder a little. "Surely there's a third way," he added more gently as Saizou stared down at him.

Yohan opened his hand, palm up. "If Toufuuin is content to have no place in the Fuuchouin councils, well enough for them. But the other Houses will begin to ask about it soon."

Saizou took a slow breath, eyes fixed on Kazuki's, on the hope they held out. "Let me consider this," he said, suitably formal if a little hoarse. Yohan made a careless gesture of agreement, but it was Kazuki's smile that made Saizou's chest unclench. "After we get home. Which we should do soon, or Juubei will come up here after both of us."

Kazuki nodded and bid Yohan farewell and drew Saizou out the gates and down the steps as Maiya got the groggy Yuuri back on his feet. Shock and satisfaction and fear chased themselves through Saizou's head and he stayed close to Kazuki all the way home.

He'd known it would be trouble, to come up here.

When Juubei and Toshiki got home, Saizou was still sitting on the couch staring at the ceiling. Toshiki took one look at him and went to fetch down the sake cups.

"Saizou," Juubei started, already sounding guilty, and Saizou sighed and looked down.

"You didn't ask me to go, I chose that myself, and you couldn't have changed my mind once I decided, so none of that."

Juubei closed his mouth with a snap and Saizou's lips quirked. He didn't often use that tone with any of Fuuga, but he was the eldest of them, and, like Kazuki, he'd been raised to command, if only his own House. "Better."

"What happened?" Toshiki asked, passing out filled cups.

Saizou let his head thump back again.

"Yohan says Toufuuin needs to send someone to the clan council soon," Kazuki supplied, leaning forward from where he'd been cuddled against Saizou for hours to pour for Toshiki in turn.

"And I can't," Saizou said quietly. "I can't face him; not yet." Maybe not ever. He didn't know.

"Here's where those hidden techniques could actually come in handy," Toshiki murmured dryly. At their startled looks he waved a hand. "Well, if you could create a string duplicate, the way Maiya can, and send that in for you..."

Saizou chuckled at that. "If only."

"Wait," Kazuki said, straightening. "Perhaps that's a good idea."

"Excuse me?" Saizou blinked at him.

"Not a string doll, no, but could you send a proxy in your place?" Kazuki's eyes turning brighter. "Surely there's precedent enough for that."

Juubei made a thoughtful sound. "Indeed, there is. My own family has done that on occasion, when the head of the House is too old or incapacitated to easily attend on the Fuuchouin, and sends his heir to act for him."

"Is there anyone from Toufuuin you could send to act in your place?" Kazuki asked.

"Maybe," Saizou said slowly. "It would have to be someone who could hold their own, and also not get too carried away and promise the House to things without checking with me." He started to smile, shoulders loosening as he told over the possibilities in his head. "That might just work." He finally took a swallow of the sake. "I'll speak to my family."

"Don't be silly Onii-sama," Saizou's sister said composedly from her seat at the low table beside Sakura. "Of course you can't deal with him. I knew that already." She took a delicate sip of her tea, hands folded genteelly around the thin ceramic. "It will have to be me."

"You are the most impertinent snip ever to breathe air," he told her, ignoring the way Sakura and Kazuki were both stifling laughter. "Are you sure everyone agreed to this, or did you just steamroller the lot of them? Again."

She gave him an injured look he didn't believe for an instant. "Everyone agreed, even Great-uncle Keiji. Our aunt is needed to run the House and school while you're away. And the twins don't want to do it."

Saizou snorted at that. His aunt's two little boys would agree to anything that would give them more time to play, and while he thanked whatever beneficent providence had kept them out of the compound the night the Kokuchouin attacked, he really hoped they'd grow up eventually. He didn't doubt Toshi had told them being the acting head of the House would be a great deal of troublesome work.

"I'm your nearest blood, and I have the strength and right. Stop arguing, Onii-sama," she directed.

Saizou sighed. No one ever won when Toshi really set her feet over something. "All right, if he agrees to this it'll be you."

"Good. More importantly, though," she set her tea down and looked at him, sober. "Are you sure this is wise, Onii-sama? This is the man who destroyed the main house and half our own. Will we really still follow him?"

"It wasn't Yohan who destroyed the main house," Kazuki said quietly from where he stood at the window. "Not alone."

Toshi frowned a little. "Well, no, it was all of the Kokuchouin, but..."

"Kokuchouin was the hand. But the force that destroyed us was our own fate." Kazuki had that distant expression he got whenever he spoke of this, the one that made Saizou's heart ache. "For three hundred years, the Kokuchouin were the shadow sacrifice of the Fuuchouin. Every death, every curse passed to them." Kazuki turned away from the window to look at them directly and Saizou heard Toshi's breath catch under the weight of those clear, sad eyes. "No fate can be evaded forever, though. And finally the fate of Fuuchouin burned through our shadows and returned to us. I mourn my family, as I have for eleven years. But the responsibility was ultimately our own." He smiled, tiny and heartbreaking. "So will you not meet Yohan yourself and open your heart to judge what kind of clan lord he will make now?"

Toshi bowed over her knees. "As you say, Kazuki-sama." Her voice was steady but Saizou could see the way her sleeves trembled and recalled that she'd never met Kazuki before either. She was composed when she straightened, though, and Saizou had to hide a proud smile when she looked up. "Onii-sama?"

"He isn't seeking destruction any more," he said quietly. "It isn't for fear that I can't follow him now."

Her eyes slid to Kazuki and her nod was perfectly understanding. "Of course. Well, go make introductions, then, and I'll handle it."

That was his little sister all over. "Tomorrow," Saizou specified, just to keep her from having her own way in absolutely everything. It was a big brother's job.

Toshi sniffed, not fooled for a moment. "Slowpoke."

On reflection, maybe Yohan and his people deserved her.

Today Saizou was alone as he walked the halls of the new Fuuchouin house, and when he reached a room standing with its screens open to the inner garden, Yohan was alone too. It was a courtesy he hadn't entirely expected, and when Yohan welcomed him, quiet and formal, he felt the tug again—the helpless conviction that, in another place and time, Yohan would have been a leader he could gladly follow.

He settled across the mats from Yohan and took a breath. "I cannot abandon my House," he started out. "They have trusted me to lead them, and I cannot simply give that over to another's hands now." Another breath. "I do not wish to sever my House from the Fuuchouin clan. We are of Fuuchouin, part of that whole. I will not break that circle."

Yohan's listening stillness turned shadowed for a moment, but he nodded, accepting Saizou's reasons.

Another breath, deeper this time. "At the same time..." And now even formal language failed him. It couldn't contain this. Saizou closed his eyes, hands locking on each other as he remembered the ice and irony of Yohan's eyes watching his struggle to save Kazuki by betraying him, knowing its futility. "I can't," he whispered. "I can't. I served you under duress for too long. It would always be between us." He managed a shaky smile. "And do you really need a head of Toufuuin who can't help hesitating every time you give an order or even suggestion?"

"It would make things more difficult," Yohan allowed. "So? Have you found a third way?"

Saizou swallowed down the chill memory that seemed lodged in his throat. "Another of my House will act for me. My sister will attend clan functions, meet with you and the council." His mouth quirked up crookedly. "As if I were very ill but not dead yet, as Juubei put it."

"An acting master of Toufuuin." Yohan cocked his head, and Saizou thought there was genuine amusement in his faint smile. "I think that will be acceptable, yes." The old irony glinted in his eyes for a moment. "And if the Western House and the council think that it's only because of your bond to Aniue, well they'll understand that too."

Since that was the conclusion his own sister had reached, Saizou figured he was right. And if that meant that no one but the two of them ever knew the whole tale of hate and love and hope and cruelty that had bound he and Yohan together for those years, well Saizou was perfectly happy with that. He bowed slightly, as much as he could bring himself to which wasn't much. "I will bring my sister to meet you, then."

"Saizou." Yohan was gazing out over the garden. "You love Aniue?"

It was one of those Yohan questions that was really a statement, so Saizou just waited for the rest of it.

"How?" Yohan looked back at him, suddenly looking very eighteen, and Saizou had a truly horrible moment of wondering whether Yohan was about to ask him to explain the facts of life. In preference to his foster siblings, which, actually, Saizou could completely understand...

"How did you know?" Yohan finished, softly.

Saizou let his breath out. That was a complicated question, too, but not nearly so horrifying. "I suppose it was love at first sight, after a fashion. Well," he added, relief making him babble a bit, "it was 'wow she's cute' at first sight. I kind of mistook Kazuki for the Fuuchouin daughter. Right up until I asked for a match with the heir and the cute girl bounced on down, all smiles." He smiled ruefully. "I like to think that surprise put me off my stride a little, but the truth was Kazuki would have defeated me outright if he hadn't been having so much fun with the match itself. He was grinning the whole time. I guess it was the smile that caught me first." He pressed a hand over his heart. "I wanted to see him again. I did, a few times. And when everything came apart..." he flinched from those memories, of Yohan's terrifying strength brushing past every attack and defense, of running like a rabbit. "Well. When I found him again, he still had that smile. He made a place for himself and the rest of us, carved it out of the chaos and kept it safe for us. He made a home with that smile, with his heart, with the way he saw and knew each of us, and I couldn't turn away."

And that was more truth than he'd quite meant to speak to Kazuki's brother, who was looking outright wistful for once.

"Of course, it doesn't hurt that he really is strong enough to command obedience, if he wanted to," Saizou added, easing toward the less loaded side of the question. "Even when he'd suppressed the stigma, no one dared cross him." Saizou snorted softly, remembering the times he and the others hadn't even gotten a chance to step in because their opponents were busy cowering already. "Not even us, when you get down to it. It's just a good thing Kazuki is a kind man, you know, because not a one of us has been able to defy or disobey him for as much as two whole days put together."

"Yes," Yohan murmured. "I saw that. At the time, it was just one more thing to try to break." He was quiet for a moment before adding, "I didn't succeed."

Saizou took a long look at Yohan, sitting quiet and still with his head bent, watching his own hands on his knees, and remembered all the moments when Yohan's pain and conflict had matched so well with his own that he'd almost screamed with the unbearable sympathy it had roused in him. "You have some of that, too," he said, low.

Yohan looked up at that, brows raised. Saizou sighed.

"You remember how I was with Yuuri and Maiya, right?" He smiled, tilted, at the shadow of distaste that twisted Yohan's expression. "Yes, it was pretty sickening, sucking up to them, playing the clown. But by throwing away my dignity I kept my pride, secret in my thoughts and heart. You, though..." He took a long breath and let it out. "You let me keep my dignity, even guarded it from them sometimes. It was my pride you broke between your fingers. And you wouldn't have been able to do that if you hadn't seen to the heart of me, the same way he does."

Yohan's eyes were shadowed. "I see," he said slowly.

Saizou stood. He didn't think he could take very much more of this. "I will bring my sister to greet you," he said again, reaching for the shield of formality, and turned to leave.

"Saizou."

He glanced over his shoulder, but Yohan was looking out at the garden again.

"Your sister's pride will come to no harm here," Yohan said, sitting with straight shoulders again.

After a moment, Saizou smiled a little. "I have faith that it will not."

And if his faith was mainly in Kazuki and Toshi herself, at the moment, perhaps it would come to be in Yohan too, a little, by and by.

Saizou walked beside his sister, occasionally giving a brief lecture on the nature of the Beltline as they hiked upwards.

"These, for instance, are not real." He pointed to the approaching shadowy robes. "You have to pay attention to intent." There were an awful lot of them, though. He wondered, as they worked their way through, whether Toshi herself was drawing attention. For this meeting she was dressed, not in a maiden's long sleeves and bright colors, but in the quiet layers of a grown woman and the long, silvery-fair hair they'd both gotten from their mother was tied at her neck with a single ribbon; demure as she looked, though, determination and pride lit the air around her. In this place, she was practically a beacon. Privately Saizou also thought she was fighting with especial ferocity to defend her new finery; she was always like that about new clothes.

"Does he live up here because he secretly wants to be a hermit?" She leaned against a handy pillar to catch her breath and straighten her haori.

"Actually, I think this is the only place he's ever really felt at home."

Toshi stopped and turned to stare at him, eyes wide. "Onii-sama..."

Saizou's mouth tightened. He'd said it already; it wasn't for fear that he couldn't serve Yohan. He just knew too damn much. He sent his strings flashing past Toshi's shoulder to cut apart the last robe and turned back to their path. "Let's go."

He was twitchy about this whole thing. This was his little sister, after all, and it was Yohan he was about to introduce her to! He tried to quiet his own mind by observing her objectively, noting the firmness of her step, the maturity of her willingness to take up this duty for their House. It kept getting lost, though. This was Toshi; he'd seen her as a toddler, running down the hall in nothing but soap suds after escaping from her bath; he'd surprised her in front of a mirror, when she was eight, making faces in an attempt to find a way to smile without showing the dimple she hated; he'd stolen her hair ribbons to teach her fast reflexes and tickled her until she shrieked and flailed because sometimes she was just too serious for her own good. She couldn't possibly be ready for this!

Here they were, though, at Yohan's gate, and clearly expected as Kokuchouin retainers bowed them inside.

Yohan was waiting for them in one of the outer rooms.

Saizou watched the two of them while he performed the formal introductions. Yohan looked perfectly calm, though maybe a little withdrawn; Toshi had a faintly worrying set to her jaw. Sure enough, once they'd both expressed their pleasure in meeting at last, the bow she gave him was the one she would give the head of a strange House, not her own clan lord. Yohan raised a brow at Saizou, and all he could do was turn a hand up helplessly. Toshi obviously had her own agenda here.

"You are welcome within Fuuchouin," Yohan prompted her.

"I am most pleased," Toshi murmured. "But before I accept I must ask you something."

Both brows went up this time. "Even though the head of your House has already chosen this?" Yohan sounded curious, even a bit amused.

"Onii-sama is Master of Toufuuin. I will follow the path he chooses for us," Toshi said composedly. "Onii-sama is also too forgiving for his own good sometimes, and I saw some of what happened to him while he served you these past few years. So I must ask you: where do you mean to lead Fuuchouin now?"

"Ah." Yohan laid his hands on his knees and looked out the screens rather than at them. "I intend to bring the fourth House into the light."

Toshi's shoulders stiffened. "You wish to uncover the hidden techniques?"

Yohan shook his head briskly. "No. Not that." His voice turned soft and distant, and sent a chill up Saizou's spine. He'd heard nothing but that tone for a long time. "The hidden techniques were created as the ultimate weapons of war. They care nothing for grace or beauty—or the soul of the user. Only effectiveness. Let them remain hidden." He took a breath in and turned back to them. "No, binding those techniques to one of the Houses was where Fuuchouin took the wrong turning. They corrupted the true strengths of the Kokuchouin and left the other three Houses unbalanced."

Toshi sat back, staring at him. "Unbalanced?"

Yohan cocked his head at her. "The mark of the Eastern House is speed, yes?" When she nodded he tapped a finger on the floor. "Speed." He traced a circle clockwise, naming the quarters of it. "Speed, grace, strength..." He tapped the fourth quarter. "And the mark of the fourth House, it's true mark, is 'endurance'. To endure the dark and cold just the same as the warm sun, and live on." His eyes darkened. "That was corrupted when the hidden techniques were given into the Kokuchouin's hands. Their endurance was turned toward eternal darkness and death, the reverse of their true strength." He lifted his hand and spread it. "Without endurance, the other Houses fly away, ungrounded; cut off from the light, Kokuchouin sinks ever down until there is nothing but pain and terror left. We have seen what fate that tempts," he finished quietly.

Toshi was quiet, contemplating her hands, folded in her lap. Saizou couldn't blame her; he felt breathless. Was this the turn Yohan's thoughts had taken since Kazuki touched his heart and breathed life on it again? It was... stunning.

"What, then, would become of the hidden techniques?" Toshi asked slowly.

Yohan's mouth tightened but he answered evenly, "Let those come to it who choose it. Those who are willing to become the shadow of our Houses in order to guard them. Not children." Those last words sharpened abruptly, though Yohan relaxed again when Toshi nodded vigorously.

"Yes. Not children. Only those who have already mastered the techniques of one of the Houses." She paused for a considering moment before nodding firmly and looking up at Yohan. "One of the four Houses."

He actually smiled at that, and Toshi smiled back, and they both actually looked their ages though Saizou wasn't fool enough to say so to either of them. Maybe they would all get through the day without any catastrophes at all.

"Well then! There's only one thing left." Toshi's smile turned downright sunny. "I'd like a match with you."

A yelp of protest escaped Saizou before he could stop it and his sister gave him a stubborn look. "It's the only way I can be completely sure, Onii-sama."

Yohan, damn him, had that glint of amusement in his eyes again. "You are one who believes that the soul is revealed in battle?"

"Of course." Toshi lifted her chin, sitting straight and proud. Saizou buried his face in his hand with a faint moan. A little voice in the back of his head pointed out that she sounded an awful lot like he had when he'd challenged the Fuuchouin heir and met Kazuki for the first time. He told that voice to shut up.

"Well." Yohan glanced between them. "I have no objection. Provided the head of your House consents."

Saizou caught Yohan's eye and had to breathe through a rush of panic. Yohan had promised to guard his sister's pride.

He wouldn't hold back.

And, yes, Yohan was good enough to defeat Toshi without killing her. Possibly even without injuring her much. But Toshi was strong and determined, and maybe even faster than Saizou was. She wouldn't make it easy.

"Onii-sama?" Toshi said quietly, and it was the level calm in her eyes that broke him down. She knew. And she was still determined to do this.

Saizou swallowed. "I consent," he managed, low.

Yohan nodded and rose. "Come, then." He led them out through the gardens to an open ring littered with the signs of previous matches—splinters and broken ground and shattered stone. Saizou watched as his sister shed her haori and outer kimono, and tried not to hyperventilate. Toshi was serious about this. She unfastened a feather from her hair ribbon and stepped out into the ring.

Yohan drew a bell out of his sleeve. "Very well then, let us begin."

Saizou watched them, biting his lip hard. He tried to tell himself this was just another sparring match, and a friendly one at that, but couldn't quite get past the fact that the last time he'd seen Yohan fight he'd gone down without a ripple under that overwhelming, ruthless strength. The memory tightened his throat and made his fingers shake until he twined them together, white-knuckled. There was no sign of the black strings or the hidden techniques today, he told himself as strings sang and flashed across the open space.

Toshi stumbled and blood ran down her arm, and Saizou bit down so hard his lip bled too. He couldn't interfere; this was Toshi's decision, and she was still focused on Yohan, eyes bright and sharp. She drew her strings back in and sent them out again in the Butterfly, slipping and floating through Yohan's barrier. He caught them short and reflected them back with the Mountain Lake, and she cast a dazzling Sunrise in Spring with a second feather and spun aside under its cover. Yohan turned with her, smiling faintly.

So was Toshi.

Saizou took a deep breath, and remembered the way Kazuki had wrung him out their first match, and how much fun he'd thought that was, and sat on his hands. Literally, since if Toshi caught him toying with his feathers he'd be her next target.

It was a hard life being a big brother.

There was blood running from more than one cut when Toshi set her feet in a stance that caught his heart and spun her strings out around her in the Dance of the Green Dragon. That was the last technique he had taught her, before he hadn't dared any longer for fear the hidden techniques he'd learned would corrupt what he showed her. The signature of Toufuuin.

Yohan nodded a little and his strings flashed and glimmered into the Dance of the Red Bird.

Toshi smiled outright at that and lunged. Strings rang and caught, seeking to cut, seeking to reflect.

And Yohan wove a new shape from a second bell. It filled the space around the Red Bird, and Saizou had never seen it before, but there was only one thing it could be.

The Dance of the Black Tortoise.

Toshi's strings struck and were deflected, and Yohan's strings closed down, binding her in place. Toshi seemed too busy staring to entirely notice, and Saizou couldn't blame her.

"Oh," she said softly, as Yohan released his strings. "It's... beautiful."

Yohan held up his hands, a bell caught between the fingers of each. "Grace and endurance."

"Yes." Toshi's smile turned brilliant. "Yes, I see."

Yohan contemplated his bells for a moment. "The Black Tortoise I found in the scrolls. There is one more Dance I hope to discover, though, one I've only seen mention of. Never a description yet."

Toshi sucked in a breath. "The dragon of the center..."

"The Yellow Dragon." Yohan nodded. "We will see."

Toshi drew herself up, torn clothes and dripping blood and all. "It's a good path you've chosen. I will be most pleased to follow it." She bowed to him, this time as to her clan lord.

Yohan's faint smile flashed again, maybe a little softer this time. "The acting Master of Toufuuin is most welcome."

Saizou forced his knees to hold him up and stood. "I'm delighted we all agree, now can we maybe go get washed up, Toshi?"

"Maiya," Yohan called.

Maiya popped out of the trees across from Saizou, and almost gave him heart failure. "Yes?"

"Ask Kakei-san to attend us please."

She caroled agreement and vanished back through the trees with a wave. Saizou, noting the way Yohan very nearly rolled his eyes, grinned briefly. And then he caught his sister's expression.

Toshi stared after Maiya, wide eyed. "She... Her, um... clothes. Are missing?"

Yohan sighed. "Maiya thinks it's amusing to dress like a character from one of her manga."

Toshi contemplated this and finally turned to give Saizou a suspicious look. "You never mentioned this, Onii-sama," she stated rather ominously.

"You get used to it after a while?" he offered.

"Hmph!" She tossed her hair and stalked back toward the house, only slightly impaired by a limp.

Yohan gave Saizou a puzzled look. "What was that?"

Saizou sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Toshi doesn't like thinking her big brother looks at girls. Ever. It's a sister thing."

"I see." Actually, Yohan looked even more puzzled. Not that Saizou could blame him, really. They followed Toshi more slowly and with less stalking, Saizou collecting Toshi's haori and kimono on the way. By the time they caught up she was sitting on a bench in the outer garden having her last cut sewn up. Yohan's physician gave him a quick look over and nodded with professional satisfaction before bowing himself out.

"You should hang your clothes up properly, you know," Saizou told her, shaking out her kimono and holding it up for her to put on. "And don't lift your arm that high, you'll tear the stitches!"

"Oh, stop fluttering, Onii-sama," Toshi huffed. "You sound like Juubei-san."

Saizou opened and closed his mouth a few times. "I do not."

"You do so."

"Do not."

"Do so!"

Their exchange was interrupted by Maiya's peal of laughter. "You see, now," she told Yohan, "that's what siblings sound like."

Yohan eyed her like he would a patch of quicksand in his path. "Maiya..."

"She's only teasing," Toshi seemed moved to reassure Yohan, smiling as she shrugged into her haori.

"Ah."

"I like you," Maiya declared to Toshi. "You got Yohan to smile. He doesn't smile often enough."

Toshi blinked. "Oh." She glanced between the laughing Maiya and the now extremely deadpan Yohan. "I'm... glad I could help?"

"I will be pleased to see you here whenever you wish," Yohan told Toshi in a very firm changing-the-subject tone. Toshi collected herself, recalled to the formalities.

"I will be honored to attend, at your word." They exchanged parting bows and Toshi nodded to Maiya after a moment's hesitation, and turned toward the gates.

Saizou paused in the act of following her and looked back. "Yohan."

Yohan stopped looking after Toshi and looked at him inquiringly.

"You deserve Toufuuin's service."

Yohan was still for a moment and then rose swiftly and came to Saizou. He lifted a hand to brush his fingertips across Saizou's forehead, and Saizou hesitated, the instant urge to jerk away fading. That motion... that was an unbinding. There was nothing left to unbind, though, nothing except... except memory. They looked at each other for a long moment and Yohan finally murmured. "I'm sorry."

Something inside Saizou loosened. Maybe it was memory after all. "Thank you," he said, husky.

When he turned to follow his sister out the gates and back home, he found he wasn't as worried, anymore, about what future she would find here.

Cat's Cradle - Chapter Three

Kazuki watches Yohan and Toshi draw closer, and contributes some maneuvering in the background to move things along. Drama, Fluff, I-3

Kazuki had expected to see more of Saizou's sister, as Toufuuin's acting Master came and went from Yohan's home. What he hadn't expected was to see her at Yohan's instead of his home.

When he visited Yohan to find he and Toshi pouring through some ancient scrolls, he was only surprised. When he found them out in one of the winter-bare gardens, experimenting with forms, he was amused. When he found her arguing vociferously with Yuuri over whether the object forming techniques should remain hidden, and Yohan watching with quiet interest, he was impressed with her dedication.

When he found her listening to Yohan play koto he started to wonder.

"Trading more techniques?" he asked as Yohan closed the piece, stepping softly into the room. Both of them started a little, looking around, and his brows went up; Yohan always knew when someone else was in his house.

Toshi shook her head ruefully. "It wouldn't do any good. I don't play; I was just listening."

Kazuki blinked. "You don't?" He knew not all the Houses were as strict in their training as the main House was, but he'd thought everyone at least learned koto. It was the root of their art, after all.

"Oh, I have the basic skills," Toshi waved a hand. "I can follow a written piece of music well enough I suppose. But I just don't have the ear for music the way you two do."

Yohan promptly looked out the screens, coloring faintly, and Kazuki stifled a smile. "That must have made training frustrating for you," he said, drawing attention away from his brother's embarrassment at being complimented, even indirectly.

Toshi's dimple flashed as she smiled. "It was. So I argued with Otou-sama until he let me do something else for basic dexterity exercises."

Yohan looked back around at that. "What did you do?" he asked, head tilted curiously.

"Well... here, I'll show you." Toshi uncoiled a string and looped it around her hands. Her fingers flashed back and forth through the string and she pulled her hands apart to show a squared web of strings between them. "This is the butterfly."

Kazuki looked again and saw the broad upper wings and the narrow lower ones. "String figures?"

She shook it loose and her hands darted together again. "And this is the koto," she grinned.

Well, Kazuki supposed it was a good dexterity exercise at that, though he couldn't imagine it was as good for fine control as playing. Yohan, though, was looking at Toshi thoughtfully. "You normally go faster than that, don't you?"

It was Toshi's turn to color. "When I'm practicing seriously, yes. Onii-sama wouldn't agree it was good training until I could make a figure faster than he could get one of his strings into it to stop me." She looped the string around her hands again and paused for a breath.

This time Kazuki could barely see her fingers moving and the string sang as her fingertips plucked and shifted it. All in a flash, the long string closed into an oval knot between her spread hands. "That's the tortoise," she murmured, holding it up.

Yohan smiled, faint but true.

Toshi coiled her string up and asked them to play koto again, and Kazuki obliged. But he remembered that smile.

The next time Kazuki visited Yohan, though, the young woman he saw there was not Toshi. As he came out into the inner garden, he found Yohan in rather stiff conversation with someone Kazuki decided, after a minute's thought, might be a cousin on his mother's side, a girl a few years younger than Yohan with the same straight, heavy hair their mother had.

"Aniue." There was a definite note of relief in Yohan's voice, and Kazuki was fairly sure the girl heard it too.

"I must be keeping you from your business, forgive me," she murmured, not looking up. "I should be going." She bowed and shook her long sleeves back into place with a gesture that made Kazuki nostalgic.

"Not at all," he told her kindly. "It's good to see you and know you are well."

A slight gesture from Yohan brought a Kokuchouin retainer to escort her out and Yohan sat down on the engawa with a thump, careless for once of the disorder of his robes.

"What's this all about?" Kazuki asked, amused.

"They really are trying to marry me off!" Yohan drove a hand through his hair. "It started with Gorou, who wants me to marry a Kokuchouin girl to mix the bloodlines again, and then Takeo and Akihito decided it should be a Fuuchouin girl instead, and the lot of them have been dragging every girl they can find out here to parade past me."

Kazuki managed to turn his laugh into a cough but Yohan glared at him anyway. "I ought to tell them I'm going to marry Maiya," he muttered.

Kazuki sat beside him, setting down the bundle he'd brought, and leaned back to enjoy the early summer sun. "She is one of the people who's closest to you, after all," he agreed, though he was reasonably sure Maiya was too much Yohan's sister to be his wife.

"And she's a warrior," Yohan added, frowning in the direction the girl—the latest girl apparently—had left. "None of these will even look at me!"

"You are the clan lord, after all," Kazuki reminded him gently. "And they were undoubtedly raised to know what's proper."

Yohan frowned down at his hands. "I don't want a wife I could ignore." As their mother's council had been fatally ignored, hung unspoken in the air between them.

"Maiya would certainly not stand for being ignored," Kazuki murmured, seeking to lighten the shadow over his brother today. To his surprise, that shadow only deepened.

"I frightened her, though," Yohan said, low.

Kazuki frowned and wrapped an arm around Yohan, drawing him close. "What do you mean?"

Yohan was silent for long moments. "It was when you were coming through the Beltline, last winter," he finally said. "All I could think of was that you were coming, at last. And I would kill you. Or you would kill me. It didn't matter to me which, then. If I'd killed you, I'd just have died after, because there would have been nothing left. I was... I felt... intoxicated with it. And I kissed her. I'm not even sure what I was thinking, any more." He took a deep breath and let it out, shaking. "And I frightened her."

Kazuki's eyes had been widening all through Yohan's speech, and now he turned and pulled his brother tight into his arms. "I expect so, yes," he said quietly, breath stirring the fine, fair strands of Yohan's hair.

"These proper, retiring girls they bring to show me," Yohan whispered, "they're afraid already."

"Someone will come who isn't afraid," Kazuki said firmly. If he was right, someone already had, after all. But he wasn't sure enough of that to say it yet. He stroke Yohan's hair back and tipped his chin up. "Do you want to spar, today?"

Relief flickered in Yohan's eyes again. "You brought flowers, though," he said, glancing at the package Kazuki had set beside them.

"The calla and water lilies will bloom for a while yet," Kazuki told him. "And even when they don't, there will be other flowers." He smiled. "Sometimes I think that's the true lesson of ikebana. There will always be flowers still; they just won't be the same ones." Now that Yohan had finally agreed to let Kazuki teach him this, it would keep.

"Then yes." Yohan closed his eyes for a moment. "Please."

Kazuki pulled him up off the engawa and toward the practice grounds.

Their matches were a joy to Kazuki, especially now that Yohan had regained his balance and his mastery of their arts without the stigma. The song of Yohan's strings was light and fierce, now, not dampened by despair. Today they played out a match of subtlety and maneuver, rarely striking directly, layering form on form to create attacks from blind spots. The last one Kazuki only escaped by casting down the Comet to break it, and he spread his hands, laughing.

"My loss."

Yohan was smiling again, relaxed. "In a way."

Kazuki refastened his bells and ruffled Yohan's hair. "Stop fishing for compliments, little brother," he scolded. "You're still stronger than I am."

Yohan's smile quirked and he murmured, "In a way, Aniue."

Kazuki was still smiling when he made his way into the outer gardens, expecting to find Juubei there. What he found, though, was the girl he'd met this afternoon in low-voiced conversation with a woman at least ten years older.

"...should have seen the way Yohan-sama smiled at him," the girl was whispering. "I've never seen anything like it!"

The woman sighed. "As if it weren't bad enough that we have the memory of their mother to compete with. I've heard this before, that Kazuki-sama has grown to be Hana-sama alive again." She looked up to see Kazuki standing at the foot of the bridge and her eyes widened. "Kazuki-sama!" She bowed, hastily but with grace. The girl was more flustered and nearly lost a shoe, turning to make her own bow. Kazuki returned it, politely ignoring both the gossip and their discomposure. As the woman rose he finally recognized her as a second cousin he'd met sometimes during festivals; the girl must be her younger sister, then.

"Megumi-san, it's good to see you again after so long," he said, as if he hadn't heard a thing.

"And you as well, Kazuki-sama," she murmured, cheeks red. She nudged her sister aside as Kazuki crossed the bridge, and he left them to recover their composure.

He didn't turn toward the gate yet, though. He headed back around the compound, though the trees, to find Maiya.

If she couldn't ward this genteel assault off directly, he was fairly sure she'd still be perfectly willing to interrupt these would-be marriage interviews in her own inimitable fashion, and he had no intention of leaving his brother to deal with this alone.

One of the things Kazuki treasured most were the moments when Yohan relaxed for him, enough to sleep. Sleep was a demonstration of both trust and hope, for his little brother, and the sweetness of having Yohan asleep in his lap made Kazuki's entire world soft and bright. It didn't happen very often, even now.

Yohan had started out, today, insisting he was fine, but Kazuki had kept an eye on him as he guided Yohan through the little steps and choices of creating a flower arrangement and had seen the droop in his shoulders. Once the delicate stalks of lavender were arranged in their holder, he'd insisted that Yohan rest and Yohan had finally agreed. So when the door slid open, as Yohan's sleeping weight rested against his shoulder, he looked up with a frown, ready to warn off whoever dared to intrude.

Toshi stopped one step into the room, fingers pressed to her lips. It was a long moment before she managed to drag her eyes away from Yohan, long enough that Kazuki started to smile, and when she finally did she pointed to herself and back to the door, head tipped in a question.

She probably didn't even realize she was nibbling her lip, or that so much tenderness was plain to read in her eyes. It was that that decided Kazuki and he shook his head with a smile and freed one hand to pat the tatami beside him lightly. She crossed the room on tip toes and sat beside them silently.

"Yohan doesn't always sleep enough," Kazuki murmured, breath barely stirring the air of the room.

"He drives himself," Toshi whispered, frowning. "Only... it's him so it doesn't seem that way."

Kazuki smiled, pleased with her insight and sad at the truth of it. "His skill and power let him accomplish things no one else can, sometimes even with ease. But that doesn't mean he drives his heart any less hard, pursuing those things."

"Yes. Yes, that." Toshi's hand reached toward him for a second before she caught herself and tucked it back into her sleeve.

"I'm glad to know someone else visits, who will care for him." Toshi blushed at that, and Kazuki caught back a chuckle before it could disturb Yohan. "You have your brother's protective streak. I imagine it will stand you in good stead."

Toshi looked at him sidelong. Kazuki hid his amusement carefully. She was opening her mouth, probably to ask if he was teasing, or how much he knew, when Yohan stirred against his shoulder and rubbed his eyes.

"Aniue?" he murmured.

"Yes." Kazuki stroked back his hair, fingers gentle. "And Toshi, too."

Yohan smiled, small. "I thought so." He sat up, drawing his robes straight again, and he and Toshi looked at each other with pleased expressions.

Kazuki was starting to wonder if the entire world except him was blind, that no one else seemed to have spotted this going on. "Well, now that your research partner is here, shall I leave you to it?" he asked, lightly.

"Oh, you don't have to go, Kazuki-san," Toshi said quickly, but Kazuki noticed that Yohan hadn't answered and smiled.

"No, it's all right. I don't want Juubei to worry if I stay too long." He leaned forward and kissed Yohan's forehead and rose. "Take care of him," he added to Toshi in parting, meeting her eyes for a moment and watching them widen.

"I will," she promised.

Kazuki left them to it and made his way back out through the house, satisfied.

Kazuki had, so far, been mildly amused by the clan's efforts to find Yohan a bride, mostly because Yohan himself had been more exasperated by it than anything else. At the end of the summer, that changed.

He didn't find Yohan out in the gardens, or in the room by the waterfall, or even on the training ground, and finally went in search of Maiya instead. He found her outside one of the interior rooms, sitting beside a barely open door and chewing her lip. She looked up as he approached and he stiffened at the worry on her face. She beckoned him closer, pressing a finger to her lips. Kazuki settled silently beside her and peeked through the door.

The first thing he saw was Yohan's back, and the things he'd learned in the last year made him frown; Yohan was tense, shoulders too straight to be anything else. Looking past that, Kazuki's brows went up. In a half circle around Yohan sat the Fuuchouin councilors. Toshi sat to his right and Seifuuin Koshijirou to his left; between those two were the three surviving Fuuchouin elders and their new Kokuchouin compatriot.

"It would be reassuring to all if you took one of the Fuuchouin girls as wife," Fuuchouin Takeo was saying, persuasively. "Surely if you wish to repair the breach between the Houses that would be the best way."

That argument Kazuki hadn't heard before, and he frowned. How long had they been pressuring Yohan on those grounds? He drew a string out delicately, not letting his bell chime, and cast it through the door to Yohan's ear. "I'm here for you, if you wish," he whispered down it.

Yohan's shoulders relaxed a fraction and he nodded, as if to Takeo. "It would do little to reinforce the unity of the clan if it is evident that my Fuuchouin wife and I never speak."

"It would lend legitimacy, at least," old Seiji grumbled, and Kazuki's mouth tightened. He stood and nodded to Maiya, who knelt, grinning, and slid open the door for him to step through.

"And what cause do any have to question the legitimacy of my heir and successor?" he asked, settling back to the tatami beside Yohan. And, carefully, just a bit behind him. He lifted his brows in calm question at the councilors, who gaped back at him.

"Kazuki-sama!"

"What..."

"When did you..."

Through the sudden, chopped off babble, Takeo said, "Your heir, Kazuki-sama?"

"Indeed." Kazuki smiled, serene. "You may say that, during the previous ten years, I was the proper Master of Fuuchouin. But I have given over that responsibility to my younger brother. He has even completed the Kachoufuugetsu," he added, just to prick them.

He could see Takeo and Akihito shift uneasily, reminded of Yohan's strength and ability to master techniques he had only just seen, and felt the tiniest bit revenged for Yohan's tension.

"A proper succession should have been approved by the clan's councilors," Seiji said, gruff.

"Well, then, what is left but for you to approve?" Kazuki asked, and sat calmly while the debate ran aground for a silent moment on the double edge of his question.

Finally Takeo sighed. "What you say may be true. But, Kazuki-sama, a child of the hidden House..."

Kazuki felt Yohan drawing taut again, beside him, and he'd had more than enough of this. He rose, smooth and abrupt, and stood over them. "Yohan is the child of my mother and my father," he stated, cold and low. "What do you imply?"

They started back from him, even the head of Seifuuin. They remembered the sweetness of the child, no doubt. But he was not a child any longer. He had been, for ten years, Kazuki of the Strings, the Prince of Terror, most feared of the four kings of Lower Town, and he had no intention of tolerating this foolish obstruction.

Finally Yohan stirred and looked up at him. "Aniue," he said, quietly.

Kazuki looked down and saw the faint light of amusement in Yohan's eyes, though none touched his face. He sniffed and settled back to his knees. "Very well."

And if any had doubted that Kazuki had truly given over rule of the clan into Yohan's hands, they should not doubt it now.

"My honored elder brother has been a long while among rough elements," Yohan murmured in his most formal periods. "And he is now unaccustomed to having his will crossed."

Kazuki choked down a laugh at the irony of such a statement from Yohan, of all people, but it did its job. He could see the councilors' expressions changing as they really looked at him, at his clothes even, which were very much not traditional or formal—as Yohan's were. As they thought about what kind of clan lord he might make now. Yohan had a talent for this kind of maneuver, Kazuki thought with pride.

Takeo cleared his throat. "I intended no insult to Hana-sama, I assure you, nor does anyone doubt Yohan-sama's birth."

Kazuki followed the advantage while they had it. "My brother is blood of Fuuchouin, the highest of Fuuchouin, and yet raised among the Kokuchouin. Who else could possibly heal our clan? Who else would have the knowledge and the compassion to to do?" And if Yohan was still new to his compassion, well more shame to the clan that it took that long for anyone to show it to him.

"Even so, it would soothe the clan if he had a wife of Fuuchouin rearing," Akihito murmured, and Kazuki started to wonder if he really would have to do something drastic to one of them to break through this stubbornness.

Before he could decide how to convey the offer to Yohan though, Toshi, who had been quiet so far, interrupted, slapping a hand down to the tatami beside her knee. "I will hear no more of this!"

Kazuki blinked, wondering for one shocked moment if she was actually going to put her own intentions forward here and now.

But no. She rose and stood in front of Yohan, facing the elders. "Kokuchouin Yohan is the Master of Fuuchouin and the lord of this clan! Toufuuin has acknowledged him and will tolerate no more of this insolence!"

"Are you so sure of your brother's feelings in this?" Akihito asked sharply.

"I speak with his voice, in this as in all else," Toshi shot back with such iron certainty that Akihito subsided. "Toufuuin follows Yohan-sama." She gave Koshijirou a narrow look, and he gave her back a sardonic smile.

"Our clan lord is the strongest wielder of our arts living," he observed. "Seifuuin follows him." Obviously his tone added.

"I have no intention of challenging the Master of my House," Takeo started, exasperated.

"Then you will say no more of this," Toshi cut over him. "Your council has been heard. Now be silent." She stalked to the outer door and threw it open, pausing in the doorway to glance imperiously over her shoulder. Koshijirou bowed to Yohan and joined her with a smirk at the elders, who, after a few glances back and forth, gave in and followed. Toshi saw the last of them out of the room, turned and bowed to Yohan, and closed the door after her very firmly.

"Well," Kazuki said after a moment. "She knows how to get things done."

"She does," Yohan said, low, looking aside. Kazuki turned and gathered him close, protective.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked against Yohan's hair.

"Ever since I refused the last woman less than twenty years my elder they found to parade in front of me," Yohan sighed, leaning against Kazuki's shoulder wearily. "A few weeks."

"At least Toshi sympathizes," Kazuki offered.

Yohan laughed softly. "She complains whenever one of their visits interrupts one of ours, at any rate."

Kazuki hesitated, but who else was going to speak with Yohan about these things? "She likes you, I think."

Yohan looked up at him, startled. "She... does?"

Kazuki really couldn't help smiling at his surprise, and stroked his hair back gently. "She visits almost as often as I do, doesn't she?"

"She helps me research some of the lost techniques." It was more a question than a statement, though.

"And she talks with you. And she listens to you play. And she defends you from your unwanted suitors," Kazuki added.

Yohan actually blushed. "You really think so?" he murmured, fingers fidgeting with the edge of Kazuki's sleeve.

"I'm almost positive." And he was definitely positive that Yohan liked her back, which seemed a much better start than he had with any other candidate.

"Oh."

Kazuki smiled, satisfied that he'd done his duty as a big brother. Now he just wondered when one of them would manage to bring the topic up.

Cat's Cradle - Chapter Four

When Toshi makes her choice known, Saizou has to deal with everything that's still between he and Yohan. Drama, Fluff, Angst, I-4

"You want to what?" Saizou yelped, staring at his little sister while Toshiki snatched for his coffee mug before it could hit the floor.

She lifted her chin in that way that made his stomach sink because it wasn't just stubborn. That was her "doing the right thing" expression. "I want to marry Yohan."

Saizou sat down with a thump in the nearest kitchen chair. "But you can't... I mean that's... Yohan?"

"It will stop the clan elders arguing over whether he should marry Fuuchouin or Kokuchouin blood, everyone in the clan knows me or at least knows of me, and Yohan won't have a wife who isn't a warrior," she listed off briskly. "And besides, I..." she looked down at her hands, clasped on the kitchen table, "I... want to."

"You've already agreed to this?" Saizou asked, feeling a little dazed.

"Well no. Not exactly." She reclasped her hands. "It would mean I couldn't serve as your voice any more, so I wanted to talk to you first."

Saizou scrubbed his hands over his face. "Toshi..." His little sister wanted to marry Yohan. His little sister wanted to marry Yohan. Toshiki patted his shoulder with a heartless chuckle, but he also gave Saizou back his filled coffee mug. Saizou clutched it and tried to make his brain work.

"Onii-sama, do you... really dislike him?" Toshi asked hesitantly.

Saizou took a fortifying slug of coffee. "It's more complicated than that," he muttered. "I know he's changed, Toshi, but I've seen him do horrifying things." Some of them had been done to Saizou himself.

"I know."

Saizou looked up, startled, and Toshi met his eyes levelly. "I know. He told me some of them. When I asked why Takeo-san and Akihito-san were being so stubborn about getting a Fuuchouin wife. But he has changed since then. He's..." she looked down again, cheeks pink, "he's kind. And brilliant. And he really wants to do what's best."

Saizou groaned. Under her hard-headed presentation, his sister was an idealist at heart; if those two had bonded over that it was all over except the question of what flowers she'd wear for the ceremony.

Still.

"Toshi, are you really sure about this?" he couldn't help asking.

She glared at him. "Onii-sama, you are so—"

"Toshi," Kazuki interrupted, hands sliding over Saizou's shoulders. "Let us talk this over among ourselves."

She sat back with a huff, still looking daggers at Saizou. "Oh all right."

Juubei, who Saizou could just tell was hiding amusement behind that deadpan look, pushed away from the doorway where he'd been leaning. "Ane-chan asked if you would like to visit, the next time you were in Lower Town," he offered.

As she left with him, spine almost as stiff as his, Saizou let his head drop back against Kazuki's stomach. "What the hell am I going to do?"

"You're going to stop panicking and relax," Kazuki told him.

"Easier said than done."

Toshiki turned a chair around and sat, resting his arms across the back as he regarded Saizou. "I know you've forgiven him, even if you can't actually deal with him very well," he said. "So what's got you so knotted up about this?"

"It's my sister!" Saizou waved his hands, unable to find any stronger words than that.

"And it's my brother," Kazuki murmured, arms folding around his shoulders and drawing him back again. Saizou bit his lip.

"I don't mean he'd do anything to her," he started.

"Shh." Kazuki pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "I know. It's just that they'll be very close, and they might hurt each other. And we don't want that to happen."

Saizou craned his head back to look up at Kazuki. "How are you so calm about this?"

Kazuki smiled down at him. "Because I've watched them falling in love for half a year."

Saizou opened his mouth and closed it again. "And you didn't tell me?"

"They've also been studiously avoiding admitting it, the whole time," Kazuki pointed out. "And if you'd mentioned it to Toshi before she did, who knows what would have happened?"

Toshiki rested his chin on his arms with a wry grin. "Always a step ahead."

"Because he cheats," Saizou muttered.

"Well, if you want to see for yourself, why don't you come with me, the next time she visits him?" Kazuki returned.

Toshiki laughed out loud, probably at Saizou's expression, Saizou admitted ruefully. "I yield," he sighed, and lifted one of Kazuki's hands to kiss the back.

"Good," Kazuki said comfortably. "Because it's about time you did see them for yourself."

They obviously had Kazuki's blessing already, so Saizou tried not to worry. Too much.

"Are you sure...?" Saizou asked for the sixth or so time.

"We're far from the only ones watching those two," Kazuki murmured, nodding to a Kokuchouin retainer as they slipped quietly up the stairs. "Besides Maiya, and sometimes even Takeo these days, at least half of Yohan's retainers find an excuse to keep an eye on them. Yohan won't notice us in the crowd. This should do." They emerged onto one of the second level open rooms and Kazuki knelt behind the balcony half-wall and gestured Saizou down beside him.

Peeking over, he could see Toshi and Yohan sitting on one of the garden benches below.

Toshi was teaching Yohan string figures.

"Now the little fingers go all the way over to get the thumb string." She illustrated, and Yohan followed but missed one side. "Ah, keep the tension on the string! Here." She shook her string off her fingers and helped Yohan recover his, fingers dancing over the web of his strings as she directed. Yohan was looking studiously at his hands, but he was also smiling in a way that a loop of tangled string really didn't deserve.

"There! The butterfly."

Yohan did it a few more times and regarded the figure between his hands. "The Butterfly is also your favorite form, isn't it? Your fighting pattern always comes back to it."

Toshi's mouth quirked, and her fingers flickered through three figures in quick succession. "Well, actually... the Flowing River is my favorite. Enough that Onii-sama said I needed to stop using it so much."

"Ah. The Butterfly is your reminder, then."

Toshi smiled, fingers slowing again. "Yes, exactly! It helps me to remember the indirect approaches."

Yohan tipped his head, looking at her for a long moment. "Saizou is wise. But you should use Flowing River more often, I think. To deflect and strike through the center that way is very true to the heart of you."

Toshi's fingers stilled entirely, and the two of them just sat there looking at each other, apparently oblivious to anything else in the world. Saizou slid down behind the half-wall with a quiet sigh.

"They really are totally in love, aren't they?"

"They do seem to be." Kazuki settled beside him, shoulder touching his. "I've found them training and researching and talking about philosophy and history and even gardening, but sooner or later it always seems to come down to this." He gestured at the silent, absorbed couple below them.

"I should have known the very first day," Saizou muttered. "When she hustled him for a match."

Kazuki pressed a hand over his mouth, eyes dancing. "Does it run in the family?" he asked, once his shoulders had stopped shaking with laughter.

"Seems to." Saizou shook his head, rueful.

Yohan's voice drifted up from below. "Show me another one?"

"Come on," Saizou whispered. "I don't think I can take much for of the syrup before I drown."

They had slipped down the stairs and back out through the house, all the way to the bridge on the outer path before he put a finger on what was oddest about the whole afternoon. "Yohan really didn't seem to know we were there," he said finally.

"Mm." Kazuki perched on one of the railings. "That does seem to happen a good deal; every now and then I've surprised him walking into the room when he's with her. He seems to focus on her very exclusively when they're together."

"The Beltline was a lot... quieter, today, too."

"Yohan's is the strongest will here," Kazuki said quietly.

"You're saying he quiets it for her." Saizou crossed his arms and leaned against the other railing, considering that.

"More than that. I think she quiets him enough that the effect blankets the entire Beltline. It's been getting calmer and calmer over the past few seasons. But yes, nothing in the Beltline dares approach her any more."

Saizou sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm talking myself into this, aren't I?"

"I hope so. I think they'll be good for each other." Kazuki smiled gently at Saizou. "I wouldn't have encouraged it if I'd thought otherwise." His smile quirked. "And just in time, too." He nodded back down the path to where their siblings were coming, side by side.

"They're practically holding hands," Saizou groaned.

Kazuki laughed out loud. "I had no idea you were still such a traditionalist, Saizou!"

The children were close enough to spot them, by then, and Toshi was giving Saizou a look of mingled apprehension and suspicion. "Onii-sama? What are you doing here?"

He looked at her, and the way she drew a protective step closer to Yohan, and the way Yohan turned toward her without hesitation, and heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Okay. Okay, fine. If you really want him that much, you can have him."

Toshi lit up like sunrise. "Onii-sama!" She dashed the few steps up the bridge and threw herself into his arms, nearly sending both of them over the rail.

And then, just as quickly, she skipped back to Yohan, smiling up at him. "I do! I would! I mean..." she glanced down and back up, suddenly shy. "If you want to."

Yohan was looking back and forth between Saizou and Kazuki. "Saizou?" he asked.

He didn't hesitate, though, about taking Toshi's hands in his, and Saizou snorted wryly.

"Yeah. Not that it looks like the two of you really need it, but you have my blessing."

Yohan looked back at Toshi and smiled like Saizou had never seen before, sweet and happy and young, and Saizou had to swallow tightness out of his throat for a moment.

"I would be honored if you would marry me, Toufuuin Toshi," Yohan said softly, and Toshi laughed up at him.

"I would be honored to accept."

When it looked like they might just keep standing there, staring at each other, Saizou murmured dryly, "Scaring up the family members for this ceremony is going to be a project."

Toshi looked away long enough to stick out her tongue at him, and Saizou laughed. It was good to see his sister so happy.

"Family, yes." Yohan looked up at him again. "Will you choose another to act in your place with the clan, then?"

The thought that Saizou had been trying not to look at ever since Toshi first spoke to him darted up again. He could choose another. Or he could... not. He could return to Yohan's side himself, to this smiling gentle-eyed Yohan who he was trusting with his little sister.

To Yohan, who had trapped him in service and torment for eight long years.

To Yohan, who had all the deadly grace of the Fuuchouin line and had held him with more than force alone.

Saizou's hands clenched tight, and he had to swallow before he could speak. "I... don't know. Let me consider."

Yohan nodded slowly. "Of course."

Kazuki came to Saizou and linked an arm through his. "I'll take Saizou home, then, and you two can decide how you want to announce this to Takeo."

Yohan's eyes on Saizou were still grave, but a tiny smile curled the corner of his mouth, and Toshi had a definite light of mischief in her eyes. "We'll think on that, yes," she murmured.

As Kazuki led him back toward the gates, Saizou was aware that the decision he had made today had been the easy one.

Kazuki and Toshiki and Juubei had held and comforted Saizou while he wrestled with his past, with the braid of fear and sympathy and pain that still ran taut between he and Yohan. He was grateful for them, desperately grateful for the peace and shelter that belonging to Kazuki gave him. But he knew that he couldn't live out his whole life never going beyond that shelter.

In the end, Saizou had come to Sakura for a second opinion.

Sakura sat him down in her sunlit kitchen and made tea for them both, and listened as he told her things she already knew, things she had sifted out of his heart while he held her under the curse seal, and things he was only starting to become aware of. Chief among them, of course, the knowledge that he truly did want to return to Yohan's side.

Saizou drove his fingers into his hair. "Sakura, you're the smart one around here. Tell me why I'm even considering going back?"

He didn't honestly expect her to give him an answer, but she looked at him soberly for a long moment, arms crossed over her stomach, and finally sighed.

"He betrayed you. He held leadership over you with one hand and with the other denied everything that it means to lead. But you can't forget his brilliance, or the security of being led by such a powerful spirit. It draws you back, even when you fear to be betrayed and cast aside again."

He lifted his head and stared at her shocked to his bones, shaken by the blunt truth of her words. "How... how do you know?"

She came to him and rested her hands on his shoulders. Her smile was faint and shadowed. "I recognized that expression."

The world tilted and slid sideways and suddenly he heard another name behind the "he" she'd spoken. "Sakura..." He stared at her, reaching out to gather her closer, needing to comfort the hurt hiding behind her small smile. He knew that smile and that hurt.

She leaned against him and sighed, arms folded around his shoulders. "He did come back to us. He came back and he cared for us, little by little, more and more, and now we're safe in his hands, and I've forgiven him, truly I have, I know the pain he carried that drove him away, but..." She took a deep, unsteady breath and let it out. "I recognized how you looked, just now."

Saizou rested his cheek against her stomach. "You have a great heart. I don't know if mine is that strong."

"It is," she said softly against his hair. "You just want it to make logical sense to you, too."

After a moment Saizou chuckled, ruefully. "I did say you were the smart one."

Sakura took his face in her hands to make him look up. "I believe in you," she said, steadily. "I believe that you will never betray Kazuki, by this. And I believe that you will not betray yourself, either."

Saizou closed his eyes, letting her words fill him. Sakura believed in him. He held on to that like a lifeline in a storm. "Thank you," he whispered.

She leaned down and kissed him softly. "Go see him. Find what it is you need to know."

"Far be it from me to disobey the word of our House's councilor," Saizou murmured, wry.

"Really?" She looked down at him with a tiny smile. "Well, then. Go see him tomorrow." She took his hands and pulled him up and off toward her bedroom.

Saizou stood in the door of what he thought might be Yohan's favorite room, the one that overlooked the waterfall. Both Kazuki and Toshi mentioned this room frequently. Yohan was sitting by the open screens, back to the door. Saizou wasn't in the least surprised, though, when he murmured, "Come in, Saizou."

He came silently and sat across the way from Yohan, looking out over the water too, his hands clenched on his thighs.

"I have already said I will not force your service again," Yohan said after a while. "If you object..."

"It isn't that," Saizou interrupted, tightly. "If it were, I'd just choose another to speak for me and be done with it."

Finally Yohan looked at him, quiet and clear-eyed. "What is it, then?"

Saizou dropped his head, eyes closed. "It's that I do want to return," he said, low.

"I know your heart belongs to Aniue," Yohan said tentatively, as if he were feeling his way into this tangle too. Saizou huffed half a laugh.

"That's less of a problem than I thought it might be, now that more of the clan has met Kazuki and seen how completely he's released the clan to you. No one will think there might be a conflict of clan loyalty."

"So for appearances. What of reality?" Yohan asked.

That was the perception, cutting straight to the core, that drew Saizou so. "If Kazuki should ever choose to command something of me that conflicted with your orders, it's him I would obey," he said quietly. "But Kazuki loves you. He trusts the clan to you. I believe he would not do such a thing."

After a long moment Yohan said, "You entrust yourself greatly to our hands."

A shudder raked through Saizou, and he wrapped his arms around himself. "I... want to."

The past hung in the silence between them, the pain both of them had carried, had shared in a twisted way, and the fact that Yohan had been responsible for Saizou's.

"Perhaps," Yohan said at last, "we should take wisdom from your sister."

Saizou looked at him blankly, unable to make any sense of the words.

"You have not fought me since that first time, when I defeated you." Yohan held Saizou's eyes as he started. "Perhaps it is time you did."

Saizou swallowed, years of fear clamoring that it was pointless, hopeless, that to fight Yohan would only mean destruction—that or the shame of knowing there was nothing, nothing at all, he could do against Yohan.

But there was no glint of amusement or irony in Yohan's eyes now, nothing of those years, only quiet waiting. And perhaps that was Yohan's point. Saizou took a shaking breath.

"You both have that ruthlessness, you and Kazuki," he said, husky. "All right."

"Come, then." Yohan rose and led the way back out through the house to the same training ground where Toshi had demanded a match. Now the remark about his sister's wisdom made sense. Yohan stood in the center of the space, bell gleaming between his fingers, and simply waited.

Saizou took a breath, and then another, and sent his strings flashing out in the Winter Gale.

It was a strange fight. He felt as though he were fighting himself as much as he was Yohan, fighting the drag and twitch of fear in his muscles, fighting ghosts of the past that told him to cower behind the Jade Shield and not dare strike out. He fought past that, as well as Yohan's attacks, and breathed freer with every attack, twisting aside from the Rain Shower to return it with the Blossoming Plum, blood singing every time an attack drove Yohan to step aside.

He knew Yohan was not fighting with his full power, that this was a training match and not a true battle. But the knowledge didn't hurt; it was what they'd set out to do after all, to take each other's measure on this ground, and Yohan's grace called to him the way Kazuki's had the first time they fought. He gave himself up to that grace again and let the rhythm of the match take him, moving through the forms like flying, hovering, watching for the opportunity to dive.

At last, Yohan spun his strings out into a form Saizou didn't recognize, and he tensed, wondering if Yohan would use one of the hidden techniques on him now. In a flicker of decision he chose to meet Yohan's lunge head on, seeking to entangle his strings in the Night Forest Web. Yohan's strings didn't close on him, though. Instead they drew taut just out of his range and sang.

Saizou thought he cried out; he couldn't tell. Sound and more than sound poured through him, halted him as surely as a binding but without holding him, cut through him like a knife but without touching him. He felt like it should be tearing his body apart, crushing him, but the force of it flowed through him without pause or pain.

When it released him his legs wouldn't hold him up and he stumbled down to the ground, stunned. Yohan walked back to him and Saizou took a breath and looked up. "What...?" he managed, voice rough.

"What are the four principles of our art?" Yohan asked in return.

Saizou blinked at him. "To cut, to reflect, to strike, and to bind," he answered, slowly. What was this, catechism?

"And so the signature forms of the four Houses, each one particularly and powerfully expressing one of the four principles," Yohan agreed. "But there is a fifth. It is the core and root of all the others. Resonance."

Saizou's eyes widened; that was what the unknown form had done, then. Passed the resonance of the strings into his body, far more powerfully than any technique he'd ever heard of.

"That," Yohan said softly, "was the Dance of the Yellow Dragon. I believe that it used to be the Fuuchouin succession technique, before Kachoufuugetsu—before the hidden arts were laid on the Kokuchouin—the proof that the heir had mastered the deepest root, as well as the highest reaches, of the art, and comprehended their unity and harmony." More softly still he finished, "Toufuuin Saizou, do you accept it?"

Harmony. To conquer without injury. Saizou buried his face in his hands and laughed, breathless and helpless. Yohan was Kazuki's brother after all. "Yes," he whispered at last, and looked up again, smiling, at his clan lord. "Yes."

Yohan smiled, small but pleased and bright. "I'm glad."

Saizou bent his head and let his new knowledge settle into his heart. Yohan had found a place for life instead of the death that he'd worn like an over-robe for all those years. He would care for Fuuchouin and bring it harmony, and Saizou was welcomed, not bound, at his side. It fit; it made sense; Kazuki was the Master of his House and heart, and Yohan was the Master of his clan. His honor would be safe in their hands. He let out a trembling breath, feeling himself truly relax.

Yohan touched his shoulder. "Come back inside." Now there was a hint of amusement in his eyes, but it was lighter than it had been before. "Aniue won't like it if I send you back to him in this condition."

Saizou snorted and levered himself upright. He could foresee his life getting complicated, between those two. To say nothing of what would happen when his sister mixed in.

Saizou's first meeting with the rest of Yohan's councilors wasn't particularly comfortable. He hadn't expected it to be. He remembered Seifuuin Koshijirou, after all, who seemed to feel it was his spiritual duty to never make anyone comfortable if he could help it.

"Saizou," Koshijirou greeted him, on the engawa outside the room they would meet in. "I see you've finally regrown your courage."

Saizou gave him a glittering grin. "Koshijirou. Well, you know how it is. It's astonishing what it can do to people when they actually resist instead of licking the feet of whoever presents himself."

Koshijirou laughed, apparently perfectly pleased. "It's good to have you back."

Some people, in Saizou's opinion, had really bad hobbies.

He heard the patter of running feet behind him and habit braced him by the time Maiya's weight landed on his shoulders. "Saizou!" Having failed to knock him over she swung down beside him and he blinked at her.

"Maiya-chan. You're dressed." Koshijirou snorted, and Saizou had to admit Maiya wasn't entirely dressed by a long way, but she had added a pair of prettily printed hakama to her usual, desperately scanty, outfit; by contrast she nearly looked demure.

Maiya beamed at him. "Well, now Yohan lets the weather change here, it gets cold sometimes. Besides, Toshi blushes if I'm not."

Toshi, coming behind her at a much more sedate pace, blushed demonstratively. "It's not that I want to interfere, Maiya-san, it's just..."

Maiya waved it off. "Oh, don't worry. If I need to fight, it's easy enough to get these off." She patted her thigh and Saizou heard the chime of her leg bells, apparently still in place under the fabric.

"Wasting time chattering about fashion can wait," grumbled an old man, who Saizou decided must be Seiji, as he stumped past them into the room. Maiya giggled in her most mendaciously brainless fashion and jiggled her breasts at him, and Saizou watched with interest as his neck turned red. Maiya must not like him very much; Saizou didn't discount that.

After all, the man must be completely oblivious not to have realized that they'd spend most of this meeting talking about fashion. Toshi would make sure of that.

He nodded to Maiya, gestured Toshi in ahead of him, and went to take his place at Yohan's right.

The actual marriage contract was settled quickly, despite Seiji's occasional grumpy noises, presumably at Toshi's participation; the families were already allies and more, after all. The marriage would only reconfirm Toufuuin's place within the Fuuchouin clan.

"Framing this as some kind of new alliance will only lead to further division," Saizou said firmly to Kokuchouin Gorou's suggestion, ignoring the sidelong glances of the Fuuchouin elders. "Toufuuin serves our clan lord willingly, and I won't suggest it might be otherwise."

Finally no one could think of any more clauses he needed to reject. Saizou sat back and opened a hand discreetly to his sister.

Toshi's eyes sparkled.

"Well, then, let us discuss the ceremonies themselves," she said brightly.

On mature consideration, Saizou decided thoughtfully, he wasn't entirely surprised that Maiya and Toshi were getting along. They had very similar senses of humor, under certain circumstances, and the clan elders had obviously been getting on Toshi's nerves for a while now. He was reasonably sure she didn't actually want a modern wedding with church trappings, and had only suggested it to see the colors Seiji and Akihito would turn, but she had no compunction about using the specter of it as a bargaining chip to wring out every single outfit, ornament and moment of display tradition afforded. Saizou just smiled blandly and agreed to every single demand. By the time they were done, the celebration had expanded into a week long festival, and Takeo was looking appalled at the notion that it would have to be hosted here in the Beltline.

"Your sister is a dangerous woman to cross," he murmured ruefully to Saizou as they all stood to go.

"She certainly is," he agreed with a brilliant smile.

"I wish I had known sooner that she favored Yohan-sama for herself." Takeo cast a thoughtful look over his shoulder to where Yohan and Toshi were saying temporary goodbye at great length.

Saizou snorted. "You and me both. But I think it's for the best. She loves his idealism and Yohan needs a bright heart in his life, and Kazuki doesn't actually live here."

Takeo stopped and looked at him for a long moment. "You know Yohan-sama well," he finally said.

"Yes," Saizou agreed, quiet. "I do."

Takeo smiled. "I had wondered whether your return to the clan council was wise." He bowed deeply. "Forgive me for doubting you, Master of Toufuuin."

Saizou's mouth quirked. "You didn't doubt me any more than I did. For a while there was cause. But we're both healing from it, Yohan and I. Toufuuin will be well; and so will Fuuchouin." His smile widened. "All the more after the entire clan sees Yohan, and Yohan and Kazuki together, at this circus of a wedding."

Takeo paused, brows lifting, and looked back at Toshi again, this time with open respect. "I... see." He smiled, small and rueful. "I will do my best to follow my lady's program, then."

"Usually wisest," Saizou agreed, and clapped him on the shoulder companionably.

After all, trimming Toshi down to size was his job, and he didn't intend to let it out to anyone else.

Takeo nodded to him and moved off after his fellows, and Yohan and Toshi finally emerged from the room. Saizou traded identical grins with his sister. "Go tell Maiya about your victory, then," he told her. "I'll catch up with you at the gates."

Toshi laughed and ran the other way down the engawa.

"Saizou," Yohan said quietly, looking after her. "Thank you."

Saizou shrugged. "It was her choice. I just agreed to it."

"You did—to all of it." Yohan turned that even gaze on him. "That's why I'm thanking you."

Saizou hesitated for a moment, but at last he took a slow breath and knelt down in full salute at Yohan's feet. The body memory of heart-pain from the many times he'd done this before pulled at him, but he pushed it away with the crisp cool of the fall afternoon here and now and the memory of the new Dance Yohan had shown him. "It is my duty and my honor," he said firmly.

"Saizou." There was startlement and wonder in Yohan's voice, and Saizou smiled to himself. Neither would have shown, or even existed, two years ago.

He stood and gave Yohan a brighter grin. "Of course, you realize, as your big-brother-in-law, I'm going to tease you now. That's my duty too."

Yohan looked up at him, startlement softening into a smile. "Is it? Perhaps I'll look forward to it, then."

The trust of those words kept Saizou company all the way home.

Cat's Cradle - Epilogue

Kazuki teaches Toshi the Phoenix, and she finds a new beginning for the whole clan in it. Drama, Utter Fluff, I-4

Kazuki walked through the house grounds as evening fell, nodding to the little knots of people he met. They bowed and murmured his name respectfully, but without the edges of fear or hope or anger so many had shown at the beginning of the week.

Almost all of the four Houses that remained were here for the celebrations surrounding Yohan and Toshi's wedding; Kazuki was fairly sure Yohan had extended the compound even further than usual for the occasion. There had been feasts and receptions and, this being the Fuuchouin clan after all, competitions every day. Maiya had distinguished herself, and not only because she had nearly caused her opponents apoplexy when she casually stripped down to her fighting array. Even without the hidden techniques, her skill at the binding forms that Yohan said were the hallmark of the Northern House was outstanding. There were even murmurs starting about reconstituting the Thirteen Strings—Maiya among them. Saizou had trounced Seifuuin Koshijirou in their own match, which seemed to satisfy both of them. Toshi had fought three of her own House to a standstill, and Kazuki had had to smile at the approving sounds the onlookers to that match had made. Fortunately, Toshi hadn't seemed to catch any of the details, most of which concerned what strong children she would bear.

And Kazuki... well, Kazuki had had a match with Yohan.

They were accustomed to each other after a year and more of training together, of course; that hadn't been the point of this fight. No, this had been a demonstration for the clan. They had worked up through the simpler techniques all the way to Kachoufuugetsu, and when Yohan had reversed the Empty Moon onto him, Kazuki had yielded. The watchers had been silent, after, maybe shocked, maybe frightened, until Kazuki had laughed and caught Yohan up in a hug. The shock and fear hadn't survived the sight of the clan lord flushed and flustered and having his hair ruffled. Yohan had given Kazuki a distinctly exasperated look, after, but softness had lurked behind it.

Now it was the last evening of the celebrations, and Kazuki had one more duty to fulfill before it was over. He was looking for Toshi.

He found her in one of the inner courtyards, brushing the sleeves of yet another outfit straight, and had to chuckle. "If I can delay your appearance for just a little while," he called to her.

"Kazuki-sama!" She paused and came to look up at him with a glint of mischief much like her brother's. "I suppose I should say Onii-sama, now."

"I'd be quite pleased if you did. It's a good moment for it, I believe; before you go out, I need to show you something to keep for the family." She cocked her head at him, questioning, and he waved for her to walk with him.

"There is a technique that appears in none of the regular Fuuchouin scrolls," he said quietly as they paced through the halls and out into the gardens. "It has been a hidden technique of its own, passed down among those who marry into the Fuuchouin main house. It's called the Phoenix." He glanced at her, curious. "Have you and Yohan found any mention of it in your researches?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

Kazuki nodded, not entirely surprised. "My mother, in her wisdom, taught it to me and so preserved it for the moment it would be most needed. I give you her words to me: Flowers are beautiful, but they can only abide in one place. The wind in nimble, but it has no will. The moon gleams from on high, but it has no warmth. However, birds not only shine beautifully, but have freedom and agility... They fly freely of their own will, and because of their warm wings, they can soar as high as they wish." Kazuki stopped beside one of the pools and turned to Toshi. "It is not an art of strength, but of compassion and resolve. And now the heart of Fuuchouin comes to you."

She nodded solemnly, eyes fixed on him as he took a bell between his fingers. He showed her the steps of it, so deceptively simple, and guided her from one to the next until she cast the Phoenix up into the sky and he could feel that it was right.

Toshi stood in the shadows of the trees, looking at the feather between her fingers. "This form... to complete it could take my life," she said softly.

"If necessary, yes," Kazuki agreed, voice steady.

"But what if..." She chewed her lip. Finally her chin lifted. "Yes. Kazuki-sama, please come with me." She spun around and set off through the grounds toward the main court where Yohan and the heads of the Houses were waiting. There she waved off the compliments and smiles that met her and plunged into a whispered conversation with Yohan, hands shaping the air. Yohan listened and frowned and nodded, and finally rose and came with Toshi to Kazuki.

"Aniue," he said. "Toshi wishes to give a gift to our clan. Do you approve?"

Kazuki could only imagine one thing she might want to do, and stared at her. "Toshi...!" He didn't dare even look at Saizou, who was already eying his sister suspiciously.

"It can be done," she insisted, eyes alight. "I know it can be done."

Kazuki pressed his lips tight. "Give me your word that if it doesn't go as you think it will, you'll break off."

Toshi nodded. "I promise. I'm not courting death at my wedding, honestly!"

Kazuki sighed; the glitter in her eyes still made him nervous, but she had given her word. "Very well. I approve."

Yohan and Toshi moved out into the open center of the court together. Murmurs ran around the perimeter as people noticed the bell and feather in their fingers. Saizou started making his way around the edge to Kazuki, frowning faintly. Toshi lifted her head and raised her voice to be heard by all.

"There are many who could not be present to celebrate with us; but they are not gone." She held out her hand to Yohan, in the sudden silence, and he wove his strings out around her in the taut framework of the Yellow Dragon. Kazuki's eyes widened with sudden understanding, and he leaned forward, watching Toshi gather her strings within that enfolding, magnifying resonance and cast them upwards. The song of them, actually audible, spilled over the watchers and beyond, though the entire compound.

And the Phoenix descended.

And the Dragon rose to meet it.

Kazuki pressed a hand to his mouth, eyes blind with sudden tears. He could feel his mother's presence, and his father's, and those who had watched over him growing up. Saizou's arms closed around him and he turned to bury his head against Saizou's shoulder, feeling the hitch of quick, choked breaths in Saizou's chest. His family was here, and he had their blessing.

He blinked his eyes clear and looked up to see the glimmering presence of the Dragon and Phoenix whirling together over the clan. Yohan and Toshi were standing below, in each other's arms. As the forms they'd called together faded, Kazuki heard soft sobs and the swell of softer words, laughter, remembrance, not only in the court but from the rooms and gardens beyond it. As Yohan and Toshi moved back to the platform where the heads of the Houses and their councilors sat, Kazuki watched people part before them and bow deeply, ungrudgingly to them both. "It will all be well," he said softly.

"Yes," Saizou agreed, as Juubei and Sakura and Toshiki slipped in through the crowd to find them. "It really will."

Kazuki met his brother's eyes across the court, as his little House gathered around him, and smiled, open and free.

It would all be well.

End

A/N: The translation of Kazuki's mother's description of the Phoenix is by Jane, direct from the manga.

Cat's Cradle - Omake Two

An alternate way it could have gone, the first time Kazuki makes Yohan take a nap, supposing that Maiya didn't show up until considerably later. Porn, Drama, light D/s I-4

Warning: Contains consensual sibling incest.

Yohan woke slowly.

He was warm, and the light through his eyelids was soft, and his pillow was a very odd shape... oh. That was right. Kazuki had made him sleep.

He rubbed his eyes and looked up, sleepily, and yes, his brother was looking down at him with a gentle smile and there were fingers stroking his hair back from his face. "Aniue."

"Feel better now?" His brother leaned down to drop a kiss on his forehead.

Perhaps because he was still half asleep, impulse became action without thought and Yohan lifted his face so that the kiss met his mouth instead. Kazuki made a startled sound even as his hand cupped the back of Yohan's head to steady him. "Yohan?" he murmured, drawing back.

Thought woke again, urging caution, but desire had woken also with that soft brush of lips, the same desire he'd fled rather than admit after their battle. But Kazuki was here now, in any case, and Yohan wanted so much. He leaned up on one hand, laying the other on his brother's chest entreatingly. "Aniue... please?"

After a long moment Kazuki's hand rose to curve around his jaw, lifting his chin, and Yohan couldn't help the way his breath cut short in a rush of want. Slowly, watching him, his brother leaned down again to kiss him, gentle and easy, and Yohan leaned into the kiss, lips parting under Kazuki's. The invitation was taken and Yohan made a soft sound, half hope and half pleading, as his brother's kiss deepened.

He wanted this so much.

Kazuki reached out to gather him closer until Yohan was half lying against his chest, haori sliding down his shoulders. And pliant. Utterly pliant in his brother's arms. When Kazuki's hand urged his chin up further, Yohan let his head fall back, and when his brother's lips traced down his bared throat he gasped, a shiver running down his body.

"Yohan," Kazuki murmured, lips brushing his throat, "did you want me to take the clan back from you?"

It was the question and the desire he'd run from at the time, and it shook him now. "I don't..." he whispered, voice taut with the arch of his neck. "There are so many things I want to do. To change. But..." His brother kissed his throat again and he gasped, shaking. "For now... just for now, please. Please, Aniue."

He had been conquered, in that battle. Beyond technique and skill was the heart, and when the heart could no longer drive all skill failed. Kazuki had conquered his heart, and given no quarter. And in his brother's conquest, he had tasted the sweetness of being guided and commanded by his brother's will and love. The sweetness of belonging and shelter and rest.

"Please," he begged, hands sliding up to cling to Kazuki's shoulders. "Just for now..."

His brother's fingers slid into his hair, cradling his head, and Kazuki kissed him, deep and intent. "Yes," he said quietly. "For now, then."

Yohan relaxed into the kiss with a sigh, surrendering to his brother's care and guidance, and kissed back soft and open. Kazuki's hands stroked down his arms, over his back, drawing him close and holding him, and Yohan moved with them willingly.

"Do you want more than this?" Kazuki murmured against his mouth, and Yohan flushed hot at the thought.

"Yes," he breathed, and Kazuki smiled.

"We'll need some place with a bed, then," he said, low, holding Yohan against him. "Because I'm not going to lay you down on the bare tatami. And," he added, "we need something to make it easier for you."

Yohan made a breathless sound, shivering, and his brother laughed softly.

"Come, then." He straightened Yohan's clothes with gentle hands and pulled him to his feet. "Show me."

Yohan led the way through the house to his bedroom, still flushed with the way Kazuki kept a hold of his hand, fingers twined through his. Once the door was closed behind them, Kazuki caught him close again, kissing him deep and slow, loosening his robes to slide them down his shoulders. He shivered at that, at the long, knowing fingers that traced over his bare shoulders and chest. "Aniue..." He couldn't quite meet his brother's eyes.

"So shy." Kazuki took his chin and tipped it up again, holding his eyes. "There's no need."

The command in that simple gesture set Yohan trembling, and he swayed against his brother. "Yes, Aniue," he whispered.

Kazuki kept him occupied with kisses as he pulled loose belts and ties until Yohan stood with all his robes in a heap around his feet. "Now, then." He pushed Yohan gently down to the bed and stepped back, shedding his own clothes swift and graceful. The line of his body, as he returned to kneel over Yohan and press him down, made Yohan's mouth dry; he knew his own strength was second to none, but the sheer grace of Kazuki's movement stopped his breath. His brother's hands stroked down his body, slow, and he shivered with the intensity of simply feeling that on his skin. Kazuki gathered him close, one hand supporting the curve of his back as he arched up helplessly into the sleek heat of Kazuki's body against his.

"Shh," Kazuki murmured to him. "Now you need to trust me, and relax for me, little brother." One hand kneaded the small of Yohan's back, easing the building tension in him, and Yohan obeyed with a shaky breath. He lay pliant against Kazuki's chest as his brother searched through his bedside nook, and turned his face into Kazuki's shoulder. He gasped at the first touch of warm, slick fingers, and Kazuki held him closer.

Those fingers circled his entrance, slow and gentle, until his breathing evened and his body relaxed, and it was his brother's patience and care that made his face heat as much as the first slide of fingers inside him. "Aniue..."

"All right?" Kazuki asked softly, cradling him close. Yohan nodded, not looking up, and his brother chuckled. "All right, then." Still soft, but more commanding he added, "Look at me."

Yohan looked up, breathless, and moaned as his brother caught his mouth, kissing him hot and deep and intent. The answering heat in his body turned sharp as Kazuki's fingers pressed in again and he gasped, trembling in his brother's arms with the unexpected surge of pleasure.

Kazuki kissed Yohan again and again as his fingers moved in and out of him. The sensation of being touched inside made Yohan flush, and Kazuki worked him slowly until Yohan was moving with him, until they were twined tight together, and Yohan was kissing back and making wanton, pleading sounds low in his throat. He didn't have to control himself; he knew his brother would judge their pace, would know when he was ready. All he had to do was surrender to Kazuki's hands, and that was such an unspeakable relief that he was dizzy with it.

"Now," Kazuki murmured, finally. Yohan made a faint, protesting sound as Kazuki slid around behind him, but subsided, soothed, when his brother's arm wound around him and drew him back snugly into the curve of Kazuki's body. "It's all right," Kazuki said softly in his ear as he guided Yohan's leg up and forward, spreading him a little open. "I have you."

"Yes," Yohan agreed, low, and shivered at the feeling of Kazuki's lips curving against his nape. And then Kazuki was pushing into him, and he was gasping, clutching the sheets as he was stretched, pushed open, filled. It was shocking. It was incredible. "Aniue!"

"Shh." Kazuki rocked just a little, in and out of him, holding him tight, and Yohan shuddered with the sensation. "All you have to do is follow. I'll take care of everything." One hand stroked down Yohan's stomach to close between his legs.

Yohan moaned with breathless submission to Kazuki's word, and let his brother's hands guide his body until he was spread out half on his stomach, gasping with each driving thrust, rocking into his brother's strong hand. Kazuki took him slow and sure, until his nerves were singing like strings under a master's touch. Pleasure wanted to speed ahead, but Kazuki's touch held him back, let the heat build slowly, until Yohan was panting under it with an edge of desperation.

"If your heart needs someone to rule and protect you," Kazuki whispered against his ear, "remember that I'm still your elder brother." His mouth closed on Yohan's neck and he sucked hard enough to raise tingling heat.

Hard enough to mark.

Yohan cried out as pleasure broke through him, a storm of heat striking again and again as his brother gasped against his shoulder and drove into him harder, faster. It was good, so good, to be held so tight, to feel Kazuki's body over his, and he lay, panting, until Kazuki shuddered and stilled.

After a long moment, Kazuki kissed the back of his neck and eased them apart, turning Yohan gently and gathering him back into his arms. Kazuki stroked his hair and cradled him close. "It's all right."

Yohan realized that his eyes were wet.

Kazuki kissed the tears away and rocked him slowly. "You are my beloved brother and I will always be here, to guide and support you in whatever way you need," he murmured.

Yohan's breath hitched again and he nodded against Kazuki's shoulder. It was a while before he could stop crying, though. Kazuki held him through it all and dried his face on a corner of the sheet. "Better?" he asked with a soft smile.

Yohan nodded; he did feel better, wrung out but at peace. "Thank you, Aniue," he said, husky.

Kazuki pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. "Hush."

Yohan smiled shyly and did as he was told, and lay quiet and content in his brother's arms as the evening drew in.

End

Blood and Thunder

Flip-side scenes: what might have been going through Chrome's mind during her time with Spade? Written because the way Amano is shafting Chrome makes me howl with outrage. Drama, I-3

Chrome swore under her breath as she worked her makeshift lockpick. Theoretically it should not be difficult to escape from the guest room Katou Julie had been foolish enough to leave her in and rejoin her Family. The lock on her door, however, was giving her considerably more trouble than that Shimon lecher had, and the soft wire that strung the seat of the armchair had never been meant for this use.

There's something about him, though, Mukuro murmured in the back of her head, and a memory of Katou flickered in her mind's eye.

Besides having an ego bigger than he clearly thinks his cazzo is? she asked tartly as the wire slipped yet again.

Laughter. Such language from my innocent little Chrome!

She rolled her eyes.

You played him beautifully, he assured her. As always. But I want to know what that oddness in him is; see how much you can draw him out when he returns.

Chrome wrinkled her nose, but agreed. It was nothing she hadn't done before, after all.

She had to bite back considerably stronger words when Katou pushed open the door, barely missing her nose, and her wire jammed completely. But, looking up to meet opaque, distant eyes over that annoying smirk, she felt a moment of chill and drew a little tighter into herself, wondering if Mukuro was right.

Chrome grumbled silently as she pulled on the stockings of her new uniform, slowly because her abdomen still ached from Spade's little "demonstration". There's no need for this. He thinks we're separated, and I'm enspelled. He doesn't guard himself at all. I could take care of him at once.

Mukuro wrapped tighter around her soul, an iron grip holding her out of the abyss that opened up the moment Spade's power had touched her, and murmured, Before he could abandon that body he holds? He's careless, yes, but far from unskilled.

Chrome tightened her lips, stuffing her feet into her new boots. She wanted her own boots. And her proper uniform. And she wanted to cut off the hands of the creature who dared touch her, and she wouldn't mind too terribly if she got the hands of Shimon's philanderer instead of Spade's.

But her Boss would mind. And it was Spade Mukuro wanted. She pulled the annoyingly innumerable buckles tight and said nothing.

Mukuro twined his presence around her silence, purring to her, Lull this arrogant first Mist of the Vongola for me. In time he will be ours.

It wasn't difficult.

Chrome had never danced a waltz, but she imagined that what she and Mukuro did was what it would feel like. As he stepped back, she stepped forward. As he stepped forward, she stepped back. Always in unison, turning and turning on this floor that was her body. It wasn't difficult at all to dance the same steps with Spade, drawing back far enough for his will to direct her body. It wasn't difficult, but it was completely different.

This time, Mukuro was pressed against her back and took just the same steps she did; she could almost feel his arms along her own, directing them both lightly, familiar and close. That was the only thing that kept her from pulling back completely in disgust from the too-thick, clay-like chill of Spade's presence.

It wasn't difficult, but she didn't like it at all.

Even with Mukuro's constant whisper of support, she kept far enough back that her expression went slack and her eyes went blank, but Spade didn't seem to think that odd.

Sloppy, Mukuro remarked, watching over her shoulder as Suzuki fought Hibari. He's let himself lapse into complacency, into thinking the world will go just as he wills it. I doubt he's at all sane any longer; not surprising if he's been disembodied all this time. He snorted as Chrome stirred against him, close enough to taste her flash of wry comparison. I'm quite sane, little one, merely enraged.

This close, Chrome could feel the heat of that constant rage, soothing and familiar, binding them closer the longer she endured Spade's clumsy possession. The promise in it, of cleansing fire to end all this, warmed her heart.

Chrome stiffened inside herself when Spade finally stepped forward and confronted with her fellow Guardians, pulling her along. Mukuro-sama? she asked, tensed. If any time was the moment to strike, surely this was it, when Spade would be distracted. Ideally, before Hibari finished brushing aside Sawada's protests and attacked her to break the containment she held around them. She didn't worry that he would kill her; she wasn't so foolish as to meet him head on. But she would have to push aside Spade's control to act.

Mukuro was watchful and still in the back of her mind, though. Not yet.

When Spade retreated from Yamamoto and spirited her away with him, Chrome sighed and acknowledged that perhaps she didn't have the natural temperament of the Mist. She kept expecting Spade to stand and fight. Eventually. Surely he must have to sooner or later, or where was their opening going to come from?

Not yet, Mukuro whispered to her, pressed tangible and insubstantial against her back.

If Chrome had been in control of her jaw, it would have been clenched. Someone, she observed rather acidly, has been reading too much ecchi.

Poor taste, indeed, Mukuro agreed with a hint of amusement that made her want to glare at him. And a bit of nonsense besides. Ropes are no more use against you than against me. Clearly you've hoodwinked Spade even better than we'd thought.

That consolation was true enough to settle her temper a little. Enough to listen to Spade again, as he gave her entirely too much information, even for an enemy who was tied up. He likes the sound of his own voice too much.

A common failing in those with grand plans. The wry twist in Mukuro's silent voice finally made her smile. And then he tensed against her. It's coming.

Chrome stopped listening to him. She had to. Spade stepped back, and she stepped forward, and the rush of her senses, bright and sharp again after days on end wrapped in distancing fog, pounded down on her like a cataract. She could almost smell the shreds of Spade's power on her, an oily catch in the back of her throat. She could almost hear the singing of her Ring, beside her, coiled in on itself and waiting to be reborn. Every coarse fiber of the ropes bit into her wrists, and the floor under her knees was so hard it took up the whole world. Her voice, when she could force words out, was thin, and it was just as well she was supposed to be intimidated and timid. The nerve-wringing disorientation as she rode that first brutal spike of the returning world probably looked similar enough to a fool like the one in front of her.

Mukuro hissed, suddenly clear again in her mind, and when had he been muffled, why hadn't she noticed? She jerked her mind back to the present and just barely caught herself from restoring her organs as they disappeared, gritting her teeth on the sudden rusty tang of blood in her mouth. "Don't come," she gasped, turning inside herself, reaching out the thought of her arms to him, stepping back as he stepped forward. The world spun under their feet, unfolding out and out and out, every facet ready at their fingertips, and Mukuro laughed with the breath she breathed.

And the world was Mist and vengeance.

End

Hall of Mirrors

What might have happened between Xanxus and the Ninth, immediately after the Ring Battles. Comment-fic for Lys to the prompt: Xanxus, got to be the best. Drama, Angst, I-3, rather a lot of profanity

The old men were arguing over killing him.

"If your dog runs mad you kill it yourself." Paulo's voice was flat.

"This is my son you're talking about, not a dog." The old man managed to growl even when he still couldn't sit up without help, which might have been all heartwarming and shit except Xanxus noticed he wasn't arguing about the "mad" part.

"Boss, this can't go on." Staffieri sounded wrung out, but that was for the Ninth. Not for him.

"If we knew why he did this..."

"What do you mean, 'if we knew'?!" Rizzo cut Martelli off. "He's crazy, why the hell else would he have done any of this to the Family that took him in?"

Xanxus laughed at that. He couldn't help it. The voices on the other side of the screen went silent, wary, as if they still had cause.

He couldn't sit up without help either. Not without help to cut the straps that tied him to the hospital bed.

After a long moment of silence Martelli drew the screen back and all seven old men stood there looking at him. Well, six and one old woman, counting Purezza, though he'd only call her that if he wanted a good fight.

He actually half respected Purezza. Damn shame she hadn't been Boss.

He snorted at the way they looked at him, all sober and weighty. "What kind of morons are you, anyway?" he demanded, voice still harsh from screaming while the damn Rings turned his guts inside out. Harsh anyway, with disgust. "If I'm not the best, what am I?"

"You're my son," the old man started and Xanxus' lip curled. After all this.

"No. I'm not."

"Blood claim or not, you're the adopted son of the Vongola." Staffieri sounded impatient, but not as impatient as the look Xanxus shot at him.

"That and some hard cash will get me a coffee. Or maybe just get me run off for cluttering up the pretty shop front."

"Isn't it time you stopped living in the past?" Martelli asked quietly.

Xanxus met Martelli's eyes and spat over the side of his bed. "The past doesn't go away," he said over the sounds of outrage from the rest. "You can lie to yourself if you want, but don't fucking do it to me." He turned to stare up at the ceiling, which at least didn't mince out mealy-mouthed platitudes in face of fucking reality. "You think anyone was going to accept a whore's son if he wasn't better than everyone else? If he wasn't worth it? You think that old man can take a kid off the street and ram him into one of the biggest, strongest, wealthiest Families there is and have it all be sweetness and fucking light just because he's your precious boss and he says so?" The laughter shook him again, high and harsh, because they did still think that. He could tell.

If anyone ever asked for proof the world wasn't fair, he could point to the fact that their own stone blindness hadn't killed any of these stupid fuckers off yet.

"Your own damn Rings say otherwise," he said into the silence when he finally caught his breath. "So untie my hand and give me a knife, since you're obviously too damn cowardly to kill me yourselves."

"No," the old man said after a long moment, and Xanxus rolled his eyes. Of course not; that would actually be decisive action. God forbid. "Perhaps I was a fool. Perhaps I still am. But," he continued before Xanxus could agree wholeheartedly, "I will not permit you to weaken this Family."

Xanxus looked down at that, teeth bared. "Couldn't do it worse than you already have."

"You will continue to lead the Varia," the old man said, not answering, never answering, "because the Varia are needed. You say you must be the best or be nothing, but Sawada Tsunayoshi has shown that you are not the best." A smile, an actual fucking smile, twitched at the old man's mustache. "You appear to be second best. So it seems fitting, by your own lights, that you be second in the Family's leadership."

For one breath, incandescent rage slid through Xanxus' veins, familiar and warm, and he hovered on the edge of calling his Flame, raw as his hands were, of finally killing the whole stinking lot of them. The old man wasn't in any shape to stop him now. But that would mean an immediate fight with Sawada, with his father pitching in this time, and Xanxus wasn't recovered enough yet, himself, to win that. He slumped back against the bed, utterly disgusted. Fine. Sawada was even more pathetic than the old man, but at least he could fight when he was driven. Best to wait, recover, let the old man die and get the hell out of the way so Xanxus and Sawada could have a proper fight with no interfering Cervello this time. "For now," he said, staring at the ceiling again, and his mouth twisted into a crooked smile at the disgruntled shuffling from the other old men.

He wouldn't lie. Let everyone else wrap themselves in fluffy dreams. He knew what the world was like. Only the best lived at their own will instead of someone else's.

He would be the best.

End

A/N: I've used the Guardians from the Generations arc, because until and unless Amano coughs up some redeeming characterization, I refuse to imagine the Ninth with a passel of Guardians named after desserts.

Without Fear or Favor

Kakashi isn't blood of Uchiha, but he was permitted to keep a closely guarded clan talent. A look at the potential reasoning of the Uchiha. Drama, Angst, I-3

Kakashi had passed out on his way back to the village from his first mission as a jounin, the mission that had changed his life yet again. He'd been told, once he woke up, that Minato-sensei had used his Hiraishin to get Kakashi to his home and then the hospital before the Sharingan killed him. Because, of course, that had been the problem. The Sharingan drained chakra. Normally, a critical drain would cause the Sharingan to deactivate, but Kakashi's hadn't.

"Hatake-kun, you must let us operate to remove it!" Arakaki-sensei exhorted him, leaning over the side of his cot earnestly. "You aren't an Uchiha; your body can't handle it!"

"It was a gift." Kakashi folded his hands over his stomach, looking up at the ceiling with his own eye. The eye Obito had given him was now under a bandage with a suppression seal written on it.

Arakaki sighed and rubbed his forehead. Kakashi got that reaction from the medics a lot. "There might not be a choice, you know. The Uchiha clan has heard about this, and there's a summons waiting for you as soon as you can get out of bed again. You know they won't want their bloodline talent in the hands of someone outside their clan."

Kakashi didn't imagine they would, no. Just a week ago, he might well have accepted that. But Obito wouldn't have, hadn't, and so he wouldn't either. Not now, when he was all of Obito that was left. "When will you release me, then?"

"You're not going anywhere for at least two days." Arakaki gave him a stern look. He'd been Kakashi's attending medic before. "The north front is quiet and you're not setting foot outside these walls until I'm sure that eye isn't going to kill you!"

Kakashi nodded quietly. Two days, then. In two days, he would find a way to convince the Uchiha to respect Obito's will. He closed his eyes and sent himself down to sleep.

The Uchiha were the village's largest clan. They'd grown beyond a single compound, even one like the sprawling Aburame or Hyuuga complexes, and lived in their own district of the village.

At least half of them seemed to have something they wanted to say about Kakashi's new Sharingan.

"...far too great a risk to the boy..."

"...can't set a precedent like this! Before you know it the village would be stripping Uchiha bodies in the field!"

"...graft wasn't rejected, though, so he must be compatible; perhaps he could marry in..."

Kakashi sat in calm seiza, just off to the side of the clan head, Hideaki, and his heir, Fugaku. The long room nearly rang with the babble of Uchiha clan members shouting at each other, despite the high rafters and crowd of bodies.

"...can't control it, obviously..."

"He actually used it, within minutes of implantation! Those are some genes worth having..."

"...conflict of interest, if he's the last of his name..."

"...fact is, it's against our laws, and we don't dare let the village's law come before a clan's own control of its bloodline!"

Kakashi unfocused his eye a little, so he could watch the moment of the room as a whole. There were knots of opinion, but no consensus yet, nothing he could target yet. He would have stifled a sigh if he hadn't spent years training such revealing expressions out of himself. Instead, he sat still and watched the play of leaf shadows on the paper screens of the outside wall, and waited some more.

At last, Hideaki stood and called out, "Enough!" over the babble. It quieted slowly, and he sat back down. "I have heard your views," he said, rather dryly, and Kakashi was amused to see a number of the Uchiha flush. "Now I think I would like to hear Hatake Kakashi." Piercing black eyes caught Kakashi's, and he straightened a little. "Why did you accept the Sharingan, and why do you wish to keep it?"

"It was Obito's dying wish." Unexpectedly, Kakashi had to stop and discipline his voice to keep huskiness out of it. He continued, as formally as he knew how, hoping that would move a noble clan—no matter how much they were acting like a class full of pre-genin right at this moment. "He bequeathed it to me to protect the things he cared for. I accepted that charge, and I will not dishonor his memory by releasing it."

"Even though you can't fully control it?" Hideaki asked, sounding more curious than dismissive. "You'll have to re-train in all your techniques, both to use one eye and to use the Sharingan with a regular eye. You'll have a significant weakness, now, too. If any enemy realizes the drain the Sharingan is on you, they have only to take away your seal," he nodded at the eye-patch Kakashi had stitched a River Under Mountain seal into while he waited out the medics, "to incapacitate you."

"Closing the eye slows the drain," Kakashi said, keeping still and straight-backed. "Re-training will require an effort, but I believe my previous record indicates that it will not keep me out of the field for an unreasonable length of time."

"Hmm." Hideaki was watching him like he was a puzzle. Minato-sensei had watched him like that, sometimes, his genin year. "And what do you think Obito cared for?" he asked at last, quietly. "What have you dedicated yourself to protect in his place?"

Kakashi breathed freely for the first time in days. Hideaki-san understood. "The village. Our teammate, Rin." He spread a hand out toward the room. "His clan." He hesitated for a long moment, but the last answer tugged at him, and he had promised this to Obito also, even if he'd never said it out loud. Finally, Kakashi looked down at his hands and added, softly, "His friends."

"Uchiha Obito was a credit to us," Hideaki said gently, and Kakashi fiercely swallowed down the tightness of tears in his throat. "And Hatake Kakashi," he continued, louder, speaking to the whole clan, now, "has willingly taken up the responsibility to continue on that path. I say this is admirable, and that the codes of our clan must approve. Nevertheless, it is true that our laws say only members of Uchiha may bear the Sharingan." The listening clan members stirred, and Kakashi waited tensely to see what the price of his choice would be. Would they require a marriage? An adoption? He'd just started coming to some kind of terms with his father's legacy, he didn't want to have that covered up or taken away...

"Hatake Kakashi will be affiliated with us," Hideaki said calmly. "His name will be carried in the records of our clan. If he wishes to marry or father children outside the clan, he will require the same permissions as anyone born of our blood." A few people looked disgruntled, the ones who had been insisting most loudly that Kakashi not be allowed to keep Obito's eye at all, but most of the room was nodding, satisfied. Kakashi, on the other hand, had seen a tiny quirk at the corners of Hideaki's lips, and was waiting for what came next. "He will be carried in our records as one of us. But the fact remains that he was born to another line, and one that was long honored in our village. I say that, if it is his will, he may remain on the Hatake family register, rather than the Uchiha."

Kakashi couldn't help himself from drawing a long, shaky breath of relief at that, even as sharp exclamations burst out among the crowd. Hideaki raised his voice over them.

"Would you really have me take his name from him, when he has clearly been striving to do it honor? Is that the justice of our clan?" He frowned at his gathered clan members, most of whom subsided sheepishly. "It's decided then."

"Unconventional," Fugaku observed softly to his father, as people started to leave, talking quietly among themselves. "Some won't think it's enough."

"You'll find you can rarely make everyone happy, in any large decision," Hideaki returned, a bit wry. "We do the best we can, by the precepts of our clan."

Kakashi didn't think Fugaku entirely agreed, but he nodded quietly and slipped out after the last murmuring clan members. That left Hideaki and Kakashi, and he looked up at... well, his new clan head, he supposed. "What are my duties, as a... an affiliate of Uchiha?" he asked, wanting to offer something in return for the name Hideaki had left him.

Hideaki was watching him thoughtfully again. "Learn to use what you have inherited. Fulfill Obito's last wishes. I think, if you do that, you will make a fine clan member." His mouth quirked. "I don't think you'll need to think about marriage for some time, yet, but when you're older you should consider taking a lover from the clan once or twice; we would welcome your blood, and there are traditions we keep among ourselves you might like to learn." He stood and Kakashi followed, smoothly. "I'll assign Kazuo to tutor you in the uses of the Sharingan."

Kakashi nodded. "Yes..." he hesitated, thinking, and finally finished, "Toushu-sama." At least he thought that was what Obito would have called his clan head.

Hideaki's sharp, black eyes softened, and he laid a hand on Kakashi's shoulder. "Obito was a precious son of my clan," he said softly. "For all that his carelessness was sometimes the despair of his teachers, he delighted in the life around him, in all its beauty and detail. He would have been a very great shinobi, if he'd grown to pay as much attention to his duties as he did to good food and good company and the life of the village."

Kakashi didn't think it would serve anything for him to become careless. But appreciating the little bits of village life... perhaps he could do more of that, yes. In Obito's memory. He nodded again, quietly determined.

Hideaki patted his shoulder. "Remember that you can call on this clan as your own, now." He left Kakashi to make his own way out through the Uchiha district, freely as if he'd actually belonged there.

Kakashi had always been proud, and he never had called on the Uchiha, his second clan. But the offer had stayed with him, as a little warmth in his heart, for seventeen years.

For another seven after that, it burned as one more reminder of the things he couldn't keep.

In the end, though, when he had the chance to gift that belonging back to the last son of Uchiha, he decided he was glad to have had it.

End

Life Lessons

Knowing that you're sending twelve-year-olds into the field to fight, what do you need to teach them before they go? And what do you do when it never seems to work? Sometimes Iruka has trouble with that second one. Drama, Angst, Fluff, I-5

Warning: Discusses aftermath of trauma.

Umino Iruka loved to teach. He really did. He'd taught at the Academy for years, and with every new class he felt again the wonder of shaping Konoha's future through his students.

There were also weeks when he needed to remind himself of this strenuously to keep his hands from closing around their skinny, little necks.

"All right, everyone, settle down, Kiba tell Akamaru to let go of Ino's bag. Today we're talking about trauma-care within your team."

"Aw, we've done first aid already," Shikamaru grumbled, not quite under his breath.

"If you graduate and take on field jobs," Iruka continued, as if he hadn't heard, "there will come a time when you or one of your teammates will not be in their usual state of mind. You may have been in a fight and almost died. Your teammate may have been captured and tortured. It isn't unusual to need people you know and trust around you, after something like that."

"So, what, we're supposed to pack along a teddy bear?" Kiba muttered and Naruto snickered. Iruka gave them his second-best glare and continued when they shut up.

"Your textbooks list several chakra techniques that may, if you develop the control for them, be used to soothe your teammate until competent medical help is available. We will be practicing those today. There are also three pressure point techniques that are safe for novices. We will practice those tomorrow." Fortunately, the worst they could do to each other with those was fail; he made a mental note to ask Hinata not to demonstrate any more advanced techniques she might know from her clan's teaching to her classmates.

"Wait a minute, you mean we have to, like, let someone touch us?" Ino protested with a look of distaste at her deskmate, Chouji. A wave of sniggering and blushing swept the class and Iruka braced himself. This was exactly why he hated this unit.

"That brings us to the third option discussed in this chapter," he said, commanding himself sternly not to blush; teachers didn't blush damn it. "There will not be a practical exercise for this option, but your homework for tonight is to write three pages on the possible signs that the third option is called for or appropriate. Some people respond to some kinds of trauma or threat with a need for sexual contact. We've already discussed, earlier this year, some differences between civilian attitudes toward sex and shinobi attitudes. Among shinobi it is both acceptable and appropriate to offer that contact to your teammates if you are able and willing to do so. This chapter covers some ways to determine whether one of your teammates needs that kind of contact." The dead silence that had struck the room dissolved into squeals and whispers and exclamations. Sasuke, recipient of several rather predatory looks, drew even further in on himself than usual, and Naruto was making gagging faces with Shikamaru. Iruka soldiered grimly on.

"Recognizing the signs is extremely important, because it is equally common for a person to desire non-sexual contact with teammates after experiencing stress or trauma. No one who cannot demonstrate their knowledge of the signs listed in your textbooks will be passed for a field assignment, so pay attention to your reading and take good notes. Now." He swept them with his very best glare to silence the whispering and giggling. "Everyone open your books to page seventy-two and start copying out the first seal."

He sat down at his desk while the class settled into their usual restless order, books open, brushes moving.

"Naruto, stop trying to paint Shino's jacket and work on the seal."

"Aww..."

Sometimes moving the wrong places, but it looked like the work to fooling around ratio was about seven to three today, which was about as good as it ever got.

Ino passed a note over to Sakura and they both looked back at Sasuke and giggled, pink-cheeked.

Okay, maybe six to four. He sighed to himself. He really hated this unit. And talking about the homework tomorrow was going to be worse.

Iruka didn't lift his head from his hands when the door to the teacher's room opened and closed. Uncharacteristic inattention to surroundings, his memory recited, or unresponsiveness, especially if it appears deliberate.

"Iruka? Hey, you okay? What did the little monsters do to you today?" Shizuka's voice came closer and was punctuated by a papery thump.

"Yeah," he said, low, "it's just that time of year again. That unit, you know."

"Oh shit, I totally lost track of time! That's this month?" Her steps went to the window and the vertical blinds rattled across them.

Ensure as much privacy as possible without obstructing exit routes. "Yeah."

Her steps came back and the chair beside him scraped out. "Want to talk about it? Or just go get a drink?"

Offer verbal contact first, along with an alternative form of communication or connection if your teammate is unwilling or unable to speak.

Iruka took in a shaky breath and let it out. "They don't know. They think it's funny. Just like when we do the first aid unit, and the ones who have never broken anything laugh over the lesson on improvising splints. And next week we have to cover torture and rape recovery. Why do we try to teach them this so early?" Why did he have to go through this, trying and failing to reach them, year after year?

Shizuka sighed. "Sometimes I wonder too." She touched his wrist lightly. "You want a hand with this?"

Do not attempt to answer questions. He could nearly see the letters on the page. Initial physical contact should be at a neutral location. (Caution: this may be influenced by your teammate's specific experience.) He put his head down on his arms and laughed, rough and helpless. "You'd pass the test with flying colors," he told her, husky. So many wouldn't, not for real, not until it was real and that would be too late.

"Bad year, huh? Should I stay?" she asked him gently, "Or should I get that slacker Hatake in here for you?"

Your teammate may be unable to ask for contact. Offer several possible courses of action. Iruka bit his lip. After a moment he managed, quietly, "Door two?"

"You got it." She squeezed his shoulders as she stood. "Just wait a little." And she was gone. Shizuka was a good shinobi, and a good teacher, Iruka reflected. She cared. That was a hard quality to find sometimes, though he did his best to teach it to his students. It was always during this unit that he despaired of getting through to them. He knew that, he knew it was coming, and his failure hit him like this every year anyway.

"Yo." A warm hand fell on the back of his neck and Iruka jumped, startled out of his drifting thoughts. "You look like a wreck. Who is it this year?"

Iruka's muscles locked. Everyone knew; it would be someone. He'd fail some one of his students.

Over his head, Kakashi sighed quietly. "Come here." He put a hand under Iruka's arm and levered him up out of his chair, leading him over to the battered couch tucked in the corner for emergency naps. He thumped down onto it and pulled Iruka tight against his side.

And hooked a finger into his facemask, tugging it down.

"Kakashi-san," Iruka said, rough, looking up at him, a little of the fear in him unwinding, letting him straighten. His old commander had always trusted him, and obviously still did.

"Who is it this year?" Kakashi demanded quietly, dark gaze level.

Iruka swallowed. "Hinata," he whispered finally. "Hyuuga Hinata. If she's ever taken I don't know if there will be enough of her left to make it back. And..." he bit his lip.

Kakashi kneaded the back of his neck with a strong, calloused hand. "And?" he pressed.

"...Sasuke." Iruka closed his eyes. "I can't even say that he isn't broken already. He should be! And all the boys can think is how they want to take him down a notch and all the girls can think is how cute he looks, and..." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Fuck."

Kakashi smiled at that, startlingly clear without his mask. "Very eloquent." He caught Iruka's chin, making Iruka meet his eye. "You can't do this for them. And that isn't your fault, or your failure."

There was no room for argument in his voice and Iruka leaned on that, trying to believe it. "I know," he said, low, "I just—" he broke off because Kakashi had pressed two fingers to his lips.

"Enough."

That was an order, and Iruka subsided. Kakashi had been his first commander after Iruka's jounin-sensei had passed him, and Iruka knew, ruefully, he'd never quite gotten over that. Kakashi knew it, too, and had no qualms about using it. "I think you need some distraction," Kakashi declared. "So, which will it be: do I get you drunk or do I take you to bed?"

Offer several possible courses of action Iruka's teacher-memory reminded him, and he had to press his head against Kakashi's shoulder while he laughed. This wasn't exactly the textbook approach, but it worked. That was what the field always had to teach his students, and it would be no different for this. "How about both," he decided.

"Taking shameless advantage," Kakashi tsked mournfully. It wasn't as effective when you could see the quirk to his lips. "Your place, then; I'm out of booze."

"Speaking of taking shameless advantage," Iruka said dryly, feeling a little more himself.

Kakashi smiled and tugged his facemask back up as he stood. "Have to keep my reputation up. Come on."

Iruka followed him out the window and over the roofs, holding on to the calm he'd regained. He'd need it for next week. But that, as Kakashi would no doubt tell him, and scold him for forgetting, was what a person's team was for. They would learn, his students. He would do what he could and life would do the rest.

And they'd all live with that, however they could.

End

A Time and a Place

After Iruka and Kakashi argue over Team Seven's nomination to the Chuunin Exams, Kakashi comes to discuss it again in a little more privacy. Drama, Fluff, I-3

Kakashi watched Iruka making tea with tight, jerky motions, nearly stomping back and forth through his small kitchen. It didn't look at all serene to him. And Iruka hadn't even noticed that he had a visitor sitting in his window.

"You need to choose your time and ground better, Iruka. I thought you knew that," he said, finally.

Iruka spun, tea splashing over his wrist, shuriken suddenly in the other hand. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Kakashi refrained from rolling his eyes. "I'm here to answer your question, because I'm a nice guy."

"Nice?" Kakashi supposed he'd earned the way Iruka growled that, considering how he'd slapped Iruka down in the meeting not an hour ago. But that was no excuse for not thinking, and he straightened out of his slouch, meeting Iruka's glare.

"Iruka," he said quietly. And that was all, but the outrage slowly drained out of Iruka's expression and he sat down heavily at his kitchen table.

"My apologies, Kakashi-san," he said to his tea cup, "for disappointing your expectations."

Not, Kakashi noted wryly, for yelling at him in public, but that wasn't the part he'd really minded. "So." He leaned back against the windowsill again. "Now that you're not being insubordinate and losing control in public, let's try that again. Do you really think my team isn't ready for the exams?"

"How can they be?" Iruka demanded, firing right up again, waving the hand not clenching his tea. "It's barely been a year! They've only had a handful of missions! How can they possibly be ready for promotion?!"

"They're not." Kakashi's mouth quirked under his facemask as Iruka stared at him. "They're not ready for promotion. But they are ready for the exams."

Iruka stared at him. "You... you, you mean you're... but...!" Kakashi leaned forward, hands on his knees.

"Iruka. Listen to me. Those three are outstanding, but they also have very serious weaknesses. The only, and I mean only, time I've seen them draw together to cover each other the way a team needs to do in the field is when they're in danger of their lives. That's also when all of them advance by leaps and bounds you have to see to believe. So. You're a teacher. You tell me: what should I do to help them progress and become what they can be?"

Iruka looked back at him, torn. "But..." Finally, he whispered, looking down, "But Naruto..."

Kakashi could see the fine tremors running down Iruka's arms from how tight he was holding his shoulders, and sighed. He'd been pretty sure that was the real problem, yes. As gently as he could he said, "You knew what you were training them for, Iruka. You knew what they would be, once they graduated. Including Naruto."

Iruka thumped his tea down, sloshing still more over the edge, and buried his face in his hands. "I'm never having children," he said, low and violent. "Never."

Kakashi didn't point out that it was pretty much too late. He slid off the window and came to stand beside Iruka. "Hey." When Iruka didn't look up he nudged Iruka's hands aside, wrapped his hand around Iruka's chin, and lifted it. "Naruto is finding himself. He's starting to move forward based on confidence instead of blind, dumb determination. And the three of them can work together; they'll look out for each other in the exam." Quieter but firmly, the tone he knew made Iruka respond, "You need to let him walk on his own, now."

Iruka closed his eyes, stilling under Kakashi's hand as some of the tension ran out of him. "Yes, Kakashi-san," he said, husky.

Some people, Kakashi supposed, might feel guilty about using Iruka's lingering bond to his ex-commander like this. But no shinobi ever would. It was what worked, and it was what his comrade needed. That was all that mattered. "Good." He slid his hand down to Iruka's shoulder and gave him a brisk shake. "And that means you're not going to lose control in the middle of a meeting in front of the Hokage again, are you?"

Iruka flushed red and looked down, finally, it seemed, realizing exactly what he'd done. "No, Kakashi-san."

"Better." Kakashi slid one hand up to knead the nape of Iruka's neck, hard, until he gasped and tipped his head back and finally relaxed. "Don't beat yourself up over it," Kakashi murmured. "Family tend to do things like that when the kids are involved. Just try not to do it again."

"Yes, Kakashi-san." Iruka smiled up at him, just a little wry. "Thank you."

"Don't worry." Kakashi let him go with a last squeeze of his shoulder and stepped back. The imp of mischief nipped him and he grinned and let his tone turn just the slightest bit insinuating. "After all, you know how I take care of my teams." He hopped out the window while Iruka was still sputtering and turning red, chuckling.

That should give Iruka something to distract him from his concern for his little brother. Kakashi did, after all, take good care of his teams.

End

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter One

In which Kakashi sees Sasuke in a new way and gives him a rather different lecture after his fight with Naruto on the hospital roof. Drama, Action, I-3

A number of things in the second part of Naruto never made sense to me. Itachi's sudden retconning into a good guy, despite the stunning and villain-consistent cruelty of his previous treatment of Sasuke was the biggest one. The abrupt shift of the story from a classic shounen bildungsroman focused on team-building to convoluted politics involving Naruto's solitary apotheosis was another. But the thing that just niggled at me was the utterly ham-handed way everyone, and especially Kakashi, handled the aftermath of Sasuke's confrontation with his brother. So what, I wondered, what if Kakashi had shown the common sense god gave a small chicken, had shown any of his normal perceptiveness, in handling Sasuke after Sasuke's set-to with Naruto on the hospital roof? What if Sasuke hadn't left after all? What would it make of the characters, if they stayed a team for longer? And what if the story remained one about a human's need for others? This is my answer.

Note on translation: I have translated Iwagakure, the hidden village of Earth Country, as "Hidden Rock" rather than "Hidden Stone", so as to distinguish it from Ishigakure, the hidden village of the unnamed country between Wind and Earth. I have also translated kekkei genkai as "bloodline talent", rather than "bloodline limit", because the grammatical incorrectness of that makes my soul itch and the most meaningful literal translation ([contextual noun] limited to inheritance by blood) does not make a suitable noun phrase in English.

So: We pick up midway in the manga, just after the confrontation on the roof, just after Sasuke has thrown off in a snit. Lights. Camera. Action!

Kakashi eyed the tree where Sasuke had finally dug himself in after vanishing from the hospital roof and stifled a sigh. Every team, he reminded himself, was its own unique experience. It was only his imagination that this year's Seven was deliberately working to be especially so.

He climbed quietly up on Sasuke from behind, and really the boy needed to break that habit of ignoring his surroundings when he brooded. At least he'd put his back to something solid this time. Kakashi supposed that was progress of sorts. "Hey."

Silence. Not even a twitch among the dappled, gold leaf shadows.

Kakashi found a branch a quarter turn around the tree, leaned on the trunk, and propped a casual foot against it—the better to propel himself out of the way if Sasuke lost it again and went for Kakashi like he had for Naruto. "You shouldn't really be out of the hospital yet," he tried, speaking from his own lingering aches and twinges. Itachi's Tsukuyomi had lasting after-effects, which, he was guessing, had been a lot of the reason for the fight. "The medics get upset about losing track of a patient."

More silence. Kakashi mentally checked down the list of approaches that had already failed in the last twenty-four hours, and settled on a blatant appeal to sentiment. Surely there must still be a little of that, after the past year.

"People worry, you know."

"Then they don't understand," Sasuke finally answered, flat.

A flash of familiar exasperation tightened Kakashi's mouth behind his mask, but he didn't think an admonition to grow up already would go over very well right now. Not right after Sasuke had faced his brother and been reminded of that bloody night all over again.

Actually... maybe that was the best place to start after all. To show that someone did understand. Now he thought about it, maybe he should have started there a year ago. At the time, he hadn't known just how much Sasuke himself had seen that night; he should have re-evaluated when he'd found out.

"I was ANBU then, you know. I was on the squad that was sent out to hunt Itachi that night," he said, staring out through the branches and over the roofs of the nearby apartments, seeing again the blood spattered and pooled relentlessly all the way across a compound that took up a sixth part of the village. "We started from the compound, to see if we could pick up any hints of where he might be going." And every member of the squad had come back from that mission dead-eyed, cold down to the marrow. Two had turned in their masks that year; Kakashi had been one of them.

"They weren't your family."

A finger of cold slid down Kakashi's spine, because Sasuke's empty, even tone was a perfect match for the way most of the team had spoken that night, as they sifted bodies and parts of bodies for the track of madness. "No, they weren't." He took a breath against the memories, wondering what memories Sasuke was looking into, starting to be afraid that he'd drastically misjudged his own student's state of mind all this year. But the words reminded him of when it had been his parents, and that suggested another step he could take. Slowly, feeling his way into what this might mean, he said, "There are people in this village who have walked into blood and death like that. There are people who know the pain of betrayal by their own friends, their own team, even their own blood. There are people who fought for nothing but revenge, though not many who lived beyond it. They fought in the Third War." His voice was soft, now, realizing the truth at the same time he spoke it. "That's what you've seen. What you've been in since that night. War."

Leaves rustled beside him and he looked over to see Sasuke finally looking up at him. And maybe he knew how to answer the blankness in those eyes, now. "There are people in this village who know what that's like. And who can tell you some of how to survive it."

"I don't care if I survive," Sasuke cut back, low and intent, "as long as I kill Itachi."

Kakashi looked down at him, thoughtfully, for a long moment. He hadn't been able to turn Sasuke away from that determination. If he'd understood sooner where Sasuke's head and heart were, he might not even have tried. If this had been war time and a comrade had said that to him...

"Do you care if you die before you get to him?" he asked, cool. "That's where you're headed right now." In war... in war, he would even have let one of his squad members use a curse seal—just not unawares. Not without understanding exactly what it meant.

"I need more power!" Sasuke flared up. "It's always going to be a risk, but I need more!"

Kakashi leaned back against the tree, sure of his way now. "There's always more power to be had, if you look for it." He snorted as Sasuke stared at him. "Power isn't the hard part. What you need right now, to keep you alive long enough to strike your target, is an anchor."

"An anchor? What the hell good is something that holds me back going to do?!"

Kakashi waved a hand, increasingly cheerful as he exasperated his student further. Any emotion was an improvement right now—anything that got Sasuke out of that dead, blood-dripping place in his head. "You're thinking about it the wrong way. Not an anchor that you have to carry with you in a race. An anchor that can hold you against the current." He glanced down again, eye as dark and hard as it would be while he laid down mission parameters for one of his squads, and watched Sasuke go still in response. "You don't need to run toward revenge. Revenge is a rogue river in flood; it will take you to the end, like it or not. What you need is a way to not drown. Something to hang on to so you can pull yourself out when you're going under and dry off and rest your muscles before you dive in again." Because Sasuke would dive in again, he could see that now. Better to forge him the anchor and trust his own blind determination to make him use it to keep himself alive.

"You're talking about the team." Sasuke eyed him mistrustfully. Not a surprise, that, after his vicious little set-to with Naruto.

Kakashi shrugged. "Maybe. For some people it's their team. For some it's their family or a lover. For some it's the village. For some it's something as simple as a pet. The thing you fight for, fight to come back to. Without that, you'll drown and fail your mission."

Of course, it was his team, for Sasuke. He had nothing else but them. But better to let Sasuke figure that out on his own.

...on the other hand, and considering Sasuke, there was nothing wrong with a little bit of a hint.

"We put people in teams in the first place because no one person can do everything it takes to complete a mission. Everyone has their weaknesses. You need to get out of the current. Naruto needs to stop running off the edge of cliffs. Sakura needs to trust herself to move. But your weakness is also your strength. You focus. Naruto doesn't quit. And, because she stands still, Sakura sees more than either of you." He cocked his head at Sasuke. "I said power is always handy if you look around for it. The fastest way to find it isn't to ignore your weaknesses or even work to overcome them. It's to use them. And that," he added quietly, "is also the nature of war."

Sasuke was staring at him now, eyes slowly widening, focusing again on his one goal; the goal, again, not his stubborn, muddled idea of the means. Kakashi hid a smile to see that. Maybe it wasn't what would be healthy in a normal child, even a normal ninja child, but nothing in Sasuke's life was especially normal.

"Survive. Use anything." Abruptly Sasuke slammed a hand down on the branch under him, with such violence that it broke off and he had to cling to the trunk as it fell. He didn't seem to notice, hunched like one of Fire Country's great southern hunting cats against the tree. "That's why! That's why he said those things! So I wouldn't see it, so I wouldn't see how to win!"

"Who said?" Kakashi asked casually, hands poised to lock a knock-out seal around Sasuke if it turned out to be necessary.

"Itachi," Sasuke hissed. "Live, he said. 'Cling to your wretched life,' he said."

Kakashi took a slow breath, in and out through his nose, and knew anyone watching him right now would see exactly how angry he was, even with just one eye to judge from. So much for the imperturbable Hatake Kakashi. Of course, it was always his teams that had been able to get to him, too. "To make you ashamed of doing what any good shinobi would," he murmured. "To blunt your edge." This, though, was his chance to turn Sasuke in a new direction, to make sure he didn't charge blindly to his own destruction. He leaned abruptly around the turn of the tree and caught Sasuke's shoulder in a hard grip, turning the boy to look at him. "Are you going to let him?" he demanded harshly.

Sasuke straightened, and that black gaze burned back at him. "No."

Kakashi nodded, accepting his student's determination. "All right, then. Back to the hospital to get you checked, and checked out. And then..." he smiled suddenly, behind his mask. "Then we go and find Sakura."

Sasuke, who had already started to screw up his face in response to the part about the hospital, blinked. "...Sakura?" He'd probably expected Naruto; Kakashi wondered when those two would admit just how much they defined themselves by each other.

"Of course," Kakashi said, airly, waving Sasuke after him as he strolled back down the trunk. "I told you, you have a serious case of tunnel vision. You and Naruto are really very alike that way." He smirked at the faint growl behind him; it was a competitive growl, again, not an infuriated one. "What you need is strategy, and that's what Sakura is best at."

"So, what, I learn it from her?" Sasuke hazarded.

"Nope." Kakashi tilted his head back to look over his shoulder. "You learn to use that tunnel vision of yours, and you learn how to listen to her when she tells you where to aim it."

Sasuke followed along, frowning to himself. A considerable improvement over homicidal rage toward his teammates, Kakashi congratulated himself. Indeed, he had to work a little not to whistle cheerfully as he strode along, hands in his pockets. If they could just come together again, then next year his team was going to sweep the chuunin exam like a broom. And by then maybe the inkling in the back of his head, about how best to train them all, would have turned into an actual plan. He already had some thoughts about how it all needed to come together.

The only real question he could see was who would try to kill him first: Tsunade for the student he planned to give her, or Sasuke for the tutor Kakashi planned to give him.

As they turned down the dusty street to the hospital, he found himself whistling after all.

Four sets of eyes watched the two go, hidden among the leaves.

"Fuck," Tayuya spat, disgusted. "There goes our chance."

"The kid doesn't have to come willingly," Sakon murmured. "Orochimaru-sama just said to try that first, to keep it quiet. We'll keep watching for an opening."

They faded back into the shadows of the tiled roofs and were gone.

Kakashi and Sasuke stalked each other through the training ground, in and out of the trees, flickering through the shadows. Neither of them used any but physical techniques, for both of them had their Sharingan active. Sasuke had hesitated over that, but Kakashi wasn't about to let the enemy deprive one of his subordinates of his strongest weapon, and he'd waited calmly until Sasuke gave in to the logic of the exercise and activated his too. The chuunin exam had done his students good, Kakashi observed; he had yet to spot Sakura, who was mission control for this exercise. If she honed this talent for stillness of hers, she would be second to none at infiltration some day.

Of course, he had yet to spot Naruto either, but that was most likely because the note informing the boy of his team's renewed training was still chasing him around the village while he searched stubbornly for Sasuke.

He also hadn't seen Tsunade, and he expected to know the minute she got his other note, the one about modifying his currently assigned mission. He hoped Naruto would get here first, so he could start things back on track with his team before he had to explain his logic to his new Hokage.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Naruto dashed out of the edge of the trees and screeched to a halt, looking around a little wildly. "Kakashi-sensei!"

Kakashi signaled a break, tugging his forehead protector down over his eye again, and smiled to himself as Sasuke touched down across the clearing, wary. "There you are. You know, punctuality is very important to a shinobi; you should work on that." He let the smile show as both Sasuke and Naruto gave him identical looks of disbelief at the utter hypocrisy of Hatake Kakashi lecturing anyone on punctuality. It was important for a team to have common interests to bond over, after all.

The boys caught each other's eyes and looked away.

Predictably, it was Naruto who offered the first peace overture; Kakashi had only had to teach him once about the value of a team. He jammed his fists into his pockets and looked sidelong at Sasuke. "You done being a jerk yet?" he muttered.

Sasuke stiffened. "I'm not..." He broke off. Whatever self-deception Sasuke sometimes indulged in, Kakashi acknowledged, even he could recognize that magnitude of untruth when it started to come out of his mouth. Sasuke looked down, mouth tight. Finally, softly, he said, "No. Probably not until Itachi is dead."

At their age, that would have made Kakashi go bang his head against a rock a few times, but Naruto's face cleared at once. "Well okay. As long as you're just being a normal jerk."

Sasuke looked up at that, expression blank for a breath. Slowly, though, the blankness melted into something sardonic and challenging. More edgy than usual, but closer to his normal expression than they'd seen all week. "As long as you're being a normal idiot."

They smirked at each other and Kakashi really couldn't help rolling his eyes.

And in that sliver of distraction, Sakura popped out of her grass-covered dugout, eyes blazing in her dirt-smeared face, and slammed her hand down on a prepared seal. "Now!" she barked.

Sasuke whipped around in pure, unthinking response and drove a kunai toward Kakashi's diaphragm.

Startled, reacting from a cold start, snapshots of thought flashed through Kakashi's mind. Sakura had never stopped watching. Sasuke had never de-activated his Sharingan. His elbow was coming down on Sasuke's forearm with full force, and Sakura's seal was slowing his responses, and he didn't know if he could pull it in time—unintended consequences. The kunai kissed his ribs as he twisted. Sasuke wasn't going to recover his stance in time to deflect the elbow strike.

Naruto's foot struck his arm, pushing the blow harmlessly aside, and all three of them spun away from each other again.

Kakashi straightened, hand pressed to his ribs; the cut was shallow, but noticeable. "Well, now," he murmured, and broke into a smile. "That was a bit more like it."

Sakura actually punched the air with triumph before recalling herself and clasping her hands demurely. She couldn't erase the grin on her face, though, and Sasuke nodded what might be thanks to her. More hesitantly, he glanced over at Naruto. "Your timing's getting better," he offered gruffly.

Naruto had his hands squarely on his hips and was glaring. "And yours is getting worse! What the hell was that?"

"That," Kakashi intervened lightly, "was your new training regimen. To take advantage of your particular strengths and learn to use even your weaknesses." He cocked his head at Naruto. "You jumped right in without thinking or asking the first question, just like Sasuke took the opportunity that Sakura saw without caring for the consequences. And that's why this exercise worked."

"Huh." While Naruto worked through that, though, Sakura's grin had melted into a thoughtful frown.

"Isn't this a dangerous way to operate, Kakashi-sensei?" she asked, hesitant. "I mean... it will mean we're all getting even more unbalanced, as shinobi."

"Shinobi are unbalanced," Kakashi said quietly. "We teach you all of the basics that we can, but after that you have to start concentrating on what you're good at. And accepting what you're bad at. You just have to trust the team you're in to balance it out." He ruffled her hair with a wry, hidden smile behind his mask. "That's what reality is, Sakura. This is how it goes once you're out of the classroom."

Her pale eyes were shadowed as she looked up at him. "Oh," she said very softly. And then she took a breath and straightened her shoulders. "All right, then."

Sasuke was unquestionably a genius, and Naruto might well be the greatest idiot savant the world had ever seen, but Kakashi thought that, of all his students, Sakura might be the best shinobi in the end.

All four of them looked up as a cloud of birds suddenly rose from the administrative quarter of the village and a wordless yell drifted faintly over the trees. "Ah," Kakashi said brightly, "that would be my appointment with the Hokage."

Tsunade, fifth Hokage of Konohagakure, slapped a hand down on the scrap of paper in the middle of her desk, glaring daggers at Kakashi. "Explain," she growled.

"Team Seven was assigned to me so that I could keep an eye on both Naruto and Sasuke," Kakashi pointed out. "If I'm to fulfill that mission, already in progress, then I need to keep the team with me."

Tsunade crossed her arms and sat back, looking skeptical. "You know how shorthanded we are! And, while none of them were advanced to chuunin, they all demonstrated plenty enough power to start taking missions solo."

"As you said, none of them were advanced." Kakashi turned a hand palm up. "The final decider in that test is maturity, isn't it? Do you really want three people of their demonstrated power running around and not learning the maturity to wield it well?" He looked meaningfully out the window of her office, to where the mangled cisterns on top of the hospital were just visible.

Shizune, standing behind Tsunade's shoulder, grimaced. "Tsunade-sama, perhaps he's right. At this rate, there will be people thinking Naruto and Sasuke are already out of control."

"Mm." Tsunade laced long, fine fingers under her chin, elbows propped on the padded arms of her chair. "That isn't a nice thought. But neither is the idea of Cloud or Rock deciding to invade us because we're suddenly taking fewer contracts and must, therefore, be weakened. And they'd be right," she added, dourly. "Why the hell did I let that brat talk me into this?"

Hearing the helpless affection under her exasperation, Kakashi had to stifle a grin. Yes, he rather thought she'd agree to his tutoring plans a year from now. She'd yell about it, but she'd agree. "They are quite strong," he offered. "I can take on A and even some S rank missions, with them as my team."

She cocked a brow at him. "S rank?"

Kakashi hesitated, but she was, after all, Hokage now. She probably needed to know. "It will be beneficial if they face serious danger together. That's always been the circumstance under which they come together as a team and support each other. And if they don't come back to that, if Sasuke and Naruto, especially, don't remember how to trust each other again, we're going to lose Sasuke."

Shizune hissed between her teeth, and she reached out to clasp Tsunade's shoulder protectively. Tsunade's entire body had frozen, breath stilling, eyes icy. "He would go to Orochimaru?" she asked, very flat.

"That has become less likely," Kakashi said, picking his words carefully as he spoke to this, Orochimaru's old teammate. "Sasuke has some alternatives, now. I believe that he will pursue his course from within the village." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "But unless he can accept Naruto's and Sakura's support, he'll be killed when he finally confronts his brother."

"Damn Uchiha Itachi to reincarnation as a worm for a hundred lives," Tsunade muttered. "The village was already weakened by the death of the Uchiha clan, and now this!" She planted her elbows on the desk, fingers driven into her hair, and was silent for three breaths. "All right," she said, finally, not looking up. "The four of you are going to get the hardest, nastiest missions short of ANBU work, you realize that?"

"I planned for it," Kakashi agreed calmly. "If you can give me a week to settle them back into training, that will be useful."

She glared at him some more. "A week he wants! Why don't you ask me for the peaches of immortality while you're at it?" She flipped through the mess of binders on her desk, frowning ferociously, until Shizune extracted one quietly and handed it to her. "All right, you can have a week," she snapped, paging through it. "Not more! And then you'll leave directly for Tajimura, up north." She pulled out a red folder and tossed it across to him. "They've been having serious trouble with bandits, and the local garrison thinks that it's a band of missing-nin from Cloud and Mist." She gave him the tight smile of someone justifiably palming off a problem on someone else. "There could be as many as twenty in the band."

"I'm sure it will be a learning experience," Kakashi murmured as he read.

"And send both Naruto and Sasuke to me, before you go," she added. "I want to have a look at their seals. Jiraiya said that Naruto's had been interfered with, and I've got to find a way to undo that curse seal on Sasuke, too."

Kakashi nodded. "That seal really isn't a temptation I like put in the way of any genin, especially not one as driven as Sasuke. Not if there's any choice."

Her mouth twisted. "That too. But, more urgently I think, Mitarashi Anko plans to kill herself, rather than let hers be activated again."

A chill stroked down Kakashi's spine again. War. It might be coming to them again. "I'll tell them to see you," he agreed quietly.

"So?" Jiroubou asked. "What did it say?"

Sakon rolled the message strip into a tiny cylinder and breathed fire onto it. "It's from Kabuto. Orochimaru-sama couldn't hold out and had to transfer into a new body. It says if the Uchiha brat comes willingly, fine, but if he won't then look for a time we can take him without getting anyone on our trail." His mouth curled. "I suppose taking an unwilling host is distracting for a while. We should be polite and not lead any of Leaf back to Orochimaru-sama's doorstep."

"And this is all from Kabuto?" Tayuya asked, suspicious.

"Mm. I think, perhaps, we should go back and confirm our orders, if there isn't an opening soon."

The four of them looked at each other and nodded. No sense getting killed for it if this was really a scheme of the damn doctor's. And surely the Uchiha kid wouldn't be much harder to take, even if they waited a bit.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Two

In which Team Seven is on the road again, putting out fires for Konoha in the wake of the invasion and learning a little more about each other and themselves. Action, Drama, I-4

To: The Fifth
From: Kakashi
Re: Bandits

There weren't twenty of them; there were thirty. Fortunately, only sixteen of those were actually missing-nin. Unfortunately, three of the sixteen were jounin. Will be late getting home due to Naruto's broken leg, Sasuke's broken arm and ribs, Sakura's bruised kidneys and blood loss. Please have a medic and a new mission on hand. The only team-building they can do in the hopsital is pranks, and then Shizune will try to poison me again.

Journey breaks, these days, meant a chance to train more. Going out on their third mission in two months certainly drove home the urgency of their village's need for shinobi who were as strong as they could be, so Sakura didn't grudge it. Not that that seemed to be the consideration that drove the boys the hardest, of course.

"Show me that Rasengan some more. I want to watch it with the Sharingan and see how it works."

"Only if you show me how Chidori works."

"Not that you'll be able to do it, but fine."

Boys, Sakura thought in disgust, and tried to pretend that she wasn't just as interested in both techniques as they were. Kakashi-sensei had known what he was doing, teaching Sasuke Chidori, she decided, watching. It was a technique that required focus, something to cut and pierce at close range, tightly aimed. It was Sasuke all over.

She could see ways to use that.

She leaned back against her battered green pack, taking small sips from her water bottle. That was the kind of thought she would have tried to avoid a year ago. It still felt strange, to look at her teammates and see tactics instead of romantic candle-glow, or, in Naruto's case, a haze of furious red. But Kakashi-sensei said that kind of thinking was her strength and she should use it, build on it. He kept asking her to think of things that brought that way of seeing out. Part of her preened over being recognized as the brains of this team.

Part of her sulked that she wasn't being recognized as a strong arm, for the team.

She sighed and rolled over, tucking under her pack with a practiced curl for shelter from the rain of splinters as Chidori tore apart a tree. She was becoming a good shinobi; surely that was enough to satisfy anyone.

She rolled back up and watched again as Naruto prepared for the Rasengan.

Five minutes and another couple trees later, she was staring at Naruto thoughtfully, absently twisting the cap of her water bottle in her fingers. "It's not that you're good at this," she said, thinking out loud. "It's that you figure out ways to use the couple tools you've got, like the kage-bunshin, to do anything you need to."

"Sakura-chan!" Naruto protested. "I am so good at this!"

"No, she's got a point," Kakashi-sensei murmured from under his tree and behind his book. "The only reason the multiple shadow clone technique doesn't kill you is your chakra reserves. You took that fluke and made it work for you, though, even to mastery of an A-rank technique."

Sakura nodded. "That's what I meant. You... you don't see any limits on how you use what you've got." And she could use that, too. Naruto would never think there wasn't a way to do something; he'd always find one, just like Sasuke would never move off a target. And Sakura herself... well, she might as well admit it, she would always want to direct, and maybe, just maybe, she could now. That was a really nice thought. Sakura smiled at both the boys, suddenly excited in a new way that had nothing to do with either romance or anger. "We're going to be a really strong team."

Kakashi-sensei winked at her from behind his book.

To: The Fifth
From: Kakashi
Re: I have a bad feeling about this

I think someone is tracking us. I've sensed what I'm fairly certain is the same presence on two separate missions, now. Send someone to shadow us on the way in.

Naruto hadn't known what Kakashi-sensei meant when he'd grumbled about "government work" at the start of this job. He was starting to get it now, though. They were up in the Lightning Country, and they'd snuck past the border, which had actually been a lot of fun, and they were perched outside the fortress of the merchant lord they'd come to sink. The guy had an army of his very own, which wouldn't have been all that much of a problem since none of them were shinobi, but there were Cloud-nin mixed in there with them. Real Cloud-nin, not renegades or deserters! And Sakura-chan said that meant that all the bad things this merchant's shipping did to Fire shipping, like piracy and sinking and ships that just disappeared, was really done by the Lightning government, and so they absolutely couldn't let any of those Cloud-nin know it was them, Leaf-nin, who had come to destroy the guy's fleet.

That was the part Naruto didn't really understand. Wouldn't it be better to know that the Leaf wasn't going to stand for that? Sasuke rolled his eyes when Naruto said that, but that was just Sasuke being his natural jerk self and it didn't mean anything. Naruto was actually a little glad to see it. Sasuke was a lot more himself now they were out on missions again, all about training and getting stronger. That was the kind of thing Naruto understood, that was the kind of attitude he could get behind, because it meant they could all train together, and sometimes he could show Sasuke up, which made it a lot easier to take the times Sasuke showed him up. Though he wasn't completely sure Sasuke understood about that, and sometimes he got all brooding and shit, and then Naruto had to do Sexy no Jutsu at him to make him stop, and nearly getting a Chidori shoved up his nose was totally worth the look on Sasuke's face. But anyway, Sakura-chan said they had to keep it quiet, and he trusted her. She was definitely the smart one, maybe even smarter than Kakashi-sensei, because Sakura-chan was just that awesome.

But keeping it quiet was a lot less fun, and a lot more trouble.

"We need to destroy a minimum of three quarters of his ships, and definitely these five that are armored," Kakashi-sensei tapped the sketch of the harbor, spread on the shadowy brown floor of the pine grove they were camped in, "without letting the Cloud-nin get a look at us. Thoughts on how to accomplish that?"

"If we take a day to write out explosive seals, we could have enough to do all the ships," Sakura-chan suggested.

"We'd have to get them all set, a handful to a ship, within a very short time," Sasuke pointed out. "If any are found, it will start a search for more."

"Naruto's multiple Shadow Clone technique might do for that," Sakura-chan said, but she sounded doubtful, and Naruto pouted.

"I could totally do it," he said. "There aren't that many ships."

"You couldn't do it and be quiet," Sasuke declared. "You couldn't be quiet to save your life."

"More to the point," Kakashi-sensei cut in as Naruto scowled, "it's to save others. If you're discovered, you'll have to kill whoever spotted you. There's no other choice, on this mission. We've been active in the field for seven months straight, now, and we have to assume that Cloud has the means to recognize us, even though you're all technically genin and wouldn't normally be in the bingo books yet. They might even have shown pictures of the most likely operatives to the regular soldiers. We can't afford to be recognized."

After a long pause, Sakura-chan asked, hesitant, "We... have to kill just on the suspicion?"

"Yes," Kakashi-sensei said, and there was no room at all for argument in that.

Naruto swallowed hard. Maybe he hadn't known what Kakashi-sensei meant when he talked about government work, after all.

"If Cloud knows that Leaf did this, they'll take it as an excuse to attack openly," Sasuke reasoned out, cool and detached in the falling dusk. "Killing a handful of sailors or Cloud-nin to keep that from happening actually keeps the most people alive. Especially our people. It only makes sense."

"There should be a way to do it so we don't have to kill them either," Naruto protested. "Can't we, I don't know, talk to them or something?"

"Not often." Kakashi-sensei sighed and sat back against one of the tall, straight pines. "I doubt you got this part of it in history class. Our most recent treaty with Cloud was actually offered as a way to get their field commander inside our village. Under the pretext of negotiations, he tried to kidnap Hyuuga Hinata so they could study the Hyuuga bloodline talent. Her father killed him. So Cloud demanded his head for the 'offense', threatening to go back to war if they didn't get it."

Naruto's eyes were huge, and so were Sakura-chan's. Sasuke was looking down at his knees. "What happened?" Sakura-chan whispered.

Kakashi-sensei's voice was quiet in the growing dark. "The clan head's twin brother offered his life in his twin's place, since he was marked with the seal that would bind his cells at death and lock them from any medical technique that might pry into the Hyuuga genes. It was done, and his head was sent back to Cloud with the remaining emissaries. They left a binding treaty behind, witnessed by representatives from Rock and Sand, so even when they realized what we'd done they didn't dare repudiate it. We and they have raided each other since then, in covert operations like this, but we've kept any excuse for open war out of their hands."

"And... we have to keep doing that now." Sakura-chan's arms were wrapped around herself, and her jaw was tight. Naruto came to a new resolution right then and there.

"Someday," he said, firmly, "there'll be another way to do it. When I'm Hokage, I'll make it happen."

"When pigs fly, then," Sasuke snorted. "You are so naive. And we still need a fast, quiet way to plant the explosive tags."

"Hey!" Naruto yelled, and then crossed his arms. "I'll find a way to do anything. That's my strength, Sakura-chan and Kakashi-sensei both say so." He preened.

"Just not a quiet way," Sasuke shot back, all dry and sardonic and stuff. Naruto didn't used to know what that meant, before he met Sasuke.

"Both of you cut it out," Sakura-chan ordered, sounding annoyed, but that was okay because Naruto could see she was trying not to smile, and that was a lot better than how she'd looked while Kakashi-sensei was talking. "Okay, look, if we plant the tags on the outsides that should blow good holes in all of them except the five armored ships. So if we do the regular ships first, that's one armored for each of us and two for Kakashi-sensei, and very little chance of the tags being spotted before we set them off."

Kakashi-sensei smiled. "Good. Now, how are you going to keep yourselves unseen, while you plant tags in the armored ships?"

"Camouflage fabric for when we need to take cover, but that won't do for when we're moving," Sakura started out.

"We're on water, what about that light-bending reflection technique Kakashi-sensei picked up in Hot Springs Country two missions back?" Sasuke suggested.

"I bet they wouldn't notice the tags at all if I went in as a girl," Naruto put in, grinning, and scored a point to himself when Sasuke actually groaned.

Maybe this could be a little fun after all.

They're following Sasuke. Coming home through Water Country instead of overland, to keep away from Sound. -K

Sasuke stood with his team in front of the Hokage's desk and kicked Naruto's ankle when he fidgeted.

The Fifth steepled her hands and looked at them over her fingers. "This is something that would have to be done before you attempted the exams again, but I'd hoped to take a little more time to study the seal. Unfortunately, we've confirmed that you're being followed, and there's only one group that's likely to be behind it." She looked disgruntled for a moment. "Though we haven't caught the bastards yet." She took a breath and laid her hands down flat on her polished desktop, looking Sasuke in the eye. "It's your choice whether to attempt this procedure now. I must tell you that the other person who's undergone it so far is... not unscathed. Mitarashi's chakra still hasn't recovered completely, and I've begun to fear that it's permanently scarred."

"Then why did you attempt it on her?" Sakura asked, frowning, and blushed as soon as the words were out of her mouth, adding hastily, "Hokage-sama. I mean, if I may ask."

Sasuke thought Sakura made a lot more sense when she forgot to be polite.

The Fifth's mouth tightened and her fingers laced. "Because I made the mistake of telling Anko how close I thought I was to finding a way and she knows how closely Sound is watching our village. She threatened to kill herself to remove a potential security breach if I didn't attempt it at once." She passed a hand over her forehead and muttered, "I don't even have enough shinobi to spare one for medical watch on someone of her skills."

Considering what he'd seen of Orochimaru, and what he'd heard since, Sasuke thought Mitarashi made plenty of sense, too. There was really only one point that he wanted cleared up. "If I chose to wait, what happens then?"

"We'll have to take you off your team and keep you in the village until the operation is stable," the Fifth said, soberly. "It's the only way to make reasonably sure you aren't taken."

"No," Sasuke said instantly, and then had to pause, taken aback by his own surety. It didn't change, though, when he prodded at it cautiously, in his mind. Any thought of staying here, of being left behind while Naruto and Sakura went out on more missions... no. Just, no.

"Yeah, that wouldn't be right," Naruto agreed, arms crossed. "Sasuke is one of us!"

Sasuke rolled his eyes, easing back into familiar disgust with the simplicity of Naruto's worldview. This time, though, the idiot had the right answer. How was Sasuke supposed to keep getting stronger without his team to work with, after all? It was only practical to stay with them.

Sakura was chewing her lip. "If it's still dangerous, though," she started, and he glared at her. Did she really think he was a coward? She glared back, hands on her hips. "I'm not saying you're scared or anything like that! I'm saying, what if this damages your chakra? What if it leaves you weaker? If you can prevent that by spending a mission or two on the sidelines, it only makes sense! You have to balance the costs with the gains, honestly."

Sasuke glanced aside at that. If this were a mission, he admitted grudgingly, he would accept her evaluation. That was her part.

"What are the odds, if you do this procedure now?" Kakashi-sensei asked quietly from where he leaned against the wall of the office.

"I judge there's an eighty-five percent chance of full removal with no chakra scarring." The Fifth looked at Sasuke as she said it, not Kakashi. "In another three months, I believe I could increase that to at least ninety-five."

Naruto looked daunted and Sakura screwed up her mouth. She didn't immediately say it wasn't worth it, though. Kakashi-sensei was silent, and Sasuke looked back over his shoulder, curious. His teacher met his eyes, gaze level and waiting.

Sasuke thought about that look and prodded again at his feeling he shouldn't leave his team. Slowly, he said, "What good is an anchor if I let go of it?"

The corner of Kakashi-sensei's eye crinkled, the sign of his hidden smile.

"What anchor?" Naruto demanded, bouncing a little on his toes, on the scent of a secret.

"The one you are around my neck," Sasuke muttered.

"Hey!"

Naruto went to punch him in the shoulder and Sasuke avoided it disdainfully, hooking out an ankle to trip Naruto into a chair as he deserved, except that even idiots could be quick on their feet and Naruto hopped over it. They were just starting to settle in for a proper round of it when Sakura pushed them apart, cheeks a mortified red.

"Stop that, the both of you! Not in front of the Hokage!"

Naruto straightened up looking hangdog. The Hokage in question, on the other hand, looked like she was trying not to laugh. "So." She paused to clear her throat and managed, more seriously. "What is your decision?"

Sasuke drew a long breath, a little amazed by how easy it felt. "I'll do it now. I don't really want to leave this team."

The Fifth's eyes softened and he tried not to shuffle or fidget like Naruto would have. "All right," she said quietly. "I need a week to prepare and clear my schedule. You three are off duty until then." She nodded to Kakashi, dismissing them.

As they walked out of the administrative building, Naruto said stoutly, "We'll come with you, when you go in to do this."

"Not into an operating room, Naruto," Sakura admonished. "We'll wait outside, then."

Part of Sasuke pointed out that there was no need, and it would be a waste of their time. But another part, the part that kept thinking about the number eighty-five and the floating, corrosive rage that came to him whenever he'd activated the seal, was glad they'd be there.

As it turned out, they were in the operating room after all. Sakura wasn't sure how she felt about that. Tsunade-sama had come banging through the library yesterday afternoon while Sakura was distracting the boys with some fascinating camouflage illusion techniques she'd found. The Hokage's hair had been half out of its ties, and her eyes had been blazing.

"I have an idea!" she'd declared and thumped a hand down on their table, leaning over them. "Naruto! Do you want to help out with this operation?"

Naruto had looked downright alarmed, and frankly so had Sasuke. "Me? But I don't know anything about healing!"

"Doesn't matter. I just need you to supply chakra to me."

"Oh." Naruto had settled. "Well, yeah, sure."

Sasuke had blinked at him. "'Yeah, sure'?" he'd echoed, disbelieving.

Naruto had looked at him, puzzled. "Well, yeah. The seal is a problem. Tsunade-baba's gonna get it off you. If she needs some of my chakra to do it without hurting you, what's the problem? It makes sense, doesn't it?"

After a moment, Sasuke had looked aside. "Nothing you do makes sense, why should this be any different?" he'd muttered. Sakura had expected Naruto to fire up at the insult, the way he usually did, the way the two of them always bickered and snapped, but instead Naruto had leaned back in his chair, tipping it up on two legs, and just grinned. He'd looked... satisfied.

Tsunade-sama had smiled and ruffled Naruto's hair. "Kind of figured you'd say that." Naruto's grin had turned downright smug.

"But..!" Sakura had nearly pulled her own hair in frustration. When was she going to get Naruto to actually think about these things before he jumped in?! "Tsunade-sama! Naruto's chakra flow isn't smooth enough for any medical application, and how can he possibly learn that fast enough?"

"Doesn't matter," Tsunade-sama had waved a dismissive hand. "We'll take care of it with seals. Here, look at this." She'd pulled a sheaf of paper out of her obi and spread it out on the table. "See? The Three Gates gathering seal linked to the Dragon at Dawn seal will smooth any spikes out, and if the whole thing is buffered through the Summer Rain chakra dispersal seal the level should be constant."

Sakura had traced the complex figures with a fingertip, starting to understand; it was a brilliant piece of work. "But Tsunade-sama," she'd finally said, with what she later recognized was unfortunate innocence in anyone dealing with Tsunade of the Leaf, "these seals have to be held externally. In fact, if I'm reading this right, it's the chakra control of the person holding them that will make it all work, and they'll have to be familiar with the chakra of the person sourcing. And Kakashi-sensei left on that short-term solo job with a caravan to Grass..."

Tsunade had smiled down at her like a cat with a plump tuna of its very own. "That, Sakura-chan, is where you come in."

And so here she was, kneeling outside circles on circles of figures, hands folded in the Rat seal, breathing slow and steady to help give her a rhythm she could smooth the wild riptide of Naruto's chakra into. She'd been right; the seals were a brilliant piece of work and she'd never have been able to do this without their structure. As a scholar, she was lost in admiration and a little envy.

As the person having to breathe steady while one of her teammates lay barely more than arm's reach away and screamed, and another of her teammates sat in the circles of seals biting his lip until it bled and digging his fingers into the floor, she was only trying her damnedest not to break.

"Cauterize!" Tsunade snapped at last, visibly glowing hands still pressed hard to Sasuke's back over the Gate of Limit and the Gate of View, and Shizune—her only assistant, and they really were that short-handed weren't they, and why was she thinking about that at a time like this—stepped forward and traced layer on layer of medical seals over Sasuke's shoulder, fast and grim. Sasuke's screams finally subsided into hoarse, senseless, gasping. Tsunade was chanting under her breath, presumably to Sasuke, "Down... that's right, bring it down... no need to go bleeding your goddamn chakra all over the landscape you stubborn bastard, bring it down..."

Tsunade-sama certainly had an unusual bedside manner, Sakura thought very distantly and almost giggled. Stress, she told herself, and pressed her hands together tighter.

"Done," Shizune declared, running light fingers over each major chakra release point in turn. "Okay, it's steady. Head is good. Hands are good. Spine?"

Tsunade breathed out and slowly, warily, lifted her hands. "...good." She ran down the chakra points herself, nodding, and finally turned to Sakura and Naruto. "All right, we're done. Naruto, get yourself buttoned up again so Sakura can let the seals go without blowing the whole top floor off the hospital."

Naruto growled, and Sakura looked up at him, startled, and abruptly alarmed. His eyes... his eyes were strange.

"Naruto!" Tsunade barked. "Sasuke is safe!"

Slowly, the strangeness in Naruto's eyes went away and the tension in his hands eased; there were actually holes in the tile floor where his fingers had been. Tsunade came and rested a hand on Sakura's shoulder. "Okay," she said calmly. "Let it go, easy now."

As the pressure of Naruto's chakra ebbed out of the channels the seals created, Sakura slowly pried her hands apart and eased into the formal release. "Kai," she whispered, distantly surprised by how rough her voice was. And how she was shaking. Tsunade supported her and said, matter-of-fact. "Good work, both of you. Naruto, I know we pushed it with this, but you need to work on your control. Sakura, for you it's your endurance."

That cool, ruthless, teacherly evaluation actually steadied her. Sakura took a deep breath and said, in a more normal voice, "Yes, Tsunade-sama."

Tsunade smiled. "Now, come on, and see for yourselves that he's all right." She actually laughed as they both scrambled past her to Sasuke's side. Naruto took his shoulders, looking down at him fierce and intent, and Sakura laid a hand over his heart, letting out a shaky sigh at the feel of a strong, even pulse under her palm.

"We won't know for sure until he's recovered enough to work out a little, but all the signs are very good so far," Tsunade told them.

"The way he was screaming, though..." Naruto muttered, not looking up.

"Orochimaru sank some of his chakra into Sasuke's," Tsunade-sama said quietly, coming to stand beside them. "Like fangs. And it mixed a little into Sasuke's, like poison in the bloodstream, or a parasite. Getting that out was... not easy." She smiled down at Naruto, and it suddenly came to Sakura that Tsunade-sama looked exhausted too, pale and damp-haired with sweat. "I don't think even I could have done it and kept his chakra from hemorrhaging without you to supply a transfusion."

Naruto looked up at that, eyes so wide and defenseless that it made Sakura's breath catch. Had she really just imagined that feral strangeness? "He's really going to be okay?" he begged.

Tsunade rested a hand on his head. "I think so."

Shizune returned with a rolling cot and made to lift Sasuke onto it, but Naruto scooted in and picked Sasuke up himself. "I'll do it," he muttered, gruffly.

Sakura scrubbed a fast hand over her eyes, telling herself it was just the stress that was making her react this way, and swallowed the lump out of her throat. "Can we stay with him until he wakes up?" she asked, only a little husky.

"I imagine that would be for the best, yes," Tsunade agreed, and shooed them after the cot as it rolled out. "Go on. Don't forget to drink some water and stretch while you wait."

There was some comforting bustle getting Sasuke settled in a small recovery room, and one of the orderlies brought a pitcher of water and, after a long look at them, a stack of rough white towels. Sakura buried her head in one for a few long breaths.

"You okay, Sakura-chan?" A hesitant hand rested on her shoulder.

Sakura managed a smile for Naruto as she looked up. "Yeah. I'm okay. Just tired out."

She let him fuss and pour water for her, and watched Sasuke's chest rise and fall with his breathing, and promised herself that she would never, ever, ever go into medicine as her specialty. Ever. A battlefield would be easier to handle than this. Anything would be easier.

When Sasuke's eyes finally opened and she saw him coil up, tense as he always was, and then actually relax when he saw them there beside him, she had to let Naruto distract Sasuke while she scrubbed the towel over her face again to wipe away the water in her eyes.

From: Tsunade
To: Kakashi
Re: Naruto

KAKASHI, GET YOUR ASS RIGHT BACK HERE IMMEDIATELY, I HAVE SOME QUESTIONS FOR YOU. WHAT THE HELL WAS SARUTOBI THINKING?!

Tsunade had her hands over her face. "So let me get this straight," she said through them. "After the attack, after Minato-kun sacrificed himself and his child to ensure the Nine-tails was hosted and sealed again, Sarutobi-sensei decided that no one should air it around that Naruto was Minato and Kushina's own son. Okay. That's not all that unusual, in fact the Hokage's children usually don't really want that played up. I'm glad someone benefited from the lesson of my own childhood embarrassments. Fine. Great. It's really fucking stupid that no one ever told Naruto who his parents were, but whatever. But! Then! Then he actually forbids anyone to talk about the Nine-tails or its hosting at all! Which just ensures that none of the next generation understand about the tailed beasts, or knows why their parents are acting like such assholes to this poor kid, or have the chance to decide they're going to be cool and rebellious by making Naruto out to be a hero like Minato-kun requested as his dying wish! And Naruto didn't even know what he was until he was told by a traitor two years ago, and even then no one fucking told him what it meant! Have I got all this right?"

She still hadn't looked up from her hands, which was making Kakashi just a little nervous. "Yes, I think that's about it," he agreed, calculating whether it would be faster to leave by the door or the windows if the legendary Tsunade-hime lost her legendary temper.

She slammed her hands down on the desktop, which cracked, and glared at him. "Well that stops right now. I hereby repeal Sarutobi-sensei's order of silence regarding the Nine-tails. That attack and the results of it are going to be taught in school, Kakashi."

"I'm sure the curriculum committee will have an interesting time with that," he murmured, smirking, and added more cautiously, "And what do you want to tell Naruto himself?"

Tsunade opened her mouth furiously, stopped short, and slowly closed it again. "You're his teacher, Kakashi," she finally said. "Will it help or hurt, at this point, to know who his parents were?"

It was Kakashi's turn to be quiet for a while, thinking. "Naruto has made a lot of progress. He has the acknowledgement of his team. He's made connections with some of the other genin. He's even made a friend in the new Kazekage. He isn't as desperate as he was."

"But?" Tsunade asked softly.

"But," Kakashi agreed, "most of the village hasn't changed their minds. A lot of the older shinobi haven't. I think... I think it might be best to wait until after he passes the chuunin exam. That might be enough acknowledgment that it won't hurt him as much to know that he's the son of a hero and even that didn't stop our people from treating him like trash."

Tsunade winced. Kakashi felt much the same way, but he continued steadily.

"If he'd known from the start, it might have been a talisman for him; if it had been public, it might even have stopped some of the hate. Or at least muffled it. But to tell everyone this late in the day... it has to be at the right time."

Tsunade rubbed her forehead. "For someone with children and grandchildren of his own, Sarutobi-sensei could be a real idiot about how to deal with kids," she muttered.

"I believe that is why Asuma tries to get people to forget his family name, yes. Or one reason at least. And what about the Nine-tails?" Kakashi added.

"We have to actually train him, and train him soon," Tsunade said, so flatly that Kakashi felt a stir of alarm.

"Tsunade-sama, why, exactly, did you call me back so abruptly?" he asked slowly.

"I drew on Naruto's chakra while I was operating to remove Orochimaru's seal from Sasuke." She crossed her arms, tight. "The fox itself came out just a little, then."

Kakashi's fingers bit into the edge of the desk as he surged forward a step. "What?"

"I think it was just bleed-through, as the seal is made to permit. But he changed a little, physically—his eyes and his nails both." She looked understandably grim. "Kakashi, Naruto had no training or guidance at all, thanks to his mother's death, and he's had this thing in him since he was born! And Sarutobi-sensei's order of silence means he's never even studied any of the scrolls left by other hosts. I think the fox is starting to resonate with Naruto's emotions, and when that happens some of its consciousness or nature gets through along with its chakra."

Kakashi scrubbed his hands through his hair, completely understanding the vehemence of Tsunade's summons home, now. "We have to train him," he agreed. "Get him as much teaching as possible, anyway. Maybe Sand has some resources they can lend us. But maybe not until after the exam for this, either."

Tsunade frowned. "And if his emotions get stirred up during the exam?"

Kakashi snorted. "After what happened when the One-tail's host went through last year, I really doubt anything Naruto does will stir anyone up much." He slid his hands into his pockets and crossed his fingers. "Besides, the next exam is hosted in Sand, and they owe us one."

"Mmm. Well, I suppose it was triggered, this time, by his desire to protect his team. That's a positive sign, I think." Tsunade spun her chair around and stared out her wide windows, over the colored tiles of the village roofs for a while. "All right," she said at last. "After the exam, we tell Naruto about his parents and the background of his demon. I'll get some of the ANBU with their heads on straight to seed the information about his parents through the village, and send out an official notice repealing the Third's order or silence. We'll make a big deal about whatever training we find for Naruto, to calm everyone down." She spun back around to glare at him. "And I'll personally rip off the nuts of anyone who tries to further alienate the host and guardian of our village's most powerful defense."

Kakashi's smile would have showed his teeth if not for his mask. "As you command, Hokage-sama," he said, for once without any hint of irony. It was a shame they hadn't gotten Tsunade back sooner, really.

He just had to get his students through the exam, and they could start setting things a little back to rights.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Five

In which Naruto learns healing, Sasuke has Jiraiya inflicted upon him, and Sakura gets more dangerous. Humor, Drama, Fluff, I-3

"So," Kakashi said, perching on Tsunade's file cabinet despite Shizune's blistering glare as she tried to put away the promotion files. After a year of dealing with him, Tsunade was positive that he did annoying things like that just to be annoying. Which was, well, annoying. She already had Jiraiya to stir things up, and he sure as hell didn't need an understudy. What she hadn't figured out, yet, was how to stop him. She was sure something appropriate would come to her in time, though.

"So, what?" she asked, just a bit suspicious.

"So, what are we going to do with my team now?" he asked, in an obnoxiously reasonable tone. "They've all three been promoted; Konoha had a good showing at the exam this year. Normally, I'd suggest you keep them together as a high-level team, given how well they already work together. But I'm sure you saw what happened during the exam."

Tsunade leaned back in her chair, frowning. She certainly had. "He drew hard on the fox's power when he thought Sakura might have been hit with something fatal. It's definitely triggered by protectiveness, right now." Her mouth curled. "Temari, the Kazekage's sister, was up in the box with us and she had a seal out and ready like that." She snapped her fingers. "She'd have used it, too, if Sasuke hadn't sat on Naruto to calm him down. I think Gaara expected something like this might happen."

"I spoke with him, after the exam," Kakashi offered, crossing a foot over his knee. "He offered us copies of Sand's scrolls on the tailed beasts and their hosts, but he didn't have much more training than Naruto."

"Which is undoubtedly why he's had such difficulty controlling that damn tanuki of his." Tsunade sighed. "At this rate we may have to negotiate with one of the villages of the other great nations." And she didn't even want to contemplate what kind of concessions they'd demand in return for training someone else's host, but something had to be done and done soon.

"You know," Kakashi said, slowly, "I've looked through the scrolls myself. The one thing that's repeated over and over is that a host has to know himself, know his own chakra, and be able to manipulate both his and the beast's chakra very finely."

Tsunade considered that, and then considered Naruto, and groaned. "We're doomed."

"Maybe not." Kakashi laced his hands over his knee as he shifted it out of Shizune's way just in time to dodge her irritated swat. "I've been thinking. The ninja who learn to know and control chakra the most finely are generally the medics, aren't they?"

Tsunade blinked. "I... suppose that's true, yes." And then she frowned and held up a hand. "Wait just a minute. Are you suggesting that we train Naruto as a medic?"

"It seems like the best way to achieve what he needs without having to go to Hidden Cloud or Hidden Rock. Or worse, Hidden Mist."

Tsunade settled back in her chair, reaching for the kunai weighing down some files to turn it absently through her fingers as she thought. "I suppose it might work," she murmured doubtfully, "but who could possibly handle him during that kind of..." She trailed off and directed an extremely suspicious look at Kakashi. He spread his hands, eye crinkling up all smiley and innocent. "You bastard," she growled. "You've been planning on this! You scheming, evil-eyed shit! You—"

It took her a solid minute and a half to run out of names to call him. The stark understanding that no one else could teach Naruto a healer's arts, and deal with the kind of screw-ups his power might produce, drove her to dredge up words she hadn't used since the last time she'd been up north of Earth Country in the winter.

"You already like him, though," Kakashi positively wheedled when she finally ran down. "And it would definitely reassure the village to see the Nine-tails' host learning healing."

She threw the kunai at him, dead center, and snarled when he evaded it. Shizune caught it on the rebound and put it silently back on top of its stack of paperwork. "Okay," Tsunade growled, after a long, furious glare during which she tried and failed to think of any other possible teacher. "Okay, fine. I'll do it. That kid is the only thing that can drag me into this kind of insanity, and it will serve him right when he gets to be Hokage and has to deal with it all himself!" She sat back, glowering at him. "All right, if Naruto is staying here to be trained, what about his team?"

"They'll all set up a howl if two go out without their third," Kakashi noted dryly. "So they all need to be reassigned for a little bit. It isn't entirely uncommon for the year after promotion to be a time for advanced training. I thought Sakura might enjoy a stint with Intelligence; it's suited to her skills."

Tsunade looked at him narrowly. "True enough. That only leaves the other problem child. We've kept those three together for Sasuke's sake this long; what can we do now to keep him from backsliding?"

"Well," Kakashi murmured, examining his nails. "I thought we might make use of Sasuke's competitive streak. If we give him a teacher equal to Naruto's, and one who has a character similar to Naruto's, I think that should keep him progressing nicely."

Tsunade stared at him, eyes widening as those specifications sank in. "Equal to...? Similar to...?" Finally she couldn't help herself any more, and burst out laughing until she had to hold her stomach and Shizune finally demanded to know what the joke was.

"Myouboku Mountain's Monk of the Toad Spirits... also known as the Toad Sage.... is here!" A long white tail of hair flounced and wood geta managed to hit the dust with a firm clack.

"You're what," Sasuke said, very flatly. It wasn't even a question. There was no possible question in the world to which that was the answer.

Sakura's eyes were the size of saucers and the Hokage had a hand over her face. Naruto, on the other hand, was hanging over someone's front gate laughing like a hyena. Sasuke gave serious thought to setting his butt on fire with a Fire Blossom.

"I know he doesn't look it," Tsunade sighed, "but this idiot really is my old teammate. Jiraiya, meet Uchiha Sasuke. Sasuke, meet the Toad Idiot."

"You're so cruel, Tsunade," the old man actually pouted. And they expected Sasuke to walk around being seen in public with this guy?

Naruto finally caught his breath a little. "No, no, he's actually really good. He's the one who taught me the Rasengan! I bet you have lots of fun traveling with him."

"I'm not sure I want to be anywhere near someone who teaches things you think are interesting," Sasuke pointed out dryly.

"Hey, it was totally my own idea to do a panty raid on Temari-san," Naruto huffed, crossing his arms. Sasuke contemplated this.

"I think that was my point."

"If it helps, he also taught the Fourth, so he's not actually as useless as he likes to look," Tsunade put in. "And there's the other side of this too." She folded her arms, brows drawing down. "Even after a full year, we're still getting probes from Hidden Sound, and most of them happen when you're in the village. Orochimaru obviously hasn't given up. And if you're not going to have a pathologically overprotective beast host right at hand, who can be counted on to follow right after any kidnapping, setting forests on fire with his chakra as he goes, Jiraiya is the next best thing."

Naruto looked smug until she flicked him over the ear. "That wasn't actually a compliment, brat."

Naruto glowered at her, rubbing his ear, only to perk up a second later. Sasuke would never understand Naruto's mood swings. "Hey, I bet he can teach you summoning!"

Still flustered by Tsunade's remark about overprotectiveness, and the little curl of warmth it had caused, Sasuke crossed his arms. "Uchiha don't use summons."

"You're the last Uchiha, I don't see why you can't do whatever you please and call that what the Uchiha do," Jiraiya said mildly.

Sasuke was struck very still, unprepared for that kind of insight after all the clowning.

Jiraiya rested a hand on his shoulder, dark eyes holding Sasuke's. "Don't limit yourself inside your own mind."

Slowly, Sasuke nodded. Maybe this would work after all.

Sakura,

You have the library handy, maybe you can tell me. Is it possible to request a rescue mission from one's own tutor? I'll pay for it out of my own pocket. We've spent the last week in the red light district of this town. The only ninjutsu practice I'm getting is figuring out how to haul his carcass home from the bars! Yesterday I used Transformation and turned him into a cat long enough to get him home; a neutered cat. The day before that I used a new wind jutsu to roll him along the street. Neither made him stop. I think he's trying to drive me crazy.

Sasuke

Sakura folded the letter away, giggling helplessly. She wondered how long it would take Sasuke to catch on that he was already in training. Another week at least, she wagered with herself; he could have a very one-track mind once he got an idea in his head.

She wondered a little whether even being taught by someone who seemed a lot like Naruto at sixty would be able to shake that.

Sakura was out in the courtyard of the Intelligence complex, working on advanced concealment techniques with a handful of other newcomers, when an explosion rocked the morning. Everyone looked up with a jerk as smoke billowed out of the top of the administrative center, but Sakura relaxed as an orange blur emerged. She could practically hear the cackling.

"Get back here, you brat!" Tsunade-sama's voice echoed down the block. "That was my favorite coat, you little shit! I'm going to turn everything you own baby pink for a week!"

"Oh, Naruto," Sakura sighed, even as her mouth quirked up helplessly. At least he was getting along with his teacher. In fact, she worried just a little sometimes that Tsunade would be a bad influence on him.

"Demon fox, huh?" One of the other newcomers, Shimasu, eyed the way Naruto had gone and shook his head. "Kind of explains a few things, doesn't it? Are we sure that thing can't get out?"

A chill tingle of anger rushed over Sakura and she had to take a moment to unset her jaw and smile at him with complete insincerity. "Oh, there's no need to worry at all. Naruto only draws enough of the Nine-tails' chakra for aspects to emerge when something he truly cares for is threatened." She clasped her hands demurely. "The village did a good job, there, I must say. After the way he's been treated, there's almost nothing here he cares for that way." The last sentence came out edged with ice and Shimasu's head jerked up.

"Who do you think you are?" he demanded, straightening up to loom over her. "I have five years seniority as a chuunin, missy, and..."

Enemy, the back of Sakura's mind whispered to her, threat to the team. Familiar calculation flickered through her thoughts as she eyed Shimasu coolly. She had watched him joking and shoving with some friends. His attacks were strong, but his defense was weak. If it came down to a confrontation, a binding seal would immobilize him for her to get behind him and then she could take her time getting the sensory-blocking technique Fuunotora-san had taught her right, and that should take care of him. And... he was backing away. She'd need to work fast...

"Sakura." Miuhara's hand fell on her shoulder and she blinked up at their trainer. He looked amused and relaxed, but there was a gleam of something else in his pale, sharp eyes. "That's some impressive killing intent, I admit. Work on hiding it."

Right, she wasn't with her team, they weren't in the field anymore, and, um, she probably wasn't supposed to treat another Leaf-nin like an enemy. Even if he kind of was. Only not that way, she told herself firmly, and took a breath, cheeks a little hot. "Yes, Miuhara-san. I'll work on that."

And she would, of course. No sense letting a threat to her team know she was coming.

Naruto wasn't the only one who felt that way.

Hey! Did Gamakichi step on you? I told him to step on you when he delivered this. How's it going with you and the ero-sennin? See, you should have let me teach you Sexy no Jutsu before you left, it's the best way to get his attention.

Tsunade-baachan is a slave driver, I think it must be an old-person thing. She makes me sit and MEDITATE for, like, hours, and the fox chakra itches. But I can already do chakra transfer, as long as it isn't for something really fiddly. So? What about you, what can you do? Come on, tell me, or I'll tell Gamakichi to lick you next letter I send!

Naruto

Sasuke folded the paper up again, neatly, and wondered how Naruto managed to actually hold a conversation in a single letter. He'd complain about Naruto putting words in his mouth, except... he usually got them right.

He tucked the letter safely away in his pack and lay down, firmly ignoring Jiraiya's knowing grin on the other side of the fire. Reacting would just encourage the man. If Sasuke was relieved enough at the distraction to smile at a letter from his teammates, well that wasn't to Jiraiya's credit, was it?

He pulled his pack over to use as a pillow, listening to the soft crackle of paper that all the letters from home made.

Naruto let the last history scroll roll closed on the words that described too calmly how a band of extremists from Hidden Mist, opposed to both bloodline talents and hosts, had broken through the guards while his mother was giving birth and damaged her seal, releasing the Nine-tails. "So. That's why people don't like me," he said, low, looking down at the scarred surface of the table in the little, wood-paneled room beside the Hokage's office, where he studied.

"For a long time, now, hosts have been the sacrifices of their villages, one way or another." For once, Tsunade-baachan wasn't yelling. "Konoha has tried to honor ours, but when the Nine-tails escaped and your mother was lost..." she sighed. "I think Sarutobi-sensei made the wrong choice. But some people are idiots, and his journals say that there was a lot of loose talk right after the attack. People saying Kushina-san had failed, or that she should never have tried to have a child since it put the seal in danger. He didn't want them taking that out on you."

Naruto's hands closed into fists. "My mother didn't fail."

Hands closed over his, stronger than any hands had a right to be, strong like the vast voice locked inside him, strong like maybe his mother's would have been, and Tsunade-baachan shook him a little. "Of course she didn't fail! Kushina-san was a hero, a greater hero than her husband! She gave her life to hold and guard Konoha's most dangerous weapon, and I honor her memory."

Naruto sniffed and swallowed. He wasn't crying, he wasn't. "How come the hosts don't have a monument, then, huh?"

"Maybe we'll make one." She scruffled up his hair. "Then you'll be on two monuments. One with your mom and one with your dad."

Naruto finally looked up, and if his grin wavered a little Tsunade didn't show she noticed. "So, hey," he said, sturdier, latching on to a much easier question for distraction, "we used to have a lot more beasts, didn't we? Why'd the First give so many away? I mean," he prodded his stomach, frowning at it, "the fox is really, really strong. Wouldn't we have been the strongest village if we'd had more?"

"We might have." Tsunade-baachan sat back in her chair on the other side of the table. "Or we might have scared the villages of the other great nations so much they'd have allied to get rid of us. That's what my grandfather thought, at least. We did get a lot of treaties out of those gifts." Her mouth twisted. "Even if half of them fell apart a generation later."

Naruto jammed his chin into his hands, frowning harder. "When I'm Hokage, I'm going to find a way to make everyone quit fighting like that. Why can't we just have a match, like at the chuunin exams, instead?"

Tsunade sighed. "Because the side whose team lost would want to do it again, with a stronger one, and sooner or later we'd be using whole armies again. That's kind of what a war is, kid. And as soon as people get killed, you have revenge getting into it, and it never ends." She leaned across the table and poked him in the stomach. "You know that already. Look at the way you reach for all of this, the moment you think one of your team is being hurt, or in danger of dying. Like when Sakura went down, during the exams."

Naruto growled, and then jumped, startled. This time, he could really, actually feel the surge of the fox's hot, raw chakra. "...oh."

"Most people don't have a demon beast to draw on," Tsunade-baachan said, raising one brow at him, "but everyone reaches deeper like that when the people they love are hurt. Everyone. Think about that."

Naruto thought about it, and chewed on his lip, and scowled, and finally burst out, "I'll find a way anyway! I don't know how, but there's got to be something to get people to stop!"

He expected the old bat to scoff, but she just smiled. "Maybe you will. Now." She rapped the table and rose. "Time for your meditation exercises."

Naruto groaned pathetically, but she showed no mercy and just pointed at the cushion on one side of the room. Naruto dragged himself over to it with a deep sigh and arranged his hands in the reverse Bird, and listened to the distant growl of the fox inside. One thing he would say, though never to Tsunade-baachan: it was getting easier to tell when the growl was the fox's and when it was his.

Maybe more people just needed to do this.

Naruto,

If you don't stop telling that toad of yours to jump on my head with the letters, I'm going to fry him.

And no, of course it's not your fault that a surgery you were assisting at failed. Unless, of course, you were actually the one bonding in the new bone and you somehow forgot to mention that part. Quit being an idiot. You're not actually incompetent, at least when you pay attention. And you do that more these days.

Stop worrying.

Sasuke

The owner of Ichiraku Ramen set down Naruto's bowl and smiled across the counter. "There, now, that's more like it. You've looked down for days. Cheer up! I made the ramen extra spicy for you!"

Naruto tucked the letter into his jacket and split his chopsticks. "Yeah, sometimes you gotta remember the good stuff in life!" He scooped up his first slurp of noodles with a tiny smile.

Sasuke had to admit, if only to himself, that Kakashi-sensei had been right. His team could keep him sane. He really missed them, having to deal with Jiraiya day in and day out. Naruto was comfortingly straightforward, by comparison, and he was positive that Sakura would have slapped Jiraiya very satisfyingly at least once a day.

And he wanted to be where Sakura was, getting the run of Intelligence, so badly he could taste it. He wanted access to secured records so he could find out where Itachi had gone, and what he was doing, and how Sasuke could finally kill the man and avenge his family.

Before the man could do it again and kill his... his team. His team, that was all. (Family dies. Family betrays. Not family.)

He shook his head sharply to settle his thoughts, and one of his lines of ink went astray.

"Redo that," Jiraiya told him, glancing over. "Summons aren't like ninjutsu; they don't go away until you dismiss them or the summoning seal is disrupted, and even that's chancy. You should have the dismissal right on hand the first time, and formally written as a seal, in case anything goes wrong. Decided what you want to try for, yet?"

"Hawks," Sasuke answered shortly, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. The thought had come to him about a week ago, watching one circling over the hill they were on. It seemed appropriate to make a contract with another creature of legendary eyesight, after all. Besides, then he'd have his own summons to send letters by.

"Hmm. Sharp-eyed, so single minded they fly into cliffs on the hunt, no sense of humor... I can't imagine why this didn't occur to the Uchiha years ago."

Sasuke considered trying out his new Chidori Senbon on his teacher, but he was pretty sure it wasn't stable enough yet, and he'd just be more annoyed if Jiraiya dodged it. Maybe, he thought as he turned back to his brushwork, a hawk would be willing to pick up one of the damn toads and drop it on Jiraiya's head.

That was a Naruto sort of approach to the problem, but right now he was irritated enough not to mind that.

Sasuke,

It sounds like you're making a lot of progress, even if Jiraiya-sama is aggravating. We've had a bit of a stir, here, and I don't know if Naruto will tell you about it. Someone brought their little girl to the hospital with a broken arm, while he was assisting, and the medic asked him to do the anesthetic for her. I guess the father was really wound up, because he started yelling that no fox demon was going to touch his child. Well, there was the mother of a little boy in to have his tonsils out just in the hall and she started yelling at the father that he was disloyal to Konoha to say something like that about the Fourth's own son. So there the two adults were, howling and screeching at each other, and Naruto in the middle just doing the pain-suppression. I was so proud of him! Well, in the end, the little boy came wandering in and sat down with the little girl, and by the time the parents got done yelling Naruto was spinning tops for both of them on the floor and they'd both stopped crying. I'm told that the father looked very shamefaced when he took his daughter home, as well he should. I honestly think the mother alarmed Naruto more, though; he still doesn't know how to deal with that.

I looked in the files, after you mentioned it, but none of them that I could get my hands on had any information about where Itachi is now, or where Akatsuki might be based. There's speculation that it's in Water Country somewhere, but it's all just rumor, nothing substantiated.

I did find something else, though. Keep an eye out, okay? When Tsunade-sama said that the Sound-nin keep showing up looking for you, she wasn't joking.

Sakura

Sasuke frowned over Sakura's letter. He hadn't thought Tsunade was joking, exactly, but he hadn't seen the slightest sign of Sound-nin anywhere in the last five months. He was much more interested in those rumors about the Akatsuki base. Maybe Jiraiya would agree to a trip into the Water Country if Sasuke said he'd heard the bars all had gorgeous servers or something.

And Naruto was an idiot. He should have just used the first anesthetic seal on the loud-mouth father, so he could do his work in peace and quiet. There was no excuse for that kind of thing.

Sasuke pulled over a sheet of paper and a pen to explain to Naruto in detail what he should to about that kind of interference next time, eyes glinting.

"Naruto! Did Tsunade-sama let you go for the day?" Sakura slid onto the bench of the dango shop across from him, pinning a case of papers firmly under her heel. Probably top secret or something, she was getting really into that stuff these days. Naruto pried himself upright from his sprawl across the table with a groan.

"She's a killer. We don't need assassins any more, all we need to do is have her train people. They'll drop dead in a month. She had me transferring chakra all day, in different proportions, if you can believe it, of my chakra and the damn fox's."

Sakura's brows rose. "Naruto, that's a really advanced technique."

He blinked. "It is?" The old bat hadn't told him that. "Huh."

"Well, here, you'll like this, then." Sakura fished an envelope out of her pouch. "Sasuke's latest letter came, and he said to share this one with you."

Naruto straightened up more, reaching for the letter eagerly. It really helped, these days, to hear from Sasuke. Who'd have ever thought, two and a half years ago, when they'd all first met? He blinked at the opening lines and read aloud, bemused.

"May all the spirits of my ancestors look on me with favor and preserve me from this utter asshole. Striking him dead would be favorite; it can't be hard the way he lives. No sooner were the words 'Water Country' out of my mouth than he hauled us off to Wind instead. We're doing laps around the central desert, practicing a different set of elemental techniques with every one. Do you know what they drink out here? Whatever it is, it makes him sing."

Naruto had to stop then to put his head down and laugh.

"Have you ever heard Jiraiya-sama sing?" Sakura asked, curious.

"Yes!" Naruto gasped, "that's why I'm laughing!"

Sakura leaned her chin in her hand, grinning. "So, is Sasuke right when he says the donkeys can carry a tune better?"

Naruto wrapped his arms around his stomach, sniggering too hard to answer as he imagined Sasuke's response to Jiraiya's sentimental caterwauling. Sakura just shook her head, smiling, and stole his glass of water for a few sips.

"Well," Sakura said when he finally caught his breath, "at least he should be more satisfied with his actual training, now. And being around Jiraiya-sama seems to be good for him, in a way."

Naruto wiped his eyes and stole back his water. "Yeah, he sounds a lot more human, these days. Less like he has one of those Uchiha fans stuck up his ass."

Sakura mock-glowered at him. "Tsunade-sama has had a very bad influence on your language, Naruto."

Naruto cocked his head, grinning, and waved the letter. "Seems to be a Legendary Three thing, since Sasuke's is getting just as bad." Sakura snorted and Naruto paused. "Um." He fidgeted a minute, looking down at his napkin. "Sakura-chan? Does that... bother you?" He snuck quick looks up at her as he twisted his napkin into a knot.

"That you and Sasuke are being taught by two of the Three and I'm not?"

Naruto winced at the way she knew exactly what he was talking about. That couldn't be a good sign, could it?

She steepled her hands together, looking at her fingertips. "I'm a little envious, sometimes," she admitted, softly. "But then I think... all three of us had to give things up for the training we're getting now. Sasuke has to be on the road while you and I get to stay together here. You had to start training in healing, and I know that was never a goal of yours. I don't have a legendary tutor all my own, but, you know, I also don't have a legendary enemy after me personally and I also don't have a demon fox sealed inside me I have to figure out how to deal with." She looked up at him with her mouth tilted. "I'm kind of okay with those things. And I do like working with Intelligence; I think it carries a lot of weight with them, that Kakashi-sensei recommended me."

"Well, that's because you're awesome, Sakura-chan," Naruto mumbled, looking at his napkin again. "I always thought so."

She actually smiled at that, instead of passing it off or smacking him in the shoulder, and that made him have to drop the napkin before he actually ripped it.

"So, go on and read what else Sasuke says," she said lightly. "I thought the part about the camels was pretty good, and he's got a new form of Chidori."

Naruto spread out the letter again with a little relief. Sakura was awesome, but Sasuke was easier to understand any day.

Sasuke leaned back on the rail of the boat, looking up at the sky above them. It seemed endless, from this angle, the blue only broken by a few hazy veils of cloud. He wished his life were more like that sky.

Annoyingly familiar weight settled beside him with what had to be deliberate thumps and creaks. "Looks like we'll have a good, clear passage," Jiraiya remarked, all bluff and cheerful.

Sasuke give his teacher a Look, and Jiraiya just smiled, perfectly sunny and impervious.

"Ah, there's the true Uchiha glare. What are you so pissy about this time? We're heading for Water Country just like you wanted, aren't we?"

"For your purposes," Sasuke pointed out with precision. "Not mine."

Jiraiya waved a finger at him and took a drink from his jug. "Nonsense, my purposes are yours! We're going to investigate!"

"No," Sasuke said. "They're not the same. You're always trying to get me to change the way I look at things, or think about something. Like the way you keep reminding me of my clan, but always in a way that would push me away from our traditions." He snorted as Jiraiya raised his brows. "Sakura may be the best at this, but that doesn't mean I don't use my brain too."

After a long moment, Jiraiya leaned back against the rail beside him and looked up at the sky. "You have the potential to be a fine shinobi. And a very powerful one. But you'll never realize it if you pay more attention to the past than the present."

"I'm not going to forget my clan!" Sasuke snapped.

"And here you said you used your brain," Jiraiya mused and took another drink while Sasuke glared at him. "Of course you won't forget them. But you should blunt the memory a little so it doesn't cut you." He quirked his eyebrow at Sasuke. "The Uchiha had many things to be proud of, and one madman doesn't erase that. You don't have to prove every bit of their honor all by yourself."

Sasuke flinched. It wasn't fair how Jiraiya could spend all his time acting like a drunk buffoon and then turn around and do things like this. See and say things that felt like a knife going in past his guard. Only without hurting. Exactly.

Jiraiya clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, come on, then! We're at sea; time to work on water techniques, maybe see what you can make of them combined with that Chidori of yours."

Sasuke sighed and did as he was told. The part of his brain that wasn't thinking about conductivity and possible applications of steam, though, wrapped those words about the honor of Uchiha around his heart and took comfort in them.

Naruto, Sakura,

We're coming back to the village for a little while. Found absolutely nothing about Akatsuki in Water Country, though Mist seems to have had yet another civil war. It sounds like it's about time, too, the last Mizukage and his cohort must have been really twisted. I'm almost surprised Akatsuki wasn't here, [blot that might have started with an I] they'd have been right at home.

See you soon.

Sasuke

A/N: Given how much time Madara spends, in canon, getting other people to do his dirty work, it never sat right with me that he was the only one involved in the attack on Kushina. So here he stirred up the Mist fanatics to attack instead.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Six

In which Seven is back together only to split up again when Sakura volunteers to go undercover with Orochimaru. Drama, I-3

Sakura flopped down under one of the trees that ringed the twenty-sixth training ground, panting and laughing a little as Naruto and Sasuke larked off across the clearing. Where "larked off" involved the two of them trying to, variously, incinerate, electrocute, suffocate, and dismember each other.

It was good to train with her team again; it pushed her, and it made her push herself. But she knew she'd never have quite the kind of stamina and reserves they did, even if she trained and conditioned for years. Not least because they'd undoubtedly spend the same time also training and conditioning! She wasn't sure they could actually make themselves stop, by now, not when they were in each other's company.

She was glad that Sasuke was back with them, too. Back where she and Naruto could protect him, not that she would breathe a word of that to him. Or to Naruto, for that matter, who probably didn't need any encouragement. But some of the things she'd read in the secure files had not made her sleep any better at night. Orochimaru was increasing his pressure on the village, and it had only been luck that Hagane Kotetsu hadn't died five months ago, retrieving Shizune from the hands of four Sound-nin who'd seized and tortured her for Sasuke's location. Only the fact that Tsunade-sama had shouted down her advisers and gone with the mission herself had saved him, and ensured that Shizune could still walk.

And still they didn't know where Orochimaru's hideout, which she refused to dignify with the name of "village", was. One research facility had been located, and several nodes in his message system, but the only Leaf agent to get any further had been killed before he could report back.

Sasuke was still in danger, and so, increasingly, was everyone around him. It was Sakura's job to figure out how that could be stopped. For her team and, these days, for the village.

Naruto finally buried Sasuke under too many Shadow Clones to dodge. Sasuke gave in with bad grace, and they came to collapse beside her in the shade.

"That's good," Naruto declared after a few swallows from the water bottle. "Training with Neji just isn't the same."

"Of course not." Sasuke swiped the bottle from him. "A one-trick pony like that."

"So is Jiraiya-san going to stay for a while?" Sakura put in, sliding easily back into the habit of deflecting them from conversation-interrupting scuffles.

Sasuke looked disgruntled. "Who the hell knows? I think he thinks it's good for me to deal with the unpredictable, or something."

"Well," Naruto said after a moment's thought, "it is, isn't it?"

Sasuke groaned just a little as he passed the water back to Sakura and let an arm fall over his eyes. "Why couldn't it be you that went off with the pervert, instead of me? Tsunade has got to be easier to deal with."

"She totally is not!" Naruto insisted roundly. "She's a fiend. A demon! She actually turned my jacket pink!"

"It was only an illusion," Sakura noted in the interests of fairness. "And only after you bleached her coat lime green."

Sasuke was looking at them with an expression of faint betrayal. "The whole world is insane, except for me, isn't it?"

Sakura leaned back on her elbows laughing softly as the boys argued, warmed by a wave of affection for her teammates. And, at the same time, frustrated, because just loving her teammates wouldn't help her do what needed to be done. It certainly wouldn't have any effect on Orochimaru.

Now maybe, she mused, thoughts turning darker, if she'd been like Sasuke had once seemed set to become, if she'd done nothing but resent them, resent the attention they got, maybe that was something Orochimaru would take notice of. She was pretty sure he'd been at least partly to blame for that episode of Sasuke's. And, in all honestly, there were times when she did feel some of that, when she wanted the same brute strength they had on tap, when she wanted to be as flashy and eye-catching as they were. But she dealt with it, let herself feel it deep inside and then went on, because she loved them a lot more than she resented them. She'd never let herself fall to the level of the slime Orochimaru seemed to take delight in hiring on. Potential wasn't reality or execution; feelings weren't actions.

But I could use that.

The thought whispered through the back of her mind, where plans and strategies lived, and her eyes slowly widened, staring up at the rustling leaves and their shadows.

The Hokage was frowning. "How do you think you can get in, though?"

"We know where some of Orochimaru's message drops are," Sakura stated, hands folded behind her as she stood straight in front of the Tsunade-sama's desk. "If one of Sasuke's team leaves a message for him, I think he'll at least agree to meet me."

"If I recall correctly," Tsunade said dryly, "that was how the last agent of ours to try this got killed. What would make your plan any more than throwing away another of my people?"

Sakura looked over at Kakashi-sensei, leaning against the wall and half hidden by the coat rack. He was the one who'd gotten her this meeting after all, and her sponsor in Intelligence. He just opened a hand, palm up. So it was up to her to convince the Hokage.

All right, then.

Sakura closed her eyes and reached for the place she kept the things she didn't let out. Anger, mostly, the part of her that wanted to crush things into nothing or rip them into shreds. She thought about all the passing flashes of resentment, when Naruto and Sasuke both got extra training and she didn't; when Sasuke executed the techniques her research turned up, the ones she just didn't have the chakra capacity to perform; when Naruto effortlessly made Sasuke respond to him; when people murmured about the success record of their team and never once mentioned her; when her parents cheerfully assumed that she was doing filing for the Intelligence center, and she was forbidden to correct them.

She unlocked the cave she kept all that in, all the curses and spitting rage and pure, unadorned selfishness, and she opened her eyes and looked at the world through spite.

Tsunade rocked back in her chair. "Sakura..."

"Why shouldn't I go to Orochimaru?" Sakura asked, hard and raw. "No one in this village will ever take me seriously as long as the boys are there. Why shouldn't I go somewhere they will? What has Sasuke ever done but reject and ignore me? Orochimaru can have him."

And then she wrapped her arms around herself and shivered and let the panic growing at the back of her mind that insisted she loved her teammates and she was important to them sweep away the coldness. When she looked up again, Tsunade was staring.

"I see why you recommended her for Intelligence," she said to Kakashi, not taking her eyes off Sakura.

"I thought she'd be good at it, yes," he murmured, and came to rest a steadying hand on Sakura's shoulder.

Sakura took a few deep breaths. "If you give permission, I'll need some help from one of the specialists in deep cover. I can do it, I can act like that for a little while, but I know there are ways to make it stick better than I can right now."

"Make it stick, huh?" Tsunade didn't look happy with that.

"The techniques in question also help buffer the agent," Kakashi put in. "There needs to be something real there to work with, though, otherwise the altered consciousness is too obvious to someone who knows what they're looking at. The risk, here, won't be Orochimaru. It'll be Kabuto. And Sakura's ability to act as though that resentment is all she feels is our best potential weapon against his knowledge."

Tsunade growled, eyes flashing hot. "That bastard." She brooded for a long moment and finally looked up at Sakura. "Are you sure about this? Really sure? It will take months, at the least, possibly more than a year before you can get word to us about where Orochimaru's bases are, and we can gather enough strength to attack without warning him. I'll believe you and Kakashi, if you both say you can do this. But are you really sure you want to sacrifice this much?" She reached a hand over her desk and finished softly, "We can find another way."

"We've tried other ways," Sakura said quietly. "They haven't worked. And it's getting worse. My team is in danger, and they're one of the things I care most about in the world." Her mouth twitched in a not-entirely-successful smile. "I know it'll be really hard to remember that while I'm busy denying it. I know I'll probably need... help, after. If I survive. But I want to do this. Just..." she swallowed. "Don't let the boys know where I've gone. That I'm undercover, yes. But not where."

"Not until the end," Tsunade promised. "They'd both kill me if I didn't let them go along to finish it and extract you."

That thought made the tightness in her heart relax and settle, and Sakura smiled for real. "Yes."

Tsunade sat back with a sigh. "All right, then. Do it."

"This technique is a subtle one," Miuhara lectured, as if this were just another exercise. "It doesn't force any response, it just encourages one or another, according to the key we set today. You'll probably have to make pretty continuous, conscious decisions about what to say and present; this is just a little aide. It should also help you hold part of yourself free of the new template. That said, the longer you use it, the more it burns in, and the greater the backlash when you break it. If you can, try not to break it until you're back in the village and our own division's medics can support you."

Sakura clasped and unclasped her hands and nodded quickly. "I understand." And she was glad she'd been assigned to Miuhara, for this. Having some instruction from a familiar agent, one she knew was experienced, helped her hold on to her resolution.

"All right, then!" Miuhara clapped his hands. "Let's get started."

Sakura seated herself in the center of the bare, underground room and concentrated on her breathing while Miuhara drew circles of seals around her on the slate floor. She could do this, she told herself firmly.

"Now." Miuhara knelt at the gate of the seal. "Find the thoughts you need to encourage, and we'll imprint them as the key."

Sakura nodded and folded her hands into the Snake, closing her eyes to concentrate.

What she needed for this, she had decided, was to pretend that the past two years hadn't happened. That she was still the weak one, taking what comfort she could in controlling her little puddle of chakra precisely. That she was still the ugly one, compensating as best she could with soft manners and girlish clothes, and always right on the edge of snapping, of shouting at someone, of shouting at the whole world because she was the one who was smart, who was right, who knew what she was doing. And no one ever noticed, because she had to not put herself forward, had to be hesitant and only halfway offer help, and then be self-effacing when someone asked; otherwise everyone would think she was showing off, and she'd be twice as ostracized as before. And here she was teamed with Naruto, who was an absolute idiot and bulled right through all those nets of expectations and didn't seem to care; she'd been able to tell herself it was just him compensating for being a dreadful ninja, up until they went into the field and she saw him use techniques she knew were A rank! And then she was so jealous she could hardly breathe. All the more so, because the other member of the team was the boy she wanted to notice her; if Sasuke noticed her, then she wouldn't have to feel like trash in front of the prettier girls. And it just figured that this one hope of hers, dropped right into her lap when every other girl in class would kill to be on Sasuke's team, ignored her completely. Acted like she was totally useless. Paid attention to Naruto but never to her! And the more she tried to hold on to the hope of romance, the more furious she got, deep inside.

Wouldn't it be wonderful to show all that on the surface, for once, instead of hiding it away? To show them all.

"Now the Ram," a calm voice broke into her reflections, and some part of her had been waiting for this, and she slid her hands through to the Ram instead.

It felt like a douse of ice water over her brain, and she yelped.

"Yeah," Miuhara said, scribbling one more seal across a paper laid over the gate. "The closing kind of stings. Hold still, now." The paper burst into flame and Sakura held herself still against the tingle that itched down her nerves and through her mind. "Done." Miuhara sat back, satisfied. "Okay, come out of there and try it."

Sakura picked her way through the lines of ink and wove her hands through the thirteen seals that initiated the Heart In a Net technique.

"I'm Orochimaru's agent," Miuhara said, cold and suspicious. "Why should we trust you?"

Sakura drew herself up and gave him a look of utter contempt. "Because I can give your master what he's failed to get for himself all this time. Sasuke won't come after me on his own, but Naruto is enough of a fool to do it, if they get wind of where I am. And he'll bring Sasuke with him." She leaned against the wall and smiled, hard. "But I'd better get a lot out of the deal. More than the Leaf would ever give me."

She knew it wasn't true. But it could have been. And it felt exhilarating to let the rage and contempt show, like flying, unsupported and without anchor on the wind.

Miuhara nodded. "Good, that rang true. Now break it."

Sakura formed the five seals of closing with precision and had to shake her head vigorously as the film of anger/strike back/bitterness/show them all slid away. "Ugh." She pressed her hands over her face and said, fervently, "I am so glad I'm not there any more."

"Mmm. You're going to be there for a long time, on this mission." Miuhara dusted his knees off, watching her narrowly. "Still think you can do it, now you know what it will be like?"

Sakura touched the love for her team that she held in her heart, and the bright rage against those who threatened them. Those, she was reassured, wouldn't go away no matter how she covered them up or disguised them. "Yes," she said quietly, straightening. "I do."

Miuhara smiled. "That's the last test, then. Go look over your notes one more time before you burn them, and have your farewell with your team. I'll make sure even your sealed records say you've been a clerk, and that's already your public cover. You're ready to go."

As ready as she'd ever be, at any rate.

She went out for yakiniku, that night, with Sasuke and Naruto, and all three of them scuffled over the food like kids. They tossed little illusions at each other and wove complicated wire traps, competing to see who could snatch the most perfectly cooked meat. Sakura and Sasuke decreed that Naruto couldn't use more than one Shadow Clone, and Naruto insisted in return that Sasuke couldn't use his Sharingan to see which bits of meat were illusions. Sakura agreed with a virtuous air, and promptly attached chakra threads to three pieces while they were arguing. She captured all three of them, too, to loud protests from her teammates.

When the last bite had disappeared, they sat together over their tea, quietly.

"So, you're gonna be gone for a while, huh?" Naruto asked, finally.

"A couple months at least." Sakura sipped her tea, rolling the heat over her tongue. "If it's a harder nut to crack than I hope... maybe a year." Somewhere in between the two was her own guess, but they should know her worst-case estimate.

"Had to happen just as soon as we're all back," Sasuke grumbled under his breath, and wouldn't look at them. Sakura smiled softly.

"Take care of each other while I'm gone, okay? Since I won't be here to keep you both out of trouble."

That made them both look at her, Sasuke with eloquently raised brows and Naruto with an open mouth. "Keep us out of trouble?" he echoed in disbelief. "Who was it who made the plan to hold Kakashi's books hostage against a candid photo, huh?"

Sakura laced her fingers under her chin and batted her eyelashes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Sasuke snorted. "So the trouble won't be as well planned until you get back, is what you mean. You'd better hurry, then."

"I'll do my best," she said, wrapping the warmth of their confidence around her.

She was unfortunately sure that she'd need it.

And all her plans and preparation had come to this moment, to an underground base and a carved stone hall, and one of her village's legendary Sannin watching her from the shadows of torchlight with a small, cruel smile.

"So? You say you can bring me Sasuke, for a price. What price is that?"

Sakura shifted her shoulders under the weight of her chuunin uniform, minus the forehead protector, and pulled up a glare out of the hot, sullen reservoir in her stomach. "Power. That's what you offered Sasuke, isn't it? So I'll claim the bargain instead." She smiled a little, hard and sardonic. "But not that seal's power. I'm not interested in anything that will make it easier for someone else to control me. Not ever again."

"Hmm." Orochimaru made an interested little sound. She thought he was amused. "And in return for this, you will serve me?"

"I'll serve my own interests," she answered coolly. "You should understand that's a lot surer."

He actually laughed. "Well, well. Perhaps I'll like this bargain better, after all." He came closer, looking down at her, predatory. "Very well, little kunoichi. I'll give you power, and you'll give me Sasuke. After," he added, "I'm sure of you, of course."

She shrugged a shoulder. "I expected that. Just don't push it too far."

Rage and the freedom of saying exactly what she thought whirled in her heart, and if much of that rage was against the creature in front of her... well, he didn't have to know that.

Not until the end.

She pushed those thoughts down as far as she could, underneath the older anger at the limits her village had hung on her, and followed him deeper into the complex.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Seven

In which Sakura insinuates herself into Hidden Sound and the dance of mutual deception and seduction commences among her, Orochimaru, and Kabuto. Also featuring the beginning of Akatsuki's plan emerging. Drama, Angst, Horror, I-5

Kabuto tapped politely on Sakura's door before looking in. "Orochimaru-sama wants to see you."

"About time." Sakura rolled up off her bed, where she'd been examining her ceiling and getting increasingly bored, and strode after him down the hallways of Sound's hidden heart.

She blended into the torch-shadows like they did, now. The one thing Orochimaru had done, in the three weeks she'd been waiting, was give her the run of Sound's outfitting supplies. Sakura suspected it was a test of sorts, but that was all right. She was done hiding what she was (and that made the best cover of all). She'd tossed her chuunin uniform into storage and chosen instead a snugly zipped leather vest, loose pants, and half gloves. All in black. She was done trying to be pretty and unthreatening, too. Orochimaru had chuckled.

Today he waited for her in one of his laboratories, smiling and cold-eyed and avid. "You've been wanting an opportunity to prove yourself. Here's a bit of research that I believe your skills might assist me with." He waved a hand at the table spread with diagram scrolls.

Sakura studied them and gave him a faintly disgusted look as she flipped them into what had to be the proper order. What was this, an exam? She ignored his smirk as she read. The heart of it was the Earth, Wind and Fire seal, but so woven into grounding channels that all its force seemed to be siphoned off. A strange approach for a technique that was supposed to tear a whole battleground into fissures and rubble. But the grounding also seemed to circle back. A feedback loop? "A power source," she finally said, slowly. "Looping the explosive energy until it's concentrated in one path. There's no outlet, though."

"Well, that's up to the subject, isn't it?" Orochimaru asked.

Sakura's world flipped over and she imagined the seal drawn on a person, not the ground. She snorted and let the scroll under her hand roll up. "I didn't come here to be your guinea pig."

"It's a technique still in development. You wouldn't be the first tester, of course," Orochimaru purred. "But I'm sure you'll wish to oversee the stages of testing and refinement."

(I can't do that, I can't...) Sakura forced down a twist of sickness and curled her lip. "I didn't come here to be your own personal torturer, either," she said and jerked her chin at Kabuto. "That's what he's for, isn't it?"

Orochimaru raised his brows. "Scruples, little kunoichi?" he murmured, and there was danger in his voice.

Sakura crossed her arms. "What you do is your business. What I do is mine. I'm here because you have something I want, and I have something you want; don't think that means I'm going to swear myself to Sound or follow your path. I've got my own." She stared back at him with all the fury of finally speaking and acting her mind, after all those years of muffling herself; she wasn't going to just accept a new blanket to throw over her own will, having finally fought free (it only made sense that she wouldn't).

"Hm." He studied her, finally smiling again. "I suppose I'll have to send you on a field assignment, then, to see what you're made of."

Sakura shrugged. "That's what I like best. Just as long as whatever goons you assign me know the difference between 'betraying Sound' and 'halfway decent strategy'." She smiled back at him, chilly. "I wouldn't like being killed by accident, and you wouldn't like how many you'd lose doing it."

He laughed low in his throat. "Very practical. How refreshing. Kabuto," he waved a hand, turning back to his diagrams, "introduce her to Sakon's new team. She can plan the trip into Earth Country."

(Sakon, only survivor of the snatch for Shizune, has one of those seals like Sasuke's.) Sakura prepared herself to show no sign of recognition as she followed Kabuto out into the halls again. Filing clerk, she reminded herself; pissed as fuck not to have known about the attack despite working for Intelligence, if they mention it.

"He seems to like you," Kabuto said conversationally. It took Sakura a moment to remember he was talking about Orochimaru, not Sakon. "I think he sees himself in you."

After the conversation they'd just had about testing (torture), that was a jab. Sakura snorted and jabbed back, as he'd surely expect her to. "What, because I finally figured out, after years of trying, that what I am is never going to be good enough for the precious Leaf? Never acceptable, no matter how good I am? Never right and normal? I suppose I can see how that would seem familiar, yes."

She could feel him stiffening beside her, just for a flash of an instant, and for that same instant his glance was dangerous. And then he smiled again and murmured, "Perhaps."

"I'm very good at what I do," she said softly, feeling for her footing in this exchange, remembering Kakashi's words about Kabuto being the real danger to her cover. She had to convince him, and that meant pushing back against him. "I hid it for years and years under sweet, soft manners. I know what can hide behind a polite smile. Kabuto-senpai."

His smile turned more genuine for another flash, dark and sharp. "Will that knowledge keep you alive?"

She shrugged one shoulder, starting to enjoy this sparring though it made her pulse run faster. "You said yourself that he sees himself in me. As long as he can get something he wants out of me, there's no reason to kill me. And," she added, gambling that a man who kept that sweet mask, even here, would have his own agenda, even here, "as long as I'm not a threat to your ends you'll enjoy me while I'm around."

Kabuto's smile was inscrutable again and he laid his hand on a door. "Perhaps. Here we are." As she walked past him into the room, he murmured, "Just remember that I did swear myself to Sound."

So. Either he was saying that he didn't actually have any agenda separate from Orochimaru's, and was genuinely loyal; or else he was saying that he was even more ruthless in pursuit of his separate agenda than she was, even to giving an oath he meant to betray. If her answer assumed either one, and the other was true, Sakura would be dead. Sakura felt a flash of the same thrill she'd felt facing Fuunotora across the sands of the Exam arena, and smiled back.

"I'll remember, senpai." And let him make what he would out of that.

Sakura didn't like Sakon, or his team. They were arrogant. They were careless. They were idiots. She found herself wishing, a little wistfully, that they really would mistake her sensible precautions for sabotage and try to kill her, so that she'd have a really good excuse to activate the trap seals she'd prepared for each of them. Unfortunately, she suspected that Orochimaru, who was mad but not stupid, had told them to just report her actions back, whatever she did.

(It nauseated her, at night, when she was falling asleep and sliding down deeper than her persona, to feel that callous urge to eliminate them and know it was at least partly real. She buried the disturbance under her persona as soon as she could, every morning.)

She'd certainly have preferred a more subtle group with which to track two of Akatsuki, who were reported to be, in turn, tracking the host of a tailed beast. Especially considering that one of those Akatsuki seemed to be Uchiha Itachi.

A field test indeed. Her lip curled. Orochimaru was subtle, even if his tools weren't.

(She wanted, so very much, to get this information back to the Leaf; another sighting of Itachi, after years of traceless silence. But she didn't dare. That would be just what Orochimaru was watching for.)

"What the hell, so we only get to watch them?" The one called Kagura lounged back against the sandy rock of their vantage point. "Boring."

"Orochimaru-sama's orders." Not that Miyu was watching anything but her knives as she sharpened them.

"You and your weird crush on the boss," Kagura muttered, turning over to take a look over the edge of the boulder again. "If we're watching, we should be closer."

"Not while Uchiha Itachi is down there," Sakura said flatly. Again.

"Like he could handle all three of us." Sakon paused and added. "Well, all four, I suppose." He gave her a smirk that said, clear as words, that he meant his brother-self as the fourth, not her.

"Don't be more of an idiot than you can help," Sakura directed, cold. "I realize that may not be much, since you apparently can't read a background briefing. Itachi has a new level of the Sharingan; one look and you'll be down for days with the after-effects. None of you are careful enough to be trusted to avoid it." Ah, it felt so good to just say that.

"Illusions," Kagura sneered.

"Physical effects," Sakura corrected. "Now shut up and watch; I think they're making their move." At least they were finally approaching the tall shinobi in the red armor they'd been tracking. They seemed to actually be talking to him. Trying to recruit him?

Apparently not, since the Rock-nin leaped back, steam suddenly spinning around him like a vortex. Itachi's partner tossed his head back as if he'd laughed and pulled his enormous sword off his back.

"So if the Uchiha is all that, why's it the sword guy going in?" Kagura demanded.

"The swordsman seems to be enjoying himself," Miyu observed, fortunately before Sakura gave in to temptation and strangled Kagura.

It was true enough that the swordsman—one of Mist's Seven Swordsmen according to the briefing—seemed to be amusing himself, fighting with broad, showy strokes whose flash didn't conceal their brutality. (Sakura remembered Zabuza with a shiver. But she could feel that glee, that enjoyment inside herself, now.) And Itachi stood quietly aside, waiting with every appearance of patience.

"Huh," Sakon commented, elbow on their concealing boulder. "That's some chakra the red one's got going."

Sakura wondered if that was what Akatsuki was after; the chakra of the tailed beasts, the greatest weapon of the hidden villages. But how did they think they could control the hosts? Surely the beast's chakra would overwhelm any brainwashing technique attempted on the host.

...or perhaps that was what Itachi was for, with his strange, new Sharingan.

(Naruto!)

Sakura watched the fight below with narrowed eyes and hoped the white knuckles of her hand gripping the rock would be taken for fear. Her breath hissed in as the host started to manifest visibly and she said to her temporary team, low and tense, "Be ready to move back."

"What, more?"

Sakura didn't even look at Kagura. "You weren't there when the One-tail got loose, were you? Stay if you want; I'll report back on how small a smear you left." Chakra was whipping around the red armor below, though the Swordsman's strange blade seemed to be keeping him clear; absorbing chakra, or deflecting it? She couldn't tell from here. Hints of a long, narrow head rose above the host.

And then Itachi stepped forward. He just stood there, unmoving, but abruptly the gathering chakra blazed, ragged and wild. And collapsed.

"What the fuck did he do?" Sakon demanded.

"I told you," Sakura said through her teeth, trying to keep her voice from shaking with the sudden knot of cold fear in her belly. "Come on," she added, as Itachi's partner hauled the tall Rock-nin over his shoulder. "We'll follow them as far as we can. But if any of you get too close and get caught, you're on your own."

"Yeah, fine," Kagura muttered, looking unsettled.

Sakura directed them out into a tracking formation and started after the two Akatsuki as soon as they were out of sight. Which took a while as the two strolled across the plain below, careless of concealment.

She would report all her suspicions to Orochimaru. And would not seek any of her message drops to Konoha. Not yet.

(Naruto! Sasuke! Oh, stay safe, be careful, don't let them catch you!)

The wind, here in Earth Country, was making her eyes tear up and she blinked to clear them.

A scream rang down the hall and in an instant Sakura had her back to the thick stone wall and a knife in hand. Another two weeks of waiting after her "test" mission had pulled her nerves tight.

"Admirable reflexes, Sakukra-san," Kabuto murmured, "but unnecessary." He looked down the hall. "Shall we see if the latest tests were successful?"

(Because of me, no, no, no...) Sakura took a slow breath. She couldn't pretend she hadn't known from the start where the power Orochimaru promised came from. She made her kunai vanish and followed Kabuto down toward where greenish light spilled out of an open door.

Inside, Orochimaru stood with folded arms, watching a man in the middle of the bare, stone room with an expression of dissatisfaction. He looked up as they came in and made a small tch of annoyance. "The Eight Gates won't do for this at all, Kabuto; I was on the right track with the first seal. If the power released is internal, there's no chance at all of limiting it." He waved a hand at the man.

Sakura swallowed hard, knowing her eyes were stretched wide. The man looked like he was on fire, crouched on the floor with heat and sweat and chakra boiling off him, shedding themselves into the visible spectrum. He made another sound, hoarse and desperate, and abruptly collapsed onto the stone. The raging heat and light around him died down and down and finally out, along with his last, faint movements.

He wasn't breathing.

Orochimaru sighed. "No, that won't do at all. But don't worry, little kunoichi," he smiled at Sakura, slow and more than a little mad. "There's always a way, if one just searches for it deep enough."

(Deep enough in nightmare, no, don't think, don't think, don't feel, anger, that's all there is) Sakura cleared her throat. "I hope so. I certainly have no interest in power that's too unstable to use."

"I assure you, I'm working diligently on it," Orochimaru murmured, watching her with dark amusement. "And for your part?"

Sakura folded her arms, looking down at them. "All right. As long as you're working on that, I'll work for you."

"Excellent!" He clapped his hands, sounding pleased. "I'm sure there will be plenty of missions that will suit you, here."

She knew it was true. (Would have to be true.) That was why she'd come here. She was shinobi, and she'd killed before. She would again. She clung to the bitter anger she'd fanned up in herself and turned her back on the body sprawled over the floor.

It was a little strange, how familiar missions made life. No matter the country, the wants of the people never seemed to change that much. Some people wanted protection, and some people wanted others gotten rid of. Someone always wanted to know what someone else was doing or saying. And all of those people came to the shinobi for help. So here she was, with a new team, lounging in the most upscale baths in Sound's capital and waiting for the mistress of the mayor to make her daily visit with her friends so that Sakura could find out where the mayor would be tonight. Even Orochimaru couldn't wring financial support out of a Daimyou without taking on some political jobs.

Kikyou slipped through the curtains and murmured, for Sakura's ears only, as she passed, "She's coming." Sakura nodded just a hair and swished her fingers under the water to send ripples toward the far corner. Kikyou waded that way and sank down into the water with a contented sigh, apparently indifferent to the two women already in the pool.

There was the one difference from her old familiar missions, though. This time, Sakura was in charge. Openly and officially, with no hidden orders to watch her.

(And so the message, finally dropped for Leaf after two and more months of waiting: the location of Hidden Sound, the tight-coded map, the warning about Akatsuki on the move, the don't-come-yet signal because he hasn't trusted her yet with the locations of more than two of the other bases. One tight roll of onion-skin paper she'd dropped blind and had to believe would be picked up.)

She liked the taste of being in control; it was a delicious contrast to her previous missions.

A drift of laughter preceded four beautiful women through the curtain.

"...and he brought the most gorgeous flowers, but I suspect it was his assistant who actually picked them out." Kotone of Kamura, the mayor's mistress waved one elegant hand, her laugh sweet and low even as she heaped scorn on her client. "I imagine the poor woman is relieved when I take up his attention."

None of the women had brought anything in with them and Sakura stretched her left arm out along the pool edge, signalling. Akemi slipped out of the pool and by the four women, bobbing her head timidly as she passed. She would check their clothing and things for any written assignations.

"So where is he taking you tonight?" one of the other women asked, coiling up her long, sleek hair.

Kotone touched a soft fingertip to her red lips. "It's a secret." She laughed as her friends protested. "Well, I'll tell you this much. It's in Fujiura territory." She slid into the water and leaned back with a full, pleased smile as her friends gasped with scandalized delight.

So it was true; the mayor was using his mistress' contacts to make deals with the city's yakuza clans. It remained to be seen whether he really thought he could replace the country's lord, as the Daimyou feared, but it was starting to look like that was the plan. Sakura closed her eyes and leaned back more comfortably, listening as Kikyou took the signal and stood. Under her lashes, she watched Kotone's gaze sharpen and follow Kikyou, and nodded to herself. Kikyou would lay a false trail, ending in perfect innocence, while Sakura and Akemi slipped into the Fujiura-run Mana restaurant to find out the details of this deal.

Everything was running smoothly, and exactly to her orders. Sakura relaxed into the water and fed her inner bitterness on satisfaction, drawing its veils more firmly around her heart to suppress worries about her message.

Yes. She liked the taste of this quite a lot.

Sakura stared at the twisted flow of stone in front of her. "This is what you call working?"

"It demonstrates that the principle is sound," Orochimaru lectured, as if this were a classroom. "Despite the subject's failure to control the process, it is, in fact, the correct process."

At least she didn't have to listen to any screaming this time. Actually, insofar as the thing still had a face, the statue (statue, not person, statue, think that) looked rather peaceful. It just wasn't human. "I've seen plenty of transformations before," she said, pushing down her flickers of queasiness and distress, "but none that ended in stone. Not unless it was a bloodline talent."

"Mm, yes. I do have samples of such things, but grafting them is always touch and go. In this case," Orochimaru flicked casual fingers at the statue, "the petrification is the result of an overflow of energy. The body can no longer withstand it and crystallizes."

"I trust," Sakura said dryly, "you can think of a way around that problem."

"In time." He looked down at her with the predatory edge she was actually getting used to. "There's a way around every problem in time, my little kunoichi."

Working with, and for, Orochimaru could be troublesome and disturbing, but it had been four months and she'd managed to get used to that. Traveling with him, on the other hand, was turning out to be unexpectedly and utterly exasperating. Orochimaru was finicky about where they stopped to sleep and would press on for extra hours to reach a town with lodgings he considered acceptable, but he was also distractable as a cat when some new thought struck and would stop them nearly midstride in a tree to write up experimental possibilities. Sakura was having downright (painful) flashbacks to Naruto in pursuit of ramen. And she could not, no matter how she protested or lectured or, eventually, in desperation, cajoled, get Orochimaru to keep to his alleged travel schedule. (So familiar, miss it so much, but not, no, never Orochimaru...)

And that wasn't even mentioning the actual route.

"How do you ever manage to visit your other bases often enough to keep them running?" she demanded as they rounded yet another switchback to a hidden gate. "It's going to take longer to get in than it does to inspect the place."

"If it bores you, I suppose I can bring Kabuto along as I usually do, instead," Orochimaru murmured, fingers flickering over the door, completing seals of unlocking.

Sakura ground down her sudden flare of alarm, checking their backtrail so he wouldn't see anything she couldn't conceal, and managed to grumble, "Why didn't you bring him this time, then?" (Have to be here, have to find all the bases.)

"Kabuto has a job of his own this month." He glanced at her sidelong, slyly. "One of the places I'm afraid I can't send you."

Spying in Konoha most likely, then. (Have to trust my cover holds.) She shrugged. "If this is what you need me for, fine. But, honestly, this is overkill."

"You'll see." He completed the seals and the door opened.

There were at least ten ninja behind it.

"Orochimaru-sama!" One of them hurried forward. "Suigetsu has escaped, please be careful!"

"Again?" Orochimaru sounded more intrigued than worried and Sakura fought the urge to roll her eyes, keeping a sharp eye on the room around them. "Show me the container. How did he get out this time?" He turned back to close the gates, head cocked at the man who'd warned him, and a silvery shimmer flashed out of the shadows, striking for his back.

Sakura was moving before she thought, following hard on her thrown kunai, watching as it went through what was attacking, driving her hands through the seals for Earth Wall even as she dove forward. She rolled and slapped a hand down to initiate the technique and breathed out as a thin wall of stone shot up just in time to intercept the attack.

And now, as the other ninja present started shouting and throwing around earth and lightning attacks, calculation actually caught up with her, murmuring in the back of her mind. (Chance to kill him, but might not, escapee, captured before, surprise attack but how often is Orochimaru really surprised? fifty-fifty chance, not good enough, defend him.)

That calculation wasn't why she'd moved.

Sakura crouched by Orochimaru, most of her waiting, poised, to defend again if necessary. But a little part of her, hidden and sheltered as long as she'd been able, was shivering. (exasperating, familiar, my team, miss it so much, acted to defend that memory, he's not them, but it feels so close...)

As the base ninja finally blasted earth through the attacker, who resolved into a half-liquid human figure, Orochimaru stepped up beside her and touched her shoulder in passing. "Well done, little kunoichi."

Satisfaction edged his voice and the base ninja nodded respectfully to her as she stood. It was the same way the people at the Sound village looked at Kabuto, Orochimaru's right hand. Trusted. Sakura took a silent breath in and deliberately pushed the wail of (not them, not the same, not!) further down inside.

(I'm shinobi. Whatever it takes. Use it.)

She followed Orochimaru into the base, alert at his back as she would be to guard any shinobi she was assigned with.

(not team!)

Her new team, she supposed.

Another month, another experiment. Whoever had given Orochimaru a science kit as a child had a lot to answer for. There was an unholy light in the man's eyes as he explained the changes he'd made since his last experimental subject had exploded all over his lab.

"Absolutely not," Sakura said flatly, stepping back from the table full of diagrams and seals. "This one draws on your control to supplement mine. The instant you let that lapse, I'm either soggy shreds or else a stone statue. An extremely strange one. You're just circling back around to the conclusion you reached with the elemental seals."

Orochimaru gave her a sour look, seeming right on the edge of pouting, and Sakura leaned her hip on the counter and snorted. "You like challenges," she reminded him. It was a lot of why she was still alive, she sometimes thought. That and his amusement at her measured insolence. "This approach is stalled; you need another. Tell me how the core of this works."

Orochimaru's brows rose. "I beg your pardon?"

Sakura sighed and rubbed a gloved hand over her face. He could be such a temperamental, pain in the ass, diva to work with; worse than Sasuke, honestly. (Want it back. Don't think about that.) "For one thing, I'm not letting you do anything to me that I don't understand. For another, I'm a damn good researcher, and I've been reading your library when you don't have any missions for me." She waved a hand at his papers. "I can already see what you're doing with the outer seals, channeling and looping the force to stabilize it. But why use a glorified explosive tag as the core in the first place?"

Now he smiled, slow and pleased. "Ah, but it isn't. The Earth, Wind and Fire seal is far more than that." He settled into a chair and crossed his legs. "Do you know the actual power source for that technique?"

Sakura cocked her head. "Isn't it the shinobi's own chakra? The warnings on it make it look that way; it draws chakra out so abruptly and in such volume that it can kill the user if they're not strong enough." That was, in essence, how every technique worked.

His smile got wider. "Oh, no. The reason the warnings call for only jounin rank to use this is because it requires that much strength to control the power source. Which is the energy of nature around us, you see. That is what kills the users."

Sakura blinked. "But... wait a minute. There are plenty of techniques that link the user with the energy of the world around them. That's the source of every elemental technique there is!" She paused in thought for a moment and added, slowly, "Though... not the power source, I suppose..."

"Precisely." Orochimaru leaned back in great good humor. "Ninja use the resonance between their personal energy and that of the natural world to form techniques. But not to power them. Because, unless the user has both great power of their own to balance the inrush, and also phenomenal control to shape what is, after all, an alien energy... well. The results can be very interesting."

Sakura reflected on what kind of thing Orochimaru found interesting and had to hold back a shudder. "And this is what you want to draw onto me, like I was some kind of really big parchment tag?" she asked. It wasn't actually a rhetorical question, considering who she was talking to.

"Ah!" Orochimaru held up a finger, eyes brightening again. "But you have the control. You will be able to shape it, once you have it. What must be supplied is a backstop, as it were. Some bracing to hold you steady against the flow and aid you in cutting it off before it runs out of balance."

"Hm." Sakura gave him a long, narrow look, and finally turned back to the diagrams, examining them with a new eye. "Are there any other techniques that use that source?" she asked absently, and looked up, startled, at the disgusted sound he made.

"The so-called 'Sage' techniques. That fool only made it work by having helpers, though, summons who could feed the energy to him. That seems to tame it a little." He smiled, very unpleasantly. "Though it also transformed the user a little bit into the form of his helpers. Very appropriate, I thought."

Sakura considered Orochimaru's sour expression, and the only person she'd ever heard referred to as a sage, and nodded to herself. Jiraiya. Interesting. "Well, then, what we need here are some 'helper' seals, isn't it? Separate seals to receive the force from Earth, Wind and Fire and feed it into a whole different channeling system. I bet I know one that would work, too." She grabbed some paper and started writing, chewing the end of the brush now and then as she thought back to how, exactly, these had gone. "Not the Summer River seal; that will contain it but not smooth or slow it at all. Channel it through the Three Gates and the Dragon at Dawn, and then smooth the output through Summer Rain."

(Seals that Tsunade had used to let Sakura channel Naruto's—no, the Nine-tail's—chakra to her. With Tsunade's work to contain the force, just maybe Sakura could trust this to be used on her.)

She smiled with tight satisfaction as she wrote the last line. "There."

Orochimaru examined her work closely, brows slowly rising. "Hmm. An unusual approach, but, as the source is external, this might work yes." He glanced at her, eyes gleaming. "It will rely wholly on your judgement, to stop the inflow before it burns you out."

Sakura raised her chin. "My control is second to none. I can do it."

(It will work, oh god it will work, this is it and it's too soon, can't delay any more, wait!, yes, can...)

"Well, then," he murmured, and she cut him off.

"After that's been tested to my satisfaction." She crossed her arms and stood firm against his burning excitement, hard and unmoving. No one was going to control her or burn her out for his own amusement. No one. That was her only concern. (Has to be.)

He looked at her for a long moment and finally laughed, low. "Very well, then." His mouth curled. "Sakura."

It jolted her. He'd never used her name to her before. Never... recognized her like that. The change struck her breathless and flustered, habitual anger easing. Whatever else Orochimaru was, he was one of the Leaf's Sannin, and he acknowledged her.

"Come." He gathered up the papers and swept out the door. "Let us see how this works." Knowledge lay dark under his smile as he looked over his shoulder at her.

(can't go there!)

(Have to go there.)

She nodded silently and followed him down the shadowy halls toward the sturdy stone testing areas.

Sakura slung her pack into the corner by her bed and stretched. This had been a long mission, though at least her subordinates were finally jumping properly when she told them what to do. Orochimaru had assigned her yet another team (not her team, remember somehow) over a month ago, and it had taken her a while to harry them into shape. She suspected Orochimaru of using her to train the less experienced shinobi of Sound, but she couldn't do a very fast job of it when he was also pulling her aside after every mission away to watch people attempt to use the seal he'd... they'd created. Attempts that had failed so far (Good, it's an excuse to wait, to build more information.), and when he asked, she'd chosen a mission over watching the latest round.

(she'd dropped the next message, they'd be ready to come when she showed herself, would brief Naruto and Sasuke to play their parts)

At any rate, the rural lord whose ambition the Daimyou of Sound had been worried about was dead, and the country's leader bound that much tighter to his "Otokage". She rolled her eyes a little over that self-bestowed title. Though Orochimaru did have the ability to match it. Not the clout, not the influence, and not the country, but the ability. No one could deny that.

"Sakura-san?" She turned to find Kabuto standing in her doorway. "Good timing! I think your procedure is ready for you."

Adrenaline spiked through her. "The seal? It's ready?"

He smiled. "The final tests went very smoothly. The subject managed to halt the power before he lost control, and showed significantly increased speed and reserves."

She took a slow breath. Power. Orochimaru's half of their bargain, she was going to have power to match almost anyone. And once the bargain was fulfilled, she'd agreed to show herself openly enough to attract Naruto's notice and bring Sasuke in his wake.

(Over half a year, this is it.)

(counted every day)

(Still don't have the last base location, but have to keep him from suspecting, have to be trusted, have to do it...)

She looked Kabuto in the eye, flushed with anticipation. "Let's do it, then."

Kabuto set down a small box on her table. "Take these before you sleep. They'll help calm your chakra in preparation for binding the seal to you."

"'Calm my chakra' hm?" She flipped open the box and eyed the two pills inside. "You're saying I have to make myself vulnerable to the imprint of the seal for it to take?"

For a breath, his eyes glinted. "I've admired the quickness of your understanding from the start, Sakura-san."

Another move in their constant sparring, always full of double and triple meanings. Did he mean she understood him? Understood Orochimaru? Understood only the surface, the technicalities?

"I'm flattered, Kabuto-senpai," she murmured. She only called him that when they spoke alone like this. Double and triple meanings.

"Only the truth." He slipped back out, closing the door softly behind him. "Sleep well, Sakura-san," drifted back through it.

She took the pills and slept deeply and walked into Kabuto's operating room the next morning with a firm step. She thought he'd probably put sedatives in there, too.

Orochimaru turned, smiling. "Ah, Sakura. There you are." His eyes were bright, but more focused than was usual when he was in the grip of experimentation and invention, which was reassuring. He'd already gotten the early, jittery excitement out of his system, apparently.

Kabuto made a reassuringly normal medical fuss around her, getting her prepared and onto his table. "I'll need to work along your spine, so if you'll lie on your stomach," he directed, draping a sheet modestly over her.

"I have watched this before," she pointed out, settling herself. Kabuto laughed, warm and comforting.

"I know; it's just medic patter. We're trained to do this, you know, to set people at ease."

"No wonder you're such a good spy," she muttered. "You were trained to lie."

Kaubto paused and she could imagine the quirk of his mouth that went with his suddenly darker tone. "Well, yes, I suppose I was." He chuckled and added, "I won't downplay how much this will hurt, then. It's chakra re-alignment, after all."

"I've noticed that, yeah."

"And have the will to pursue your strength, even so," Orochimaru murmured, and a startlingly warm hand rested on her back, almost as soothing to her nerves as that acknowledgment was to her anger. "Let us begin, then."

Sakura set her teeth into the bite-pad under her chin and closed her eyes. As ink traced over her shoulders and down her spine and wrenched harder and harder at her nerves and soul, she held tight to her purpose. She would have power, and she would never be ignored and set aside again.

(She would keep what was important to her safe.)

(love them, love them, kill him...)

As the seal sank into her, burning like fire, the screams broke loose, layers of her self running together in the unified rush of pain. Orochimaru's voice followed her down into the dark.

"Everything will be well, Sakura."

It actually helped.

And We'll Laugh About It

Takes place during Chapter Seven of Half Without Another One. While Sakura is gone her boys fret and try to distract themselves and take care of each other. Drama, Angst, Humor I-3

Sooner

The third time Naruto blew up his study room, trying to separate out the fox's chakra from his own once he'd already expressed them together, Tsunade didn't even yell. She just gave him a narrow look, hands planted on her hips, and called for Iruka-sensei.

Naruto kind of thought that was cheating.

Iruka-sensei, when he arrived, cast an experienced eye over the smoking splinters of Naruto's work table and crossed his arms in that immovably teacher-y way of his and declared, "No sparring with Sasuke-kun until you finish this exercise. Without blowing anything up."

Naruto stared at him in absolute betrayal. "That's cheating!" He pointed at Iruka-sensei, outraged. "Tsunade-baachan, that's cheating! I mean, that's just mean!"

"Naruto!" Iruka-sensei drew himself up, and Naruto wilted a little. "Do you think bandits or enemy shinobi are going to wait until you're not distracted? You need to learn control of the Nine-tails' chakra, and you need to learn how to focus on your work. Even when you're worrying."

"But..." Naruto mumbled at his feet, "it's Sakura-chan. I mean, what if something happens? How will we know?" Iruka-sensei stopped looming quite so much and reached out to rest a hand on his head.

"Sometimes we don't know," he said more gently, "and that's a painful thing to live with. But that's our job. That's what we are, Naruto."

Naruto crossed his arms tightly. He knew that. Of course he knew that. But he'd never had to do it before. Even when Sasuke had been gone, they'd know Jiraiya was with him. Wherever Sakura was, she was all by herself!

Tsunade-baachan finally pushed away from the wall where she'd been leaning and shook her head. "Go get something to eat, kid. And then you're going to come back here and do this exercise right. And then," he could totally hear the grin in her voice, "you can go out to play with Sasuke."

He straightened up and glared at her. "We're not kids."

She was grinning all right. "Glad to hear it. So you'll come back this afternoon and concentrate like a working shinobi, right?"

Naruto grumped and huffed to himself. This was blatant entrapment, was what it was. "Okay, fine. Yes." He pointed at Iruka-sensei again. "But I want ramen first!"

Iruka-sensei was trying to look stern, still, but a corner of his mouth was twitching up. "Just one bowl," he specified.

"Deal!" And he would get the exercise right, Naruto resolved as he followed Iruka-sensei down the stairs of the administrative building. Because he really, really needed to see Sasuke every day and make sure he was okay.

He kind of thought Sasuke felt the same way.

Naruto sprang out of a tree, grinning hugely as he bore straight down on Sasuke; this time he had him!

And then he squawked as a leg wrapped around his and arms snaked through his elbows, locking his knife hand. A weight that could only be Sasuke was against his back, and the illusion on the ground flickered out, and the ground itself was coming up fast. Really fast.

Thud.

It took Naruto a few moments to get enough breath back to wheeze, "Fuck."

"You really need to work something out so you're not so vulnerable to illusion," Sasuke agreed against his shoulder. He didn't sound nearly as winded. Of course, he'd had Naruto to cushion his landing. "You're not nearly as observant as S—" He cut off abruptly, and Naruto lay quietly, not fighting it as Sasuke's hold tightened. When Sasuke spoke again, his voice was rougher. "Hell, neither am I. So you need to compensate. Will your Shadow Clones be any good for this?" Finally he let Naruto go and pushed up to his feet.

"I dunno." Naruto wriggled his fingers and toes to make sure everything was still attached and rolled to his feet. "I guess if I hid one to watch... but I'd have to yell or signal to warn myself."

"Not necessarily," Kakashi-sensei spoke up from his perch on one of the training ground's huge boulders, eye fixed on his book. "You haven't noticed so far, which, I must say, says a few things about the lack of organization in your brain. But Shadow Clones return experiences to their originator when they disperse. It's one of the reasons the technique is so dangerous."

Naruto's eyes widened. "Wait, wait. So you mean... I could have had Shadow Clones do all my homework while I was out eating ramen and painting the monument?" And no one had told him?

Kakashi-sensei actually looked up from his book, and his expression was pained. "Naruto, Shadow Clones are complete copies of you. They would have blown the homework off too, and if they hadn't they would still have returned just as much boredom as you'd have experienced doing the homework yourself. Multiplied."

Naruto quailed at the thought. Okay, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. Sasuke had collapsed cross legged in the dust and had a hand over his face, shoulders shaking with stifled laughter. "You would totally have done it. Your face would have been great."

"Oh shut up." Naruto glared, but not too hard, because Sasuke wasn't laughing very often lately. "So anyway." He folded his arms with dignity and looked back at Kakashi-sensei. "If the Shadow Clone just disperses once it spots an illusion, then I would know?"

"If you were paying attention," Kakashi-sensei murmured, turning a page.

"Great!" Naruto produced about twenty, who grinned back at him and scattered through the trees. This time he'd definitely get Sasuke!

Sasuke was smirking. "This should be interesting."

Sasuke could be a total bastard, and way too smug about using his Sharingan to set illusions on all Naruto's clones at once so they all came back at once with nearly two dozen different views of Sasuke. But he gave Naruto an ice-pack for the headache afterwards, so Naruto figured he'd forgive him this time.

Besides, it kept them from thinking too hard about Sakura.

Naruto sat on Sasuke's bed and sulked as Sasuke packed. "Why do you have to go?"

Sasuke rolled a spare mesh shirt and stuffed it into his bag. "He says it's because Hidden Stone might be researching forbidden techniques, and the team that goes in has to be both as strong and as small as possible."

"So why can't I go too?" Naruto grabbed Sasuke's medical kit out of his hands to double check it himself, before it was packed.

"Because the Elders still want to chain you to the Hokage's desk," Sasuke pointed out dryly, stowing ration bars instead.

Naruto growled as he went to rummage in Sasuke's kitchen for ingredients to make some extra warming pills; Sasuke always managed to exhaust his chakra if no one was around to watch him, and then he caught chest colds, and then he was a pain-in-the-ass patient for weeks. "They're gonna have to let me go some time," he declared, grinding dried ginger like it had the Elders' faces on it.

"Some time, probably," Sasuke agreed, checking his shuriken one by one. "But not this time." They were both quiet for a few minutes. Naruto was rolling paste into pills when Sasuke said, "I'll be back in three weeks. Even if I have to tie the old pervert up and drag him back."

Naruto cracked a grin at that mental image and relaxed a little. "Yeah. Okay." He gave Sasuke back his medical kit and met his eyes steadily. "I'll be here."

Sasuke's shoulders eased a little, too, and he nodded.

"Sasuke," Jiraiya said, exasperated, the fifth time Sasuke circled their camp, "sit down already. Everything's secure. Have a drink or something."

"You drink enough for three, let alone two," Sasuke shot back, but it was half-hearted. He knew he was more wound up than he should be. Or, at least, wound up over things that weren't their mission. Witness the way he jumped, startled, when Jiraiya's hand fell on his shoulder.

"Sit down," Jiraiya said firmly, pushing him down beside their tiny fire. "Sakura's first status-check said she was all right, and Tsunade will keep Naruto from blowing up the village while you're gone." He paused and added thoughtfully, "Probably."

"But they wouldn't tell us what her message actually said!" Sasuke burst out.

"Mm, it's always hard to have a partner in Intelligence." Jiraiya sat down beside him. "We've been doing this for a long time, though, Sasuke; you aren't the first. Intelligence has learned not to lie to a shinobi's working partners."

"Do we still count as that?" Sasuke could hear how uncertain he sounded, and bit his lip, looking away. Jiraiya's large hand rumpled his hair until he looked back around just so he could glare. Jiraiya was smiling.

"I've heard some of the things Kakashi says to them about the three of you. You count."

Sasuke took a breath, charging himself to remember that, and that Intelligence had said that Sakura's message was a 'so far so good'. "Okay." Lower, he added, "Thanks."

"Get some sleep," Jiraiya told him, more gently than usual. "We'll be home again soon. Until then, we have work to do."

Sasuke nodded silently. Hell, maybe this trip would even take his mind off things for a while.

Every now and then, not often but now and then, Sasuke was willing to admit that his infuriating and cheerfully perverted teacher really did have a certain amount of wisdom. Today he would admit it, because the first thing Jiraiya asked when they reached the gates of Konoha was, "Is Naruto on shift at the hospital, today?"

The four genin on gate duty, none of whom Sasuke knew by more than sight, looked at each other. "I... don't know?" the oldest said.

"Oh, hey, Sasuke!" Ino popped out of the gate house. "You guys are back! Yeah, Naruto's up at the hospital again."

"Again?" Sasuke asked, wary and frowning. What was Ino doing on the gate? She was Intelligence, like Sakura. Shouldn't she be out on annoyingly incommunicado and very likely dangerous missions, too?

"Yeah, again. After that first week you were gone, when he almost trashed an operating room and the Hokage made him mediate for, like, four days without stopping," Ino supplied, sauntering up to them. "Smugglers," she breathed through unmoving lips, and gave Sasuke a bright, slightly bloodthirsty smile. "So, yeah, go on, you can find him there."

Ah. That made more sense, yes. Sasuke liked it when the world made sense. He should probably repay Ino for that by playing along. He smirked at her and murmured, "Have fun babysitting the gate, then."

"You shut up!" Ino shot back, loud enough to bounce off the nearest buildings. "It's only for a little while, because we're short handed!" All four of the genin edged away, and she bared her teeth with self-evident satisfaction. The gleam in her eye told Sasuke that she probably would have a great deal of fun, just as soon as she caught her smuggler targets. That was right and proper, too, and he breathed just a little easier as he followed Jiraiya into the village.

"Go on and see Naruto," Jiraiya said quietly once they were a few streets in. "I'll report what we found to Tsunade."

"I'm perfectly capable of making a report like a decent professional," Sasuke bit back.

"I don't doubt that." Jiraiya looked down at him, eyes dark and old. "But you need to see him, and he needs to know you're back safe." His mouth quirked up at the corner, though that didn't erase the tight lines there, and he clasped Sasuke's shoulder. "More efficient this way than waiting for him to come crashing into her office in the middle of a mission report. Go."

Sasuke swallowed, feeling the shivers building up, only stilled for a moment by his teacher's firm grip; he'd felt them all the way home. "Okay."

He took to the roofs to reach the hospital, flinging himself through the air as if it could sweep away his memory. It couldn't, though, and he must have been showing the fact because as soon as he came through the hospital doors the tall, thin medic on the desk zeroed in on him and came out, moving slow and smooth and keeping his hands where Sasuke could see them. "Can you tell me where you're injured?" the man asked quietly.

Sasuke shook his head, every movement sharp with the tickle of potential laughter and potential screaming in his throat. "I'm not— There's nothing— That's not it. Just... is Naruto available?"

The medic didn't look like he entirely believed Sasuke, but he just nodded and waved at a passing orderly. "Get Naruto. Tell him there's an AFS requesting him at the front desk, no C/O. IMP is basic NNS." note

Sasuke twitched away from the man's hands as he was herded over to a chair; he was pretty sure that last bit had been some direction about what to do with him. But it had been directed to Naruto, he reassured himself, so he could pretty much depend on it being ignored. And it was only about four minutes, by his count, before Naruto burst into the waiting room like a medically scrubbed, blond whirlwind.

"Okay, so what's— Sasuke!"

Sasuke swallowed and leaned into the hands suddenly locked around his shoulders. They were bruisingly tight, but that was okay; he needed the anchor. "Naruto."

"Sasuke?" Naruto frowned. "What the hell happened? You're not actually hurt, are you? If you're hurt and you didn't say so..."

"Shut up, idiot," Sasuke ordered, relaxing into this familiarity, into the stable point of his teammate's loud impatience and concern. He lifted his hands to wrap them around Naruto's arms, staring at him. "You'd never do it," he said quietly. Naruto would never, ever countenance or perform or let be performed the operations he'd seen the results of up in Stone. And Naruto still insisted he was going to be Hokage, and, even if that didn't work out, at this rate the idiot was looking to be Konoha's top medical ninja after Tsunade. So that was all right.

"Never do...?" Naruto's question trailed off as he looked at Sasuke and his mouth tightened. Abruptly, he pulled Sasuke against him, one hand sliding up into Sasuke's hair and pressing his head down very firmly against Naruto's shoulder. "No," he said with bedrock surety. "I'd never do anything that would make you look like this. Never. So breathe, damn it."

Sasuke laughed instead, unsteadily, fingers digging into Naruto's jacket, until Naruto thumped him on the shoulder.

"I said breathe," he barked, and the startling authority in his tone made Sasuke suck in a breath and let it out. "Better. Keep doing that. Just a little at a time and pause. Little more. Little more. Now let it out. There."

Sasuke followed Naruto's directions, and felt his lungs finally relax, and his stomach too. Apparently Naruto had been learning more than chakra manipulation. He was starting to feel a little light-headed, though, and asked dryly, "Can I stop yet?"

"Well you can't stop breathing, no." But Naruto finally let him lift his head again and examined him with a critical eye. "Wanna stick around for the end of my shift?"

Sasuke looked around the entry of Konoha's hospital, its off-white tile, and alarmingly cheerful pink and yellow stripes at waist height on the walls, and the chipped edges on everything because this was, after all, the hospital of a hidden village, and shuddered. Just about the only difference was that Ishi's hospital had more green, and had slate floors. But it wouldn't happen here. He wouldn't let it, and Naruto wouldn't let it, and when she got back Sakura certainly wouldn't let it. He had to remember that. "Yeah," he finally answered, a little rough. "Yeah, that would be good."

Naruto's eyes on him were sharp for a moment, but he didn't ask, just nodded. "Okay. Come on."

Sasuke followed after him, quiet and contained, watching the reassuringly normal routine of the hospital as Leaf's medics dealt with reassuringly normal spills and scrapes and training injuries. Not here, he reminded himself. It won't happen here.

Maybe it was even a good thing Sakura was out on her own mission, right now, because otherwise she might have been the one sent to Hidden Stone. It could have been her who saw the results of one too-charming medical researcher's experiments, cared for now as best their village could manage for however long they would live. He didn't want her to ever have to see something like that. Not her, not Naruto, they shouldn't have to look horror in the face.

He knew that was a stupid thing to hope, for two other working shinobi, but he still hoped they wouldn't have to. And if it did happen, the way his gut knew it might well, if it did... well, it wasn't like Sasuke hadn't seen horror before. He'd help as best he could.

He breathed a little easier once he decided that.

Later

Naruto trudged into Sasuke's room and slumped down over his table. It hadn't been a good day.

"Told you they wouldn't tell us anything more," Sasuke said, not looking up from the shuriken he was sharpening, cross legged on his bed.

"It's been over five months," Naruto groaned.

"She said it might be a year."

Naruto shuddered. "Don't say things like that." After a moment he sighed and added, "I'm so incredibly bored."

Sasuke finally sighed and put down his shuriken. "You are such a baby. Okay, fine, if we go out on patrol, will you stop complaining?"

Naruto perked up. "Patrol? Hey, yeah, they'd let me do that!" He paused and frowned. "Will they let you do that? I mean, without the ero-sennin? 'Cause he's away for two more weeks, isn't he?" Allegedly on a mission, but Naruto had seen the look on Tsunade-baachan's face when she agreed to it and kind of figured it was another of those 'research' trips where Jiraiya would spend most of his time in bars and baths and definitely not come home before he had to.

Sasuke smirked and fished a folded piece of paper out of his sleeve, flicking it at Naruto so it bounced off his forehead. "Kakashi-sensei can come along instead."

"You sure?" Naruto eyed his teammate with some doubt, even as his fingers worked the paper open eagerly. "Kakashi-sensei's on light duty. Tsunade-baachan said so herself, and you could hear her all the way down the other end of the hall." But there it was in black and white on the paper, a six week rotation of short patrols for Uchiha, Uzumaki, and Hatake. Naruto grinned hugely. Finally, something to do.

Something he didn't have to feel guilty over being happy about, the way he'd started to with the bone-healing Tsunade had started letting him help with.

"I think he argued that, for the great Copy Nin, short patrol is light duty," Sasuke said dryly. "He's got a point, especially if he's out with both of us."

Naruto looked up at Sasuke for a long moment and smiled. "Yeah. Don't worry, I'll make sure he gets better."

Sasuke looked away with a short huff. "Not like I was worried."

Naruto gave him a tolerant look. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, then, let's go terrorize the bushes and bandits, and shit." If he couldn't take care of Sakura right now, at least the rest of his team was where he could keep an eye on them.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow as Naruto crashed out of the trees followed by four Shadow Clones carrying two bandits between them. At least he assumed the pair were bandits; they were wearing enough pieced-together armor and knives for it, as far as he could tell under the coils of rope that nearly cocooned them from neck to knee.

Naruto was grinning hugely. "There! Now I'm ahead again!"

Kakashi stifled a smile behind his mask. "Sasuke came back with one more while you were gone. The two of you are even."

Naruto pouted indignantly (all five of him) and dumped the latest catch at the end of today's line. "Then I'm going to sweep the river next! I'll get lots more than him there!"

And he was gone.

Kakashi shook his head and marked his place with a finger, regarding Naruto's most recent contribution to the safety of Konoha's roads. A man and a woman, both fairly young looking though that might just be their dazed expressions. He picked up a pebble and flicked it up to hit Shikamaru, napping on a branch above him, on the ankle. "Shikamaru, you're the recorder for the day. Get statements from these two." Since this was, after all, nominally Shikamaru's patrol sector; best to keep the paperwork in order. He went back to his book as Shikamaru grumbled his way down the tree and slouched over to run through the formalities.

Most of the bandits Naruto and Sasuke's little competition had brought in had been too shocked by the speed of their abduction to even try lying about their business before it was too late. The five ninja from other villages they'd caught so far had been sent back for Interrogation to deal with.

"Someone should have thought of this sooner," Genma murmured lazily from under his own tree, one ankle propped on the opposite knee. "It's doing them good to take out their worry on something productive. Doing the patrols good, too; everyone was getting a little worn down covering both the short and long rotations while we get back up to strength. Good to have a little break while those two take over for a bit." He accepted one of the skewers of meat and vegetables Chouji had been carefully roasting for lunch and took a satisfied bite.

"Mmm," Kakashi agreed around his own very tasty mouthful. "And now I see why this year's patrol commander is hanging around in this sector."

"I visit all the sectors sooner or later." Genma grinned and licked a bit of savory sauce from the corner of his mouth. "I just take a little longer in Shikamaru's. An Akamichi's cooking is something to take a little time over, even in the field." He eyed the day's handful of bandits critically. "You might be moving on before I do, in fact. They haven't caught nearly as many today as they were bringing in two days ago. When you get to the next sector, remind whoever you send off to cover the one you're supposed to be in to relieve Hikaru and tell her where to join back up with Shikamaru."

"I'll make sure," Kakashi promised. He didn't actually want to disrupt the regular schedules of the other patrols, after all. Not more than was therapeutic, at least. Not more than would keep his team from fretting themselves and everyone around them to bits.

Not more than could be helped. For now.

He stared at his book, unseeing though his eyes traveled slowly over the lines. Another two weeks and he'd have completed his evaluation of the shinobi currently on patrol. He already had a list of a dozen or so who could be pulled off this duty without impairing their teams too badly, without showing too clearly that the Leaf was raising strength to attack someone. Soon.

They had the location of enough bases, now, to gut Hidden Sound if they had to, and Miuhara was confident Sakura could get them the last few. Soon they would have enough people gathered to get Sakura out of Orochimaru's main base, even against resistance. He could feel the tightening of nerves that said this operation was nearing its end, approaching whatever climax it would come to.

This had all been a lot easier when he was the one in the field, not his student.

Be safe, he told Sakura silently, turning another page. Stay smart. Let me have been right to teach undercover skills to you, of all my students. As he heard the rustle of someone dragging something large through the brush, again, he gave one last silent hope to the wind to carry away.

Let her come home safe.

End

A/N: Medical jargon in more than one country is characterized by a certain morbid humor and tendency to shorten by elision or acronyms. IMP and C/O come from US hospitals and stand for "impression [of what the problem is]" and "complaint of". AFS and NNS are original to the Naruto-verse and stand for, respectively, "Another Fucking Shinobi" and "Ninja Needing Sedation". In other words, "there's a typical shinobi at the front desk saying he's perfectly fine; I think he's full of it and may be about to snap, so bring the good drugs/knockout jutsu".

Actually, of course, those are translations, localizing the jargon for English speakers. The "original" terms are probably something more like:

AFS = ImaKuShi: Imahitotsu Kuso Shinobi (ã„ã¾ãã— or ã„ã¾ç³žå¿ in writing), "another shitty shinobi".

C/O = probably not shortened, since most of the words for "complaint", for example "fuhei", are already only two syllables and two simple characters.

IMP = Me: "eye" as in "looking at it" or "eyeballing it" (ã‚ or ç›® in writing).

NNS = NiChiNyuu: Ninja Chinsezai Nyuuyotte iru (ã«ã¡ã«ã‚…ã† or å¿éŽ®å…¥ in writing), essentially "ninja needing sedation".

Personally, I suspect there's a lot of hiragana used in ninja patient records, both to keep patients from snooping and for speed. back

Up on the Angel's Shoulders

Kakashi achieves the Mangekyou Sharingan, turning to his past to do it. His past visits him while he recovers. Takes place just after Chapter Seven of Half Without Another One and "And We'll Laugh About It". Angst, Drama, Angst, Fluff, Did I Mention Angst? Also Gore, I-5

Hatake Kakashi was known and feared through the five great countries and a dozen little ones. Sharingan Kakashi. The Copy Nin. The man who copied a thousand jutsu.

What no one seemed to remember was that Kakashi had graduated as a genin at five. Had passed his chuunin exam at six. And he had been jounin at thirteen, before he ever received the Sharingan.

Of course, that forgetfulness was mostly his own doing. The Sharingan's greatest single use to him was not expanded perception, or the ability to copy others' techniques, or even intimidation value. Its greatest use was as camouflage. No one had to wonder why the man with a thousand jutsu kept winning; the answer was self evident.

It was also wrong.

Kakashi was not a collector of jutsu. He was a scholar of them. He rarely used what he had copied except as a psychological ploy. Instead he studied them, looking for patterns among them, looking for the deeper answers to why one technique succeeded and another failed, looking for the weaknesses one could point out in another. Looking for the reasons and roots of chakra itself.

Right now he was sitting on the edge of his apartment building's roof, staring into the wind and thinking about the Sharingan.

Common knowledge, if a clan secret could be called such, said the Sharingan activated under great stress or emotion. Kakashi thought he saw a much more specific pattern than that, though. Of the three activations he had seen himself, all of them had been in the field. None of them had been triggered by fear for the Uchiha's own life. No, all three had been triggered by need, an absolute, driving need to protect, not themselves, but their fellows. To protect an emotional bond of great importance.

Really, it was no wonder the First had offered the Uchiha guardianship of the village itself; it was a purpose wedded perfectly to the nature of their bloodline. It was almost the mandate of their clan—always provided the bonds of the village were ones the Uchiha cared for. Some generations that worked out better than others.

That was a conclusion Kakashi had come to years ago, though. It wasn't what brought him up to the roof today. No, what brought him up to the wind and height, seeking perspective, was something new.

Something Sasuke had brought to him earlier that day.

"Kakashi-sensei." Sasuke stood at the foot of Kakashi's tree, looking up and frowning. "You know a lot about seals, right?"

Kakashi raised a brow. Not the usual kind of question from Sasuke, who liked direct attacks and large explosions almost as much as Naruto did. He dropped lightly to the ground beside his student, head cocked. "Quite a bit, yes. Though I should warn you right now, I'm not going to help the three of you break into the library at the Hokage's Residence, or the Records room at the academy."

Sasuke gave him a faintly annoyed look, but didn't rise further to the bait. Kakashi guessed it must be serious, whatever it was. Sasuke held out a scroll. "Is there a seal on this?"

"Hm." Kakashi took the scroll and unwrapped it's tie delicately. It was an old one, the paper dry and crackling under his fingertips. "Where is this from?"

"The Naka Shrine," Sasuke said quietly, eyes fixed on the scroll, and Kakashi's hands stilled for a moment. He'd only been an affiliate of the Uchiha clan, not formally adopted; he'd never taken part in most clan rituals. But he'd at least heard of a few, and the Naka Shrine was where the deepest and oldest had been held. Records from the shrine could only be clan secrets.

The thing was, he'd never actually told Sasuke he was affiliated with Uchiha. As far as Sasuke knew, he was asking an outsider to unseal a clan record.

"Sasuke," he said softly, "what is this about?"

Sasuke shifted under his eyes, fidgeting. Kakashi waited him out. "There's... a record tablet there," his student finally muttered. "It talks about the Sharingan. Itachi told me to find it, when he... left." Sasuke swallowed hard, hands fisting for a moment. When he went on his voice was a little ragged. "It's mounted, and the mounting is a box. There were three scrolls inside. I took them out, then, but I... I never read them."

"Probably a good decision, considering everything on your hands at the time," Kakashi murmured, when it seemed like Sasuke had run aground in his explanation. "Did something change your mind?"

"Jiraiya-san," Sasuke said to his feet. "He said... I mean... He was always making me think about clan things. Really think." He half-laughed. "I hated it. But this last mission." Finally, he looked up, and his eyes were haunted. "I need to know everything. What if we did something like that man in Hidden Stone did? The Mangekyou Sharingan is bad enough! What if there's worse?!"

Kakashi rested a hand on Sasuke's shoulder. "Easy, now." He waited for his student to take a good breath and asked, "What is it about the Mangekyou Sharingan that's so bad?" The way Sasuke was talking, he didn't think it was just that Itachi used it.

Sasuke chewed on his lip for a few moments. "It's..." His eyes slid away again, but not before Kakashi caught a flash of shame in them. "It's wakened by killing your closest friend."

Kakashi sucked in a sharp breath. Now he understood why their last mission, and the absolute betrayal of Stone's shinobi by one of their own researchers, had brought this back to Sasuke's mind. He spared a moment to hope, very hard, that the fact he'd never heard of the Mangekyou before Itachi returned meant that it was an aberration, that only a very few of his second clan had ever been tempted into that kind of depravity. No wonder Sasuke was so tense. All he said, though, was, "All right, let's see what this scroll can tell us." He unrolled it carefully.

It wasn't all that long and he skimmed through it quickly. Warning followed dire warning about the method of waking the Mangekyou Sharingan that Sasuke had mentioned; a handful of names were listed, renegades who had taken this path and been executed for it. The death of both soul and chakra were cited as consequences of attaining the Mangekyou that way.

It was all curiously vague, though, and his fingers tingled faintly with each turn he unrolled.

"Hmm." Kakashi traced his fingers over the back of the scroll thoughtfully. "I think you may be right; there's probably more information hidden in here. Well, there's always the obvious thing." He nudged up his forehead protector and looked with his Sharingan.

"I tried that," Sasuke said quietly. "It didn't change anything, though."

"Mmm." Nothing was changing, no, but Kakashi's eye itched just a little, the back-of-the-eyeball itch that he'd felt sometimes trying to look through something that had a barrier seal on it.

Or something that had a very strong genjutsu shielding it.

"The curious thing about the Sharingan, you know," Kakashi said, peering closer, "is that it's an extremely localized technique. No chakra touches the object of your vision unless you deliberately turn it outward; rather, an alteration to your own chakra and eye structure changes the nature of your perception. Your own chakra control has a great deal of impact on how deeply you can perceive through the Sharingan." Sasuke was frowning at him in puzzlement and just a little annoyance at this recitation of the basics, and Kakashi's mouth quirked. "Remind me to teach you this."

He sent his hands flashing through the forty-three hand seals of the focusing technique Kazuo-san, his tutor among the Uchiha, had taught him long ago, focusing his chakra pin-point tight until his vision telescoped and the scroll's characters burned in his sight.

Burned and divided. Sentence lay over sentence, on the scroll, each one in the overlay continued by the one beneath it in the underlay.

"I learned that because my chakra isn't completely compatible with this eye," he said, jaw clenched against the disorientation of reading two layers at once. "It isn't usually taught to beginners. It burns chakra faster, but it deepens your perception." He broke the technique with a short gasp, squeezing both eyes shut for a moment to clear his head. "You should read that yourself," he said at last, "but in short it details all the consequences of awakening and using the Mangekyou Sharingan, none of which are pleasant."

Sasuke's shoulders relaxed all at once from their tight line. "Nothing else?" he asked, relieved.

Kakashi re-rolled the scroll carefully and handed it back. "Nothing else." At least, it recorded no more demons in the Uchiha past. Fortunate, that. The ones already mentioned were bad enough. Sasuke held the scroll in both hands, head bowed, and nodded.

After a moment, though, he took a deep breath and looked up, chin set and determined, shrugging out of his demons' hold. "That technique you used. Teach it to me."

Kakashi smiled, quiet and proud behind his mask. "Of course."

Kakashi drew up a foot against the edge of the roof and folded his hands around his knee. He'd told Sasuke the truth. The scroll spoke of nothing but the Mangekyou and its consequences: madness, blindness, corruption, death. But there were little turns of phrase in how those warnings were given that kept coming back to him.

The scroll spoke of those consequences following the forbidden awakening.

Was there, perhaps, another way?

Three times, he had seen the Sharingan awakened by the need to protect an emotional bond. Not always a completely friendly bond; indeed, in two out of three, the bond had been downright adversarial. But each had been powerful and deeply meaningful.

The best known way to awaken the Mangekyou Sharingan appeared to be taking just such a bond and breaking it.

Madness, yes. But that pattern suggested something more to Kakashi's scholar's eye: not only madness but conflict. The tension of opposites. In the beginning, the user killed to protect what he loved. In the end, he killed what he loved and had bloodied his hands to protect. Tension like that could tear a heart in two.

Tear it open.

That, he thought, might just be the key. Any path to the Mangekyou Sharingan must tear open the heart, right down to the core, far deeper than the first awakening. That wasn't the kind of pain any sane person would court. It was, however, a pain that came to shinobi sometimes, sought for or not. It was a pain Kakashi had known himself.

Could that knowing serve his village?

His lips quirked as he came face to face with what he was thinking. No wonder he'd sought the roof today, and not the Memorial. This wasn't a decision Obito could help him with. Obito would almost certainly have told him he was an idiot to even consider it and that he needed to spend more time healing his poor, battered heart instead of cutting it open all over again. Obito would have had a good point. But, for all his passionate attempts to keep Obito's spirit alive in his actions, Kakashi's life and heart had always been dedicated to Konoha's service. That was what had led him to war, to ANBU, to teaching, of all things, in the end.

"I've already paid this price," he murmured to the wind, to Obito's memory. "If handing over the measure I got for it will buy more strength, protection for my people... I'll do it."

Idiot, he could hear Obito chide, but the memory of his teammate smiled crookedly, the way he'd smiled at Kakashi that last day when they'd finally worked together as one. Kakashi closed his eyes and smiled back, wry. The high wind over the village kicked up in a gust for a moment, ruffling his hair and curling down the back of his neck. Kakashi bent his head, reminded of another counter in his measure, one who would surely have had his own words to say about this plan. "Yes," he agreed softly. "Your student is still as reckless as always, Minato-sensei."

The wind sighed, but gently.

Kakashi sat in the middle of his apartment, table and cushions pushed back against the wall, paper spread over the floor mats to hold the rings and radials of the seal he'd drawn around himself. There was another on the door, a barrier. He didn't want to be disturbed, and he didn't want any neighbors to be injured if he lost control. He could have requested one of the sealed rooms under Intelligence, of course, but then he'd have had to say why. He wasn't at all sure he could explain, at least not in a way that wouldn't get him bundled off at once to whoever was doing operative evaluations this year, to have his head examined.

"I never claimed to be sane to begin with," he muttered to Minato-sensei's memory, as he knelt in the middle of his seal rings. He could almost see his teacher's disapproving look as he set a cloth weapons roll in front of his knees and slowly unrolled it. This one didn't protect kunai. Instead, each section held a memento—the dark ones he hid away and never looked at.

Kakashi took a slow breath, closing both eyes for a moment. Today his forehead protector, with the muffling seals stitched and etched into the underside, lay beside him; he could already feel the hum of chakra through his Sharingan, released of all restraints. One by one, he released the restraints he normally kept on his heart as well—the light humor that hid his ferocity, the careful distance from his fellows that hid his passionate attachments, the pretty books that distracted him from the blood and shadows of his work, the cool calculation that kept at bay his wild need to act. He released them all until the core was bared, blazing free.

Love. Guard. Protect. Whatever it takes.

Slowly, flinching, he reached out to rest his fingers on the first memento, the knife his father had killed himself with. A faint sound forced itself out of his throat as he let himself feel the full weight of conflicting need and reality, of his hot need to protect and the cold memory of death and failure, of his father's body still and lifeless and a pool of blood soaking into the tatami. It hurt, like steel claws in his stomach.

He forced himself to touch the next one. A scrap of Obito's jacket, stained at the edge with blood. He'd cut the scrap away just before they left him behind, bones crushed to fragments, half his organs burst under the falling stone, eye socket empty. The empty body of the teammate who'd admired him, railed at him, challenged him, not with jutsu but with his heart—they'd left him behind, the one who'd made him understand Minato-sensei's words, the one he could have loved if he'd only known sooner! Love. Protect. They wrenched against Dead. Lost. Kakashi hunched in on himself, teeth clenched as water gathered in his wide, staring eyes.

One after another, he touched them and made himself remember. Rin's forehead protector, scratched and bent from the ambush that had killed her on a routine relief mission he hadn't been there for. A charred bit of wood from where Uchiha Hiashi, the only one he'd been willing to call his clan head, had been found, surrounded by dead Cloud-nin, both his eyes pierced by his own hand. The long lock of silky black hair that Haruko, ANBU's Swallow, had left him, her captain, along with her note of forgiveness the night she'd hunted down her own cousin unflinchingly and then walked out into the dawn and into the river to drown. An embroidered Uchiha insignia that he'd taken from the shoulder of Mai's uniform when he'd found his sometime lover dead in the streets with the rest of the clan, guts sliced open and sprayed up the wall beside her, laughing eyes empty and staring at the dark sky. With each memory, he fanned all the wild fire of his love and urge to protect as if there were still something he could do, even as he held the mementos tight and reminded himself of reality, the chill of death in their flesh when he'd found them.

Finally, the last memento was under his shaking fingers. One of the marker tags from Minato-sensei's final battle, edges torn and charred. Memory stabbed at him, of coming too late, far too late, of arriving only to see the Third straightening Minato-sensei's limbs and brushing blank, staring blue eyes closed. He'd been too late, followed too slowly when the Nine-tails turned away from the village and he'd seen flickers of Minato-sensei's chakra in the distance. He'd failed. Failed to protect his teacher, his Hokage, the one he loved and had sworn in his heart to serve with his life. The one he'd needed, above all, to guard.

Memory piled on memory, of love on love and death on death, and he clung tight to his burning need to protect over against the stony chill of failure until they both screamed in his mind and heart, shrieked and howled with all the fire and grief that was in him and the fragment of mind left sensible wondered if this was madness. Red darkness clouded his vision.

And broke.

The very air stilled and brightened around him. He could see every current of it and every dust mote, every thread of wood grain and every fiber of straw. Drawn to the snapping point between the two poles of need and reality, his chakra shifted and his Sharingan answered. Here was strength to serve his need, to break reality if need be.

The world warped around him.

The next thing Kakashi was aware of was someone banging fast and hard on his door.

"Kakashi?! Kakashi! Open this fucking door and let me in or I'll blow it in, I swear I will! What the fuck is going on?! Kakashi?"

Anko. Of course. He tried to speak, to reassure her that everything was fine and there was no need for property damage, and only managed to cough in a very raw throat. He noticed he was flat on his back, too, looking up at his ceiling. Maybe he could get up and go to the door, where he wouldn't have to speak as loudly. Yes, that was a good idea. Only he didn't seem to be able to move much. Kakashi frowned to himself, considering this dilemma.

"Kakashi!" The door burst inward, barrier seal smoking and shredding under the force of Anko's kick. She stopped short just inside, eyes widening. "Sweet demons fucking, what did you do?!" She swooped down on him, heaving him efficiently upright, hands moving fast in an ungentle damage check. Kakashi's eyes widened as he saw the mess in the middle of his room. The paper of his containment seals was shredded and there was a hole or a crater in his floor, where he'd been sitting.

The mementos were gone.

"New technique," he managed to rasp, leaning on Anko's shoulder heavily. "Stronger than expected."

"I'll say it fucking was!" Anko glared at him. "Why the hell are you experimenting with new jutsu in our apartment building and not—" Abruptly she broke off, staring at him. No. At his eye. "Kakashi-san," she said, low and sharp, "what did you do?"

He grinned wryly behind his mask. "Clan secret."

She frowned, but didn't argue. Anko always had been serious in the field. "I'm getting you down to the medics. Hospital or Intelligence?"

"Neither." As her frown turned darker, he sighed. "Shizune first." He didn't want news of this going any further than was absolutely necessary. He saw comprehension in Anko's eyes, even though her mouth was still tight and disapproving.

"Fine." She propped him roughly against his table and hunted through the shredded paper until she came up with his forehead protector. Both of them eyed the end of the band that had been cut or torn away. "Other end doesn't seem to be here," Anko observed flatly.

Kakashi smiled. "Interesting."

Anko glowered at him and clapped it over his left eye. "Tie that. I'll be right back." In the doorway, she glanced back over her shoulder and added, quietly. "You'd better know what you're doing. I don't think we can afford to lose you right now."

Kakashi knotted the band clumsily as she propped his door shut behind her. His fingers were shaking. Chakra drain, he judged, feeling the chill of his extremities—not completely incapacitating, but he was undoubtedly in for a little bed rest. Well, maybe he wouldn't argue too hard. Once Shizune and Tsunade were both done yelling at him for taking stupid risks, he figured they could all keep busy talking over this destructive or warping ability he seemed to have gained.

Part of him hoped they'd take a while yelling, though, because his heart was shaking worse than his hands. He felt wrung out, scoured, but still vibrating with an edge like a combat high. Part of him felt stricken, bruised, that those mementos had probably been destroyed. Another part of him felt settled, contented that they had been lost in this way and for this cause, as though they were a suitable price. At the same time, he felt numbed, as if he'd burned the memories out by focusing on them so hard. He still remembered; there was still pain. It was just the bloodletting edge that felt a little dulled. He didn't know whether that was a relief or a betrayal of his loved ones.

"Was it the right thing to do, sensei?" he asked thin air, softly.

In answer, the door banged open again and Tsunade herself strode through it with Anko shadowing her. "What the hell did you do to yourself this time, brat?" she demanded, hands on her hips.

The breeze from the swinging door ruffled through his hair like light fingers, and Kakashi bent his head into it for one moment, yearning with all his torn heart for the lost touch of his teacher's guidance and forgiveness. And then he looked up at his current Hokage with the most insouciant expression he could manage.

"Well, there was this scroll..."

Kakashi drifted up out of sleep to the feeling of fingers carding through his hair.

"That was an extremely foolish thing you just did," Minato-sensei said quietly.

"Mm. Had to," Kakashi murmured, sleepy but stubborn. Minato-sensei's sigh was familiar.

"You did not have to, but I don't expect you to admit that." He could nearly hear the quirk of his teacher's mouth. "Not out loud, at any rate."

Kakashi turned on his side and curled up against Minato-sensei's knee, the same way he'd hidden from and silently apologized for reprimands so long ago. So many years since he'd done it last, since he'd heard Minato-sensei's soft huff of amusement or felt gentle fingers tugging on his hair in answer. So long.

Wait.

Kakashi slowly opened his eyes and stared up at the man sitting beside him on his hospital bed. It really was Minato-sensei, long pale coat folded and crushed under his thigh, smiling a little at his shock as Kakashi leaned up on one elbow. "What..." he managed, raspy and harsh.

Familiar blue eyes were sober. "You tore your chakra, Kakashi-kun, right down to the root. The damage is echoing in both your body and spirit. Tsunade-san is wise to keep you under observation, here." A small smile, quiet but bright as anyone else's laugh. "But it does mean you'll be far more sensitive to the presence of spirits for a time, so I took the opportunity to scold you in person."

"You're... really here?" Kakashi whispered, shaky. "I'm not... I mean..." Of course, years in the field reminded him, if this was a dream or hallucination, it was perfectly capable of telling him it wasn't, so nothing was proved. In fact, he told himself sternly, bracing for the inevitable disappointment, any claim of being real should probably be taken as evidence that this was a figment of his own pain and imagination.

Minato-sensei leaned back against the wall beside Kakashi's flat hospital pillow, crossing his arms. "Define 'really'." Kakashi choked on a disbelieving laugh at that, and his teacher smiled, eyes glinting like he knew exactly what Kakashi had been thinking. "I'm as here as I've always been. And you are... not exactly dreaming."

That was not the answer he'd expect from a dream, no. It was definitely a Minato-sensei original. But then... "Why have you stayed?" Kakashi demanded. "How have you stayed?" None of the Hokage were in-shrined; the First had forbidden it, saying that no one who dirtied his hands and conscience with the things a good village leader had to do should ever be venerated.

"The Hokage Monument makes a very good shintai, actually," Minato-sensei observed lightly. "There are even offerings left there, sometimes, by those who feel too soiled to stand on purified ground in the shrines. As for why..." He looked down at Kakashi, eyes level. "Do you really have to ask that?"

Kakashi's eyes fell. "I suppose not," he said softly. The Monument. Which meant that Naruto had been clambering all over his father's actual face and painting it new and interesting colors; Kakashi wasn't sure whether that was unbearably sad or incredibly funny.

Wait. Naruto. He looked up again sharply. "Minato-sensei, if you're still here why haven't you spoken to Naruto?" Surely the village's host was spirit-touched enough to hear.

Minato-sensei slumped a little against the wall, sighing. "I wish I could. But the Nine-tails holds more than a bit of a grudge and drowns me out whenever I come too near." Sadly, he added, "I can't even really blame him."

As badly as his own heart ached tonight, Kakashi couldn't bring himself to press further against the darkness in his teacher's eyes. "I'm sorry."

Minato-sensei gave him that small, true smile again, and warmth curled through Kakashi. He'd cherished that look for as long as he'd known Minato-sensei, very nearly living from smile to smile and hoarding the reassurance and approval in them.

And then he'd lost them.

Abruptly his eyes were wet and he hastily flopped down again, turning his head a little into the pillow to blot them.

"Kakashi." Minato-sensei's fingers brushed his hair again, stroking through it gently. "I haven't left you. No matter how my most bullheaded student has infuriated or terrified me over the years, I haven't left you."

"I couldn't... I wasn't in time..." Kakashi started into his pillow, thick and choked, and his teacher's hand closed on his nape and gave him a light shake.

"Enough of that," Minato-sensei told him firmly. "It wasn't your job to save me. You didn't fail."

"But," Kakashi started, stubbornness waking again. He'd been a jounin already, surely it had been his job to support his Hokage! And then he gasped softly as Minato-sensei's hand tightened a little, strong and warm on the back of his neck.

"You did not fail." That was his Hokage's voice as well as his teacher's, and Kakashi subsided, just a little daunted, as always, by Minato-sensei's rare sternness.

"Yes, Minato-sensei," he murmured, lying quiet as that insistent absolution settled into his heart.

"Better." His teacher's hand was gentle again, stroking his hair. "Sleep now, Kakashi. Rest. Heal up from doing such a damn foolish thing."

Kakashi's cheeks were just a little hot. "Yes, Minato-sensei." He curled back up against his teacher's knee, and heard Minato-sensei's soft chuckle. Slowly his eyes did slide closed under the steady stroke of Minato-sensei's fingers through his hair.

"Remember," Minato-sensei's voice said quietly as he drifted back down. "It wasn't your fault or failure. None of it was."

When Kakashi opened his eyes again it was daylight, and there was no one sitting beside him. No sign anyone ever had been.

But his heart didn't hurt as much.

End

A/N: Looking at the scene with that record tablet, it doesn't look like there's room for much detailed information on it, even in two or three layers; I'm assuming that it's actually just the summary, what was written by the first generation to deal with the Mangekyou. Other information was added later in the form of those scrolls tucked away inside/behind the tablet.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Eight

Sakura and Orochimaru conclude their bargain, and their betrayal. Sasuke and Naruto do their best to catch Sakura as she falls out of this mission. Character death. Drama, Action, Porn, I-4

"Once more," Orochimaru told them.

Sakura nodded and wove her hands through the six seals for activation. She rocked on her toes as the interlocking seals spread over her back and shoulders roared to life with wild power that flooded her whole body. This time, at least, she was expecting the jumble of elemental "tastes" in it and they didn't dizzy her. She rode the upsurge, feeling her seal like a typhoon wind at her back. But this wind blew through her, poured out of her hands and feet, driving them against the floor and walls of the stone arena as she tumbled and flew, evading every one of the blades Kabuto threw. Her hands flickered through the seals for the Violent Wave, faster than she could have even seen before, and water crashed down where he'd been.

Sakura spun on her toes, tracking him, holding the inrush of energy with a light hand, balancing it against the part of her that still tasted of her own spirit. This was like playing a game of shoji against Shikamaru and playing the koto at the same time. She could do it, though. She could do it.

She saw Kabuto gathering himself for another attack, caught the faint haze at the corner of her eye that often showed up when someone laid illusion on her, and leapt just as a wire trap snapped down. "Kai!" The dispelling swept the arena, blowing away the seeming of rock Kabuto had hidden himself behind, and she touched down, braced a foot, and drove herself towards him like the wind.

The hint of something coming was barely a crinkle down her nerves, barely a suspicion, but in this state it was enough. She turned in mid-air, arms crossed and guarded by her kunai, and Orochimaru's snake lashing toward her back got a knife in the mouth instead. The force of the attack drove her back against the stone wall, bruisingly, but she got her feet under her in time and her body held, coiled, absorbed the force. Hidden for that one still moment, she exchanged herself with blinding speed for a loose stone and drove her knife toward Orochimaru's unguarded back.

Kabuto caught it on his glove-guard, just short.

"Good," Orochimaru purred, eyes alight, and Sakura knew her own were glittering back at him. She could feel the air on her bared teeth. She loved this, that he would expect her, prefer her, to attack him from behind, to test him exactly the way he tested her.

It took a moment to draw herself back and disengage from Kaubto, and a longer one to make herself fold her hands into the Horse and send her seal to sleep once more.

"Very good," Orochimaru approved as Kabuto straightened and Sakura sagged against the wall behind her, wobbly with the sudden release of that pressure on her own chakra. "Because of its construction, you will always require hand seals to activate this, but that seems a minor drawback all things considered. I think we may call this operation a success." He folded his arms, smugly pleased.

Sakura nodded. "It doesn't give me any skill I don't already have," she reported wearily, "and the effort of controlling the nature energy is very wearing. My absolute endurance is still the upper limit on this; it's hard to feel my strength depleting directly, too, I have to pay attention to the stability of the balance I'm holding. But while I can hold out, everything is stronger, faster, clearer."

"Your abilities are boosted at least threefold," Kabuto confirmed, brushing himself off and straightening his tools back into their usual impeccable array. "That was more than the final test subject achieved."

Sakura hauled herself upright and stretched; the release took some getting used to, but she thought she could see already how to balance her new strength, its duration, and the weakness after it in her strategy.

"So?" Orochimaru cocked his head at her. "Are you satisfied?"

Sakura straightened her shoulders and nodded. "I am. Have you decided where you want me to show myself, to draw Naruto and Sasuke in?"

"Hmm." He tapped a finger against his lips. "It should be something showy, of course." He smiled slowly. "I'd thought to send you against one of Akatsuki. Kabuto might enjoy the chance to kill his old master, and Sasori's grudge has become wearing."

Sakura gave him a skeptical look. "And how were you planning to get one of them alone? Every mission of theirs we've spied on was a pair." And even with the seal she wasn't about to take on two of Akatsuki, not with only Kabuto to back her up.

"Unfortunately, yes. They're getting more consistent about that. A shame." Orochimaru waved it off. "Well, then. Two renegades from Cloud seem to have crossed through Hot Springs Country to our eastern border and be harassing our border post. At least one of them is jounin; Karajin Ryouta, if I'm not mistaken. Vanquishing them should be a good debut for you."

Sakura snorted, amused by this phrasing of it. "I'll want another week or two to train, if I'm taking a jounin plus helpers. But that should do."

"Excellent. I'll have a letter sent to the Daimyou, then, he's been getting really quite tedious about the matter." Orochimaru swept out the door, leaving Sakura mouthing "tedious?" at his back with raised brows.

"Orochimaru-sama does like to apply all his attention to his researches," Kabuto murmured, but Sakura thought she could hear a thread of laughter under his bland respect.

"He should pay better attention to politics, or else get someone who can," she said firmly. "Or even he won't stay 'Otokage' long."

"Well, perhaps that will be you, Sakura-san." While she was processing the combination of pleasure and wariness that answered his suggestion, his recognition, he added, "You know, you might be able to activate your seal without the hand seals."

(What agenda of his will that serve?)

(useful for when I turn on them)

Sakura crossed her arms and leaned back against the stone wall, eyeing him curiously, not shaking her head like she wanted to a little from the echoing under-persona thoughts. "In time, I suppose. I know a technique one is very familiar with can be formed without seals eventually."

Kabuto smiled. "Ah, but even before that, if your control is fine enough, you can form the seals in your spirit without using your hands."

Sakura whistled softly. "Seriously, no wonder you make such a good spy." He laughed.

"Indeed."

Did Kabuto think her loyal enough to Orochimaru, now, that this would serve and not harm his master? Or was this another step in Kabuto's own game? Always that question, with him.

Well, there was no way to know but to play it out.

"So I need to form the seals without actually forming them?" Sakura frowned, thoughtful. "That... makes sense, actually. I suppose familiarity couldn't make the hand motions unnecessary, otherwise. I hadn't quite thought that out before."

"All you've ever needed is a little pointer here and there," Kabuto murmured.

"I'll do my best to justify your confidence," she returned, meeting his eyes. They gleamed.

"I'm sure you will, Sakura-san."

The shinobi at the eastern border post were definitely glad to see her.

"The second one isn't jounin rank, I don't think," Tomita, the chuunin in charge of the post, reported to her, "but he's still strong, especially with illusions. Two caravans have been plundered because we just couldn't find them."

"That should make things interesting," Sakura murmured, turning over possibilities in her head. "I understand that Karajin is a taijutsu specialist?" That was a strong team, if they cooperated at all. She had to assume they did.

"Yes, ma'am."

There were advantages, Sakura reflected with some amusement, to Orochimaru's habit of giving her a new team every month or so. Many of the genin and chuunin of Sound knew her or knew of her from a partner.

"...know about her?" one of the post's two genin was whispering to the other, behind her, in fact. "They call her Orochimaru-sama's left hand!"

The rage and thirst for strength in her heart drank that in and purred.

"All right," she said at last. "We need to take out Karajin's partner first. How long can you keep Karajin busy for, while I stalk the illusionist?"

Tomita's mouth twisted. "Five minutes, at the most."

"I'll organize some traps and maneuvers for you to use against him, then. That should be long enough." She pulled a fresh sheet of paper across his desk and started sketching the ground in front of the border crossing. "Once I've dealt with the partner, fall back to here."

"That far?" Tomita stared at her. "Haruno-san... we won't be able to support you at all from that far back."

She smiled tightly. "Don't worry about that."

She could tell he wanted to argue, but in the end he kept his mouth shut and only offered a few insights on the terrain around the post and the border, and showed her to her room himself.

The next caravan came two days later, not coincidentally one from Fire Country, returning from Lightning Country and still trailing its Leaf escort. Since Hot Springs had dissolved their village, no one trusted local escort across that land. And even traveling through a country whose village one's own village was at odds with was better than a country where no one was keeping the bandits in check.

Sakura perched on the gate pillars that marked the border, observing the caravan as it approached. She'd wagered with herself on just how Karajin's partner was disguising himself or the target caravans. He almost had to be hiding in the wagons themselves; the longer someone had to weave an illusion, after all, the more strongly it took and the less chance of anyone pulling free of it.

Which was why Sakura crouched with her eyes closed as the caravan passed under her, hands in the Snake, watching her own chakra. The one skill that using her new seal had sharpened fastest was sensing the flows and small differences in her own chakra, and, sure enough, she felt the brush of another influence against her as her ears told her the third wagon passed under the pillars. She traced the touch back, narrowing down the location of its source slowly, feeling like she was squinting to pick out details at dusk, and wishing she had Sasuke's eyes present to do this faster.

(Don't think about that.)

But there. There it was, the source of the subtle disturbance, which she was sure she wouldn't see if she opened her eyes. Not without performing a dispelling, and that would make her far too obvious. Instead she waited, concentrating, following the trace she'd found.

The moment the caravan passed all the way into Sound, the ground under the front wagon exploded. Now, Sakura thought fiercely at Tomita and his team. And, indeed, she heard them coming, heard them ordering Karajin to halt, heard the Cloud-nin's laugh.

Felt the flare of chakra from her target, brushing over her own as he reached out to confuse their senses.

Now. She dropped down from the pillar without opening her eyes, feeling the tingle of exhilaration and terror as the world whirled around her in un-solid flashes of chakra. She suddenly had far more respect for the discipline the Hyuuga must exercise to fight like this. She had to open her eyes at the last moment, to land safely, but she had burned the location of her target into her memory and came out of her landing crouch with an unhesitating thrust at, apparently, thin air.

The world wavered just faintly, and there was a shinobi on the end of her knife, bleeding and glaring at her. Sakura bared her teeth and whirled, heel smashing into his temple.

Few genjutsu specialists trained to fight without the aid of their illusions. Their loss.

"Get the caravan under cover!" she ordered as she sprang down from the wagon and bounded toward the whirl of combat where Karajin was throwing Tomita and the genin, now including one from Leaf as well, around with careless ease. She set her feet at the edge of the fight, wove her hands through the activation of her seal, and shouted, hoarse with the rush of strength, "Get back!"

The battered Sound ninja sprang away from Karajin, Tomita hauling the Leaf-nin with them as she'd directed him to, and Sakura launched herself forward.

It felt like the world should blur with the speed of her strike, his guard, her rebound, the whirl of blows before they broke apart. But everything was clear, almost etched in her vision: Karajin's surprise, the narrowing of his eyes, the way he set his center to take her on seriously.

Not that she was such a fool as to face a taijutsu specialist head-on. She feinted another rush only to veer aside, hands flashing, and slapped her hand down to initiate the Rock Pillar Prison. While Karajin was busy breaking the pillars, she sank herself into the power of her mixed chakra and wove an illusion. Sight, sound, scent, touch, all of them told Karajin that she was not where she was—now ten degrees to the right, now fourteen to the left, always shifting. Exaltation surged through her as she completed the technique; this was more powerful, more complete, than anything she'd ever have been able to do before. And once the illusion closed around him it was easy, so easy, to slide past his misaimed strike and drive her knuckles into his throat. Cartilage crunched under her hand, and his eyes snapped to focus on her for one breathless moment before he attempted to inhale and passed out.

Sakura stood over him for one moment, savoring her victory. But she could feel her endurance starting to wane, and folded her hands through the release of her seal before it got any worse. She'd timed it right, this time, she thought, taking deep slow breaths as the world-energy flowed past without touching her again. This time she didn't fall down.

So she was on her feet and only a little worn-looking when the caravaners crept out of hiding, starting to chatter with relief. Tomita and his genin were approaching from the other side, the Leaf-nin trailing behind them.

"Um, shinobi-san," the caravan master started hesitantly, bobbing a bow to her, "the body..."

"Yes." Sakura waved a hand at one of the Sound genin who trotted over to haul the illusionist's body out of the wagon. "We'll take care of them." Orochimaru would want both, no doubt. She mustered a smile for the caravan master. "I'm sorry you were troubled by this. I think I can assure you the rest of your route is safe, though." She nodded at the Leaf genin, who nodded warily back.

Tomita's genin had clearly spent some of the fight filling his ears with tales of her—also as she'd directed. The man was no one she knew personally, which would make things easier. He'd have no personal stake in trying to persuade her back to Konoha this moment, and had just had a vivid demonstration of why he didn't want to try anything other than persuasion. She could almost see the moment he reached the decision to let well enough alone and just report when he got home.

Tomita saluted her, crisp and correct. "Thank you, Haruno-san!"

His tone startled her. It took her a moment to realize that this wasn't just putting on a good face for outsiders. Everything, from the straightness of his spine to the glow in his eyes, said that this was real.

Real respect.

The tautness of her old bitterness eased another notch even as her thoughts jangled against each other.

(Useful for keeping my cover in the end-game.)

(it's not right, not here...)

"That will do very nicely," Orochimaru said, rather distractedly as he prodded at Karajin's body with a chakra probe and scribbled another note. He finally looked up and cocked his head at Sakura, where she leaned against the lab wall. "And what will you do, once I have Sasuke and perhaps Uzumaki as well in my hands, and our bargain is ended?"

Sakura hesitated. "I've... been thinking about that."

His smile was knowing. "Hmm?"

"I haven't done badly out of my time here," she admitted. "Even aside from the seal. Hidden Sound respects me." And it was very sweet, that respect, that deference, the speed with which any Sound-nin under her command obeyed her. It tasted sweet to every part of her, and the aftertaste of wrongness in her heart was easy enough to hide.

"So?" he murmured. "Would you swear yourself to Sound, after all? To me?"

Sakura returned his gaze for a long moment and finally nodded. She stood away from the wall and touched her fist to her heart in salute, straight-backed and on her feet. "I offer myself as a shinobi of Sound, and my life into the hands of Sound's Master."

A flash of annoyance broke through the lurking amusement in his eyes at the title she used, but Sakura just looked back blandly. She wasn't calling the village leader for a country the size of Fire's peninsula Kage. In the end, Orochimaru's lips quirked, acknowledging the fact. "I accept you as a shinobi of Otogakure," he murmured. "Your life will not be spent lightly."

Kabuto looked up from across the room, where he was working on the illusionist's body, with a cheerful smile. "I'm so glad you chose to stay, Sakura-san. Welcome!"

That open, friendly smile sent a chill down her spine that was harder to hide than her gut's protest over swearing to Sound. "Thank you, Kabuto-senpai," she answered softly, wondering yet again what his game was and what her place was in it.

(We'll all know soon.)

(soon)

She wondered how Naruto and Sasuke would react to the news that should be reaching Konoha in just another week or two.

"She's what?!"

Sasuke stood very still as Naruto surged to the edge of the Hokage's desk, feeling ice settling in his stomach. "Are you telling us," he said, very evenly, "that Sakura has been with Orochimaru these last eight months? That was the undercover mission she left on?"

"Yes," Tsunade answered, sober.

"Are you all crazy?!" Naruto howled, and Sasuke was glad because that was just what he wanted to say and Naruto could say it louder.

"She volunteered and planned the infiltration herself," Tsunade snapped. "She was working with Intelligence; she knew just how much pressure Orochimaru was putting on the village."

To find me. She did it for me. The thoughts weighed down on Sasuke like lead, and pressed out the rough whisper, "Why?"

Kakashi finally stirred by the shelves he'd been leaning against since they got here, apparently reading. "Because her team means more to her than anything else, and she has the courage to act on that."

"No one else could do the job as well," Tsunade added as Naruto started to round on Kakashi, bristling. "Her cover... well. Anyone looking at it from the outside would find it very convincing."

"What cover?" Naruto demanded, voice hard.

Tsunade looked back at him levelly. "The cover of a very skilled shinobi who nevertheless has very little power, teamed up with an acknowledged genius and the host who controls the chakra of the Nine-tails."

Naruto flinched back, eyes wide. "But... but Sakura doesn't..." He spun around to stare at Kakashi, openly appealing. "She doesn't, does she?"

Kakashi reached out a long arm and whapped Naruto over the head with his book. "Idiot," he pronounced. "Of course Sakura doesn't resent you. Either of you. She loves you. But," he added as Naruto visibly melted into a puddle of relief, "anyone who didn't know you all, and know you well, would find it easy to believe she did. Especially someone as obsessed with power as Orochimaru."

That made sense, even though Sasuke felt like his brain was frozen, his thoughts crystallized. Finally one thought made it through that felt important and he cleared this throat. "Why are you telling us this now?"

There was compassion in the Fifth's eyes as she met his. "Because you two are part of the end of this. The bargain she struck, as her cover, was that Orochimaru would give her the power he once promised you; in return, she would bring you to him. We've just received a report that Sakura has surfaced, acting openly for Hidden Sound. For Orochimaru's consumption, the story is that Naruto, hearing this, drags you off with him to reclaim your teammate. That's what Orochimaru is counting on, and what Sakura has been preparing him to think all this time."

"In reality of course," Kakashi put in, propping an elbow on a shelf. "You'll be the front of the extraction and execution team. The three of you together should be able to kill Orochimaru, and there will be a support team shadowing you to help get you out after, while our largest force strikes for his major bases as soon as his death is confirmed."

Naruto was settling down as they listened to this. "All right, then," he half-growled. "You should have told us sooner, but I guess this is okay."

Sasuke listened to the whispers eight months and Orochimaru running round and round his head, and wasn't so sure. "Is she... all right?" he finally asked, low. "Do we know?"

"We won't know for sure until you get there," Kakashi said quietly.

Naruto frowned again, ferociously, looking back and forth between Kakashi and Sasuke. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Kakashi and Tsunade exchanged a long look and Kakashi stood. "Come on down to Intelligence, and we'll get you briefed."

Sakura was the only thought that came through the jumble in Sasuke's head clearly. The rest was just a slow twisting in his heart, where the friendship he'd acknowledged and the tenderness he hadn't quite put a hot, cutting edge on his fear. Sakura!

Orochimaru was deeply amused as he read over the message scroll. "They're racketing through the south of the country like a charging boar through underbrush."

"That's Naruto," Sakura muttered, arms crossed. "So, how are we doing this? Ambush?"

"Of sorts, of sorts. You and I and Kabuto will go to meet our impetuous young shinobi, I think. Quite openly. Kabuto can take the young Uchiha undamaged, I imagine. I wish to see what Uzumaki is made of." He turned from his pacing through his shadowy main hall and captured her gaze, smooth and hypnotic as one of his snakes. "And will you be able to fight your former partner beside me? Sakura?"

Sakura looked back at him, silent for a moment. "You're the one who gave me power. And..." she looked aside, "a place. A real one, fit for a real shinobi." She lifted her chin. "It's the place I chose. I'll stand here." It was all the truth, except the last part, and even that was true enough the way she meant it. She would stand here, because her duty demanded it.

(and strike from here)

"Excellent," Orochimaru purred. "Let us prepare ourselves and be on our way, then."

Sakura bowed her head and went to pack her gear.

All it had taken was one message, left in the rooms Naruto and Sasuke had reserved, to bring them here, to this clearing in the southern forests of Sound Country. Sakura stood just behind Orochimaru's shoulder, controlling her breathing carefully. She couldn't control the pounding of her heart, and only hoped that it seemed reasonable to the two men next to her.

"Sakura!" Naruto took a step toward her across the clearing, and halted as his eyes flickered up to her forehead protector and the device of Sound on it. They hadn't expected that, then. (Good; it will help him react better.) "Sakura? What...?" He looked genuinely lost, and Sakura held hard to her persona, to eight months of practice. They made her voice convincingly hard when she answered.

"Sound gave me real work, and a real place. Should it be a surprise that I swore to them?"

"To that?" Naruto hollered, absolutely incensed, pointing at Orochimaru.

Sakura flicked a glance at her Master, gauging how soon he would move. "He understands me." She looked back at them, cool, and caught Sasuke's eye for just a sliver of an instant. His mouth tightened and Orochimaru made an interested sound.

"Hmm. Perhaps I left off courting you too early, Sasuke-kun?" He smiled slowly and opened a hand, palm up. "My offer is still good, as Sakura can tell you."

Sakura didn't miss the faint crook of his fingers in Kabuto's direction, though, and she took one last breath for balance, courage, hope, and sank her mind into the concentration Kaubto had taught her, pressing her very soul into the forms to awaken her seal. Now. It had to be now. Dog. Monkey. Slowly, feeling her nerves creaking, Horse.

"I think I have power enough already," she heard Sasuke say, distantly.

"Against Itachi?" Sasuke stiffened and Orochimaru chuckled. "Indeed, I could tell you a great deal about that man."

Monkey. Serpent.

"Why?" Naruto challenged, suspicious. "You took Sakura away from us! What do you want with Sasuke?"

Orochimaru sighed. "Ah, I should have taken you three years ago. You didn't question so much, then."

Naruto's eyes narrowed, starting to burn. "You don't want anything good, then," he growled, hands slamming together, and two Shadow Clones appeared, leaping to form a Rasengan.

Wait for it. Wait for it. Hold on. Sakura set her teeth, sweat starting along her hairline and trickling down her back as she held on to the shape of the Serpent in her soul. The next seal would be the last. She unfocused her eyes, watching all of them, watching Kabuto especially.

Orochimaru eyed Naruto with interest. "Mmm. That's nothing I haven't already learned from that buffoon, but I suppose there might be more to you. We shall see."

Sasuke's eyes were red, piercing and watchful. Naruto was growling as he crouched to drive the Rasengan forward. Kabuto was relaxed and smiling. Orochimaru laughed and crooked a forefinger at her, not looking around as Naruto started to move. "Sakura."

Horse.

Power roared through her like a river bursting a dam and Sakura drove a spear hand hardened with chakra, with all the strength and speed the seal could give her, straight through Orochimaru's spine and out his chest, blood flooding hot around her arm.

Naruto shouted, Sasuke vanished, she caught Kaubto's hands lifting in the corner of her eye. She punched the base of Orochimaru's skull, spinning around as his body jolted off her hand, using every bit of speed she had to form a Fire Wall to meet Kaubto...

Who leapt back.

They all froze, the Rasengan blowing into nothing as Naruto plowed to a stop. Sakura held the Wall just short of release, poised.

"Ah," Orochimaru's hoarse voice broke the stillness, and Sakura's eyes widened with tangled horror and frustration and guilt. "I see I didn't quite have you long enough. I salute your cunning, little kunoichi. I thought I had you when you swore to me."

Not before that? But Sakura pushed the thought down, pushed all her thoughts down under the needs of this moment, and snapped, "Naruto. Make sure he dies. Sasuke, Kabuto."

"Already there," Sasuke's voice came from the trees above Kabuto, and a rush of gratitude that he remembered her strategy-shapes so well, and still trusted them, shook her.

"Naruto," Sakura repeated, husky, when he didn't move. She could hear the breath he let out.

"Yeah. Okay." His voice was tight, but she knew he'd do what he had to. She knew it, down in the heart of her, where she was burning and aching.

Orochimaru's laugh was wet and raspy. "I salute you, indeed. Sakura."

Despite all the control she could muster, a shudder raked through her and one word wrenched out. "Yes." She knew.

There was a faint, silken sound, and she gave thanks that medical ninja were thoroughly trained in giving mercy. The open glow of Naruto's chakra washed past her and a burst of flame followed, actinic and scorching. "Done," Naruto said, rough.

Kabuto, who hadn't moved yet, eyes locked with Sakura's, sighed. "Ahh. That was a waste, Sakura-san. There were years of use left in him."

"My game had to conclude before yours," she said, low. She was starting to feel the strain of balancing her seal's chakra; how was this going to end?

"So I see." He smiled and spread his hands. "Well, so it goes. But, you realize, this leaves you alone to face the greater threat."

"Itachi?" Sasuke asked, voice as harsh as Naruto's.

Kabuto laughed. "Oh, goodness no. Well, not in and of himself. No, no, Akatsuki. Orochimaru was one of them once, you know. He knew some of their plans." He sighed, sounding sincerely rueful. "I don't think I'd quite gotten all of what he knew. It really is a shame." He shrugged as if to set it aside. "Well, you're on your own against them, now, since I have no intention of standing in their way myself. Few of them would be of any interest to me; afterward... well, we'll see."

"You talk like you think you'll be walking away free," Sasuke observed.

Kabuto smiled into Sakura's eyes, and she remembered that he'd been part of all those exercises to time her endurance under the seal. "You didn't find the location of the last remote base, Sakura-san," he said softly. "The one that holds most of the experimental subjects. The woman in charge won't let them go, you know, even with his death." An artful pause, and she could see exactly what was coming. "But I could free them."

After a stretched moment, trying to weigh morality against morality, as her control pulled tighter and tighter, Sakura said, thinly, "All right."

"Sakura!" Naruto stared at her. "He can't possibly escape all three of us! Interrogation can get it out of him."

Sakura shook her head, feeling time bleeding away, and with it her margin of survival. "It's about to be just two of you and a casualty, and he knows it. He'll keep his word on the deal. I think it's the best we'll get right now."

"Acute as always, Sakura-san," Kabuto murmured, and Sakura bared her teeth.

"If we ever meet again, I'll get something better out of you."

He gave her a genuine smile, dark and pleased, and bowed to her. "Afterward, then." And vanished.

Sakura let Fire Wall go, wove her hands through the release of her seal and sagged to her hands and knees, panting.

"Sakura!" It was Sasuke beside her, holding her shoulders. "Naruto, get the flare up to call the backup squad in!"

Fire burst again, far overhead, and Sakura hauled her head up to look at her teammates. Her... her friends. Yes. The ones she'd done this to protect, and that had been her desire, her free choice, her need. Even though eight months whispered that it could only have been misguided guilt or the need to prove herself, mustn't it?

Naruto flung himself down beside them, eyes wide and worried. "Sakura, are you okay? What's wrong?" Even as he spoke his hands were passing down the line of her spine, and he frowned deeply. "You're completely drained, what did you do?"

"Seal," she panted. "Nature energy. Hard to control." And then she laughed and flung her arms, one still red with Orochimaru's blood, around their shoulders. "Finally. It's finally you... you came." Her certainty that they always would pulled hard against her whispering knowledge that they only would because they understood nothing of her, pulled like scar tissue and she gasped with the inner pain. She freed her hands, swaying until they caught her shoulders again, and formed the first seal to undo the Heart In a Net technique, struggling to remember the second through the growing pain.

"Haruno!" Miuhara was suddenly beside her, dropping from the trees with a whole squad of Leaf-nin, and he grabbed her hands. "Wait, not yet!"

"Have to," she gasped. "It's pulling loose anyway!"

"Shit." He stared at her in the babbling swirl of the squad splitting, some dashing on. After Kabuto, she thought fuzzily. Of course. "All right," he said at last and grabbed for Naruto. "Uzumaki! You're a healer. Listen up. She's been under a neural realignment technique for the past eight months, and we have to release it now. You'll have to stabilize her."

"I don't know how to do work that fine!" Naruto exclaimed, a little panicked, but he knelt beside her, hands reaching out anyway.

"That's why you listen to me. Uchiha, hold on to her. Haruno. You understand this is going to be more work for you?"

"Need to re-key on my own?" she gritted through her teeth through the nasty, tearing ache. "Yeah. Just... leave me with them. Be okay."

"I'm taking your word for it, and you'd damn well better be right. Release it now. Dog, Boar, Dog, Horse, Bird." For a moment, breaking through the intensity of his orders, he grinned. "Go ahead and scream if you need to. This will hurt."

Sakura formed the seals, one after another, almost mindless, focusing only on the shape of them. And as her hands folded into the Bird, something snapped loose inside her and lashed through her mind like fire.

She did scream.

When she could make the sounds around her make sense again, Miuhara was speaking low and quick to Naruto, talking him through one seal after another, and her hands were clenched bone-grindingly tight on Sasuke's shoulders. Sasuke held her tight, one leg hooked over hers to keep her from thrashing out from under Naruto's hands. At least she thought that was why. Her mind felt bruised.

"All right," Miuhara said at last. "That's as good as we can do for now." He drew a long breath. "She says the two of you can help her re-establish her normal pattern of thought and response, so you'll need to stay with her. I'll get a few of the squad to escort you to a secure site." He stood. "Anything you can do to remind her who she usually is, you do it, understand?"

Sasuke's arms tightened around her. "We understand. Come on, help me get her upright," he added over her head.

Sakura wobbled to her feet, an arm over each of their shoulders, looking around at the quiet bustle of the squad. "Feel like a dishrag," she panted. "With a headache."

"You've earned it, so just let us take you somewhere safe for a little, okay?" Naruto looked torn between scowling at her ferociously and giving her puppy-dog eyes. The alternation made her giggle.

"Kay."

Three of the squad closed in around them and Sasuke said quietly, "Let's go."

By the time they reached the nearest town, Sakura had her breath back, though she still ached all over. She was very glad to duck in the window of the house their escort directed them to.

"Food first," Naruto declared. "You drained yourself way too hard, and I want a look at that seal."

"Bath first," Sakura countered, trying not to look too hard at what still spattered her chest and arm.

Sasuke rolled his eyes, reassuringly normal. "You get food," he told Naruto. "I'll make sure she doesn't drown before you get back."

He seemed to take that seriously, too, helping her get undressed and insisting she sit down before he pulled off her sandals. "I'm not really injured," she protested.

"I think you are, actually." He touched the base of her skull, very lightly. "Up here. That Miuhara guy said you'd been under a technique that affects your mind and nerves, and you said it was pulling loose. Besides," he set her sandals aside and tugged off his own shirt, "Kakashi-sensei said to do whatever we could for you, on the way home, and not to let you overextend yourself. He's done this before, right?"

Sakura's mouth pulled into a crooked smile. "Yeah. He probably makes a better senpai than Kabuto." But thinking about that made her head hurt more, so she ignored Sasuke's choking sound and concentrated on getting all her tools out of her pants so she could throw them in the wash.

Sasuke was quiet for a few breaths, but seemed willing to follow her lead. "Come on, the water's hot now. I'll get your back."

They were both halfway through scrubbing down by the time Naruto got back with what looked like half a kitchen. "Hey, no fair!" he told Sasuke, who was indeed washing Sakura's back at the moment, but he was grinning.

"You can get her hair," Sasuke told him. "She hasn't said so, but I think that headache's still there."

Sakura blushed. "Okay, okay, I probably did hurt something, but seriously—"

"You hush," Naruto scolded her, and she blinked. He gave her a medic-scowl. "I can't do much about healing the actual nerves yet, but I can sure take care of bruising and muscle damage. So eat this and quit arguing."

Sakura took the steamed bun he put in her hand and ate, blinking back sudden tears at that rough, straightforward care while Naruto hopped from foot to foot getting out of his clothes.

She hadn't cried in eight months.

Naruto's fingers really did feel good, moving over her skull, draining away little bits of heat and pressure until it didn't hurt when he worked in some shampoo. "Thanks," she sighed, as she reached for the sprayer to rinse off. "That did help."

"Eat some more," he told her, and when she glanced over her shoulder he was blushing a little.

"Water's ready," Sasuke said from the other side of the room.

Sakura sighed with pleasure as they sank into the steaming tub and giggled when Naruto pointedly put a glass of cold water and a plate of dumplings beside her. "Tsunade-sama has been training you well." She leaned back and asked, softly. "Tell me about it. Talk to me. About the village and everything." She needed to remember.

"It's really cool," Naruto started, only a little hesitantly. "I kind of suck at the chemistry, so she finally gave up on antidotes and taught me how to cleanse blood with chakra techniques instead. I won't be able to do Mystic Palms for another year, she says, but I think she's hedging. I bet I can do it in another six months!"

"Your control isn't good enough yet," Sasuke observed, dampeningly, and Naruto glowered.

"So I'll use Shadow Clones for that too!"

"I'll look forward to hearing what the Fifth has to say about that."

Sakura sipped her water and nibbled her dumplings and let herself float in the familiarity of their bickering, of Naruto's boasting which wasn't just boasts any more, of Sasuke's dry, quiet humor. It warmed her, like the water did, deep inside. She could feel her heart finally relaxing.

And that was when she completely dissolved into tears.

Naruto and Sasuke left off their argument over whether Jiraiya was a more annoying teacher than Kakashi, and gathered in around her at once. Naruto just held her and made really kind of funny soothing noises while Sasuke rubbed her back, slow and quiet.

"I liked it," she wrenched out past the sobs, past the unsteady ache deep inside. "I hated it, I hated him, but by the end I liked being there, I liked that he wanted me, he respected me, I hate this!"

"He was good at finding what you wanted and using it," Sasuke murmured. "It isn't your fault."

"Yeah, look how long you went, and you still did everything you needed to," Naruto put in, anxious. "I mean, he never corrupted you, not for real, and that had to be really, really hard! It's okay."

That made her cry some more, but she was laughing a little too. Naruto really was good at seeing to the heart. And Sasuke... Sasuke understood.

"Come on," Sasuke said, gentler than she thought she'd ever heard him. "Let's get out before we really do drown."

They didn't seem to want to let her out of arm's reach, now, which made drying off a bit comical, but that was okay. She wanted to be close. When they spread out the futons and lay down, she was glad to be held again.

They're my team. They love me, and I love them. It's okay again. She pressed closer against Naruto and tugged shyly on Sasuke's wrist, and made a contented sound when he slid up snugly against her back. It felt good, they felt solid and made her feel solid too, and, oh wow, Sasuke's hands felt really good rubbing her shoulders. She sighed happily and it was the most natural thing in the world to lift her head and brush her lips against Naruto's.

Naruto made a slightly startled sound, but he kissed her back, shy and soft.

"Sure you're ready?" Sasuke asked against her shoulder, and she buried her head in Naruto's chest and laughed, suddenly remembering their last year at the Academy, and the pedantic recommendations in their textbook for how to handle "intimacy within a field team".

"Textbook," she managed to gasp, and that set Naruto off too. Sasuke just snorted at both of them. When she'd recovered a little she leaned her head back against Sasuke's shoulder and said, softly. "Thank you. Yeah. This is a good time, I think."

"Mm. I think so too." He slid his hands down her body and spread them across her stomach, and her breath caught at the little rush of heat between her legs. "Naruto?"

"Yeah," Naruto answered, husky, and bent his head to nuzzle the arch of her neck.

It felt good, so good, to feel their hands on her, to feel their skin under her palms, to know she was wanted and they were hers and it was all going to be okay. All of their hands were calloused, from knives and wire, but Naruto's were warm on her breasts and Sasuke's fingers sliding carefully between her legs made her gasp. She tightened her arms around Naruto and pulled him down to kiss her, wet and open-mouthed, breath coming deeper as Sasuke made a satisfied sound and rubbed his fingers against her.

She freed her mouth at last to gasp, "I want..." and Sasuke left off mouthing her shoulder and said, husky, "Yeah, just let me..." His fingers slid back further and she moaned as two pressed into her. Sasuke just about purred and slid his fingers free, reaching under the curve of her rear this time to press three in. That stretched a bit, but it felt good too. Sakura wrapped her leg around Naruto's hip and rocked against him, panting; well, so was he, and she liked the feel of his arms locked around her. She shivered when Sasuke nibbled on her ear and murmured, "Ready?"

"Very," she said, fervently, and Sasuke reached forward, and she heard Naruto gasp as Sasuke guided him against her. When she looked up, Naruto's eyes were so wide she had to smile at him and ask, a little teasing, "Ready?"

"Yeah," Naruto whispered, and that made her feel warm all the way through. And then he pushed against her, biting his lip, and the solid feeling of him inside her made her press closer, breathless. "Oh."

"Okay?" Sasuke asked, softly, hands kneading her lower back, stroking over her thighs, and she nodded. "Yeah. Mm, more." Naruto gasped a quick laugh and pushed in, and she moaned openly; it felt good. So good, to have them both pressed up against her, all of them moving together. When Sasuke's fingers slid between her folds again she shuddered with the tighter twist of pleasure. "Oh... oh yes." Naruto was rocking against her faster, kissing her hot and open and breathless, and she kissed back, liking it when he moaned, jerking hard against her.

"Fuck," Naruto muttered. "That was... um."

Sasuke laughed. "Good thing there are two of us." Naruto stuck out his tongue and Sakura laughed too, a little light-headed, and it really was funny as they fumbled around a little, and then Sasuke was sliding into her instead and oh that felt good. She arched in their arms, and smiled up at Naruto, and he grinned back, just a little mischievous. When he bent down to kiss her breasts, open-mouthed, hot and wet, she arched harder. "Ohh..." Someone's fingers were rubbing her firmly, and Sasuke was thrusting deep into her, and it all made her body feel like it should be glowing, hotter and hotter.

She gasped when the heat in her flashed like fire and rushed through her veins, and Sasuke groaned abruptly against her shoulder. It felt so good, the solidness of him inside her, and she jerked her hips hard to get more of that.

Suddenly she was past the crest, and all the sensation was too much. She grabbed for, yes, it was Naruto's wrist to still his fingers and buried her head against his shoulder, panting as Sasuke shuddered against her back. "Oh. Oh wow." Finally, they were all still again, pressed up against each other.

"That was... really good," Naruto murmured against her hair. "I mean, um. Thanks."

Sakura giggled. "Thank you too. Both of you." This was new. It wasn't just the past; right here and now, her team cared for her and wanted her. And she loved them back. It settled into her mind, solid and soothing.

Now, now she could think about going home.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Nine

Sakura has to debrief and deal with the backlash of her time at Orochimaru's side. Fortunately, Naruto and Sasuke are there for her. Once that settles, though, Tsunade has to deal with the resistance of the Elders to promoting the three of them. Drama, Angst, Fluff, I-5

"All right," Kimiko, Sakura's attending Intelligence medic, declared, handing her back her shirt. "You're clear. No seals or techniques that would turn you, no sleepers that I can find, and you're impressively healed from Heart In a Net considering that you just about ripped it out by the roots. Have I mentioned how stupid that was?"

"This is the fifth time," Sakura sighed as she ducked her head through her shirt collar.

"Remember it," Kimiko directed firmly. "Hokage-sama?"

"Mmm." Tsunade frowned at her, arms crossed. "I still don't like that new seal of yours. It could kill you far too easily. By all rights it should be named a forbidden technique."

Sakura made a face. "Do you want to try to take it off?" She really didn't look forward to that at all. Besides... well, never mind.

"No, I suppose not." Sakura tried to ignore her leap of pleasure at those words as Tsunade ran a diagnostic palm over her shoulders again. "The surgery to sink this into you was very thorough, and getting it out would be even chancier than taking off that one of Sasuke's. Besides," her lips quirked, "you don't want to let it go, do you?"

Sakura winced a little. "It's not... I mean, it's just..."

Tsunade laid a hand on her shoulder. "Sakura. It's all right to like being strong, you know. That's what makes us all keep moving forward. You've demonstrated pretty conclusively that you want that strength to protect the village. I'm not worried."

Sakura bent her head. "Thank you, Tsunade-sama," she said softly, feeling another small band of fear loosen from around her chest. She looked up with a tiny smile. "You heal hearts too, I guess."

"Ah, go on with you." Tsunade gave her a little shove. "If Kimiko's cleared you, you're ready for the fun part." Both medics gave her alarmingly cheerful and toothy smiles and chorused, "Paperwork!"

Sakura contemplated this with a sinking stomach. "...you're sure you don't want to poke at the seal a little more?"

...It was at this point that I first started acting as a mission commander for a variety of Sound ninja, both genin and chuunin. I suspected, after the first two missions with entirely different teams, that Orochimaru was using my own experience to help train the Sound-nin to a higher standard; most of them did not possess the sophistication or training one would expect from an established village and tended to rely too heavily on their martial skills alone.

Sakura put her pen down and shook out her hand vigorously. In some ways, this was an easy section, a lot easier than putting her sparring with Kabuto into words. And then, in some ways, it might be the hardest. She had liked most of her teams, at least once she'd kicked a few asses and they knew to take her seriously. She thought most of them had liked and respected her, in the end. After all, she'd helped them. She'd made the missions a success and pointed them in a professional direction.

And she'd also killed their leader. If she ever met them again, they'd be completely within their rights, under the loose accords of the villages, to kill her. They might well try.

The part that actually troubled her was that she didn't mind too much. She didn't like the thought; she'd like it a lot better if they all decided that Orochimaru had been a sucking leech of a madman and they were all better off without him! But if the Sound shinobi, many of whom had never lived in Orochimaru's personal base or seen his madness first hand, chose to blame her and seek revenge... well, that was their choice. She'd live with it.

And she could still look back and feel that she'd done a good job both ways: placing herself to kill Orochimaru after getting all the information about Sound that she could, and also doing her professional best to lead and improve the Sound shinobi under her command. She was... proud of them. Proud, even, of the skills they might be about to turn on her.

She was starting to wonder if this was what people really meant when they talked about Intelligence and twiddled a finger knowingly next to their temples.

Sakura took her chair in the incongruously bright, warm debriefing room in the basement of the Intelligence complex. She folded her arms tight over her stomach, and waited for today's first question.

"First of all, Haruno, are you sure you want Hatake Kakashi to be here for today's work?" Miuhara asked her as he pulled up his own chair on the other side of the table. "I know he was your jounin-sensei, but I have to tell you he can be pretty brutal when he's doing Intelligence work."

Sakura managed a small smile. "He could be pretty brutal as a teacher, too. I'm sure." She trusted Kakashi-sensei's judgment, and right now she felt very in need of some extra, trustable judgment. She was starting to doubt her own.

"All right then." Miuhara nodded and Kakashi-sensei propped himself quietly against the soft yellow wall just behind her shoulder and out of her sight. Typical, Sakura thought with irritated affection.

Miuhara was paging through the thick folder of her report, but it was her other debriefer, Hitomi, who asked, "So about Kabuto. You said he was acting for his own purposes all along; do you think he's going to take Sound for his own, now?"

Sakura shook her head, unhesitating. "No. I don't think he has any interest in leading or ruling, himself."

"What is he interested in, then? Research, like Orochimaru?"

Slowly, trying to put months of observations together, Sakura said, "The game. I think... I think that's all he really cares about. I think that's why he really stayed with Orochimaru, because Orochimaru played it too."

"Hmm." Miuhara frowned down at a page. "You said he defended Orochimaru without hesitation, at risk of his life, and yet was working against him the whole time."

"Yes. That's it exactly." Sakura leaned forward, chasing the thought, trying to make sense for herself as well as for them. "I think that was the challenge he set for himself. To do everything Orochimaru wanted of him, to protect him even, and still successfully betray him in the end."

Softly, Hitomi asked, "Like you did? Was that why you felt such a connection with him?"

Sakura flinched. "I..." She was quiet for a long breath, and finally whispered, "Yes."

"Was that any part in your reasoning, when you let him go?" Miuhara asked neutrally.

"No." That answer came to her quickly, surely, and she raised her head again. "No. That was plain calculation. I was running out of time, and if he could take me hostage he'd have a very strong position against Naruto and Sasuke. He offered something we wanted, too, and that tipped the balance."

Miuhara nodded. "Good. Now, you just said that Orochimaru played the game, too. In your report, you emphasized his implication, on dying, that he had never assumed you were loyal until very near the end. Can you expand on that?"

Sakura's arms tightened. "In retrospect, it's very clear," she said a little stiffly. "He probably always assumed I was an agent for Konoha. He... lured me. He showed approval for my apparent self-interest and eventually gave me a technique that is both very strong and does not control me. That seems contradictory, but all during the research process he was offering me bait. Leadership of teams; the respect of the Sound shinobi, especially as he appeared to trust me at his side; approval for every time I pushed back against him and for my planning abilities; my... my name."

"Your name?" Hitomi murmured, eyes sharp over her folded hands.

"He didn't call me by name, for a long time. It was always 'kunoichi'. But when..." she had to swallow, "when I demanded more tests on the last version of the seal, more tests on other people, because I knew it would give me more time to gather intelligence on the bases, then he called me by name."

"And if he thought all along you were an agent of Konoha," Miuhara completed her logic coolly, "it follows that he was seeking to draw you into just that position, where you would be complicit with his atrocities. And he rewarded you for it."

"Yes," Sakura whispered, arms curling tighter. "And it worked."

"How so?" Miuhara asked, perfectly calm. "Do you have any intention of performing that kind of forbidden experiment?"

"Not that," she said roughly. "But I liked it! Even knowing what he was, what he was doing, when he recognized me, I felt..." She ran out of words and clenched her hands, frustrated.

Kakashi stirred against the wall. "You created your cover out of a part of yourself you don't usually show or let run free," he said quietly. "And Orochimaru saw that part and understood it, and showed approval for it." He paused and added, lower, "And that part of you meant it when you swore loyalty to him and to Sound."

"Yes." Sakura was curled in so tightly now she was bent over her knees, hot, furious tears dripping onto the fabric of her pants.

"Do you believe you will betray the Leaf?" Hitomi asked.

"No," Sakura said, rough and tight, but sure of that at least.

"Do you believe you would have stayed with him if he had not continued to seek Uchiha Sasuke's life?" Miuhara asked, gently.

That one froze Sakura for long, tight breaths. "I... in the Net... in the Net, yes," she whispered at last, shaking, eyes fixed on her knees, wide and blind. She covered her face with her hands and shuddered, breath choking in her chest.

Warm, strong hands settled on her shoulders. "And if someone had come to release the Net for you?" Kakashi-sensei asked, matter-of-fact.

Sakura clenched her hands together and pressed them to her chest, to her heart, biting her lip hard. She remembered the way Sasuke and Naruto had taken care of her that first night, the way they still showed up every day, to walk her home from Intelligence or to train with her after dinner. She felt the sureness, down at the bottom of her heart, that had driven her hand through Orochimaru's chest, and finally she whispered, "If someone had released me... if my team had come for me... I would have come back." She looked up at Miuhara and Hitomi, sitting quiet and unjudging at the table, and took a long, trembling breath. "Yes."

Miuhara smiled. "I'm glad. Let's take a break, then. We can continue when you're ready."

Sakura nodded and stood, though she needed Kakashi-sensei's hand under her elbow for a moment to keep from falling over again, and went to wash her face.

Sasuke leaned against the tree across from the front doors of Intelligence, waiting for Sakura. Naruto had walked her home yesterday and he'd been scowling when he came to see Sasuke after. He'd said she looked like someone had dipped her in bleach and wrung her out. Sasuke had asked how Naruto knew anything about bleach, considering the condition of his apartment, and promised to wait for her today.

Whatever was going on with her, he needed to see.

So he waited, nodding silently to the occasional greetings of other shinobi as they emerged or entered. Both he and Naruto were becoming familiar sights, he supposed. Well enough; they were Sakura's team, and the other agents might as well get used to them now.

He was starting to wonder if this was exactly how Kakashi had become so fanatical about teamwork and supporting team members. Had he lost someone, or had someone lost part of themselves, for his sake?

When Sakura finally came out the doors, he straightened up frowning. Naruto was right; she looked washed out and exhausted, and he found himself hurrying to her side to put a hand under her arm. "Hey. Are you all right?" He frowned more darkly at the building she'd just come out of. "What are they doing to you?"

The smile Sakura gave him was a little shaky, but it looked true, and she put a hand on his arm. "It's okay, Sasuke. It's... well, it's not fun, I won't lie, but it's helping me. In the long run. Like training really hard," she added, when he continued frowning.

His brows rose at that. "Training, huh?" He didn't let go, but he did turn and walk quietly beside her.

"Kind of." She walked slowly, slower than he liked to see, and as they started coming into busier streets he glared people out of her way with no compunctions. Sakura barely seemed to notice, and he wasn't sure if that was good or bad. At last she said, softly, "He really messed with my head, you know. By the end. Partly because I was already under a technique to help me think and react... skewed. Like I resented you and Naruto, like we'd never come together as a real team. But also because he really was scarily good at that." She looked up at him, eyes dark. "You know."

He remembered years of solitary rage and desperation, and the few months when that desperation had been fed, tantalized with the promise of fulfillment and rest. And he shuddered. "I know."

"So, it isn't fun to talk about, and have Miuhara-san and Hitomi-san pick apart everything I did and heard and saw. But it helps. It helps me figure out how I really think and feel, so no one will be able to do that to me again. Or, at least, not so easily." Her shoulders straightened and her chin lifted a little at that, more the Sakura he knew.

"Okay. I guess I can see that." He looked down at her as they turned onto her own street. "Can we help?"

Her smile broke out like sunshine. "You already do. I promise."

They stopped at her door and he said, quietly. "You... you did this for me." Trying to find words to express his astonishment and fear and frustration, seeing the price she'd paid, he finally burst out with, "Why?"

Sakura's smile turned bright and sharp as a knife. "Because you're mine," she said, making him blink, and added, softer, "You're ours. That's all."

Theirs. Hers and Naruto's. And because of that, she would do this thing and think almost nothing of it. Sasuke shook his head, helplessly. How was he supposed to make sense out of that? Only family did things like that.

The thought echoed in his head, and he flinched from it.

Sasuke swallowed, staring down at her blindly. He had no family. His family was gone. His whole clan. He had nothing left but the madman who killed them all, and that was why... why everything. But Sakura would do this for him. Naruto, who argued with him by reflex, like breathing, Naruto would, he was certain, say the same. And look at him like he was an idiot for questioning it, into the bargain. They were...

They were his team! He shook his head violently. They were his team, that was all. That was why. Team, like Kakashi-sensei always said. (Family dies. Not family.)

"Sasuke? Hey, Sasuke?" Sakura frowned and poked him in the arm. "Did you skip lunch today or something?"

"No," he muttered, "I... I just..." He swallowed down a rush of queasiness, of almost-fear. There was nothing to be afraid of; they were his team. "Never mind." He hesitated. "Sakura..."

"Hm?" She cocked her head, eyes clear and patient.

Ignoring the sudden stares of the civilians around them, he stepped forward and gathered her up, holding her tightly. "Thank you," he whispered against her ear. "For... everything."

After a startled moment, she hugged him back, just as tight. "You're welcome. Always." She pulled back a little and smiled, softly. "And thank you, too. I don't think you know for how much."

"Maybe I know a little." He let her go, hands sliding down her arms. "So. More talking about it tomorrow?"

She made a face and nodded.

"Okay. We'll wait for you again tomorrow, then." He waited until she was safely inside before taking to the roofs to head back to his own apartment.

Sakura stood in her underwear with her hands on her hips, staring at the clothes tossed over her dresser. It was obvious once you looked at them, piled layer on layer.

She'd worn a completely different outfit every day this week. One day her old red tunic and snug shorts. Another, her actual chuunin uniform. A third her black pants from Sound and her net shirt. Yet another, a dress she barely remembered buying before she left. She'd cycled through one after another, as if her clothes could tell her who she was now, and never even realized it.

Kakashi-sensei was probably laughing.

All right. This wasn't a question she could answer by random dips into her wardrobe. It was something she had to decide. Who did she want to be? And what did that person want to wear today?

Slowly, she sorted and folded her clothes. It was easy to hang up her dresses. That hadn't ever really been her day to day style. After a moment of hesitation she folded away her red tunics and blouses also. They were bright and cheerful and... too young. Too young for how she felt now. Her hands clenched in her black Sound clothes as she folded them and she had to stop and bite her lip and remind herself of the things she'd come to understand about herself in the past week. This was part of her, yes. But only part. Still, her fingers lingered on her black leather vest. It zipped down the front, the same as many of her tunics did. She'd never quite seen that before.

She laid the vest on the bed. Perhaps... perhaps this was something she would keep. A reminder that, even as deep under as she'd gone, she'd still found a tiny connection to keep. She'd still known who she was, at the very heart.

And who she was was a shinobi of the Leaf. She knew more of what that meant, now, and she wouldn't turn away from it. This was her calling. Thoughtfully, she pulled out her Leaf uniform pants and laid them on the bed too, looking at the combination.

That might do.

She dressed, wrapping her calves snugly and pulling on her sandals, and tied her forehead protector. When she took a breath and turned to look in the mirror, she smiled. That looked like someone she knew. Like a self she knew.

There was still something, though.

After a moment's thought, she reached up and tugged at a strand of hair. It was cut at her shoulders these days. It was attractive enough, and easy to care for. But right now she was remembering when it had been even shorter, a time when that had been her mark of determination. Perhaps that would be right to have again, now. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she was just being silly or overthinking this, but... all of them had changed over time, hadn't they? Outward signs of inward changes. Naruto wore black or blue, these days, aside from the ever-orange jacket. Sasuke had slowly left off wearing his high-necked shirts and started wearing wrapped tops, that and a belt that hid more shuriken than the local weapons shop. Naruto had teased him about stealing from Tsunade-sama's closet until Sasuke had rolled his eyes and pointed out a few essential differences in fit across the chest.

Looked at that way, Sakura was actually behind on her changes. She nodded firmly to herself in the mirror and hopped out her window, heading for Ino's house. And just because she was in an impish mood, she snuck up behind Ino silently, in the flower shop, and tapped her on the shoulder. "Hey."

Ino jumped and spun, lifting the scissors she'd just been cutting ribbon with, poised to slash or stab. Sakura grinned. "Tense today?"

"Sakura!" Ino exhaled explosively, lowering the scissors. "Don't do that!" She paused and frowned. "Since when did you get that good at stealth?"

Sakura's mouth twisted. "This last mission. It was... kind of intense."

Ino's eyes darkened and she nodded silently. Ino had entered Intelligence, too; Sakura didn't have to say anything else, and Ino wouldn't press for details. Sakura inhaled, relaxing into her friend's understanding. "So, hey. I want to get a haircut; what's the best place to go to, these days?"

"Still Kitagawa's," Ino said promptly. "Thinking of a new style?"

"Yeah." Sakura smiled a little wryly, running a hand through her hair. "I just want something a little different. Shorter, I think."

"Hmm." Ino eyed her steadily for a moment. "Okay. Let me tell Tou-san, and I'll come along and introduce you."

Sakura smiled more naturally. "Thanks, Ino."

Ino escorted her through the streets, keeping just a hair ahead, passing on gossip with plenty of expansive gestures that kept the other people around them at a little distance. Ino really was pretty perceptive, Sakura reflected; she was a kind and good friend.

Of course, Ino was also an insufferable know-it-all, and, once they were at the hair-dresser's, engaged Mie-san, the senior stylist, in a long discussion over the pros and cons of different styles for Sakura's face shape and hair texture. Sakura shook her head wryly and cut in. "I just want something very short and easy to take care of," she said firmly. "Nothing I have to spend a long time on in the morning. Something that looks good even if I slept in a tree the night before and finger combed it when I got up."

"Ah, a working hairstyle." Mie-san sounded a shade disappointed, but her eyes also gleamed at the prospect of a challenge. "Well, now, let me see."

Sakura suffered herself to be washed and conditioned and turned this way and that while Mie-san muttered over her hair. Eventually the clippers came out, and there was more muttering and snipping here and there, and hand-long hanks of silky pink hair, dark with water, started to fall around the chair. Eventually there was a reassuringly small bit of blow-drying and some reassuringly basic brushing, and Mie-san whisked her towel away. "There! What do you think?"

Sakura stood and looked in the mirror. Her hair was short, a soft mop of flyaway strands with unpredictable waves and flips here and there. "Does it really do that?" she marveled, running a hand through it.

"Oh yes. Your hair has surprising body for such a fine texture, especially if you don't blow-dry it."

Sakura smiled, standing straight. She looked like someone confident. Someone who knew who she was. For the first time in a long time, longer than eight months she thought, her outside felt like it matched her inside.

She really had fallen behind on her changes.

"I like it very much," she said softly. "Thank you."

"It suits you," Ino offered, head cocked. "I wouldn't have thought it, but it does."

A style she had chosen for herself, rather than listening to what other people thought was pretty. Sakura grinned. "Yeah. It does, doesn't it?"

A summons came for her team five days later. It directed them, not to the mission room or even the Hokage's office, but a room on the ground floor of the Hokage Residence. They gathered outside it, glancing questioningly at each other, but before anyone got up the guts to suggest just going in, a vision in long pale robes came sweeping down the hall to meet them.

Sakura stared at the Hokage, and the boys stared with her. She'd never actually seen Tsunade in her formal robes before.

"Tsunade-baachan?" Naruto sounded just as startled as she felt. "Why are you all got up like that? And why did we have to wear our uniforms?"

Tsunade sighed and waved them into the room, kicking her robes out of her way as she walked. "We have a bit of a situation."

The room looked like an extremely formal version of her office, wood paneled and hung with banners, with a huge desk in front of what was nearly a throne, and sumptuous chairs set out before it. Other people were there ahead of them, and Sakura's eyes widened further as she realized that half of Tsunade's council was here—all three of the Elders. But not the ANBU or Jounin Commanders or the clan heads. So this is important, but she doesn't want to give it too much weight. Her eyes narrowed. "Tsunade-sama? Who are you receiving?"

Tsunade settled herself at the throne-desk and smiled tightly at her. "The Daimyou of Sound Country."

Sakura's breath drew in sharply, and she was glad when Naruto and Sasuke closed in at her shoulders. "Why?" Sasuke growled, sounding more like Naruto for a moment than himself.

The Elders stirred and gave the three of them dour looks, but Tsunade's mouth just quirked. "Take it easy, we're not giving Sakura up to them or anything."

Relief flooded through her, but Sakura couldn't help asking, "Why not? If it's required for the village to save face..." The Elders were giving her slightly more approving looks, now.

"Orochimaru was our criminal," Tsunade declared firmly. "Our claim on his life had priority. So." She beckoned. "Sakura, come stand here beside me and look as calm as possible. You two," she pointed to the boys, "stand at the door and make like guards and keep your mouths shut."

Only a few moments after everyone sorted themselves out, a small bell by the wall rang. "Here they come," Tsunade murmured, straightening and folding her hands on the desk before her.

The Daimyou that Shizune escorted in was accompanied by two shinobi of Sound, and Sakura had to bite her lip to keep from twitching when she recognized them. One of them was Tomita, and the look of betrayal he gave her before fixing his gaze firmly on the wall twisted her heart. There was no other way, she wanted to explain. I never wanted to hurt any of you.

But she couldn't say that here and now. Might not ever be able to say it. So she took a breath and fixed her eyes in turn on Naruto and Sasuke. She was deeply grateful to Tsunade-sama's foresight for putting them there, the reminder of why it had needed to be done in the first place.

The Daimyou barely let Tsunade get her greeting out before he interrupted. "Hokage! You have sent shinobi of the Leaf to attack my country and kill the leader of my hidden village! What do you have to say for yourself, in face of this?"

Tsunade raised her brows, and suddenly it wasn't at all hard to believe that she was older than the man in front of her. "I sent my shinobi to execute a criminal of our own village. I regret any inconvenience this may have caused you, but if you harbor such creatures I'm afraid you must be prepared for a certain amount of inconvenience." As the Daimyou drew breath to respond, she held out a hand to Shizune, who placed a folder in it. "For example," Tsunade cut over his first syllable, "in searching Orochimaru's bases for any of our citizens he may have taken, we discovered quite a few of your citizens. Some we released before they could be harmed, but some, I regret to say, had already fallen prey to Orochimaru's experiments." She laid out three large, glossy photos on her desk and pushed them across to the Daimyou with delicate fingertips, as if she didn't want to touch them too much. Sakura could guess what was in them, and didn't blame her.

The Daimyou, after one look, turned pale and pressed his sleeve over his mouth.

"Perhaps," Tsunade said softly, "you were not entirely aware of Orochimaru's propensities for this kind of thing."

"I... no, I never..." the Daimyou stammered, horrified eyes locked on the images. "Those were really...?"

"Considering that he did not limit himself to missing-nin but captured shinobi in good standing from other villages, as well," Tsunade noted coolly, "I believe you are fortunate that we got there first, and with a tightly targeted assassination rather than a general attack that might have decimated your village as a whole."

The Daimyou swallowed and rallied a bit. "Tightly targeted!" He pointed at Sakura, "That woman had her fingers in just about every Sound mission for half a year!"

Sakura felt she had the rhythm of this down by now. She tightened her clasped hands behind her and ventured to answer for herself. "My only target was Orochimaru, my lord. The other work I did, I did to the best of my ability and in good faith." She cocked her head, actually starting to enjoy this. "Are you displeased that the capital's mayor is no longer conspiring with the capital's criminals? Or that the lord of Kouzen is no longer—"

"Enough, enough," he cut her off hastily. Sakura inclined her head and continued to look politely inquiring. Beside her, Tsunade coughed into her fist, clearly fighting laughter.

The Daimyou harumphed and glowered. But after a few moments, the glare faded and he gave Sakura a more thoughtful look. "So," he said slowly. "You say that you don't wish to damage my country, or destabilize it. Wise of you, considering the border we share with Fire. But the fact remains, my hidden village is now missing a leader."

"We do regret that necessity," Tsunade-sama allowed, hands folded immovably again.

The Daimyou smiled. "Then you should have no objections to making a good-will gesture that will fix the problem." He pointed to Sakura again. "Give me her, to be the new Master of Hidden Sound."

Stunned silence held the room for a breath and Sakura had to bite her lip again to keep from squeaking with shock.

"An interesting proposal," Tsunade said at last, slowly. "I take it you were, in fact, satisfied with Sakura's work? Aside from her mission of execution, of course?"

The Daimyou flicked his fingers at the photos with distaste. "Even that would appear to have been in the country's interest."

Tsunade looked up at Sakura and said quietly, "I won't make it an order. This is too heavy a job for anyone but a volunteer; I should know. But if you wish to accept it, then you may."

A dozen thoughts spun through Sakura's mind: her pleasure at the respect of the Sound-nin, the betrayal in Tomita's eyes, the utter mess that the village and bases must be now, the potential for an alliance that would strengthen Leaf, the fact that she would have to stop thinking like that and shift her allegiance...

Her eyes fell on Naruto and Sasuke, and the spinning stopped.

She took a breath and met the Daimyou's gaze. "I'm sorry, my lord. I don't believe I could serve Sound with my whole heart." Logic, lagging behind today, finally kicked in and she added, "I'm not at all sure it would serve you best to have two Masters in a row come from the Fire Country, either. It would set a bad precedent, and I fear the shinobi of Sound would always have to doubt my true allegiance. Especially after their experiences with Orochimaru." She lifted one hand, palm up. "May I suggest, instead, appointing Naridasu Katsuhito? He is the most professional of Sound's jounin, and I believe he would do well for the village." He was certainly the one who had seemed to be hiding the most distaste for Orochimaru's 'research'. Since the Daimyou was looking disgruntled, she offered, "If you do wish to permit an alliance between Sound and Leaf, I would be entirely glad to aid in training your chuunin and genin further. I'm sure any of our trainers would be. That was..." she couldn't help glancing at Tomita, "that was my pleasure."

The Daimyou snorted, but the corner of his mouth quirked up. "You bargain well, girl, I'll say that. Very well. I'll consider Naridasu, and I'll hold Leaf to that offer of aid." If he noticed Tomita stirring beside him, he ignored it in favor of fixing Tsunade-sama with a stern look. "Next time you have evidence that one of my people is engaged in criminal activity against my own country, bring it to me before you start mounting covert operations across my border."

"If it is at all possible, of course," Tsunade-sama murmured. Which was not, Sakura noted, a yes. From the way the Daimyou harumphed some more, she thought he'd noticed that too.

"Ninja!" He stood, shaking his traveling robes into order, and swept out without another word.

Sakura let her breath out as the door closed behind him and his attendants, and leaned on the edge of the desk. Her knees were shaking.

"You handled that very well," Tsunade told her, clasping her shoulder for a moment. "Get your breath back and take your boys off before they both glare holes in me for even considering sending you away."

Sakura laughed a little. "Yes, Tsunade-sama." Another breath and she walked steadily enough across the room to where Sasuke and Naruto were indeed glaring a bit. "Hey, cut that out. I wouldn't leave Konoha." She smiled, and tugged on their sleeves. "I wouldn't leave my team."

"You'd better not." Naruto was nearly pouting at her. Sasuke just hustled them both through the door and down the hall, as if he were afraid the Hokage would change her mind.

"I won't, I won't, I promise," Sakura laughed for real, light-hearted. She could never leave this. Never.

She rocked to a stop as they emerged from the building, though. Tomita was waiting for her, leaning in the shadows of the great doors. "Tomita," she said softly.

"Did you really mean it?" he asked, not looking up from his crossed arms. "That you liked the work you did with us?"

Sakura took a slow breath, remembering the things she'd found and spoken during her debriefing last week, feeling the silent support of Naruto and Sasuke close beside her. "I meant it. Orochimaru was a menace, to my people and yours both, but Sound itself, the village and not his headquarters... you're good shinobi. If I really had been unaffiliated, I'd have been glad to stay." It was far more tangled than that, but those were the only parts she was going to explain to an outsider, even a maybe-ally. There was one more thing, though, she could give him. "I took that mission because Orochimaru threatened what was precious to me. If I had stayed," she said quietly, out of the surety in her heart, "I would have killed him for Sound's sake, in the end."

Finally, he looked up at her, and the earlier betrayal had become only the shadows in any shinobi's eyes. "I believe you." He straightened up and turned to go, and hesitated. Finally, with a quick breath, he spun back to face her and saluted her, fist to his heart, sharp and precise as he had that day on the border. "For that truth." And then he was gone in a swirl of smoke.

And Sakura turned and reached out blindly for her teammates, blinking back the wetness in her eyes as their arms wrapped around her.

"Hey, it doesn't matter what another village thinks about you, right?" Naruto asked, anxiously. "I mean, since you know we care about you."

"I'm just glad," she said, husky. "I know it was the right thing to do. I know I did well for them whenever I could. I just... it's good to know he believes me."

"You have an end to it, now," Sasuke said, quietly.

"Yes." Sakura looked up, feeling the words match the shape of the world around her. "Yes, that's it. An end. Not stopping, but... an end."

Sasuke nodded, silent.

"Hey." Naruto pulled Sasuke tighter against them. "Quit worrying. We'll get an end for you, too."

Sasuke looked aside at that, color rising just a shade on his cheekbones. Sakura and Naruto smiled at each other, pleased and complicit. "So, hey." She nudged them both. "I think we deserve a treat. How about Dangoya for tea?"

Naruto perked up. "And then we can do Ichiraku Ramen for dinner!"

"This," Sakura said trenchantly, "is why my mother has hysterics every time I talk about moving out; because she's afraid I'll start eating like you."

"Your mother," Sasuke observed with cutting accuracy, "is afraid you'll live like any other shinobi and not bother getting married, and then she won't get to orchestrate a grand wedding reception."

"Yeah," Sakura sighed. "That too. Okay, let's do ramen, so she can worry about that instead."

Not stopping, she thought as they made their way down the steps, never stopping. But finding the ends to their life threads. That was a good way to live.

The three of them could do that, together.

A week and a bit after their visit from the Sound Daimyou Tsunade sat at her regular, human-sized desk and folded her hands against her mouth, frowning into the air. "Another one."

"Nii, who holds the Two-tails. The more stable of Cloud's two hosts," Asuma confirmed. "It's all over Cloud; the whole village was in an uproar when we got there. For a while I wasn't sure they'd let us leave again, diplomatic mission or not."

"What does Akatsuki think they're doing?" she demanded, aggravated, raking a hand through her hair. "They've been mercenaries for two generations! And after this they'll never get another job from any of the great villages!"

"Could they be trying to become a village themselves?" Nara Shikaku suggested from where he leaned a hip against her windowsill. "Gain enough power to settle somewhere and hold it against their enemies?"

"That's looking like all of us, at this rate," Asuma noted dryly, teeth clicking on his senbon.

"If they have all of the tailed beasts under some form of control, they might yet stand against us all," Shikaku murmured.

Silence followed that extremely unwelcome thought.

"All of them." Tsunade tried to imagine it. "How could they possibly control all of them, though? Even if Itachi can control one host, I can't imagine any form of the Sharingan that would allow him to control more than one. Maybe they just want us not to have them."

Asuma glanced at Shikaku. "Do we have any agents in Akatsuki at all?"

"Not for about ten years, now, according to Morino and the ANBU Commander." Shikaku didn't look happy. "That was just about the time Itachi joined them; he'd have known who the agents were."

"He having been ANBU. Of course." Tsunade sighed. "We'll try again. I imagine Cloud and Rock will be too. Hopefully one of us will get someone in and find out what the hell Akatsuki thinks they're doing."

Before they found out the hard way, she hoped.

"All right, then." She rolled up onto her feet, and beckoned Shikaku after her. "Thanks, Asuma. I'm glad to know about this before this month's meeting."

She strode down the halls of the administrative building, turning over one possibility after another in her thoughts, and none of them made any kind of sense. Akatsuki couldn't possibly have the hosts they'd taken so far under control; they must have killed them and be hoping to do whatever it was they were doing before the beasts could revive. She looked up as Shizune fell in beside her, handing over a folder, and smiled a little; this was a much more cheerful thing to think about. "You got it all in order?"

Shizune nodded brisk confirmation. "All three of them have fulfilled the usual requirements. This should be easy."

"Mm." In Tsunade's experience so far, nothing was ever easy with her Council. But it should be simple anyway.

Shikaku stepped ahead of them to get the door to the meeting room where the monthly Council met and Tsunade took a breath and swept through, head high. A fast glance around the green-draped room showed the ANBU Commander and the three Elders all present, and she nodded to them. "Let's get started, ladies and gentlemen."

She listened with half an ear as Shizune reported on the arrangements for this season's chuunin exam in Hidden Valley, and Shikaku listed the jounin who had volunteered for the good-will mission to Sound. It was a shame they couldn't really send Sakura herself back, but her teammates would never let her go without them and Tsunade had bigger fish to fry with those three, right now.

"We should definitely send Yamanaka Inoichi," Utatane said, folding her thin fingers on the solid, old table. "He has experience in the Interrogation unit. He'll be able to find out how much threat Sound still is to us."

"Inoichi is certainly just the person to lead the mission," Tsunade agreed, knowing there was an edge in her voice and unable to help it. Unsure she even wanted to help it. "He has an even temper and a diplomat's manners, which is just what a good-will mission needs."

Mitokado snorted, and Tsuna reminded herself yet again that she couldn't strangle her own first councilors just because they were a couple of war-crazy old goats. Shame, that. "If calm is what you want on that mission, you should send Aburame Shibi too," the old man suggested, sarcasm clanging in every word.

Tsunade bared her teeth at him. "An excellent suggestion. His self-possession will be very valuable, and I'm sure a little quiet would be appreciated by everyone." Shizune coughed meaningfully behind her and Tsunade made herself sit back. She knew she shouldn't let these two get to her, but it had been a very long time indeed since anyone dared treat her like some raw graduate.

Danzou stirred. "If two jounin are going on this mission, that will stretch the village a little thin. Especially considering the recent Akatsuki incursions among the great nations."

Tsunade picked up the folder she'd dropped on the table, wondering one more time exactly what contacts Danzou still had among Intelligence that he always knew about the classified reports. "A very good point. Fortunately, we have three chuunin who have been nominated for promotion this quarter." She slid the topsheets across the table to the Elders and the ANBU Commander and waited.

"Completely unacceptable!" Mitokado exclaimed.

"All three of them have been properly nominated by jounin who were not their field-teacher," Shikaku pointed out a bit dryly. "All three of them have displayed mastery of high level techniques in at least two elements and completed the minimum number of B-rank and above missions."

"Haruno-kun is considered, by all those who know of her recent mission, to have displayed unusually good judgment under high-stress conditions," the ANBU Commander added quietly, hands tented under his cat mask.

"Haruno, certainly, but you can't possibly promote Uzumaki." Mitokado dropped the topsheet with an air of finality. "The kind of missions a jounin goes on are far too great a risk." He frowned and added, "And he's only displayed mastery of one element, hasn't he?"

"Wind, yes." Tsunade had her hands folded so tight her knuckles were white. "And yang chakra. The Nine-tails' chakra, to be precise."

"That cannot possibly count toward the promotion requirements," Mitokado nearly sputtered.

"What's your problem with Naruto?" Tsunade asked bluntly. "You certainly wouldn't try to tell me that my yin mastery doesn't count." Not if the old goat wanted to live to see sundown, anyway.

"He's the village's Sacrifice! His training with you has kept him in the village, and that's as it should be. The idea of sending him out like any other jounin is preposterous."

And if he were formally promoted, Tsunade reflected grimly, there would be a lot of pressure to do just that. "Sacrifice" or not. Which was the idea. "So you want me to withhold the rank that he's earned from him? Set him apart even more? Keep alienating him from the village we all hope he'll protect?"

"Tsunade," Utatane broke in. "It's not just that. In time, Uzumaki may demonstrate the ability to take on jounin level missions, but right now you can't deny that he's still very immature."

"And how will he gain maturity without experience?" Tsunade argued.

"Vital as this question is," Danzou murmured from where he'd been sitting quiet and still, "I believe the nomination of Uchiha Sasuke is even more problematic. An immature shinobi may gain experience, if you are willing to take such a risk, but will an unstable one become any more stable?"

"Both his teachers attest that Sasuke has indeed become more stable over the last two years," Shikaku answered calmly before Tsunade could get her teeth unlocked to tell Danzou exactly what she thought of his argument.

"Stable enough, though?" Danzou shook his head as if sadly. "I have no objection to Haruno, of course, but Uzumaki and Uchiha... no. They need more time. Surely there's no need to rush them into promotion and possibly unsettle their development as shinobi."

Both Mitokado and Utatane settled back and nodded firmly in agreement, and Tsunade breathed deeply to keep from screaming with frustration. Just as any jounin could nominate a chuunin for promotion, enough of the Council could block the nomination. With all three of her Elders standing firm, they were deadlocked and she couldn't very well call in the noble clans on a promotion question; that would open the door to all sorts of accusations of favoritism and factionalism. "Very well," she said through her teeth. "Shikaku. Inform Haruno of her promotion. Shizune, clear some time in my schedule tomorrow; Naruto and Sasuke deserve an explanation. And an assurance that their Hokage does not doubt them."

And on that note, the meeting broke up. Tsunade went to get some stomach soothing tea from Shizune's stock and wondered if it would be too extremely disrespectful to pray at the Senju's Touki shrine for her Elders to die peacefully in their sleep, someday very soon.

The next day, though, it wasn't just Naruto and Sasuke who came to her office at the appointed hour. Sakura was with them too. In fact, she was the one who actually marched up to Tsunade's desk while Sasuke and Naruto waited by the door. She threw her promotion letter down and crossed her arms.

"Is it true that Naruto and Sasuke were supposed to be promoted and were blocked?" she demanded, nearly glowering.

Tsunade pursed her lips and leaned back in her chair. Apparently Danzou wasn't the only one who could take advantage of the Intelligence grapevine. "I'm afraid so," she admitted. "I have every faith in them, as do the field commanders, but a majority of the council has to approve jounin promotions."

Sakura's eyes narrowed and Tsunade would be willing to bet the girl had understood exactly who was left in opposition to her partners, if the Hokage and the field commanders had no qualms. More significantly, given Tsunade's win/loss record, she thought Shizune would be willing to bet, too. "I see. Well." She snapped her hands together in the Tiger and spat pointedly at the letter, which went up in flames. "You can tell them that they can take my promotion, fold it in corners, and stick it up their asses! I'll advance with my team or not at all!" With that she whirled and strode out of the room leaving a small pile of char on top of Tsunade's desk. Naruto, grinning all over his face, swaggered out on her heels. Sasuke paused to give Tsunade a brief bow and a definite smirk before following.

When Shizune came in five minutes later, Tsunade was still laughing. "Tsunade-sama?" she asked, cautiously.

Tsunade wiped her eyes as she caught her breath again. "That girl is going to be a first councilor herself one day, you know she will." She dissolved in chuckles again. "Naruto will change Konoha when he's Hokage, all right! I don't see how he could help it with those two beside him!"

A/N: I'm positing some differences in vocabulary in how people refer to the tailed beast hosts, here. I've translated jinchuuriki as "Sacrifice". But whenever someone refers to them as "hosts", that's yadonushi, which is a considerably less dire and freighted word. I really think that friends and (sane) family would be more likely to use something like that than jinchuuriki.

As for the Council I'm constructing here, we don't even meet Danzou until part two, but he sits with the group deciding who gets to be the new Hokage; clearly Kishimoto decided he was going to be an important part of the village's governance. This begs the question of why we never saw anyone but Utatane and Mitokado taking part in governance decisions in the first half, and why we keep seeing far larger groups advising the other Kage. To reconcile all this, I invented the office of "first councilors" to serve as the Hokage's immediate advisers and widened the Hokage's Council to include the heads of the noble clans and the field commanders. I posit that there's actually a four-way balance of power (Hokage, Elders, clan heads, field commanders) and that what counts as a majority varies depending on how the "sides" are divided up on any given issue.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Ten

In which Gaara is taken by Akatsuki and Kakashi's and Gai's teams are sent to aid Hidden Sand to get him back. Drama, Action, Fluff, I-4

Sasuke dangled his legs over the weathered edge of the Nara house's engawa and listened to the soft tick of stones as Sakura and Shikamaru played a game of go an arm's length away. It was the first time both teams had been home at once for a few months, and everyone was enjoying a bit of a break.

"Hey, that almost singed my hair you jerk!"

The less quiet sounds of Naruto and Ino sparring broke through the brown and gold shadows among the trees of the back garden. Everyone had their own definition of "taking a break".

"It just doesn't make sense, you know," Sakura said, out of the blue, frowning down at the board. "There's been another attack on a host. This makes both of Rock's hosts taken!"

"Sakura," Ino said warningly, touching down on the grass. "That's information from the files; even if it isn't really confidential, you shouldn't be sharing it outside Intelligence."

Sakura flapped an impatient hand. "We're the yearmates of our village's host. If it comes down to guarding Naruto from Akatsuki, we'll most likely be the inner line of defense. If anyone needs to know this, we do." She frowned. "Besides... I don't think it's a coincidence that our year and the one before have so many shinobi who are this strong this young."

Shikamaru looked up from contemplating his next move, eyes sharp. "What do you mean?"

Sakura chewed her lip. "Look, I know this sounds like superstition, but... we're the ones who spent the longest time closest to Naruto. I don't have very solid evidence yet, but I think that had an effect."

"So I'm, like, an amplifier?" Naruto asked, flickering down from the trees to the grass after Ino. "Cool."

"You're an annoyance," Sasuke corrected without sitting up. "I suppose that does tend to goad a person forward, yes."

"Jerk." Naruto pounced on him and they wrestled for a moment before Sasuke got a foot behind Naruto's knee and flipped them over, pinning him down on the satin smooth engawa with a little smirk of triumph; Naruto was a lot better at hand-to-hand these days, and pinning him was getting to be an accomplishment. Sakura was probably rolling her eyes over them, but she didn't bother to move as they rolled around behind her.

"No, you have a point just from the numbers," Shikamaru said, mouth quirking as he watched them. "I mean, normally it takes five to ten years to pass to chuunin, and look at us. One to three years, for our entire cohort." He laid a stone down and Sakura made an annoyed sound.

"All right, if we're breaking security, let's do it right." Ino came to sit on the stone step beside Chouji and steal one of his chips, which he actually let her do. Sasuke guessed their team really was close with each other. "So, the Akatsuki attacks are continuing. Rock is down both their hosts, and Cloud is down to one. And we've had one probe years ago." She poked Sakura in the knee. "I've been out on missions, not snooping in the secure files. Who else has gotten hit?"

"I think Mist still has both of their hosts," Sakura murmured in a distant tone, eyes fixed on the board though Sasuke wouldn't give any odds she was actually seeing it. "I don't know for sure about the Waterfall, though."

"Given the timing involved in the attacks, I suspect they've already got that one," Shikamaru murmured, eyes dark and thoughtful. "The Mist might have lost one by now, too."

Sasuke propped himself up over Naruto on an elbow, frowning. "You think this really is a systematic thing. Kidnapping the hosts." The hand that had been holding Naruto's elbow away from his ribs fell to his chest and spread there firmly. No one was taking Naruto away. Especially not Itachi. Not again, Sasuke wouldn't let him.

Chouji looked up at Shikamaru, popping another chip into his mouth. "So, what do we do?"

"We keep ours safe," Sakura said, setting down a white stone more firmly than necessary.

"That too," Shikamaru agreed. "If we can, it would be ideal to share information with the other villages who have hosts, see if we can find a pattern in the attacks."

Sakura and Ino looked at each other. "Not Morino-san," Ino said. "He hates the idea of sharing information with other villages. And Hoshiashige-san doesn't listen to me as well as Miuhara listens to you."

"Mm. Actually, Kakashi-sensei might be our best bet," Sakura suggested. "He's not formally part of the Intelligence division, but he was, and everyone still knows him. And he has the Hokage's ear."

"We'll start there, then," Shikamaru said, laying down another stone. "And," he smiled, tight, "we'll keep ours safe."

Naruto was looking around at them all, a little flushed and wide-eyed. "Idiot," Sasuke told him, more gently than usual, and sat up to look over Sakura's shoulder at the game. He left his hand on Naruto's chest, though.

Kakashi stood in front of the Hokage's desk, just as bland as could be, waiting attentively for any questions she might have about his report.

"Hm." She was smiling, small and tight, as she set down the folder and turned her chair to face her windows, looking out through the hazy blue morning over the roofs of the village. "You know, Kakashi," she murmured in a whimsical tone, "the more I see of Naruto's generation the more I think... the Elders don't know what the hell they're going to face in just a few more years."

"I couldn't agree more." And it was a thought that kept Kakashi warm at nights, he had to admit, especially as applied to Danzou. "But they don't have the rank to support you against the Elders right now."

"Despite having reached exactly the right conclusion." She sighed and tipped her chair back. "We're going to have to do this more slowly than any of us would like. Get back to them, Kakashi. Let them know they're right; encourage them to talk this up to their own superiors. The more people in favor of a little international cooperation, the more freedom I'll have to act." She smiled slowly. "Ask them to try to take jobs close to home for a while. If any international missions or delegations open up, I think it will be some of them that I want to send. And the old goats can complain after the fact." She gave cocked a brow at him. "Brush up on your diplomacy, too. I expect it will be you I send them with."

Kakashi winced at the thought and gave her his very best hangdog look, to no avail. She just snorted. "Get used to it, Kakashi. It's getting to be about time you started picking up more diplomatic and administrative jobs. Just be glad I'm not making Shikaku name you his official successor as Jounin Commander. Yet."

Kakashi held up his hands in hasty surrender. "Missions it is! Missions are fine!"

She settled back in her chair, satisfied. "Good." Her smugness still had an alarming tinge of speculation, though, and she murmured, "Actually, you know, it might just be you I tap for—"

"I'll just go have my dress clothes cleaned and pressed, then, shall I?" Kakashi cut in, sidling toward the door before she could come up with any more horrifyingly responsible jobs to threaten him with.

Tsunade laughed. "You do that." Her amusement drained away, though, as he got a hand on the knob, and she added quietly. "Be ready, Kakashi. If I do have to take you off field work for a foreign mission, it will probably be urgent."

Sasuke bounded through the tall trees and deep gorges of the eastern Fire Country and wished he had enough breath to swear properly. But even moving at their top speed, Naruto was outdistancing the rest of them.

"Naruto!" Kakashi called the next breath, "Stay in closer."

There was no sign at all that Naruto had heard him—and an edge of visible red was flickering around him. Sasuke exchanged a tense look with Sakura. When Tsunade had told them and Gai's team that the Kazekage had been kidnapped and they were going to assist, a flash of feral rage had slitted Naruto's eyes, but he'd seemed to come back after just a second.

Maybe he just didn't want to listen, now, but this wasn't a good sign.

Sakura's mouth tightened and she nodded sharply toward Naruto. Sasuke nodded back and gathered himself. One breath, a moment of solid footing, and he flickered forward on a burst of chakra-speed to land in front of Naruto. Right in front. Despite Sasuke's preparation for it Naruto was still moving too fast, and they went down hard against the branch under them. Only Sakura's fast grab at Naruto's shoulders as she came up behind them kept them both from falling.

"Cut that out!" Sasuke barked at him, a bit winded. "You can't get too far out front of us!"

"Gaara," Naruto started, and though his eyes weren't slitted they weren't as focused as Sasuke liked.

"You want to give them two for the price of one?" Kakashi asked mildly, landing beside them.

"But I have to..."

Sasuke gave up on logic, as he so often had to around Naruto, and just shook him. "Shut up and listen to me," he said, low and deadly. "I am not letting you run yourself right into an ambush. Understand? Not by those bastards and not because you were too unbelievably bullheaded to Stay. With. Your team!" Three more hard shakes punctuated that, and Naruto finally blinked at Sasuke like he knew who was in front of him.

"Oh," he finally said, and Sasuke restrained himself with difficulty from banging his head on Naruto's shoulder a few times. It was as good as a brick wall. Or maybe that should be Naruto's head.

"That's the true spirit of youthful teamwork!" Gai boomed above them, and Sasuke groaned.

"Now see what you've done?" he muttered. He took Sakura's hand up and hauled Naruto with him. "Get a hold of yourself, or we'll do it for you."

Naruto smiled at that, like he knew perfectly well it was a promise and not a threat. "Yeah, okay." As they started out again, in better order this time, he added, "Thanks."

Sasuke just snorted, not really pleased to have had to show the inner working of their team to other people like that, even people from their own village. Still, better to work it out now than after they were in Sand, he supposed.

A few more strides and Neji fell in beside him. "The demon chakra has subsided again," he said quietly. "That was well done. Will you and Sakura be able to pull him out of it when we're in battle, though?"

"We will do," Sasuke said precisely, "whatever it takes."

Neji nodded. "Let us know if we can help." At Sasuke's raised brow, he smiled faintly, still looking straight ahead through the tossing green of their tree path. "Naruto carries this burden for all of us. It's only fitting that we all assist as we can." After another leap, he added, "Hinata-sama would wish it."

Sasuke nodded acceptance of that, silently. Whatever it took.

They were waved through casually at the edge of River Country and, half a weary day later, with frantic haste at the borders of the Wind Country. They ran on until Kakashi decreed a stop, well after dark. Naruto, predictably, protested, and Lee was right behind him.

"We won't be any help if we're exhausted when we get there," Sakura told them, pushing Naruto firmly down onto the sand of the hollow Kakashi had chosen to camp in and putting a water bottle in his hand. Tenten gave her a grateful look as Lee wilted at Sakura's scolding, and chivvied her partner out of his pack.

They weren't going to be much help if Naruto didn't recover his scattered brains, either, Sasuke reflected. He was their medic, after all, and a battle with Akatsuki promised injuries, to say nothing of what they might find at Sand in the wake of a raid. After contemplating this fact for a few bites of his pressed fruit bar, he sighed and scooted over to sit back to back with Naruto, leaning against him. "Hey."

Naruto made the kind of sound a person makes when their mouth is way too full and Sasuke rolled his eyes. "So, if Akatsuki has Gaara, what are we going to do?"

"Get him back," Naruto growled fiercely.

"I was hoping for a little more detail than that," Sasuke said dryly. "It isn't fair to make Sakura do all the work. For example, if Gaara is hurt, you might need to stay with him while we chase Akatsuki, you know."

Naruto's back relaxed against his a little, at the reminder that he could probably do something about any injuries the Kazekage might have picked up. "So. I guess I shouldn't just run in and beat up anyone with red clouds on their coat, is what you're saying?"

"Well," Sasuke allowed, "at least not until we've got Gaara safe and know they aren't going to do anything to you."

Naruto was quiet for a moment. "So. You think Itachi will be with them?"

It was Sasuke's turn to tense, and Naruto leaned back against him more firmly. "He wasn't reported," Sasuke said tightly, "but he's the one I'm worried about taking you." He breathed through the twist of memory and sickness and managed a snort. "Normal top rank criminals, I'm not as concerned over."

"Heheh." He could hear the smug grin in Naruto's chortle and stifled a smile of his own. No need to encourage him. "Hey, don't worry." Naruto nudged him with an elbow. "I won't let him get me. And this time you'll kick his ass."

"This time," Kakashi said out of the dusk, voice hard, "you'll run faster unless you have a lot more backup."

That was voice of Sasuke's commander, more than his teacher—the same voice Kakashi had used that first time, after the bad fight with Naruto. That was the voice that understood what was at stake, and had never pretended Sasuke would be content with anything less than Itachi's blood in the end. And that was why, as Naruto was inhaling to protest, Sasuke said quietly, "Yes, Kakashi-sensei."

Naruto twisted around to stare over his shoulder at Sasuke, eyes a little wide. "Are you okay?" He put a worried hand on Sasuke's forehead, which Sasuke batted aside with an exasperated glare.

"He's being at least temporarily sensible," Kakashi-sensei said dryly. "Now if only I can get you to do the same at some point I will have reached the pinnacle of my teaching career." Raising his voice a little he added, "Everyone get some sleep. I have first watch."

Ignoring Gai-sensei's immediate insistence that they play jan-ken-pon for it, Sasuke tugged the blanket out of his pack and lay down. Now that they weren't moving, the night was turning very cold; he remembered that from the chuunin exam.

He remembered his solution for it, too, and his mouth quirked, invisibly in the dark, as he ran his hands through the seals for Inner Fire. Almost immediately, as he'd half expected, he had a teammate snuggled up on either side. "I showed you how to do this yourself," he whispered, nudging Sakura, making her squeak and swat at his hand. "And you don't need it," he added to Naruto.

"You do it better," she whispered back.

"Yeah, and you're warmer," Naruto added from the other side. Sasuke rolled his eyes.

"Okay, fine, whatever. Just don't toss around like you usually do." That was mostly to Naruto's address, though both he and Naruto had wound up with black eyes when Sakura had one of her nightmares.

Firmly ignoring Tenten's giggling, drifting across the hollow, he closed his eyes and pursued sleep.

It didn't take long to get to Hidden Sand the next day, and it was Temari who met them at the wall. Her face was tight and there were dark smudges under her eyes. "There were at least two from Akatsuki," she said as she led them through stunned silent streets to the hospital. "We think there may have been more than we saw, though. They headed over the north wall when they left, we know that, but none of the guards saw a thing. One or two agents among us I could believe, but a dozen?"

"Genjutsu, do you think?" Neji asked quietly.

"An incredibly strong one, if so." Temari bit her lip as they hurried up stairs and through the curving hospital halls. "I can't think what else it might have been, though."

"Itachi," Sasuke said, low, rage and fear surging out of his control for a breath to wind his nerves another twist tighter.

"We know that Uchiha Itachi is part of Akatsuki," Kakashi supplied at Temari's questioning look. "And he's achieved levels of genjutsu control I'd never heard of before."

"At least three then. Explosives, illusions, and poison." Temari's jaw set hard. "Kankurou encountered the poisoner." She pushed open the door of a private room, bright from the skylights and painted a soft, comforting apricot like the bands Sasuke had seen in some of the rock formations on the way here. It didn't make it any less a hospital room.

Sasuke had never liked hospitals. The first time he'd found himself in one was after his clan was killed, and later visits hadn't done much to break a bad first impression. The harsh, hoarse gasps of the man on the hospital bed yanked at his nerves; there was pain here, and he couldn't do a thing about it.

He wasn't at all surprised when Naruto pushed forward. "Poison?"

The very old woman by the bed said without turning, "More than one. Sasori's poisons are tricky, too. We're still trying to isolate them, and none of the general anti—" she looked over her shoulder and broke off, eyes widening. "White Fang!"

Sasuke was caught just as flat-footed as everyone else when she dove for Kakashi with a shriek of rage, but he slapped Naruto's shoulder as Naruto started to wheel back; whatever was going on, he and Sakura were here. Naruto should concentrate on what only he could do.

By the time they'd both spun back to their right jobs, Naruto to the bed and Sasuke to their commander, it was already over. Sakura was spinning away from the kick that checked the old woman in midair, and an equally old man had come forward to stop the woman. Gai's team spilled into the room after Kakashi, and once it became clear that it was Kakashi's father the old woman had a grudge against everyone seemed to relax again.

"Okay," Naruto said briskly, from the bed, having ignored the whole thing, "His liver already knows what this shit is, I'll start there and burn it out."

"We already tried a direct flush," one of the other medics started, and Naruto grinned.

"Yeah, but you aren't me."

Sasuke's mouth twitched. He'd always kind of figured that Naruto's bedside manner forced people to get better just so they could avoid drowning in the overflowing self-confidence.

The old woman's brows lifted as Naruto set his hands on Kankurou's stomach and his chakra spilled into the visible range. "Who is this?"

"Uzumaki Naruto," Kakashi provided. "The Hokage's apprentice in healing, of late."

The woman paused. "She sent her own apprentice?" she murmured, almost to herself.

"Tsunade-sama takes our treaty obligations seriously," Kakashi answered, sober.

Sasuke listened with half an ear, keeping an eye on Naruto, who was starting to sweat. "Crap," Naruto finally muttered, glaring at thin air. "I've got it out of his blood, but it's... damn it..."

"Is it in his bones already?" the old woman asked sharply, coming to hover beside him.

"No, not that. It's... it's a reservoir, yeah, but not the bones, it's..." Naruto narrowed his eyes, "I think it's poisoned his chakra."

The woman hissed through her teeth. "Sasori! He did create that one after all." She bowed her head, hands locked tight. "Then there's nothing we can do."

Naruto growled. "There is! I just can't burn or break it like the stuff in his blood! If I could just find a way out for it..." Blue eyes widened and his head jerked up. "Neji!"

Neji stepped forward, frowning. "What?"

Naruto grinned at him, and it was the grin he got in the middle of a fight when he'd figured out how to win. Sasuke smirked and settled back against the wall as the tightness in his gut eased.

"Open his tenketsu!" Naruto told Neji. "All of them, all the way! You can do that, right?"

Neji's eyes widened. "But...!" He took a breath. "Naruto, if I do that, his chakra will all drain away. He'll die."

"Not while I'm adding more. Chakra transfers were the first thing I learned to do. And I'll tell you when to close them again." Only Naruto, Sasuke reflected, could make a suggestion this crazy sound perfectly reasonable. Neji had the slightly disbelieving expression of any normal person hearing it; fortunately, it wasn't the first time, for him and Naruto.

"He needs to be standing upright so I can reach all sixty-four key points," he said slowly. "Naruto, you'd better be right about this."

"I am." Naruto's eyes were fixed back on his patient, and his confidence this time was quiet and sure.

"All right."

The other medics got Kankurou upright and Neji set his feet, preparing, and engaged his Byakugan. One breath. Another. And then there was a whirl of strikes, blindingly fast, absolutely precise, and Neji was in front of Kankurou again, only to leap back. "Naruto!"

"Got it!" Naruto blazed up with the force of chakra he was concentrating, hands pressed to Kankurou's chest. Another breath, and Neji hissed, still holding the Byakugan.

"It's moving..."

Sasuke thought everyone in the room might be holding their breaths, hanging on Neji's terse reports of Kankurou's chakra levels as Naruto stood like stone in front of him, scowling in concentration.

Sasuke was keeping an eye on Naruto's chakra levels, frowning at the rapid drain. But Naruto wasn't turning muddy or jagged, so he kept his mouth shut. And kept watching. He'd been party to more than one of Tsunade's lectures to Naruto about having a spotter when he tried a new technique, and he'd seen Naruto get so concentrated on his work Shizune had to knock him out to stop him.

"Almost," Naruto panted. "Al... most... got it! Neji, close them down!"

Neji struck again, fast and sure, and Naruto slumped against the next bed. "Okay," he rasped, as Sasuke released the Sharingan, with a covert sigh of relief. "See if that got it."

The wide-eyed medics lifted Kankurou back into bed and the old woman passed her hands over him. "He's stable," she said, rough and shocked. "His pulse, his muscles, his chakra... all clean." She turned and stared at Naruto. "How could you possibly feed enough chakra to him to replace his and still be standing?!"

Naruto grinned, pushing himself upright. "Well, me and Gaara have some things in common."

The old woman actually sputtered. "Are you telling me the slug girl taught Leaf's Sacrifice to heal?"

"Naruto is a very strong healer," Kakashi observed blandly before Sasuke and Sakura could do more than stiffen at what the woman had called Naruto. "The village is very glad to have him."

The old woman's eyes darkened. "I see," she said, very low. "That... was wise of the girl." More briskly she added, "And an ingenious solution, boy. You're a credit to your teacher."

"Chiyo-baasama?" The whisper from the bed drifted through the momentary silence, and everyone spun to see Kankurou pushing himself slowly up. "What...?"

"Kankurou!" Temari just about tackled him back to the bed with a hug. And then she grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard. "You idiot! You went without backup! Never, ever, do that again!"

Sasuke caught Sakura's eye and had to stifle a snort of laughter; that sounded extremely familiar.

"They have Gaara!" Kankurou flailed a little trying to sit back up again. "We have to go after them!"

"There are tracking teams already on the two trails we found, and support teams following each of them," Temari told him. "As soon as they get a bird back to us, a full strength party is going in pursuit." She smiled a little. "The Leaf sent us help, too."

"Heh." Naruto straightened all the way. "Yeah, don't worry about it. We'll bring Gaara back!"

"Uzumaki." Kankurou looked around, and frowned. "Wait, how did I... did you...?"

The old woman, Chiyo, patted his arm. "Indeed. Naruto-kun was the one who cleared the poison from you." She held out a hand and ordered. "Grip!"

Obediently, Kankurou gripped her hand tight, and she nodded judiciously. "Almost fully recovered." She cocked her head at Naruto. "I'm very impressed. It was a completely brute force approach, but you actually undid most of the muscular and arterial damage. It seems the slug girl became a good teacher, as well as a good medic." She brushed her sleeves straight and added, quite casually, "When the team leaves to go after Gaara, I will accompany it."

"I'm coming too!" Kankurou swung his legs off the bed and pushed himself up with determination and only a little shakiness.

"Kankurou, you should stay put and recover," Temari exclaimed. "I'll go."

Kankurou smiled, crooked. "You know the council won't listen to me the way they will to you, Nee-san."

Temari made a frustrated sound, and Sasuke thought he knew what hidden fear was underneath her anger. Fear of the hell he'd lived in himself, of losing everything. "We'll bring them back," he said, quietly. "Both of them." It could still be done for Sand, at least. That thought was actually a little comforting.

"We'll absolutely bring everyone back," Naruto seconded, with downright alarming intensity.

Temari looked at them for a long moment. Finally, very softly, she asked, "Why?"

Naruto looked away, shrugging one shoulder. "Like I said, Gaara and I... we have some stuff in common." He looked up at Sasuke and Sakura, and then beyond them at Gai's team. "But I found people who accepted me. And he didn't. I know how it hurts, and I'm not going to let it keep going on." He looked back at her, again with that absolute determination of his. "Now that he has people, I'm not going to let him lose them!"

Sasuke nodded silently. It was true enough for him, too, though it was Temari he was thinking of and the expression that would be on her face if she had to stand and watch her family taken away from her. That was more than he was going to say to another nation's shinobi, though, no matter how much sympathy he had.

Temari had a hand pressed to her mouth. She blinked hard and swallowed, and whispered, "Thank you."

Naruto ran a hand through his hair, sheepishly. "Hey, don't worry. It'll all be okay."

Temari drew a slow breath and pulled herself together. "Come with me, then. I'll find rooms for you while we're waiting for the tracking parties to report."

Word came in the small hours of the morning, which Sasuke thought was a good thing. Much longer and Naruto would have produced Shadow Clones and gone chasing after both trails at once himself.

It would have been easier if the trail back toward River Country had been the true one, and it certainly ended in a convincingly warded cave, but there was no scent or trace of Gaara. Kankurou and Chiyo both agreed that trail had been laid by a puppet. The trail north into Sky Country, on the other hand, kept both Sasori's scent and Gaara's. A Sand patrol already near the border was ordered to close up and support the trackers, and Chiyo led Kankurou and the two Leaf teams out of the village herself.

"We'll just have to hope no one from Rain stumbles over this," Chiyo said grimly, as they ran north over slowly lightening sand and rock. "Because we don't have time to beat sense into that idiot Hanzou's head and then wait for the village to contact all their border patrols and convince them to stand aside."

"Akatsuki have gone to ground, haven't they? They won't be moving again without us catching them; we can take a little while to explain to the border patrols if we have to," Gai said, and gave her one of his embarrassingly optimistic thumbs up signs. "We'll have the Kazekage back in no time!"

Chiyo gave him a quelling look that Sasuke entirely approved of. "Depending on how many of them are gathered at this hidey hole of theirs, it's possible they're going to attempt an extraction."

"Extraction?" Both Gai and Kakashi looked puzzled.

Chiyo was silent for a few strides. "I don't know how Leaf does it, but Sand always extracted the tailed beast from the Sacrifices when they became too worn down to control it any more. It allowed us to store Shukaku in a stable form between embodiments. Akatsuki may have their own Sacrifice to transfer the One-tail into."

Sakura hissed between her teeth and Sasuke glanced over to see her eyes widening, sharp with calculation.

"But..." Neji was frowning. "Forgive me, Chiyo-san, but a beast's chakra mixes very deeply with the host's. Wouldn't that scar the host very badly?"

"It kills them," Chiyo said bluntly, dark eyes fixed straight ahead.

That choked off everyone for a moment, and Kankurou lost his next stride. "Gaara," he whispered.

"It takes time," Chiyo said. "Time and a great deal of chakra. If there aren't too many of them gathered, we'll still be in time." She shot a sidelong glance at Naruto. "I'm glad you're with us, Naruto-kun."

Naruto was starting to look a little feral again, and Sasuke and Sakura immediately closed in at his shoulders. Chiyo's brows twitched up, but she turned back to keeping their pace without comment.

"This is it," Sakura was muttering. "This is what they're doing! Not keeping control of the hosts... gaining control of the beasts!"

"Sakura," Sasuke asked, very quietly, "how many have been confirmed taken?"

"Five," she said, tightly. "More than half."

Sasuke felt something very cold sink down into his stomach. "I think this mission just became important to more than Sand and Leaf alone," he said, a little husky.

"I think you're right. Kakashi-sensei," Sakura called.

"We're all that can get there in time, this mission," Kakashi answered, and Sasuke wasn't surprised he was already on the same page. "But the villages have to know, one way or the other. Sasuke, can you summon on the run? Yours will be fastest."

Despite the sudden grimness of the situation, Sasuke's mouth quirked as he remembered the training Jiraiya had harried him through in this very country. "It'll be nostalgic," he murmured, and pulled a summoning scroll out of his pouch while Naruto took point and Sakura dropped behind to watch his back. A nick of his thumb, and blood to carry the summons, and Youchi swooped down over his head, wings shadowing them against the high, steel blue of the morning sky.

"On vacation again?" the hawk asked sarcastically.

Sasuke ignored the attitude. He was used to it; it was even comforting in a way, to have something around with a sufficiently caustic outlook on life that he didn't feel the need to contribute any extra cynicism. "Get word to the Hokage," he directed. "Akatsuki may be extracting the tailed beasts from their hosts, either to hold or to seal into their own candidates. Everyone needs to know this, not just us."

"Okay, but if Leaf's message keeper tries to mew me up again, I'm going to take his scalp off for real this time." Before Sasuke could answer, Youchi was winging away to the east, straight and fast.

"Have I mentioned that your summons is a jerk?" Naruto asked.

"Have I mentioned that yours is an idiot?" Sasuke shot back. He still hadn't forgotten the time Gamakichi glued all of his underwear to the bottom of his pack, not even on Naruto's orders.

"I bet your summons is nice and smart, Sakura-san," Lee chipped in, ever hopeful.

"I haven't contracted with one," Sakura said rather dryly from behind him, "but if I had I can guarantee you it would be more sensible than both of theirs put together."

Sasuke and Naruto shrugged at each other. That one was pretty hard to argue with.

A little more than two days took them over the border of Sky Country to meet with one of the trackers at the edge of a swamp.

"Kurota," Kankurou greeted the man, "report."

"There's an old building, well into the swamp, perhaps an abandoned temple." The man gestured almost due north. "The way to it is a maze, half reality and half illusion, seeded with some very subtle chakra triggered traps. We only broke all the way through this morning, and we don't have anyone with us who can open the door into the place."

"Show us," Chiyo rapped out. Kurota paused to bow deeply to her, which, Sasuke was distantly amused to note, made her hand twitch as if to cuff him. Sand did seem to have a feisty bunch of Elders.

The swamp path was a maze all right, and Sasuke was impressed the Sand teams had made it through with, apparently, no deaths. Even he and Sakura together would have been hard pressed to pick apart the tangle of subtle illusion that led the foot toward quicksand here, a sinkhole there, cloaked the already faint ripples of water predators in another spot. The obvious routes through clumps of trees were seeded with strangling traps. It took hours to work their way through, even with a guide, and he watched both Naruto and Kankurou getting tenser with every turn they had to take away from the path straight north.

It distracted him from his own tension, which cranked higher every time he couldn't keep from thinking about who might well have set these illusions.

Fortunately, Kankurou had Chiyo next to him to tweak his ear admonishingly whenever he tried to hurry ahead. As for Naruto... well Sasuke and Sakura both stayed close, with a hand on his arm or shoulder when they could. Naruto's eyes kept flickering toward the feralness of the fox.

When they finally broke out of the maze, they found the rest of the Sand teams gathered at the foot of a gray stone building in the square, tiered style of Sky Country, though it had none of the windows those tiers of roofs usually sheltered.

The tall, narrow doorway was blocked with stone, too.

Turning away from it was the dark-haired woman Sakura had met during the chuunin exams.

"Kankurou-san!" She stopped for a startled moment. "Chiyo-baasama."

"Yes, yes, spit it out, what's the problem?" Chiyo demanded testily, and Fuunotora regathered herself.

"The whole temple has a reflective seal woven through the stone. Any chakra technique at all is reflected back on the user. We need to break through with pure taijutsu, and none of my people are that strong; Shinji reports the walls and that door are over a meter thick. Perhaps one of your puppets? Or can one of our allies do such a thing?" She cocked a brow at Sakura.

Chiyo grunted unpromisingly, and Sakura glanced at their second team. "Gai-san? Lee?"

"Lee," Gai said firmly, laying a hand on Lee's shoulder. "Knowing the difficulty, even I might slip and bring my chakra to bear."

Lee stood very straight. "Right!"

"Any intelligence about the door itself?" Kakashi asked Fuunotora.

"Shinji!" Fuunotora called, and the Sand nin kneeling with his hands pressed to the stone in the door looked over his shoulder. For a second, Sasuke thought the man's eyes were as black as his, but then he blinked and his pupils shrank abruptly to show brown around them.

"This is definitely the weakest structural point," he tapped on the stone at a little over head height. "Aim here."

An eye technique. Which, of course, made Sasuke think of Itachi, and he shook himself, set that aside for later when they knew one way or the other. Instead, he breathed, cleared his mind of one thing after another, and slid into the place where the Sharingan turned the world clear and precise, watching like one of his hawks for the movement that signaled prey.

Kankurou was ordering the Sand teams to make a charge once the door was open, or clear more traps, whichever was needed. Kakashi waved the Leaf-nin to fall in behind them. Lee stood in front of the door, breathing slow and deep. Neji had his Byakugan active and was watching the temple tight-mouthed.

"Hurry," he said quietly. "It isn't just the reflection jutsu distorting things; there's something strange going on in there."

Lee nodded and sprang high into the air, spinning as he came down, and Sasuke could see the fine precision in how gravity and momentum came together with Lee's own strength in a single heel strike at the precise point Shinji had indicated.

Cracks starred the rock on impact, and one of the Sand nin gasped.

Lee landed in a crouch and spun up in a fluid wheel to punch the impact point with a kiai that was nearly a scream.

The rock shattered.

So, Sasuke noted, had two of Lee's long hand bones. His ankle was severely strained. Neji was swearing viciously under his breath even as he looked past his teammate into the building. "No traps," he shouted, "go!" The whole lot of them charged forward over the rubble.

The Sharingan highlighted for Sasuke every detail of what was inside. A single, open room. A huge, fading shape, shoulders and hands and a demon face. Five of nine figures fading with it. A body in unfamiliar dark robes but with red hair he recognized falling through the air. As it hit the ground, Kankurou's and Naruto's voices nearly as one, frightened and furious.

"GAARA!"

A/N: Another thing I never found believable was that one of the major villages wouldn't have any trackers of their own to have sent after their freaking Kage, and would not have sent any of their own teams along with the Leaf team to rescue him.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Eleven

Sasuke faces his brother again. Fortunately, Sakura and Naruto are there for him, and he finds the space in his head to do what he has to do. Involves character death. Drama, Action, Angst, I-5

Naruto and Kankurou's voices still rang off the walls when Gaara hit the floor with a dull, boneless thump.

"Well," murmured the blond Akatsuki, looking toward the broken temple door, "that was faster than we expected, hm?" He smiled very unpleasantly. "Just not fast enough." As two of the four dark robes remaining faded back into the shadows, he strolled toward them, stepping over Gaara's body and carelessly kicking it in passing.

Sasuke wasn't surprised when Naruto snarled with absolute rage and charged the man, red flickering around him.

"Naruto," Sakura shouted, sharp, "it's you he wants, don't be an idiot!"

Sasuke's vision tracked the man's hand as it dove into his pouch and a pale, grayish white bird bloomed up from it, growing large enough for the man to spring onto and ride. Not an elemental transformation but what might well be unlimited shaping of his medium, trained observation noted coolly; that was dangerous.

Sasuke snapped his hands together, fast and sure with the knife-edge perception of the Sharingan, and blew fire at the bird while the Sand team showered kunai, needles, and a loop of razor wire on the other remaining Akatsuki. At the edge of his field of vision, he saw that attack blocked with what looked like a jointed tail. The bird he was aiming for swooped up over his flame, and he took in the flicker of alarm over the blond one's face. "That stuff burns badly," he reported, flat and fast. "This is the explosives expert."

"This one is Sasori," Chiyo grated. "Leave him to us."

Gai flickered through the temple's shadows, coming up to flank the one on the bird. "The other two are gone. Let's take this one down with the passion of youth!"

The blond just laughed. "But that wouldn't be what I want." He swooped down again, fast and hard, and the bird-thing scooped up Gaara's body.

"Gaara!" Naruto leapt for him, fingers clawed. Kankurou whipped around and was nearly cut down by Sasori's tail before Fuunotora tackled him to the ground.

"You want a dead body that much, hm?" the blond taunted, and flitted right out the door. Naruto bounded after him, chakra boiling off him, and for the first time he could remember Sasuke heard Kakashi swear. Sasuke couldn't blame him at all and held on to the still, sharp judgment of the Sharingan by his bare fingertips while fear for his idiot teammate wrenched at his control.

At least Itachi didn't seem to be here.

"Chiyo-san, we'll handle this," Kakashi snapped.

"And we'll handle this one," Chiyo said grimly. "Go!"

As they bolted out the door again after Naruto, Kakashi called, "Remember the illusions in the swamp! And remember that the other two might not have actually left!"

Fear and fury jerked at Sasuke's control again, at the reminder. He forced them down, teeth gritted.

Naruto was leaping through the trees already, chakra shredding the traps in his way as he followed the bird and they followed him. The next grove wasn't lit from the right angle, though, and Sasuke barked, "Illusion!"

He exhaled with relief when Naruto landed short of it; Naruto was listening after all.

"Pit trap," Neji reported, staring deep into it. "Jump ten meters."

"Wait." Sasuke perched on his branch and looked past the illusionary clump of trees. "There's something past it..." Just a flicker of light in the wrong place, but... and then he hissed through his teeth. Naruto had already jumped. Idiot!

"Tenten," Gai called, "saturate the other side!"

"On it!" Tenten leaped straight up, above them all, and unfurled a long scroll. Weapons rained down on the place where Naruto would land in just another second.

Nothing else happened. Had he been wrong? Naruto had landed and leaped again, and Sasuke prepared to follow, worry over his teammate's loss of control clawing at him even as he kept his eyes focused, searching the other side for that hint of something askew. He was in midair when one particular patch of reeds caught his attention. What was it? What was wrong, what was he seeing? He looked closer.

"Sasuke!" Sakura hit him from the side, taking them both down in a tangle of limbs and very hard ground for someplace so wet. "What?" he gasped, winded, trying to spot that place he'd found again.

"Don't look," she commanded, catching his face in her hands and holding his eyes, hers wide and alarmed. "Look at me, not at that! It's not real, whatever you see is an illusion, that's Itachi standing there!"

For a moment the shock was so great he couldn't make sense of her words. And then he understood and squeezed his eyes shut, slamming his hands together in the release. "Kai!" he barked, as much at himself as at the illusion, turning his focus inward.

There. He had been influenced, yes. He flared his chakra hard and sharp, throwing off the pressure, and opened his eyes again. The Leaf teams had landed around him, and Itachi was standing where he'd seen a suspicious patch of reeds—suspicion that had made him focus on them. "Very clever," he grated, glaring at his brother's chest.

"Gai," Kakashi said softly, beside him, "can you deal with this one again?"

"Yes," Gai answered, serious for once. His eyes were focused on Itachi's feet. A detached part of Sasuke's mind was impressed. That was a difficult approach. The clan had always trained to watch the chest, which telegraphed more clearly, even if it was a little more dangerous, a little easier to catch the opponent's eyes that way. And Gai wasn't clan; he must have figured it out on his own.

"I'll go after Naruto, then. Be careful!" Kakashi vanished down the path of crushed grasses and shredded traps, after Naruto. Good. That was good, that someone would be there to look after Naruto.

Sakura gripped his shoulder hard. "Are you all right?" she asked, low. Sasuke took a slow breath and yanked his thoughts back into order. Naruto was going after Gaara's body, and Kakashi would take care of him. The Sand teams probably had Sasori in hand. He was here, with Sakura and Gai's team, and Itachi was in front of them. He had backup, today, to go with opportunity, and his brother was standing in front of him. Now. The time to take Itachi down was now. That was all he needed to think about.

"I'm all right," he said, settling his shoulders under her hand and focusing again.

Neji's head snapped around. "Someone's coming! Someone with a huge amount of chakra!"

"Can Akatsuki have one of their own hosts with them already?" Sakura suggested tightly.

"Not that, but... close. Closer to a host's chakra than I've ever seen." Neji turned smoothly, falling into one of his clan's defensive stances.

"Looks like you got more than just your brother," a rough voice said from the shadows of the red reeds, and another black cloak materialized out of them. "Want me to take the extra off your hands, Itachi-san?" The newcomer bared sharklike teeth that reminded Sasuke with a sharp twinge of their very first mission as a team, and the Swordsman they'd faced.

"Swordsman of the Mist," Sakura confirmed softly. "With that shape sword... Hoshigake Kisame. The strongest of his generation."

"That would be very kind of you," Itachi murmured, and Sasuke couldn't help flinching at the sound of his voice.

"Gai-sensei," Neji said, quiet and grim, "I don't think any of us but you will be able to deal with Hoshigake. And maybe not even you alone. Take Tenten and Lee. I will stand with Uchiha Sasuke until you return, as a jounin of the Leaf and as a Hyuuga."

It was a long moment before Gai rumbled, "Very well."

"We'll concentrate on wearing Itachi down, then," Sakura whispered, not moving her lips, and Sasuke felt himself relax just a little. Sakura was their strategist, the one who thought ahead; he had her help this time. And he was the striking hand of their team, after all. All he had to do was listen to her, and focus, and he would have his chance for revenge.

"All right," he agreed. "Call it."

In the moment Hoshigake's hand went up to the hilt of his massive sword, arm blocking a little of his vision, she snapped, "Scatter!" The six of them spun away, into the trees, into the reeds, into the water.

"Hmm. Well, then, perhaps we may move our discussion to a calmer and drier place," Itachi said to the air, quite serenely, and took to the trees with a bound that barely stirred his robe.

"Track," Sakura's voice directed from the tree line. Sasuke nodded to himself and made for Itachi's right, as Sakura would be making for his left, trusting Neji's Byakugan to see them and show him his spot in the middle of the V. Naruto's regular spot.

An explosion echoed over the swamp from the direction Naruto had gone, and Sasuke jerked, wavering on his landing for a breath. Naruto would be all right, he told himself fiercely. And Sasuke would keep Itachi away from his teammate. Far away. Itachi wouldn't take anyone away from him again.

Itachi led them out of the swamp and into merely damp forest, alighting in a clearing, quite calmly out in the open. They bracketed him, and Sasuke pushed down a rush of tension, waiting for Sakura's call. It was Neji stepped out of the trees first, though.

"Hyuuga," Itachi murmured, tilting his head. "Neji-kun, if I recall correctly?" His eyes changed and Sakura's voice whipped across the clearing.

"Illusion, Neji, look out!"

Neji stiffened for a long moment, and Sasuke saw Itachi's mouth start to curve. It stopped when Neji shouted and his chakra flared for one instant into visibility, hard and edged. "The Uchiha descend from the Hyuuga," Neji said, voice rough now. "We have known them from the beginning. Did you think we kept no techniques against the thing that some of you became?"

"Ah. The honor of the Hyuuga. And where is your honor now, when you stand against the inheritor of Uchiha? Is your clan not allied to mine?" Itachi inquired.

Sakura landed beside Sasuke, pulling his attention off the conversation, off his brother, off his own rising horror and fury. Once again, Sasuke found himself grateful for Kakashi's wisdom; an anchor against the storm in his heart might be his strongest weapon right now.

Neji's voice dripped with well-bred scorn. "The inheritor? You?" He snorted. "You are a renegade and traitor. None of our obligations are to you any more. They are owed now to Sasuke alone."

"Ah?" Itachi raised his brows just a shade. "Am I misinformed, then? I had thought the Third and his filthy Elders too fearful of the Uchiha's influence to allow Sasuke to take his place properly as the head of the clan. Without a clan head, without that authority to declare, I cannot be a traitor."

Sasuke jerked behind his screen of tall grass, and felt Sakura's hand close on his shoulder, tight and steadying. It was true; he had never been recognized as the head of Uchiha and... he should have been. When he graduated and had formal rank as a shinobi, if no sooner. He'd always been open about his intent to refound the clan. Why...? Sudden uncertainty shook him half out of the concentration of the Sharingan.

Neji was quiet for a moment before he shrugged. "Well, we're a little short of the formal witnesses, but such things have long been acceptable on the battlefield." He raised his voice. "Sasuke? In the name of the noble clans of Hidden Leaf, I ask: do you accept responsibility for the clan of Uchiha?"

The question shivered down Sasuke's nerves. The responsibility of the clan head. For all of Uchiha, and that meant for Itachi, too. For the dead and for the insane blood of that night. For all their past. For the whole weight of the clan. It crushed down on him like a boulder, and for a moment he couldn't breathe.

...don't have to prove every bit of their honor all by yourself...

It was Jiraiya's words, echoing in his head, that broke the weight, sudden as a lamp turning on to light a dark room. The past... the past took care of itself. His teacher had said so, said that the Uchiha ancestors carried the weight of the clan's honor for him—carried it well. He screwed his eyes shut for a breath and told over the generations in his mind, and remembered, as he did, that even the banishment of a clan head had not killed the Uchiha honor. Quite the reverse.

And now, it must be done again. Not that much of a problem, surely, if it had been done once already. His clan didn't weigh him down; they stood behind him. The understanding made his shoulders lighter and he straightened them.

He took a deep breath and called out, "I accept responsibility for my clan."

Neji smiled, and even from this angle, Sasuke could see it was thin and hard. "I serve the heir of Hyuuga directly, and I speak with her voice. The Hyuuga acknowledge Uchiha Sasuke as the new clan head of Uchiha." That stated, he fell silent, waiting. Waiting for what had, inevitably, to come next.

Sasuke bit his lip hard, felt Sakura behind him, both hands on his shoulders. Heard another explosion, more massive than the last, off in Naruto's direction and nearly broke up laughing. That was exactly the way his idiot teammate would express his support.

Anchors.

Sasuke took another breath and spoke clearly. "Uchiha Itachi, I declare you traitor to our clan, and outcast."

"Large words, from the boy who's still too weak to face me himself," Itachi murmured.

That really did make Sasuke laugh, and the faint stir of Itachi's robes as he shifted at the sound made Sasuke smile, teeth bared. "You won't catch me that way. Not again. If others help me find my strength, it's still my own strength." That, he was sure of in his heart.

Itachi sighed faintly. "I was afraid this might happen, when you were assigned to Kakashi-senpai. Ah, well. Not all traps close firmly."

The glorious irony of hearing Itachi say that at the very moment Sakura's hands were flashing through seal on seal, almost made Sasuke laugh again as the ground opened just under Itachi's feet. Fuunotora must have taught Sakura that technique at some point, he thought, light-headed.

Itachi flickered aside from the earth traps, and that was Neji's cue to strike. Really, Sasuke thought, wasn't it about time he pitched in? He didn't have to do it all himself, no, but surely it wasn't fair to make everyone else do all the work either.

That sounded alarmingly like Jiraiya, in his head, but at the moment he didn't care. He was still on the edge of dizzy laughter as he threw the wired kunai for his Lightning Dragon into Itachi's path. He and Sakura had to spring apart after he triggered it; that one showed his location clearly. But that was all right. He could feel it again, now, the anchoring solidity of his team beside him, behind him. His mind was moving again, reading Sakura's intent in the pattern of footing traps she set under Itachi, one after another. Sasuke's part was to harry Itachi from above, to sting him with distance attacks so that Neji had a chance to close and whittle away his chakra.

It wasn't going to be easy.

Itachi was fast, and half the time his kunai picked Sasuke's out of the air, and though fire techniques left the trees and ground smoldering Sasuke hadn't singed him yet. Neji had only gotten in two solid strikes, and those weren't to vital points. If Itachi's chakra was getting deranged, it wasn't obvious yet.

It was Itachi's focus that was the problem. Sasuke watched, eyes sharp again, observing the way Itachi avoided their attacks, the smoothness of his movements. They needed another distraction. And even though the idea made his stomach clench, Sasuke thought he knew what would work.

"Why?" he called out, throwing his voice a little along the edge of the clearing. "Why did you kill our clan?"

"It's our way, little brother." The bastard barely even sounded out of breath. "Surely you've read our history by now. Friend to kill friend for power."

"That's a forbidden technique!" Sasuke yelled and hurled another shuriken viciously. "It isn't our way!" No matter how many had tried, down the years. Dozens of people, attempting to gain power and make someone else pay the price. But it was listed as forbidden in the clan's own records!

"On the contrary." Itachi slipped aside from Sakura's wire trap and flickered out of her earth jutsu trap again. "It's the way of all shinobi. The villages fight each other, regardless of the damage to their own countries or to others. The villages fight themselves, and factions twist their own people in the name of victory or of rightness." He turned, eyes catching Sasuke in the trees and following him, though Sasuke avoided meeting them. "Don't you think it's interesting that both sides always proclaim themselves right, justified over and above their opponents to take whatever action they must, and so take exactly the same actions? This corruption is the one thing we all share, no matter what badge we wear." He turned a shade too far and Neji lunged, palm striking Itachi's side, not solid enough to finish him but enough to make him grunt and spin away with less grace than usual, robe flapping.

It was working, Sasuke told himself coldly. Keep going.

"So you thought you'd be a better monster than anyone else, is that it?" he called, and ducked under the illusion screen Sakura had woven into the grasses.

"Oh, no," Itachi answered, eerily calm as he met a flurry of Neji's hand strikes, losing Sasuke's track again. "I intend to destroy the entire thing: Hidden Leaf and all the other villages. Consider. The Uchiha were the police force of Konoha, and its first line of military defense at home. If they were destroyed, the village would be vulnerable." He whirled to meet Sasuke's Fire Blossom with his own, completing the spin to fend off Neji again. "Sooner or later, another village would attack it, but the Leaf wouldn't die easily. So even in victory, the other village would be wounded and easy prey in their turn. The Leaf would have died and the Sand been next, three and some years ago, if it hadn't been for the Nine-tails' young Sacrifice. If that interference is removed, all will go well."

Sasuke slid down to his knees in the grass, control shaken by sickness. Sakura landed beside him, eyes wide and horrified, hands clenched against her chest. Even Neji fell back, staring at Itachi. "You're mad," he said, husky.

"Your clan is, itself, an example of what shinobi do," Itachi noted. "Though not the worst, by any means. Ask the Elder, Shimura Danzou, what 'Root' is, when you return. If, of course, you return." He smiled faintly. "You have dropped your guard, Hyuuga Neji-kun."

His eyes changed again and Sasuke swore, groping for another shuriken, or another coil of wire as Neji went stiff again for a breath. Then another.

"That won't be enough to break his hold," Sakura muttered, and her hands flashed through the activation of her seal. The Sharingan saw it flare to life, all the wild colors of nature energy, and Sakura was gone, heel blasting into Itachi's back.

Neji fell to hands and knees as Itachi rolled to his feet again, and Sasuke dashed out to drag him clear, checking him over with the first aid Naruto had made both he and Sakura learn. Pulse was ragged, muscles spasming, and Neji's eyes couldn't quite focus. "Tsukuyomi," Sasuke gritted out, like it was a curse.

"Half," Neji gasped. "Be all right. Help Sakura."

Sasuke nodded tightly and left him in the shelter of the trees, circling back around Sakura's lightning-fast fight with Itachi. Her hands blurred, even to the Sharingan's vision, as she slammed up stone walls and slammed down the brutal weight of water. She was, he thought, faster even than Itachi. But he was only using his chakra to defend against the jutsu, lunging again and again to close with her hand to hand. Even the power of the seal couldn't give Sakura the kind of experience Itachi had at that. Again and again, he performed a block or disengage she didn't know, made her spend her chakra to counter physical attacks with an elemental technique. Sasuke flung scavenged kunai to break Itachi's form in the air, sent fire at his legs to break it on the ground, but the clock in his head was ticking inexorably down and Itachi was still going.

And then, finally, one attack got through, straight and true. Sakura's heel smashed into Itachi's ribs, and Sasuke could see it as they gave way.

And they were out of time.

Sakura's face was twisted with frustration as she broke off and swapped herself into the trees, hands weaving the deactivation as she fell to her knees beside Neji. "Okay?" she panted.

"Caught me with some of that demon illusion of his," Neji rasped. "Not the whole thing. With his ribs gone, I might be able to fight him again."

"We'll try to buy more time, then," Sakura said, mouth in a grim line. "I have a little energy; I can't use the seal again, but I can keep away from him I think. And the others should be coming soon. I hope."

"My turn to take point, then," Sasuke said, low, and Sakura squeezed his shoulder.

"Be careful," she ordered, and he smiled.

"As much as I can." The smile crept wider at the disgruntled face she made at that, and he slipped through the trees to emerge from them a third of the way around the clearing.

On the principle of further distraction, he asked, as he stepped out, "Why did you leave me alive?"

Itachi raised his brows, though Sasuke could only see the edge of that with his gaze fixed on Itachi's chest. "To take your eyes, of course," he said with an edge of patience, as though it should be obvious. "Once you've achieved the Mangekyou Sharingan, I will take your eyes and my own sight will be preserved from deterioration. I believe it's actually an effect of incompatibility," he went on as Sasuke froze in horror. "It must be a sibling's eyes, to make them compatible enough to use techniques at full strength. But the fact that they are not one's own provides just enough dampening of the chakra resonance to prevent a recurrence of blindness."

"I will never kill the friends closest to me," Sasuke whispered, barely remembering to keep his eyes on Itachi's chest.

Itachi actually sighed. "I had gathered that. It's unfortunate, especially after all my encouragement the last time we met. But luckily I believe there is another way." He smiled just a little. "A way to produce just that depth of grief and guilt that will awaken this potential in our blood. We shall see." And he sprang up, cloak whirling out as he sent a rain of shuriken spinning down toward Sasuke.

Sasuke, who could taste his own rising rage like blood in his mouth. His hands slammed into the only seal he needed these days for the Great Fireball, and he sent it howling up, blasting the shuriken aside, engulfing Itachi and rising out of the trees to burst in the sky. Itachi was smoking as he landed, but that faint smile was still here.

"Yes. I think perhaps it will work."

Sasuke bared his teeth.

Fire raged and flared against fire as they fought across the clearing, and the clearing was a good deal wider the next time they both paused, red eyes fixed across the bare-burned ground.

It was then, of course, that Naruto pelted into the space, right between them, eyes wild and teeth bared.

"Ah," Itachi murmured. "Good. I did think this one would be a surer bet than the girl."

Naruto was turning toward the voice, and Sasuke was already airborne as he yelled, "Don't look in his eyes, you idiot!" He landed nearly on Naruto's head and, as they both went sprawling, hauled him close and tumbled them both unceremoniously back toward the tree line.

"I'm watching, take a minute," Sakura rapped out as she landed beside them, eyes steady on the clearing. "Naruto, are you all right? Any injuries?"

"I'm fine," Naruto growled, struggling back up. "That blond Akatsuki is dead. We got... the body back."

Sakura pulled in a hard breath, jaw setting. "We'll see if there's anything we can do once Itachi is put away. Listen. I think he's going to try to kill one of us first, not Sasuke."

"Yeah, well good luck to him on that," Naruto spat, and suddenly the clearing was filled and overflowing with Shadow Clones, all of them with Naruto's feral, slitted eyes.

"Naruto!" Sasuke snapped, shaking his shoulder. This wasn't good. Itachi was a strategist like Sakura, no matter how insane he ultimately was. If Naruto stopped thinking and also stopped listening...

"They're not getting any more of you!" Naruto yelled, and the clones rushed forward like an avalanche falling on Itachi.

For a moment, Sasuke thought it might actually work. Naruto had gotten better at controlling the clones, and right now he had the focus of a predator. Itachi went down in a welter of claws like steel and the storm of Naruto's rage. Sasuke took a breath, starting to think...

The clearing erupted in black flame.

Sasuke shouted and wove his hands together with frantic speed, backburning around where Naruto was, in the middle of the clones, of course, the idiot...

His flames were smothered by the black ones. As if the flames themselves were being consumed. The ground blasted up around Naruto's feet to form a break, a shield, and he saw Sakura, beside him, on her knees and shaking with the drain on her chakra.

The black flames ate the earth itself and closed in. Sasuke's throat was torn with a shout that matched Sakura's, and he lunged one useless bound forward.

The flames died. In their wake was Itachi, standing beside a scorched and dazed Naruto. "Amaterasu, the fires of the underworld," he explained, quite calmly. "The final technique of our clan. Of fire itself. It will consume anything." He smiled into Sasuke's eyes, and when had Sasuke looked up? "And now your friend will die. Because of you. Only because of you, and for the sake of your power. Know this."

The words clawed at Sasuke's mind as Itachi reached under his robe and drew a sword. His fault. His doing, that his friend would die. The accusation, the knowledge, the approaching fate twisted deep into his thoughts. His friend, his teammate, the one who was always with him, thoughtlessly giving and guarding and arguing and name-calling.

You're ours. That's all.

He was theirs, and they were his, and even refusing to say the words hadn't kept this fate from coming for them. Itachi would kill his family again.

His new family. His only family. His anchor in the middle of the rage rising through him now.

No. No.

"NO!" Sasuke screamed, ripping himself free of the illusion twining around his mind. The sword was coming down. Naruto was only stirring, groggily, still stunned by the return of all those burned clones. Sakura's hands were coming together in the second hand seal of her activation, tears starting down her cheeks. She would kill herself and it still wouldn't be fast enough. There was no time; it was impossible.

He didn't give a damn.

Sasuke snatched up chakra from the bottom of his bones, from the corners of his soul. There was nothing to send it through, nothing to channel it, and he didn't care. His family would not die. Not again. He threw his hands forward, locking them at the last moment into the Bird, and screamed again as lightning blasted out. It lashed out, directed somehow and he didn't know how, but unchanneled, unshaped, grounding into the trees, nearly hitting Neji as he interrupted his lunge for Itachi to fling himself flat.

And it struck Itachi.

It threw him back from Naruto, twitching and gasping, and he lay still where he landed. Sasuke stood, panting for breath, shaking with the raw force he'd blasted out, and it was long seconds before he managed to stagger to Naruto's side. Naruto was hauling himself back to his feet, looking around dazed and shocked but with his hands still clenched. His lip curled back when he spotted Itachi, and he took a step in that direction.

Sasuke whacked him across the back of the head. "Moron!"

"Ow, hey!" Naruto covered his head with his hands and glared at Sasuke. "What the hell, jerk?! I'm trying to protect you, here!"

"Fine job you did of it!" Sasuke snapped back. "Nearly got your idiot self killed, and the demon hells only know how I got that last lightning strike to work trying to save your sorry ass!"

"Who asked you to?" Naruto demanded, now nose to nose with him.

"Who the hell had to ask?!" Sasuke yelled. "You don't ask your team for that!"

"I think," Neji interrupted them rather dryly, dirt streaked as he crawled back to his feet, "you might want to stop before you make Sakura any worse."

"Huh?" Naruto looked around, eyes wide and alarmed.

Now they weren't yelling, it was easy to hear Sakura again. She was on the ground with her face buried in her hands, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

Okay, maybe Neji had a point. Sasuke straightened up and cleared his throat, self-conscious.

"Well," a cracked voice rasped behind them. "Perhaps you should take my eyes, instead, then."

Sasuke and Naruto stumbled as they swung back around, and Sakura gasped, flowing up to her feet again.

"What would I want them for?" Sasuke demanded, the first thing that came to mind as he flinched at the sight of his brother and tried to close his heart to the burns over Itachi's exposed skin.

Itachi actually smiled. "You may want them to face our twice-great-grandfather."

The world froze around him and Sasuke couldn't hear anything but the rush of his own blood in his ears. His own blood. Twice-great.... "Uchiha Madara is dead," he whispered. "He died after his battle with the First."

"He stays out of sight, usually. But it's his hand that guides Akatsuki." Itachi's eyes were black, Sasuke observed, distracted. This couldn't be a hallucination. "I suppose he will accomplish my goal, in the end." Itachi looked up at the sky and sighed. "He thinks the villages will submit to him. But it will simply be war. The greatest war. That will do, I suppose." He smiled up at nothing. "So?"

Sasuke walked slowly to stand over Itachi, looking down at him, at that calm, mad smile that was waiting for his answer. "The Uchiha," he started and choked on the name. Madara. A head of the clan, before he was banished. What was the Uchiha clan, after all?

You're the last Uchiha, I don't see why you can't do whatever you please and call that what Uchihas do.

Sasuke actually huffed out half a laugh as Jiraiya's voice came back to him. Old pervert thought he had an answer for everything. He looked down at Itachi, who now had his brows raised a little in his burned face.

"No."

He called Chidori into his hand, tiny but focused, and slammed it down into Itachi's chest, over his heart. One spine-cracking spasm and it was over.

Over. His revenge was accomplished. He felt no satisfaction, and wondered for a dizzy breath if he was disrespecting the memory of his clan. Or perhaps he was just too tired. He was very tired. But then he caught Neji's eye, across the clearing, and the fog in his head parted a little. Something needed to be said, after all.

He straightened his shoulders and said, firmly. "The Uchiha do not use forbidden techniques. We uphold the laws of Konoha. At need, we execute them as well."

Neji nodded back to him, soberly, accepting his judgment for the village's noble clans.

Not revenge. Protection. To protect his people, whatever the cost. That was the duty of the Uchiha.

And the Uchiha were not dead. Sasuke managed a full breath.

Naruto laid a hand on his shoulder. "Hey. It's over. Okay?"

The Uchiha weren't dead, but his brother was—the last of his family. A shudder ripped through Sasuke and he reached out blindly, more grateful than he'd ever been before for Naruto's complete lack of decorum, the immediacy with which arms went around him and pulled him tight against his teammate. Sakura's hands spread against his back, rubbing slowly up and down in the rhythm Naruto had taught them to counter shock. "This part is over," she said softly. "Now you can come home. It's all right, Sasuke. We'll take you home safe."

She had gone away, too, and come home again. She understood. And Naruto wouldn't leave him. His team would bring him home.

Home to them. His family.

Another deep breath and the choking in his throat eased, the band around his chest loosened a little. "I'm okay," he whispered against Naruto's shoulder, husky. "Okay for now."

Naruto was looking suspicious and overprotective as Sasuke straightened up, but Sakura squeezed his shoulders one last time and let him go. Neji was tying the last knots of rope around Itachi's body, preparing it for carrying. "Ready?" he asked, tactfully looking down at the rope.

"Yeah," Sakura said for all of them. "Let's go."

A/N: Kishimoto's retconning of the Uchiha history in general was almost as hideously clunky as his retconning of Itachi in particular. There are too many conflicts with prior canon, and the result is too boring. So in this story the Sage of Six Paths, and the eternal enmity of the Senju and Uchiha, and the corollary that the Uchiha are Doomed to Do It Wrong... yeah, none of that happened. The Rinnengan is its own thing, because for pity's sake not every eye-technique needs to be related. The elders, and Danzou in particular, did indeed fear the clan's power, but there were no clan-wide plans for rebellion, Itachi was not assigned to kill the clan as some kind of sick attempt at "peace", none of that happened. Itachi is insane, period. The vast majority of the Uchiha were entirely honorable, if also rather messed up, as the noble shinobi clans do tend to be. And the whole go-round with Tobi did nothing but annoy me, and feels way too much like Kishimoto wondering what the heck to do next, so I'm ignoring all that. Akatsuki knows who Madara is, and there are no minions.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Twelve

Gaara is revived, and Naruto and Sakura take Sasuke home to recover. Drama, Angst, Fluff, Light Porn, I-5

When they reached the stone temple again, in the late, silvery light cast up by the swamp waters, Neji dumped Itachi's body next to Hoshigake's and the now headless bird-riding Akatsuki, and they went to join the others. Sand's shinobi all stood beside Gaara on a scrubby rise of hill.

Or at least, beside his body.

Even in his own daze, Sasuke drew closer to Naruto, trying to offer a little support. Naruto had been so determined to save his friend, his fellow host.

"Is he really...?" Naruto asked, voice rough.

Chiyo sighed and sat back on her heels beside the body. "You're a healer too, Naruto-kun. You know as well as I."

"It isn't right!" Naruto's hands clenched helplessly.

"No," she said, very softly. "No, it isn't." Her hands rested on Gaara's chest in a way that plucked at Sasuke's observation, even with the Sharingan closed down. That touch wasn't the farewell or silent plea for forgiveness of a medic who had failed. He'd seen that before. She held her hands like a healer preparing for a jutsu.

"Gaara," Kankurou whispered, kneeling on the other side of the body, face twisted with grief. The grief of losing his brother.

Sasuke remembered his promise to Temari and flinched.

"Kazekage-sama," Fuunotora said softly, folded hands pressed against her mouth. "He was taken because he tried to protect us instead of escaping."

"The other villages and hosts will know, now," Sakura offered, just as soft, eyes fixed on Gaara's body. "We'll find a way to destroy Akatsuki for this. That, at least."

"There may be something more." Chiyo's words dropped into the soft sounds of grief like pebbles into a pool.

Kankurou looked up with a jerk, and Naruto flung himself down beside her, all in one moment. "What?" Naruto demanded, eyes blazing. Chiyo looked back steadily. "You have great reserves of chakra," she said. "It may be enough, if you will lend me your strength."

"Anything," Naruto promised, tautly, reaching out to her, chakra already spilling into reddish visibility around his hands.

Kankurou whispered, voice harsh, "Chiyo-baasama..."

"Hush, boy," she told him with a faint smile. "It's my choice. I was the one who got Gaara into this mess, after all." She beckoned Naruto closer. "Feed your chakra to me, Naruto-kun. Don't falter. It will be a heavy draw; this is a deep technique." Softly she added, "And a forbidden one."

Naruto froze in mid-reach, eyes even wider than before. "Forbidden...?"

She smiled, quite serene, and Sasuke's heart twisted with the utter contrast between her expression and Itachi's mad calm. Chiyo's eyes were deep and shadowed, but content. "To bring back one who is already gone, my own life must be given."

Naruto flinched back. "But—!"

Chiyo reached up and rapped him over the head with her knuckles. "You hush too," she scolded. "I said it was my choice, and it is. It's one you may face someday, too, though I will hope not. It's a choice that comes to very powerful healers in time of war, though, all too often. And war is come on us again, I can see that." She looked around at the Sand-nin standing, stunned, around her. "Understand. This is my gift to our village, that our leader may live and be strong, and we may not be deprived of his will and wisdom. I believe young Gaara has both those. Don't let the silly boy brood, clear?" She fixed a sharp eye on Kankurou and he swallowed.

"Yes, Chiyo-baasama," he said, husky.

Chiyo nodded briskly. "Good. Now, then." She raised a brow at Naruto, who was biting his lip hard. The thought prodded at Sasuke that his team wasn't just his anchor; he was theirs also, and Naruto obviously had no real idea why Chiyo had chosen this. He shook himself out of his daze and went to kneel beside Naruto. He was too tired to yell or argue, the way they normally would, so he settled for just thumping down behind Naruto and resting his forehead against Naruto's back, nearly clinging to his shoulders for balance.

"It isn't wrong," he whispered. "It isn't your fault, because you want him back. Okay? It's her choice. As a noble, she's chosen her duty to her village and clan and Kage. Help her do it."

Chiyo's mouth crooked. "You're so sharp you'll cut yourself, boy," she murmured. Sasuke arched a tired brow at her. She didn't exactly hide the signs that she was from one of the Sand's noble clans. The influence she and her brother had, the size of the compound he'd heard some Sand-nin talking about—and with access to an underground river, in this desert village—wasn't it obvious? His thoughts were wandering. He hauled them wearily back.

"You're sure?" Naruto said, low and uncertain.

Sasuke tightened his hands for a moment. If Naruto was sometimes his voice, maybe he was Naruto's history—all the things Naruto should have been taught, as the son of the Fourth, but never had been. "I'm sure," he said softly.

"Okay, then." Naruto scooted forward, and Sasuke swayed, reaching out to brace himself against the ground to keep from falling over. Hands tipped him back upright, though the hands themselves were shaking. He looked up to see Kakashi looking down at him, drawn and gray like Sasuke had never seen before. The corner of his visible eye was crinkled, but not with the usual smile lines—with something softer and sadder. This mission had wrung out a lot of hearts, he thought distantly.

He managed to straighten up a bit, at least long enough for Sakura to kneel beside him and wrap an arm around him. They watched Naruto's hands pressed over Chiyo's on Gaara's chest.

"It was a technique for puppets," Kankurou muttered, broad shoulders tight, eyes fixed on Gaara. "To give them life. But it always cost a life. Chiyo-baasama forbid it herself."

Light grew and refracted around Naruto and Chiyo's hands. Sasuke wondered what he would see if he'd been able to muster chakra for the Sharingan. Gai had come to stand with them, one shoulder under Kakashi's; their commander must have spent all his reserves, too, to be accepting support like that in public. Sasuke leaned against Sakura and blinked. Lots of public. There were... more people here than there had been.

The rise of ground before the temple was filling with new figures, one after another. Shinobi of the Sand, he realized, slowly taking in the uniforms they wore. One of them was Temari.

"Gaara!"

Kankurou caught her. "It's okay," he said, low and rough, as she tugged against his grip on her shoulders, dark, scared eyes fixed on their brother. "It's okay. Chiyo-baasama has him." His mouth twisted. "And Naruto, too."

Whispers ran through the tripled crowd as he told her what had happened, that four of Akatsuki were confirmed dead. That Sand had killed their own renegade, and Leaf theirs.

"I couldn't confine Hoshigake," Gai was saying quietly to Kakashi, behind them. "I only barely defeated him, and that took opening the seventh gate. Nothing we have available could have held him, if he'd regained awareness." For once that booming, bluff voice was hard. Dark.

"Best that you killed him, then." Kakashi's voice was cool. "We'll see if we can make out anything of their plans from what the four of them said during battle."

The light around the two healers faded and Kankurou hurried forward to catch Chiyo as she fell. Naruto looked grim and drawn, across from her, hands still resting on Gaara's chest. "I'll look out for him for you," he whispered, eyes on the old woman's body. "I promise."

From the crowd, Chiyo's brother came forward and took her from Kankurou, laying her out carefully a few steps away with some low, murmured words that Sasuke thought were probably goodbye.

Gaara stirred and breathed. By the time he opened his eyes, he was wrapped in Temari's arms as she hid tears against his shoulder. "Nee-san," he murmured, and that pulled a single, muffled sob out of her.

"Hey," Naruto told Gaara, softly, smile crooked. "Everyone was just coming to save you." He looked around at the crowd and Gaara followed his glance, eyes a bit wide. Noise broke over the crowd, sounding everywhere of relief as Gaara slowly stood with Naruto's hand under his arm.

"Our turn," Sakura murmured. "Can you stand?"

"I'm not the one who died," Sasuke muttered. "Just help me up."

So he was on his feet to offer his respects to Chiyo's spirit, as Gaara requested. That was proper. Naruto came to join his team as Gaara's siblings and people closed around their Kazekage, and Sasuke reached out and hauled him closer. "It was what she wanted. Her spirit thanks you," he murmured, leaning against Naruto.

Naruto scrubbed a rough sleeve across his eyes and muttered, "You noble types are really crazy, you know that?" He leaned back, though, and some of the prickly tension Sasuke had felt, seeing Gaara dead and tossed aside just for the sake of his beast, settled in face of Naruto's solid, living presence.

That would not happen to Naruto. Not ever. Sasuke had stopped Itachi, he'd kept his family alive, he'd do it again as often as he had to.

"...and if we have another healer around who can stop decomposition," he heard Kakashi saying off to one side, "we'll take Itachi's body back to Konoha."

Sasuke spoke without thinking. "No." He turned to face Kakashi and two of the Sand shinobi, who were all looking at him, a bit startled.

"We don't dare leave one of our advanced bloodlines just lying around," Kakashi observed, brow raised.

"Then burn him here." Certainty spilled through Sasuke with the words, and he straightened a little between Naruto and Sakura. "He chose this," waving a hand at the temple and, by implication, all of Akatsuki's works. "Let him stay here. He is banished from the clan, and his spirit is none of ours." Against his side, he felt Sakura relax, and her arm tighten around him.

"All right," Kakashi said after a long, thoughtful moment. "Naruto. Do you still have enough chakra for a sustained fire?"

Naruto glanced questioningly at Sasuke and, at his nod, patted Sasuke's shoulder and stepped forward. "Yeah."

The rest of the Leaf teams gathered around Sasuke as he watched Itachi's body burn, wild and hot. Considerably hotter than he'd expected, actually, and his mouth twitched as he caught the vindictive glare Naruto was giving the body.

"What was it Tsunade-sama said about him?" Sakura murmured with a hint of laughter in her voice, apparently having noticed too.

"A pathologically overprotective beast host, who can be counted on to follow right after any kidnapping, setting forests on fire with his chakra as he goes," Sasuke recited, having had exactly the same moment in mind.

"Not that you have a lot of room to talk, yourself," she added.

They were smiling as Naruto turned back to them, and he smiled too, some of the tight lines around his mouth relaxing again.

It was a slow journey home. They went back to Sand, first, so Naruto could make sure Gaara was all right and Kakashi could talk the Sand Council into returning Hoshigake's body to Mist intact.

"We will need good will among the great villages very badly and very soon," he'd told them bluntly, and eventually they'd agreed. Sasuke thought Kakashi-sensei really was very good at diplomatic stuff when he wanted to be—though he had no idea why it made Kakashi flinch when Sakura voiced the same thought out loud.

Kakashi and Sasuke were both still tired and had to go slowly. Lee's ankle and hand had been set but weren't fully healed. Gai had pushed himself too hard while he was still recovering from the Eight Gates and had been yelled at very firmly by an exasperated Sand medic and forbidden to run at more than half speed. Neji was trying to hide it, but he was still wincing now and then from taking even an interrupted Tsukuyomi.

And Sasuke's mind wasn't focusing the way it really should. Akatsuki was out there, and here was Leaf's host in the open and only lightly guarded. He had work to do. He had a clan to re-found. He should be focused.

Instead, little random moments replayed in his mind's eye. The expression on Gaara's face when he overheard some of the Sand girls squealing over him. Sakura's excited remarks over dinner one night about fish in the underground river. A curl of sand lifting Naruto's hand up to meet Gaara's, when they parted. The Naka priestesses dancing in the empty streets of the Uchiha compound.

He nearly stumbled over his own feet at that memory, and Naruto was instantly beside him, frowning worriedly.

"Hey, are you okay? Do you need to rest? Hey, everyone, we're taking a break now!"

"I don't need to rest," Sasuke started.

"Medic says!" Naruto snapped, glaring at him.

"Use that too often, and it isn't going to work some day when you need it," Sasuke grumbled, but the group was already alighting at the foot of a tree and he resigned himself to a break whether he needed it or not.

And maybe it was best not to be running, for a moment. He leaned back against the tree and absently accepted the water bottle Naruto pressed into his hand, and looked into the past.

He hadn't thought about the cleansing in years. The village had paid for the priests and priestesses of the Naka Shrine to cleanse the compound, after the bodies were taken away. To burn the handful of buildings that couldn't be cleansed. He had vague memories of someone talking to him about the clan's accounts, of signing something to pay for an auxiliary shrine, and for a priest to tend the murdered dead of Uchiha until their violence was appeased.

And the compound had had to be cleansed so that people... so that people would move in. He hadn't thought about that, either. Not past the decision never to visit, never to see other people living in his clan's place.

That was not, he understood in the abstract, any way for the head of a clan to act. But he didn't know if he could do any differently.

"Hey." Sakura, sitting next to him, nudged his shoulder with hers. "You doing okay?" She was looking away into the trees instead of at him, which he was glad for.

"It's... there's... something I need to think about."

"Not surprised." She gave him a little, sidelong smile. "You know we're not leaving you, right?"

Sasuke snorted. "Since the two of you have barely left me alone in the bathroom for the last three days, I kind of figured, yeah." His mouth had curved up at the corners, though, and Sakura looked satisfied.

"Just making sure."

Sasuke was quiet for a moment. "After we get home," he finally said. "Stay with me."

Her eyes darkened for a moment, and she nodded.

Sasuke closed his water bottle and stood up. "Let's get going, then."

Eventually, they got back to Konoha and Kakashi went off to make reports and Naruto bullied the hospital staff into letting them all go after a check-up. He was getting good at that, Sasuke reflected, watching him wave his arms vigorously and lecture a faintly amused-looking doctor about all the tests and observations he'd made of the team on the way back.

And then he was finally home, walking through the darkening streets of his village as the lamps lit here and there, and climbing the stairs to his apartment with his teammates beside him.

Sakura promptly spread his double futon and pushed him down onto it, settling behind him. "All right," she said firmly, strong hands kneading his shoulders. "We're home. There's no one else to see. You can let go."

"Knew it," Naruto grumbled from the kitchen nook.

"You just hush up and cook," Sakura directed.

Sasuke didn't know what he wanted to say until he heard the words, "I really loved my brother," coming out of his mouth. Sakura took in a quick breath at that and wrapped her arms around him. Sasuke was glad for that; it kept the shaking in his stomach from taking his whole body. "I loved him," he said again, slowly, painfully. "And then he turned into... that."

"Maybe something happened to him," Naruto suggested, from the direction of the stove. "Like Orochimaru tried to happen to you."

Sasuke's breath caught. He didn't often think of that, these days—of the months when he'd been going, in retrospect, slowly crazy. "Oh."

Sakura's arms stayed strong around him, stilling the shaking, and he leaned back against her, just breathing. After a long, silent moment while she rocked him gently, Sakura asked, "Sasuke, what age did your clan inherit at? I mean... if there was any kind of recognition or ritual for the heir, when did that happen?" Her voice was slow and thoughtful.

"Thirteen," Sasuke answered, automatically; another reason Orochimaru had gotten to him so easily, that year when, if he hadn't been the last one alive, he should have been acknowledged, should have taken on more responsibilities. And then he froze. Thirteen. When he'd been seven. The year that his father and Itachi had started to quarrel. The year that his brother changed.

"Sasuke?" Sakura asked softly, one hand rubbing his back steadily.

"He changed, then," Sasuke whispered, starting blindly at the wall. "He did. He and Tou-san argued. That... that was the year his best friend died." A shudder ripped through him. "For the Mangekyou Sharingan... he said...."

"Said what?"

"Itachi killed him." Sasuke tried to swallow, and found his throat too dry. "That night... when we fought... he said to go to the shrine. I found records about it. You have to kill the person closest to you."

"To achieve that second Sharingan?" Sakura asked, and he just nodded.

"Well, but hang on." Naruto came to the futon with hot mugs of ramen, of course, for all of them. Sasuke folded shaking hands around his. "Kakashi-sensei has one of those. He used it while we were chasing Deidara; that's what got him in the end. Whoa, hey!" He put a fast hand under Sasuke's cup to keep it from spilling as Sasuke jerked forward, staring at him.

"I told him," Sasuke whispered, cold tightening on his chest. "After that mission to Hidden Stone, I told him, I asked him to help me unlock the records. But he couldn't..." Please no, please not again.

Naruto's snort broke the panicked circle of his thoughts. "Of course Kakashi-sensei hasn't killed anyone!" He paused. "Well, not like that. I mean... he was in the last war. He's killed people; he's a shinobi after all. But not like that."

No. Not like that, not Kakashi-sensei, the one who had taught him how not to listen to Itachi. Sasuke slowly relaxed again and managed a sip of his broth without spilling it, limp with relief.

"So there must be some other way to achieve it, then," Sakura pointed out.

He blinked. "There... was something about that. I remember. The record of the Mangekyou, it said something about killing being the forbidden way, almost like there was more than one. But it didn't say what any others might be, so I thought it must not mean that."

"Well, it's a forbidden technique," Naruto said reasonably. "They wouldn't want to say too much."

"So we know Kakashi-sensei figured out a different way; good," Sakura said firmly. "But that timing... I think something must have happened to Itachi. Something he had to do for the ritual or something he found out, then."

"Maybe it was the clan records themselves," Sasuke said, low, looking down into his noodles. "The records that were sealed in the shrine. I didn't know about them until Itachi told me. They were secret."

"He graduated young, didn't he?" Sakura murmured. "And then went into ANBU, and he'd been a kid during the last war. I bet he was under a lot of pressure. Maybe it was just too much."

Maybe the clan had been Itachi's anchor, Sasuke thought, and maybe finding something like the Mangekyou in its history had just been too much. But a lot of people had been under heavy pressure and none of them had murdered all their relatives. So it had to be something about Itachi himself too. That was the thought that led him to mutter, "I wonder if it'll happen to me, too."

Naruto thumped his cup down by the bed. "No, it won't," he said, very definitely, and rocked forward on his knees to wrap Sasuke in his arms. "You lost everything once, and it didn't happen. Even when people were trying to make it happen, it didn't happen! And we won't let it." He leaned in and kissed Sasuke, gentle and awkward, and said, more quietly, "Okay?"

Sasuke let himself lean into them, into the rare, serious softness of Naruto's eyes holding his and Sakura's hands on his shoulders, and whispered, "Yeah. Okay." His team. His anchor. His... family. They would keep him safe from this, too.

"Good. Then finish eating," Naruto ordered, giving him the medic-look instead.

Sasuke picked up his mug of ramen, raising his brows. "This is your idea of good nutrition, as a healer, is it?"

"Hey, it's salt, sugar, and carbohydrates!" Naruto protested. "What more do you want?" He sounded indignant, but he was grinning.

Sakura leaned against his shoulder giggling, and Sasuke ate a bite of ramen and felt himself settling back into his right place.

The season was turning before Sasuke could bring himself to visit the Uchiha compound. When he did he found that it wasn't, any more.

He'd known, in theory, that part of the reason the village had paid for the cleansing of the compound from the deaths was so that people could live there again. And he'd been aware that he was, technically, the landlord of many people living on the compound's ground. But he'd never paid any attention to that. The bank had assigned a trustee to the Uchiha accounts, there was more than enough money in them when he needed some, and he'd left it at that.

Now he actually saw what the figures on those quarterly statements he'd stuffed away without reading meant.

Parts of the compound were still empty, but in other places there were people: slow extensions of the surrounding neighborhoods, or a store reopened and a clutch of houses reoccupied around it. There were people walking in the streets, talking and arguing and laughing. Live, solid people, out in the sunlight under the changing leaves.

They just weren't Uchiha.

He recognized every meter of this place, and it was all strange to him. The clash of past and present was so disorienting he had to stop now and then while Naruto or Sakura gave him their hands to grip until he could walk again.

They stayed close to him, and he caught them, once or twice, silently warning off someone whose eyes widened with recognition on seeing him. He was glad of that; if someone had asked him if he was Uchiha Sasuke, he wasn't entirely sure what he would have answered. Even his own self felt strange to him, today.

Finally they came to the river, and the Naka shrine, and Sasuke stopped and stared.

There were people here, too.

The auxiliary shrine was built on a broad walk around the side of the main hall. It was well tended; the stone was clean and the paint bright. And there were people here. A woman stood before the offertory box, hands pressed together. A young couple were waiting quietly for her to finish. Two mothers and their children stood at the gate talking, smiling, perhaps waiting for the woman who prayed.

No one was afraid. No one walked too softly. They weren't here to propitiate angry ghosts. They were here because it was the compound's shrine, here to honor the clan who had held the land they lived on.

It was so much as it should be, so right, that he had to reach out for Naruto and Sakura again, and they gathered him into their arms, quick and protective.

He took what felt like the first full breath that day and said, "I need to come back here. This... I need to be here again. Here, where it's new."

He had feared, for years, that if he set foot back in the compound the weight of memory, the weight of that night, would crush him. And, at the same time, he had feared the intrusion of others, of outsiders who would desecrate the memory of his clan and his vengeance. Instead he had found... life. Life going on and yet honoring what had been, what had been his.

That was what, finally, let the tears he'd denied for almost ten years break through.

Naruto and Sakura held him through it, warm arms around him and quiet murmurs without meaningful words. And it was Sakura who found a tea shop inside the district for them and made him sit down where he could see the people passing while Naruto got hot tea and some sesame dango for them.

"This might be a nice place to live, right around here," Sakura said softly, looking around. "One of the empty areas is near here. You could take something at the edge of that." She smiled at him over the rim of her cup. "And have room to expand."

The thought, the mental image of a house known but not too familiar, was a good one. More than that, the thought of having clan again, or at least the plans and space for one, made some cranky sense of something-off at the bottom of his heart subside.

Naruto leaned his elbows on his knees and smiled at Sasuke, sidelong. "So, hey, will you give us discount rental rates, if we move in around here?"

Sasuke couldn't help smiling, even if it did stretch the rawness of his cheeks. "You can pay me part of it in babysitting." The appalled look on Naruto's face made him laugh.

"Oh, go on, Naruto, you'd be good at it," Sakura said, ruthlessly. "And it's not like I'm going to take too much time off for it." She hesitated suddenly and added, not quite looking at either of them as her cheeks turned pink. "I mean. If you want me to. I figure I would be okay with it. Having Uchiha kids."

Sasuke's face heated, and he had to clear his throat. "I'd like that. Yeah." He had a hard time imagining anyone else, though he supposed he'd better, eventually. He doubted Sakura had any intention of retiring to play clan-mother.

"Oh well, if they're yours, I guess it's okay; I'll watch 'em," Naruto muttered, also a little red himself. They all drank their tea in flustered silence.

As the thought settled in, though, Sasuke had to admit it felt good. It felt right.

His family. This time, the thought didn't hurt.

Sasuke had barely settled on a suitable house when Sakura was recalled to work by Intelligence. Naruto wasn't at all sure he approved of this.

"I'd tell them where they can stick this assignment," she told them, driving her hands through her short hair in frustration, "but Tsunade-sama is the one who requested me. It must be important."

"Can you tell us what it is?" Sasuke asked quietly.

"It's a diplomatic mission, sort of. To Hidden Valley, to tell them about the Akatsuki base in their country so they can take care of it."

Naruto frowned. Okay, yeah, that was important. But so was their team! "Can we come with you?"

Sakura's mouth tilted and she leaned back against one of the trees of the training ground with a thump. "They might let you go, but no one is going to pass Sasuke for duty yet, and I'm not leaving him here without you to look after him."

Sasuke didn't say anything at all to that and Naruto scooted over on the log they shared to lean against him, worried. Sakura came and sat on her heels in front of Sasuke, resting her hands on his shoulders. "It's okay," she said softly. "Kakashi-sensei is leading this mission. Even if we run into any more of Akatsuki, none of the rest of them are going to go after me to get a lever on you, right?"

Sasuke relaxed a little, and Naruto's eyes widened. Was that what he'd been worried about? Sakura looked over at him meaningfully. "Take care of Sasuke while I'm gone, all right?"

Stay with him so he had at least one of them in view, Naruto was betting that meant, and nodded firmly. He could do that.

Sasuke snorted. "Shouldn't you be telling me to look after him, so he doesn't eat nothing but ramen and store bought onigiri while you're gone?"

That sounded more like their Sasuke and Naruto grinned even as he drew himself up indignantly. "Hey, I can cook!"

"Yes, you can," Sasuke answered blandly. "You just don't."

Sakura laughed and everything was okay again, even a day later when they saw her off at the gates. Sasuke got quieter again once the gates closed, though, so Naruto steered them toward a takoyaki stand just to make him roll his eyes. It worked and the food tasted great. Complete win.

"If you're going to hang around," Sasuke told him, having obviously figured that part out, "you can help me pack. With luck it'll be done by the time Sakura gets back, and she can lend a hand with moving."

"Okay," he agreed around a mouthful of dumpling, and chalked up another win at the long-suffering look Sasuke gave him for his lack of manners.

Someone had to keep Sasuke from getting too serious, after all.

Packing to move was strange. Naruto was pretty sure it violated the laws of physics, because even when there was as much boxes of stuff as there had been space to put stuff, there was still stuff left. It was also, he decided after no more than an hour, not a good thing for Sasuke to be doing when he was already in a low mood. The third time he caught Sasuke sitting there on the mats, staring at a photo or a book or a kunai, he decided it was time to take measures. Sakura had entrusted Sasuke to him, after all.

The problem was what measures, and he thought about that as he wrapped up plates and bowls, of which Sasuke had about five times as many as he did. Sasuke wouldn't agree to food again so soon. He might agree to some training, but if he'd gotten into the wrong mood that might just make him even more dark and broody, the way he got sometimes when he was seeing ghosts in place of his actual target.

Well, if those were out, there was always their other popular team activity.

Naruto grinned, tucking away the last bowl. Yeah. That should work. He closed the box, stacked it with the rest and strolled over to where Sasuke was sorting his shelves. "Hey, Sasuke?"

"What?" When Sasuke looked up, Naruto took the opening and swooped down to kiss him.

Sasuke made a startled sound, one fist closing in Naruto's shirt as if to throw him. Naruto laughed, which made the kiss a little odd for a moment, and slumped forward, letting his weight bear Sasuke back to the tatami. Sasuke growled at that, eyes lighting up properly, and rolled.

They half wrestled over the floor for a few turns, laughing and groping, until Naruto got his hand into Sasuke's pants. That made Sasuke's eyes half close, and he ground his hips down against Naruto. "Mmm."

Naruto grinned. "I win," he declared, breathless.

"Oh you do, huh?" Sasuke looked down at him thoughtfully, eyes glinting, and finally smiled. "Try this, then." He closed both hands around Naruto's face and kissed him. A different kiss than usual.

It was slow and... gentle. Coaxing. And something else, too. Sasuke's mouth moved over his carefully, and his hands cradled Naruto's face like... like Naruto was something precious he didn't want to drop. That thought made a little sound catch in the back of his throat, and Sasuke's arms wrapped around him with that same care.

"I know it sounds weird for me, of all people, to say," Sasuke murmured, resting his forehead against Naruto's. "But not everything has to be a competition."

Naruto swallowed, eyes wide. "O... okay." Slowly, he wrapped his arms around Sasuke, too, and it made his heart do turny-flippy things when Sasuke relaxed, letting Naruto take his weight.

"Itachi," Sasuke said quietly. "That... that wasn't a competition either. But I want to be better than him."

"You are!" Naruto said fiercely, holding Sasuke tighter. "You already are!"

"Mm." He could feel Sasuke smiling a little against his neck. "Not stronger yet, though."

That felt wrong to Naruto, and he thought about it. "You were in the end, though," he finally said, slowly. "You won, Sasuke. That's stronger, isn't it?"

"I couldn't block Amaterasu, though," Sasuke objected and Naruto frowned.

"So what? You won. Quit trying to find reasons for it not to count!" He pummeled Sasuke's shoulder for a moment before wrapping his arms back around him. "Besides, Sakura looked in the Intelligence records and said it sounded like that Mangekyou thing is really dangerous and makes you go blind. Is that true? You'd better not be thinking of doing that if it's true."

After a taut moment, Sasuke snorted and relaxed over him again. "Yeah, okay. I guess... I did win." He leaned up on an elbow, looking down at Naruto soberly. "And yes. The Mangekyou Sharingan leads to blindness if it's used too often. I want to find a different way."

"Well that's okay, then." Naruto settled his arms comfortably around Sasuke's waist. "We'll help."

"Yeah," Sasuke said softly. "I know you will." He slid back down to lie against Naruto and added, a bit muffled against his shoulder, "Thanks."

Naruto smiled and just held him. "Yeah."

A/N: Little changes: Kakashi has slightly better aim than in canon because I'm not going to faff around with multiple rounds against Akatsuki, and Gai's fight with Kisame goes very much the same as in canon except that it's the real thing, which means he has to open up another level to beat him. I'm thinking Sasori's fight also goes quite similarly, only Chiyo has Fuunotora and her teams instead of Sakura. Since those are all basically canon-replays, I'm not going to do them up in detail. You already know pretty much what happens.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Thirteen

The larger ninja world starts talking about Akatsuki, and what to do about them. Naruto is hustled off to the Island Turtle with his team, where he meets B and reaches a certain cooperation with the Nine-tails. Drama, Angst, I-5

Warning: Features a brief section of suicidal thoughts.

Kakashi slid past the Hokage's door rather warily and waved a handful of message-paper strips at her. "Latest batch from the relays; Shizune asked me to bring them up with me." He swapped himself reflexively with the coat hanger as a cup went hurtling past where his head would have been and smashed into shrapnel against the wall. "I can see why she did," he added.

Tsunade stood over her desk, clenched fists planted on it, breathing hard. "Give them here."

"You're sure about that?" But he came out of the corner and handed over the slips.

Tsunade flung herself back down in her chair hard enough to roll it back from the desk and started reading, glowering down at the paper with tight lips. "Idiot," she hissed, tossing one over her shoulder. The next one got a sour "Moron!". The third didn't rate anything more than a glare, but the fourth shot her up onto her feet again yelling, "Don't you try to patronize me you dried up old fart!"

"The other villages still aren't responding well?" he hazarded. An easy guess; the traffic of messenger birds had been heavy over the past few months and every time he saw the Hokage she seemed more pissed off.

She stalked around her office, now, glaring at anything that fell in her way. Kakashi prudently removed himself to the top of her file cabinet.

"I'm going to have to haul them in to a meeting in person," she finally growled. "Gaara is willing, of course, and I think the Mizukage is too, but that blowhard A and Oonoki, old sot that he is, are being stubborn. They don't think Akatsuki can truly threaten a strong village, because they'll never be able to control or secure the loyalty of more than one or two hosts."

"And the smaller villages?" Kakashi asked. Presumably, with enough of the small village Masters on her side, Tsunade would be able to swing even the other Kage to her course. He had a difficult time imagining that many of the Masters were truly willing to have Akatsuki running around with any tailed beasts at all.

Tsunade's lip curled. "So far, I've mostly gotten variations on 'you first'. None of them want to be caught in between if the great countries disagree badly enough over this to go back to war."

"Hard to blame them," Kakashi murmured. Tsunade just snarled.

"And then there's the Master of the Waterfall, who says that, if Akatsuki is behind this, the Leaf must have hired them! Because we're the only one whose host hasn't been attacked!" She paced another round, hands flexing ominously. "Hanzou refuses to get involved at all, the bastard. He thinks Rain can hold out no matter what Akatsuki does, and if we all reduce our strength taking Akatsuki down without him all the better!" She snatched up the sandstone paperweight from her desk and slowly crushed it to rubble in her hand, growling.

"It was already sure that Rain wouldn't get involved," Kakashi couldn't help pointing out, though he kept a cautious eye on the erstwhile paperweight. "They never go beyond their borders, these days." Which was, honestly, a nice change for everyone else.

Tsunade let the rubble fall and snorted. "He's gotten paranoid ever since that civil war in Rain. I was kind of hoping he'd bite this time, though; the leader of the other side become a member of Akatsuki, after all. But no such luck." She finally sat back down, leaning back with a sigh. "The one bright spot is the Master of Sound. He seems to have seen this coming, and his latest message offered Hidden Sound as a meeting place for us."

"Mm. About as neutral a location as possible," Kakashi agreed. A new village with no axes to grind and no history of war with anyone but Leaf, and as close to centrally located as possible. It disturbed him just a little that he was starting to know all these things off-hand.

"Exactly. And if A and Oonoki know that Gaara and Terumii and I are all going, they'll come too just out of suspicion."

"Not the most productive mindset for negotiations," Kakashi murmured.

"No, it's not. Which is why," she fixed him with a sharp eye, "you and Nara Shikaku are coming with me as aides and bodyguards."

Kakashi froze and then tried to pretend he hadn't. "Taking the Jounin Commander makes sense," he said as casually as he could, "but wouldn't someone like Jiraiya-san be more impressive as your other attendant?" Someone who was not him. He'd figured out exactly what administrative job she thought he'd be good for, once she started sending him around as her personal representative, and he'd been doing his damndest to deflect her from the idea.

"Jiraiya is out looking for more of Akatsuki's bases and hideouts. And quit playing dumb," she told him sternly. "I won't live long enough to see Naruto come off active duty and learn the rest of this job, and I've come to the sad conclusion that there's no one else qualified. It's going to have to be you in this chair after me. Live with it."

"The jounin have to confirm the Hokage," Kakashi said a little desperately. He couldn't do this; he knew himself, he knew how deeply he bonded to his teams even when he tried not to, taking on the entire village would kill him. "Are you really sure they'll—"

"They approve of you more than anyone else," she cut him off. "Shikaku won't have it; I asked. Jiraiya's refused it twice and he'll probably be dead before me the way he lives, and I won't see it go to Danzou."

That shut him up. He'd been trying, for years, to get proof of what he was sure Danzou was doing, and the thought of that man in charge of his village sent a sharp prickle of rage down his nerves. Even taking on a commander's responsibility for the whole village, crushing as he knew it would be, was better than that. "Yes, Hokage-sama," he gave in at last, voice low.

"Better." She waved a hand at him. "Go tell Shikaku to start packing while I get the messages ready."

Kakashi nodded quietly and slipped out, trying not to feel like doom had come to hover over his shoulder.

A couple of weeks later, Kakashi watched five Kage and ten attendants all trying to keep an eye on each other as the Master of Hidden Sound led them up a flight of wide, spiraling tower stairs. At least, he reflected, this meeting promised some amusement. They finally emerged at the top of the tower and he raised interested brows. There was a curving hall of red stone, with narrow windows in the outer wall at regular intervals, and a single door in front of them. Naridasu turned to his gathered guests.

"This room has only one door, and the tower below it is solid stone for two floors. We are high enough to see any attempt at attack or eavesdropping coming. Given that security, I believe this meeting will be," he paused judiciously and finally decided on, "least chaotic if only the Kage are present, and your attendants stand guard in the hall here."

There was a silent moment, full of sidelong looks and suspicious frowns, before Gaara spoke up. "That will be quite acceptable." He nodded briefly to Temari and Kankurou, and paced forward to the door of the meeting room. He paused on the threshold to look over his shoulder with bland inquiry.

Kakashi smirked just a little. Gaara was learning how to play politics very quickly; he was impressed.

"It seems reasonable, yes," Terumii, the Mizukage, murmured, and waved off the muttered protests of her older attendant.

"Fine," the Raikage growled, stomping forward, and Tsunade sauntered after him, nearly grinning.

Oonoki of Hidden Rock stumped after them, muttering complaints about stairs and his back and insolent young whippersnappers, completely ignoring his attendants. The young woman who had come with him rolled her eyes.

"Well," the older of the two from Cloud said slowly, as the door closed. "I suppose we should spread out and each take an approach to watch, then."

No one moved. Kakashi sighed to himself; he hoped Tsunade knew what she was getting herself into, trying to pull together some international cooperation. It wasn't looking like an easy job. So, since it was unfortunately clear that he wasn't going to be able to escape politics much longer himself, he supposed he'd better start doing something to make it work.

He raised his forehead protector to show his Sharingan.

A frisson of tension swept the group.

Slowly, Kakashi reached into a pocket of his vest.

Hands dropped to hidden weapons or slid toward scrolls. The older of the Mist nin flicked up his own eye patch to reveal a Byakugan. The younger of the Cloud nin slid his hands together into the Ram, expression grim.

Kakashi pulled out the latest Icha Icha book and flipped it open. He smiled sunnily at the chokes of absolute disbelief and the way a few stances wobbled. "Well! Clearly, the pair from Mist should take the stairs, as the Byakugan will see even an approach that's cloaked in illusion." He nodded cheerfully to the young Cloud nin, who was looking outraged, and the elder, who was looking thoughtful and had a hand on the younger's shoulder. "And since illusion appears to be one of your specialties, perhaps Cloud should take the opposite approach, so we're as well covered as possible by the sensing specialists."

Everyone was staring, except for Temari who was looking grudgingly impressed.

"Can't take you anywhere," Shikaku muttered, through the hand he'd clapped over his face.

Kakashi flipped pages to find his place and started strolling along the curve of the hall. "We'll take the left, if that's agreeable."

"Hatake Kakashi," Temari said, in a tone that suggested that was all the comment needed, and clapped Kankurou on the shoulder. "Sand will take the right."

After a moment of vibrating conflict, the young woman from Rock hissed something annoyed, and probably very rude, under her breath and stomped off after Temari, dragging the large young man who was her partner along. Kakashi nodded with approval. With a Sharingan on the left, it was the right that should have the extra pair to watch. If that girl was who he thought she was, Rock would be well served when she eventually took over as Tsuchikage. He settled his back against the wall of the meeting room, noting with satisfaction that he could see both Mist and Cloud teams from the corners of his eyes, and turned a page.

Shikaku slumped against the wall next to him. "May the Hokage live for a hundred years," he said, low and fervent, "because I don't want to be the one who has to pick up after you, when you take over."

Some bass roaring reverberated through the wall, followed by Tsunade's more piercing shout of, "You never hired them because you were doing the dirty work with your own hands, now sit down and shut up and listen!"

"You sure I'd be worse than Tsunade-hime?" Kakashi asked, delicately turning another page. Shikaku gave the book a dour look.

"Yes, Kakashi-kun, I'm very sure. Don't think that's going to stop me from approving you, though, no matter how cack-brained you try to act."

Well, the Nara clan was known for their intelligence, after all. Kakashi sighed and tucked the book away, giving up his pretense of frivolousness. That reflex of concealment was one he might just have to break, now, anyway—at least among his own people. Instead, he amused himself trying to follow the progression of the Kage's arguments by the things that were shouted loudly enough to be heard through the stone walls.

The howl of "Madara!" was more than one person, he thought. So Tsunade had decided to tell them of Itachi's words, unconfirmed though they were.

A shattering crunch followed by a softer but sustained impact against the wall was, he thought, most likely the Raikage breaking something and the Mizukage taking exception.

It was only a guess, but he thought that Tsunade's shriek of "Absolutely not!" was most likely in response to a proposal that the two remaining hosts be killed to keep their beasts out of Akatsuki's hands. At least, it was followed by a cracked shout of "You're naive!" from the Tsuchikage, and everything Kakashi knew of the old man suggested the kind of ruthlessness that would think killing the hosts was perfectly reasonable.

Those shouts were followed, though, by a long period of someone speaking low and steady. Either Gaara or Terumii, Kakashi thought.

It wasn't long after that that the door opened again, and all of the attendants gathered quickly back to their Kage. The Raikage was frowning, but that was nothing unusual. The Mizukage looked relieved, as did Tsunade herself; negotiations must have succeeded well enough to go on with. The Kazekage looked as calm as ever, but the Tsuchikage was watching him with thoughtful eyes that weren't as hard as they had been when they all went in. Kakashi wondered what Gaara had said to the others, to put that expression on the face of a hard-bitten old shinobi like Oonoki.

Tsunade beckoned him. "We're going to sequester Naruto and Cloud's Killer Bee under a multi-national guard while all of us work on flushing out Akatsuki in our own countries. I think the smaller countries will be willing to participate, now, with Sound to lead the way." She scowled. "And Hanzou will damn well keep them out of Rain if I have to go bend the old bastard's ear about it in person. At any rate, I want you to find people for our part of the hosts' guard."

"How many?" Kakashi asked, already tallying in his head who he could truly trust with Naruto's safety. It couldn't be just anyone, even now. He wondered if he could convince Jiraiya to command the detachment.

"At least a dozen from each of the great nations," the Raikage rumbled. He nodded at the older of the Cloud attendants. "Darui, you'll lead ours. Take Samui and her team, too. Keep my brother safe." Darui nodded soberly.

The Mizukage had a hand on her younger attendant's arm. "Choujuurou, I'll want both you and Suigetsu to go; try to keep him out of trouble." The boy looked dubious, and Kakashi wondered whether this Suigetsu was another of the Swordsmen; all the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist tended to be a little wild. Maybe it was the tooth filing that did it to them.

The Tsuchikage was already stumping toward the stairs. "Kurotsuchi! Akatsuchi! Hurry up, we're going. And Kurotsuchi, fetch your father when we get home. He's going to be in charge of our unit." He gave her a beady look. "You're going too." The girl groaned and he glared. "And don't complain! You're not the one having to take creaky old hips down these damn stairs again..." His complaints trailed down the spiral stairwell.

"Temari," Gaara said quietly. "For everything Naruto's done for us... keep him safe." Temari drew herself up and saluted sharply.

"So where are we putting them?" Shikaku asked as Tsunade followed Oonoki down the stairs.

Tsunade's mouth quirked. "Well. I suppose you could say they're taking a cruise."

Naruto stared around the dark, wooded crags of the island, wide eyed. "This is really a turtle?"

"Indeed. I'd heard of it," Jiraiya said behind him, "but never visited. Outsiders have never been welcome. Fascinating."

The old pervert was showing his true colors, Naruto thought, with an affectionate glance. For all he acted like he didn't have a thought in his head but the next drink and the next pair of boobs, there was a lot more to him. Even Sasuke admitted that, though it just seemed to make him that much more pissed off over the pervy act. He was giving Jiraiya That Look this very moment—the frustrated one that hinted he might try to strangle the man with his own ponytail.

"The encampment is this way," their guide, Motoi, said meaningfully, and Naruto sighed and trailed along with everyone else, gawking around as they went. This was one huge turtle.

"What did I just step in?" Ino's voice echoed up the line of Leaf shinobi.

"Please be careful of the island's wildlife while you're here," Motoi added blandly.

"Big animals all around, huh?" Naruto asked, with perfect innocence, and grinned when Sakura had to stifle giggles.

"Very big," Motoi agreed. "B-sama has tamed them, and they seem to accept the encampment for his sake, but they're normally quite savage. Do be careful."

B was the other host, wasn't he? Naruto walked on, thinking about that. Maybe he could make friends with B, the way he had with Gaara.

Even that possibility couldn't distract him from the island itself for long, though. There were even buildings on this turtle! About a hundred shinobi, from what he could see, were scattered around the narrow valley they were led down, going in and out of a clutch of weathered, moss grown stone buildings.

"A temple?" Sakura wondered, at his shoulder. "Look at the approaches." She pointed to a wide, paved way heading off into the crags.

"It was part of a temple complex, once," Motoi agreed. "It's well hidden, defensible, and close to the best concealment for the hosts."

"A fine choice," Kakashi-sensei murmured, not taking his nose out of his book as he paced along at Jiraiya's side. Naruto exchanged glances with Sakura and Sasuke, and they all rolled their eyes a little over their teacher's personal security blanket. He'd been using it a lot more, lately, and Naruto was starting to wonder if something was actually wrong.

Well, aside from Akatsuki and all that. Besides that. Something personal, maybe. Mission stuff never bothered Kakashi-sensei this much.

Motoi showed them to their very own building. "We thought it wise to give the different nations separate quarters."

"Yes," Kakashi-sensei sighed, finally snapping his book closed. "I'm sure it will be just a joy to integrate this group." He raised his voice. "Everyone find rooms and settle in! Don't make trouble, and don't let anyone provoke you into making trouble. We're here to complete a mission. Remember it."

Naruto nodded to himself. Personal, definitely. As soon as he was doing mission stuff, Kakashi-sensei was just fine, if a little scary at times.

"Be quick about it, you three," Kakashi-sensei added as Naruto and his team filed past. "You and I will be going with Jiraiya-san to meet the other people in charge of this effort."

They threw their packs into an empty second floor room and, as they hurried down again to join Kakashi-sensei, Naruto heard Ino arguing with Kiba about who should take the rooms beside it, and Iruka-san's aggravated voice raised over both of them, telling them to knock it off. The fifth member of Ino's Intelligence team, the lean pale guy, smiled wide and cheery as he stood aside for them on the stairs, apparently oblivious to Ino's temper; maybe he was used to it already.

"It's too bad Shikamaru and Chouji stayed in the village," Sakura muttered. "I mean, I'm glad for Ino that she was put in charge of the unit from Intelligence, but she's a lot calmer when they're both around."

"She is?" Naruto asked, skeptical, dodging aside for Genma-san and the pack-loaded chuunin he was directing into the first floor rooms. He'd never noticed Ino being calm about anything, ever. Sakura's mouth quirked.

"Deep down."

They emerged into the misty chill of the valley again, and Kakashi nodded, pushing away from the wall. "Good, that's all of us. Let's go."

Naruto looked around some more as they trailed after Kakashi-sensei and Jiraiya across the cracked, grass-grown plaza toward the last building before that broad avenue and stairs out of the valley.

"There's always some friction when shinobi from different villages try to work together," Kakashi-sensei told them as they detoured around a woman with the Mist insignia and a man with Cloud's, up in each other's faces and arguing about the best way to keep watch for an attack from the air. "So I'll repeat this. Keep your tempers. Don't provoke anyone and don't let yourselves be provoked." For a moment, the cool, businesslike tone left his voice and he glanced over his shoulder at them with a rueful tilt to his eyebrow. "And when someone does lose his temper, I expect the other two to sit on him. Or her."

"Not a problem," Sasuke murmured.

"Hey, who said it would be me getting sat on?" Naruto bridled. As if Sasuke actually had any better of a temper than he did.

"Who said anything about that? I just said it wouldn't be a problem." Naruto growled at the bland look on Sasuke's face, and Kakashi sighed, and Jiraiya laughed, and they were all satisfyingly relaxed when they went into what Naruto guessed was the headquarters building around here. The low, square building turned out to be pretty much one big room with boringly blank, windowless walls and a huge oval table made of black stone. The camp chairs looked flimsy, circled around it.

There were a bunch of people already there. Checking forehead protectors and insignia, it looked like two from each of the five great nations plus Sound, Grass, and Valley. He waved cheerfully at Temari, who rolled her eyes in response even as a corner of her mouth twitched. Cloud had an extra three people, sitting a little back from the big table. One of them must be the host of the Eight-tails, he figured, wondering who it was. The huge guy? One of the two young shinobi, about his own age? That might be kind of cool.

"Hatake Kakashi, of the Leaf," Kakashi-san was introducing himself, distracting Naruto. "Jiraiya-sama, of the Leaf's Sannin. Our host, Uzumaki Naruto, and his teammates Haruno Sakura and Uchiha Sasuke. Pleased."

"We're all here, then," the dark, serious looking Cloud guy said, only to be interrupted when one of the two from Mist sat bolt upright and pointed at Sakura.

"Ah! Wall!"

Naruto was pretty sure everyone was blinking along with him at that one. Sakura sure was. "I beg your pardon?" she asked.

"At that Sound lab! I almost had that snake bastard and you stopped me!" He frowned. "Wait a minute, if you're Leaf..."

Sakura's mouth tightened, and Naruto edged closer to lean his shoulder against hers. "Orochimaru was a Leaf renegade," Sakura said quietly. "I was there to execute him."

The Mist guy crossed his arms with an exasperated huff that blew his silvery bangs out of his eyes. "Well then why did you stop me?"

Naruto could feel the shift as Sakura's spine straightened and she answered coolly, "Your chance of success was too low. You'd been captured, so he knew at least some of your abilities and weaknesses. He appeared inattentive, but that was almost always a ruse with him. There were ten other shinobi present who would support him. I calculated you had less than a fifty percent chance of success, whereas defending him at that point would considerably increase my later chances of killing him."

The Mist guy was a little wide-eyed by the time she was done, and the red-haired girl from Cloud whistled. "That's pretty cold," she said.

"It's good strategy," countered the sharp-eyed, dark-haired girl with the Rock insignia, with an approving look at Sakura.

The guy from Mist eyed Sakura thoughtfully. "So, did it work?"

Sakura twitched against his shoulder and Naruto was pretty sure she was forcing herself not to look at the two from Sound. The guy they'd met before, Tomita, he just looked serious, but the woman with him was definitely glaring. Sakura took a deep breath. "I drove my hand through his spine and saw the body burned," she said flatly. "Will you accept that as restitution for your capture?"

The first part of that had made Naruto suck in a quick breath, because Sakura wasn't the type to boast about her kills, but the second part made it all make sense. And the straight line of Tomita's shoulders softened as he listened to Sakura offering her kill to shield Sound from repercussions.

"Huh." The Mist guy smiled, mouth full of sharp teeth. "Yeah, I guess I will."

Naruto snuck a sidelong look at Sakura, smiling. She nodded back just a little, relaxing against him. He and Sasuke shared a satisfied glance behind her. Yes, their teammate was just that awesome, and thoughtful, and caring. And scary, but Naruto thought it was probably okay if the other villages appreciated that part too.

"As I was saying," the Cloud leader said quite calmly, "perhaps introductions are in order. I'm Darui. This is my second in command, Samui," he gestured at the pale woman beside him, "and her team Karui and Omoi," that was the two younger Cloud nin, "who are particularly assigned as bodyguards to B, the host of the Eight-tails." The really big guy leaned back in his chair, which creaked.

Naruto tried to keep track of everyone as they went around the table, even though he kept getting distracted by watching B out of the corner of his eye. Tomita from Sound, he knew, and the glaring woman was Karin. The sharp girl from Rock was Kurotsuchi, and her father Kitsuchi was in charge of the Rock contingent. Haruto of Grass looked like the serious type, while his lieutenant, Souta, was lounging in his seat watching everyone lazily. Temari had come from Sand, and she'd brought Baki, the scary half-veil guy. Hidden Valley had sent a brother and sister from the Yasumori clan, Takuma and Yuzuki; Sasuke murmured that that clan was supposed to be really good with Wood techniques. The Mist guy who knew Sakura was Suigetsu, and the other one, who seemed to be really shy, was Choujuurou. They were both part of the Seven Swordsmen, apparently, and Naruto still wondered what was up with the filed teeth thing.

When everyone had been introduced, it was Darui, again, who said, "We need to choose someone to lead this mission. There are too many of us to try to command by consensus."

Silence fell while everyone at the table looked warily around at each other. Naruto nearly groaned out loud; it was going to take forever to get anywhere at this rate. Well, fine, if it wasn't obvious to anyone else...

He kicked the seat of Jiraiya's chair, providentially placed right in front of him. "Hey, ero-sennin. It had better be you hadn't it?"

Jiraiya looked around to glower fearsomely at him. "Naruto!" Naruto just crossed his arms and glared back.

"What? It's true!"

"Why him?" the red-haired Cloud girl, Karui, demanded.

"He's the oldest here, isn't he?" Naruto waved his hands; why wasn't this obvious? "And that means he's got the most experience, and he's survived all of it! And that's kind of the point of us being here, isn't it?"

After a quiet moment, Samui murmured, "He does make a good point."

"Sand knows things to the credit of Jiraiya," Temari allowed, though she added, "if he's being serious."

"And will he?" Kitsuchi wanted to know, leaning his stout elbows on the table. "Will he take on this kind of responsibility? Jiraiya of the Leaf is known to have left his village some time ago. He doesn't even wear Leaf's insignia any more."

Yuzuki stirred beside her brother. "Perhaps that would be well, in a situation like this. Perhaps we need someone whose first loyalty is not to a specific village. The River Country also knows of Jiraiya-san. He has never acted against Leaf's interests, but on his travels he has always been willing to lend his strength to the other villages and countries in time of trouble."

Jiraiya finally left off glowering at Naruto and sat back with a sigh. "Leaf is still my home village. But it's true that the dictates I try to follow are those of Mount Myouboku."

"Hatake-san," Choujuurou of the Mist said quietly, looking down at his folded hands on the table. "Will you vouch for the ability and dedication of Jiraiya-san?"

Kakashi-sensei was quiet for a long moment. "Jiraiya-san has both great knowledge and great wisdom," he said at last. "No matter how much he sometimes pretends he doesn't." Naruto and Sasuke caught each other's eye, and Naruto grinned at the look of grudging agreement on Sasuke's face. "If he accepts leadership of this mission, he will lead it well and, I think, impartially."

"Hey, wait a minute, why are you asking him?" Suigetsu wanted to know, poking Choujuurou in the ribs. He stopped and drew back, though, when Choujuurou looked up. He didn't look shy at all, now.

"Hatake-san was the one who sent Kisame-senpai's body and sword back to us," Choujuurou said, low. "Intact. The Mist will accept his judgment, in this." He gave Jiraiya a level look. "Will you accept it, Jiraiya-san?"

Jiraiya's mouth quirked up at one corner. "It's always the quiet ones," he murmured, and straightened. "If this command group can reach a unanimous decision, I will accept it."

Temari shrugged. "Mist and Leaf seem to agree. So does Sand." She raised a brow at the two from Valley, and Yuzuki nodded.

"Hatake Kakashi is Haruno-san's teacher," Tomita observed. "And we have cause to trust her judgment, as Mist has cause to trust Hatake-san's. Sound will accept her teacher's judgment as well."

Kitsuchi was watching Kakashi-sensei, who had gotten very still, looking amused. "You didn't really think no one had noticed, did you Kakashi? Your judgment was what carried more than one engagement in the Leaf's favor. Considering that, Rock agrees also."

"Good enough," Souta of the Grass drawled, and nudged his commander. "Haruto-san?"

"If my intelligence specialist agrees, then Grass accepts Jiraiya-san as well," Haruto said calmly, ignoring the annoyed look Souta gave him. Naruto figured Souta hadn't wanted anyone to know his specialty; Intelligence people tended to be like that, if Ino was anything to go by.

Everyone looked at Cloud. Darui considered Jiraiya for a long breath.

"Jiraiya-san," he finally said, "it's known that you have a close relationship with Leaf's host. Can you tell me with surety that you'll guard B as closely as you will Naruto?"

"I will," Jiraiya answered without hesitation, assurance ringing in every word, and Naruto smiled a little. Just like Kakashi-sensei had a particular tone he used when he was being serious about mission stuff, Jiraiya spoke like this sometimes and you just believed him.

Darui nodded. "Then Cloud agrees, also. Jiraiya will command this mission."

"If you can give me a similar assurance," Jiraiya shot back immediately, "I would like you to act as second in command, Darui-kun."

Darui smiled just a little at that, and gave Naruto a long look. "Yes," he finally agreed. "I will defend Naruto of the Leaf as if he were our own."

"All right, then." Jiraiya glanced over at Kakashi-sensei. "Kakashi, you're in charge of the Leaf contingent. Tell Genma he's your second." Kakashi nodded silently and Jiraiya turned back to the rest of them. "If I'm to plan well for this mission, I need to know the abilities of the people you've brought."

Naruto tried to pay attention, but it was hard to be all that interested in lists. His attention kept wandering to the Cloud host, B. Sakura had gotten all the gossip available on Cloud's host from Intelligence, before they left, and she'd said whoever it was was supposed to be one of the few hosts who completely controlled the power of the beast sealed inside him. Naruto had to wonder what that would be like.

"...well supplied with sensors and scouts, then," Jiraiya was saying, when Naruto tuned in again, hands folded loosely under his chin as he thought. "I'll want everyone's input on how to best place the rest of our people for defense, if we're discovered. Before that, though, Motoi mentioned that there was a place on this island where the hosts could be completely undetected?"

B finally spoke up. "The Tailed Beast temple. Chakra doesn't pass its walls, either in or out."

"That may be very useful for keeping the two of you from Akatsuki, if they find the island in the first place," Jiraiya said approvingly. "If they can't sense you at all, they may be convinced this encampment is a decoy." Naruto sat up straight at that.

"Hey, hey, wait a minute," he protested. "You can't just stuff us in a temple if there's trouble! I mean, I'm not just going to hide while everyone else is fighting!"

"You're their target," Jiraiya told him inflexibly, so level and serious that Naruto knew, with a sinking feeling, he really meant it. "And we will not permit them to take you. If that means hiding, you'll do it."

"But—!"

Sakura laid a hand on his shoulder. "Naruto," she said gently. "I know you're worried. You want the people you care for to be safe, even if you have to put yourself in danger to make sure of that, right?"

He crossed his arms, vindicated, and nodded firmly. "Yeah!" At least someone understood.

And then he yelped as Sakura grabbed the front of his shirt in her fist and dragged him up nose to nose with her. "Then what the hell makes you think we feel any differently?!" she yelled.

Naruto blinked at her, ears ringing. "Oh. Um." He rubbed the back of his head, sheepish; he hadn't quite thought of it like that. "Right." He glanced around the table, face getting a little hot. Darui-san was looking amused, Temari wryly approving, and Tomita looked downright nostalgic. Sakura sniffed and dropped him back into his seat. She didn't quite dust her hands, but Naruto thought she might as well have. He took a breath and rallied. "But! Itachi is gone, so whoever comes can't just put that eye thing on us. They have to beat us first, right? So, so!" Naruto just about bounced; this was important. "So if you guys are defeated because we weren't there to fight with you, we'll have a worse chance of winning by ourselves!" He folded his arms again. "So we totally should fight with everyone else."

"And what if it's Madara himself who comes after you?" Jiraiya asked sharply.

Naruto scowled, but he supposed that was a point. "If it's Madara, I'll hide," he agreed. "But if it's anyone else, I'll fight too!"

Jiraiya opened his mouth and closed it again. "Hm."

B stirred. "You really going to be that much good to the fight?" he asked, leaning his protesting chair back on two legs. "How much of the Nine-tails' chakra can you draw, anyway?"

Naruto lifted his chin. "Enough to give a jounin a complete chakra transfusion," he said challengingly. A soft murmur of surprise rustled around the table and he sat back, satisfied.

B snorted. "That's nothing compared to what the Nine-tails has on tap."

Naruto bristled. "Fine, then! Show me!" B cocked his head and Naruto jumped up, pointing at him. "You're supposed to be able to access all of the Eight-tails. So show me how! And I'll do it! Because I'm not leaving my friends to fight alone!" He jammed his fists on his hips, glaring. "The fox already agreed to pay me rent. I bet I can get him to do this too!"

B's chair wobbled on two legs for a moment and his brows vanished under his forehead protector. "Rent?" After a long moment, he laughed. "You're a feisty one. I kind of like that. All right, kid; let's see if you can do it."

"Well," Jiraiya said dryly, "that much seems to have been decided. Have fun. Let us know how it's going."

Naruto grinned at him and gave him Gai-san's thumbs up sign, which made Sasuke groan faintly and Kakashi-sensei twitch. "You bet!"

B stretched up out of his chair, just as huge as he looked sitting down, and clapped his hands on Omoi's and Karui's shoulders. "Come on, you two. You can keep an eye on us." Sakura and Sasuke promptly stood too, at Naruto's back.

Karui gave them all a smirk. "You'll never be able to do it."

"Just watch me," Naruto told her, and strode out of the building after B.

"These are the Falls of Truth," B said over the low thunder of falling water that filled the little clearing. "The temple is behind it. To reach the temple, though, you have to face yourself first."

Naruto puzzled at that for a moment and finally tilted his head at B and just asked, "Huh?"

"Sit there," B pointed to a flat stone at the foot of the falls, "and meditate on the water. You'll have to pass whatever appears out of the falls, to get to the temple."

Was this where some of the giant animals would come in? Naruto shrugged. "Okay then." He took a step toward the river, focusing his chakra for water walking, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"Naruto," Sasuke said quietly, "while you're doing this... remember us. Okay?"

Naruto blinked. "Well of course I'll remember you. You're right here."

Sasuke gave him an exasperated look. "That wasn't what I meant. It's... look, just..." he finally huffed out a breath, pulled Naruto around, and kissed him.

Naruto made a startled sound, but this... this was one of the special kisses, the ones that were slow and coaxing and like Naruto was the only thing Sasuke was thinking of in the whole world. So Naruto mentally tossed over his shoulder all the questions about why now and leaned into it. It made him feel like he was special when Sasuke kissed him like this, and Sakura was warm against his back, arms wrapped around them both. Sakura would protect them from everything; she always did.

"Don't get too knotted up inside your own head, okay?" Sasuke said softly, when he finally drew back. "Remember this."

"Okay," Naruto agreed, husky.

Both Karui and Omoi had their brows raised when Sakura and Sasuke let him go, but B was wearing a tilted little smile. "Good guess," he told Sasuke, and added to Naruto, "Well, go on, then."

Naruto thought maybe he could have walked on water without any chakra at all, after that. But staring at the falls was boring. He shifted on the rock and sighed and stared some more.

And... was there a shadow in the water? He swore he could see his reflection, only the water had to be too rough for that...

The reflection solidified and himself stepped out of the waterfall.

It was definitely himself. Himself with the still, distant look on his face that Naruto never, ever, ever showed anyone else. What good would it do, after all, for anyone to know when he felt that way? That face was wet from the waterfall. Wait, no...

Wet with tears, running down from those dark, empty eyes without stopping.

"They don't think you exist," himself said quietly. "They look at you and don't see you. Only the Nine-tails. You don't exist at all."

The words were like a fist against a broken bone. "That's not true!" Naruto burst out.

"Sometimes they see the Fourth's son, now," his own voice said, his own face, looking straight at him. "But who's that? You never knew him, except that he's the one who chose this life for you. Does that really make his son something good? No. Just another empty form."

"But I'm not," Naruto wavered, remembering the times he'd wondered how his dad could do this to his own son, and he grabbed reflexively at his oldest shield. "I'm not! And it doesn't matter! I'm going to be a hero!"

"Only until you fail," himself said, soft and flat. "Like you did with Gaara. Too late. Not good enough. Then they'll all say it's no surprise, won't they? Because you're nothing, after all."

Naruto wrapped his arms around him, suddenly cold in the blowing droplets from the falls. People would say that, yes. He could hear them, like he'd heard them for eighteen years, cold words spit at his back, and even his face, whenever he tried to succeed. They piled up like rocks on his shoulders until he was hunched down under the weight.

"How will you live, then?" himself asked. "Without anyone who really sees you at all. Wouldn't it be better not to? The Nine-tails will die too, that way. Akatsuki won't get it. There will be time for someone who actually chooses this to step up to be a host. Isn't that what your father should have done?" He took a step closer. "And if you kill the fox that way, maybe then they'll finally say you were a hero."

"I won't!" Naruto yelled, putting his hands over his ears. His own eyes were burning, now. "I won't, I won't let them win! I'm better than that! I am!"

"Who says so?" himself asked, so disinterested Naruto could tell he thought it was impossible.

"Sakura says," he shot back, "and..." He stopped and blinked. "And... Sasuke. Sasuke said..."

Don't get too knotted up inside your own head, okay?

"And, and Shikamaru said," Naruto whispered, remembering.

We'll keep ours safe.

"And Hinata," Naruto said softly. "And Kiba, and Chouji..."

Naruto-kun...

Naruto!

Hey, Naruto...

He remembered faces smiling at him. "And Gaara said I'd helped." He felt again the little roughness of sand, swirling around his hand and lifting it to meet Gaara's and clasp hands good-bye like friends. "And that ero-sennin said it would help if I fought beside everyone. Even though he didn't want to!"

"Are they really telling the truth, though?" himself wanted to know. He was very close now, and the emptiness in his eyes was everything that had terrified Naruto when he woke up alone at night for years and years. But...

"Sasuke and Sakura love me," he said, and knew it was true. And in knowing, himself got a little see-through for a moment. Naruto took a deep breath. He knew what this was, now. "All that... that's from the past. It's not now. Now is different." He could feel the warmth of Sakura's arms around him, of Sasuke's mouth on his, and he smiled even if it was wobbly, holding tight to them. "Now is different."

"How do you know for sure? What if it's just a lie? What if it goes away?" himself whispered, and Naruto had to laugh out loud even though his own eyes were wet with that fear, too.

"I know because of this," he said, husky, and reached out to wrap his arms around himself, just like Sakura had for him. And kissed himself, gentle and careful, the way Sasuke did for him.

Everything blurred through the water on his lashes, and when he blinked them clear he was looking at the waterfall and himself was gone. He looked around hastily, and found Sasuke and Sakura on the river shore along with B and Karui and Omoi. Naruto scrubbed a sleeve over his face and sucked in a deep breath and stood up. He felt... light.

Also a little dizzy, and he wobbled as he stepped back off the water and onto land.

B put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, looking down at him with a cocked brow. "So?"

"Well... I'm pretty sure I dealt with what I found, yeah." Naruto's smile got a little crooked for a second, and B's matched it. Yeah, B was a host too, after all; he probably knew.

"Good. That was the easy part."

Naruto thought about that. He guessed he could believe it; the falls had hurt some, but he'd already known all that stuff wasn't true any more. He'd just needed to, well, to tell himself.

Still...

"Can we get something to eat first, then?" he asked.

He didn't know why everyone seemed to find that so funny. It was a perfectly natural question.

The next morning, after a good breakfast, the six of them went back to the temple, all the way inside this time. It felt really weird, not being able to sense anyone's chakra but theirs. The wall carvings were kind of cool, though, with lots of tentacles.

"All right," B told him, once they were inside the inner building, arms crossed. "You've talked to the Nine-tails before, right? So you need to do that again. The more you talk, the more reasonable he'll get. Probably."

"Probably?" Sakura asked, wary.

"Well." B scratched his head. "See, thing is, the tailed beasts don't normally have much in the way of human thought. Or speech. They get that from us, the hosts. The more we talk, the more of our kind of sensible the beasts get. But Eight-tails, he says that Nine-tails is kind of an ornery bastard all the time, so he might stay pissed off longer."

"Huh." Naruto thought about that. It made sense. The Nine-tails did seem to spend most of his time really pissed off. "So I'll just keep talking until he settles down. I can do that. Um." He glanced around at them and cleared his throat. "So. Um."

"Naruto," Sasuke asked, eyeing him suspiciously, "do you actually know how to do this?"

"Of course I do!" Naruto drew himself up, indignant. And then deflated again. "Except, um. The times I've done it before I've kind of been about to die."

Sasuke buried his face in his hands with a groan. "I knew it."

B snorted a laugh. "You're something else, kid."

"There is another time you're close, though," Sakura said slowly. "When you're really upset about one of us. When someone you care about is in danger. That's when the Nine-tails' chakra gets visible and..." she hesitated and finished, eyes narrow, "when you don't seem to hear words any more. The Nine-tails must be really close, then."

"So if I think about how much I need this, to protect all of you," Naruto started, perking up. He could totally do that, and it would be a lot easier than getting one of them to throw him off the falls for something.

"That's a dangerous way to do it," B rumbled. "It might just send you out of control."

Abruptly, Sasuke swung around, back to all of them.

"Sasuke?" Naruto asked, worried, reaching out a hand to him.

"If it's necessary," Sasuke said to the floor, tight and stifled, "I can get you back. But that will probably piss the fox off twice as much, so try not to need it, okay?"

"O...kay?" Naruto hazarded, not sure exactly what was going on behind that except that something sure was.

B stirred, where he was leaning against the stone steps of the little inner pyramid. "Uchiha," he said, like the answer to a question. Sasuke twitched, and Naruto scowled at B. "The records from the founding say Madara was the first one to bind the Nine-tails—and not by sealing it."

"I'm not him," Sasuke said, flat and hard. "But a powerful Sharingan can control the beasts, especially if a host isn't helping them resist."

"But the fox would be even more pissed off to be reminded," Naruto worked it out. "Yeah, I guess I'd be pissed off too." He came and jostled Sasuke gently. "Don't worry. I won't let him get loose." So his teammate wouldn't have to do anything like what Madara did.

Sasuke huffed a soft laugh at that, finally looking around. "Yeah. If you're going to be stubborn about it, I won't worry. You're more pig-headed than an elemental demon fox any day."

"Of course I am." Naruto smiled, satisfied, and climbed up the stairs briskly to sit on the platform at the top of them. "Okay, here I go."

He closed his eyes and thought about the village. About Tsunade-baachan and the ero-sennin. About Kakashi-sensei and Iruka-san. About his year-mates, sitting around a grill table and fighting over yakiniku and bragging about their latest missions. About the hospital, and the way the other medics and the doctors smiled when he came in for a shift. About the kid whose hand he'd held through a tooth extraction, and the man whose bone he'd set and bonded because he had to take a mission in a week to pay for a new baby on the way, and the screaming panic inside him when he'd attended the birth and had to stop a hemorrhage, and how everyone in the room had cried when they knew the mother and baby would both pull through.

He thought about Sasuke and Sakura.

He thought about Akatsuki. About Gaara's lifeless body and what it had cost to bring him home again. About what Akatsuki would do to everyone between him and them, if he didn't find the power he needed to stop them.

He opened his eyes and glared at the Nine-tail's cage. "Hey! Fox! I need to talk to you!"

An earth-shaking growl rumbled through the hall he was standing in, vibrating the water underfoot. "So, it's you again, brat. What do you want this time?"

"I need your power!" And then he remembered that he was supposed to be talking, and probably cooperating, and coughed. "Um. Please."

The fox stepped forward out of the dark and curled a lip up, showing one massive fang. "You're in no danger. Why should I?"

"Shows what you know," Naruto muttered. "Look, if I can't fight with all your power, then Akatsuki is probably going to get us in the end, and you'll be stuck with Madara and whatever he's—"

"Madara!" The fox reared up behind his bars, roaring so loud the walls vibrated and Naruto's ears hurt. "Show me where he is, and this time I'll devour him!"

Naruto folded his arms and snorted. "And he'll just do that eye thing on you, and you'll be stuck again."

A whole lot of really big teeth were bared right at him as the fox growled.

"But Sasuke said that a host can help you resist that," Naruto offered, determined not to edge backwards.

Nine-tails stopped growling, ears cocked. "Just so you can keep me bound to your own purposes instead," he said suspiciously. "Like three generations of your damn village before you." He spat with disgust, which was actually kind of impressive to see, coming from something that size.

Naruto opened his mouth and slowly closed it again, thinking. "I don't really know what my purposes are supposed to be," he said at last. "I mean, I know what I want. I want to protect the people who are important to me. And I want the village to acknowledge me, but, um," he smiled, remembering the falls, "people kind of do that already. So it's mostly just protecting. And, since you're here, and it's kind of about you this time, yeah I want your help. But usually? Hell, I can protect people with my own strength." He looked up at the huge, red eyes above him. "If there's something more I'm supposed to be doing with you, no one ever told me." He shrugged, jamming his hands in his pockets. "So screw that."

The fox blinked at him.

Naruto scratched his nose thoughtfully. "Do you have, um, 'purposes'?" he asked. "I mean... there must be things you want to do, too." He'd never really thought about that before. Wow, it must kind of suck to be stuck inside someone else and not be able to do what you needed to.

Honestly, no wonder the fox was pissed off.

"I destroy corruption," the Nine-tails said after a long, silent moment. "That's the nature of my being, the nature of all the tailed beasts. I am a spirit of the pure world, and I burn away what becomes twisted."

"Corruption?" Naruto scrunched up his mouth, trying to puzzle that out. He really doubted the fox meant garbage heaps, or at least if it did he was going to laugh really hard. Maybe less literal. Like gambling and stuff? Only maybe bigger and more serious... "Oh!" His eyes opened wide and he snapped his fingers, pleased with his insight. "Like Madara!"

The fox snarled like stone tearing apart. Naruto took that for a yes.

"Well, that's easy, then! We can do that."

"We can what?" the Nine-tails asked, as if it really hadn't understood a word he'd said. Naruto came closer to the bars, looking up at him seriously.

"I mean it. Taking out the people like Madara, who are hurting everyone and... I guess you'd say corrupting the world. I'm good with that." He cocked his head. "It's what I came here to ask for help with!"

The fox actually drew back from the bars. "You say that now, because he attacks you. But if it were someone in your own village, you'd think different. Even sealed away, I could smell the corruption of that creature Orochimaru. But did that damn woman listen to me? Ha!"

"I would have listened," Naruto pointed out. "I mean, it was my own teammate, Sakura, who killed Orochimaru."

The fox settled back on his haunches, and his growl turned approving. "The girl you're so foolish for? A suitable end. She's touched by the chakra of the world herself, now."

"I'd have been a lot happier if you'd spoken up and we could have taken Orochimaru out ourselves," Naruto grumbled, crossing his arms. "That was a really hard mission for Sakura; it really hurt her!"

The fox's tails flicked out like shrugging, but its eyes were fixed on him. "Do you truly think you can do this? Be the hands and vessel of a great spirit? Burn out the world's rot?"

"I'm not saying I'm going to just let you rampage off whenever the hell you feel like it," Naruto snapped. "You don't get it all your own way! You're here and you have your own thing, and I'll help with that whenever we can, but I'm here too! If I help you, you have to help me. Not to destroy—to protect!"

The fox curled up his lip to show a fang again, disdainful. "Mouthy brat, aren't you?"

"So maybe I get it from you," Naruto grumbled back. He wasn't sure this talking thing was really going to work.

But that, of all the things he'd said, made the fox throw up its head and laugh like the rush and leap of a fire. "You claim you're kin to me? Bargain like it, then!" he declared, and in one stride he was right up at the bars, nose to enormous nose with Naruto. "You will let me watch the world through you. You will hear and heed when I tell you that there is corruption that must be destroyed. I will lend you all my power to do that. And if you do those things, I will also lend it for the protection of your 'important people'."

Naruto looked the Nine-tails in the eyes. Or eye, since he could really only meet one at a time, this close. "I'll let you watch," he agreed. "And I'll help with the corruption thing as long as we can do it without destroying anything else." He ignored the low growl at that. "And you can get words and thoughts from me, so you can understand why that's important."

The fox blinked and drew back a bit. "Hmph," he said at last, and the force of that snort plastered Naruto's clothes against him for a moment. "I suppose that will do for now. And," he added, as he faded back into the darkness past the bars, "we'll see who influences who."

"Stubborn damn fox," Naruto grumbled and opened his eyes on the temple again. His butt was cold from sitting on stone; he must have been 'gone' a while, this time. Five pairs of eyes were fixed on him, and he grinned back. "He agreed."

Sasuke and Sakura both relaxed, which made him notice how tense they'd been, and he rubbed the back of his head and gave them an apologetic look.

"Well, let's see it, then," B told him, waving him down off the steps.

"Sure thing!" Naruto bounced up, excited by the idea of getting to spar with this kind of stuff. He suddenly wobbled with his foot on the first step, though. His eyes widened. "Hey!"

"Naruto?" Sakura and Sasuke were up the steps beside him in a flash, Sasuke's eyes red and Sakura's hands hovering in the first seal of her activation.

Naruto barely noticed, busy glowering at thin air. "The 'damn woman' who didn't listen... He was talking about my mom! That damn fox was insulting my mom!" He brandished a fist in the air, yelling at the flicker of fire he could feel in the back of his head. "Don't you say one bad word about my mom, damn it!"

A faint chuckle threaded through the temple, or maybe it was just his mind, and for half a breath a handful of tails brushed forward around him sending Sakura and Sasuke jumping back. Naruto crossed his arms and scowled ferociously. He was totally not letting the fox off the hook for this one, no matter how much power or how many tails it waved at him.

"Well," B broke the silence in the temple. "This'll be interesting."

In the inner space where the demon fox curled behind his bars, the seal tag closing those gates shifted ever so slightly.

A/N: Sorry folks, there will be no hip-hop rhymes for B here. I suck at rhyming, and not in an in-character sort of way. My rationale is that, in this universe, B only rhymes at opponents in battle or with people he really likes and trusts, and a dicey international mission doesn't fit either yet. As for the Nine-tails, the second half painted him as a lot more vicious and toxic than the first half, and I like the first half better; he even seems to have a bit of a soft spot for Naruto in the first half, insofar as an arrogant, pissed off elemental demon can. So I'm sticking with that characterization.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Fourteen

Naruto is figuring out how to work with the Nine-tails, but Akatsuki is getting bolder. Shikamaru brings them word of the attack on Fire Country and when the new Akatsuki team finds the Island Turtle Jiraiya is the next to pay for facing them. Drama, Action, Angst, I-5

Naruto bounced on his toes in the middle of the rocky clearing B had said he could practice in without tripping over the Island's animals. He was having So. Much. Fun.

Grinning idiot, the fox muttered in the back of his head. Naruto ignored that; Nine-tails spent a lot of time saying things like that to him lately.

"Hey, hey, ero-sennin," he grinned. "I bet I can do that move you told me not to do, now."

"Naruto," Jiraiya said warningly, starting to get up from his spot under a tree where he had agreed to watch over Naruto's training when Kakashi-sensei insisted he needed a break. And a drink. But Naruto was sure he could do this one.

He grabbed two clones into being and held out a hand for the Rasengan and concentrated. This was the hard part. As he fed in chakra, one of the clones transformed it to the Wind nature and the other... he grinned wider.

Are you crazy, you idiot? the fox barked, and Naruto felt the hasty rush of the Nine-tails' power to his arm, shielding him from his own creation.

This will work, he said back, silently the way he'd learned to after a couple of caustic comments from the Nine-tails about babbling Leaf brats.

Only because I'm using half of my power to keep your fool arm in once piece! The fox actually yelped as Naruto pulled a little more power to hold the re-shaped Rasengan's form. There's nothing left for anything else if you still want to power that damn thing. You're completely vulnerable!

"That," Naruto said out loud, through his teeth, "is what a team is for!" He turned and hurled the Rasenshuriken at the peak of the crag behind him. It held form and struck in an explosion of pulverized rock, and he punched the air in triumph. "Yes!"

"What," Jiraiya demanded, frozen halfway to his feet and staring at Naruto narrowly, "did you do?"

Naruto grinned some more. "Well, see, if Nine-tails gives me his chakra, I get a lot more than I do just through the seal normally. So there's enough to protect my arm and still form a Wind Rasengan into a throwing shape!"

Jiraiya frowned. "That has to take a great deal of chakra to accomplish."

"That's what he said too," Naruto agreed. "He says there isn't any left over. But, like I told him, that's what a team is for. So I can still use that if I have to."

Jiraiya sighed, and rubbed his forehead. "Maybe it was a mistake to let Kakashi have the three of you for so long," he muttered.

Naruto smiled up at him. "Nah, it was just right. Because we're going to need our teamwork now, aren't we?"

Jiraiya stood the rest of the way, only to lean back against the tree with a thump. "Not unlikely." His mouth quirked. "You really do remind me a lot of her, sometimes." When Naruto blinked he clarified, "Tsunade. Best healer you ever saw, and absolutely terrifying in the field. The things she would come up with! There was this one time, up at the border of River and Sky. We'd retreated so she could take care of my broken ribs and lung, and a flanking group of Rain-nin just about tripped over us." He took a long drink. "Idiot woman wouldn't let go of me since she was in the middle of healing, so she electrified herself. Anyone who touched her got their neural signals scrambled like an egg, and she actually magnetized her damn knife with the current, so it drew all the shuriken and kunai." He sighed. "Of course, that strained even her control and reserves, and she nearly passed out when she finished with me. Try not to imitate that part."

Naruto nodded, wide-eyed. She'd never told him that story.

Jiraiya clapped Naruto's shoulder in passing as he turned them both back toward the encampment, "You're right, used with a team to support you it should work. I think, since it's your idea, you should be the one to explain it to Sakura and Sasuke."

Naruto swallowed hard. "Oh."

Perfectly concealed in the shifting shadows of the trees, the one who was currently called Sai watched them go and looked back thoughtfully at the broken rubble Naruto's strike had left. That had been a remarkably powerful attack. He could understand why Danzou-sama had assigned him to keep watch on the Nine-tails and its vessel.

Not that he really needed to understand, of course.

With a flicker, the shadows were empty again.

Another day, another training session. This time, Sakura had insisted very firmly that she and Sasuke were coming along. If he was going to need them to cover him, they would all practice together.

By the time she got to that part, Naruto's ears had been ringing hard enough from the rest of her reaction that he'd agreed meekly. Of course, that meant that the fox spent a lot of his time growling sidelong at Sasuke. Naruto couldn't decide whether that was better or worse than having the fox telling him off for sloppy technique.

Sakura flashed over the rocks, playing opponent for this round, nearly glowing the the power of her seal, and her fist punched right through Naruto's half-formed Rasengan. He yelped as Sasuke dove in front of him, driving Sakura back for an instant with a burst of flame.

"Where's your concentration today?" Sasuke demanded, rounding on him. "That was pathetic."

The fox actually whined.

Naruto sighed. "Nine-tails keeps glaring at you; it's distracting. Though it is kind of funny when you both get pissy about my technique and he gets all pained about having to agree with an Uchiha," he added reflectively.

Mouthy brat, the fox snapped.

"What?" Naruto asked, looking aside so the other two would know who he was talking to. "It's totally true."

Sasuke sighed. "Would it help if I swore to him that I would never try to bind him unless it was to save you?"

No, the Nine-tails answered sharply. That was how I wound up sealed in the first place. Damn humans.

"I think that would just mean he growls at you because you're like Mito-san, instead of because you're like Madara," Naruto relayed, mouth quirking. "He just likes throwing tantrums."

BRAT! the fox howled, and Naruto snickered.

"I'm glad to see the two of you are getting along so well," Sasuke said, a bit dryly. "If it's distracting you, though, we'd better work on it some more. I don't want to think about what he'll be saying if we ever do come up against Madara."

"Bet Naruto would pick up some new names to call his opponents," Sakura put in, obviously amused by the whole thing. "Come on, then. One more time. Sasuke's turn to attack." She tugged up her gloves and set herself beside Naruto.

Naruto took a deep breath and formed a new Wind Rasengan, readying himself to hold it against Sasuke's Fire techniques. He was getting faster at forming them, no question, but pushing in enough of the Nine-tails' chakra without bursting the sphere—that was the trick.

The sun slanted down the high blue sky as they worked, one Rasengan after another holding or bursting. It was hours before both Sasuke and the fox were grudgingly satisfied. Naruto collapsed to sprawl out on the thin turf. "I don't know why you don't like him better," he panted at the fox. "You think way too alike."

"Well no wonder you tease the Nine-tails so much, then," Sakura laughed, sitting next to him a lot more gracefully. She had a lot more endurance these days, and activated and deactivated her seal like breathing. Naruto was kind of envious; he wished he could do it that easily with the Nine-tails' chakra.

"He'd better understand that it's just teasing," Sasuke muttered darkly, handing the water bottle over to Naruto. Naruto smiled up at him, with the warm feeling in his chest that Sasuke's little moments of protectiveness always gave him. And maybe the fox was worn out by all his growling or something, because he seemed to settle, too.

They rested in quiet for a while, but it wasn't long before Sakura cocked her head. "Listen. Is someone coming?"

Sure enough, Iruka-san appeared through the trees, from the direction of the encampment. "There's a messenger from Konoha coming!" he called to them, waving. "Do you want to be there to see who it is?"

Naruto bounced up to his feet at that. "Yeah!" They had messenger birds pretty regularly, but they hadn't had a person since they all got to the island and it started moving. Personally, he was dying for some gossip from home.

Most of the Leaf contingent was gathered at the shore to see who'd come, and almost as many people from the other nations. Naruto supposed this was a pretty boring assignment, so far, for people who weren't figuring out to how fight with a crotchety old fox growling in their ears.

The blue-sailed boat running up the island's flank was one of the Lightning Country's, and Naruto could see the sailors hustling around the deck already but he couldn't see anyone he knew with them. He managed not to sigh, but he did slump a little, only to be nudged by Sasuke.

"The passengers will stay out of the way until landing," Sasuke said quietly. "I learned that fast, traveling with Jiraiya."

Naruto perked up again. "Oh." He grinned a little and leaned against Sasuke's shoulder in silent thanks.

Sure enough, as the boat eased up against the rocky inlet, more heads appeared and Ino squealed. "Shikamaru! It's Shikamaru and Chouji!"

Watching her light up, Naruto wondered if Sakura was really right, and Ino would be easier to deal with now her real team was here. He sure hoped so. He bet her Intelligence team hoped so too. Everyone crowded down toward the boat as Shikamaru and Chouji climbed up to the shore.

"Shikamaru?" Ino whispered, stopping short. Naruto's head snapped up and around to stare at her. She sounded afraid.

Abruptly, Ino was elbowing ruthlessly through the small crowd, shoving other ninja out of her path with no regard for rank. She caught Shikamaru's shoulders. "What is it? What happened?"

Everyone quieted at that, and Shikamaru's voice was clear in the silence, though he didn't raise it.

"Two of Akatsuki were in the Fire Country. They attacked the Fire Temple before we found them. Asuma-san..." Shikamaru closed his eyes. "Asuma-san was killed."

Ino made a small, sharp sound, biting her lip hard enough to turn it white.

"Raidou-san's team joined us," Shikamaru went on steadily. "We picked up Mitarashi-san's team when we reported in, and Hyuuga Tokuma located the Akatsuki pair when they came back toward the village again. That time, we stopped them."

"Jiraiya-san should hear about this," Kakashi-sensei said quietly, coming to rest a hand on Shikamaru's shoulder. Shikamaru just nodded and caught Ino's hand when she started to protest.

"I'll be there after I've reported." Their eyes held for a long moment, and Ino nodded like he'd said something more.

"C'mon, Chouji," she said briskly. "I'll get you guys settled in the Leaf building."

The crowd broke up and followed slowly in Kakashi-sensei and Shikamaru's wake back toward the encampment. Naruto's team closed up around Ino and Chouji, along with Kiba, Hinata, and Shino, silent support for their yearmates.

"Shikamaru's still really torn up," Chouji was saying as they climbed. "He almost scared me, when he was setting up the ambush for Hidan, the one who killed Asuma-sensei. But, you know, I think what really hurts is that he can't do more for Kurenai-san."

Ino winced. "Fuck. Is she...?"

"She's pretty broken up," Chouji said softly, looking down at the path.

"Kurenai-sensei," Hinata whispered, hand pressed against her lips.

"What?" Naruto asked her, worried by all this cryptic concern. "Is there something wrong with Kurenai-san?"

"Kurenai-sensei is going to have a child," she said softly. "By Asuma-san."

Naruto's eyes widened. "Oh shit." Unwanted information cascaded through his brain, about pregnancy and stress and all the really bad things that a shinobi's usual coping methods could do to a developing baby. "She's got a good doctor, right?" he asked anxiously. "I mean, she's got someone who knows what they're doing, right? They're not going to let her drink too much or spar till she falls down or anything stupid like usual, right?"

All seven of them stared at him for a blank moment before Sakura and then Ino started laughing, and Kiba rolled his eyes. "Who was it decided Naruto should be a medic, again?" he asked thin air. "I think you mean 'stupid like you'."

Naruto planted his fists on his hips and glared. "I'm serious! There are, like, lectures on all the crazy stuff shinobi do and how you have to remind them not to if they're pregnant!"

"Kurenai-sensei is more sensible than that," Shino remarked.

"And I asked Neji-niisan to look after her, when we had to leave," Hinata added, reassuring.

"Well all right, then." Naruto tried to put hospital horror stories out of his mind while they found a room for Chouji and Shikamaru, and settled down to wait for Shikamaru to return.

It didn't take long. Ino pulled him down onto the bedroll between her and Chouji almost before he was all the way through the door, and Naruto couldn't say she was wrong. Shikamaru looked older, today. Harder and darker. Naruto felt the Nine-tails stir inside him.

"Chouji and I will be part of Raidou-san's team, for now," Shikamaru said quietly. "We'll keep looking for Akatsuki's bases in Fire Country." He looked up at Naruto and there was fire in those dark eyes, the kind of fire Naruto was a lot more used to seeing in Sasuke's. "They won't get past us."

Naruto clenched a fist, frustrated. "We should stop hiding, me and B. They'll come to us, if we stop hiding, and then this wouldn't have happened!"

For a moment Shikamaru seemed to waver, and then he closed his eyes with a sigh. "Yes, it probably would," he said, low. "Unless we'd had information beforehand about what those zombie freaks could do. The one who killed Asuma-san couldn't die. I mean really couldn't die. And his ritual meant every wound to him happened to his opponent too."

Sakura pressed a hand to her mouth. "Shit," she hissed though it.

A corner of Shikamaru's mouth twitched up in a grim not-smile. "Yeah. I didn't see it fast enough."

Ino smacked him on the shoulder, hard. "You stop that! It wasn't your fault!" She paused and glanced over at Naruto. "It wasn't anyone's fault but Akatsuki's," she finished, soft and steady. "So you shut up too, Naruto. We're not going to hang you out for bait."

"Asuma-san," Hinata whispered, voice shaky, and leaned into Kiba when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. More firmly she repeated, "Asuma-san's memory does honor to his clan. We shouldn't... shouldn't take that away."

Naruto scrunched up his face, trying to work that out. "Huh?" he finally asked.

A breath of a laugh escaped Shikamaru, though he still looked down at his hands. "Yeah. Even if we're not part of a noble clan... we're still shinobi of the Leaf." He looked up at last. "We took down two of Akatsuki and only lost two lives. We did that without risking them getting their hands on our host. We did it to protect our village and country—the lives in our care." He took a slow, trembling breath. "Including our village's children. Asuma-san died to keep those things safe—not happily, but willingly." He smiled, a little crookedly, at Naruto. "You need to let other people do that too, you know; it's not just you."

Naruto opened his mouth to protest, and closed it again slowly. If Asuma-san had felt the same way he did, about protecting precious things... he looked down, swallowing against the ball of sadness and pride swirling inside him like one of his own Rasengan. "Yeah," he said, husky. "That's... that's something that should be honored. You're right, Hinata."

"It will be," Sasuke said, resting a hand on Naruto's shoulder. "Like the others who have gone before."

Hinata nodded against Kiba's shoulder. "He left this in our hands. Now it's our turn," she said softly.

That hot spark of fury flickered in Shikamaru's eyes again for a moment. "Yes. It is."

"When we get back," Chouji spoke up firmly, laying one big hand on Shikamaru's back, and Shikamaru smiled at him, rueful and sidelong.

"Yeah, I hear you." He stretched his arms up and let out a breath and looked a little more his usual self as he asked Ino, "So, how's your Intelligence team here doing?"

"Oh my god, never speak of them to me, ever!" Ino waved her hands wildly. "Sato and Tanaka broke up right before we started this mission, and they'll barely even speak to each other unless there's actually a blade coming at one of them. And then there's Sai, who makes Naruto look well-socialized!"

Kiba blinked. "Wow." Naruto growled and Shino quietly drew Hinata against his own side, clearing the way for Naruto to jump on Kiba and scuffle.

Ino pointed at them. "That! He's even worse than that!"

Everyone was laughing a little by the time Naruto finished knuckling Kiba's head and sat back down with his own team, and he congratulated himself on a job well done. Ino looked satisfied, too, and he figured she'd had the same thing in mind as he had. It wasn't long before they all broke up to their own rooms to sleep, and he hoped they might just all manage to get to sleep, now.

On the mainland, a lean man with hypnotically ringed eyes lifted his hand from the head of a slumped Cloud ninja. Slowly, his eyes focused again. "They're on Cloud's Island Turtle, out on the sea. They'll be moving constantly."

The silent-footed woman beside him cupped her hands, staring into them for a moment. When she parted them a flock of paper birds fluttered up into the sky and swooped east, toward the coast. "Don't worry, Nagato. We'll find them."

Being in the temple really weirded Naruto out, but it was the only place where he could practice full transformation. At least, the only place he could practice it without totally freaking out the whole encampment, so the temple it was.

Not that he had much to freak anyone out with, so far.

"This is ridiculous." Naruto lashed the fan of furry tails trailing behind him.

That's my pride you're waving around, Nine-tails snapped. Have a little respect, brat!

"No, no," B waved a hand. "It's a good sign that you can manifest all the tails. That's the last step before a full transformation."

Naruto sighed. At least he was getting somewhere. Even if Sakura had really, truly lost her mind, when he started working on this, and said the tails were cute. Cute! As if! The Nine-tails had hunkered down inside him in a disgusted huff after that one, and he hadn't been able to get a damn thing more done that day.

"You're gonna need time for this." B leaned against the temple wall, large arms folded. "It takes a lot of trust to really transform, and you and the Nine-tails haven't been talking for long."

Naruto scowled and kicked a stone stair; he knew it was probably true, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Omoi, sitting cross-legged at B's feet, looked up at that, completely solemn. "Hey, you should be careful. I mean, what if you accidentally kicked a secret switch and set off the self-destruct for the temple and then that set off an avalanche down into the valley..."

Karui rolled her eyes and promptly put him in a headlock. Naruto grinned a little as Omoi flailed theatrically; she sure was easy to wind up. He could see why Omoi did it so much.

"Stop complaining, Naruto," Sasuke called from the steps off to the other side. "Just work on your Rasengan while you've got the tails out."

Naruto sighed. "Yeah, yeah, fine." He supposed practice was good even if it wasn't quite full power yet. And, in a way, the tails were a bonus. He chewed on his tongue with concentration, arching two of the tails forward to press against the chakra gathering in his palm.

As long as he had the tails, he didn't need clones to do this. That part was kind of cool.

He had just completed a Rasenshuriken with his tails when the temple door slammed open. One of the Sand genin stood in it, panting. "Akatsuki," he gasped, "they're here! Commander Jiraiya is down!"

The Rasenshuriken came undone in a clap like thunder as Naruto sprinted for the door, jumping straight over the Sand-nin. He barely noticed Sakura and Sasuke coming up on either side or his forgotten tails streaming behind him as he streaked down the path toward the encampment, heart in his mouth. The crags and trees around them were alive with blasts and crashes, and Naruto wondered for a flashing moment whether Akatsuki had somehow had way more people than they'd all thought.

Leaping down the last steps on the temple path, Naruto looked around wildly, head whipping back and forth as he searched through the chaos for Jiraiya.

"There!" Sasuke snapped, red eyes narrow and sharp, pointing to the cracked wall of the building the Mist shinobi had taken over.

A body with long white hair lay at the base of the wall.

Naruto pounded over and threw himself down, only vaguely aware of Sakura spinning around to guard his back, of Darui standing on the broken wall and barking orders, of B coming behind them, of Sasuke on his knees on the other side of Jiraiya with wide, haunted eyes, hands reaching out helplessly. Jiraiya was barely breathing, each faint breath caught short. Broken ribs, then. Internal bleeding probably. Heat under Naruto's fingertips as he ran them delicately over Jiraiya's skull warned of bleeding there too, sluggish now because Jiraiya had almost no blood left. His throat was half crushed. And...

Naruto bared his teeth, hands pausing over Jiraiya's stomach.

"B," Darui was saying, voice hard, as Naruto looked up, "there are giant animals all over the island. Can you get the native animals after them without killing us too?"

"On it," B rumbled, running past them without breaking stride.

"Darui-san," Naruto said, low. "I'm going to try something. Don't stop me."

Darui frowned down at him. "What are you going to do?"

Naruto's hands were already lighting up with chakra as he reached down, down, crying out in wordless demand to Nine-tails. "I'm going to heal him."

Sakura knelt down beside them with her back to the wall. "Get me Hinata," she snapped, "and we can cover him."

"Like I would stop a healing?" Darui muttered before yelling for someone to find Hyuuga Hinata. Naruto shut all of that out. Sakura and Sasuke would take care of it; he trusted them. He had to, because what he was about to try wasn't actually possible. Jiraiya had a broken spine. Nerve injuries could sometimes be fixed, especially if the nerves were intact and just not signaling, or signaling wrong. A spinal cord that was physically torn couldn't be. It wasn't possible.

Well, neither was reviving someone who was dead.

He was going to do it anyway.

He focused down and down again, tighter than he'd ever done before. His hands were glowing with the fine patterning of chakra that made the base for Mystic Palms. The bleeding was stopping, and new blood was generating fast. Good. Jiraiya would live long enough for him to do this, though he'd be a while recovering the body mass being eaten up by this healing. Naruto reached deeper into himself, and felt the fox's agreement, casual but ungrudging. Naruto gritted his teeth as that wild chakra rushed through him, sharp-edged, fighting to hold it, to work it...

His tails reached forward.

As they fanned and wrapped over Jiraiya, the raging pressure, the ragged pain of handling so much fox chakra smoothed out. Naruto rested his forehead on Jiraiya's chest, dizzy and panting, vision starting to go fractured and dark with the clash of alien and familiar as he molded chakra with his tails, wove it finer and finer, until he could string it between the snapped ends of spinal nerves, teasing them back together. Slowly, slowly, and he was gasping for air now, human hands fisted in Jiraiya's shirt as the signals of human and fox body warred up and down his own spine. The torn nerve ends crept closer, closer as he poured all his power into this most delicate of work, chakra scattering out of his control around the edges.

He was losing too much energy for the work he was accomplishing. The pace of healing was too slow. This would take too much to finish, more than he had. But he couldn't stop now, he couldn't, he wouldn't! Jiraiya had been one of the first to believe in him, to trust him and teach him, been the one to pass on the things his parents couldn't. His teacher and Sasuke's, one of the people who had helped put Sasuke back together. Naruto didn't care how much it cost him. He would find a way!

His own strength was giving out, but the fox's strength was still raging through him, threatening to overwhelm him, and there were still gaping canyons of micrometers to go, and he screamed, half at the fox and half at Jiraiya and mostly at the universe to let this work. The fox snorted, in his head, and the inhuman chakra he shaped steadied for five precious heartbeats more.

And it was done.

Naruto collapsed over Jiraiya, breath sobbing in his lungs. You owe me one, idiot kit, whispered in the back of his battered-feeling brain, and a laugh wracked his body. Yeah, he agreed.

"It's done!" he heard someone cry, and hands slapped down on his back, steadying his faltering heartbeat, easing his clenched lungs. Two more hands lifted his shoulders up and another set traced lightly over his chest, down his arms, pressing sharply here and there. He could feel that easing the tremble of his overextended chakra and opened his eyes wearily to smile at Hinata. She smiled back, tremulous though her hands were steady.

"...absolute idiot," the medic behind him was saying through his teeth. "Miraculous fucking moron, I can't believe you did that, what kind of absolute brainless wonder..."

Naruto sat up mostly under his own power as his chakra and the fox's settled slowly back into balance. "I'm okay," he said, breathless.

"You are insane," the medic snapped, and Naruto craned his head around to see that it was the blue-haired senior medic from Mist. "And the Hokage is insane too, to teach you something that dangerous!" He sat back on his heels with a long sigh, finally lifting his hands from Naruto's back. "But you do seem to be recovering; that's some amazing vitality you have. If we get our beasts back, perhaps I'll suggest to the Mizukage that we should train one as a medic." He scooted around Naruto and checked Jiraiya. "He'll be all right too, I think."

Jiraiya stirred and Sasuke's hands, which Naruto finally recognized as the ones holding him upright, tightened hard on his shoulders. Sasuke was looking down at his teacher with fear lurking at the back of his eyes. Jiraiya coughed painfully and pried his eyes open to squint up at them. "Need a drink," he husked.

Sasuke inhaled alarmingly and Naruto ducked on reflex. "Shut up you absolute idiot!" Sasuke's voice echoed off the buildings. "You nearly died! Stay where you are and recover like you have more than two brain cells under all that hair!"

Naruto grinned down at Jiraiya as the man's eyes started to dance, sunken as they were. "What, don't I even get a pretty nurse?" Jiraiya asked in a pitiful tone, only slightly marred by the lingering hitch in his breathing.

"No," Sasuke said, very definitely.

Naruto was snickering and the Mist medic was rolling his eyes and Hinata was edging away cautiously when the second in command for Sound came skidding around the corner. "Darui sent me back. Where's the casualty?" she barked.

"Karin-san." The Mist-nin brightened. "Perfect." He waved a hand at Jiraiya. "The Commander needs to be on his feet again, and he's still missing a lot of blood and all his stamina. Can you do it?"

Karin snorted, throwing back one of her loose sleeves as she strode to Jiraiya's side. "Of course I can. Out of the way, you." She hip-checked Naruto aside and held out her bared arm to Jiraiya while Naruto sputtered. "Bite me," she ordered brusquely.

Jiraiya blinked. "This is a bit sudden, isn't it? No dinner first, no drinks even?"

Karin turned nearly the color of her own hair. "Shut up and bite me, you old pervert," she yelled, "before I smack you into next week!"

The Mist medic drew the rest of them back, around the corner into the overgrown stone plaza between buildings. "Karin-san can heal very bad injuries very quickly, this way," he murmured. "Best to let her get on with it."

Naruto snickered. She did seem to have the right bedside manner for someone dealing with the ero-sennin. "Okay, so..." he looked around, wobbling only slightly. "Hey, wait, where'd Darui-san go?"

"He left about the time your tails caught fire," Sakura said dryly. "He said he'd try to decoy Akatsuki long enough for you to come out of it. He didn't seem too happy at the time."

"I did warn him what I was doing," Naruto mumbled.

"No, you really didn't. But that's okay." She gave him a beady eye. "It is okay, right? You're recovered? You're not holding out on the team strategist or anything?"

Naruto held up his hands hastily. "I promise not! It's gonna hurt if I have to shape too much chakra soon, but Hinata and, um," he stopped and looked at the Mist-nin guiltily.

"Maeda Kazuki," the man supplied, mouth quirked.

"Hinata and Maeda-san got me stable and all," Naruto finished. "So as soon as Jiraiya-san is better, we can go find these Akatsuki guys and kick ass."

"No need to find us," a hoarse, quiet voice said from above them, and Naruto spun around, heart tripping, to see a man in one of those damn red cloud robes standing on top of the command building and looking down at them.

Or rather... at him.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Fifteen

Naruto and his yearmates face Nagato, who seems unbeatable until Naruto negotiates again with the Nine-tails and releases part of his seal. Drama, Action, I-4

Naruto stared up at the man from Akatsuki, frozen even as Sasuke and Sakura flickered to stand in front of him and Hinata snapped her hands together at his side, Byakugan live again. The man had... really strange eyes. Purple, like Naruto had never seen before and ringed. Stop looking, he told himself, it has to be a bloodline talent, he might be able to do something to you, stop looking. But at the same time he didn't want to take his eyes off that creepily intense stare for even a second.

"So you would be the Sacrifice of Konoha," the man said, finally, and that shook Naruto out of his stillness.

"I'm not anyone's sacrifice," he scowled.

The man blinked slowly. "Of course you are. Sacrificed the day you were born, according to our members from Konoha."

"Fuck that," Naruto said, blunt and rude. If this guy was trying to hypnotize him or something, it wasn't working! "Somebody else made that choice, yeah, but the ones since then are my own!"

"Whatever peace you may have made with your beast does not change the actions of your village," the man said in a weirdly classroom-lecture kind of tone. "They sacrificed a newborn to make a weapon of the land's spirit and further sacrificed your life every day after that to their own fears. Is that not so?"

Sakura's lip curled and she slid her hands into the first seal of her release. Lightning chakra was starting to gather around Sasuke's fingers as he glared over them. Maeda-san had melted back around the corner of the building toward Jiraiya, mouth tight, eyes burning. Shadows were starting to rustle and flicker around the edges of the plaza as people fought through whatever the hell was out in the woods to reach him, and Hinata was whispering the tally of names beside him.

"Kiba and Shino. Baki of the Sand. Choujuurou and Suigetsu of the Mist. Shikamaru, Chouji, Ino and her team. Kitsuchi of the Rock and three of his people. Iruka-sensei..."

Naruto took a long breath and looked up at the Akatsuki guy with a grin. "No," he told him. "You're totally wrong." He spread his arms out, as if to take in the whole island and all the ninja on it. "Yeah, it sucked for a while. But they got over it, and I got over it, and there are a lot of important people to me in the village, now. And, um." He let his arms drop, face getting a little hot as he glanced around at the growing rustles and emerging shinobi. "I guess I'm kind of important to them, too. So it's good."

Iruka-san landed off to his side, face grimmer than Naruto had ever seen it, glare fixed on the Akatsuki guy. Naruto could hear Kiba's growl at his back. Ino glanced at him and rolled her eyes but she was smiling. Chouji nodded without looking away from their opponent, one hand resting on Shikamaru's shoulder. Sasuke and Sakura edged a little tighter in front of him, and Naruto sure wouldn't have wanted to be the target of the looks they were giving their enemy. The fox sniffed in the back of his mind, and Naruto thought Nine-tails was amused, probably by how warm and fluffy the whole thing made him feel, Akatsuki or no Akatsuki. He flushed deeper and stuck out his tongue at the fox, in his head, and got only a brush of a laugh in return. The fox seemed strangely mellow considering who they were facing, and he reminded himself to ask why when they had time.

The man sighed. "And in your comfort you become the willing tool of your village and its wars. I suppose that's only to be expected." Those strange eyes fixed on Naruto again. "Perhaps, then, it will comfort you that your last sacrifice will serve to bring peace to your village."

"What do you mean?" Sakura snapped.

The man might have shrugged under his robe, careless of the cordon of shinobi surrounding them and him. "Once the nine tailed beasts are gathered into a single container, and its power is demonstrated to every village, there will be no more wars."

Silence slammed down over the plaza. Every face Naruto could see was horrified, and the fox's sudden growl was resonating down his spine to set his tails lashing.

"Nagato," Jiraiya rasped from behind Naruto, "that won't be a real peace."

Naruto whipped a look over his shoulder to see Jiraiya coming slowly around the corner of the broken building, leaning heavily on Kakashi-sensei's shoulder.

"It will be the most real peace there is," the man—Nagato?—returned coolly. "An unbreakable one."

"Only until people start fighting for possession of the beasts!" Jiraiya paused for a moment to catch his breath. "And didn't you once believe that people must understand pain before they will genuinely seek peace and value it? People have to find that for themselves!" Another pause to breathe, and Jiraiya finished, sadly, "You can't just order peace and have it stick."

Nagato nodded calmly. "Indeed. This is a world of suffering. Pain leads to hatred and revenge, which only gives more pain. This is the nature of life, of humans, and it can only be stopped by force." He smiled, faint and unnerving. "I will show the people what true pain is, and they will be unable to turn it toward revenge. Because that pain will be inflicted by a god. This is the only thing that can break the cycle and lead people to transcend the nature of the world."

This guy was starting to remind Naruto of Itachi, and the creepy way he kept saying obviously crazy things in a totally normal way. Maybe all of Akatsuki was crazy.

"Nagato," Jiraiya whispered, brows drawn in tight and pained, "what happened to you?"

"When Yahiko was killed by treachery, my eyes were opened to the nature of life." Nagato cocked his head. "You were the one who first told us to search for peace. My answer will bring peace. Do you have any other way that will?"

"I..." Jiraiya's jaw clenched and Nagato nodded.

"Of course not. This is the only way."

"No it's not!" Naruto burst out indignantly. "Hey, hey, wait a minute! You mean you used to know the ero-sennin?" Naruto's tails lashed again, furious with his growing understanding. "You killed him! How could you do that? How could you do this?" Jiraiya had taught both Naruto and Sasuke, for crying out loud, he was amazing and he'd never have taught anyone to think like this!

"I freed him," Nagato said, like that made any kind of sense. "My last act of respect. Release from this world is the greatest mercy, and those who die to show their people pain will be the most blessed."

"The hell you say!" Naruto was nearly sputtering, his training piping up to join in the general outrage. "You don't just up and kill someone who can still live! That's for—" he broke off abruptly and swallowed. "That's for when the pain is too much," he finished, husky. "You... what are you thinking?" Did this guy... did he honestly think the whole world was in that kind of pain? That the whole world needed a mercy killing? That was crazy, it wasn't peace he was talking about here it was... was... something Naruto didn't even have words for.

Nagato looked completely serene. "Ah. You do understand, then."

Naruto shuddered, and backed up a step, eyes wide. "No."

He heard Jiraiya draw in a slow breath, behind him, and when the old man spoke his voice rang over the plaza, rough but clear. "Shinobi of this mission. You will stop Nagato of Akatsuki by whatever means are necessary. For this mission and for our world." Another breath. "Nagato holds the Rinnengan bloodline talent, and can summon animals and demons, consume chakra attacks, use gravity to attack and defend, and fight with individual strength beyond anything you've ever seen. Kitsuchi-san, Sakura, Shikamaru, Choujuurou-kun! Coordinate attacks!"

Naruto saw a flash of rage on Nagato's face before he was leaping aside from Kitsuchi's fist, now sheathed in rock. "Use the time," Kitsuchi barked and struck again, only to be met hand to hand and blocked this time, without even a tremble of Nagato's wiry arms. Sakura hissed.

"Only chakra attacks would be strong enough to get through, but that must give him what he needs to keep this strength up," she muttered. "Damn it!"

Suigetsu had joined Kitsuchi, sharp teeth bared as he and the massive length of his sword whirled and struck, again and again.

"The Rinnengan takes a huge amount of chakra," Jiraiya rasped, and Naruto looked back to see Kakashi-sensei lean him against the wall and prepare to join in himself. "If we can wear him out..."

Sakura's eyes flicked around, tallying up their force and she bit her lip. "We don't have enough people strong in taijutsu... can we afford to call in any more from the forest and protecting B-san?"

"Not really," Kakashi-sensei supplied dryly. "B's dealing with the other Akatsuki, and the island is crawling with small demons and giant animals."

One of Ino's intelligence team popped up beside them, saluting. "Shikamaru says to overload Nagato, and that he will hold him still for it."

Sakura's eyes lit, and she looked at Kakashi-sensei. "If we pour in more chakra than he can take, and he can't do anything with it... It's like my seal! He'll have to use his own chakra to convert and manage it, and if he can't use the influx right away to attack, we might burn him out!"

"It's our best chance," Kakashi-sensei agreed and slapped the messenger on the shoulder. "Get to the other two teams and tell them to prepare a chakra assault on Nagato as soon as he's nailed down. But keep one person back in each group, to attack after." As the man flickered off, Kakashi lifted his forehead protector, both eyes fixed on Nagato as his fingers drifted over the scrolls in his vest.

"I can see his rate of chakra consumption," Hinata reported, her eyes fixed on their opponent also. "I think I can tell you when he overloads."

"That will help," Sakura murmured, flexing her hands. "Say it loud, when he does, so those of us who have to close for this can hear you."

Hinata nodded sharp and sure, and Naruto set his feet, feeling for his own chakra reserves. He wasn't exactly recovered yet, and this really would hurt, but he could definitely get in at least one Rasenshuriken.

Sasuke was watching Shikamaru sliding through the rubble, angling to connect his shadow, both of them poised and taut.

Nagato finally threw Suigetsu away with an upraised hand, and the line of his sword cast a black bar of shadow on the ground, and for one moment it bridged between Shikamaru and Nagato. Lightning sprang up in Sasuke's hand.

"Now!" Chouji bellowed. "Fall back!"

Kitsuchi sprang away and Nagato, after one frozen moment, looked down and smiled. Slowly, slowly, he started to pull his feet free of Shikamaru's shadow. Sasuke threw a flight of Chidori Senbon at Nagato, who only laughed. The needles struck and sank into him without a trace.

"Chakra increasing," Hinata reported tightly.

As if Sasuke's attack had been an agreed-on signal, chakra attacks struck from all sides. Choujuurou's sword blazed as he swung a huge hammer shape down. The knives of the Lightning Dragon sank into Nagato's chest and legs, and Sasuke sent lightning raging down the wires. Sakura flickered forward faster than thought and slapped her hands against Nagato's back, pouring unformed chakra through her seal and into him. Fire, Water, Earth, Ice, forms Naruto had never seen struck from every side. Naruto whipped his tails forward to shape Wind into a throwing knife that felt like it was cutting him from the inside as he dragged the chakra up, and hurled it with a yell.

Shikamaru's shoulders were heaving with every breath, and he was curled down almost to his knees and elbows, but his hands were locked in the seal of his technique and his eyes were blazing over bared teeth.

"Still going. Still going," Hinata called out, almost chanting as the storm of chakra whirled around Nagato, sucked into him. "Elasticity declining! Threshold! Threshold approaching!" Her eyes widened, and she suddenly screamed, "Scatter!"

Everyone sprang back and and hit the ground, and Naruto spun toward Jiraiya only to feel his knees start to buckle. He only had time to pull in a desperate breath of protest before someone caught him around the middle and he was back against the wall next to Jiraiya with Hinata, Kakashi, Sasuke, and Sakura. And... there was another wall on the other side. He puzzled over that for a dizzy moment before he was set down and realized that Kitsuchi had carried him back and was sheltering them.

An explosion rolled over and above them and silence followed it.

Kitsuchi-san and Kakashi-sensei exchanged a frown, and Kitsuchi lowered the stone wall with a gesture.

Nagato stood in the middle of a plaza scoured and cracked, swaying a little on his feet and smoking. He wasn't smiling any longer, but his eyes were as fixed and crazed as ever. Shikamaru was sprawled in Chouji's grasp, where it looked like he'd been thrown, unconscious. Chouji looked up as they emerged and nodded once. Naruto relaxed things he hadn't known were tense. Shikamaru was okay; good. Slowly, the other shinobi of the mission stood up from cover, on their own or over the shoulder of a comrade.

"Do you think you still have the strength to face me after that?" Nagato snarled. "Ha. And for what? Your mission? Your villages? Those who are important to you?" He drew himself up, and something Naruto couldn't name shifted around him. "None of you have known enough pain to understand!"

"His body," Hinata said sharply, "his muscles and bones! They're... sheathed in his chakra!"

"The Asura path," Jiraiya said, eyes dark. "His strongest hand to hand technique. At least we seem to have disrupted his control of the outwardly directed techniques, the summoning and gravitational ones. I hope." He straightened and called out. "Reserve, attack!"

Kakashi's scrolls snapped open and his pack of nin-dogs leaped to harry Nagato, to slow and distract him as Kakashi sprinted to drive a Chidori into his gut and sprang back. He was almost too late, and Nagato's elbow strike caught his shoulder, throwing him nearly back to where Jiraiya stood.

As he was thrown back Ino's team struck as one under her snapped orders, weaving a shifting circle of steel and elements around Nagato, dashing in again and again at any opening to slash with a knife or tear with an ink creature's jaws or scorch with fire. Those attacks didn't seem to penetrate very deeply, though, and Ino's mouth was tight as she caught Kitsuchi-san's eye. Her team made way for his rock punch, feinting a pincer from the sides to distract Nagato.

Naruto hoped when he saw Kitsuchi's fist hit Nagato's spine, even though it made him sick to his stomach to hope for an injury like that, like the one he'd just finished healing at such cost. But even though Nagato cried out and stumbled, he was still standing, still moving, and he took Chouji's huge fist on his crossed arms and threw him back.

Choujuurou and Suigetsu struck together, catching Nagato in between the sweep of their monstrous swords, or they would have if he hadn't dodged out from between them faster than Naruto's eye could follow.

"He's still too strong," Kakashi-sensei murmured, kneeling beside Jiraiya, preparing for another try. "We can't fit enough people in close enough to land a clean strike."

That made sense, even to Naruto's weary mind. Piling on wouldn't do any good if no one had room to swing a fist and they didn't have any one or even two people strong enough to match Nagato. Not even him, not right now. If B were here, maybe he could get the Eight-tails to do it, but...

Quiet fell inside Naruto. If the Eight-tails could do it, maybe the Nine-tails could.

"So," the fox rumbled. "You have a favor to ask, hm?"

Naruto took a moment to realize that he was standing in front of the Nine-tails' gate. He looked up at the huge red eyes glaring down at him and said, simply and quietly, "Yes."

The fox sniffed. "And just how do you think that's going to work?"

Naruto leaned against the wall with a tired splash of the cold water underfoot. "I don't know. I've tried everything I can think of and none of it has worked." He crossed his arms and bit his lip, trying to think. He was so tired. Finally he looked back up at the fox and asked hopefully, "I don't suppose you'd tell me?"

"Hm." The fox looked down his very long nose at him for a moment.

"I mean," Naruto rambled on, "we have to stop him, right? We can't let him take you. And we sure can't let him kill the world!"

"Is that what he's going to do?" the fox asked thoughtfully.

"He calls it peace." Naruto snorted. "But then he turns around and talks about showing people more pain! And then about how the only escape is dying!" Naruto shook his head, slumping down against the wall. "He hurts. He wants to stop hurting. I've seen that so often, now. And sometimes, yeah, there's too much damage and the right thing to do is let someone go fast. We're taught how to do that. But this...!" He met the Nine-tails' eyes, the steady burning of them. "It's like what he really wants is to make the whole world hurt like he is. And part of him thinks that will make everyone stop doing bad things. But another part knows that will just make everyone want to die as much as he does. And then he can let them and that will be the right thing to do. But he only gets to it by doing everything wrong first!"

"Hmph. You have some wisdom after all, kit. I'd wondered."

Naruto glowered; that sounded like an insult. "This is like... it's like a normal thing that can be good has gotten totally out of control." He hesitated, because that was like something else, too. "Tsunade-baachan... she's never let me work on anyone with cancer. She said that the chakra I had from you might make it worse." He glanced at the fox under his lashes. Did that mean using the Nine-tails' power could make Nagato worse, too?

The fox reared up, snarling. "Well of course it would! That blond bastard sealed my yin chakra! With nothing but yang chakra to use, you can't undo a cancer; you'd have to burn it out to the last speck or else you'd just have it back twice as fast." Slowly, he settled back and added, "So you want to heal this cancer, do you?"

Naruto opened his mouth and closed it again, eyes wide. "Oh. I, um. I guess I do, yeah." He hadn't quite put it together himself, but now that the fox had he thought it was true.

The fox rolled his eyes and tilted his ears back. "Idiot kit."

Naruto shuffled on the water. "Well, he's hurt! I mean, that's obvious. We have to stop him, but..."

"But they made you into a healer." The fox looked dubious, one ear tilted back. "Which is what caused you to very nearly kill yourself just now. Are you sure you're so eager to do it again?"

"Why should it kill me?" Naruto asked cautiously. "I mean, it doesn't kill B."

The fox looked down at him for a long moment. "You have something that B doesn't. You'll need to give it up, for this to work."

Naruto blinked a few times, trying to shake his brain into making sense of that, and finally resorted to a plaintive, "Huh?"

The fox looked pointedly at the gate. "And what do you see here?"

Naruto stared at the gate. The gate itself? Or...

The seal.

"I have to undo the seal?" he squeaked. "Wait, wait, but...!"

The fox made a deeply exasperated sound, reminding Naruto all over again of Sasuke, and snapped, "Not the whole thing, but this half!"

"Half?" Naruto frowned at the paper seal.

"You have two of those on you, idiot kit," the fox growled. "The first you can't undo without killing yourself, most likely, but this one you can. And must if you want me to emerge." He glared off to the side with both ears laid back and his teeth a little bared. "That's how it was made. So I couldn't take you over when you were still a baby. Making the second layer internal instead of woven into the surface seal makes it possible to undo that one. It leaves the choice up to you. You've already changed it a little, but for me to manifest? You have to undo it."

A whirl of thoughts spun through Naruto's head, wondering if his father had hoped he and the fox would trust each other eventually, wondering if it was just a fluke, wondering again why this had been done to him as a baby instead of to someone who could volunteer. The one that made it to his mouth, though, was, "So... are you saying undoing the seal will kill me?"

"It's a powerful seal." The fox still wasn't looking at him. "And you won't be able to use any of my strength to undo it. If, that is, you choose to do so."

Slowly, it came to Naruto that the fox was pissed off. Really pissed off. Not in the howling-growling way he usually was, but quietly. Because of the seal. He couldn't be angry that Naruto was thinking of breaking it, could he? Or maybe...

Maybe because it was Naruto's choice.

Naruto looked down at the surface of the water he stood on, frowning. The fox, he slowly realized, hadn't had any more choice about this than he had. Every second of resentment or anger he'd felt, the fox must have felt too. Worse, probably. And three times over, now.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, softly. "I mean, not personally exactly, it's not like I volunteered for this either, but..." He looked up, and the Nine-tails was finally looking back at him again through the bars. "I'm sorry this happened to you at all." He came forward hesitantly and laid a hand against the gate. "I guess it was selfish of people, to lock you up just so you'll be their weapon or threat or something. That's wrong."

The fox stared at him silently for several breaths before he lifted his head and shook it until his ears flapped. "It wasn't without precedent, in a way," he admitted. "Spirits have sometimes agreed to be embodied in humans, because even as it lends you our strength it lends us your thoughts and understanding. But that was an agreement between one human and one spirit."

Naruto thought about that. "So... can we have one? Between us?"

"If you dare to release the seal," the fox said, deep voice rumbling through the whole inner space, "then we will live together. As long as you live."

That wasn't exactly a yes or no, but Naruto was getting kind of used to that from the fox. Nine-tails didn't say the important things right out; you had to think about it and probably guess a little.

And... trust.

Naruto took a deep breath. Hell, it had worked with Sasuke, hadn't it? And he needed the fox. And the fox needed this, for things to be set right even a little. He still hesitated as he reached for the seal. It might kill him, the fox said. Which the fox might not mind, he'd be free after all. But Sakura and Sasuke... Iruka-san and Kakashi-sensei... his yearmates, Tsunade and Jiraiya, the village... Naruto bit his lip hard, wavering, trying to figure out what he should do, what he should risk, what was the right thing to do here and now. The fox watched silently.

It's a choice that comes to very powerful healers in time of war, all too often.

It was Chiyo-san's voice that whispered through his memory, and Naruto's eyes widened. He'd made that choice for Jiraiya, but that had been easy. That had been to save someone he loved. To make the same choice now, he would have to make it... because it was right. Because the duty and ethics his teacher had given him told him this was what he needed to do. "And they do," he whispered, looking up into the Nine-tails' eyes and all the rage and yearning locked behind them. "I have to heal you, too."

The eternal burn of rage died in a moment of utterly blank shock, and the fox stared at him with, Naruto would swear, absolute disbelief. That made him smile. This was right. It felt right. This was what he should do.

No matter what happened.

He smiled up at the fox and reached up and tore the paper seal off the gates.

Light and sound exploded around him. All he could see was the paper, and it was clinging to the gate stubbornly. He gritted his teeth and pulled harder. Harder. His muscles felt like they might give way first, but he braced himself and pulled harder, growling. Come loose, damn it! he thought fiercely at the bit of paper. I don't want you here, come loose!

One of the lines of inked characters started to unravel like thread.

Spurred on, Naruto pulled harder, jaw clenched, whole body screaming with the ache of the seal's resistance. Line by line, bit by bit, it came part, and he kept pulling even as his vision went cloudy and red. The only thing left was his determination to do this thing, to Lift. This. Damn. Seal!

And it came away in his hand.

Naruto thought he was falling, but he couldn't tell. Couldn't see. Wasn't sure he could breathe. Everything was red, and his ears were ringing.

No, wait. That was a howl.

Slowly vision crept back, but it was a strange kind of vision. He saw scenes, like pictures projected here and there around him. He saw the plaza from above. He saw Jiraiya slumped against the broken wall below, staring up at him. He saw Sasuke, eyes red with the Sharingan, and felt a sudden spike of wary annoyance.

Oh. It was the fox.

He was the fox. He remembered, distantly, that he'd intended that. Well good, then.

He saw Nagato and was aware of the Nine-tails pouncing. He didn't exactly feel it, not like it was his body. But he knew it was happening.

This was really weird.

He also knew that huge, clawed feet were being set down with at least a little care not to step on the scattering shinobi, so that was okay. Actually, wait, maybe he did feel something. Several somethings that were... waving. Lashing.

He could feel the damn tails.

I told you to have a little respect, the fox growled, and at least that sounded like normal.

Well they feel weird, Naruto defended himself, and then winced. Now he could feel his body, at least his head. Or... maybe the spirit of his head. Whatever it was, it hurt.

Shut up and rest, kit, the fox told him, for once sounding something besides annoyed. Not much besides, but a little. There's work to be done. My work.

There was a reason that should alarm him, Naruto thought, but he couldn't remember what it was. Something about what the fox's work was. His purpose. To... to cleanse rot, he'd said.

To destroy corruption.

Destroy... but that wasn't...!

Naruto tried to sit up or stand up or something, tried to see and hear, tried to reach out and find the fox again in this strange, formless darkness around him. And what he saw was a ball of seething power blasting away from him, from them, and smashing into Nagato.

No!

He heard the fox sniff, disgusted. Yes, yes, I heard you the first time. You want to heal. You want to heal everything. Your perverted teacher, this Akatsuki cancer, me, who knows what all else. The knowledge of a shrug. You made a deal with me, when you released the seal, and I hold by my word. He's still alive. Mostly. We'll see what you make of him. The knowledge of a smile, full of huge teeth, still just a little malicious, and a moment of sight, of Iruka-san, pale and tense, looking up at him, mouth shaping Naruto's name. Once you wake up.

The world turned inside out again, and Naruto's senses rushed back, every one of them screaming with pain that clubbed him right back into darkness as he collapsed into Iruka-san's arms.

A/N: I never thought much of Nagato's six-corpse stable, and the emaciation that resulted struck me as just another way to bid for our sympathy with a mass murderer. I find it much more interesting to let Nagato use all his paths in his own body, and confront other combatants instead of dropping the chakra-Bomb on a village full of civilians—and then going back on it in the most contrived deus ex machina imaginable. I prefer to let him get his ass righteously kicked and his eyes thereby opened in proper shounen tradition.

The Blue Lights, The Scent of Water

Four linked scenes of intimacy, during Frau and Teito's journeys. Teito is stubborn, Frau knows he's doomed, Mikhail snarks briefly. Mild spoilers through issue 61. Drama, Fluff, Romance, Porn, I-4

Translation into Deutsch available: Die Blauen Lichter, Der Geruch von Wasser by JanaTearce

A translation into Russian is available here, by Opossums

One

Frau leaned back on the hostel bed they'd secured for the night, every pillow in the room wadded behind his back, and lit a cigarette. They'd made it to Pirna by dark and the border and Neal were a day away. Capella was safe with his mother, no one was chasing them, and he'd gotten the shower first. Things were going about as well as could be expected.

He hadn't failed in the people under his care, yet, anyway. None of the ones that really mattered, at least.

Some days, especially lately, he felt like there were too many of those. But compared to most of the Church's bishops he had very few responsibilities. Host Zehel's spirit in his own. Keep Verloren's damn scythe contained. Protect Teito. Oh, and banish all the Kor he came across. Just a few, but they were heavy enough he didn't have room for any of the others more normal bishops carried. Not any more.

Well neither did the brat, come to that.

So, yeah, it was probably a good thing that he'd been the one sent out with Teito. Sure as hell no other bishop would understand what the kid was carrying on his shoulders. And Frau admitted it: it was good to be flying again. He'd felt so fucking grounded the last nine years, locked up in that cathedral.

The end of his cigarette glowed as he breathed in the rough heat of smoke, eyes distant. If he could just keep the brat safe, he'd almost feel like this trip was a good thing.

Teito emerged from the bathroom rubbing a towel over his head, with the spare one slung around his hips. "You're hogging the pillows," he accused Frau after one look. "Hand over mine."

Frau blew smoke at the ceiling. "Since I'm paying for the rooms," he mused, "I think they're actually all my pillows."

"The Church is paying, you leech. Gimme." Teito made to grab some of the pillows out from behind Frau, dodging his elbow. "Mortification of the flesh is supposed to be virtuous, isn't it? You're the bishop, act like it!"

"Since when do I give a shit about virtue?" Frau demanded, grabbing for those thieving hands.

Teito froze in his grip and his bared teeth slowly faded into a frown. "How long have you been sitting there in nothing but a towel?" The frown was turning into a real glare. "You've gotten cold again!" He stomped around the room pulling blankets out of the cupboard and threw them over Frau, tugging them roughly around him. Frau watched the performance with a certain sardonic amusement. Having Capella around had turned on the kid's mothering instincts for good, it looked like.

"You do realize that, without body heat to start with, these aren't going to do any good?" He took a drag on his cigarette, mouth quirked as Teito glared some more.

"Fine, then!"

Frau blinked as the kid marched over to the bed and slung a leg over Frau's thighs, settling firmly onto his lap. Teito pulled the blankets around both of them and gave Frau a look that dared him to object. "There."

Frau sighed. "You're too damn stubborn for anyone's good. It doesn't hurt or anything, you know."

"It isn't right," Teito said, low and fierce and not looking at him. "It isn't right for you to be cold."

Frau rested a hand on the kid's head, ruffling his hair. "Yeah, it is," he said quietly. "Because this is what I am."

Teito frowned at him. "Well...! Well, then, fine! But..." he wrapped his arms firmly around Frau's neck, "then this is warm too, isn't it?" He leaned in closer and brushed his lips over Frau's, unpracticed and unhesitating.

Frau stilled, eyes widening at that soft and completely unexpected pressure. "Wha..." He closed his hands on Teito's shoulders, moving him back a little. "Haven't you ever heard of a metaphor, you little maniac?" he demanded. All his damn church training was suddenly screaming in his ear. It was usually only the tedious rules about chastity that got him in trouble, and he didn't give a damn about those. But the one law about what a person got up to in his own bed that he agreed with wholeheartedly was that no one should ever, ever abuse the trust of the children sheltered by the Church.

Teito gave him one of those rare, clear-eyed looks that made Frau think maybe Castor hadn't been completely insane to nominate the kid as a bishop. "You're not dead," he stated, like it was a known fact, and shook his head as Frau opened his mouth to protest. "You died, but you're not dead. I've made a lot of dead bodies, Frau, and this," he put a hand flat against Frau's bare chest, "isn't like that. Your heart doesn't beat, but your blood still flows. You move and breathe, but you don't have any body heat. That's impossible." He gave Frau a look like the laws of physics were his personal fault. "So. You're a spirit-body, aren't you?"

Frau settled back. He was just a tiny bit impressed. Maybe. "That's pretty much what we figure, yeah. I mean, with the transforming into huge skeletons and all."

Teito nodded, satisfied. "I thought so. So, it isn't just physical heat that can help, right?"

Frau opened his mouth and closed it again. And here he'd thought they'd gotten safely onto theology and away from disturbingly warm kisses. "That doesn't mean..." He trailed off.

Teito smiled, smugly aware he'd won that point, the little shit. "Yes, it does." And he hauled off and kissed Frau again, more confident this time.

Frau got a hold of the kid's nape to pull him back, which... didn't actually help as much as it should, because Teito made an extremely distracting sound. "Look," Frau said as flatly as he could, "you're too young."

Teito arched both brows, clearly unimpressed. "It's the new year, right? So I'm sixteen." He prodded Frau in the chest with a finger. "What were you doing when you were sixteen, huh?"

From the way the kid suddenly smirked, Frau was pretty sure he'd turned a little red. He considered it evidence of a cruel universe that that still happened to a dead man. "Yeah, and maybe if I were sixteen, like the girls I was, yes, okay fine, sleeping with whenever I could escape the damn robes, that would mean something. So how about we just say I'm too old?" And why couldn't the brat have jumped his partner, like half the baby bishops always wound up doing once the exam heated up?

Teito folded his arms on Frau's chest and remarked. "Funny you should mention that. I asked Labrador-san, you know. Turns out you're only twenty."

Frau closed his eyes, silently cursing Labrador to... to... to an annoying leaf-wilt problem or something. "Teito..." He broke off, breath catching, because Teito had taken the opportunity to press up close against him, skin to skin. The kid really was warm.

"I want you to be warm," Teito said quietly against his ear. "And I want... to know what this is." He rested his temple against Frau's and muttered, "And I trust you, okay?"

Frau gave up and wrapped his arms around Teito, holding him tight and stomping as hard as he could on the stirring interest of the scythe. Sometimes the kid really did remind him so much of himself that it hurt. "You're an idiot."

It was time to deal with this logically, Frau told himself, ignoring the way he couldn't make himself let go. The brat really was sixteen, scrawniness notwithstanding, and that was the age of consent across the Empire. So the rules could shut up. The brat was also world-bendingly stubborn (and kind of unfairly cute when he wasn't growling and snapping like a bear after winter). So Frau needed a good reason, if he wanted to get out of this. Did he have a good reason? Did he want to get out of this?

Only silence answered that question, inside of him. Waiting silence.

Teito finally drew a shaky breath and pulled back enough to grin at him, almost as convincingly annoying as usual. "I mean, aren't you supposed to know all about this stuff? Or do you just talk a good line?"

Just because a man's heart wasn't beating any more didn't mean it couldn't squeeze tight. Frau hadn't loved all that terribly often, in his life, but he knew when someone was getting to him. This one... had gotten to him. His mouth quirked and he slid a hand up to cradle Teito's head. "Brat," he said, just a little husky.

For once, Teito didn't take a return shot. Just looked at him, eyes dark and questioning. Frau didn't know what the question was, or what answer Teito saw, but after a moment Teito smiled a little and leaned forward again. This time Frau kissed back, gentle and careful.

Frau had known from the moment he saw the kid move that Teito was trained, and trained to kill. Teito moved fast and sure and fluid, when he wasn't in a rage, always poised, always ready. The readiness had quieted slowly, over the last few months, and Frau had hoped it meant Teito was relaxing from that edge. Maybe he was, but now, feeling how long it took Teito to unwind as he settled against Frau's chest, Frau thought he still had a long way to go.

Which made him feel ridiculously fucking protective of the little brat.

So he kissed Teito slow and easy, with helplessly exasperated tenderness, until Teito was flushed and pressing close. Maybe it was just the heat of Teito's body against his, skin to skin under the blankets; or maybe it was the way Teito's tongue stroked over his and Teito sighed as he relaxed and stretched out against Frau's chest; or maybe it really was Teito's living heart touching his. Whatever the truth, Frau was warm again.

In fact, Frau might just have been a little flushed himself by the time Teito drew back and tucked his head down against Frau's shoulder. "You okay?" he asked, husky, running a hand slowly up and down Teito's back.

"Yeah," Teito answered softly, not moving. After a moment, Frau felt Teito's lips curve against his shoulder. "I guess you're not all talk. It might be nice to do that some more some time."

Frau snorted, trying to stifle the enthusiastic votes yes from both his cock and the scythe. "Damn brat."

"Now give me half those pillows."

Frau grinned against Teito's dark hair. "What if I say no?"

The fight for the pillows left the room a mess, but Frau had to admit it took care of any awkwardness.

Two

Frau had managed to kick Castor and Labrador out of his room in F3's frozen tourist trap by the time Teito was done with his bath, and had stretched out in his bed, arms folded behind his head. He watched the kid through half-closed eyes as Teito neatly and automatically folded and hung his towel and laid out his clothes for the next day of the race. He didn't look too much the worse for his encounter with the scythe, even though Frau's fingertips still tingled with the sensation of reaching into Teito's chest, stretching out after his bright soul.

Well, Frau had always known Teito was a tough little bastard, and too stubborn to quit.

Every inch of that stubbornness was in Teito's eyes as he pulled on his nightshirt and made for Frau's bed instead of his own. Frau stiffened. "Teito..."

"Shut up," Teito told him, burrowing under the blankets and wrapping around Frau like one of Labrador's climbing vines. "You're an idiot, you know that? The more I think about it, the more obvious it is."

Frau breathed in and out, carefully, holding down the leap of the scythe's hunger. "Are you actually trying to get eaten?" he bit out. "After you saw yourself what can happen..."

Teito pushed himself up on one elbow, glaring. "I told you! I'll pull you out of that scythe as many times as it takes! So quit using it as an excuse!"

"Excuse?!" Frau was glaring now, too. "Listen, brat—" He had to break off, jaw tight, and fight down another surge of hunger from the scythe. It growled silently, nearly drooling in Teito's direction.

As if he could hear it, Teito growled back. His right hand flashed over to clamp tight on Frau's forearm, over the name incised there. "You," Teito said, low and cold and deadly, "back off." A flicker of red shone around his hand for one breath, and Teito's grip tightened. "He's mine."

That was outrageous enough that Frau opened his mouth to protest. His jaw just hung there, though, when the scythe grudgingly settled under Teito's hand. "What the fuck?"

Teito's grip eased a little and he glanced aside. "Mikhail," he muttered. "There's still a connection even when we're apart. I guess I don't have to do anything formal, when I really need him."

That did, actually, explain a few things. Just not the one about why Frau should mean enough for Teito to risk stressing his soul that way. "And you have the nerve to say I'm an idiot," Frau scolded, closing his other hand on Teito's nape to shake him. Teito shrugged and looked up again with a tiny smile.

"It was important," he insisted, completely unabashed.

"Important, huh?" Frau narrowed his eyes, an expression that sent lowlife of all kinds running in terror and had no effect whatsoever on Teito. Damn it. He tried another tack. "And what's this about me being yours?"

Teito lifted his chin stubbornly. "You are. My bishop. My mentor. Mine, not the scythe's!"

Frau let his head fall back against the pillow, groaning. "Fuck. And I always thought Castor was joking when he said God would punish me some day."

Teito pressed close again, arms wound around Frau's shoulders. "I'm sure He'll get to it eventually."

Frau's mouth quirked and he slid a hand into Teito's hair. "Think He has already." He sighed, more or less resigned to being the kid's pillow and just glad that Teito hadn't gotten all metaphysical about warming Frau up again. Castor really would break in and try to strangle him, then.

On the other hand, it was awfully cold out there, and temper was supposed to heat people up too, right? Frau smirked at the ceiling for a moment before reaching down to lift Teito's chin and kiss him, light and gentle. He forgot the part about yanking Castor's chain for a moment as Teito relaxed against him, eyes softening as he smiled up at Frau.

"Go to sleep, brat," Frau said quietly.

Teito made an agreeable sound and snuggled down into the blankets and Frau, and a completely helpless smile tugged at Frau's mouth.

It turned wide and wicked a moment later, when he heard faint, muffled yelling over the sound of the storm outside, rather as if some manipulative bastard of a bishop was losing his grip and being wrapped up in ice roses by his partner to keep him from breaking in.

Frau closed his eyes, still smirking, and composed himself to sleep.

Three

Frau was aware of all the reasons that restoring the Eye of Mikhail to Teito was necessary, both for Teito and for the rest of the world. He didn't exactly regret it.

But the first time he looked down at Teito, curled up against him in bed, to see a pair of vastly unimpressed red eyes glaring up at him, he swore his heart started beating against just so it could stop.

"You," Mikhail declared, as if it were the worst insult possible. "You have been taking liberties with my master."

That was unfair enough to snap Frau out of his shock. "I damn well have not! Do you have any idea how stubborn the brat is? It's all I could do to convince him he's still too small to be fucked by someone my size!"

Mikhail tossed the covers back and looked him up and down disdainfully, which was the kind of thing that could give a man a complex. "Hmph." He settled back against the pillows like they were a throne, crossing Teito's arms sulkily. "Well, since you seem to belong to my master now, I suppose I won't do anything about this." He held up a finger and eyed Frau sternly. "As long as you don't get above yourself!"

And then he was gone, and it was Teito's eyes staring up at him again.

Teito, who promptly dissolved into laughter. "Your face!" he managed.

Frau sputtered. He couldn't help it. "Belong to you?" he demanded, outraged. "The cat-eyed bastard doesn't mind as long as I don't get above myself?!" His voice was echoing off the walls. Teito was still laughing, collapsed among the pillows with his arms wrapped around his stomach. Frau gave him a dour look. "And if you think you're getting anything out of me tonight..."

Teito caught his breath and crawled into Frau's lap, grinning. "Would that count as getting above yourself, if you don't do what I want you to do?" he asked, winding his arms around Frau's shoulders.

Frau growled and flipped them over, pinning Teito to the bed under him. "...show you 'above myself'..." He caught that laughing mouth and kissed Teito deep and hard.

Of course, given the breathy sounds Teito made and the way he arched up against Frau, that might have been the whole idea. "Mmm. Frau." Teito wrapped his legs around Frau's hips and rubbed his ass against Frau's cock.

"Not until you're five inches taller, goddamnit," Frau gasped, and tried not to show his response when Teito growled. If the brat ever realized just how close he was to getting his way, Frau knew he'd be doomed. And the fact was, Teito was way too impatient to keep from hurting himself, so Frau was the one who had to have self control for both of them.

Frau expected a goddamn sainthood out of this, he really did.

Fortunately, Teito was also pretty distractible, as long as you came up a good enough alternative. Frau slid down his body, tracing the hard muscles of Teito's stomach with his tongue by way of suggestion. He grinned when Teito let his legs fall back to the bed with a pleased sigh. Teito wasn't actually unreasonable in bed; he just had a knee-jerk reaction to being told he couldn't do something. Frau actually kind of sympathized, at least when the brat wasn't driving him crazy.

Which was why, when he closed his mouth around Teito's cock, he didn't tease, just sucked wet and hard until Teito's hips came up off the bed. Frau smiled around him a little and flicked his tongue back and forth over Teito's head. Teito moaned, hands working hard against Frau's shoulders, and rocked up into Frau's mouth.

It was always moments like these that made Frau reconsider his "not for five inches" rule. Teito was pretty well developed, and there wasn't an inch of childish softness anywhere on his body. When the weight of Teito's cock was sliding over his tongue it was a little hard to remember why he kept insisting they wait.

"Frau," Teito gasped, body pulling taut. Frau made an approving sound and sucked Teito down all the way, and swallowed slowly around him. The cut-off moan that answered as Teito came undone, shuddering under him, would have made him purr except his mouth was full. So he just thought it.

Well, that and smiled smugly down at Teito once he'd kissed his way back up his body, head propped up on one hand. Teito laughed, breathless. "You look like one of the cathedral cats who just stole fish from the fountain," he told Frau.

"I got you to stop arguing," Frau pointed out. "I think that's pretty damn impressive, myself."

"So why are you reminding me of it again now?" Teito wanted to know, reaching up to trace his fingers over Frau's mouth.

Frau smiled wickedly. "Never said I didn't think the arguing was fun."

Teito growled, and locked one leg around his and flipped them over. Frau smirked up at him, folding his arms behind his head. "Yeah? Something to add?"

"I think so, yes." Teito's eyes glinted down at him, and then he was sliding down Frau's body and pushing his legs apart to settle between them. The look he gave Frau as he leaned over was nearly as wicked as the one Frau'd given him.

Frau managed to stay relaxed and casual right up until Teito's mouth closed on him, and then he had to grab for the headboard. It was the same every time and he never got used to the heat of a living mouth. If fire could be slick and wet, it was like having fire slide down his cock, and Teito took his time about it. Frau moaned, low and open, and rocked up a little; Teito moved with him, lips wrapped just around Frau's head. Frau swore, breathless, and Teito snickered.

Evil little bastard was learning Castor's sense of humor.

When Teito finally slid his mouth further down, Frau shuddered. The heat, the life, the intensity of it were like nothing else, and the strength of Teito's hand working up and down his cock, slick and confident, felt like the only thing anchoring him to the world.

"Teito," Frau gasped, warning. He never lasted long when they did this. Teito drew back reluctantly, tongue flicking over him one last time.

"Mm. Just think what it would be like if you were inside me," he murmured thoughtfully, hand stroking hard down Frau's cock.

Frau couldn't quite help thinking, about heat and tightness, and the headboard creaked under his hands as pleasure hammered through him. "Teito...!"

When he caught his breath, the brat was still laughing. "I'll have to try that again," he grinned, elbows braced across Frau's chest. Frau growled and hauled him down to a rough kiss that Teito leaned into readily.

A fucking sainthood, Frau swore.

Four

It hadn't been Frau's idea, the first time he wound up in bed with Teito Klein. It hadn't been his idea to start sharing a bed, whether they did anything more interesting with it than sleep or not. It had been his idea to teach the kid how to use his hands and mouth, but only in self defense. Because the biggest thing that wasn't his idea was actually fucking someone as slight as Teito with what was, no undue modesty, a damn big cock. He'd held tight to a rule of "not until you're five inches taller" and insisted that he was not going to fuck someone who didn't at least come up to his chin.

Teito had pouted. He'd called Frau a chicken. He'd done some really, really unfair things with his mouth and asked Frau again immediately afterward. And eventually he'd gotten quiet and looked up at Frau all clear-eyed and said, "Please".

Which was how Frau had come to be leaning back against a handful of pillows with Teito straddling his lap and lying against his chest while Frau rubbed slow, gentle fingers between his cheeks. "We're taking this slow, understand?" he murmured against Teito's hair.

Teito nodded against his shoulder, arms tightening a little around his neck. "I know. I won't push."

Frau's lips quirked; he didn't trust that to last very long at all. It was a good start, though. "Okay. Try to stay relaxed, then." He dipped his fingers in the jar of gel he'd wedged against their pillows, because he'd damn well bought economy size this time, and circled his fingers over Teito's entrance, slow and hard. Teito's muscles clenched and gradually relaxed as he breathed out. Frau kept his fingers moving slow and easy, and after a few more breaths Teito gave a soft moan. Frau took a tighter grip on his self-control and pressed a finger into Teito.

Teito's muscles tightened again sharply, and Frau waited for him to relax again before moving. "All right?" he asked quietly, stroking that one finger inside Teito.

"Yeah." Teito sounded a little breathless. "Yeah, it's okay."

"How does it feel?" Frau pressed, because if Teito was uncomfortable with the length of his finger, he'd need to hold himself back hard from thrusting into the kid later.

A breath of a laugh, and another quick clench of muscles. "It feels like you." After a moment, Teito added, "I like feeling you."

Frau closed his eyes and pressed his mouth against Teito's hair. He'd long ago given himself up for lost. Teito had gotten to him, all the way into him, right down to the heart. Just knowing didn't mean it wasn't new and terrifyingly warm, though, every time Teito said something like that. "Glad for that," he said, husky. Teito looked up at him with a small smile and flushed cheeks, and Frau smiled back wryly. "Ready for more?"

Teito nodded and laid his head back down on Frau's shoulder, breathing in and out and deliberately relaxing. Frau gathered him up a little closer and pressed a second finger in. It went easily, and Teito made a low sound that Frau was pretty damn sure wasn't discomfort. He worked them in and out slowly, and Teito stretched against him a little, muscles working around his fingers easily now. He could feel Teito was half hard against him, and spent a moment breathing deeply himself.

"Mmm." Teito pushed his hips against Frau's. "Frau..."

"Yeah, okay." Frau pulled out carefully and scooped up more of the gel. "Tell me if it hurts at all, right?"

"I will," Teito promised, and Frau could just about hear him rolling his eyes. He snorted softly and pulled Teito close, so he could listen to his body as well as his words, and pushed three fingers into his ass. It was tight, and Frau went very slow, listening to each hitch in Teito's breath, waiting out each clench of his muscles. Eventually, though, his fingers were all the way in and Teito was moaning softly against his shoulder.

"Frau, move."

"Pushy," Frau muttered, a bit husky. But he did as Teito asked, sliding his fingers out to the knuckle and then slowly back in. And again. Teito moaned every time his fingers slid all the way home, and Frau was starting to wonder if he was going to have to eat his words because it sure as hell sounded like Teito really liked being stretched open hard. And it felt like he could take it.

"Not pushy," Teito panted. "Just... ohh... want to feel you." He ground his hips against Frau's and they both groaned.

"Fuck, all right, you win, okay?" Frau kissed the start of a grin off Teito's mouth, fiercely, and Teito wound his arms tighter around Frau's neck and kissed back, eyes dark and half closed. Frau groped for the gel again, still kissing Teito, and slicked it over his cock. Teito obligingly slid up a little, and Frau's arm tightened around him. "Slow," he growled against Teito's mouth, guiding his cock against Teito.

Teito huffed, but let Frau set their pace. His head tipped back and he gasped sharply as Frau started to push in. "Ahh... oh..." His arms tightened as Frau hesitated. "Don't stop."

Frau, already breathing hard with the burn of pleasure down his nerves, clenched his jaw and pushed up into Teito bit by tiny bit. And then he was in, sliding in smoothly, and Teito's gasps turned into a throaty moan. The alarming tightness of his body eased and he lay against Frau's chest panting as Frau pressed most of the way in.

"You okay?" Frau managed, husky, holding him tight, lightheaded with the burning heat of Teito's body.

"Mm, yeah." Teito slowly pushed himself upright against Frau's chest, lips parted as he settled down a little further onto Frau. "Oh..."

Frau swore fervently, hands tight on Teito's hips, and Teito grinned breathlessly at him, the little bastard. "I am going to be so glad when you are five goddamn inches taller," Frau growled, "so that I can pound your ass into the mattress like you fucking well deserve." In lieu of that, he flexed his hips slow and hard, drawing back and driving up into Teito again, careful not to push in too far. Teito lost the grin, at least, as he clutched Frau's shoulders and moaned out loud.

"Feels good," Teito breathed as Frau fucked him slowly. "Hard..."

And, yeah, Frau could feel how hard Teito was stretched around him, and it was driving him a little crazy to have all that living, branding heat locked so tight around him. "Teito..."

Teito arched over him and sighed, eyes half closed as he pushed down to meet Frau, and Frau groaned. One of these days, he swore, the kid really was going to kill him.

Today, though, was his first time doing this, and Frau knew going too long would be a mistake. So he stroked a hand down the leanness of Teito's body to wrap around his cock and pump it slow and hard.

"Ahh!" Teito's hands clenched on Frau's shoulders again, and Frau watched him, drinking in the life and brilliance of him, the abandon as Teito rocked wantonly between his hand and his cock. The way his name spilled from Teito's lips made something hot and possessive tighten through him. When Teito's body finally clamped down around him, he growled, driving up into that tightness with short, hungry thrusts until pleasure raked him over the edge.

When the fire finally stopped wringing his nerves out, Frau gathered Teito back down against him and eased carefully out. Teito winced, and Frau rubbed a hand up and down his back. "Okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," Teito answered, just as soft. And then he poked Frau in the chest. "And it didn't hurt."

Frau snorted and slid his hand down to cup Teito's ass gently. "If you can ride the damn hawkzile tomorrow and still say that, I'll be impressed." He could feel Teito's face heat against his shoulder and chuckled, threading his fingers into Teito's hair. "I'm a little impressed already," he admitted.

Teito glanced up with a rare, unguarded smile, bright and sweet. Frau held him closer and tried not to self-evidently melt into a puddle of pathetic gooeyness.

Teito would seriously be the death of him, some day. Frau was becoming increasingly sure of this, and not in a metaphorical way, because life was a bastard like that.

For as long as he had, though, Frau would stay close to the pure warmth and insane stubbornness of Teito's heart, and be grateful.

End

To the Silver Night Sky

After one possible end to canon, Frau discovers that Ghosts tend to get stuck in Tenkai for a while. On the bright side, this means Gido is still around. Adorableness ensues. Also a good deal of sex. Drama, Fluff, Angst, Porn, I-4

In Frau's considered opinion, Heaven sucked.

He'd been here for most of a day, as near as he could tell, stalking around endless gardens. It was like someone had turned Labrador loose and told him to knock himself out.

He was trying not to think about Labrador, or Castor, or anyone else, but the flowers made it kind of hard to avoid Labrador-thoughts.

And there were people here. Other souls, he guessed. But none of them had approached him, he didn't recognize anyone, and he really wasn't in the mood to chat up distracted looking strangers. The melodious birdsong was getting on his nerves, too. His hands felt too light, without his scythe.

But Zehel was gone, now, and the scythe with him. He could feel that much, that stunning weight lifted from the center of his soul. It should probably feel like freedom, but right at the moment it felt more like failure.

He finally slumped down onto the lip of a fountain, hands dangling between his knees. He was dead. Teito wasn't. He was pretty sure Castor and Labrador weren't. That was good.

What the fuck did he do now though?

"Here you are. Been looking all over for you, brat."

Frau jerked like he'd just touched a live wire; that was kind of what it felt like. He knew that voice, or he had a long time ago. Slowly he looked up, hands closing tight on his knees.

There was a man standing in the entrance to this garden, elbow propped up on the ornamental gate. Tall and lean and powerful with black hair and a wry smile with a cigarette dangling from one corner of it. Frau had to swallow twice before he could speak.

"Gido?"

"Large as life," the man said easily. "Figured I should come find you. Give you a chance to get the yelling over with early."

"Yelling?" Frau echoed, husky. Slowly he stood up, almost stumbling as he stepped forward.

Gido lifted his brows. "I was figuring, yeah. For having died. For dropping Zehel in your lap." He blew out a stream of smoke, looking thoughtful. "Damned if I know who's going to take it up now; I don't even know who else is alive, from our House. So, yeah. You can go ahead and yell." Frau just stared at him, completely at a loss, brain spinning with memories he'd tried to put away to keep old pain from eating him hollow. "Or maybe not," Gido finally said quietly. He dropped his cigarette and stepped on it, and held out a hand. "C'mere, kid."

He dragged Frau close, and oh god he was warm, warm, and solid when Frau wrapped his arms around him. Frau was shaking, throat tight, and something alarmingly close to a sob ripped out of him when Gido's hand settled on his head and ruffled his hair like he used to. Frau buried his head in Gido's shoulder, level with his own now, just to make it all even stranger. "You fucking idiot," he gasped, raggedly, swept up in old pain that swamped the new. "You should have run! Why the hell didn't you run when they came?!"

"Ah, there's the yelling." Gido sounded amused, a little indulgent, so familiar it nearly broke Frau. Gido sighed, settling a hand on the back of Frau's neck. "If I'd run, I wouldn't have been me," he said simply. And then he shook Frau gently. "And don't try to tell me you'd have done any differently if it had been you in charge of the ship. You never ran when you were shepherding Tiashe around the Empire with the entire military on your trail."

Frau lifted his head and glared. "That was different! That was to keep Verloren from awakening, and he was Pandora's Box and I was Zehel for fuck's sake! There was no way out of it."

Gido gave him that faint smile with the steel edge that meant he wasn't going to let Frau bullshit on this one. "And you wouldn't have run even if there had been a way."

Frau's eyes fell under that piercing look. Gido snorted softly. "We can't watch all the time, but I've kept an eye on you when I could, Frau." He chuckled. "Might even have said a few prayers for Bastien, after he picked you up."

Frau flinched.

"Frau." Gido's hand tightened on his shoulder. "Don't let the end of that make you forget everything that came before. He loved you. And you saved him." Quietly he added, "I'm grateful to him for looking after the last of my crew." And then he pulled Frau's head down to his shoulder again, which was good, because more tears were forcing their way out. Frau had forgotten how easily Gido could undo him, how clearly this man had always seen him.

They ended up sitting in one of the mossy nooks by the fountain, boots and coats getting a little tangled up because Frau couldn't quite bring himself to let go. Gido just smiled and settled Frau against his shoulder. Eventually Frau cleared his throat. "So. You stayed up here?"

"Mm." Gido ruffled his fingers absently through Frau's hair. "Yeah, about that. Most souls can turn right around, if that's what they want, but those who have been Ghosts... well, it takes a while to wash that out for most of us. Asyl, the Zehel before me, she's almost ready to go back down I think."

Frau shot upright and stared at him. "I'm stuck here?!"

Gido's smile tilted ruefully. "Figured that was the next bit you'd yell about, yeah."

"But... but... Teito!"

"He's got Mikhail plus the master of Raphael to help him, doesn't he?" The smile spread into a grin. "She reminds me of Magdalena, a little. Only scarier."

"But...!"

"And every last one of the God Houses owes him, and knows it," Gido added. "Last I saw, it looked like the Oaks, in particular, were on his side."

"But...!"

Gido gave Frau a level look. "Frau. You protected him. You kept him alive. You were why he remembered a lot about love. But your part down there is done for now. And," he added practically, "it would be anyway, even if you could turn right around. You really want to wait to grow up again, all antsy and not remembering why?"

Frau let himself fall back against Gido's shoulder with a deliberate thud. "You don't have to have an answer for everything right away, you know," he grumbled.

Gido laughed, wrapping an arm more firmly around him. "What else was I supposed to spend my own time here doing, besides thinking? Well," he allowed, softening, "that and missing you."

Frau ducked his head a little, feeling very young again and a little flustered to hear that from his mentor and leader.

Gido's hand slipped down his neck, thumb running over his choker. "So you kept this, huh?"

And that reminded Frau sharply that he really wasn't all that young any more, because the brush of Gido's fingers over his throat sent a shot of heat right down his spine. Gido's brows rose at the faint sound Frau couldn't quite keep back. His fingers traced over the line of the choker again, slower this time and more deliberate. Frau's chin lifted helplessly as another husky sound caught in his throat.

Gido's mouth quirked up at one corner and Frau swallowed a little nervously. Gido was a good man, a kind one, and Frau's personal model for honor and compassion. But there was no denying he also had a wicked sense of humor. "Gido..."

"Well, that's certainly one way to get you settled down, here." Gido bent his head and dragged his tongue up the line of Frau's throat. The slow, wet warmth made Frau gasp, hand fisting tight in Gido's coat. His head was tipped back again, and he couldn't remember doing that but he wasn't going to complain when Gido was tracking open-mouthed kisses back down his throat and over his chest... and when the hell had Gido gotten Frau's coat undone?

"Gido..." he tried again, though it came out husky and breathless as Gido eased him down against the sun-warmed moss and settled his weight over him.

"Yeah?" Gido asked, leaning on his elbows while he carded his fingers through Frau's hair.

Frau wet his lips, looking up at him. He couldn't deny that he'd had a few dreams that went kind of like this, and when he finally spoke what he said was, "Lose the coat?"

Gido laughed. "That's my Frau."

Frau closed his eyes. "Always," he admitted, softly. At that, Gido's hands closed around his face and Gido kissed him, slow and gentle.

One benefit of dressing the way they both did was that it took less time to get out of. The boots took the longest, because by that time Gido had gone back to nipping and sucking on Frau's throat which made fireworks run right down his spine to his cock and distracted him thoroughly from the buckles. When they were finally both bare, Frau pressed close, winding himself around Gido and drinking in his slow kisses as Gido's hands stroked soothingly down his back. They were so familiar, those hands, that touch, just... not quite this way around. It stunned Frau to realize he'd even shaped his behavior in bed after his captain, his hero, and done it without Gido ever touching him like this before. He had to bury his head against Gido's shoulder and laugh for a while over that. "Always," he whispered again, and Gido's arms tightened around him hard and strong.

"I'm proud of you," he said quietly against Frau's hair. When Frau pressed closer with a soft sound, he set his fingers under Frau's chin and lifted it, kissing him slow and deep. "So proud of you." He ran a hand slowly down Frau's body. "You never left us behind. You kept the laws of your people in your heart all your life." He wrapped a hand around Frau's cock and stroked him, strong and sure. "Don't ever believe you failed us Frau. You never did."

Frau was shaking in the curve of Gido's arm, wide eyed and shocked by the warmth of Gido's words twining around the hot pleasure of his touch. "Gido...!" He was clinging to Gido's shoulders, overwhelmed like he never had been with any other lover. Gido smiled down at him, that very same smile he'd given Frau when Gido had first accepted him on board, and Frau arched up against him, moaning as he came completely undone. Heat tore through him, and Frau shuddered with it, trusting himself blindly to the hands that held him and worked him through it.

When he finally stilled, panting against Gido's shoulder, Gido stroked his hair back and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I've wanted to tell you that for a long time," he murmured.

Frau stirred and smiled up at him. He'd wanted to hear that for a long time; he hadn't realized quite how much. "Thank you."

Gido gathered him a little closer, and held him quietly as Frau lay against him in the boneless warmth of the garden. Eventually the faint sound of Gido's heartbeat eased Frau into a doze.

When Frau woke up again, for a second he didn't remember where he was.

And then he did. Teito, Castor, Labrador, no...

Arms tightened around him when he flinched, and a strong hand slid up his back to knead his neck. "Easy, Frau. Easy."

"Gido." At least that part was real too.

"Right here." There was a grin in Gido's voice as he added, "Done with your beauty nap?"

Frau growled and gave him a shove, which just made Gido laugh.

"Well, in that case, maybe you want to get cleaned up?" Gido sat up and brushed at the flower petals stuck to his chest. "The flowers do kind of get everywhere," he muttered.

"Is there actually such a thing as a shower around here?" Frau wanted to know, rather skeptical. "I haven't seen a damn thing but gardens, fountains, and more gardens since I got here."

Gido's smile curled up in a way that made Frau instantly wary. "I'm sure we can find something that will work."

When he led Frau, through a few more gardens, to what apparently passed for a bath in Heaven, Frau had to just stare for a while. "This place is fucking nuts," he finally stated.

"It's Heaven, it goes a little overboard sometimes," Gido said easily, tossing his boots under one of the benches.

"A little?!"

They were standing at the edge of an insane cross between a fountain, a hot spring, and a reception hall. There were pools and pillars, steam and miniature waterfalls, basins of soap and towels and jars and bottles and (of course) flowers scattered all over.

"Quit being such a wuss and come scrub off," Gido ordered, wading into a pool with water spilling down from a spout shaped like a fucking dragon's mouth, and that was just disturbing. Frau glared, but followed after him.

"Who thought all this up?" he grumbled, ducking under the spout for a moment. He picked up a sponge a little dubiously, but that, at least, seemed to just be a normal sponge.

"You get used to it."

Frau paused, staring at the falling water for a moment, because Gido's voice seemed softer than it needed to be. "Gido—"

Arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him back against Gido's chest. "You'll never get clean at this rate," Gido murmured in his ear. "Want some help?" A soapy cloth, rough and nubbly under the suds, ran down his chest.

"Gido," Frau muttered, face a little hot. "For fuck's sake, I'm not a little kid."

"Mm, you know, I noticed that." Gido's hand, covered by the cloth, slid between Frau's legs, over his cock, to cup his balls gently.

"Fuck." Frau leaned back against Gido, breath suddenly short again. Gido just laughed, softly.

"Turn around, I'll get your back."

Frau thought that was backward, but he turned around anyway, and understood when Gido pulled Frau up tight against him. The cloth did scrub over his back, though, and Frau gave in and bent his head, laughing against Gido's shoulder. Slowly he ran his hands, and the sponge, over Gido's back in turn, tracing long, lean muscle and bone. They really were built a lot alike. Not surprising, he supposed, for two of the same House, no matter how wild and scattered that House was. He wondered who would be Zehel now, and whether they would get along with Castor and Labrador. Whether Zehel would protect Teito and that little firebrand Ouka, and their personal Oak, Hakuren.

"You're thinking too much," Gido said against his ear, and Frau gasped as the cloth slid down to rub slow and hard between his cheeks.

Frau leaned against him, hands splayed against Gido's back, and moaned as a finger pressed into him, wrapped in the wet roughness of the cloth. The sensation, the soft-and-rough texture pushing inside him, turned his legs shaky, and he was glad when Gido eased them both down to their knees in the heat of the water. "Stop worrying about the world," Gido murmured to him. "You're done with that responsibility for now."

"But everyone," Frau started, only to gasp as Gido gathered him closer and worked his fingers deeper into him.

"You love them," Gido whispered against his ear. "You saved them. You served them well, and now it's time to trust them, Frau."

Frau wrapped his arms around Gido's chest, panting against his shoulder. "I do," he insisted, ragged as Gido worked the cloth slowly in his ass.

"Then miss them," Gido told him gently. "But don't fear for them." He drew his hand and the cloth back, and Frau slumped against him, breathless.

"Will it really be all right?" he asked, low, and Gido took his face in both hands, dripping warm water as he lifted Frau's head to meet his eyes.

"It will be all right," he answered with such absolute certainty that Frau couldn't help but believe him. Frau nodded a little, accepting his leader's judgement, and Gido kissed him warm and easy. "Come on."

Frau was still just a little shaky around the knees, which Gido, predictably, took as an opportunity to draw him close again as they dried off. "Notice you kept this too," Gido murmured, leaning in to close his teeth lightly on the ear cuff Frau had inherited and tug gently.

Frau leaned against him with a soft moan, eyes half closed. "Fuck, Gido..."

"Well of course; you didn't think we were done yet, did you?" There was a definite gleam in Gido's eyes, and Frau thought about the way Gido had just cleaned him and had to swallow.

"Why?" he finally asked, quietly. Gido didn't pretend not to understand, just smiled and ruffled his fingers through Frau's drying hair.

"Because you need the distraction." His teeth flashed in a grin. "And because you've grown up very nicely." His hands slid down Frau's back to grip his ass and pull him in tighter, and Frau went because, really, he was pretty damn willing to be distracted now and figure out what he was being distracted from later. Teito had put his finger right on the truth, that one night; Gido had been like a god to Frau. Frau had loved Bastien, but it was Gido he'd dreamed about. Being bent over on his knees under Gido, in a muddle of velvety grass and wet towels, had him light-headed and panting even before long, strong fingers spread his ass.

When Gido's tongue dragged slowly over his entrance, response tightened so hard through Frau that he thought he might come from this alone. Gido was taking his time, tongue circling lazily, wet and hot and soft, until Frau was gasping against the towels and pushing back against Gido's hands. When he finally pushed his tongue into Frau, opening him up, Frau could only clutch at the grass and moan. It was good, soft and strong and hot, but it also made him hungry for more.

"Gido," he gasped, pushing back against him and shivering when Gido's hands tightened to hold him still.

"Mm." Slow thumbs worked circles over his ass. "More already?" Gido purred, teasing.

"Fuck yes, please." Frau made a low, wanting sound in his throat as Gido's cock pushed into him, hard and slow and slick with something. Probably from one of the goddamn bottles and jars around here, and oh god, ten years from now would Frau know what was in all of them too? He didn't want to think about that.

Fortunately, there were better things to concentrate on.

"Gido, fuck me," he half begged and half ordered, rocking back into the slow slide of Gido's cock. Gido laughed.

"Demanding, aren't you?" But his grip on Frau's hips shifted and he thrust into Frau so hard Frau saw stars.

"Yes," he moaned as Gido took him at his word and fucked him hard and sure. Gido was not a small man, and the burn of being stretched and filled by him ran down Frau's nerves sweet and hot. It was here and now and perfect, even if here was a bunch of fucking impossible gardens and he'd thought now was too late. It was hope, ground into his skin with every thrust, every stroke of Gido's hands down his ribs, that he'd come back to this, to this man, and maybe that meant the rest of his life and love wasn't gone forever either.

"It's all right, Frau." Gido's voice was husky and breathless, now. "It's all right. Let go." His hand wrapped around Frau's cock, strong and sure, and he drove into Frau's ass hard enough to lift him up off his knees. "Let go. You know I'll catch you."

The words raced through him like lightning, bright and wild, an explosion when they hit the building fire of body-pleasure. Frau cried out with the shock of it as sweetness scythed through him, so sharp it almost cut. It wrung his body out like a rag until he could barely breathe, only shudder with the force of it, of his response to Gido's care. Gido's low, vibrant moan answered him, deep as a kiss, and Frau gasped as Gido thrust hard into him and stilled.

"Fuck," Gido sighed, finally, and Frau could only make a wordless noise of agreement. He collapsed on the towels as Gido drew back and let him down, ass throbbing very pleasantly. The brush of Gido's lips over the back of his neck made him bend his head, shivering softly. Gido's hand stroked down his back, gentle.

"Too bad you weren't that quick to follow my orders back on the Aegis," he teased lightly.

Frau stirred and turned his head to look up at him, mouth quirking. "I always obeyed you."

Gido snorted and reached over to fish two cigarettes out of his coat pocket, offering one to Frau. "Bullshit."

Frau stole his lighter and sucked in a slow breath of smoke. "It's true," he insisted as Gido snatched the lighter back and cuffed him lightly. "I yelled at you and argued with you and called you every name I ever learned, when you were being stupid. But I never disobeyed you, once you actually gave an order."

Gido looked down at him for a long moment. "Yeah," he finally said softly, fingers sliding through Frau's hair. "I know." When he pulled Frau close again, Frau went willingly, content for a while to just soak up the warmth of being here, of being with Gido once again.

He figured they'd probably get around to the yelling again in time, but for now this was much better.

Eventually, after another couple cigarettes and another dunk in the crazed baths, they finally got around to getting dressed again. Frau thought about that for a while, leaning against Gido's knees. Gido was sprawled back on the marble edge of a fountain, which made a handy bench Frau supposed, but Frau had settled on the much softer grass at his feet. It had been a while since he'd been fucked that hard, after all. Besides, this meant Gido was combing his fingers slowly through Frau's hair, and Frau kind of wanted that comfort while he thought.

He thought he might know what Gido had been doing for the last few hours, and his guess warmed him and, at the same time, scared him that Gido had thought it was necessary. What had gone on right after he died, that Gido thought he needed to be braced or cushioned against it? Only one way to find out.

"So," he said quietly. "Am I calm enough, now? For you to let me see whatever it is that lets us watch the mortal world? To see what's happened to them?"

Gido's hand in his hair paused for a moment. "You always were sharp," Gido murmured. "Look at me."

Frau raised his head from Gido's knee and looked up to meet his eyes, dark and steady and serious. "Do you think you're ready?" Gido asked. "To see the people you love, ones you probably won't see in person for a long time?"

Frau remembered Gido asking him, in exactly that voice, if he was coming along, when he agreed to let Frau fly with him. He remembered that had been the last time he'd seen Magdalena. And then he had to close his eyes for a second and swallow hard.

"This was the first thing you taught me," he finally said, husky. "To gain something, you usually have to give something else up." And then he laughed, a little unsteady but true, remembering something else. "Well, maybe the second thing." He opened his eyes again and looked up at Gido with a tilted smile. "The first was If no one else will reach out their hand, I will. If it's important enough... you do it anyway."

The light of Gido's slow smile, the open pride in it, in him, made Frau glance aside, face a little hot. It was a small calm in his heart, though—a little place to stand and rest. He had done what needed to be done, what he knew was right, and he'd found one of his homes again on the other side of that choice.

"If you want to see it, I'll show you," Gido said, softly. Frau nodded silently and Gido stood, tugging Frau up with him.

As they walked through yet more of the endless gardens, Gido explained quietly. "There's a lake. We're pretty sure it's what the Lord of Heaven uses to keep an eye on the mortal world, but other souls can influence it around the edges, too. If the ones you want to see are present enough in your heart and mind, the lake will show them to you." His mouth twisted, eyes fixed ahead of them. "It's a mixed blessing, if it's a blessing at all. It nearly destroyed Kreuz. The last Vertrag," he added, glancing over at Frau. "Tiashe's guardian. What happened to the kid was... well. It was pretty bitter, even for those of us who'd only met the kid once. Kreuz was Tiashe's second dad; he nearly tore his soul apart, watching what those Barsburg bastards did to him and not being able to do a thing about it." He sighed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "In the end, Gala grew some mary-flower and made him sleep. These gardens listen a little to the blood of Profe, even when they're not Ghosts any more. Good thing, too. He's doing better these days, at least." Gido smiled over at him. "Helped when you and the kid met up."

Frau could understand, now, exactly why Gido had wanted to make sure Frau was settled down before showing him this lake, even if he was tempted to call the man an overprotective old hen. But then the bits of information rearranged themselves in his head and his feet froze to the ground.

"Frau?" Gido looked back over his shoulder, brows raised.

"So, um. Kreuz. Has been watching again, huh?" Frau swallowed. "Just how much has 'Teito's second dad' been watching?"

Gido blinked once or twice before it seemed to click for him too and he threw his head back and laughed, open and rich. "Oh, don't worry." That would have been more reassuring if Gido hadn't been snickering. "He thinks the two of you are cute. Got downright doting about it whenever Tiashe started bossing you around in bed."

"He did not..." Frau glared as Gido broke up laughing again. Gido just slung an arm around his shoulders.

"Yeah, kid, he really did. It was cute."

Frau let himself be towed along, growling under his breath.

The lake, he had to admit, was a little unnerving, when they got there. There were other people gathered here and there around the edge, and the looks on their faces made Frau's nerves tighten. The first thing he thought, seeing them, was Kor. All too many of them wore the expression of someone listening to a Kor. "Gido," he said, tight and quiet.

"A mixed blessing," Gido answered, low, not looking at him. "Ghosts aren't the only souls that can get stuck, here."

That tone, that not-look, were a warning Frau recognized from the Aegis. There was, perhaps, someone listening that they shouldn't speak too freely in front of. Some things were constants, whether in the celestial world or the mortal one. Considering they'd all figured it had been a celestial messenger that had really convinced the Pope to make Teito Pandora's Box, it wasn't all that surprising. Frau nodded, disarmingly casual, and knelt at the edge of the water.

The lapping wavelets stilled, smooth as glass, and Frau's breath caught to see Teito reflected there. He'd thought he would have to do more. But no, there was Teito, sitting with Hakuren and Ouka around a small round table stacked with paper and cluttered with carafes and glasses, as Kururu chased Mikage from chair back to chair back. Frau didn't realize how tight his fingers had closed on the grass of the shore until Gido's hands settled on his shoulders and squeezed.

He watched the three of them trade lists and portfolios around, listened to Ouka's opinion of this noble and Hakuren's thoughts on that priest and Teito's quiet remarks on some general, soft and clear as if they were in the next room. It hurt, like a fist closed around his heart, to see them, so clear and so distant. And it soothed too, to watch them, safe and alive and obviously planning to take over the world though none of them would probably put it that way.

And then Hakuren said, without looking up from his file, "A message came from Castor-sama today. They're safe back at the cathedral."

Teito flinched.

"Teito," Ouka said softly, reaching across to catch one of his hands.

"I'm all right," he said hastily. "It's fine."

Hakuren threw his folder on the table and glared at him. "You are not. When are you going to take your own advice and let yourself mourn for him?"

"We don't have time." Teito didn't sound very sure, though, and he was clinging to Ouka's hand.

"The world isn't falling apart this instant," Hakuren said firmly. "We have time." He pushed his chair back and came to kneel beside Teito's, hand on his shoulder. More gently, he added, "I miss Frau-sama too."

As if the name had been all it needed to unlock Teito's resistance, he slumped back in his chair with a stifled sound of grief, curling in on himself. Hakuren promptly pulled him out of the chair and into his arms, and Ouka came around the table to wind her arms around both of them.

"You loved him," she said softly, stroking Teito's hair as he shuddered. "And he was a good man. It's all right."

"So dark without him," Teito whispered roughly against Hakuren's shoulder, and Hakuren's arms tightened hard.

"Open your eyes," Hakuren ordered, rather husky himself. "Some of the light he showed you was your own, Teito, don't ever doubt that. Don't you dare."

Some muttering answered that, out of which Frau could only hear bossy. "Miss him," Teito added, a little more audibly. Ouka rested her cheek against his hair.

"You should miss him," she said softly. "When someone leaves, of course we miss them. It hurts less, with time, but we always miss them." She took a deep breath. "But that's just the proof that your heart and your light are alive. And that means you can keep on loving people, and they can help you when it hurts."

Teito broke down for real, then, shaking in their arms, and Frau watched them, eyes burning, as Hakuren and Ouka sat on the floor and held him through it. Mikage joined them to burrow against Teito's cheek and make anxious chirps at him, and when Teito finally lifted his head it was Mikage who got a damp smile. "Thanks," Teito said quietly, scrubbing a sleeve over his face. Hakuren tsked at him and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, and Teito rolled his eyes, and Ouka giggled, and they all relaxed a little.

Teito straightened and stretched slowly, and accepted a glass of water Hakuren poured him. "So." He glanced up reluctantly at the table full of paper. "Who should we be supporting for Field Marshal?"

"I think it will have to be Myers," Ouka said practically, tucking her skirts in around her knees and staying beside him. "He's the only one willing to even think about releasing the Raggs Kingdom slaves, even now we're betrothed."

Frau drew back from the water, softly as if they could hear him in turn, and their image faded, still arguing. The last thing he saw was Hakuren's hand brushing Teito's hair protectively. "Idiot," he whispered, husky. "The light was all your own."

"Who's the idiot, again?" Gido's voice startled him, and he squawked a bit when Gido pulled him in close and Frau more or less collapsed against him. He was shaking, he realized, tremors like a bone-deep chill. Gido's hand closed on the nape of his neck, strong and warm, kneading a little of the shaking out. "I swear, each of you brats is just as bad as each other."

"What... what do you mean?" Frau asked, pressing his forehead against Gido's shoulder and trying to catch his breath.

"I mean," Gido told him dryly, "that both of you have souls that burn so pure it's amazing you don't blind innocent onlookers; and neither of you seem to believe it."

The words brought back the brilliance of Teito's soul, the taste of it on his tongue, the warmth of it that promised to call Frau back from any darkness, and loss clawed at Frau all over again. Gido held him close and quiet as Frau's hands twisted tight in his coat, and Frau's breath caught and heaved with the pain.

"Listen to the girl's wisdom, Frau," Gido murmured to him. "And know that you'll see Tiashe again."

"But he won't stay, and I can't leave." That thought hurt almost as badly as losing Teito already had—it was going to happen again, and there was nothing he could do...

Gido sighed. "Idiot." He rapped Frau briskly over the head. "What did I just say about your soul?"

"But..." Frau pushed upright against him, staring. "You said the Ghosts..."

"Are stuck here for a while. But unless he dies unimaginably young for a master of the Eye of Mikhail, you'll be ready to go back with him." He smiled and ruffled Frau's hair. "Do try to remember why you're the only one of us who could handle that damn scythe. I'm not the foreseer among us, but I'll tell you this much of your future: Zehel's mark will be burned from your soul in plenty of time."

Frau leaned back into the shelter of Gido's assurance, shaken worse than ever by the thought that he might find Teito again, as he'd found Gido. "Thank you," he whispered. He didn't like to think about what might have happened to him at this lake if he hadn't had Gido to ground him and guide him through it.

"None needed," Gido told him gently. "Come on, then." He stood, urging Frau up with him. "Let's find you a place to stay."

"Is it going to be as insane as the baths?" Frau asked, casting a suspicious eye around at the unrelentingly out-doorsy landscape. Gido snorted.

"Not that bad. Most people aren't here long enough to need anything, and a lot of the ones who stay aren't in any shape to notice," he didn't look back at the captive souls by the lake, but Frau shivered anyway, "so there are only a few of us who use it. We're back in a corner by the woods."

It took a while to get anywhere near the woods, but eventually they came into sight of some very tall walls and spires. Walls which, as they got closer, formed a building very like the sector seven Cathedral—arched walkways here, open courtyards there, pillared halls leading inward. Gido chuckled as Frau craned his head back, taking in the complexity of it. "There's no record of which came first, this or the Cathedral, but we think it was probably this."

He led Frau inward. There were none of the distracted souls Frau had seen in the rest of the gardens, here. Instead they passed a handful of people who felt just a little familiar. A light haired man with Castor's nose looked up from a book and smiled as they passed his rooms. A slight, beautiful woman with Labrador's eyes waved to them from an enclosed courtyard and fountain. A man with the gold hair of the Oaks winked at them over the shoulder of a tall man with Teito's faint accent strong in his vowels, who was contemplating a chess board set between them.

"Welcome home," Gido said quietly, setting a hand on Frau's shoulder to guide him through another arch and into a wide room with a few heavy chairs, a table and shelves, a deep bed. It was so much like the bedrooms in the cathedral that Frau's breath caught.

"I was going to say this will take some getting used to," he said, looking around at the smooth, pale stone walls. "But maybe less than I was thinking."

"Usually," Gido agreed, leaning in the arch of Frau's new doorway. "You're not alone here, Frau. We're all in this together."

Frau rested a hand on the wall by his bed nook. It had half a dozen pillows, and a stack of silky, folded blankets at the foot. That silent welcome and the knowing eyes of the ex-Ghosts they'd passed settled around him, warm and steady, and he took a long, slow breath. For the first time since he'd arrived in Heaven, he felt like he had a stable place to stand.

Maybe he'd make it until his other loved ones came back to him after all.

Which reminded him of the one he'd found here, all unexpected, and he cocked his head at Gido thoughtfully. "So, hey."

Gido's brows rose as Frau strolled back over to him. "Hm?"

"You said you wanted to get me settled, here, when you found me earlier." Frau reached out to rest a hand on Gido's chest, smiling to feel the beating heart under his hand. "Think you might help me get used to the new place?" He tilted his head at the bed.

Gido laughed and reached out without moving from his casual lean against the door to pull Frau up against him. "I really did miss you, brat," he said, resting his forehead against Frau's, eyes warm. "It'll be my pleasure."

"Well, then." Frau relaxed against him with a soft sigh, finding the words easy at last.

"I'm home."

End

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Sixteen

In the aftermath of the attack, Naruto talks with the Nine-tails, Sasuke frets over Jiraiya, and Jiraiya has to deal with Nagato and Konan (kleenex advisory). Drama, I-4

Kakashi sat by Naruto's bed, reading and watching the clock, and wondering who was going to appear next. He calculated that his order for Sasuke and Sakura to get some more rest would hold for another two hours or so, Hinata was on duty keeping watch on the sea, Chouji was watching over Shikamaru, and Ino had been in three people ago. According to the averages he'd calculated over the past thirty-eight hours, the next person to stop and check on Naruto should be another from Leaf, but who was most likely?

It was a usefully distracting thing to think about while Naruto lay unconscious, and Kakashi had further calculated that he was getting almost three times the information, sitting here talking to visitors, that he otherwise would have heard as commander of the Leaf contingent.

Right on time, plus or minus five minutes, there was a tap at the door and it was Iruka who looked in. Kakashi nodded, satisfied; he'd guessed either Iruka or Sai, and the latter probability wasn't for reasons he would like. Sai had been watching Naruto the entire time they'd been here, and Kakashi had his suspicions about exactly whose orders the boy was under.

"How is he?" Iruka asked softly.

Kakashi smiled behind his mask; definitely better a visit from Iruka. "Still asleep. Still recovering. Maeda has invented, at last count, five new names to call Naruto while attending him, and that seems like a good sign." At Iruka's blink he elaborated, "Maeda only yells at his patients once they're out of danger, I've noticed."

Iruka came to sit carefully on the edge of Naruto's bed, as if he didn't want to wrinkle the rough, blue blanket, and brushed some unruly blond hair back with a gentle hand.

"How is Shikamaru?" Kakashi asked, offering a little distraction in turn.

Iruka flushed. "Ah. That's what I was coming to report, actually. He's conscious, and the other medic from Mist says he'll be fine once he recovers his strength." Iruka's eyes darkened. "He drained himself completely, holding that Shadow Binding so long. But," Iruka brightened a little, "I think it helped in the long run. Being so instrumental in defending Naruto from Akatsuki, I mean. He seems a little more at peace, now."

"Good," Kakashi said, and meant it. He hadn't been thrilled with the idea of having another revenge-mad shinobi under his command right after Sasuke had finally settled down. "And how are the prisoners?"

Iruka frowned down at the bed. "Nagato is still out, even deeper than Naruto. Maeda-san judges that he's in a coma and can't say whether he'll actually come out of it. There's been some discussion of asking Motoki-san, the interrogation specialist Valley brought, to attempt entering his mind."

"Hm." Kakashi crossed an ankle over his knee, leaning back in his rickety camp chair to think about the things Valley's Yuzuki had said when she'd visited yesterday. "From what I hear, Konan might be a surer target. As long as we agree to keep Nagato alive, I expect she'd be willing to tell us whatever we want." He tapped a finger on his knee and ordered, "Mention that to Darui-san, when you go back out." After a moment of hesitation he added, "It is still Darui-san, isn't it?"

Iruka bowed his head. "Jiraiya-sama still says that he isn't objective enough to make decisions about Nagato and Konan, yes." He sighed, one hand sneaking out to close on Naruto's forearm. "It must be extremely difficult for him, to face one of his own students who's run so very mad."

Bad luck had certainly seemed to attend the students of the Hokage and candidates for generations, Kakashi reflected. Sarutobi and Orochimaru. Jiraiya and Nagato. Minato-sensei and Obito, and the Fourth hadn't lived long enough to teach his own son at all. Kakashi could only hope he and Tsunade had broken the chain. "Maybe I should send Sasuke to see Jiraiya, next time he shows up down here," he mused.

Iruka laughed at that. "Sasuke has been in to see him more than once. There's usually yelling. I'm surprised you haven't heard it all the way across the building, here."

"I think they chose this for the hospital building because of the thick walls," Kakashi murmured, amused. "Speaking of yelling," he added, cocking his head. Yes, that sounded like Karin's voice coming down the hall, all right.

"...don't understand, what I do is a bloodline talent," she was saying as she swept into the room followed by Darui. "I wind it up and let it go, it's not like what a medic does! So what if Naruto's system is too messed up to send the chakra where it needs to go? What if it goes to the Nine-tails instead?! That would just screw the guy up even more! It's not a good risk until he's awake again."

Darui sighed. "Well, it was worth asking." He nodded to Kakashi. "How's the kid doing?"

Kakashi checked the clock; this was earlier than the next visitor was due, by his estimate. Darui must have a particular reason for coming. "He's sleeping normally, if unwakeably. Has something come up?"

Darui leaned against the wall, arms folded, as Karin drifted over to fuss with Naruto's blanket. "I hear that his seal changed, after he transformed. Is that normal for Konoha's hosts?" Unspoken was the second half of the question or is it something to worry about?, and Kakashi set his book aside and folded his hands as he considered how best to answer.

"The Leaf's hosts have not, previously, manifested the Nine-tails," he said at last. "So this isn't exactly normal, no. But I don't think it's cause for alarm. The Eight Trigrams seal is made up of two subsidiary seals. One of those was released, but the other remains." He hesitated, but the fact was there was only one person on the Island who knew more, no matter how much that person wanted privacy right now. "I didn't know his mother well, but Jiraiya-san did. He can tell you if I'm right or not. I suspect the seals are layered, one to contain the Nine-tails in the body of the host, and the second to hold it back from the host's spirit. I believe Naruto released the second one."

"Shredded it is more like," Karin muttered, looking down at Naruto penetratingly. "Just look at this mess! It's like he just went and ripped it apart with his bare will!"

Kakashi's mouth quirked ruefully. "Yes. He probably did."

Karin looked up to glower at him. "Well, teach him how to do it better!" She went back to fussing with the blanket, eyes softening. "He has lovely chakra, it deserves better."

Kakashi stored that observation away to repeat to Naruto when he woke up, in case he needed to fluster his student into compliance with the medics. He opened a hand at Darui. "So I don't think there's any risk to the Nine-tails' containment, though I imagine it and Naruto will benefit from some further instruction if B-san is willing."

The hard line of Darui's shoulders relaxed. "Good," he murmured. "That's good." He closed his eyes for a moment, looking as if he wanted to just go to sleep right there against the wall. Clearly, it had been a hard day and a half for him, cleaning up after Akatsuki's attack. Kakashi sympathized completely, and with a reasonable amount of terror as he stared down the length of a blade named "Rokudaime Hokage", which was going to be even worse.

A rap on the door interrupted them, and B stuck his head through. "So, hey, how's the kid?"

Kakashi checked the clock reflexively and smiled. Right on time.

For the first little while, Naruto thought he was dreaming. He was standing on bottomless water, and every movement stirred ripples across it. The sky was light; not blue, just light. There were huge rocks here and there, like some kind of rock garden only with water instead of gravel under it. And that was all.

At least he thought that was all. But eventually he realized that the Nine-tails was lying next to him apparently sleeping, chin resting on one paw, and had been for a long time; he had no idea how he could have not noticed.

One huge ear flicked at him. "Awake at last?" the fox rumbled.

"I... guess so?" Naruto looked around. "Is this real?"

The fox snorted, rippling the water in front of his nose. "It's your spirit, idiot kit, you tell me."

"Huh." Naruto sat down crosslegged beside the fox's head. "So how come we're both in here?"

"Because your spirit hasn't repaired itself sufficiently for your consciousness to touch the world again."

Naruto puzzled at that. "So... I'm injured, huh? From the seal?"

"Indeed." One red eye opened and looked at him sternly. "What kind of fool tries to tear apart a seal instead of releasing it?"

"Well, I don't know how to release it," Naruto explained reasonably. "I'm not much good with seals, really, and besides no one ever taught me Eight Trigrams."

The fox actually clapped a paw over his face.

Naruto rubbed a hand over the back of his head, sheepish. "I'll, um, learn it, okay?" He supposed he really should if he meant to release the fox before his death, which he kind of did at this point. "Oh, hey, that reminds me." He leaned back on his hands looking up at the fox. "You said your yin chakra was sealed, right? What seal is that? I'll look that one up too." Maybe the fox would be less cranky once his chakra was properly balanced again and not chained up or whatever.

The fox lifted his head to look down at him, unreadable. "The Ten Stems Twelve Branches Seal," he said after a long moment. "It creates a separate world to contain whatever is sealed, and that world is forever severed from this one."

Naruto stopped still, eyes wide. "My dad... did that?" he asked in a small voice.

The fox turned his head away to look out over the water and stone. "Minato of the Leaf apologized," he said at last, the rumble of his voice distant. "He said he knew I was being controlled. But that seal was one of the few that would last beyond his death, and the only one of those that would not cause me great pain."

Naruto slumped a little. "I guess I can understand that, considering Madara was still trying to get you," he said slowly. Abruptly he sat back up. "Hey, wait a minute. If it's completely separated, and that was your spiritual strength, that means..." He stared up at the fox, face cold as his blood drained out of it and the magnitude of that kind of amputation on a spirit creature hit him. "Nine-tails!"

A shudder ran through the length of the fox and he threw up his muzzle. "Why the hell do you think I've been so damn infuriated all this time?!" he howled, fit to break the sky with the sound.

Naruto winced, but he also reached out again, gripping the fox's foreleg with both hands. "I said I'd heal you and I will," he yelled, and sighed as the echoes of the fox's howl died away across the water. "Tsunade-baachan will know how to do it. She could even heal someone from something like the Dead Demon Consuming seal. I'll get her help."

The fox's ears and brows both went up. "You think she'll actually consent?"

Naruto scowled, folding his arms stubbornly. "It's not right! It's not right to keep your chakra unbalanced like that! I don't care how important it was to stop you then, it isn't right!" He set his jaw. "I'll convince her."

After a moment, the fox snorted and settled back down beside him. "Somehow I'm not surprised."

Naruto grinned a little and leaned against his shoulder, ignoring the growl he got for that. "Good. You're learning."

Sasuke sat perched in the broad stone window of Jiraiya's room in the makeshift hospital, watching his teacher brood. It wasn't really obvious, he supposed, not like the way he brooded himself, or the way Kakashi-sensei sometimes did. But Jiraiya's eyes were distant and despite his smooth expression there were tiny, tight lines at the corners of his mouth. Yelling hadn't worked so far, to stop those lines. It was time to try something more serious, and hope he got it right. He wished Naruto were awake to help; he always seemed to get it right without thinking.

Sasuke sighed and pulled up a knee and wrapped his arms around it, looking out the window at the sun falling over smashed trees and walls. "So he's more important than we are?" he asked quietly. From the corner of his eye he saw Jiraiya start.

"Of course not," the old man said gruffly. "Nagato is just... a little more obtrusive at the moment. He's the one who just tried to kill the lot of us, after all."

"Ah." Sasuke let that lie for a moment before he added, "So failure is more significant than success. After all," he went on before Jiraiya could protest. "Naruto just saved the lot of us." And Jiraiya was one of Naruto's teachers, too.

Jiraiya closed his mouth and slumped back against the pillows folded up behind him. "I think I taught you a little too well," he grumbled.

A corner of Sasuke's mouth tugged up; he had to admit there was some definite satisfaction in turning his teacher's annoyingly thought-provoking techniques back around on him. "Yes, you did. So obviously you can't be a failure as a teacher."

Jiraiya hunched down a bit, a lot the way Naruto did when he was getting stubborn, and Sasuke snorted. He was quiet for a while, watching the Island's gray and brown birds flitting through the rearranged forest around the encampment. At last he said, quietly, "When we caught up with Itachi... to make it right, to make it the justice of my clan as well as my village, I had to outlaw him. I had take responsibility for Uchiha to do that, and for a while I thought that meant I was responsible for him too. But I wasn't. I'm not. It was his choices and actions that outlawed him and no matter..." Sasuke stopped and had to swallow before he could go on, husky, sunlight blurring in his eyes, "no matter how much I loved him, that was him. Not me. And not Uchiha." He blinked his eyes clear again, still looking outward while he listened to the silence inside the room. Finally he added, softly, "It was something you said that made me realize that."

When he finally looked around, Jiraiya had his head bowed over crossed arms. "Are you saying that there's responsibility I need to take here?" the old man asked.

Sasuke thought about that, about what it meant to teach. To lead. "Yes," he said at last. "Just not the kind you've been thinking of."

"Ruthless, aren't you?" Jiraiya murmured. A laugh caught Sasuke, at that.

"Yeah. That's one of the things Uchiha is." He swung his legs off the window and came to stand beside Jiraiya's bed, looking down with a tiny smile. "I decided that it would be."

Just as Jiraiya had told him to decide.

The answering smile, when Jiraiya looked up, had a wry tilt to it, but the tight lines at the corners of his mouth were easing. Jiraiya unfolded his arms and flexed his shoulders. "All right, you've said your piece. Don't you have some duty or other to get to?"

Sasuke let himself thump back against the wall with a sigh, reminded. "Not really, not until—"

The door crashed open, hard enough to chip the stone of the wall, and Sakura stood panting in the opening, eyes wide and hair wild. "Sasuke! Naruto's awake!"

Fear that Sasuke had been pushing relentlessly down for two days snapped loose and shot Sasuke forward at a dead run, sprinting down the halls and pushing off walls as he took the corners. Sakura was right on his heels as they piled into Naruto's room, and a corner of Sasuke's mind was pleased to note that Jiraiya was right behind her. But most of him was lit up with the pure relief of seeing his friend, his family, sitting up in bed with blue eyes open and tracking what was around him. There was a yelp from somewhere as Sasuke skidded to a stop by the bed and seized Naruto's shoulders. "Are you okay?" he demanded.

Naruto blinked at him. "Um..."

"That," Maeda-san grated from where he was wedged up against the wall by the force of Sasuke and Sakura's entrance, "is what we were determining. If you don't mind."

"I'm okay," Naruto assured them as Sasuke reluctantly let go of him and edged back. "Honest. Taking off half the seal was just a lot of work on top of everything else." He looked past them and broke into a sunny smile. "Ero-sennin can wiggle his toes and everything, though, right?"

"I'm completely fine," Jiraiya assured him, smiling back with his own relief clear in his eyes. "Thanks to you, I understand."

"As I told you already," Maeda pointed out. "Now if everyone doesn't shut up and keep out of my way, I'm going to throw all of you out of the room until this examination is done."

Sasuke and Sakura reluctantly backed off under his medical glower to stand against the wall next to Kakashi-sensei, who was watching the whole performance with amusement clear in the crinkle of his eye. As Maeda prodded at Naruto and made him stand on one foot and grip things, though, Sasuke and Sakura exchanged a questioning look, starting to be worried again. Naruto wasn't acting like himself. He was cooperating quietly and hadn't demanded food once, so far.

"All right," Maeda said at last, "your chakra seems to have replenished itself and you have less weakness than I'd have expected after fifty hours asleep." He stood back with his hands on his hips, surveying his patient. "I guess all the legends about the Uzumaki clan were true."

Naruto winced just a little at that, and Sasuke frowned. He knew that wince—knew it from the inside. Naruto was worried about his family or clan for some reason.

Naruto nodded along quietly as Maeda listed the things he wasn't supposed to do (exert himself) or was supposed to do (eat and exercise lightly) for the next week, and, as soon as Maeda finished, Naruto looked over at Jiraiya.

"Hey. You... you knew my parents, right? Pretty well?"

"Very well, I'd say," Jiraiya answered, brows raised. "Is there something you need to know?"

Naruto chewed on his lip and Sasuke abandoned the wall to come lay a hand on his shoulder even as Sakura tugged Naruto back down to the edge of the bed and sat beside him with an arm around him. Naruto's shoulders were tight under his hand.

"It's... I mean, I know you weren't there, and no one really saw much of the fight, but..." Naruto wound his fingers together and clasped them between his knees, looking down at them. "Nine-tails says my dad cut away his yin chakra. Sealed it with Ten Stems Twelve Branches. And I just... why? Why would he do something that extreme, that permanent?"

Maeda's breath hissed in past his teeth, and Kakashi-sensei's smile-crinkles vanished into a level, waiting look. Sasuke slid onto the bed behind Naruto, pressing close along with Sakura to support their partner.

Jiraiya let out a slow breath, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Naruto. Tsunade has taught you compassion and the strength to heal, and those are good things. But she's also taught you to kill hasn't she?"

Naruto nodded, watching Jiraiya with dark eyes. "When there's no other way."

"When there's no other way, yes," Jiraiya repeated, gently. "The Nine-tails had just attacked the village for a second time, and killed all too many of our mature shinobi. If he was being controlled, it was, in a way, all the worse. That meant it might well happen again, because we hadn't caught his controller yet. And once Madara had escaped... what else could Minato do, to protect his village, but ensure that the Nine-tails would be weakened? And I know he would have wanted to protect you as much as possible, to ensure the Nine-tails couldn't overwhelm you while you were a baby."

"If he worried that much, why did he seal it in me at all?" Naruto muttered. "Why not someone who could agree to it?"

Jiraiya sighed and rocked forward in his chair to lay a hand on Naruto's knee. "I believe there were two reasons for that. One was that your bloodline was the only one in the village with a proven ability to hold the Nine-tails without damage to yourself. And the other..." Jiraiya smiled a little. "He believed in you. I know that for certain."

Naruto swallowed hard and Sakura tightened her arm around him. "When there's no other way," he said, husky. "That... that's why my dad apologized to Nine Tails, I guess."

"You know," Sakura said, hesitantly, "he might have thought it wouldn't be permanent. Chakra does regenerate, a lot more often than the body alone. And Ten Branches Twelve Stems wouldn't have the complications some of the other permanent seals do. That would just... cut it away. Maybe he thought the fox could grow it back in time."

"It's not impossible," Maeda agreed, watching Naruto with a medical sort of frown. "It would take hundreds of years, most likely, for an amputation on that scale and for something as powerful as a tailed beast. But it's not impossible."

Naruto straightened up, and Sasuke breathed a silent sigh of relief, feeling his tension turn into more familiar determination. "Right, then. I hope he did think that; but, whatever he thought, I'll make it happen. And a lot faster than a few hundred years, too!"

"Not right away!" Maeda snapped, looking seriously alarmed. "Not this week, not next week, not this month! You will not engage in major healings for at least six weeks, is that clear?"

Naruto looked over his shoulder at the man, pouting. "I wasn't gonna do it right away."

"Yes," Maeda said, eyes narrowing. "You were."

Naruto hunkered down guiltily and Sakura broke into helpless giggles against his shoulder. "He's gotten to know you," she said, grinning.

"We'll make sure he doesn't overtax himself," Sasuke assured the medic. And, when Naruto stirred under his hands in protest, added blandly, "I'm sure the Hokage will want to be involved."

Naruto winced, probably in anticipation of what his teacher would say about everything he'd been doing lately, which had been more or less the idea. Sasuke nodded to himself, satisfied, and glanced over at his own teacher.

Jiraiya was sitting up straight again, like he knew what his spine was there for, and his smile was finally more than just a stretch of his mouth. Sasuke settled against Naruto's back, finally relaxing. All his people were better, now.

"So, hey," Naruto said, straightening up again. "Is B-san okay? What happened with him? What happened while I was sleeping?" His stomach growled, and he added without pausing for breath, "I want food, you can tell me what happened over food, right?"

Jiraiya laughed. "He's recovered," he told Maeda, and stood up. "Sakura and Sasuke can fill you in over lunch." His eyes met Sasuke's for a moment. "I have some other things to see to, right now."

Sasuke smiled a little. "Come on," he told Naruto, and added as they turned down the hall, "B is fine. Not that the Akatsuki woman was easy to deal with, from what everyone said, but it sounds like Temari and Kurotsuchi of the Rock make a very good team against a paper user..."

Kakashi watched Jiraiya watching their three young shinobi leave, shadowed by Maeda, most likely to make sure Naruto ate as well as talked. The old man looked more awake and alive than he had for days; good.

"So," Jiraiya murmured, folding his arms. "When is Tsunade getting here?"

Kakashi straightened in his chair, startled. "Ah..."

Jiraiya turned to look at him, one corner of his mouth quirked up. His eyes were sharp again. "Her student does something most think is impossible and then knocks himself unconscious transforming completely? Don't try to tell me you didn't send a bird to her immediately. When's she due?"

Kakashi relaxed back into his chair with a sigh of heartfelt relief at the return of that sharpness. "Day after tomorrow, I expect, as close as the Turtle is to the Fire coast." And he'd been going to set her on Jiraiya if Sasuke hadn't been able to get through before then. He smiled behind his mask. "Something you wanted to do before then?"

"Not particularly, but it's something I need to do anyway." One of Jiraiya's hands drifted back to touch his main scroll. "I need to talk to Nagato."

"He's still unconscious," Kakashi observed neutrally. Would Jiraiya really...?

"There are ways to deal with that."

Kakashi searched Jiraiya's face, finding lines of determination and a little grimness, but not the shock and despair that had made the man's eyes so empty and distant lately. "Is this something the whole command group should hear?" he asked quietly.

Jiraiya sighed. "Yes, I expect it is."

Kakashi bowed his head to their commander, vanishing his book. "I'll get them."

By the time he rounded everyone up and came along with Darui and Samui to the low building that had been turned into the mission's prison, Jiraiya was already finishing his argument with the younger of Mist's two medics.

"...clearly understood that I think this is unwise," the young man was saying, frowning as he stood in the doorway to Nagato's room.

"It is. It's also necessary," Jiraiya told him flatly, and the boy finally sighed and stood aside.

"Jiraiya-san is recovered?" Darui murmured to Kakashi, very quietly. Kakashi nodded just a bit, and smiled to himself as the tight line of Darui's shoulders eased. Jiraiya had led them well so far, on this mission, and just about everyone had gotten to at least respect him. Half the inquiries he'd fielded about Naruto's recovery had somehow managed to include a segue to Jiraiya.

And now, he suspected, they were about to get another reason for that respect.

The woman, Konan, looked up from her chair at Nagato's bedside as they all filed into the long room where she and Nagato were being held. She looked different without her Akatsuki robe, less like a cipher and more familiar to them all—a mature kunoichi in snug halter and pants that showed hard muscles and the straightness of her spine. Her mouth flinched when she saw Jiraiya and she looked back down at the Wood cuffs that Yasumori Takuma was currently holding on her wrists. "Jiraiya-san," she said, level and quiet.

"Konan," he greeted her steadily and looked down at the figure on the bed, face still hollow with the chakra he'd consumed and expended. "Nagato is still unconscious?" At her nod he sighed. "I'm going to have to wake him."

Her head jerked up at that, cloud-gray eyes wide. "I can tell you whatever you need to know!" she protested. "Don't...!" She bit it off as he touched her hair gently, where she had worn her paper flower.

"No, Konan," Jiraiya told her gently. "I'm afraid you can't tell me this."

"It was Yahiko's death," she whispered, staring up at him. "And if Nagato's plan could keep that kind of thing from happening—over and over again!—how could I not help?"

"Even when your own hands made it happen, over and over again, ever since you joined Akatsuki?"

"And how are you different?" she ripped back at him.

Jiraiya crouched down in front of her, wrapping his hands around hers. "I'm different because I keep trying," he said softly. "Instead of giving in to despair because there's no simple answer." He gave her a wry, tilted smile. "Not one that doesn't involve destroying everything, at least. Destruction is simple, I'll give you that. But it won't actually fix anything. I don't know whether I can fix this either," he went on, nodding to Nagato's still body, "but I'll try. That's the only thing that truly lets us move forward. Remember that, all right?"

She bit her lip hard, staring at him with fierce, wounded eyes, and finally, slowly nodded. Kakashi watched the gathered shinobi, the smile on Kitsuchi's face and the impatience on Kurotsuchi's, the relief in Darui's eyes and the respect in Haruto of the Grass', Tomita of the Sound's quiet waiting and the way Kankurou drew nearer his sister and rested a hand on her back though neither of their expressions changed in the slightest. The part of him that had still been on guard, waiting to see whether Jiraiya's incapacitation these past days would break his ability to command the mission, finally eased.

Jiraiya straightened and turned to the Yasumori siblings. "Will you be able to hold your bindings on him, if I can wake him?"

"Both of us together should, since they're already in place," Yuzuki answered, folding her hands into the Snake to match her sibling. "Go ahead."

Kakashi perked up when Jiraiya summoned two small and old-looking toads. He'd heard that Jiraiya had a technique he used with his summons, but he'd never seen it or spoken himself with anyone who had.

He thought, with some hidden amusement, he might understand why when Jiraiya changed, eyes turning slotted, chin hairy, nose large and warty, because at the first muffled "Eugh..." from Samui Jiraiya's shoulders slumped. He actually looked mournful, alarming face and all, until the female toad jabbed him in the ear with one purple elbow.

"Get your mind back on the job," she ordered briskly, and Jiraiya sighed and straightened.

He looked far more imposing when he stepped forward and held his hands out over Nagato, and those strange eyes turned distant. Karin gasped, one hand pressed tight over her mouth when Kakashi glanced over at her.

"What?" Souta of the Grass murmured.

"He's... that's... that's nature energy," Karin whispered, staring. "Unformed! Unchanged! How is it not... oh." She pushed her glasses up her nose with a slow breath. "The toads are channeling it for him, so it doesn't burn him out. Still. To handle that much of it—" she broke off with a choked sound as Jiraiya lowered his hands to Nagato's chest.

"Nagato," Jiraiya called, and Kakashi flipped his forehead protector up abruptly to watch with his Sharingan because he swore the name had made the room ripple, even to normal sight. With the Sharingan, he could see the riptide of chakra Jiraiya was handling more clearly and understood why Karin was leaning back against the stone wall, trembling.

He could also see that Konan was tense and poised on the edge of attacking, cuffs or no cuffs, and when he spoke it was as much to her as to the rest of the command group. "He's reminding Nagato's body and mind of how it fits into the world. Like digging a hole deeper so water flows down into it." And if he lost control of that chakra-form he was holding to make the space of Nagato's body-and-soul resonate, Nagato would burn out like tinder in an instant. But he didn't think this was the moment to mention that part.

Seconds ticked by, stretching the atmosphere of the room tighter and tighter, and when Nagato finally stirred and Jiraiya lifted his hands, a shiver ran through the entire group. Konan pushed forward off her chair to kneel by Nagato's bed, bound hands closing tight on his shoulder.

"Nagato," Jiraiya called again, quietly this time. Slowly, Nagato's eyes opened, blank and dark as he stared up at Jiraiya.

"Why am I alive?" he finally asked, voice rough and cracking.

"Because Naruto is more stubborn than you and the Nine-tails put together, I'd say," Jiraiya answered dryly, which provoked a rustle of amusement from everyone who'd had to deal with Naruto during this mission. More soberly, he asked, "Did you intend to die?"

Nagato's eyes shifted to look up at the ceiling. "That would be one form of peace."

"Nagato," Konan whispered, fierce denial ringing through even that single word. After a fumbling moment, Nagato lifted both his bound hands to rest on hers, on his shoulder.

"I would have stopped it," he husked. "The pain."

"No," Jiraiya said quietly, "you would only have changed the shape of it. Just as many would have died. Just as many would have grieved. Nothing would truly have changed." He sighed and released his technique, melting back into his familiar form, and now Kakashi could see more clearly the sorrow etching age's lines deeper into his face. "Nagato," he said, softly, reaching out a hand to the thin young man on the bed, "if you can't do any more than what you have, you don't have to. It's all right."

Kakashi frowned behind his mask, trying to make sense of that, hearing a whisper of puzzlement from the command group behind him.

"What else is my life for, then?" Nagato asked. "Why else am I alive and not Yahiko? Why else do I have these eyes? You said it yourself."

Jiraiya sat heavily on the side of the bed. "I never meant to lay that kind of fate on you. To find peace for the world isn't the kind of burden any one person can carry alone. We all carry it together."

Nagato laughed at that, breathy and bitter. "The only place everyone together is carrying the world is down into blood and death."

Jiraiya looked down at him thoughtfully. "After so long with Akatsuki, I'm not surprised you think so," he finally said, "but consider that you are still alive. That was Naruto's doing, and Naruto himself is still alive and sane because of his team, his yearmates, his teachers, the friends he's made in his village and in others." Jiraiya's mouth quirked. "He'll tell you, if you ever ask him, that he's going to become Hokage and change things. Everything. The village and the ninja and international politics and the nature of humanity. But he's only added all those bigger things once he started making more friends and allies." He reached out and rested one broad, roughened hand on Nagato's chest, over his heart. "What friends and allies do you have, to help you carry this?"

Nagato was looking at Jiraiya again, instead of the ceiling, uncertain now, clinging to Konan's hands. "After Yahiko died? Konan."

"And me," Jiraiya added gently, and Nagato's chest heaved with the abrupt breath he sucked in. Kakashi thought those fixed, ringed eyes filmed with water for a moment. "But even then," Jiraiya went on as though he hadn't noticed, "that isn't enough to carry such a large burden." He smiled. "So it's all right to put it down. It's all right."

Now Kakashi understood what Jiraiya had said earlier, and was impressed all over again by Jiraiya's compassion and insight; truly, this was the teacher who had saved Sasuke from his own demons. All around the room, he saw shoulders fall and crossed arms loosen and eyes widen with similar understanding. Karin, he was a little amused to note, was positively blushing as she watched Jiraiya.

"It took Naruto to remind me, and Sasuke to make me listen," Jiraiya said quietly, "but all we can do, any of us, is the best we can at the time. And then we have to keep trying to make the outcome better. That's the trick. Whether it's the results of our own actions or our parents' or even our opponents', we have to keep trying to make it come out better. That's how we move forward, Nagato; not carried on the back of one person, but hand to hand down the years, all of us going on as best we can." He leaned forward and rested his hand over Nagato's and Konan's. "All you have to be is your own pair of hands, alongside all those of your friends. That's all."

"Is it really all right, after all this? Can I really stop?" Nagato asked, suddenly sounding very young. He looked from Jiraiya to his partner. "Konan?"

Konan's lashes were wet and Kakashi saw Yuzuki's hands slide quietly into the Ram as Konan wrapped her suddenly freed arms around Nagato. "You can stop," she whispered against his hair. "It will be all right. I'm sorry I didn't see."

Nagato laughed unsteadily, pressing his face against her shoulder. "I'm the one with the eyes, and I didn't either," he said, soft and muffled. Jiraiya rested his hand on Konan's head, watching them with soft eyes and for a long moment there was no other sound in the room than the two partners finding each other again.

Finally, though, Darui stirred. "I hate to be the one who breaks this up, but... I really don't think the Kage and Masters will be all right with two ex-Akatsuki members wandering around loose, even if they say they're not interested in world conquest any more."

"Ah." Jiraiya looked just a little shifty. "Well, as to that. I thought, you know, there are theoretical techniques that can suppress chakra expression. And I expect Tsunade will be here to check on Naruto any day. If she could do that, they could return to Leaf with me..."

Konan sat up, wiping her eyes with the back of a hand. "We don't belong to the Leaf, though," she said softly, still looking down at Nagato, one hand stroking back his hair.

"No, you don't." Choujuurou stepped forward from the back of the group where he usually wound up, and people parted before the levelness of his gaze. "You belonged to the Rain once. Is that still so?"

Nagato frowned a little, and it was Konan who met Choujuurou's eyes, just as steady as he was. "Hidden Rain is still my home."

Choujuurou nodded as though he'd expected to hear that, and looked around at the command group. "Even when Kisame-senpai was one of Akatsuki, even when he was killed in their service, he was still of the Mist. His body and sword were welcomed home. Let them return to Hidden Rain."

"Hanzou will just kill them," Jiraiya objected, and then paused. "Well." He scratched his nose thoughtfully. "Probably. It's hard to tell with him, sometimes. He does respect fighting spirit." He smiled crookedly, looking down at Konan's lifted chin and straight back.

"You said change was the work of many hands." Konan looked back at Nagato, hands tightening around his. "We were not alone, in Rain. You know we weren't."

"I don't think I know what I'm doing any more, though." Nagato's eyes were fixed on her as if the two of them were alone.

She smiled and leaned down to kiss his forehead. "That's all right. Rest and think until you do. I carry on Yahiko's spirit too; I'll do the planning for this one."

Nagato's smile was soft and trusting, and Kakashi felt a bit like an intruder just seeing it. "All right."

Jiraiya nodded quietly and stood. "Will the villages trust me to see these two back to their own land, then?" he asked, looking around at the gathered representatives.

"Be good for Hanzou to have something at home to worry about," Souta grunted, and, despite an admonishing look at his second in command, Haruto nodded agreement.

Yuzuki gestured to her brother, who flicked his hands through five seals, separating Nagato's hands as well though the Wood cuffs remained. "Hidden Valley agrees."

"However it comes out, it seems like a just solution," Tomita said.

"Nagato seems little more danger than Hanzou already was," Kitsuchi allowed dryly, hands on his hips.

"Our brother will find this acceptable, I believe," Temari agreed quietly.

Darui was silent for a long moment, staring down at his crossed arms. "I doubt the Raikage will be very happy with it," he said at last. "But as the other villages all seem to agree I'm going to go ahead and say do it." A corner of his mouth quirked up. "A-sama will yell no matter what; when he calms down he'll probably talk himself around to the idea."

Jiraiya smiled and Kakashi could see the tension easing out of his arms and face. "Good. Once Tsunade gets here, then, I'll take these two home."

Kakashi winced at the thought of the Hokage being stressed over what her student had been doing to himself and not having her old teammate there to take out her temper on. "You just want to be out of range while she shouts and pounds on people," he muttered.

"With age comes wisdom, Kakashi-kun," Jiraiya told him sententiously, not denying a thing, Kakashi couldn't help noticing.

Konan and Nagato broke into stifled laughter against each other's shoulders, and Kakashi gave his half-formed argument up for lost, watching the gentle look Jiraiya bent on his long-ago students. His mere bodily integrity was no match for that kind of expression. He'd just have to stand Tsunade's ire as best he could and hope something distracted her.

The command team was just starting to turn away, preparing to leave again, when the door to the room slammed open.

"Commander!" Omoi leaned in the doorway, panting and a little wild-eyed. "Jiraiya-san! One of the Leaf-nin just tried to kill Naruto!"

A/N: So, Minato supposedly used the Shiki Fuujin to seal Kyuubi's yin chakra; and yet we still see his spirit running around merrily, apparently quite at liberty. Yet another continuity fail, which leaving bits of chakra behind does not explain terribly well. Also, what kind of bastard severs half of a (relatively) innocent creature's soul and condemns it to torment as it's soul rots? *shudders* No, that technique just doesn't fit here. So I made up a new one that does fit the actual results we're shown.

Silence That Is Incomprehensible

Follows some of Hyuuga and Ayanami's possible history with each other pre-canon, from the Academy through the aftermath of the war. Includes porn without sex and s/m without the whip which, while quite consensual, is not particularly sane. Drama, Character Study, Porn, Kink, I-4

Hyuuga met Ayanami his first week at the Academy, and that meeting set the tone for everything that came after.

The whole class was out in a courtyard for beginning zaiphon training, and the teacher was yelling at Hyuuga. Nothing unexpected.

"Hyuuga-kun! You're here to learn to use your zaiphon, not to learn ballroom dancing!"

"But sensei," Hyuuga lilted as he sprang aside from yet another clumsy stroke by his training partner that barely left a scorch on the flagstones, "it's more fun this way! Besides," he added, as Shigetsu-sensei started to turn red in the face, "why should I wear myself out when a sword is so much faster?" He sprinted lightly forward and spun to come up at the Ochi kid's back, sword laid lightly against his neck.

More to the point, why should Hyuuga show his zaiphon here, where it was just possible someone would recognize what he was by seeing it? Not that he could say that out loud.

"What are you going to do if you can't use that sword of yours and never trained in this?" Shigetsu-sensei snapped back while Ochi swallowed tightly. Hyuuga would have to admit it was a good point, if he were actually untrained. Since he wasn't, he was just summoning his sunniest smile and another good line of bullshit when another of his classmates cut in.

"Perhaps a greater challenge is in order, then?" It was the cool boy with the silvery hair who stepped up to stand beside him. Ayanami, that was it. Who proceeded to push Hyuuga's sword away from Ochi's neck with precise, gloved fingers, using just enough pressure to move a lightly-held blade without cutting himself. Hyuuga's brows rose. This one was pretty observant. "May we switch partners, sensei? I believe Hiroki-kun would be better served to start with someone closer to his own experience."

Hyuuga sheathed his sword and glanced over his shoulder to see Ayanami's training partner, who was standing in the middle of a swath of deeply etched stone and shaking. Shigetsu-sensei looked too and sighed. "Yes, yes, fine. You take Hyuuga-kun, then. Maybe you'll rub off on him. We can hope," he grumbled as he herded Ochi and Hiroki off to the side to work on some basic focusing exercises.

Ayanami didn't speak, just beckoned to Hyuuga and turned to pace gravely through the, mostly pretty small, explosions their classmates were managing. Hyuuga blinked as he trailed after; had this guy been raised in a monastery or something? Or maybe he was from one of those noble families that was really strict and formal. Ayanami led the way through an arched arcade and into a smaller court, off to the side of the general training melee, before he stopped and turned to fix an intent look on Hyuuga. "You favor the sword?" he asked, after a moment.

The sharpness of his eyes, the pinpoint focus in them, tugged at Hyuuga, sent a tingle down his nerves. He slid his hands along his hilts and decided, impulsively, to give a true answer. "I am the sword."

Ayanami didn't frown or look puzzled, the way most people did. He just nodded. "Then we should train with both." He drew his own, perfectly regulation, sword with one hand and a swift coil of zaiphon circled the other. "Guard yourself."

The instinct he'd been born and trained to jabbed Hyuuga sharply, and both his own swords swept out to meet the fast lick of Ayanami's blade even as he leaped to avoid the lash of zaiphon that could have taken his leg off. Another three exchanges of steel, and zaiphon came scything in again. Hyuuga's lips drew back off his teeth as the world sharpened around him and he rolled down and back up in a scissoring attack on Ayanami's casting hand. This was good. He hadn't thought to find a real opponent among the other students, but this one... this one might have the edge he craved. The edge his sword needed to stay true.

He danced and spun through the storm of Ayanami's sword and zaiphon, starting to feel the pattern of them and know where he needed to strike. Ayanami was strong, but a straight sword couldn't counter the subtle binding of a curved edge, and the harshest, most precise zaiphon was no use if it didn't connect. There was an opening. Here. Here.

Hyuuga spun, wakizashi coming up from below as his katana bound Ayanami's sword, and Ayanami's last zaiphon attack would go just past Hyuuga's shoulder. He could see it, feel it, see the reflection of it in the widening of Ayanami's eyes. Hyuuga laughed with the absolute purity of the moment as he struck.

Just before his short blade touched home, the circle of zaiphon around Ayanami's hand snapped into an expanding sphere.

Hyuuga didn't have time to yelp, barely had time to cross his blades and channel a desperate burst of zaiphon through them, before the lash of Ayanami's power struck him and blew him back into the unforgiving stone wall of the courtyard with crushing force.

His swords rang on the pavement in the sudden quiet as he collapsed to his hands and knees, coughing for breath. He stared with blank, stunned eyes down at the flagstones under his palms. His defense had been good for a last-minute effort, but it had broken; he'd felt Ayanami's zaiphon against his skin. The taste of it couldn't be mistaken. "You," he rasped, and stopped, because there was a cool edge of steel under his chin. He looked up the length of Ayanami's sword to meet those still, intent eyes.

"Do you yield?" Ayanami inquired calmly.

A shiver ran down Hyuuga's spine, hot with recognition and chill with excitement. His teachers had told him, repeatedly, that a swordsman must always be prepared to meet someone stronger. He'd been torn between hoping and scoffing; it was already clear that he would be stronger than his teachers very soon, and they were the best in Barsburg. He still hadn't met a stronger swordsman, today. But Hyuuga had spoken the truth then he said he was the sword.

And the greatest of swords required, not just another sword to meet, but a hand to wield them.

"I yield to you," he said quietly, and watched Ayanami's brow quirk. Yes. Ayanami heard at least some of what Hyuuga meant. He pushed himself upright, grinning as Ayanami sheathed his blade. "Aya-san is sneaky."

Ayanami actually blinked at that. "I beg your pardon?" Hyuuga's grin widened. Good; he liked Ayanami's seriousness but it was possible to have too much of a good thing.

"I bet you knew what I was all along," he accused with a playful pout. "You could have just said."

"I was reasonably sure," Ayanami agreed, unruffled again. "My family keeps track of these things. But it's well to be entirely sure, when possible. For that, I needed to see your zaiphon."

Hyuuga hauled himself back to his feet, one hand against the wall to steady himself as he bent to retrieve his swords. "Even using mine, I couldn't hold you off," he acknowledged ruefully, feeling his ribs creak. He'd have some spectacular bruises tomorrow.

"You're not weak, though. That's good." Ayanami stepped closer, voice turning softer and deeper. "There are indications that the Emperor is considering sanctioning some of us, to serve the Empire. The strongest of our generation are being sent to the Academy for that reason."

Hyuuga sucked in a quick breath, eyes wide. "Sanctioning us?" he whispered. "But, the Church..." Warsfeil were anathema. Unholy. Both Barsburg and Raggs executed any proven Warsfeil. In fact, the Empire had been getting even more stringent about that, lately, enough that the Fallen families had stopped talking even with each other for fear of drawing the Emperor's attention.

All except Ayanami's family, apparently.

Ayanami's eyes were cool and level. "The Pope has been favoring Raggs increasingly, of late. If the Empire finds itself in need of a counterweight to the Church's strength, then we will serve that purpose."

Hyuuga whistled softly. "You think it's really coming?" He'd hears whispers of war for years, but only ever half believed them.

"Whatever comes, I will meet it in the Empire's service." Ayanami might have been remarking on the chance of rain later that day, but Hyuuga had tasted his edge now, and heard the fire underneath that coolness. "And you?"

Hyuuga grinned; he thought he would like being Ayanami's sword. "Anything you say, Aya-san."

Hyuuga wasn't really surprised when both he and Ayanami were posted inside headquarters after graduation. Someone among the higher-ups must know what he and Ayanami were; his personal pick was Field Marshal Miroku, who seemed to be making a hobby of Ayanami's career. Miroku had a reputation as a cunning strategist who knew when to gamble and when to stand pat. He was gambling on the Academy-trained Warsfeil, but not so wildly that he'd let them out from under his eye. Hyuuga understood that. It just didn't make the first handful years before their real assignment came through any less boring.

And their real assignment wasn't actually that much of an improvement.

"Oh come on," Hyuuga groaned, flopping over the back of his chair and letting the letter of appointment flutter down to the table beside his crossed boots. "We need Imperial permission to leave headquarters?" On pain of having their dispensation to, you know, keep living revoked. Great.

"We will have plenty of work in the field," Ayanami said, hands folded composedly on the table. Hyuuga's mouth quirked at the cool look Aya-san was giving his propped up boots.

"Well, at least you got a promotion out of it. A Major in just three years!"

Ayanami flicked his fingers. "An administrative promotion."

"Mm." Their third member was watching them, leaning on his elbows with his clasped hands against his mouth. "I must presume that the Field Marshal judges you will be a better leader for this unit than I would."

Since Masaru had been a Captain before Ayanami, Hyuuga filled in silently; it had been pretty blatant, to promote Aya-san over him so abruptly. He eyed Masaru, wondering if this would be a problem, fingers tapping thoughtfully against his katana hilt.

"I expect formal rank to mean little among us," Ayanami answered evenly, banked fire in every word. "All that truly matters is our strength, and ability to serve the needs of the Empire. That is the purpose of this unit, and we will fulfill it. Titles mean nothing beside that."

Masaru's eyes had narrowed at Ayanami's first words, a faint haze of almost-zaiphon flickering around his fingers as if he expected a challenge to follow them. By the last words, though he was staring, wide-eyed. Hyuuga grinned; he supposed it could be a little hard to believe, the first time a person came up against that true steel dedication.

"I understand," Masaru said slowly, and bent his head a little. "Ayanami-sama."

"Yep, that's our Aya-san," Hyuuga agreed expansively, leaning his chair back on two legs. Ayanami's hand twitched for a moment, as if with the urge to give Hyuuga's boots a brisk shove and topple him all the way over, and Masaru gave him a mildly admonishing look for his familiarity with their commander. Hyuuga grinned, lacing his hands behind his head.

Maybe their confinement wouldn't be quite such a hassle as he'd thought.

A year later, the Black Hawks had four members, the newest fresh out of the Academy and assigned as Ayanami's Begleiter. Hyuuga, long familiar with Ayanami's desperately workaholic habits, approved mightily.

Besides, Yukikaze was cute.

"Yuki-chan!" he sang, swooping in over the back of Yukikaze's desk chair only to stop short with a grin at the extremely sharp letter opener that was suddenly pressing up under his chin. He liked this kid.

"Yes, Hyuuga-san?" Yukikaze asked calmly, still writing in Ayanami's schedule book with his other hand.

"I got you some of that candy you were drooling over the other day," Hyuuga told him, dropping the paper bag onto the desk so that a few hard candies rolled temptingly out of it. Yukikaze flushed.

"I was not drooling!" He gathered up Ayanami's schedule, ignoring the candy, and marched it over to their commander's desk.

"Hm? Must have been mistaken, then." Hyuuga picked up one of the spilled candies and unwrapped it with a deliberate crackle. Yukikaze spun back around just in time to see Hyuuga popping it into his mouth. "Mm! Oh, hey, these are good." A little sweet, a little tangy: actually he kind of liked that. Maybe he'd have to snitch some more.

Yukikaze was back at his desk in a flash, sweeping the rest of the candy into its bag and whisking the bag into his desk drawer. Hyuuga laughed. "See, I knew you liked them."

"I never claimed I didn't like them," Yukikaze pointed out. "I just said I wasn't drooling."

"Yukikaze," Ayanami's murmur cut through their byplay, "didn't I have an appointment with Procurement after the meeting with the Committee on Military Research this afternoon?"

"Yes, Ayanami-sama." Yukikaze straightened up from locking his drawer. "I spoke with the General's secretary, though. Your meetings with Military Research usually run long, and it turns out that Procurement only really needs your signature."

Ayanami's brow rose. "I believe that was my decision to make."

Yukikaze stood even straighter, nearly at attention, but his tone was firm. Almost scolding. "You're over-scheduled, Ayanami-sama. The other departments take advantage of your conscientiousness. There's no excuse for it."

Ayanami sat back in his chair, eyeing Yukikaze coolly, but the corner of his mouth had quirked up with what Hyuuga could tell was amusement. "I see. That's your considered and experienced opinion, hm?"

Yukikaze bowed without losing one bit of his stubborn expression. "Please forgive me if I've overstepped myself, Ayanami-sama. But it's my duty to look after your work and health both, and I will do so to the very best of my ability."

After a long, silent moment of locked stares, Ayanami set down his schedule book and picked up the report he'd been reading again. "Bring me the document Procurement needs me to sign, then," he directed.

Yukikaze lit up with a soft smile that wasn't even a little triumphant. "Yes, Ayanami-sama."

Hyuuga drifted over to lean on Aya-san's chair. "Aya-tan is so cute with his Yuki-chan," he cooed, and just had to laugh at the identically annoyed looks they both gave him.

It really was kind of adorable.

Five years after the Black Hawks were founded, Hyuuga was pretty satisfied with life. They were a tight unit, and they had enough sweeping successes under their collective belt that the fear he saw every day in the halls had turned from "monsters from under the bed" fear into "deadly elite unit" fear. People got out of their way, and Generals quaked in their boots when they saw Ayanami coming. Hyuuga approved.

So when Yukikaze came to him with the news that Ayanami had locked himself into his rooms and wasn't answering the door, it was a bit of a shock.

He smiled for Yukikaze, though, and patted his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I'll go see what's up. You just make sure his paperwork stays caught up." He strolled down to their quarters, tucked away in a spare corner of officer territory so they could all stay close, even though it meant a smaller room than Ayanami was entitled to by now. Sure enough, Aya-san's door was closed and locked.

Hyuuga shrugged and pulled out his wakizashi to bang on the metal door with the metal guard. "Aya-tan!" he caroled loudly. "Open up for your evening serenade! This is your five minute warning!" He checked his watch and leaned against the wall, whistling piercingly and tunelessly just to make sure Ayanami knew he hadn't gone away.

At four minutes and thirty-five seconds, the lock clicked.

Hyuuga frowned a little when the door wasn't opened, but it slid open at his touch. All the lights were off, when he stepped in, and his eyes narrowed. He slipped aside, back to the wall, and let the door hiss shut again. "Aya-san?"

One of the shadows beside the polarized window stirred.

"What is it?" Hyuuga asked quietly. It wasn't like their driven commander to brood, much less lock out his own unit. Had they gotten a suicide mission or something?

Ayanami's voice was low and velvety in the dimness. "How many demands on your loyalty will you accept, Hyuuga?"

Hyuuga cocked his head, watching details emerge as his eyes adjusted. Aya-san had his back turned, as if looking out the darkened window. "As many as you make, you know that."

"And if I demanded your eyes and your hands?" Ayanami asked, so distant and casual it made Hyuuga's neck prickle. That was how Aya-san sounded when he talked to Generals: disengaged. He shouldn't sound like that with his own people. "If I demanded your body to move to my command?"

Hyuuga crossed his arms, leaning his shoulders back against the chill of the wall. "You have those already," he pointed out. "I'm your sword. You can wield me as you wish."

Finally, Ayanami turned to face him, eyes gleaming in the half-light. "And if I demanded your life? Your soul in my hand?"

Hyuuga blinked. Was that what this was about? "Aya-tan," he sighed, running a hand thought his hair. "We're all Warsfeil here, you don't have to dance around the question. If you want a soul contract to act through me, all you have to do is say." Never mind that such a thing was legend. This was Aya-san; if he thought he could do it, Hyuuga would believe he could.

Ayanami stepped away from the window. "Are you saying you agree?"

Hyuuga snorted and shoved off the wall. He crossed the room to Ayanami in a few firm steps and dropped down to his knees, catching Ayanami's hand and pressing it to his chest. "Don't insult me," he said low and fierce, looking up. "You've had my soul in your palm from the day we first fought. If you choose to close your hand now, that's your right. Take whatever you want from me."

Ayanami stood very still for two long breaths before his other hand finally lifted and threaded through Hyuuga's hair, fingers gentle. "Yes," he murmured.

That was all the warning Hyuuga got before ice was driving into his chest, into something that wasn't his body. Burning cold fingers kneaded the very core of him, unbearably intimate, and he was distantly aware of his body, pulled into a bone-cracking arch of tension, of his voice, hoarse and wordless. It was more intense than any pain or pleasure he'd ever felt and in the roaring silence of his mind he prayed for it to continue and begged for it to stop. One of Ayanami's hands cradled his head carefully while the other touched him, traced him, pulled his soul in half, stretching his life and breath agonizingly thin as part was taken away from him into darkness.

Slowly, he noticed he was shaking. That his throat was raw. That the darkness around him was the dimness of Ayanami's rooms. That he was being held against Ayanami's shoulder as every muscle shuddered helplessly. His soul, the part of him that commanded Wars and shaped zaiphon, ached and burned, but he could still feel, just a little, the coolness of Ayanami's fingers stroking it.

The key of his life belonged to Ayanami, now.

Which made today no different than yesterday, really.

"Told you so," he finally managed, husky, and Ayanami's shoulder trembled against his chest with a silent chuckle.

"Indeed." Aya-san's voice was warm again.

A bare few weeks later, it was Masaru's turn to spend several days pale and wobbly, and that was when Hyuuga started to wonder, and to remember just who it was that legend said could do such things to living human souls. Let alone two or three at once. It wasn't until years later that he remembered that the week Ayanami had taken Hyuuga's soul to him had been the same week that the Emperor's chief researcher had received a medal for unspecified services to the Empire, and the week that young Princess Ouka had been confirmed as heir.

The princess who would eventually wield the Eye of Raphael in war—or, at least, who would be used to do so. The researcher who tampered with the Eye and its master so that another could command it. The Eye that was said to seal the power of Verloren.

Knowing made no difference to him, of course.

Hyuuga didn't think the soul division had any side-effects, under most circumstances. But the day Ayanami came to them and said, "War is declared," he knew the driving fire of dedication that licked at his heart wasn't his own. That was the taste of Aya-san.

He could see it catching in all of them.

Masaru bowed, hand on his sword hilt. "What are our duties, Ayanami-sama?" he asked, eagerness burning through his usual smiling courtesy.

"We are tasked with capturing or killing the Raggs royal family." Ayanami's face was still and intent. "Nothing must be permitted to interfere or hinder us. Nothing."

Even Yukikaze, normally the gentlest of them, was hard-eyed. "Nothing will. We swear it, Ayanami-sama."

Hyuuga bent his head, smiling. "Don't worry, Aya-tan." He met their commander's eyes over the edge of his glasses. "It'll be our pleasure."

Ayanami's fire flared in his blood, and Hyuuga's breath caught softly. "Entirely our pleasure," he purred.

The war was over. It had taken a hard toll on the Black Hawks. Masaru was officially dead and had returned to them only in the guise of an enemy: Katsuragi.

Yukikaze was dead for real.

"You didn't release his soul, did you?" Hyuuga asked quietly, leaning in the door of Ayanami's office, watching his oldest friend standing at a darkened window again. "Yuki-chan's."

Ayanami didn't even shrug, and his voice was remote. "I was not holding it closely at the moment he died."

"You always held his soul pretty damn closely," Hyuuga said bluntly.

Ayanami didn't stir. "You will not speak of this, Hyuuga."

Hyuuga rolled his eyes. Aya-san could be so damn stubborn sometimes. "Look—"

This time, Ayanami answered him with steel. Hyuuga froze, keeping his hands still at his sides as Ayanami's sword pressed delicately against his neck.

"You will not speak of this." There was a ragged edge under the coldness of Ayanami's voice, now, and Hyuuga closed his eyes.

"All right," he said softly, and waited for the pressure to come off his throat before he lowered his chin and sighed. "Remember you still have us, though," and his mouth quirked as he finished, "Aya-tan." As Ayanami's eyes narrowed, he fished in his pocket and pulled out a candy to ceremoniously unwrap and pop into his mouth, lounging back casually in the doorway. He raised his brows at Aya-san. "Hmm?"

Ayanami gave him a tight-lipped look for the obvious reminders of their lost member, but in the end he only turned abruptly to his desk and picked up a pen. Hyuuga smiled around his candy.

He would, he assured Yuki-chan's memory, take care of Aya-san.

The headquarter Generals were getting to be an increasing pain in the ass. It didn't matter to them that the Black Hawks had the best success record of any unit in the entire Armed Forces. It didn't matter to them that Aya-san could actually deal with the Military Minister and even the Emperor and make sense of their orders. All they saw was how fast Ayanami had risen in the ranks, and that his appointment to Chief of Staff had been Miroku's last action before retiring, and they howled about favoritism and upstarts.

It really got on Hyuuga's nerves.

Today, that officious little insect Ogi had come into the actual field with them, along with a handful of his bootlicking staff, to "independently evaluate their performance" on the boring little rebellion the Black Hawks had been sent to put down. He'd been making sure to let them see him scribbling on his little clipboard and frowning judiciously.

Hyuuga didn't like boring missions that wasted their time and didn't have any good fights for him, so he was already in an edgy mood. When Ogi actually started berating Ayanami for getting his uniform bloody in battle he decided enough was enough.

"Ooo, Aya-tan," he interrupted when Ogi paused for breath, eyes theatrically wide behind his glasses. "He's right! Just look at all that blood on your sword hand!" Which was true, even after Ayanami had stripped off his soaked gloves. Hyuuga smiled, slow and wide, and murmured, "Well, we can't have that can we?" He strolled up to Ayanami's side and sank fluidly down to his knees, catching Ayanami's hand in his. He slanted a sidelong glance at Ogi, lip curled wickedly as he licked a line of blood from the back of Aya-san's hand.

Kuroyuri squeaked and Ogi choked, and Hyuuga smirked as he turned Ayanami's hand and ran his tongue slowly up Ayanami's blood-streaked palm. He took his time about it, enjoying the way Ogi's eyes got wider and wider, and his little pack of jackals started edging backwards. A quick look up at Aya-san told Hyuuga that he was amused; he didn't show it, of course, but he was standing there quite calmly, looking down at Hyuuga without surprise, just as if his subordinates licked the blood off his hands every day. Under the amusement was hint of heat.

Hyuuga definitely took his time after that. No sense doing a job half-way, after all. Besides, the sharpness of blood was already in his mouth from their brief battle, and he liked the taste of it on Ayanami's skin. It was cutting and real, more satisfying than any opponent he'd found today. He half closed his eyes and wrapped his mouth around Aya-san's fingers, savoring the way they flexed against his tongue.

By the time he was done, Ogi and his staffers had retreated in disorder. Hyuuga chuckled as he slowly sucked the last iron trace off Aya-san's middle finger. "There, now," he said brightly. "All better."

"Indeed," Ayanami murmured, fingertips brushing Hyuuga's mouth before he drew back and turned away. Hyuuga laughed as he stood and caught sight of Kuroyuri and Konatsu, both red as beets and staring with eyes the size of saucers. It was Konatsu who finally managed a strangled, "Major...!"

"Don't worry," Hyuuga told him, ruffling his hair. "You'll understand when you're older." He grinned as his new Begleiter sputtered in outrage, and tucked his hands in his pockets, strolling back toward their ship in Ayanami's wake.

Aya-san's touch lingered on his lips.

Hyuuga considered it his special job within the unit to make sure that Ayanami didn't go too crazy. Usually this was simple—just a matter of hanging over Aya-san's shoulder on days when they were especially straight or his mouth got a little too tight, teasing until Ayanami snapped and went for his whip. It was fun, like sparring only different. A game they played.

Sometimes they played it harder than others, of course.

"You know, Aya-tan," Hyuuga remarked, draped over the back of Ayanami's chair, "you should take a break from the paperwork now and then. Live a little! Go out for dinner instead of eating in the cafeteria!"

Ayanami's fingers were getting tighter on his pen.

"You could go to one of the restaurants where the officers hang out, and the girls come to sigh over the heroes," Hyuuga continued, watching for the moment Aya-san would drop the pen. "You could even get laid!"

He expected that crack to be the one that sent him rolling aside from Ayanami's whip, but what he felt instead was a cold twinge in his chest and stomach. It made him still for a moment, eyes widening behind his glasses. That was Aya-san's hand on his soul, tightening his grip for just a moment.

That was his warning, on nights they played a harder game. If Hyuuga kept pressing, what he faced wouldn't be a weapon he could avoid or blow he could roll with.

Hyuuga smiled, slow and dark.

He pushed himself off the back of Ayanami's chair and strolled around the desk, keeping his face turned away so Ayanami would see only his back. His uniform. "Come on, Ayanami," he taunted, dropping all the familiar forms he usually called his commander by, calling him what his enemies did, "you can't really be an automaton, the way they say you are. It'd do you good!"

Over his shoulder he watched Ayanami rising slowly to his feet and stepping out from behind the desk also. Good.

"Or maybe that's not it," Hyuuga murmured, thinking about the vicious gossip he'd heard most often lately. "Maybe you just don't want to be around the other officers and hear people saying it again. That you slept your way to the top."

The first lash of Ayanami's rage sliced into his soul, burning like frozen metal, and he staggered under it, gasping. Ayanami's face was set and still, but his eyes were bright. Gleaming. Furious.

Beautiful.

"With Miroku-sama, isn't that how it goes?" Hyuuga managed, lowering his head to keep Aya-san focused on his uniform and words, not his face, not who he really was. "Or the Emperor. Maybe both."

Ayanami's grip licked out between the halves of Hyuuga's soul, wrapping around him like a fist and squeezing until Hyuuga's sense of himself broke and ran between those steel fingers. His legs gave out under the force of it and he stumbled down to hands and knees, chest heaving. The fingers of Ayanami's control thrust into the very core of him, ruthless and precise. The chill and fire of Ayanami's presence inside him, wild and furious, set his body twisting, trying to get away and trying to press into the punishing intrusion.

The raw strength of it made him hard.

"That's why they all think you'll be their dog, now," he gasped, and moaned out loud as Ayanami's will raked his soul harder. His arms gave out and dropped him down, prostrate on the rug at Ayanami's feet. There was no part of him that wasn't in Ayanami's grip, now. He was pinned down under the sword of Ayanami's power driven into him to the hilt, flayed open by its edge. It was absolute intimacy, unnatural, almost unbearable except that it was Aya-san's hand on him. Hyuuga was a Warsfeil, born to be a sword drawn by this hand, and his hips jerked helplessly against the floor in response to that taste of blood and steel in his soul.

His voice was gone now and he was lost in immaterial sensation, the reason for it nearly forgotten, but he recognized when Ayanami's touch started to turn less harsh, started to caress as well as cut. "Aya-san," he whispered, in answer. The touch on his soul softened still more, shaping him gently back to himself, stroking the taut, trembling fibers of his being until they eased. His body gradually turned limp and boneless against the floor as his soul quieted under Ayanami's hand. He heard quiet steps approaching, heard the rustle of fabric, felt light fingers brushing his hair back, and drew a slow breath as his mind started working again. He cleared his throat softly.

"Forgive me." He always asked for Ayanami's forgiveness, these nights, because he hated the thought that Aya-san might take the things he said to heart even for a moment.

"There's nothing to forgive," Ayanami murmured, fingers still carding through his sweat-damp hair. "Not for you."

Hyuuga smiled wryly into the carpet. This was the other thing that was always said.

Sure enough, Ayanami added, quietly, "This is a dangerous game, Hyuuga."

"Aya-tan." Hyuuga pushed himself onto his side with a shaky arm so he could look up at his friend, amused and exasperated. "You know I love doing it." There was a wet spot on the front of his pants to bear witness to that.

He figured Aya-san had noticed when he raised a brow at Hyuuga.

Hyuuga laughed. "What?" he lowered his voice to a husky purr. "My soul likes to feel its master's hand now and then." He looked up at Ayanami, half teasing and entirely serious, and smiled as Ayanami's shoulders relaxed all the way.

Aya-san always offered him an end to their games, offered the kind of cherished safety he held the other Black Hawks in. None of the others would ever be wrung like this by their commander's will. Neither would Hyuuga, unless he chose it. He knew that.

He chose it every time.

He chose the ice and steel, and the burning lash of Ayanami's fury. He was the sword, and those were the things that made the world come alive in his mouth and heart. He also loved the soft caress of Aya-san's fingers against his soul, of course, but that wasn't what made the world brighter.

He caught Ayanami's hand and kissed his fingers. "I will serve you in every way, in every time, with my heart and soul. I will defend you with my life."

Ayanami's touch on his soul warmed, though he was silent for a long moment. At last he murmured, "If it comes to that."

Hyuuga smiled up at him, content with that permission.

He knew it would come to that, eventually.

End

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Seventeen

Most of the Konoha contingent ingathers to deal with Sai's attack on Naruto and its implications. In the wake of this, Naruto proposes his new plan to Tsunade. Drama, Angst, I-4

The only reason Sakura didn't kill Sai immediately was that Ino got in her way.

"Interrogation," Ino reminded her, clipped, as she pulled her garrote tight around Sai's throat and nodded to Chouji, who slowly took his weight off Sai's back.

Sakura snarled softly, aware that her lip was curled up off her teeth and not bothering to lower it. How dare he. After they'd survived the Akatsuki attack, after Naruto had finally woken up again, how dare one of their own people turn on him like this!

"Easy, there," B rumbled from behind her, where Sasuke was guarding Naruto. "Not saying it's a good reason, but maybe he had family in the last attack by the Nine-tails? Wouldn't be surprised if it came out now, after a full manifestation."

Sai looked up at them, perfectly blank, as if he didn't even feel Ino's garrote. "Family?"

Or as if he didn't understand the words. Quiet rippled out through the dining hall again, cutting through the soft scrapes of people starting to pick up their chairs. Quiet, especially, from the Mist-nin.

"I hadn't heard Leaf did that kind of thing," Ushio, Mist's senior chuunin, said, eyes shifting between Sai and the rest of the Leaf-nin.

"We don't," Shikamaru answered, frowning. "At least not that I've ever heard before."

"Omoi went for the Commander and Kakashi-san," Karui said, golden eyes dark. "Guess we'll know soon."

"Naruto!" The dining hall door slammed open and the entire command group spilled through, Jiraiya in the lead.

"Speak of him and he appears," Sasuke murmured, and Sakura let the dry humor in his voice calm her, reassure her that it was all right, because otherwise Sasuke wouldn't sound that calm. She straightened slowly and stepped back to Naruto's side; it didn't escape her notice that several of the shinobi around them sighed with relief as she did.

Okay, so maybe she was a little more on edge than usual.

"I'm okay!" Naruto piped up from behind his human bulwark. "Sasuke saw him coming and Sakura kicked his knees out and he missed completely and everyone piled on."

Jiraiya blew out a long breath and nodded to the knot of people around Sai. "Thank you all." He frowned at the restrained and weirdly calm Sai. "Anyone have any idea why?"

"I'm afraid I probably do," Kakashi-sensei murmured, stepping through the crowd to come and crouch in front of Sai. Quietly enough that only the nearest people heard it, he asked, "Are you a member of Root?"

Sai just looked back at him, silent and blank, and Sakura frowned. She'd heard of Root, but it had been disbanded years ago. If he had been Root, though... that meant he was ANBU.

"Nearly as good as a yes," Kakashi-sensei sighed, standing, and turned to Jiraiya. "Commander. I'm afraid this is likely to get deep into matters of Konoha politics. Can we get some privacy?"

Jiraiya's mouth tightened, lines deepening on either side. After a long moment he nodded. "Very well. But if anything you find out has any bearing on this mission, I will expect you to report it to the command group." At Kakashi-sensei's nod he jerked a thumb at the door. "Take him back to the Leaf quarters, then. No one will interrupt."

Good, Sakura thought coldly.

Ino got Sai onto his feet with an efficient heave and aimed him out the door, garrote still snug. The rest of them stayed close all the way back to their own building and bent suspicious looks on the rest of Ino's team, who piled down the stairs, talking over each other to find out what had happened.

"He's a traitor," Ino said bluntly, and watched the stunned expressions on the faces of other four for a long moment before nodding, apparently satisfied. "We're going to use the inner room on the second floor. Watch the exits."

Genma-san was watching from the top of the stairs, eyes dark. He exchanged a long look with Kakashi-sensei and bowed his head wearily.

"If we're lucky, this will be the break," Kakashi-sensei answered, as if Genma-san had said something, and the other man nodded.

"Hyuuga's team has perimeter watch this shift," he said quietly. "Should I keep them away when they get back in?"

"No, send them up. We need witnesses, if this is what I think it is, and the heir to Hyuuga, the favorite grandson of the Inuzuka matriarch, and the first cousin of the Aburame heir would be hard to disappear."

Sakura swallowed her startlement at that, suddenly aware that, whatever Kakashi-sensei suspected, it must go far beyond one crazy ANBU.

Kakashi-sensei waved Sasuke and Naruto, and Shikamaru and Chouji, back against the walls of the room they brought Sai to, the one that Ino's team had been sleeping in. "The first thing you all need to understand is that there are questions Sai will be unable to answer." He glanced at Sai, now sitting calmly in a chair with Ino behind him. "Will you show them why?"

Sai shrugged and stuck out his tongue, and Sakura pulled in a hard breath at the mark on it. "A mission seal?" That meant someone had sent Sai to do this. She frowned. "Do you still have the keys to ANBU seals, Kakashi-sensei?"

"In fact, I do," he murmured. "But I don't have the key to this one."

A chill stroked down Sakura's spine. Was he implying that Sai had been suborned by outsiders? Or... by insiders?

Kakashi-sensei met her eyes and nodded just a fraction. "There's other information he can give, but first we need to make sure he isn't going to die in the middle of this."

Sakura bit her lip and nodded silently. Bit by bit, she and Kakashi and Ino searched Sai for poisons or death seals under Kakashi-sensei's quiet direction. Sakura's stomach felt shaky by the time they were done, and not just because it was a hard thing to do to a fellow Konoha shinobi. It was also Sai himself; they might have been handling a doll for all his response or expression.

"Last thing," Kakashi-sensei started as he closed cuffs back around Sai's hands and stood, only to look up as Hinata, Kiba, and Shino piled through the door. "Ah, good timing. Hinata, can you check Sai for any implanted devices or techniques that might cause his death?"

Kiba shut the mouth he'd already opened, eyes wide. Shino rested a hand on Hinata's shoulder for a moment before nudging Kiba back against the wall like everyone else. Hinata, after an uncertain breath, nodded. "Yes, Kakashi-san." She engaged her Byakugan and examined Sai closely for a few moments. "Nothing that would cause death," she reported steadily, "but he carries a paralyzing seal in his mouth."

"That one we knew of. Thank you." Kakashi-sensei looked around at them and sighed. "I had hoped this could be resolved without involving your generation, but it appears not. What we know for sure is that Sai attempted to kill Naruto in the dining hall this afternoon, and that he carries an irregular mission seal which will very likely prevent him from speaking about who sent him or why. We are here to find out whatever else we can." Meeting Sai's blank gaze directly, he added, "I believe I know the answers to who and why already, in any case."

Ino frowned. "Then why...?"

Kakashi leaned against another chair, arms crossed. "What if I told you that I believe Sai was assigned this mission by one of our village Elders? And that this Elder leads a proscribed group, of which Sai is a part, answering only to him and carrying out whatever secret operations he decides?"

"I would say that was speculation and hearsay," Shikamaru said quietly, from where he stood directly behind Sai. "At least, that's what I'd say if I was an Elder."

Sakura thought Kakashi smiled behind his mask, and that it probably wasn't a happy smile. "Precisely. What is not speculation is that someone sent Sai to do this, someone with the ability to place that seal on him. And that the records of the Intelligence division show that, not too very long ago, there was a subdivision of ANBU called Root which was under the sole control of Shimura Danzou. Sai's membership is similarly a matter of record. And Danzou-san has, more than once, said publicly that he does not trust the Hokage to take all the measures necessary to guard the village properly. Either the Third or the Fifth."

"That's a stronger case, yeah," Shikamaru allowed, eyes fixed on Kakashi-sensei. Sakura, watching, caught a faint settling in Sai's posture and had to look down to hide a moment of realization and admiration for her teacher's deft touch. He was setting Sai up to cooperate with them, to think there was already no reason not to. "Well," Shikamaru continued, voice perfectly casual, "if Sai can't talk, maybe the things he packed can." Sakura caught his glance at her and picked it up.

"Let's see, then," she said coolly, kneeling by Sai's bedroll to sort briskly through his things. Weapons, mostly, including his drawing supplies, and... hm. She sat back on her heels, holding what looked like a picture book between her hands, watching Sai out of the corner of her eye. He didn't tense, but something changed in the set of his brows, like the tiniest flicker of a frown. She paged through the book slowly, wondering if it was some manner of code. It read in two different directions. Two different mission plans? But the center pages were blank. She frowned over that, considering. Two boys, fighting the same things from two different directions, and... well, they should meet in the middle, except that they didn't. One of the boys looked a bit like Sai.

Abruptly, she remembered the way the Mist-nin had looked at them, in the dining hall, and the things they had heard from Zabuza and Kakashi-sensei, years ago. Two boys...

"Did you know him?" she asked, turning to Sai to show him the side of the book with the other boy. Softer, she added, "Did you fight him? Is that what happened, in those blank pages?"

"That's what happened," Sai confirmed, face blank as ever. But his voice was a little tighter, now.

"Who was he?" she asked, watching him. Yes, there was definitely more tension around his eyes now.

Sai looked down at the book in her hands for a long moment and finally shrugged. "My brother."

Sakura's stomach twisted, despite every attempt at discipline and calm, and she closed her eyes as the pattern clicked together in her mind's eye. "You were trained together. Right up until the day you had to fight him. To the death." It wasn't a question. Kiba and Naruto choked, and Hinata made a distressed sound. Sakura opened her eyes and looked at Sai as steadily as she could. He looked back, expressionless. Or almost. It didn't take Shikamaru's nod to know this was something they might use as a lever, here, but the thought of using such a tragedy as a lever—again, after the way Danzou had obviously used it once—sickened her. She hoped with all her heart Kakashi-sensei had another way in mind.

On an impulse, she leaned forward and laid the book in Sai's lap. "This is yours," she said, quietly.

Slowly, his fingers wrapped around it.

"No wonder the Third outlawed it," Naruto said, low and rough.

Over the sounds of agreement, around the room, Kakashi-sensei's voice was level and calm. "The organization known as Root was officially dissolved, yes. But it was never suppressed. Remember that."

"What are you saying?" Naruto started low, but his voice was picking up volume by the syllable. "The old guy would never have let anything like that happen, not if he knew!"

A little to Sakura's surprise, it was Hinata who answered. "The kind of responsibility the Hokage has can lead people to do... things they don't like." She was twisting her fingers together, but her soft words were steady. "The Third was also the one who refused to confirm Sasuke-san in his place as the head of Uchiha. It had to be him, because the other noble clans didn't oppose it."

"The Third acted however he felt was needed to protect the village and the people in it," Kakashi-sensei agreed, quiet, almost hypnotic. "And Danzou has always said he acted for the same principle. I suspect that's why he uses that seal, hm?" He cocked his head at Sai, casual and understanding.

"It's best if our missions are sealed," Sai said, still looking down at the book. "We have done things to protect the village that would be considered questionable."

Questionable even by the standards of ANBU meant something a little more extreme than most of the others would assume, and Sakura exchanged a quick, grim look with Ino.

"So, Danzou is trying to make himself a second Hokage, is he?" Ino asked, contempt in every word. "With his very own ANBU that reports just to him. I suppose corruption and ambition are always with us."

"It can't just be that!" Sakura started up on her knees to play the opposite part, supporting Kakashi-sensei's lead. She glared at Ino, which came easily given how often they fought. "If the Third knew, then they really must be doing what's right for the village!"

"What's right?" Ino's brows and voice both went up in disbelief. "Try to remember that it's your own teammate who just nearly got killed!"

Sakura flinched back. "That... but..." She stared at Sai as if torn, and, right on cue, Kakashi came forward again, resting a hand on her shoulder as he crouched down in front of Sai.

"You can't speak of it," he said quietly. "But perhaps you can at least indicate if my guesses are right. I think Danzou probably sent you along to make sure Naruto didn't fall into Akatsuki's hands. You were to strike if he did?"

After a thoughtful moment, Sai nodded silently. Sakura bit her lip harder, which had the useful side effect of hiding her surge of exultation at this break.

"And if one of the other villages tried to take him?" Kakashi went on. Another nod answered that. "But neither of those happened. So there must be a third condition. Something to do with the Nine-tails and the seal, I imagine."

Sai nodded again, quiet calmly.

"But the seal didn't break!" Sakura leaned forward, pleadingly, resting a hand as if by accident on the book in Sai's lap, the reminder of her sympathy (a true sympathy, even if she was using it as a tool now). "The Nine-tails didn't escape, Naruto is still in control! So why...?"

"If the seal changed at all?" Kakashi-sensei asked softly. Sai smiled his alarming smile as if pleased that they'd finally gotten it and nodded again.

Sakura leaned back again, frowning. "But it's a double seal, so the Nine-tails would still be under control even if it were changed or damaged. Why give an order like that?"

Kakashi-san sighed. "Because Danzou's ideas of what will protect the village are very rigid and very strict. And not what would make good policy as a Hokage. Since the Third died, Danzou's decisions have been untempered by any larger view. The Fifth has had no proof of what he was doing, not something she could convince her whole Council with."

Until now, at least, and that made Sakura very, very happy. She was going to see that old man die for this, one way or another. The attack on her teammate had clearly been his doing, and it had come close enough to send adrenaline sizzling down her nerves every time she thought about it. And while part of her still howled to kill Sai now just to be on the safe side, a growing part was just as enraged over what had been done to him.

Kakashi-sensei stood silently and rested a hand on Sai's head. "Questionable things must sometimes be done, to protect what we care for," he said. "But Danzou forced you to kill what you cared for, didn't he? I suspect he did it to make you unable to care. How, then, could you possibly judge for yourself what is necessary and what isn't?"

Sai blinked up at him. "I don't need to judge. Only act."

Sakura swallowed, and reached abruptly for Naruto and Sasuke, to reassure herself they were still there, still her anchor, her reason for fighting. To assure herself that she had something to hold her back from the pure, uncaring edge she could hear in Sai's words—the edge she remembered hearing, whispering to her soft and tempting, in Orochimaru's voice, telling her not to let herself be held back by sentiment. Someone had said that to Sai until he had believed it. Their hands closed on hers, and the three of them clung together.

"If only one person judges, and yet his judgments become the action of many, the result is madness." Kakashi-sensei slid his hand down to Sai's shoulder, gripping it tightly. "You had no way of learning this, I know, but try to listen now. That's why we have a council, to advise the Hokage. That's why the Hokage and the Elders and the division commanders and the noble clans are all involved. So that no one person can act beyond their individual strength without convincing others that they are right. Danzou never convinced you. He only shaped and conditioned you. That's anathema to what our village is. Even ANBU leaves its operatives their own will and judgment." Kakashi-sensei's voice turned dark and cold for a moment. "For breaking that faith with all of you, I will bring him down."

Sai had a faint frown now. A puzzled one. "I don't understand."

Sakura shuddered. Of course he didn't. Having to kill his own brother, a brother he'd probably loved... she would have done her best to turn off her heart, too!

A brother he'd probably loved...

Sakura straightened, assumptions suddenly shifting. "Sai," she said, husky. "That book. What did you mean to draw in the middle? It couldn't have been the two of you fighting each other. You couldn't have known that was coming." She felt Sasuke shiver against her, and wrapped her arm around him.

Sai blinked slowly. "I... don't remember." He looked down at the book, distant and curious.

"Maybe," Naruto had to stop and clear his throat to get the roughness out of his voice, "maybe you were going to draw the two of you fighting together. Instead of against each other. I mean, if he was your brother and you grew up training together."

Sasuke flinched and Sakura tugged him into the middle, so she and Naruto could both hold him. When she looked back at Sai, he was staring at the book with more expression than she'd seen yet—something dark and hurt, and still a little wondering. "Together," he murmured. "That was... yes. I wanted to give it to him, once we both passed our final trials for fieldwork."

Hinata made a quick, pained sound, muffled behind her clasped hands; her team had closed in around her, too.

"For him and for you," Kakashi-sensei said, very soft and cold as ice, "I will bring Danzou down. Fight for the village your brother would have wanted to live in, if you continue to fight."

Sai actually seemed comforted by that deadly tone and lowered his eyes. "Yes, Kakashi-senpai," he said, meekly.

Sakura watched Kakashi-sensei take a long breath. "This mission has failed," he continued, more briskly. "Will you attempt to keep carrying it out, if you're released?"

Sai shook his head. "I wasn't told to complete it at all costs, and I could only complete it at the cost of my life, now."

Kakashi-sensei nodded to Ino, who unwound her garrote and turned at once to her team, to be gathered into Chouji's arms while Shikamaru watched Kakashi-sensei with dark eyes. Kakashi-sensei undid the cuffs and stood back with a sigh. "I don't think there's anything that needs to be reported to our mission's command. But when Tsunade-sama gets here, I imagine she'll want to hear it all. It may alter how we continue this mission, too. Everyone get as much rest as you can." He swept a stern eye around the room. "Don't speak of this with anyone else."

A murmur of agreement went around the room, and Sakura was very glad to be released. She wanted their own room, and her team with her, and to sit and shake for a while. She'd taken part in a few interrogations, but never of someone from her own village before! "Come on," she whispered to Sasuke and Naruto, tugging Naruto along when he looked back at Sai, hesitating. "Let Kakashi-sensei take care of it for now."

Naruto nodded reluctantly, and followed, and was perfectly willing to wrap her and Sasuke up and fuss over them for a while. Sakura huddled with Sasuke, on their piled bedrolls, and thought about this comfort that was so readily hers, and thought about Sai and his brother, and put her head down on Naruto's shoulder while she cried.

Kakashi knew his voice was too hard, as he finished his report to Tsunade. Too serious. Too demanding. But he'd felt like he had fire under his skin for a day and a night, now, waiting for her to arrive so he could give her the proof, finally, of Danzou's actions. The proof that was sitting in his room across the valley, waiting with inhuman calm, exactly like a weapon sitting in its rack.

"Send me home," he finished, harsh. "Send me home with this, and assign me to eliminate him. All of ANBU will understand why it was me, and that he died by the same sword he lived by."

Tsunade didn't look up from her hands, clasped on the black oval table of the command HQ room. "And then how am I different from him, Kakashi?"

He slashed his hand across the words, violently. "You don't ask that about Akatsuki! How is what Danzou's done any less of an attack on the village?"

Her hands tightened. "And if I have one of my Council killed out of hand, how will the village feel any safer for that?!" She finally looked up, mouth sick and set in a pale face. "No. It will be in Council, with a public record. Danzou will be heard. He's mad enough to take pride in what he's done, if it comes to that."

"Playing publicity games with your people's lives, Tsunade-hime?" Kakashi asked very softly.

She stood up slowly, and for a breath he wondered if he'd let fury drive him too far. But when she came to him she only closed her hands on his shoulders, strong and steady. "Their lives were already played with. All we can do is try to set them straight again and hope. I know it hurts you," she whispered. "I know you want to do something now to fix it. I know. But we have to care for everyone, as best we can, and that's never as easy as killing off the threat. Never."

He bent his head, shuddering under the weight of that. "Wasn't there anyone else you could have chosen?" he asked, very close to pleading.

She lifted a hand to touch his cheek. "It's because of this that I chose you," she told him, terribly gentle. "Because you love them. Because it hurts. I'm sorry."

There would be a day, Kakashi saw with abrupt clarity, when he would have to do this to Naruto. And that thought felt so much like a dagger under his ribs that he reached out and pulled Tsunade close, holding her tight, the way he would one of his own team. He'd been ANBU, and he understood cruel necessity, but she was a healer; it had to be half killing her to do this to him. "I'll survive," he assured her, low and rough. "And I won't kill Danzou until you say I can. Well. Not unless he attacks first."

She snorted against his chest, half laughter and half her usual annoyance. "Oh, that's reassuring." She pushed him away and reached up to muss his hair, grinning at his elaborate indignation, and they both eased away from the pain of the moment. "Well, I suppose the first thing I need to do is take a look at Naruto's seal and see what my idiot student has gone and done this time."

As if his name had summoned him, or, far more likely, as if Naruto's patience had finally run out, Naruto himself barged through the door before the last word was all the way out of her mouth.

"Tsunade-baachan! You have to help me heal the Nine-tails!" he declared.

Tsunade stared at him for a long moment before pointing to a chair. "Sit." When Naruto had thumped down into the chair with bad grace, she hitched a hip up onto the table and crossed her arms. "Now. Try that again, starting at the beginning this time." Kakashi faded back to lean against the wall and watch.

Naruto propped his elbows aggressively on the table. "Okay, so. When my dad sealed the Nine-tails into me, he also cut away half the fox's chakra. His yin chakra. And he's really pissed off about it," here Naruto waved his arms widely as if to indicate the size of the temper in question, "and I don't blame him! And it was the Ten Stems Twelve Branches seal, so I know we can't get his chakra back, but we can heal him can't we? Help him regenerate it?"

Tsunade opened and closed her mouth twice before she managed to say, "Okay, one," she held up a finger, "yes it is sometimes possible to heal a wound to chakra, especially if the body is still intact. I have no idea how that would be complicated by working on an elemental spirit who doesn't have his own body right this moment. But before that there is two," another finger, with some emphasis, "which is, what the hell are you thinking, trying to strengthen a spirit that will take you over and burn you out if it gets much stronger?!" She planted her fist on her hip and glared at him.

He glared right back. "He won't do that! We have a deal." He crossed his arms stubbornly, chin jutted out.

"A little more beginning might have been helpful," Kakashi put in before they could get any deeper into their deadlock. "Naruto appears to have reached a truce, and possibly even a friendship with the Nine-tails."

Naruto winced as if at a sudden noise and wiggled a finger in one ear. "Thanks, Kakashi-sensei. That was loud. He says he's totally not friends with some idiot human kit."

"Rather like Naruto's relationship with Sasuke, really," Kakashi added blandly, with just a tiny bit of malice aforethought. Naruto and his new friend had been the cause of enough stress this week, he felt he deserved the indulgence.

Naruto glowered at him, though the corners of his mouth were twitching. "Kakashi-sensei, that wasn't very nice. You made him howl."

Kakashi spread his hands innocently.

"Let me get this straight," Tsunade said, a little muffled past the hand pinching the bridge of her nose. "The scourge of our village, the terror of many a person's nightmares, the most appallingly powerful of all the tailed beasts... and Naruto has made buddies with it." She slid back down into her chair and buried her face in her hands. "I'm not even surprised, you know." She heaved in a deep breath and looked up to fix an eye on Naruto. "And you want to heal your friend."

"It's the right thing to do," Naruto insisted. "He didn't choose to attack us. He got injured in a fight that wasn't his fault, and we were the ones who did it!"

"There were a lot of people injured in that fight, and we can't fix all of them either, Naruto," she told him quietly.

Naruto looked back at her, not angry now but very serious, and answered just as quietly. "Sensei."

That was all he said, but everything was in that one word. Her responsibility as the one who had taught him to heal as well as fight. His belief in the principles she'd given him. His faith that she would stand by those principles now and do the right thing. Kakashi was impressed; Naruto truly had matured lately, and he had to wonder how much the demon fox might be responsible for that.

Tsunade locked eyes with her student for a long moment. Finally she folded her hands and spoke soft and level. "Think about this, and answer me truthfully. If the Nine-tails is healed, can you still remain yourself?"

Naruto got the inward look he'd developed recently, the one Kakashi was starting to suspect indicated a conversation with his resident spirit. "No," he murmured finally, "no, you're right. Okay." He looked up at Tsunade. "I'll still be me. Yes. We really do have a deal, and he's, um, kind of pissed off that everyone seems to be doubting his word. But you know... I'm not exactly the me I was before I graduated. Or before I was teamed with Sasuke and Sakura. Or before you taught me. It'll be like that. He and I can talk, now. We really are getting to be friends." He paused and added pointedly, glancing just a little aside, "No matter how much he growls and yells about insolent mortal spawn with no respect."

Kakashi straightened up against the wall abruptly, catching something he hadn't before. "Naruto," he said, cautious, "when you talk about your deal with the Nine-tails... do you mean that the two of you have a contract now?"

Naruto blinked and paused, head cocked. "He says," he reported a bit wryly, "that he's not some damn animal summons, but that the essential principle is not entirely dissimilar, though I shouldn't go getting a swelled head about it."

Kakashi had to admit, through a bit of a daze, that Naruto's verbatim quotes of the Nine-tails really did sound a bit like a much older and even more irritable Sasuke.

"It's a promise between us," Naruto added, smiling. "We'll both keep it. Which means," he added, looking pugnaciously at Tsunade again, "that I'm going to heal him!"

Tsunade looked just as shocked as Kakashi felt. "If it's a contract..." she murmured, and trailed off. After a moment, though she shook herself and straightened. "If it's a contract, of course you have to abide by it." She nodded just over Naruto's shoulder, the same direction he glanced when talking to the Nine-tails. "I apologize for misunderstanding the weight of this bond."

Naruto cocked his head again and then turned red. "I, um. I think maybe I won't say what he just said? Especially the part about your grandmother. Eheh." He rubbed the back of his head. "He, um, well in general he says thanks."

Tsunade glowered and muttered something under her breath. "All right, fine. But this is going to have to wait, because I can't stay here as long as the research for this would take. I have to get Sai back to the village and deal with Danzou."

"Then we'll come home now and I can get started while you take care of that," Naruto said firmly.

"You are not coming out of this mission's protection," Tsunade snapped.

"They already found us, though!" Naruto protested. "And it's an island, we're sitting ducks!"

"Naruto!" They were leaning over the table, nearly nose to nose, when someone cleared his throat.

"If we aren't intruding on the debriefing, Hokage," Darui said, leaning in the doorway, "the mission command team actually has some thoughts about that."

Tsunade threw herself back in her chair. "Yes, everyone might as well add their bright ideas," she said a bit sourly.

Kakashi took it as a comment on the general temperament of village leaders that everyone filed in without minding her ire in the least.

"Naruto makes a reasonable point," Darui started, when everyone was seated around the great oval table with Naruto scowling beside Tsunade. "The greatest strength of the Island Turtle, for the purposes of this mission, was concealment. If that's breached, and it seems likely it was, then it might be better to surround our hosts with their own people again while we search for Madara. The strength of Akatsuki is now considerably reduced, after all."

"We've seen better cooperation here than I would have imagined," Yuzuki put in, "and I truly believe that will have benefits for a long time to come. But each village always knows any of the others may be an opponent at any time. Everyone feels more secure in their own place. That is also an advantage."

Tsunade nodded slowly. "It's true that two Akatsuki teams have been removed since this mission started. Madara and perhaps one supporter are all that's left. I suppose there's a good case to be made for a home ground advantage, now." She folded her hands under her chin. "Would you all have this mission separate again, then?"

"Sand is the ally of Leaf," Temari said, chin lifted. "We will send support to your village, to defend Naruto, if you'll have it."

Tsunade smiled warmly and Naruto's scowl was slipping away, replaced by a tiny grin. "That will be welcome."

"I believe the Mizukage would be willing to send the Swordsmen to aid both Leaf and Cloud," Choujuurou put in, lifting his hand a bit shyly.

"I have no idea whether my father will permit it, or the Raikage accept it for that matter," Kitsuchi said a bit dryly, "but I will put forward the idea of sending Rock's aid to Cloud, as well. Many of our people have been favorably impressed with B-san, on this mission."

Tomita of Sound stirred, looking up from his folded hands. "When Orochimaru died, we took some of his network intact. Sound will search for word of Madara among the smaller countries."

Tsunade was nearly glowing. "Thank you," she said, looking around the table and spreading her hands as if to encompass them all. "Thank you all. I am honored by your willingness to aid us in this time, and I'm sure the Raikage will be as well." She pursed her lips thoughtfully and added, "Once he's done shouting, of course." She smiled at them again, edged and bloodthirsty now. "Together, we will put an end to Madara."

A soft rumble of agreement ran around the room. It was heartening, and yet, for Kakashi, also frightening. He saw how she did this, how she moved them, and he knew it was because she offered them her own trust. Her own heart. She was Naruto's teacher, no question. Someday, he would need to do this too, and the thought was both tempting and terrifying, because he knew that he could. If he dared.

Someday wasn't yet, though, and he turned his thoughts, with some relief, to the simpler task of ordering and withdrawing the Leaf contingent. She was still his Hokage, one of the Legendary Three, the leader and shield of Konoha. There was comfort in that, even as they prepared to heal one of Konoha's worst nightmares and face down another long thought dead and gone.

A/N: Canon says that Shin died of disease before he and Sai fought, but that isn't nearly as narratively useful. Since the poor schmuck's dead in any case, I'm going to say he and Sai were, in fact, set against each other as planned. It makes Sai's complete asocial feralness that much more believable.

The Word Whose Appearance Is Multiple

How the newer members of the Black Hawks might have come to join and, over and above that, come to be contracted with Ayanami. Drama, Character Study, I-3

For the purposes of writing in English, and based on a few indications in the manga, I've interpreted Kuroyuri as a girl.

Kuroyuri

Kuroyuri was a prodigy. She'd heard it from her family, she'd heard it from her teachers, and once she'd gotten to the Academy she'd seen it in the eyes of her classmates. Whenever they looked down far enough, anyway. She was the youngest person in the whole school by almost five years.

It wasn't that she was a brilliant strategist, because she wasn't. She just always won anyway. With the kind of zaiphon she commanded, she didn't need to "marshal her resources" or "coordinate with her partners". She just blew apart whatever was in her way. It worked.

So on the day of the exam, while everyone else whined and sweated, she stood apart from her "team" and leaned back against the clear wall of the arena with crossed arms. She tapped her toe, waiting impatiently while the proctor read out the rules and reminded everyone this was for real. It had better be for real; she hadn't had a single good match since she left home.

When the far door snapped up and the over-muscled target raged through, she pushed off the wall, filled her hands with power, and blew a hole where his chest had been.

The proctor, who hadn't even gotten all the way out the other door, hesitated. "Er. This team... passes?" She looked over her shoulder at the head of the academy and the fancy generals who'd come to watch exams with him. Kuroyuri sniffed.

"You know I passed," she said, waving a hand at the rest of the students. "If you want to know about them, go get another target." She wasn't part of any "team" of students; they'd all made that clear, and she'd expected it already. She'd been poisoned for existing when she was five, where was the surprise that people grudged her her life and power?

"There might be some justice to that, yes," the Chairman allowed, fingers flicking at the proctor. She guided Kuroyuri out with a hand on her shoulder, tossing a cheery, "Wait right here!" at the rest of the students.

"You have the strength for battle, certainly," the Chairman observed, giving Kuroyuri a stern look. "But I'm not entirely sure you have the discipline. Perhaps it would be better to keep you for another year."

Kuroyuri stiffened, starting to glare. She'd die of boredom if she had to spend another year around here! The general standing beside Miroku stirred, though, and lifted a hand.

"That won't be necessary," he said calmly. "I will take this one."

The Chairman cocked an eyebrow at him. "You will, hm? Well, Kuroyuri was certainly slated for the Black Hawks eventually, but are you sure, Ayanami-kun?"

"Quite sure." The general stepped forward and rested a hand on Kuroyuri's shoulder. A possessive hand, she thought, looking up at him, which made a little thrill of hope and surprise run through her. "Kuroyuri will do better among our own kind."

That was when the unit name clicked, and Kuroyuri's eyes widened. This was the Warsfeil general! This was the man all the families like hers were talking about! He used his power right out in the open, he and the Black Hawks, and no one dared say a word! "I'll do my best!" she exclaimed, looking up at him starry-eyed. "I promise!"

He smiled faintly, glancing down at her. "I trust you will."

Kuroyuri wandered through the rest of graduation and processing in a daze, seeing again and again that tiny smile, hearing that low, sure voice saying he trusted her.

Her new post was so exciting it nearly made her squeak. Okay, fine, it did make her squeak, but only once! And that was just because Hyuuga could do really cool things with his swords. There was lots of blood, on that assignment; she approved. In fact, she kind of loved it. She was with other Warsfeil, she was one of the official ones. And, so, yeah, the rest of the military whispered about them, and crossed the hall out of their path, and moved away from any table one of them ate at. It wasn't all that different from how she'd already been treated at the Academy, and at least now she had a unit she belonged with!

It took a while for her to realize that there was something wrong.

She didn't always use her soul sight. It had been really strong when she was younger, and really distracting, so she'd learned to ignore it mostly. The first time she used a Wars in her new duties, though, she'd noticed that Hyuuga was half-souled. It hadn't taken much thinking to figure out who held the other half, and it made perfect sense that Ayanami-sama could do something that amazing. He was Ayanami-sama! She'd looked, when they came back to the ship, just to be sure she was right.

That's when she'd seen that Katsuragi was bound the same way.

Both the other Black Hawks' souls belonged to their commander. Hers didn't, and Ayanami-sama hadn't made any sign he expected to take hers. She searched his face when he told them they'd done well; she couldn't see any difference in how he looked at them and how he looked at her. But there must be one. Because otherwise, she'd be bound to him the same way, wouldn't she?

She brooded on that all the way back to the Fortress, curled up on her seat with her arms around her knees. Was it just because she was so young? Did he think she wasn't strong enough? But he knew her strength, he'd seen her in battle!

Was she... not suitable somehow?

That was the thought that finally drove her to his office to ask. She couldn't stand the thought she might not be what he needed. Once she'd kicked that clown Hyuuga out the door and slammed it behind him, she spun around to face her commander, biting her lip.

Ayanami-sama set down his pen and folded his hands with that faint smile of his. "What is it, Kuroyuri?"

"Am I... not what you want, Ayanami-sama?" she asked, soft and shaky. "Am I... am I failing in some way?"

His brows rose. "Why would you think that?"

"You haven't... I'm not... You haven't bound my soul!" she burst out. "You have both the other two, but not me! Am I... not good enough?" she finished in a whisper, blinking hard to hold back tears.

He rose and came around the desk to her, and she clenched her hands at her sides, trying to be brave in face of whatever he was going to say. When he knelt down level with her and touched her cheek, a sob almost broke loose.

"Be calm," he told her quietly. "Your place is here at my side. Do not doubt that."

Kuroyuri nearly gasped with relief, pressing her locked hands to her chest. "Ayanami-sama..."

"I hadn't thought to take your soul until you're older, and sure in your heart that you belong to the Black Hawks." Sharp violet eyes held hers. "To me."

"I do," she protested. "I am! You gave me a place, you let me fight, you let me use my power! You make everything right! I do belong to you!"

"Is a contract binding your soul something you really wish?" he asked softly. "This is your life bound to mine, and you are very young, Kuroyuri."

"You gave me a place," she said, soft and sure, because he'd just confirmed it. Her place was at his side. He was the one who let them command darkness right out in the light, and not fear for their lives. "I'm sure in my heart, Ayanami-sama. I swear it."

He held her eyes for another long moment, but finally he nodded. "Come here." He held out his hand to her and she stepped forward, trustingly, into the circle of his arm.

When his fingers reached into her chest, chill and sharp like a blade cutting her open, she bit her lip hard to keep silent. She wrapped her hands in his uniform coat and swallowed down the whimpers that tried to force their way up her throat. This was Ayanami-sama, and her soul was his to take. Everything that was her stretched, and stretched some more as she gasped for breath, until part of her settled into his hand.

"Ayanami-sama," she whispered, rough and shaky.

"Shh," he murmured to her, soft and cool, rubbing her back. "It's done. Be still, now."

She quieted obediently, leaning against his shoulder, and slowly the ache of dislocation eased under his soothing hand. "Thank you," she finally said, low.

He chuckled softly. "Thank you, as well." When she looked up shyly, her breath caught. She could see it, raw in his eyes, the possessiveness she thought she'd sensed when he'd claimed her from the Academy. Her. He wanted her to be one of his people, not despite what she was but because of it. She smiled back, cheeks warm.

"I belong with Ayanami-sama."

The satisfaction in his eyes made her blush harder, right down to warm her heart.

"Yes."

And that became her world.

Haruse

When Kuroyuri announced, "I want to see you more often. Is that okay with you?" Haruse answered as honestly as he always answered her:

"Of course."

He wasn't sure why this caused her to grab his cuff and tow him promptly off down the halls of the Fortress, but she obviously had a destination in mind so he followed after willingly enough. When they went up an elevator into officer territory, he did wonder whether he was really cleared to be there. Kuroyuri had to use a keycard to unlock the elevator doors. But, he reasoned, he was in the company of someone who clearly was authorized, so it should be all right. Maybe she wanted to spend some time together in her own rooms instead of down in the common areas where people did tend to look askance and whisper.

So when she finally announced, "Here we go!" he was expecting the door to open onto an officer's suite.

Instead he found himself looking across a large office at a large desk, behind which was, unmistakably, General Ayanami, the Chief of Staff of the entire Imperial Armed Forces.

Reflex jerked him into a salute as Kuroyuri trotted blithely across the office. "Ayanami-sama," she said, leaning familiarly against the man's desk, "can we have Haruse for the Black Hawks? Please?"

Ayanami's brows rose, and his mouth quirked with unmistakable amusement as he returned Haruse's salute and nodded for him to stand a little easier. "This is a unit of Warsfeil, Kuroyuri," the General pointed out, quite reasonably.

Kuroyuri, though, just looked up at him and said softly, "You can change that, though. Can't you? You can, Ayanami-sama. Please?"

They looked at each other for a long, silent moment. Haruse didn't know what passed between them in that silence, but finally Ayanami looked up to regard him thoughtfully. "Is this your wish, Haruse-kun? To join the Black Hawks?"

"I... I didn't... I never thought..." Haruse took a deep breath, trying to get control of himself past his shock. "I hadn't thought it would ever be possible, sir. I never considered it."

Ayanami glanced back down at Kuroyuri, a little chiding. "Kuroyuri..."

"But!" Kuroyuri spun back to him, eyes wide and pleading. "You said you wanted to see me more often, too! You said it was okay."

"I did. I do!" he agreed earnestly. "I would love to be able to serve with you, it's just... I mean..." He ran a hand through his hair, flustered enough to be falling out of attention. He looked over at Ayanami, who was watching them quietly. "Is it really possible, sir? For me to become... what you and Kuroyuri-chuusa are?"

"Possible, yes," he murmured. "Is it your will to become that?"

Haruse took a deep breath, thinking hard. Dozens of childhood horror stories about Warsfeil clamored in the back of his head: anathema, unholy, they'll eat your soul if you're not good. But against that clamor was the pressure of Kuroyuri's eyes on him, their honesty and determination, their purity. He knew by now that the duties of the Black Hawks were dangerous and bloody, but he hadn't become a soldier because he thought it would be a safe, clean job. He had enlisted to serve his people and his country with his life. Slowly he straightened and nodded. To become as she was... "It would be my honor, sir," he said quietly.

"Even if you lose your soul?" Ayanami asked casually, and Haruse froze.

"Ayanami-sama!" Kuroyuri protested, scowling. "You're trying to scare him."

He cocked a brow at her. "Your soul is no longer entirely your own, Kuroyuri."

She huffed, arms folded. "That's because it's you. This is the place you gave me. You're my place; of course my soul is yours."

Haruse felt like the world tilted. She said it so calmly, so matter-of-fact. Warsfeil truly did deal in souls, then, but... not as a horror, it seemed? She said it as easily, and as earnestly, as if it was her loyalty she'd given. Perhaps... perhaps they were the same thing in a way.

Perhaps to "give your heart" just meant something a little more tangible to Warsfeil than to most people.

And this man, who had given his dearest friend the belonging Haruse knew she needed so very much, was offering to let Haruse see the world the same way. Offering him a place beside her.

Haruse drew himself back up to calm and proper attention. "Even so, sir. It would be my honor."

Ayanami smiled faintly. "I think you've found someone suitable, yes," he told Kuroyuri, and stood from behind his desk. "Come, then, Haruse-kun. If you would make this pledge with us, I will show you the first part of it." He stripped back the glove from his left hand and drew his sword, taking the end in his bare hand and closing his fist tight. Haruse flinched in shock. Ayanami's face was calm. He held out his hand, cupping it as red gathered in his palm. "My blood," he said, softly. "Take and drink of it." He smiled, and this time it was sharp. "If you would be raised up."

Haruse swallowed a little hard, but a glance at Kuroyuri showed her only smiling, happy and hopeful. If he was going to look at the world as they did... then his commander's blood was not a threat or a mark of pain. It was the offer of life—a new life. Haruse gathered himself and walked across the room to Ayanami, and knelt down at his feet; it seemed only proper. He cupped his hands under Ayanami's and touched his lips to the blood in his palm.

It slid down his throat and straight through his chest like a burning sword. Haruse doubled over, gasping harshly for breath. It felt like his heart was being pulled inside out, and each tug sent a stab of fire through him.

"Haruse! Haruse, it'll be all right." Kuroyuri's arms, small and strong, wound around his shoulders. "Let Ayanami-sama in, and it will be all right."

She was his guide in this, so he clenched his teeth and did as she said, fighting to surrender to the force twisting through him. And it was true—the more he yielded to that pressure, the easier it got, the less it hurt, until he felt like he recognized his own body again. Or maybe it was his soul. Slowly he looked up, and met Ayanami's eyes with a shock of connection. His lips worked as he tried to sort out, in his spinning head, what this man was to him, now. One title after another shaped themselves: General, commander, patron, Lord. Master, his soul whispered.

Ayanami's bloodied hand settled on his head. "Call me by my name, now," he said quietly.

Haruse shivered, panting for breath as Kuroyuri hugged him around the neck and made encouraging noises. "I..."

"Give it time to settle in you," Ayanami told him, more gently than he'd spoken yet. "Rest while I take care of your transfer to the Black Hawks. Kuroyuri can show you some of how to use our power once you've recovered."

Haruse's breath caught, because that new gentleness was open to see in Ayanami's eyes. It was quiet, but it was there, and it plucked at Haruse's devotion. "Yes, Ayanami-sama," he said softly. A part of him couldn't help wondering, though, whether the loyalty he knew he couldn't help giving Ayanami would take from what he'd already given Kuroyuri.

A few days later, when he was given his transfer papers to sign, he saw that his new post was listed as Kuroyuri's Begleiter. Haruse smiled.

He had chosen rightly.

Konatsu

Ayanami watched his newest member of the Black Hawks salute smartly and march out of his office with a straight back, and turned a thoughtful eye on his oldest member. "You didn't ask."

Hyuuga shrugged a shoulder casually, still looking out the window over the city. "Konatsu's a Warren, and word's gotten around the Fallen families, you know. I imagine he knows who you are. If he wants to be given that power, he'll ask himself."

"He may know," Ayanami agreed mildly, "but you certainly know. And you didn't ask."

Hyuuga sighed, a wordless admission that he wasn't going to get out of answering this one, and turned around, leaning his shoulders against the glass. "Yeah, I didn't. Aya-san, this kid grew up without power in one of your bloodlines. The Fallen families aren't nice, any more than the God Houses are, and no one's hand but yours ever redeems us." His mouth quirked, faint and sharp. "He lived and fought and never bowed down. I like the kid's spirit."

Ayanami snorted softly, amused. "Yes, that was what convinced me he was deadly enough to join us, power over Wars or no." He cocked his head at Hyuuga. "Why would you not wish to see him with greater power, then? I doubt he'd abandon the sword, not if he already fights such that you approve of him."

Hyuuga lowered his eyes, examining the toes of his boots. "It's something he said, when he woke up," he finally said, low. "That what he wants has no meaning if someone gives it to him." When he looked up again, his eyes were burning, they way they did in battle. "I want to watch him keep fighting for whatever it is he really wants."

Ayanami didn't think he'd ever seen Hyuuga this interested in anyone, before. Perhaps Ayanami himself held Hyuuga's attention that way, at least once Hyuuga had teased him out of patience, but certainly no one else. "Very well," he said at last. "I think I'll assign him as your Begleiter, then. Since you take an interest in his progress, you may stand as his superior and mentor. He seems very dedicated, so he may," he added dryly, "even be a good influence on you."

Hyuuga grinned at him, running a hand sheepishly through his hair. "Whatever you say, Aya-tan."

Long past being deceived by any apologies or promises to be more diligent at anything except field work, Ayanami waved dismissive fingers at his oldest friend and follower, and turned back to his own paperwork.

Over the next few weeks, though, he watched his new subordinate. Konatsu was, indeed, very diligent, and also quite practical. It took only a few days before the boy evidently concluded that nothing would cause Hyuuga to do his own paperwork, and took it over completely. Konatsu was courteous, capable, and deferred to his seniors, with the developing exception of Hyuuga. Ayanami could only approve of both his manners and his good sense.

And never, by word or look, did Konatsu suggest he hoped or desired to be offered the power of a Warsfeil. Hyuuga appeared to have read his protege correctly.

Something else Hyuuga had said lingered in Ayanami's mind, though. No hand but yours ever redeems us. For the God Houses, redemption came in the form of the Traveler to Seele, for as long as he or she was strong enough to bear the burden of cleansing the Houses. What did redemption mean for the families who had flowed from Ayanami's blood, down his lifetimes?

To judge from the responses of his Hawks, it meant his acceptance. His mark.

This boy of his spirit's blood, born without the touch of his power, still stood straight and walked without hesitation at Ayanami's side, of his own choosing. Perhaps the simple mark of blood and power would not be sufficient to Konatsu's pride. But there was another mark Ayanami could give him. If Konatsu was strong enough to bear it.

When Konatsu had been with them two months, and through one field assignment without faltering, Ayanami decided it was time.

"Come in," he called at the respectful tap on his door, and looked over Konatsu's shoulder at Hyuuga. "Kuroyuri and Haruse were just looking for you, Hyuuga. I think they said something about taste-testing." Hyuuga's eyes widened behind his glasses.

"Ah. I'll just... ah, there was something... yes, that I had to do." Ayanami smiled to himself as Hyuuga vanished rather than make himself an easy target for Haruse and Kuroyuri's experiments. Or perhaps he was simply obeying his commander's evident wish that he leave them alone; with Hyuuga it could be hard to tell. Konatsu blinked after his superior for a moment before shaking his head in mystification.

"You wished to see me, Ayanami-sama?" he asked, stepping inside and coming to precise attention.

"I did." Ayanami leaned back in his chair. "It has become my practice, over the years, to create a soul contract with my Black Hawks." He tilted his head, curious about how much this boy had or could observe without the senses of a Warsfeil. "Were you aware?"

Konatsu nodded slowly. "Something Kuroyuri-chuusa said made it seem possible. But... with the whole unit?" Softer, as if to himself, he murmured, "It's true, then." He lowered his eyes and bowed deeply, not a military salute but as a son of the Warren line to his Lord. Ayanami found that satisfying.

"Indeed. I see no reason to break that practice in this case. You are not Warsfeil, but you have a strong soul. I believe you could bear the contract."

Konatsu shot upright, eyes wide. "Me?" he nearly squeaked, and Ayanami's mouth quirked with amusement. He nodded silently.

"Yes," Konatsu whispered, nearly glowing with sudden excitement and determination. "Yes, Ayanami-sama. Let me serve you, I won't fail your trust, I swear!" He lifted a hand as if to offer Ayanami his soul in that palm.

Ayanami rose, pleased. Hyuuga had chosen well for them when he'd brought Konatsu's courage and faith to Ayanami's attention. "Come, then."

Konatsu came to him and stood straight and proud, bright eyes fixed on Ayanami's face even as Ayanami set a hand on his shoulder and reached for his soul.

Most of any soul was simply brightness and darkness, but each had it's own faint texture, the impress of the mind and heart born from it. Konatsu's was soft to his touch, not guarded with the fire and edge that so many Warsfeil gained. It was strong, though. Some souls tore when he took them to himself, but not this one. Half Konatsu's soul settled into his grasp like a bird landing on his hand, warm and living and surrendered into his hold without question or doubt. Ayanami smiled and stepped closer, drawing Konatsu in to lean against him as he marked that soul for his. The boy gasped for breath in the wake of the binding, trembling a little. "Ayanami-sama..."

"I was not mistaken," Ayanami told him quietly. "You have strength for this and more."

Konatsu actually blushed, and Ayanami chuckled, resting a hand on his head for a moment. "It's done. Go and rest, now."

"Yes, sir." Konatsu was still glowing with quiet happiness as he left, despite his shaky knees, and Ayanami contemplated the new soul in his keeping with some pleasure. He had missed this, the binding and sealing of souls.

He would have to find the rest of the Ghosts as soon as possible, and regain the rest of his rightful powers. Perhaps with them in his hands once again, he would be have what he needed to fill the loss at the heart of him that even his Black Hawks only soothed a little. He had searched since Raphael's hold had first been broken, and he had a feeling that the pieces of his self would come within his reach again soon.

Soon he would make himself whole again.

End

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Eighteen

Sasuke attends his first Council, called to deal with Danzou's actions, while Naruto and Sakura figure out how to heal the Nine-tails. That second turns out to have risks none of them quite realized before-hand. Drama, I-3

Sakura leaned on the rail of the ship as they swung away from the Island Turtle and turned toward the coast of the Fire Country. It had been a curious experience, working with so many shinobi from so many different nations. It had tugged at her memories of working in Sound, undercover, except that no one had pretended any allegiance but their true one.

Except for Sai.

She leaned down to rest her chin on her folded arms, staring over the choppy waves, growing into swells as they drew away from the Turtle, and turned over her thoughts about Sai. About ANBU and Root. She was pretty sure that she'd been given to Miuhara as his mentee because he was ANBU, and her mission to Orochimaru had been one that ANBU would normally have handled—as had a handful of others since. But she'd never asked, because you didn't. Even if you suspected, even if you were pretty sure you knew, you didn't ask. ANBU needed that bit of uncertainty and ambiguity, even in their home village, to do their work and still come home from it.

It must have been so easy to hide yet another secret group inside that.

And there'd been a lot of orphans after the Nine-tails' attack. How easy would it be, in the confusion after that, to take in a handful, to raise them and train them.

And kill half of them. It made her shake every time she thought about it, thought about what Danzou had done, made her vision haze with red.

"Still wound up from the attack on Naruto?"

Sakura started a little, straightening to find Temari beside her. "Temari-san."

The other woman smiled a bit crookedly. "It's not surprising if you're still angry, you know. He tried to kill your teammate. Your family, as close as the three of you are. You'll be angry for a while."

Sakura scrubbed her hands over her face, trying not to shudder; if anyone would know that, Temari would. "I know. I'm... trying to save it up for the people who are really responsible." She snorted softly. "There's going to be a lot of anger to go around, on this one, for a lot of reasons." Enough that it was affecting her—impairing her—she suddenly realized, feeling the wound-to-snapping tension in her shoulders. Enough, obviously, that outsiders could see it. Which was the other thing Temari was telling her. Shit. She looked up at Temari with a sigh. "Thanks."

Temari only nodded quietly and turned her head to look out over the gray-green texture of the water. "I owe Naruto," she murmured. "My teams from Sand will protect him like our own."

Every little bit helped, and Temari was very strong. Sakura reminded herself of that, and took a breath, and acknowledged that she was enraged, furious enough to spit nails, ready to slice Danzou open like a piece of fruit. She felt and accepted that, and then she set it aside, the way Miuhara had taught her to. There was work to do. Anger might strengthen her, but it must not blind her. She would do what was necessary with cool judgment, and spit on the corpse later. "Thank you, Temari-san," she said quietly, feeling her shoulders finally fall. "That does help."

"Good. Well, then." Temari glanced at her sidelong with a tiny smile. "I hear you pulled out something kind of special during the fight on the Island. Is it something you can tell me about?"

Sakura laughed. "Did Fuunotora-san put you up to asking?" The older kunoichi had spent years trying to winkle the details of her seal out of her.

"She might have mentioned something in passing." Temari turned, leaning back against the rail on her elbows with a grin that showed her teeth.

Sakura hesitated, actually considering it. They were allied with Sand. Naruto and Gaara were friends; she couldn't see that changing. But every iota of her Intelligence training was screaming at her that one did not share that kind of information with another nation's shinobi, be they ever so allied. In the end she sighed. "Maybe someday. I'd like that."

Temari considered her for a long moment and finally nodded, firm. "We'll work on it, then. It's what Gaara wants too; the more I see, the more I approve." And then she straightened, tilting her chin to gesture past Sakura's shoulder. "Looks like your team is here. Time for me to go and write more dispatches for home, and you to remember what you need to do with that anger of yours." She smiled faintly, pushing up from the rail. "It is your team that's always talking about protecting what's precious to you, isn't it? Everything that's precious to you?" She saluted Sakura lazily and strolled away down the deck.

"What did Temari-san want?" Naruto asked, looking after her curiously as he and Sasuke leaned against the rail beside her.

"To remind me that we have help, and to deal properly with being really fucking pissed off," Sakura admitted ruefully. "Good thing, really, otherwise I might have tried to slice open Danzou's belly with my nails as soon as we got back." Which would relieve her feelings a lot but wouldn't necessarily protect Naruto very much, and would definitely upset the village. A village that was also precious to her, no matter how stupid some members of it sometimes were.

"Yes," Sasuke murmured, "we'll have to wait until he's been officially denounced to do that, so no one complains. And until we have a little free time to devote to it." They smiled at each other, complicit and bloodthirsty. Naruto turned rather red, the way he always did when someone else got protective of him, and Sakura threw an arm around his shoulders. She really did love both of them.

"So we're about to be busy. One demon fox to heal. One traitor to uncover. One madman to prepare for." She nodded firmly. "Let's do it."

She held up both hands, and Naruto laughed and did the same, and they both stared at Sasuke expectantly until he sighed and held up his as well.

"Team Seven, go!" Naruto declared, and they smacked palms, all three at once.

Sakura smiled, true and light for the first time in days. They would make this happen.

Sasuke didn't want to be sitting where he was. It was a nice room, wide and airy with comfortable chairs of sleek wood set around a polished ring of table. He didn't even have anything against most of the company. He wasn't fond of Hyuuga Hiashi, but Hinata was at his side looking alert instead of crushed; Akimichi Chouza had given him a solemn and welcoming nod; and Aburame Midori had murmured, as she passed behind his chair, that it was good to have all four clans present again. Certainly his encounters with Nara Shikaku, the Jounin Commander, had been encouraging; the man seemed level-headed and just as intelligent as his son. And Sasuke was fairly sure that the ANBU Commander was the same man who had let him and Naruto into the Intelligence complex once or twice to pick up Sakura when she'd had a hard debriefing. Tsunade, with Kakashi-sensei standing in attendance behind her shoulder, was almost comforting; her temper was, if anything, worse than Naruto's, and he'd learned to trust that kind of straightforwardness. He didn't like how any of the three Elders looked at him, but he'd known for a while that that was the faction who had been against him since the massacre and would likely stay that way for years, no matter what happened today.

Under other circumstances, he might have enjoyed being here, his first Council as the acknowledged head of Uchiha. But he didn't want to be here today, looking at that smug bastard Danzou across the table. He wanted to be with his team, helping Sakura and Naruto research something it was already clear would be a dangerous procedure. And making sure no one made another attempt on Naruto.

If there was one thing he'd learned as a child, though, it was his duty as a son of Uchiha, so here he was. Not killing Danzou even a little, either; he hoped everyone appreciated his restraint.

"We are here," Tsunade said, hands folded on the sleek wood in front of her, "to consider the actions of Shimura Danzou. You have all seen the report of Sai's attack on Uzumaki Naruto, and what was learned from him. You have seen the lists of Root members and missions we have been able to confirm. I will hear what the Council has to say."

The ANBU Commander clasped his hands under the chin of his cat mask. "ANBU is divided," he said quietly. "It's true that Root members are skilled and have a high success rate. And we all understand the need for what we do. But if we can't trust our assigned teammates, if any of them might have secret orders... it will tear all our working teams apart and imperil our missions themselves."

"Divided loyalties are something the rest of us already had to deal with," Aburame Midori pointed out dryly. "I don't see a great deal of difference between Torune being ANBU and being Root. He is divided in his loyalty to his clan already, and he chose that himself."

"He chose that, yes." Shikaku frowned darkly across the table at Danzou. "I'm considerably more disturbed by the handful of younger members, who seem to have been drawn from the orphans of the village and then set against each other in deadly trials. As if we were Hidden Mist! Where's the excuse for that?"

"That was done before the Third proscribed Root," Danzou answered, quite calm.

"That was why the Third proscribed Root," Tsunade cut back. "That much is clear, now. 'Actions Hidden Leaf and the true Will of Fire could never condone' indeed."

The lines around Danzou's eye tightened. "I acted always for the good of the village."

"And for your own," Sasuke drawled, folding his hands over his stomach as he leaned back, remembering the things Kakashi-sensei had said and implied during Sai's interrogation. "You set yourself up with the power of Hokage, without even any pesky Elders to restrain you, and you didn't want to give that up."

Danzou drew himself up. "I would have the Council note that Uchiha Sasuke is biased particularly against me because Root's last mission, of unfortunate necessity, targeted his friend."

Sasuke's eyes narrowed. Now he understood what his father had said to his mother, one night over dinner: that meetings of the full Council were just another kind of combat, where you had to keep your eyes activated for the openings. What counter would strike through the defense of bias... ah! It was what Kakashi-sensei had once told him. "As it should be," he returned, as matter-of-fact as he could. "That's why we fight, every one of us: for friends, clan, loved ones." He curled his lip. "No one gives their life this way for an abstract. 'The good of the village.'" He snorted with contempt. "No human fights with all their strength for that." And there, there it was, the opening he'd felt, and he glared at Danzou. "You had to take away their humanity before they'd do that, didn't you? So they'd fight for whatever you told them the good of the village was."

Danzou's mouth thinned, and Sasuke knew he'd connected.

Chouza leaned his elbows on the table, vest straps creaking over his shoulders. "You mentioned Root's last mission. You say it was necessary, Danzou, but I don't see why. The Uzumaki boy had not lost control of the Nine-tails; quite the contrary, from what I hear."

"And you believe we should have risked it?" Danzou asked, with every appearance of injured dignity. "We have all seen what happens when the demon escapes. You were there that night, Chouza!"

Every older face at the table tightened, and Sasuke had to stifle a growl; Danzou was skilled at this. Risk, risk, what would counter... hm. He smiled faintly and leaned an elbow on his chair arm. "So, you believe we should all trust your assessment of the risk?" he asked.

"The Elders are appointed so that their experience may serve the village," Danzou answered, smooth and calm again.

"And your experience told you that the Nine-tails was too great a danger to risk the chance of it breaking free," Sasuke murmured. "I see." He waited one silent beat and inquired casually, "So, you were in contact with the mission after all?"

Danzou frowned. "Of course not. That would endanger Leaf shinobi unnecessarily." There were tiny nods and judicious looks around the table, and Sasuke had to work very hard not to let his smile spread. He had him!

"Ah? But if you weren't in contact, how could you possibly judge the danger?" He frowned. "Are you telling us that you gave non-discretionary orders before a mission even began and made no provision to alter them based on what actually happened?" As the listeners stilled, he added, very softly, "Are you telling us that you let your fear dictate your orders?"

"No!" Danzou was half standing, glaring at Sasuke.

"Ah." Now Sasuke smiled, holding Danzou's gaze. "So, it was only your complete arrogance, that gave those orders blind and never once thought that you might be wrong, or even that the situation might change." He swept his eyes around the table. "I think everyone who's ever worked in the field may have some thoughts about the kind of experience and judgment that indicates."

Even Midori was frowning now, and Sasuke sat back. He was breathing light and fast, and his legs were actually trembling with the urge to stand, to strike, to do something. He'd have preferred a field mission to this! He'd never spoken during clan meetings; he'd been the second son and it hadn't been his place. He'd only listened. He'd had no idea it was this hard! Kakashi-sensei, standing quiet guard behind Tsunade, caught his eye for an instant and nodded just a fraction. Sasuke took a slow breath, steadying himself on that silent assurance that he was doing all right so far.

"There was indeed judgment lacking there," Hiashi agreed, and frowned at Danzou. "More than that, you have acted entirely alone. You have not consulted the Hokage or the other Elders."

"I have access to all intelligence materials." Danzou looked a bit ruffled now.

"Unauthorized access," Tsunade-san pointed out coolly. "The Third, at the risk of repeating myself, proscribed Root. You still have that access only because you suborned members of the Intelligence division to your personal use."

"Personal use, yes." Hiashi's glance at Danzou was also cool. "We have a Council for a good reason. And while the noble clans are not often involved in the orders the Hokage gives to ANBU, the Elders are. Even the leader of our village does not act unrestrained. But you have."

"We might well say that Danzou has been restrained, or at least guided, by his dedication to the good of the village," Mitokado put in, looking sternly over the rims of his glasses at Hiashi.

"Should the Council take note the the Hokage's first councilors have a bias in favor of Danzou?" Shikaku murmured dryly, brow raised. A faint gust of laughter ran around the table, stealing the edge from Mitokado's defense, and Sasuke made a note of the tactic to himself.

"He has been guided, but he has not been restrained," Hiashi said firmly. "This is unacceptable."

"Then the answer would seem to be to revive Root as an accepted arm of the village," Utatane suggested, frail fingers laced in front of her, spine straight. "That will bring Danzou back into the stream of decisions reached by, at the least, the Hokage and her first councilors"

"Making it three against one, hm?" Tsunade looked very sour, and Sasuke had to wonder just how much friction there was between her and those two Elders.

The rest of the table was looking alarmingly thoughtful, though. Sasuke sighed to himself; he'd have to attack first this time, and hope he could defend himself as he went. "The question of whether Danzou's guiding principles are acceptable remains unanswered," he pointed out. "So far, it's merely been evaded."

After a long, silent moment, Shikaku stirred. "I am not pleased with Danzou's decisions. They've been too extreme."

"If Root is accepted as a hand of the Council, even if it remains proscribed to outside eyes, that problem will be alleviated," Utatane argued.

Chouza tilted his head at Tsunade. "The Hokage appears to feel differently. It seems that you and Mitokado are already sufficient voices for direct action."

"Are you displeased with the outcome?" Mitokado snapped. "The village has been kept safe and made strong!"

"The village was almost fatally weakened by his actions!" Sasuke snapped back, and in the silence that followed tried to catch up to his own thoughts. He was right, he knew he was, because Naruto... ah. Yes, of course.

He spread his hands on the glossy wood in front of him and glared at Danzou. "You would have killed our host for loosening the Nine-tails containment. You still would, if you could convince us!"

"Of course I would," Danzou answered calmly. "It is a threat, and must be contained as strongly as possible. If the Uzumaki boy cannot keep it bound, then it must be killed. I regret that he must die with it, but that is the nature of the Sacrifices."

"Contained, you say," Sasuke returned, quiet now, seeing the moves he needed unrolling in front of him. "Contained and doubly bound, that's how you would keep the Nine-tails?" At Danzou's solemn nod, he showed his teeth. "You would have us be weaker than enemy villages? I have to wonder about your precious dedication to Konoha. You would weaken us against Hidden Cloud! Who betrays the village, then?"

"What do you mean?" Mitokado demanded, frowning at him. Sasuke leaned back.

"Cloud's hosts, in this generation, are known to be the strongest, the ones best able to manage their beasts and the ones who can gain the most of their power to fight with. That is done, not by binding the beast completely, but by holding it lightly contained and reaching an accommodation with it." He paused to let that sink in and struck. "Naruto has done this, and that's the only reason we won against Nagato and Konan of Akatsuki. We have a host as strong as Cloud's now!" He lifted a hand to point across the table at Danzou. "And his judgment would have stolen that strength from us and left Cloud the only hidden village with a host. What do you think would have happened then?" He flicked a meaningful glance at Hiashi and Hinata.

"No one knew this at the time," Utatane started, only to be cut off by Midori.

"That is the point Uchiha-kun is making, I believe. Danzou did not know, and yet he took it upon himself to act." She gave Utatane and Mitokado a keen look. "And you would not have stopped him, would you?" The two first councilors were silent at that.

"Very well." Tsunade straightened, lifting her head, and every eye in the room went to her. "The Council has debated this issue, and I have heard your words on it. My judgment is that Root must be truly disbanded. The conditioning of the members will be undone as far as possible, and if there are keys to release it, those must be surrendered. Further, Shimura Danzou has demonstrated a lack of trustworthiness that I cannot accept." She met the eyes of each person in turn. "If he meant to place Root in the service of the village, why was I told nothing of it, when I became Hokage? Why did he continue to operate on no authority but his own? That is not the act of a man who seeks to serve anything at all. I say that Shimura Danzou must be stripped of his office as an Elder of Konoha. What does my Council say?"

"Agreed," Shikaku said promptly.

"Agreed," Hiashi murmured.

"Agreed." Chouza nodded firmly.

"We will need to address the fate of Root members further, and how they can be returned to duty," the ANBU commander said quietly. "But that will not require the full Council. For the matter of Danzou: Agreed."

Midori sat back with an air of satisfaction, and Sasuke remembered her first words, that a son of her clan was a Root member. "Agreed."

"Agreed," Sasuke murmured, nearly holding his breath as everyone looked at the other two Elders.

Utatane's mouth was tight. "There will need to be another Elder appointed, then. If you are concerned that no one person shape policy too much, then let your first councilors approve the appointment."

Tsunade's eyes flashed, but after a scowling moment she nodded sharply. Sasuke wondered if it was his imagination that a corner of her mouth flickered upward for just an instant.

Utatane sighed. "Agreed."

Mitokado was frowning ferociously, but after a taut moment he sat back, not looking at anyone. "Very well," he said, low.

Sasuke didn't think for one moment that he imagined the flash of rage on Danzou's face before the old man stood from the table. "If that is the will of the Council, very well." He bowed shallowly to them and whirled around to stalk from the room.

Sasuke let out his breath, feeling his muscles trembling with the tension of this new form of combat. He hoped it wouldn't always be this bad. Everyone was stretching and sighing as they rose, though, and he had a bad feeling that it got to everyone this way.

Great.

He pried himself up out of his chair and tried to discreetly shake out his legs only to find Aburame Midori looking at him with a faintly amused curve to her lips. She patted his arm as she passed. "Not a bad first appearance."

"Thank you," Sasuke managed past gritted teeth.

When he emerged from the room, the last one so he could walk with one hand on the wall to prop him up in decent privacy, Tsunade and Kakashi were lingering. Faint smile-lines creased the corner of Kakashi-sensei's eye and he rested a steadying hand on Sasuke's shoulder. "Good work."

"I need to practice this," Sasuke answered, even though his teacher's approval warmed him.

"Ask Shikamaru," Kakashi-sensei advised.

"You might also speak with Hinata." Tsunade leaned against the wall, arms crossed, with a crooked smile. "She's learning this, too, and I suspect the two of you will be allies in Council, when she takes over."

Sasuke took a deep breath and let it out. He had a plan for training. That helped. "Thanks."

Despite that affirmation, he was still very glad to get back through the falling dusk to his own house, and even more pleased to find people there and the lights on. Normally, he might feel called on to needle his teammates about spending more time at his house than they did at their own apartments, but tonight he was glad for the company waiting.

Naruto was sitting cross-legged at the low, round table in the living room with books and scrolls spread out around him and his fingers buried in his hair as he read. As Sasuke came in he was groaning, "How can we power this twice? Fuck, maybe we should just summon some demons or something."

Sasuke blinked. Demons?

Sakura stuck her head through the doors from the kitchen, half-full bowl of rice in one hand. "I don't think we want to do this by sacrifice; I mean technically the Nine-tails is a demon and I don't think he'd like that." She spotted Sasuke through the wide entry hall, kicking his sandals off in the genkan, and eyed him for a long moment. "You look wrung out. Sit down and I'll dish up some food for you, too." She vanished back into the kitchen with a grin over her shoulder. "It's your rice, after all."

Naruto looked around and smiled, just a little wan. "Hey."

Sasuke trudged over to the table, slumping down half over it. "You look about like I feel."

Naruto reached over to rub the back of his neck. "Was it bad?"

"Well, Danzou is booted off the Council and Root is really, seriously disbanded this time. Supposing that can be done. So there's definitely progress." He sighed as Naruto's fingers found a knot.

"And it was a pain in the ass to get there," Naruto guessed, and made a face. "When I'm Hokage, I'm gonna fire all the Elders."

"Maybe they'll die off before then," Sasuke muttered, half serious.

"No revolutions at the dinner table," Sakura declared, dumping bowls of rice and pickled vegetables in front of both of them as she settled down with her own.

"Yeah, save 'em for dessert." Sasuke levered himself back upright and picked up his bowl. "So how's the research coming?"

Naruto glared at his scrolls and growled around a mouthful of rice.

"We know approximately what has to happen," Sakura supplied. "The part we're stuck on is how to actually do it."

Sasuke made an inquiring sound, scooping up some more pickles.

"There's two parts to it," Naruto said, swallowing. "For one, we need to give the Nine-tails a huge" he waved his chopsticks demonstratively, "transfusion of yin chakra. But in order for it to take hold properly, first we have to deal with his scar."

Sasuke frowned. "The severing left a scar? Even though there wasn't a specific physical counterpart?"

"That's the hardest part." Naruto propped an elbow on the table, frowning. "It wasn't a specific 'part' of his chakra. It was a little bit of all of it. So the scar is... well, it's everywhere."

Sasuke made a thoughtful sound, even as he absently batted Naruto's elbow off the table. "I can see that would be a hard one, yeah."

"We need to soften or dissolve it," Sakura said, leaning back on one hand with a sigh, pushing her feathery hair back with the other. "And that will take almost as much power as the transfusion. I can probably supply the second part, and Tsunade-sama says she can transform it into yin chakra. But I don't quite have the endurance to pull up that volume of power twice. So what are we going to do for the first part?"

Sasuke swallowed his last bite staring at the wall as he thought. Power like Sakura's seal gave her access to wasn't common, it was true. In fact there was only one other person he'd ever seen do anything at all similar. Slowly he said, "You know. Jiraiya also uses nature energy sometimes."

Naruto sat up straight. "Jiraiya!" His face was bright and excited, weariness forgotten.

"That's right, I completely forgot! Orochimaru even mentioned that, once!" Sakura's eyes gleamed. "He should be back from escorting Konan and Nagato home soon."

"Yes!" Naruto punched the air and snatched up a pencil and paper, sweeping their bowls out of the way to scribble diagrams across it, tip of his tongue sticking out one corner of his mouth in his concentration.

Sasuke looked up at Sakura from the floor where he'd dived to catch the bowls, and they grinned at each other. "Maybe, when we're done, I'll ask him if he can teach me any of his sage techniques, too," she said, reaching over to relieve him of one bowl. "I remember hearing he has some really interesting ones, and if Madara comes for us we can use the edge."

"He's a good teacher," Sasuke admitted, "as long as you can keep his eyes where they're supposed to be."

"Yeah." She grinned. "Tsunade-sama has had a few things to say about that, now and then. I think she's really glad he's back with the village, though."

"You're back. Good."

Jiraiya paused just inside the door, and Tsunade wondered if she should have tried to sound less fervent. She might have just warned him what was coming. Oh well.

"Sit," she ordered, pointing at a chair with one hand and sealing paperwork with the other. Jiraiya sat, eyeing her warily. "So, how did it go? Are they back safe?"

Jiraiya cleared his throat. "Rather safer than I expected, really." That made Tsunade look up, brows raised and he shrugged, looking a bit bemused. "Hanzou... well, he's made Konan his successor."

Tsunade blinked at that. "His..." Her eyes widened. "He made her the next Master of Ame?"

Jiraiya waved his hands helplessly. "You know how he is, when he decides he likes someone's fighting spirit."

Tsunade buried her face in her hands. After a moment, she started laughing. "Master of the Rain! An S-rank criminal! One of Akatsuki!" She laughed herself breathless and finally leaned back, wiping her eyes. "Oh, I can hear the other villages howling already. The old bastard probably did it just for that."

"Not just for that," Jiraiya said, a little reproving. "Konan is a powerful shinobi, and she cares deeply for her village. I think, now she's come home properly again, we'll be able to work with her."

"Mm." Tsunade folded her arms, considering what she knew of that pair. "And Nagato?"

Jiraiya sighed, straight shoulders slumping just a fraction. "He... will take longer to recover. Part of Konan's bargain with Hanzou was complete amnesty for Nagato as long as he stays out of village politics until Hanzou's dead."

"Wise of them both, perhaps." It would give Nagato time to get himself together, after all, and give Konan time to stand on her own and let the village see her doing it. Tsunade wondered whether Konan had understood all that; it was a given that Hanzou had, of course. "Well, we'll see. In the meantime, and speaking of village governance," she pointed a finger at Jiraiya, "we finally kicked Danzou out. So you're going to replace him as Elder as soon as I can get those other two old goats to agree; shouldn't take too long, they always favored you over me anyway."

Jiraiya gaped at her. "Me?!"

"You." She glared at him. "And don't think you're getting out of this one. You stuck me with the job of Hokage. In fact, you dodged that one twice. But I need someone I can trust to have my back on that damn Council, instead of reaching for a bigger sword every time there's a problem, and that means you. Suck it up."

"But... but... my research," he started plaintively.

"You've traveled enough to have all the background you need for another eight books at least," she told him ruthlessly. "And you've peeped at the baths enough for another ten. So don't give me that."

He hesitated, one hand lifting slowly to touch his forehead protector. "My allegiance is to Mt. Myouboku, Tsunade," he murmured, eyes dark. "Is that really acceptable, for Konoha's Council?"

Tsunade spent a moment fighting the urge to shake him until his teeth rattled; she didn't need more obstructionism, she needed him to say yes! But the truly troubled lines of his face softened her frustration. When she spoke, it was more gently than she had thought she could. "Jiraiya. You never abandoned your allegiance to Konoha. Your hunt for Orochimaru, your books, your travels, none of those changed what's truly important to you." She stood and came around the desk to lay her hands on those broad shoulders, the ones she'd cried on when her brother died, the ones she needed now to help her carry the village. "What is the most important thing to you, Jiraiya? Truly the most important? Tell me."

He had looked up when she came to him, but his eyes fell, at that. His mouth twitched a few times with unspoken words, but at last he sighed, deep and quiet, and closed his eyes. "The village of Hidden Leaf," he admitted. "When I ask myself, what is the most important thing... I see the sun over the roofs of Konoha."

She smiled, eyes prickling with sudden water. "You're such an old sap sometimes," she said, husky. "It's pitiful. Really."

He smiled crookedly up at her. "Yes, I suppose so."

"Do you still wonder if the Council will approve of you?" she asked, soft.

He sighed again, rueful this time. "I suppose not. Can I still have vacations now and then for research?"

"Only after Utatane and Mitokado are dead." She wasn't entirely joking about that, and judging by his wince he knew it.

"That good, hm? How thrilling this will be, I'm sure."

"Well, if it's any comfort, your student will be there, too," she said a bit dryly. "And he's a little firebrand."

Jiraiya looked pleased, and she laughed. "Tell me what they've been doing," he said, smiling again. "I know Naruto was pretty determined to heal the Nine-tails, when I left."

"Oh yes." Tsunade hitched herself up onto her desk and grinned down at him rather wickedly, feet swinging. "That was the other thing."

"Are you absolutely sure this is a good idea?" Jiraiya asked one more time as he settled in the nested circles of Tsunade-baachan's channeling seals, and Naruto rolled his eyes. "I mean, aren't we rushing this a little?"

"Madara is still out there," Tsunade-baachan said, so acidly that Naruto knew she didn't like moving this fast either.

Well that was just too bad. He knew what had to be done, and they were going to do it just as soon as possible.

As soon as possible without killing yourself was the deal, the fox pointed out, filling Naruto with the sense of being eyed suspiciously. I have no desire to be scattered through the land's chakra when I'm flung free of your unraveling spirit, and take who knows how long to pull myself back together.

I'm so touched by your concern, he sniped back. Now shut up and let me concentrate. He ignored the faint growls about insolent brats and triple-checked the seals that led from the old pervert to him.

"So how are those combined patrols going?" Jiraiya asked as he inspected the seal rings around him.

"There are no signs of him yet, but no one really trusts that." Tsunade-baachan sighed as she shrugged out of her jacket and hung it by the door, rolling her shoulders to loosen them. Sakura, still studying the seal diagrams, absently whacked the old pervert on the back of the head when he paused to ogle the way that made Tsunade's boobs bounce. "Temari is especially suspicious, considering how Akatsuki got past Sand's sentries. She went and harangued Hiashi herself to get experienced Hyuuga assigned to each patrol, to look out for illusions."

Sasuke, leaning by the door, chuckled. "No wonder Shikamaru was looking like he had a headache the other day. I bet he wishes you'd assigned someone else to be liaison to the volunteers."

"It could be worse." Tsunade smiled, wryly. "It could have been Suigetsu busting up the bars again." She pulled tight the cord tying her hair up in a high tail and sighed. "All right, I think we're as ready as we can get, short of another few months of research. Jiraiya, get started. Sakura, be ready, I'll want you as soon as the channeling seal is closed. Sasuke," she looked up, sober, "keep watch over us. If one of us falls into chakra exhaustion, pull them out. If any technique will let you do it without disrupting the seals, it's the Sharingan."

Everyone nodded seriously, and Naruto couldn't resist piping up, "What about me?" His teacher gave him a familiar glower.

"You get in communication with the fox and quit giving me lip, brat."

Naruto grinned as Jiraiya's two oldster toads popped into being at his sides. "Quit worrying, old bag, we're gonna be brilliant." He touched his fingers to the small, simple seal in front of his crossed legs. "I'll signal when we're ready to go." He closed his eyes, still grinning, and Tsunade-baachan's yell of Naruto! followed him down to the place he met with the fox.

Nine-tails was lying on the surface of the water, there, chin resting on his crossed paws. "Your teacher is a reasonable being," he said, as ripples followed Naruto's steps across the water to him. "I suppose it wouldn't have been completely dreadful to be sealed to her. At least then I'd have been spared the appalling exhibitionism."

"Hey!" Naruto defended himself. "That was a stroke of genius! Sexy no Jutsu got a whole bar full of Mist Swordsmen and border patrollers to quit fighting!"

Nine-tails curled one enormous lip, but all he said was, "Are you ready?"

Naruto straightened and took three breaths, the way Tsunade had taught him to before any procedure, clearing his mind and preparing his body. He laid one hand on the fox's shoulder and focused, tighter, wider, until his chakra was flowing in the smooth pattern of Mystic Palms, ready to provide a template for the one he would heal. With his other hand, he traced the opening for the signal seal.

One breath, and Tsunade-baachan's chakra touched his, perfectly parallel; Naruto never stopped being amazed by the absolute control she had, even though he'd never say it out loud. She matched his chakra flow so closely he could feel their hearts beating in the same time, two of them as one to heal Nine-tails' scar: Naruto to connect and Tsunade to direct.

Two breaths, and their paired flow swept out to the fox, and that almost shocked Naruto loose. The fox's chakra pattern was structured like any other vertebrate's, but it was huge, wild, a raging torrent like nothing Naruto had ever seen. It was like a forest-fire with a soul.

Three breaths, and another energy surged through Tsunade's hands and into his, just as wild, just as raw, and somehow it fit. Dizzy, Naruto wondered if this was what Sakura felt every time she activated her seal, thought that now he understood what Nine-tails meant when he said he was a spirit of the land. This wild, inhuman power, untempered and uncaring, matched him perfectly.

He shook himself and kept breathing, holding his contact with Nine-tails and fighting to stay in rhythm with Tsunade-baachan's technique, to move with her, bit by bit through the fox's body and spirit. Or spirit-body. Or whatever. The shoulder under his hands flinched constantly and the fox whined as they touched bit after bit of torn or unnaturally smooth chakra and struck it like a bell, forced a resonance with the flow of their own chakra, dissolved the scar in the raging stream of nature energy. The fox's body drank it in like parched ground under rain.

Naruto was light-headed with the strain of another bit and another and another, but with each tiny scar-bit they dissolved, with each rush of nature energy that vanished into the fox without slowing, the more he was angry too. He knew the attack eighteen years ago had had to be stopped, he knew that, but this was wrong. There had to be a better way to keep the fox from Madara. He would find a better way! He gritted his teeth with that resolution and kept going.

One more bit. And one more. And one more. And... there wasn't one more? Naruto wavered on his feet, stumbling against the fox's shoulder, as the rush of wild power tapered off. Oh. They were at the second part already.

He could feel that they had to be fast about it, too. The Nine-tails' chakra was unscarred now, flowing under his hands, but it wasn't whole. It was tilting, shuddering, on the edge of falling into disorder or consuming itself, and his eyes widened as he realized how much that scar had stabilized the fox's chakra.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, Sakura, Tsunade-baachan, hurry up," he chanted, pressing his hands tight to the fox and reaching out desperately to try to steady his contract partner, feeling every fiber of his chakra creak under the wavering weight of Nine-tails. "Hurry up, hurry up, come on you guys..."

All at once, chakra fell on him like a collapsing cliff face, blasted from Tsunade's hands into his, and his teeth locked on a groan as the force of it tore at him. His hands, here, were spirit, without the shield of a body, and the new flow of chakra froze them even as the fox's spirit sucked it out of him as fast as it arrived, ravenous for this dark, sinking chakra. It went on and on until he thought he might be screaming and couldn't even hear himself to be sure.

And then it stopped.

Naruto slumped, panting and dazed against the Nine-tails' side, trying to understand why the world suddenly felt strange around him. Something... something had changed. Was he back in the outer world? No, there was colorless and opaque water under his feet, and under the paw next to him.

...the really huge paw.

"Nine-tails?" he mumbled, squinting.

"Sit down before you fall down, kit." The fox's voice rolled and rumbled like it never had before. Naruto looked up and sat down, all right, falling along with his jaw.

The fox was huge! He was taller than the cliffs around Konoha! "Oh wow," Naruto whispered.

The fox laughed, and threw up his muzzle and howled like a storm, like mountains breaking, and Naruto laughed too, delighted. This... this was what the fox was meant to be.

They'd done it!

He grabbed the fox's fur and scrambled up his leg and over his vast shoulder to stand on his head, and the fox let him with only a few disgruntled noises. Naruto was pretty sure he didn't mean them. He waved his arms at the white sky, triumphant and breathless and happy.

And... not tired?

"Um. Wasn't I exhausted just a minute ago?" he asked, curious.

An ear taller than he was flicked. "You and I are bound by our contract," the fox rumbled. "Until you die, our chakra is as one."

And they'd just fixed the fox's chakra; okay, that made sense. And also, wow. Naruto grinned. "This is going to be so cool!"

Nine-tails snorted and laid down, lowering his head so fast Naruto yelped and grabbed for a handhold in his fur. "Get back where you belong, kit. I imagine there's some cleaning up to do after all this."

Naruto pouted, but not very hard. He'd get to try all their moves out with this new strength soon. "I can tell when I'm not wanted," he declared, and grinned over his shoulder at the fox as he jumped down. "See you soon!"

The fox just watched him, enormous red eyes steady, as he closed his own eyes and walked forward, up, out, and was sitting crosslegged on the hard tile floor of the operating room.

"Tsunade-sama! Tsunade-sama!"

The frantic edge of Sakura's voice snapped Naruto's eyes open, and he started up onto his knees. "What...?" There was Sasuke at the edge of the seals looking shocked, and there was Jiraiya with an old woman in his arms, and there was Sakura with her hands wrapped around the old lady's, and... where was Tsunade-baachan?

"Tsunade, please, hang on!" The dreadful urgency of Jiraiya's entreaty shook Naruto's heart and he was talking... to the old woman.

"Tsunade... -baachan?" Naruto whispered, staring. It wasn't possible. But the old woman opened her eyes slowly, and they were Tsunade's eyes, warm and brown and sparkling with sharp annoyance.

"Quit standing there with your mouths hanging open, looking like idiots," she husked, voice suddenly old and fragile. "I'm not dead yet."

Sakura let out all her breath, bending over to press her head against Tsunade's hand, looking as dizzy with relief as Naruto felt. Jiraiya, on the other hand, inhaled deeply, the lines around his mouth carved deep and hard.

"You didn't tell me you risked your transformation, you idiot!" he bellowed, voice echoing off the walls. "What the hell were you thinking?"

She reached up one thin hand and smacked him on the shoulder; it barely rocked him at all, and Naruto bit his lip, eyes wide with worry. She was so weak, now!

"I thought that I'm the Hokage of this damn village and this is what had to be done," she snapped, and at least the tone sounded like her, even if the voice was husky and unsteady. "And I knew you'd argue and yell, and we didn't have time."

Jiraiya sputtered indignantly until she smiled up at him. Then he sighed. "I'm doomed to be surrounded by reckless fools," he muttered, lifting Tsunade up to rest against his shoulder.

Sasuke and Tsunade exchanged a very speaking look over Jiraiya's head, and Sasuke's lips twitched as a grin tugged at them. Naruto supposed it was kind of funny to hear Jiraiya accusing anyone else of recklessness, though the humor was hard to see right this moment. He took a few breaths to stop his head spinning and glowered inward at the fox. Some cleaning up? he asked, hard.

A little, the fox agreed in his new, deeper rumble. Idiot kit. Are you a healer or aren't you?

Naruto stared at thin air for a startled moment before smiling sheepishly. Okay, maybe he deserved the "idiot" this time. "Okay, we're okay," he assured the rest of the room. "Here."

Tsunade-really-baachan's eyes widened as he held his hands over her. "Naruto, don't do that ye—"

Chakra punched through his system like a fist, not the usual flow of healing but a wild burst of it, and they both gasped. The diamond on Tsunade's forehead snapped into being again, and it was only then that Naruto realized it had been gone. Tsunade's hands locked around his with all her usual strength, even if she still looked old.

Her voice was as loud as ever, though, when she hollered, "Naruto! No chakra techniques until you've practiced them at least three times each!"

"Um. Yes, sensei," Naruto mumbled, dazed. He shook his head briskly, trying to clear out the buzz in his thoughts, and swore he could feel the fox rolling his eyes.

Tsunade-baachan straightened up, years melting away with every breath. "Your chakra is linked tightly to the Nine-tails, and your system has an entirely new balance now," she scolded as she elbowed away from Jiraiya. "You're my most advanced apprentice after Shizune, these days, you should know this!"

"It worked," Naruto defended himself.

"Only because I had enough control to harness the surge, and channel it into my reservoir seal." She frowned at him sternly until he held up his hands.

"Okay, okay, I'll practice first! Promise!"

"Good." She patted her hands over herself quickly. "Okay, all back together." She eyed him and relented far enough to say, "You shaped the technique reasonably well. Just remember to slow down, in your work, for a while."

Naruto nodded meekly, and accepted Sakura's hand up off the floor, leaning against her shoulder as Sasuke came to rest a hand on his back.

"And we'll hope that Madara gives us time for that," Jiraiya said quietly.

True as Gold and Iron

Tseng rather abruptly sees Rufus in a new light and is struck by all the things Rufus has become that he's been trying not to hope for. Baroque and self-indulgent loyalty porn! Clothing porn! Even some porn porn! Assumes some Lullabye for the New World Order history. Drama, Porn, D/s, I-4

It was one week before Shinra Corporation's Yule ball, the offices were gaudy with decorations, the backstabbing over seating arrangements had reached its annual fever pitch, and Tseng was airing out his formal robes.

Indications of the season indeed.

He lifted each layer carefully out of its drawer and unfolded delicate, crackling paper, spreading his armfuls of silk and shining embroidery out on the floor mats so he could inspect the seams before hanging them to air.

"I never realized just how much fabric that is," Rufus said thoughtfully from where he was curled up on the end of Tseng's couch. "What's it like to wear?"

"Heavy," Tseng told him dryly as he pulled out the last layer, that being the most pertinent part of the answer for Rufus. Before Tseng had gotten his shoes and jacket all the way off or undone his cuffs to roll them up, this evening, Rufus had already shed his linen suit in favor of an ancient T-shirt and sweat pants that had migrated to Tseng's apartment in the city. He could, he supposed, imagine Rufus putting up with formal court garments if there was some overriding reason to do so, but he had no doubt whatsoever the complaints before and after would be epic. Rufus didn't even like the mere two or three layers of Midgar suits.

So he was a bit surprised when Rufus made an interested sound. "They look easy to move in, though." He rested his chin on folded arms across the arm of the couch. "Do you have any others I could try on, just to see?" Tseng raised his brows, and Rufus smiled. "You always look... different in them, at the Yule ball. I've been curious."

"Hm." Tseng sat back on his heels, considering the silk spread out around him. He did have casual cotton robes in this apartment, but that wouldn't answer Rufus' question, not really. And while a lingering part of him was shocked by the idea of dressing Rufus in these, another part of him was very entertained by the suggestion. It was the same part of him that kept thinking about taking Tifa on a tour of Wutai's temples just so he could watch her wipe the floor with every master of their arts that she met.

And after all, weren't Imperial robes appropriate to Rufus Shinra? Tseng knew he was smirking a little, and Rufus grinned back at him, straightening up. "We can use these," Tseng said, picking up the short innermost robe and shaking it out gently. "You'll need to undress again, though. Believe me, you don't want to be wearing any extra layers under all this."

Rufus shrugged and promptly stripped out of his shirt and sweats, tossing them over the back of the couch. He didn't have anything under them, and Tseng reflected with some amusement that now he knew what Rufus had originally planned for the evening.

Perhaps they'd get to that later.

He stood Rufus in the middle of the room and draped him in one layer after another, fingers stumbling now and then as he knotted ties and folded belts because he was so unused to doing them this way around, now. They weren't exactly traditional in any case; he had long ago cut each and every tie and belt somewhere unobtrusive and sewed in break-away snaps. The hems were cheated, too, carefully taken up so his feet were free under the last two layers. On Rufus they were actually far closer to the proper, floor-dragging, foot-muddling length. Even on these altered robes, though, the details were still fine enough, and many enough, to distract him from the point of the project until he tied the last, ornate knot and stepped back to regard his handiwork as a whole

And then the breath went out of him.

Rufus stood in the center of the room, straight and still under the weight of the robes, a straightness Tseng's gut recognized; it was the way every noble child learned to stand, under those layers, and the sudden sight of Rufus standing with a noble's still poise made Tseng's chest tighten. The lift of Rufus' chin was the same determination Tseng saw every day, but he now saw, abruptly, that it was also the straightness of honor fit to accompany the imperial seal embroidered into those robes. This, the silk whispered to him as Rufus shifted slightly, was indeed his rightful ruler, and the faint smile that grew on Rufus' lips as he watched Tseng was weighted with all the knowledge a lord should have of his man.

The weight of blood and history, of need and duty, pressed down on Tseng until his knees hit the floor. Rufus' eyes followed him down and the acceptance in them was not only the possessiveness of a son of Shinra. In the light reflected up from that rich silk and gold, it was also a ruler's awareness of obligation, to and from those he commanded. It was everything Tseng had longed passionately to believe Rufus could do and be. Everything he'd told himself he must not dare hope for. It felt like falling and catching himself to complete his bow, hands spread out against the floor before him, head bowed down.

"Lord," Tseng breathed in his own tongue, the single word bare of extra honorifics that proclaimed, not merely formal, but personal loyalty. The one word that paraded for all to hear that he belonged to this man, body and blood. He knew, he knew, Rufus wouldn't understand all that it meant, but he couldn't help offering it anyway. Offering it and claiming the rights of honor and service that went it.

Robes rustled with slow steps toward him, and the rhythm was off, more uncertain than any noble Rufus' age would be. Even so, it was the sound that told him his lord approached, and it kept him down like a hand on his nape.

Until Rufus' hand cupped his jaw and drew his head up.

Tseng was breathing fast, shocked by the intimacy of his lord stooping to touch him and raise him. Rufus didn't mean it that way; he touched Tseng freely all the time. But feeling the weight of Rufus' wide sleeves against his shoulder made Tseng shiver with his nearness, with the sweetness of being permitted this familiarity. There was heat in Rufus' eyes, the heat that Tseng's surrender always lit there. Tonight, though, Tseng finally thought he saw the measure of his own loyalty reflected, weighed justly by the one he'd given it to. As Rufus' thumb stroked down the line of his jaw, he prayed to every god he'd ever tried to turn his back on that it was true.

"You're mine," Rufus told him, and Tseng couldn't help the tiny sound that wrung out of him, because Rufus' voice was quiet. It wasn't Rufus' triumph that Tseng heard in that claim tonight—it was his answer to Tseng's need, and Tseng almost slid away from his hold to bow his head again in acknowledgement and gratitude. But resisting Rufus' hand would be unthinkable, in this moment. "Yes," he whispered instead.

Rufus' eyes were dark. "Come and take these off," he said, very softly, straightening up again to stand quiet and poised. Tseng shivered and nodded, wordless. He rose from his knees and began to undo Rufus' robes, lifting each one off his shoulders with careful hands. When the last one was laid aside, Rufus leaned back against Tseng, and Tseng's breath caught. He folded his arms around Rufus' waist, bending his head to press his mouth to Rufus' bare shoulder, a little dizzy with the feel of Rufus relaxed in his arms. This was a gift, not merely of Rufus' trust but of his understanding. He'd seen what Tseng needed.

"I beg you to permit me," he murmured against Rufus' skin, and he knew Rufus wouldn't understand the words but the language of Midgar didn't have the words, the forms of submission and obligation, to shape his entreaty in.

Rufus seemed to hear what he meant anyway. He leaned his head back against Tseng's shoulder, smiling, body language perfectly at ease in the curve of Tseng's body. "Yes," he said, and the word was permission and command. It shivered through Tseng and he gathered Rufus closer, one hand sliding up to press over Rufus' heart, offering his own body as Rufus' shield and shelter. This was his role, this was his place, and he was fighting not to flinch with the memory of every time the instincts of his upbringing had cried out for him to destroy whatever offered Rufus insult—and had to be stifled. This was his lord, and Tseng's heart told him he had failed in what he owed far too often, despite his mind's insistence that it was necessary, that Rufus himself would never have allowed Tseng to upset Shinra's delicate political balance to answer those slights properly.

"Tseng," Rufus said softly, and Tseng prepared to draw back, to box up this part of him again because he knew full well it was too passionate to let run free in this land. But Rufus didn't move away. He lifted his arms up and reached behind him to twine them loosely around Tseng's neck, uncovering himself completely. There was nothing to guard him at all, now, but Tseng's arms around him, and Tseng's breath nearly stopped.

"Rufus," he whispered, shaking. Terrifying warmth curled through his stomach, that Rufus would give him this, trust him like this, see him like this. His hands stroked over and over Rufus' body, helplessly protective, and Rufus relaxed into them, eyes closed. Tseng was speaking in his own tongue again, phrase after rippling phrase in the most abject form, begging humbly for the favor Rufus had just shown him because he couldn't quite believe it was this simple.

It took a long time for Tseng to quiet himself again, and Rufus leaned in his arms the whole while, apparently perfectly content. His fingers combed lightly through Tseng's hair now and then. "It's okay," he said at last, quietly, not opening his eyes. "It's okay, Tseng. You're mine." He said it like it explained everything about this night, and after what Rufus had given and shown him Tseng couldn't deny that it did. That Rufus was, indeed, a ruler who would give all of himself in return for the swords and souls his followers laid at his feet. The very one Tseng had wanted him to be, taught him to be, and never dared believe in.

It was shame for that lack of faith that put him back on his knees when Rufus finally straightened and turned—not something Tseng had expected to ever feel again in his life, but the steadiness of Rufus' eyes on him told his heart that he should have known before this. He pressed a kiss to Rufus' palm, and bent his head. "My life and honor are in your hand." The words, finally spoken out loud, hung in the air of the room like a bird hovering.

Rufus' other hand rested lightly on his head. "And my honor is in your care," he answered. It drove a gasp out of Tseng, the gesture, the words, so perfectly right even in the clumsy language of Midgar.

"Tseng." When Tseng looked up, Rufus was smiling. "Take me to bed."

Tseng had to swallow. There was knowledge in Rufus' eyes. Not the laughing victory he'd sometimes seen there when Rufus first understood his power over Tseng, nor the pleasure that had remained for all the years since. Only knowledge. This night Rufus knew, he understood the exact measure of Tseng's surrender to his mastery. And he offered Tseng back his trust in the same measure.

Tseng rose silently and followed Rufus into the bedroom. Rufus stretched out on Tseng's bed, relaxed and waiting, and Tseng had to swallow again against the tangle of desire and tenderness and reverence that rose in him. Slowly, every movement precise under the weight of Rufus' eyes on him, he stripped off his clothes and folded each item. When he turned back to the bed, Rufus was smiling with the pure appreciation he so often showed for Tseng's body. He held out a hand, offering and commanding, and Tseng came to him.

He was shocked all over again by Rufus' pliancy against him, and found himself rolling Rufus underneath him, driven to shelter him. Rufus laughed quietly and settled against the covers, arms draped easily around Tseng's shoulders. Tseng shivered at the sound, at the acceptance in it, and pressed his mouth to the curve of Rufus' neck, open and deferential. "Will you tell me," he asked, husky, "what it is you wish of me?" Because he wasn't sure how much more he could bring himself to do without Rufus' word. Not tonight.

"Mmm." Rufus tipped his head back, relaxed, fingers stroking delicately up and down Tseng's nape under the loose spill of his hair until Tseng was breathless. "I want you inside me. Slowly."

Tseng gathered him closer, steadied by that direction. "Thank you."

Rufus stroked a thumb over Tseng's cheekbone, eyes dark; he understood, Tseng thought, how much the demands of this trust unsettled Tseng. Understood and required it anyway, and Tseng could only bend his head as Rufus pressed home that proof and reminder of just how complete Tseng's submission to him was. That reminder was exactly what Tseng needed, and he was so hard from it that he was a getting little light-headed.

He went slowly, though, as Rufus had told him, gradually opening the tightness of Rufus' body with slick fingers. The husky sounds Rufus made against his shoulder as he held Rufus close and sank two fingers deep into him made Tseng's breath come quicker. And Rufus, almost without precedent, wasn't pushing. Wasn't urging Tseng on. Was relaxed in Tseng's arms and moving against him with slow abandon, following the guidance of Tseng's hands on him.

He closed his eyes and just breathed, trembling with the weight of everything Rufus laid so easily in his hands. No, perhaps not easily. But deliberately and without hesitation. "Please, lord," he whispered against Rufus' hair, not even sure what he was pleading for.

"Yes," Rufus sighed, eyes half closed as he let his head fall back. "Now."

The command, soft as it was, eased Tseng back from the edge again and his hands were steady as he laid Rufus back against the sheets and settled between his thighs. The vulnerable arch of Rufus' body as Tseng pressed into him nearly undid him again. Even after taking so long in preparation, Rufus was tight and fiercely hot around Tseng's cock, and his unrestrained moan cut Tseng's breath into gasps. His eyes were locked on Rufus' face, on the softness of his parted lips as Tseng drove into him with long, slow thrusts. To be given this, and to have this required of him... it was like a hand, Rufus' hand, reaching down into him to grasp all the things that he held behind a proper reserve and bring them up to the light, laid bare. Tseng groaned wordlessly as Rufus' fingers slid through his hair, down his throat to grip his shoulders. He was dizzy with the pleasure of burying himself in Rufus' body and the sweetness of submitting to Rufus' will.

Rufus moaned as Tseng drove into him deeper, hands stroking over his shoulders, down his chest. "Tseng." The next words were a husky whisper, "This. Needed this. Need you."

That admission, that need, broke Tseng open at last, broke through him in a graceless tumble of words gasped out between kisses as he gathered Rufus tight in his arms. "Yes, my lord, my love, I swear I'm yours, yours for all life and time, body and soul and blood, I belong to you..." Rufus' arms locked around him and his body tightened on Tseng hard. Tseng fell right after him, shaking against Rufus as heat shuddered through his bones in hard, gasping waves and the acknowledgement of Rufus' dominion wrapped around his heart.

Eventually they just lay together, panting for breath. After a few moments, Tseng stirred and murmured against Rufus' neck, "Forgive me. Forgive me for not seeing, for doubting the heart of you. I offer no excuse." This time, at least, he managed to translate his apology.

Rufus' fingers stroked through his hair. "I should have asked," he said quietly. "I was just... afraid of what the answer might be." His voice turned wry. "I mean, there are all kinds of reasons you could choose to serve me without... belonging to me. Willingly, at least."

Tseng swallowed and made himself lean up on his elbows to meet Rufus' eyes. "I serve you willingly, with all my strength and soul," he said, low. "I have belonged to you since the moment we met." And before that, truth be told, but saying that would only distract Rufus right now. "I made that choice in full knowledge." That, at least, was the whole truth.

Rufus looked up at him, eyes clear and bottomless as the sky. "Do you really..." He hesitated, eyes suddenly flickering aside as his fingers stroked lightly over Tseng's chest.

Over his heart.

Tseng really did blame a great deal on the language of Midgar, which was so gracelessly frank about these things that it made Tseng downright embarrassed to speak openly of love. He pressed a kiss to Rufus' brow and another to his lips and murmured, eyes closed for a moment. "Yes. I do. As my student. As my lord. As my friend. As my life."

Rufus shivered and pressed closer letting out a slow, slightly shaky breath. "Thank you," he said against Tseng's shoulder. And then he added, rueful. "I don't know the right words for any of it. But, yes."

Fine tension Tseng had barely even noticed relaxed all at once, and he settled against Rufus with a soft sigh of his own. "Thank you," he whispered back.

He might find the language of this city awkward and distressingly blunt for expressing heart truths in, but Rufus had never even really known the meanings of his own native words. To recognize love, loyalty, trust nevertheless... Tseng was grateful for that as he would be for any miracle. The fact that Rufus had worked this one out of the pure steel of his soul was exactly the reason every word Tseng had spoken tonight was true.

For the knowledge that Rufus truly cherished his people, that he knew the true measure of Tseng's loyalty and could return it, Tseng might just be willing to offer up true thanks. At least, he would if he'd thought Leviathan or any other god had had a damn thing to do with it, which he most assuredly did not.

No, what he offered up was himself, and only to Rufus' hands.

Which was why he wrapped himself around Rufus, close and protective as was his right. And smiled into the half-light of the city's night through his window as Rufus settled against him.

He belonged to Rufus Shinra, and this was his.

End

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Nineteen

Kakashi takes Sai under his wing and Naruto, Sasuke, and Sakura help Sai start to find his emotional feet. Just in time for Madara to make his move on Konoha. Drama, Angst, I-4

"Where is the man?!" Tsunade pounded a fist on her desk, which creaked in protest even through Shizune had gotten it reinforced with metal and stone supports. Kakashi couldn't really blame her.

"He's letting us wear ourselves out," he said from his perch atop her filing cabinet, out of the way of any shrapnel. "We've found a few Akatsuki bases in nearly every country, but I doubt we've found them all. He'll stay hidden in one until we're exhausted and he's ready."

"And this is Uchiha Madara," Jiraiya added, stretching out his long legs and slumping further down into Tsunade's guest chair. "The Hyuuga can't be everywhere, there aren't enough of them strong enough to see through that grade of illusion." His mouth quirked in wry acknowledgement of Tsunade's anger. "At least this delay is giving Naruto time to re-learn his techniques."

Tsunade sat back in her chair looking sour. "Yes, and that's another thing."

Kakashi grinned a bit behind his mask. "He's still nagging you to let him manifest?" He'd been witness to one of Naruto's pitches to be allowed to try, three weeks ago, and Naruto had already been waving his arms and ranting at that one.

"He's a medic himself!" Tsunade sounded aggrieved. "He should know perfectly well that a patient's chakra must be allowed to reach equilibrium after major surgery."

"Besides, which," Jiraiya murmured, "it would cause chaos and panic throughout the village if he did it here."

Tsunade sighed. "That too. The two old goats made much of that."

"Yes. I don't think I'm their favorite any more, either, after not stopping you or telling them what you planned." Jiraiya cocked a brow at Tsunade. "You must have been keeping your temper with them a lot better than I'd thought, if they could think for one instant than I or anyone else could stop you once you've made a decision."

"I've been attempting to compromise reasonably between the governing factions of the village." Tsunade frowned, hands tracing over the cracked surface of her desk. "I don't want to become what too many clan heads and Elders are, thinking that having power means they must be right."

"You aren't them," Kakashi said quietly. "You're Tsunade of the Leaf. We follow you because you've always cared for what's right." And sometimes the pride and terror of thinking that he might, just might, be able to live up to that legacy himself stopped his breath.

Tsunade met his eyes with a crooked smile. "I'd apologize for the weight of that, that I'll leave to you," she said gently, "because I know damn well how heavy it is. But I'd be lying; I'll do my best to make it even heavier, because that's my duty."

Kakashi bent his head. "I know." She'd spent years running away from that weight, just like he had, and it hadn't done either of them a bit of good in the end. Hopefully, they'd do better against Madara than against their own demons.

Whenever he finally got around to showing up.

In a wide, rounded, stone room underneath Fire country's eastern lakes, a black and white body stepped out of the wall.

"Well?" asked the dim figure sitting quietly away from the single lamp.

The back and white head shook. "The boy's been working his way up to complex techniques again, but he hasn't manifested so much as a tail, much less the whole fox."

Red eyes narrowed in the shadows. "How unusually cautious. I would like to be sure the demon is in top shape before I extract it. I suppose we might go fetch the Eight-tails first, but I don't want to miss a good chance at the real prize. Perhaps it's time to provide some... extra motivation." Teeth flashed for a moment. "I can spare you enough chakra to create, perhaps, six full clones."

Both the black and white sides of the face split into a smile.

The duties of a jounin were always irregular. A mission here, a season of teaching there, administrative jobs tucked in whenever a body was recovering from some injury, and sometimes political duties when someone retired from the field. Kakashi had known all of that, and though he'd done his best for years to stave off the political duties he'd never expected to avoid everything.

What he hadn't expected was to be doing all of them at once.

He watched over Naruto's re-training whenever Jiraiya-san wasn't available. Shikaku-san had started insisting that Kakashi sit in on mission application hearings. He appeared to be one of Tsunade-san's new de facto first councilors since she was nearly at knife-points with Mitokado and Utatane over Naruto. And here he was with an escort mission, of sorts, albeit a self-assigned one.

But he'd be damned before he let Sai go talk with Danzou alone.

He slouched along beside the boy, hands stuffed in his pockets, and caught the eye of the outer perimeter guard hidden in the garden a few houses down from Danzou's apartment building. She nodded and let them pass.

"ANBU was tasked to guard Danzou-san, even though you might not have found all of Root's members yet?" Sai asked, and Kakashi reminded himself wryly that this was the ANBU genius of the younger generation he was walking beside. Of course Sai had noticed.

"Would you tell us if you recognized a Root member we haven't found?" he asked in return.

Sai gave him a look whose very blankness clearly suggested that even respected senpai could be complete morons, and touched his lips. Kakashi chuckled. "Exactly." Until they found the key for that seal, they couldn't release mission information about Danzou to Sai, including information about who guarded him.

Sai cocked his head. "Ah. You think the seal may have another element?" A compulsion, of course, or else why worry what information he had. The blank, dark eyes turned considering. "I do not know."

Because he had never disobeyed Danzou.

Kakashi liked talking with Sai. It kept him sharp and in practice with field speech, where the most important things were left unsaid. It also kept his rage with Danzou fresh, which was its own kind of advantage when going to speak to the old snake.

The inner perimeter, currently the doorman, let them through and Kakashi led the way up to Danzou's apartment. He rapped his knuckles on the plain wood door and, after a long moment of waiting, was bidden to enter.

Danzou was sitting in a straight chair by the windows without, Kakashi was pleased to see, his over-robe and its stock of nasty surprises and pre-drawn seals. He didn't think Danzou would bother to attack him, but he still didn't know what Sai planned to do here today; if anything turned explosive, he'd rather not have Danzou's full array of weapons to deal with. Danzou's plain, white kimono showed his withered right arm more clearly than usual; Kakashi wondered if the man was brazen enough to try to play on the sympathies of his guards with that old injury, despite what all of ANBU knew was still deadly skill.

"Sai," Danzou greeted the boy, without any apparent surprise. "What is the status of Root?"

"All members are accounted for," Sai answered promptly, automatically, "and are under evaluation by—" here he stumbled, eyes suddenly shifting between Danzou and Kakashi. "By the Hokage's command," he finished slowly.

"Under which," Kakashi noted dryly, leaning against the wall with crossed arms, "you have no right to command any of them. Including Sai."

Danzou's fingers flicked as if to brush that aside. "And how, without me to require the report, could you be sure everyone was accounted for?"

"Nor is that information you should have, now." Kakashi gave Danzou an affable, eye-crinkling smile. If Danzou really wanted to convince him that little security breach had been some kind of helpful gesture, he shouldn't be fishing for whether or not the rest of ANBU had found a way to identify Root.

Danzou shrugged his whole shoulder, looking careless. "As you wish. What is the purpose for this visit, then?"

Kakashi opened his hand at Sai, who took a few more steps away from the door, into the clear center of the room. "I wanted to ask," the boy started, expressionless and hesitant both, somehow, "why you ordered me to kill Naruto."

Danzou's brow rose. "I gave orders to keep him out of enemy hands, or to stop the demon if the seal began to fail." He made it sound so reasonable that Kakashi had to stop his fist from clenching.

"No," Sai said quietly. "You are the greatest master of seal techniques in ANBU, possibly in the whole village. You could not be ignorant of the nature of Naruto's seal. You ordered me to kill him if there was any change; but the seal was bound to change if Naruto ever gained full command of the demon fox, is that not correct?"

Kakashi straightened just a fraction, stifling a grin as Danzou's shoulders turned stiffer. The problem with training an operative like Sai, of course, was that he never stopped noticing things.

"Why did you consider that such a dangerous possibility?" Sai went on, hands folded behind him as if he were reporting and not interrogating. "You always said that Root serves to defend the village. What was the danger, there?"

Danzou's face settled into hard lines and his left hand closed tight on his knee. "What danger? You're too young to have seen it, but I was there when the demon fox freed itself from the grip of a woman better trained and more experienced than that boy. Hiruzen kept him ignorant and trusted to his heart." Danzou's short laugh of disbelief was harsh. "The demon is too dangerous. It will escape him eventually, and there will be more of this," he twitched his scarred right arm, showing how stiff and strengthless it was even after the best efforts of the Leaf's healers, "and the village cannot afford that!"

"The village?" Kakashi murmured, "or Shimura Danzou?"

"The shinobi are the village's strength," the old man said firmly, and Kakashi's eye narrowed.

"Then why are you so willing to sacrifice individuals?" he asked, soft and dangerous. "Individuals who aren't you, at least."

"Everyone has their role to play, Kakashi-kun." Danzou settled back in his chair.

Kakashi wasn't sure whether he was more impressed with Danzou's relentless ability to shift the ground of any argument to his favor, or more appalled by the man's self-centeredness and the growing suspicion that Danzou had lost track of reality and honestly believed all his own shifting, contradictory statements from moment to moment.

"Danzou-sama," Sai said into the silent tension between the two men, and they both turned to look at him. "If you still commanded me, what mission would you give me next?"

The faintest smile hovered at the corners of Danzou's mouth, and it was Kakashi's turn to stiffen; just what contingencies, he wondered coldly, had Danzou thought to condition or compel his people to?

"I would say that you should finish the mission you were already given." Danzou watched both of them with a hooded eye. "The threat to the village has not been removed yet."

Not yet, no, Kakashi thought, careful of his breathing to conceal his rage; but it would be soon even if he had to kill Danzou without sanction. And then he raised a brow as Sai turned to him.

"Kakashi-san. If all goes as the Hokage wishes, you will command ANBU soon. Under these circumstances, what order would you give me?"

Kakashi actually blinked, and a slow smile tugged at his mouth. Sai was testing them. Raised to follow his orders without question, no matter what they were, still the boy was feeling his way toward judging his superiors. He wanted very badly to smirk at Danzou, but Sai deserved an answer first.

"Hmm. I'd also say to go on as you have been, if for somewhat different reasons." Danzou's ever so faint snarl warmed his heart, and he beamed at Sai behind his mask. "As far as mission orders," he continued, more seriously, "I would hesitate to send you out again before I was sure you were fit to judge your orders and choose how to carry them out."

"A shinobi has no need of such judgment," Danzou snapped. "Not until they are experienced enough to step back from the field and give orders themselves."

Kakashi didn't look away from Sai. "Shinobi are the weapons of their villages. Their nations. Their employers. True enough. But a shinobi without the will to evaluate orders, and even modify them if field conditions demand it, is a blade without a sheath. And members of ANBU are ground to a sharper edge than any others. That's what you've been waving around your own village, Danzou."

"Your sentimentality is your great failing, Kakashi-kun," Danzou growled.

Sai hadn't looked away from him, and Kakashi smiled at the shadows of thought shifting behind those dark eyes. "From your perspective, I have no doubt that's true. But that's also why I was chosen by the Fifth." The unspoken and why you were not rang in the quiet air of the apartment. Danzou's good arm tensed, and Kakashi got a foot under himself, ready to move if he had to.

Slowly, Sai nodded. "I believe I know what I need to." He turned again and bowed to Danzou. "Danzou-sama."

Danzou sat back, good hand spread against his leg again. "Take that one with you when you go, then." He jerked his chin at Kakashi.

Sai went promptly to the door and held it open, looking over his shoulder. "Kakashi-san?"

Kakashi let himself be ushered out and watched Sai from the corner of his eye as they made their way back down three flights of well-lit stairs and out to the street. It was two blocks before Sai spoke.

"I do not believe there is a compulsion element to the seal," he said, quite casual, "but you should come with me to see Naruto, to be sure."

Kakashi whistled. Sai might have been trained never to question or think about his orders, but he had a quick mind, that was clear. No one without one could have come up so speedily with a plan to test the seal for compulsion. No one who didn't want to be able to question would have tested it by asking for orders he intended to disobey, or attempt to.

No one who wasn't ANBU to the bone would have used himself as the test material in so dangerous a trial so unflinchingly.

Kakashi nodded to himself; he thought he knew where Sai stood, now. "I'll come, yes," he agreed. "Hopefully I'll even get to you before Sakura, if there turns out to be a compulsion after all."

"That would be helpful," Sai agreed, with no trace of understanding the joke, dark as it was. Kakashi sighed to himself. They would have to work on Sai's sense of humor.

Naruto flopped over in the scrubby grass of the eighth training ground with his arms thrown out. "That's six Rasengan in a row," he panted, "while channeling chakra to Sakura and avoiding those fucking Chidori Senbon. Can I manifest now?"

You have the patience of a bird, the fox rumbled, sounding amused. A small one. In spring.

The fox was getting a lot more mellow, now he was healed, but Naruto wasn't completely sure this was an improvement, at least as far as the smart remarks went.

"I think you and the Nine-tails are both stable," Jiraiya said from where he was lounging against a tree with a jug of sake, overseeing Sakura's work on some of his sage techniques, "but Tsunade will have to check you over to be sure. You know she'll skin us both if I tell you you can try before she's had a look." He wagged a finger at Sasuke. "And you! Stop resting on past accomplishments! It's about time you started working on some new applications; you perfected Chidori Senbon over a year ago."

Sasuke gave his teacher a bored look from where he was sitting cross-legged in the grass. "What, like this?" His hands, which Naruto suddenly realized had been stealthily forming the Boar and the Monkey in his lap, flicked out and a net of fire burned toward Jiraiya. The old pervert yelped, dropping his jug as his hands clapped into the Snake and a wall of earth surged up to block the net. Sasuke leaned back on his hands, smirking.

"That's a decent start, I suppose, yes," Jiraiya said thoughtfully from behind his wall.

Sakura came to haul Naruto out of the grass, laughing breathlessly. "You should have known you wouldn't catch Sasuke out like that, Jiraiya-sama."

The old man was smiling as he dismissed the wall. "I suppose I should."

Sasuke looked aside, just a little flushed at the compliment, and Naruto grinned. "You two are so cute," he cooed, eyes dancing wickedly.

"Cute?!" Both Sasuke and Jiraiya protested, but it was Sasuke's hands that were flashing up into the Tiger, and Naruto prepared to dodge, laughing.

"Guys," Sakura's voice cut through the horseplay, suddenly level. "Heads up."

Naruto and Sasuke spun to flank her, alert, and Naruto blinked when he saw the two coming towards them. "Sakura, that's just Kakashi-sensei and... oh." Okay, no wonder Sakura was tense. The other one was definitely Sai.

"Mm." Sasuke touched Sakura's shoulder and stepped back to cover them both.

"Guuuys," Naruto groaned. He didn't usually have any problem at all with how protective his team was, but this was silly. Kakashi-sensei wouldn't bring Sai around if he was dangerous!

"It's our job, Naruto, quit complaining," Sakura ordered coolly, and he gave up. That was her mission voice, and there was no arguing with it.

Kakashi-sensei ambled up, hands in his pockets, so elaborately casual that even Naruto gave him a suspicious look. A Kakashi that casual was a Kakashi who was up to something, most likely some kind of object lesson. The only question was, who for? The old pervert seemed to have the same question, because he went to meet them and exchanged a few quiet words with Kakashi-sensei. He didn't look entirely happy as he glanced back at Naruto and his team, but he sighed and waved three fingers at them before turning and strolling back toward the village with his sake jug dangling from one fist.

"All clear sign," Sasuke murmured from behind them.

"Hm." Sakura didn't sound entirely convinced, and Naruto sighed.

"Ah, good," Kakashi-sensei said as he came into ear shot. "You're all here."

As if that were a cue, Sai stepped forward, smiling his weird smile. "Naruto-kun. I wanted to apologize."

The fox growled as soon as Sai spoke, and Naruto couldn't help wincing himself. There was something wrong about Sai's voice, his smile; Naruto could actually feel it, like a pebble in his sandal or something.

Corruption, the fox said in his head, crackling like fire. Rot. Twisting. This is what I live to destroy.

Well you can't kill him, Naruto answered sharply. It's not his fault!

Sai was watching him, head cocked. "Naruto-kun?"

Naruto winced again, helplessly. "You... you don't have to do that, you know. The smiling. I mean... you don't have to."

No one moved at all for one moment and then the alarming smile slid off Sai's face like it had been wiped away with a sponge. What was left was a little unnerving; even shinobi weren't often that still, just watching like that, but at least it didn't make him twitch inside. The feeling of the Nine-tails calmed a little, too, the pressure of his growl easing. Even Sakura eased back off her toes a bit. Naruto breathed a sigh of relief.

"That makes you uncomfortable?" Sai asked, sounding a little curious even if he didn't look it much.

"Well it was a little weird already, but since Nine-tails got better we're... not closer, I mean he's still kind of a jerk, but I sense some of the things he does. And when you smile like that it's just wrong. You don't want to. You don't mean it. It's..." Naruto rubbed a hand through his hair, looking for a different word and finally sighed. "Yeah, okay, he's right. It's twisted."

"And yet neither of you seem to feel that way when Sai isn't bothering with emotion at all," Kakashi-sensei murmured, eye sharp on them both. "Interesting."

Naruto thought about it. Now he was kind of curious himself. "It's... he feels a little... cold," he said at last, slowly. "But it's not bad. Just cold." It actually felt a little the way Sakura did, beside him right now, focused like a burning glass on Sai.

"Very interesting." Kakashi-sensei glanced over at Sai. "Well?"

Sai reached up to touch his tantou, and Sakura's tension cranked back up a notch. "I feel no compulsion to attack. I believe we may conclude the seal is a restraint only."

Sakura pulled in a breath like the hiss of a snake, and whirled on Kakashi-sensei. "You tested this using Naruto and Sai without telling us...?!" Her hands hovered, ready to form seals, and Naruto had a queasy feeling she would go straight for her activation.

"Um, Sakura-chan..."

"Sakura," Kakashi-sensei cut in firmly. "Stand down. That's an order."

Her eyes narrowed, but slowly she lowered her hands. "Tell me why," she said, low and hard.

"Sai chose to test this on himself, knowing that if there was a compulsion, and if I couldn't subdue him first, you and Sasuke would kill him. Think about that."

If anything her glare intensified. "Kakashi-sensei..." she grated through her teeth.

Sai had been standing quite calmly and without reaching for a weapon all through this, and Naruto shivered. "How can you do that?" he asked softly. "How can you be so calm about something like that?"

Sai shrugged one shoulder a fraction. "ANBU is the sword of Konoha," he said, perfectly tranquil. "Whatever is required, we will do. It was necessary to test this." He slanted a glance at Sakura. "Anger is not necessary."

Sakura rounded on him. "You think I want to kill one of my own village?" she yelled at him, eyes blazing. "Anger is damn well necessary, over something like this! We should have been warned! There should have been more controls, to keep both of you safe during the test!"

Sai blinked and cocked his head at her. "You are angry... because I was in danger? I was the threat."

"You're a shinobi of the Leaf, you absolute moron!" Sakura's hands were flexing like she was about to wrap them around his neck and shake him. "You're loyal to this village! You deserve to be protected too! And I'm really damn angry that you weren't!"

Sai looked even more puzzled and Naruto was torn between laughing and yelling a little himself. "Look, you've already been hurt, and that really sucks," he put in. "None of us would be happy with the idea of hurting you more, especially if it's not your fault."

"Distress over another's pain," Sai murmured. "This is what is called empathy?"

The fox flinched and whined, and Naruto didn't blame him at all. The cold was getting more noticeable.

The grass rustled as Sasuke came back up beside them, sliding a handful of shuriken back into his pouch, eyes level on Sai. "You know what it is," he said, quiet and confident. "When your brother was in pain, you were distressed."

Sai jerked a little, as if he'd started to step back and stopped himself. "Shin," he whispered, eyes suddenly distant. "I don't..."

"You were," Sasuke insisted. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have tried so hard to make it stop."

"Oh," Naruto said, eyes widening. Now he got it. "That... was that why?" Heat gathered in his chest, burning and growing, and the fox's growl resonated through it. This time he welcomed it, because his own fury was in there too. "That was why Danzou made them fight?" To hurt Sai so badly he'd freeze himself to stop the pain?

Sai wasn't tranquil any more. His face was drawn and his arms were pulled in tight. "Shin." The cold deepened.

Naruto couldn't stand it any longer. He stepped forward and grabbed Sai's forearms. "You don't have to do that!" he burst out. "It won't happen again. I won't let it!"

Sai stared at him for a long moment. "You're very like him," he finally said quietly. "I remember... he said things like that, too."

"If you remember," Kakashi-sensei finally spoke up again, "then he is still with you. That's why we remember, and care, even when it hurts."

Sai turned his head to look up at Kakashi-sensei, though his arms still hung without resistance in Naruto's hold. "Is it worth it?" The thoughtless innocence of the question made Naruto's anger with Danzou burn hotter, even though the fox was slowly settling again.

Kakashi-sensei looked down at Sai gravely. "Yes, it is."

Sai bowed his head. "I see." He looked back at Naruto for a breath, considering, and finally smiled. It was small and faint, but real.

Naruto grinned back with vast relief as the sense of coldness eased. "There we go," he said softly. "See? It's okay."

"Perhaps," Sai murmured.

Sasuke stepped forward and rested a hand on Sai's shoulder for a moment, nodding. Sakura clasped the other shoulder hard and shook Sai just a little. "Not every moment is a mission," she told him, a bit husky. "When it isn't, that's when you relax so you don't go crazy, okay?"

Sai looked at her for a long, thoughtful moment, and finally nodded. "I suppose I can try."

Naruto thought maybe Kakashi-sensei's lesson today had been for all of them.

Danzou sat at his window, watching the people passing in the street below as dusk softened the shapes of the village's roofs, and turned plans over in his head. There had been no commotion in the village today, so he had to assume that Sai had been unable to complete his mission. Again. There was an outside possibility that the boy really had broken his conditioning sufficiently to refuse the mission, but he considered that very unlikely. Root's training had taken very completely with Sai, doubly so once the turning point of killing his "brother" had passed. Most likely, then, Kakashi had stopped Sai.

For all Kakashi had been silent in Council, as befit a mere potential Hokage candidate, Danzou knew perfectly well whose hand had truly driven his downfall. Contrary to his lazy airs, Kakashi was hot blooded; it was little wonder he'd left ANBU, in the end. Perhaps Danzou should have tried harder to acquire Kakashi for Root when he'd been orphaned, though ten years old was late to start that training. For a while, Danzou had thought it didn't matter—that Kakashi would live for nothing but the village and abide purely by the Code, whether he was formally of Root or no. Namikaze Minato had much to answer for, not only for failing to destroy the Nine-tails but for turning one of Konoha's most powerful shinobi away from his right path. One bare year as Kakashi's jounin-sensei and his hooks had been set, pulling the boy further and further from his duty. It was uncanny.

And Namikaze's brat clearly had some of the same nature, in addition to his mother's temper. Why could no one but him see the danger that posed?

"Brooding again, Shimura-kun?"

Danzou jerked up out of his chair in shock. No one should be able to enter this room without his knowledge! Not through the seals he'd placed on every wall, on the ceiling and floor, on the door and each window. But there was another standing there in the center of his floor mats, arms folded, wearing a mocking smile. The seamed and wrinkled face was only vaguely familiar, but there was no mistaking the man's eyes, red even in shadow, and marked with three black curls. It took long seconds for Danzou to believe the only possible conclusion, to even consider the idea, but there was only one man of the Uchiha who could be this old and still alive.

"You're dead," were the words that came out of his mouth, nevertheless, in his shock. "The First killed you."

Uchiha Madara spread black gloved hands, indicating his solid and living body in its loose, night-blue clothing. "As you can see, he did not. Indeed, I like to think that I won that day. After all," he smiled bright and terrible in the dimness, "I'm still here and Hashirama is not."

Danzou took a slow breath and straightened up. "Not for long." His outer robe, with all its seals and tags, was hanging across the room, but he was not helpless.

Madara waved his fingers. "Not so quickly, Shimura-kun. After all, you're now in my position too, aren't you? Thrown away by those you tried to warn. Exiled from the place you should have. Ignored by those you should lead."

"I am no traitor," Danzou snapped, trying to think whether he could convert the barrier seal under the floor mats to a binding seal quickly enough to catch a shinobi of Madara's power.

"Is it treachery to wish to lead your own people?" Madara purred. "You have more experience and wisdom than the Senju chit that leads now, surely."

Danzou's stomach was sinking; he remembered Madara's crushing strength, and none of the seals he had to hand, or the techniques he could perform without preparation would hold or kill him. The most he could do was probably to raise an alarm, and if the man had gotten in here undetected, that might not be enough.

At least not if he attacked here and now.

"What are you suggesting?" he finally asked, harshly. "You've tried more than once to destroy this village, and now you expect me to believe you'll leave anything for me to actually lead?"

"I'm willing to make reasonable bargains," Madara murmured, pacing toward him and turning to circle him. The skin between Danzou's shoulder blades crawled, and he held himself fiercely still. "If you aid me in capturing the Nine-tails, I will undertake to leave the village in your hands. Intact. As long," he stopped in front of Danzou, red eyes boring into his, "as you make no move against me in the future." He smiled. "Don't you want the demon fox to go away, Shimura-kun? Hasn't that been the idea all this time?"

Madara must be used to dealing with madmen, if he thought that kind of logic would work. But if he was used to his blandishments working, perhaps it would give Danzou enough time. "What do you want?" he asked, low.

"Why, nothing you wouldn't already be doing, if you only had the opportunity!" Madara swung away from him, spreading his arms as if to indicate his generosity. "Kill Tsunade. And the Hatake pup. Use that Root of yours to cut the Sacrifice out of the herd so I can take the Nine-tails. And then you can be seen to drive me off, and the village will be yours."

True temptation welled up in Danzou's heart for a moment. For the price of two lives, the very two who were leading the village astray, he could have Konoha and protect it properly.

If only Madara could be counted on to keep his bargain, he might really have done it.

"You'll need to get me out of here without raising any alarm," he said slowly.

"Nothing is easier," Madara said softly, turning to face him again with that gleaming smile. "Come along, then, Shimura-kun."

The room around them twisted impossibly, spinning and sinking on the still point of Madara's right eye, and then everything went dark.

A/N: No, Danzou and Madara did not meet during the Third War, in this continuity. No, Madara doesn't wear a mask. Tobi = Madara was either the clumsiest Author Had A Better Idea ever or else the most ridiculous character detour ever, and in either case I deeply dislike that design choice. So Madara gets a face, here. As for Tobi =/= Madara... that was the most pointless "twist" imaginable, and I hereby ignore it entirely. Tobi doesn't exist, in this continuity, Madara does. Also, implanted Sharingan has been done, so Danzou's arm and eye were plain old stricken in the Nine-tails' attack and his abilities are his own.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Twenty

Madara attacks Konoha with the aid of Zetsu and Danzou. Foxes, demons, dragons, tailed beasts, generations old grudge matches, and other kinds of hell break loose. Action, Drama, I-4

Alarms were ringing through Konoha's night, hurrying the civilians to the shelters, raising the lights in the village center, calling the close patrols in to defend their homes. Shinobi of the village ran to guard the wall and ranged through the training grounds beyond, searching for the attackers.

"Where the hell are they?" Naruto demanded tightly, crouched on the wall over the east gate, glaring out into the night.

"I think the question is what are they," Sakura said quietly, standing against Sasuke's back to guard him as he swept the Sharingan over their assigned sector.

"Not here yet, apparently," Sasuke answered, though he didn't stop looking for a moment. "The trees and earth seem empty. Do we know, yet, if they can camouflage themselves at all?"

"Unknown," Aburame Muta reported after a moment, from below the lip of the wall where he waited and listened to his bugs. "No one reports it so far."

"Injured coming in," Sasuke said, voice flat. Naruto hissed through his teeth. This was the third injured party and they still hadn't been able to kill whatever was out there.

He dropped down inside the wall to his medical station to meet the two stretchers, hands moving fast as he cut away cloth and sutured deep cuts like claw rakes. That was the easy part, though. Most of the injuries he'd seen tonight were broken bones and crushed organs from where people had been punched or hurled into trees.

Or by trees. The reports were a little fuzzy on that.

Naruto held his hands over the side of the worst-hit one where ribs had shattered and a kidney was ruptured, and fought one more time to control the wild rush of the fox's chakra through his own. It was exhilarating; he wanted to lose himself in it, and that was the hardest part. He had to concentrate, had to keep his mind on the mirror between his body, his chakra, and his patient's.

You do seem to match me well in this, Nine-tails observed, and Naruto had the impression of an ear cocked at him curiously. Unusually so.

Sakura says that's what Leaf's seal is made to do, Naruto answered, leaning against his table and panting as he waved to two of the inner line to come take his patients to a recovery station until they woke up. To shape your host a little, with the chakra that seeps through. I guess it took really well on me, because it was done so young.

Perhaps it was not entirely a bad thing then, the fox murmured, and Naruto wanted to take the time to tease him, to be loudly shocked by the admission, but he didn't have time right now. He shook his head sharply, trying to throw off the floaty glow that healing left these days, and sprang back up to the wall. Can't you see where these guys are? I mean, you're a spirit of the land and they're moving through earth and trees!

And they appear to belong there, the fox answered dryly. There is corruption on the night's wind, yes. But not from these attackers.

Naruto growled in frustration as he landed beside Sasuke again and got a raised eyebrow. "Nine-tails can't feel them," he answered it. "He says it's like they really are wood and earth or something."

"Some kind of summons?" Sakura wondered. "Or even a jutsu, like the Shadow Clones, only with an elemental chakra?"

"Or a bloodline limit," Sasuke suggested. "But I don't think that matters as much as the fact that the Sharingan and Byakugan can still see them!" On those last words, he launched a flight of Chidori Senbon, catching the arm of a figure emerging into the shadow of a tree. It vanished back into wood at once, but left blood on the ground as it did.

"Team at the east gate has marked one of the white ones," Sakura relayed to Muta. "Left arm is injured." She frowned and added, "And this doesn't make sense. They're injuring us more than we are them, but mostly because it's night. As soon as there's more light we'll have the advantage, and however many there are, they aren't attacking strongly enough to finish us off by dawn. Not by a long shot. They've got to be softening us up for something else. Muta-san, ask that a warning be relayed, please. Everyone needs to keep an eye out for whatever the real attack is."

Tsunade's mouth quirked. "How many was that?"

"Four, more or less at the same time," Aburame Katou murmured, looking just a little amused himself, even behind his high collar. "Haruno, Nara Shikamaru, ANBU's Deer, and Nara Shikaku."

Tsunade scowled. "Shikaku put himself on the wall, didn't he? No, don't answer that. I suppose I knew he would."

Katou coughed delicately. "He, ah, also requested that we relay his observation that you are on the wall as well, Hokage-sama."

"The Hokage isn't chosen from among the strongest so she can always lead from the rear," Tsunade said with dignity, glancing only a little guiltily down at the tall main gate below them. "In any case, yes, relay the warning to be on guard for a second attack. I wish Jiraiya hadn't taken a wide patrol this week," she added quietly.

"I imagine the attack came now because he's gone," Kakashi murmured, watching the trees with his Sharingan uncovered beside her. He winced just a little at the creaking explosion of wood to the west of them. "Short of the Swordsmen being gone, Madara probably thought this was his best opportunity to see the village weakened at all."

Tsunade grinned with rather more appreciation at those sounds of enthusiastic destruction, remembering a few bars and other landscape she'd busted up in her time. "They are energetic, aren't they? I like that in a ninja. Maybe I won't give them back to Terumii." Her designated successor gave her a rather dour look, and she laughed, patting his shoulder. It was good for him to be on the receiving end of teasing, she thought; it seemed to have been far too long since he last had been.

In fact, the more deeply she dug into Kakashi's background, the more guilty she felt about choosing him. He was undeniably the right choice, by every measure of strength, of responsibility, of care for the village. But he had far less of a support network than he was going to need when he became Hokage. She'd been thinking about how to alleviate that, but it would be a slow process.

She was turning over the other jounin in Kakashi's age range in her mind when she felt the faint stickiness of her train of thought. The stubborn clinging to a topic that wasn't the one she should be concentrating on right now. Her breath hissed in and her hands flashed out to touch Kakashi and Katou as she surged her chakra, spilling it through them too. "Kai!"

There was a shadow in the trees across the cleared zone from the gate and a kunai singing toward her, trailing a seal behind it. She caught the knife between two fingers and shaped her chakra to lightning to char the seal. "Subtle," she observed, clearly enough to be heard in the trees. Behind her, the subliminal hum of Katou's insects rose a notch, no doubt relaying word that the second attack had appeared.

"Clearly an approach that's wasted on you," answered the shadow, an old voice but still a strong one. And edged with contempt. Even without the flash of red eyes, that would have told her who this must be.

"Madara."

The old man—who should be dead damn it—strolled along a branch into the wash of light from the walls. The red-cloud robes of Akatsuki were abandoned. He wore a short, indigo robe now, and a battle fan she remembered from the picture her grandfather had kept until his death. He was smiling. "It will be satisfying, after all this time, to watch the last of Hashirama's line die. All of you have been far too wood-headed to appreciate subtlety. The village deserved better."

From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimmer of light down wire and found herself abruptly in the heart of a dome of seals. All in a breath, a cyclone howled down around her, edged with knives of flame, deadly force pouring through the seals and darting for her in a hundred strikes, poised to tear aside her defenses.

Tsunade smiled.

Lines of ink flared up under and around her feet as she stood where she was, and twisting streams of force rose to wrap her in the second stage of the Sun on the Ocean seal. When the clap and thunder of chakra faded, she stood untouched and Kakashi was looking up from where he knelt behind her, hand pressed to the seal's activation point.

"I appreciate subtlety just fine." She held Madara's eyes, level and challenging, daring him to try an illusion technique on an alert medic of her caliber. "I'm afraid you're just not very good at it."

His smile twisted. "Shimura-kun," he ordered softly.

Danzou emerged onto the branch behind him, and as much as she hated the man it was still a blow to see him standing calmly there beside Konoha's attacker. Exactly as Madara had meant it to be. She locked down her reaction fiercely. Behind her she heard the soft hiss of Kakashi's breath.

"A preset trap only works once." Danzou nodded to them, casually. "But so does a preset defense. Let us test your expertise." His hand flickered and three kunai with seal tags slammed into the top of the wall in a triangle around Kakashi, and Danzou raised two fingers in the activation seal.

As tearing vacuum wrapped around Kakashi, Tsunade kept her eyes locked on Madara, watching for an opening, and prayed that Kakashi's rage at Danzou would strengthen and not weaken him tonight.

Sai slipped down from the roofs and landed lightly in front of Cat, their current Commander. "No sign of the intruders in the inner village on my sweep," he reported.

"Strange that they're refraining from that," Cat murmured. "The black one that goes through earth could reach the civilian shelters; it would be a far more efficient strike than all this." He flicked disdainful fingers at the faint commotion beyond the walls they could hear even in the administrative quarter. "All right. Grab another route."

Sai nodded and picked another paper slip out of the bag tacked to the mission board with a kunai. It might not be the most sophisticated way to randomize their patrols, he thought with that new mental lilt that sounded just a little like Kakashi-senpai in his head, but it was fast, portable, and unbreakable and ANBU knew the value of that. "Section six, outer ring," he read off the slip and looked over at Torune. "Tracker bug still good?"

"Good for two more sweeps," Torune agreed, perfectly calm even though Sai knew it probably frustrated him to be relegated to communications during an attack like this. He approved. All of Root was held back from the most critical work right now, but that was no excuse for losing discipline. Which was, after all, why Fuu was confined completely at this moment and likely several times as frustrated as any other member.

And then Torune stiffened. "Second attack at the south gate," he said, voice sharpening. "Targeting the Hokage and Kakashi. It's Madara." He cut off abruptly for a moment, and Sai saw him swallow and breathe in slowly. "And Danzou with him."

Mission awareness spiked in Sai's senses, sharpening them, crystallizing the night around him. "Are all of Root accounted for?" The question whipped out before it was even complete in his mind.

Torune's mouth tightened faintly as he listened to his network of insects. "Fuu. Hyou. Shin." A pause. "Kana. Terai, yes." A longer pause. "Dajimu and Tera are out of their patrol areas and near the south wall."

"General signal," Cat snapped, "all ANBU to the south gate!"

Sai was already running.

Kakashi danced with his opponent, the deadly, precise dance of the elite who were trained to silent and perfect death. ANBU's dance. He had never thought to take up these steps again, but for tonight, for this death, he would return.

This was the dance of fine techniques, of calculation and timing that slid down the edge of a knife, of silence and cunning, each move set against the shape and weight of the opponent with utmost care and blinding speed. Half the jutsu they started were never initiated, turned aside into another path as the ground between their minds shifted and shifted again.

There had been a time when Kakashi had found this exhilarating, better than any drink or drug. Tonight, it was water to a thirsty man, more necessity than pleasure but the only thing that would satisfy him nevertheless.

The Tiger's Teeth closed on nothing but the Diving Fisherbird, and in the wake of that clap of annihilation Kakashi and Danzou paused for one breath. "You've grown subtle indeed in your use of seals," Danzou observed, breathing considerably harder than he had when they'd started this Kakashi was mildly pleased to note. "But you still trust the wrong things." The twist of his fingers summoned, not only another seal from under his robe, cast straight on at Kakashi, but a flash of weapons on either side, ones Kakashi recognized—Dajimu's wire-strung kunai and Tera's darting flames. Kakashi's calculation of his possible counters sped down the lines of decision, and he bared his teeth behind his mask. He was going to get hit; Dajimu's wires could change the trajectory of his kunai too unpredictably to try to dodge when Tera's flames were waiting, shuriken buried in their hearts more often than not. And Danzou was too canny to be casting a bluff at him. That seal absolutely must be met.

He would be hit, as Danzou wished. But it wouldn't stop him. Danzou had forgotten who and what Kakashi was; Hound had been stopped by nothing when Kakashi had worn that mask. He pulled the Phoenix seal from his vest and activated it in a single motion, threw it to consume Danzou's attack, and spun into the oncoming kunai, preparing to choose which one he took as his hands flashed through the seals to shape water and counter the flames.

And then Sai was there.

It reminded Kakashi of the years he had loved this dance, the clean, perfect line of the leg sweep that brushed aside the wires and spun Sai through a complete turn to meet Tera's flames with a precise dousing seal. Sai touched down, poised, at Kakashi's feet and looked up at Danzou and his companions in Root, cool and distant. Kakashi heard others landing on the roofs inside the wall and dared a glance back, relaxing to see familiar masks and equipment. ANBU.

"Sai!" Danzou barked. Sai ignored him, not so much as an eyelash flickering in response.

"Dajimu. Tera." Sai's words dropped into the night light as leaves into a pool. "You break your oaths to think only of the good of the village."

"We aren't the oathbreakers," Tera shot back. "Danzou-sama acts for the good of the village. It's you who've lost your way, Sai."

"On the contrary," Sai answered quietly. "Hatake Kakashi will protect Konoha and all its people at any cost. He will wield ANBU correctly, when it comes into his hands." He stood, fluid, still ignoring Danzou, and stepped around to Kakashi's shoulder. "Do whatever is necessary," he said softly. "I will hold Dajimu and Tera."

Kakashi touched Sai's arm lightly as he stepped past. "I will." And he was grateful. Sai's words pulled him a little back from the edge, reminded him of what he was now as well as what he had been. The absolute ice of calculation eased a little around his heart, flowing again instead of freezing. ANBU, he was pleased to see from the corner of his eye, was deploying to cover Tsunade but leaving him room.

Danzou was scowling. "Your interference makes this less complete than it could be," he told Sai roughly. "But so be it." He pulled off his overrobe, with its woven-in wards and dozens of sequenced seals and flipped it open on the night wind, good hand flicking out to unfurl a seal scroll.

And as the robe fell to Danzou's side, covering him, he turned and cast the Lion Closing Roar straight at Madara.

Except that Madara was already gone, flickering out of the seal's center, and the sweep of his fan caught the lash of Tsunade's lightning whip even as a kick threw Danzou back against the tree trunk with bone crushing force. Kakashi could hear, in the agonized edge as Danzou coughed for breath, that ribs were probably broken.

"Shimura-kun, I was really hoping you would be more effective before it came to this," the old man sighed, strolling casually along the branches toward Danzou. "Ah, well, I suppose old age comes to us all. I'm sure you understand, though, why I can't leave you alive behind me now." He smiled down at Danzou, hanging his fan back over his shoulder with an easy swing that belied the remark about old age. "A shame that none of your erstwhile comrades will have any interest in leaving you alive at their backs either, hm?"

Sai stirred at Kakashi's side, and the hand that held his tantou was white knuckled in the lights of the village.

"Danzou-sama!" Tera lunged over the wall.

Madara turned his head and, without forming a single hand seal, blew an actinic torch of flame over him. What fell out of that fire wasn't breathing any longer. "Now then," he murmured, turning back to Danzou.

Calculations wound through Kakashi's mind, taking in the tautness of Sai beside him, the suddenly unbalanced stances of some of ANBU around them, the tightness of Tsunade's lips, so clearly torn between her own rage at what Danzou had done and her awareness of why he had done it this night. Kakashi had no doubt Danzou was a traitor, that he had truly been trying to kill both Tsunade and Kakashi. But it was ANBU watching this, and they also knew the stakes that a deep cover mission played for, knew by that last attack that Danzou hadn't completely abandoned Konoha. Death on a mission like that was also known and accepted, and Tsunade would never allow anyone to risk themselves saving Danzou now. Madara might even be distracted by killing Danzou and give them another opening to attack.

ANBU could do it. Could stand and watch and do nothing but hope for an opening. But what they were capable of wasn't always what they should be asked to do. A single conclusion locked into place, sure and solid, and Kakashi set his feet, watching Madara's chakra with his Sharingan.

He waited while Madara drew his sword, waited while it was lifted, listening to the uneasy silence around him, and as Madara committed to his downward cut, Kakashi moved.

The world telescoped as he flickered forward and he wound chakra through his feet to stop him on the branch between Madara and Danzou, around his arm to brace him against the force of Madara's cut as it rang off the steel on the back of Kakashi's raised fist.

In the shocked moment of silence that followed, he said quiet and clear, "You are not the executor of any Konoha shinobi who has not yet been declared traitor. Not any." He yanked Danzou over his shoulder by the front of his robe and leaped back for the wall, past a flight of kunai hastily thrown to cover his retreat.

And in the middle of that suspended moment when Danzou's own body was covering Kakashi's other hand from sight, he opened it and struck with the Gentle Fist, half crushing Danzou's heart.

The next moment he was past the wall and down on the first roof inside it, letting Danzou slide off his shoulder. The old man glared up at him, gasping, breath already laboring, face already gray. "Kakashi..." he rasped.

"You die as a shinobi of Konoha," Kakashi told him, cold and soft. "It's more than you deserve. But I won't have their hearts tainted by giving your life to Madara." He flicked a hand at the still figures of ANBU all around them, watching.

One of ANBU's medics flitted up to the roof with them and ran quick hands over Danzou before wincing behind his mask. "It's too much," he reported, clear enough to carry to all of them. "Tsunade-sama or Shizune-sama might be able to save him but this is beyond me."

Tsunade's jaw clenched, and she spoke without turning. "Shimura Danzou chose his actions, and I cannot endanger my village to let him avoid their consequences. Offer him mercy." Her voice was rough; no medic liked the last resort. But she was focused wholly on Madara again, unwavering, and Kakashi nodded to himself, satisfied.

"Shimura-san?" the medic asked quietly, knife in hand and glowing with the edge of his chakra.

Danzou's mouth twisted for a breath, but finally he nodded, eyes fixed on Kakashi. Kakashi watched him in return, standing straight and still, and carefully hid his rush of furious vindication as the knife went home.

A faint rustle ran through ANBU.

Cat joined them on the roof and told the medic, "Take his body back to the inner line and rejoin us as soon as you can." As the medic gathered Danzou's body up, Cat turned to meet Kakashi's eyes for a long moment. "Senpai," he said at last.

Kakashi's mouth quirked behind his mask. "Not for a long time, now."

"You have been again, tonight."

The thread of tension in Kakashi relaxed. Tenzou, at least, guessed what he had done and accepted it. "I will be what is necessary," he said quietly, the core of his service that had brought him to ANBU in the first place. Cat nodded, touching his fist to his chest in brief salute before they both turned and sprang back up to the wall. Sai met him there, turning back from handing off the securely bound bundle of Dajimu to another ANBU. He paused one moment to look up at Kakashi, dark eyes not quite as blank as usual.

After a long, still breath, Sai bowed in a formal salute.

"No need for formalities on a battlefield," Kakashi murmured, a little wry, suspecting Sai had realized too. Sai nodded and slipped around to guard Kakashi's back again.

Madara was standing with folded arms, engaged in his staring contest with Tsunade again. Kakashi watched the flare and jab of their chakra and thought Madara was still trying to lay illusion on her, even as ANBU was flickering through the trees around him, closing in. "Stubborn girl, aren't you?" Madara sighed at last, "Well, I suppose I'll need this after all."

The only seal he made was the basic activation, but Kakashi suddenly had to squint his Sharingan shut, nearly blinded by the vast upwelling of chakra that gathered in the forest behind Madara.

When it erupted upward into the shape of a nine-eyed demon, Kakashi couldn't quite manage to be surprised.

Sakura had just returned from stringing an extensive trap through the trees and Naruto was arguing with Nine-tails over why they couldn't abandon their post to go hunting the corruption he scented when Muta suddenly stiffened.

"Second attack, at the south gate, on the Hokage and Kakashi-san," he relayed. "It's Madara."

I told you so! the fox snapped, and Naruto whirled, poised to sprint and never mind the damn white and black bastards. That was his teacher over there!

Sakura snatched his arm. "Naruto, we can't abandon our position! If the first attackers get through a hole in the line here they have a clear path to the civilian shelters!"

"Perimeter to hold their positions," Muta confirmed. "ANBU is moving to support the Hokage."

The fox whined and Naruto nearly whined with him, vibrating with both their needs to go, to find Madara and destroy him.

"Naruto." Sakura slid both hands into his hair and turned his head toward her, holding his eyes. "Listen to me. Tsunade-sama isn't reckless. She has our very best going to help her, and Kakashi-sensei is there too. Right now, we're needed more here."

Naruto took a shaky breath and leaned into her, steadying himself against her presence. "Okay," he agreed, husky.

Interfering female, the fox growled, glaring in the back of his head. He kept tugging Naruto's eyes toward the south, straining to see/smell/hear/know what was happening there.

Sasuke was tense, too, jaw set even as he kept scanning their assigned area in silence.

Seconds dragged past like minutes, like hours, and Naruto waited. Jittered. Flexed his hands and tapped his toes, and briefly wished for the tails so he could lash them. Bit his lip and wondered what was happening, and fidgeted until Sasuke growled at him to cut it out before Sasuke cut something off.

When chakra/scent/light exploded at the south gate, it was so massive it was still a shock.

"Naruto?" Sasuke grabbed for him as he stumbled and fell to his hands and knees on the top of the wall. "Naruto!"

A tremor shivered the wall under them.

"Summons," Muta snapped, crouched and tense. "It's Madara's summons, at the south gate!"

My kin, the fox whispered in Naruto's head like the first whisper of a typhoon wind. He's bound my kin!

"Oh fuck," Naruto said, very low. "It's the tailed beasts!"

It only took one glance between the three of them, and they were running, racing south over the roofs of the village.

Nara Shikaku swore viciously under his breath. He'd already had to leave his old teammates at the wall and pull back to the roof of the Hokage's Residence to coordinate while his Hokage was busy fighting monsters out of history with her own two hands. Now word came in that Uzumaki had left his position and was making for the south gate too, and that this might be a very good thing.

"Pull Kawanishi's team off the inner line to replace them," he snapped, "and Endou's to replace Shikamaru's team. Tell Shikamaru to get down to the south gate and coordinate that mess as best he can. At least," he added, exasperated, "there's a chance Uzumaki will listen to him. Have the Hyuuga found the core of that damn black and white thing yet?"

"Not yet," Aburame Shibi reported calmly, head cocked just a bit as he listened to his insects.

Shikaku weighed needs in his head and blew out a breath. "Hiashi swore that some of his clan could protect themselves against Madara's insane illusions. Tell him to break some loose from the search and send them to the south gate, too. Contact Chouza and tell him to follow with any other Akimichi that can be spared to see about this summons. Ask Cat to send me back at least ten ANBU to search outside the wall for the first attackers."

And he would just have to pray, he thought, staring over the black slate tiles of the roof and toward the south, that he wasn't about to lose his Hokage. Again.

Naruto and his team cut through the commotion in the south quarter like it wasn't there, but all three of them jerked to a halt when they hit the top of the wall again.

"Oh shit," Sakura said, very quietly.

Too many things burned in Naruto's senses. The vast demon-shape with seven glaring eyes and two more closed was tearing through the ribbons of the biggest binding seal he'd ever seen with appalling ease. The vast trees of Konoha's valley bent like saplings under its feet. And in the increasing clearance, Tsunade lunged between lashes of fire, fighting hand to hand against a man in a shadowy robe with a huge fan. ANBU masks ringed them, but Tsunade and her opponent were moving too fast for anyone to intervene unless she pulled back.

"Madara," Sasuke said, low, sounding like someone had just hit him in the stomach.

Sakura caught his shoulder. "If anyone can beat him it's Tsunade-sama," she said, low. "It'll be all right."

Sasuke shook his head sharply. "I know, but... you don't know what he was! I don't know if even Tsunade can take him!"

"Trust her." Naruto wanted to say more, but the fox's attention kept dragging his eyes back to the demon. The demon who, he was starting to realize, must be holding the seven captured tailed beasts. Hosting them? Or were they bound down, the way some villages did between hosts?

Kakashi-sensei and an ANBU with a cat mask flickered up to the wall from the forest, both of them breathing hard.

"It's got their strength," the cat mask said, grim. "I can barely trip it, and I won't be able to hold it for more than an instant. We need someone to hit it right then, hard enough to stop it."

The summons was drawing on them, then. The fox snarled, and Naruto took a step forward. "We can hit it," he said quietly.

"That's what Madara is probably counting on." Kakashi looked over at them, one eye black and one red, but both hard. "It's too risky."

"But I can help Nine-tails keep him out!" Naruto argued, waving a hand sharply at the demon. "How else are we going to beat that?!"

Kakashi actually smiled, if a lot more grimly than usual. "I think the answer to that is just coming."

Shikamaru's team touched down beside them, and another Akimichi was a breath behind them. One more breath, and Hinata and Neji arrived too. Shikamaru glanced around, taking in the destruction and the litter of broken techniques. He grimaced and turned to Kakashi-sensei. "Do we know what that summons can do, yet?"

"We know it's got seven of the tailed beasts sealed inside it, and can use their power, if not their particular abilities," Kakashi said, looking out over the increasingly flattened swath of forest, fires starting here and there from Madara's deflected attacks. He nodded to the cat mask. "Cat can bind it, but only for a few seconds before it breaks free."

Shikamaru took a slow breath, in and out, eyes dark. "Chouji. Chouza-sama. Can you coordinate an attack on it at that speed?"

Chouza laid a hand on Chouji's shoulder. "We can."

Cat nodded. "Signal me when you're ready to strike, then, and I'll hold it still as well as possible."

"Go," Kakashi told them and turned to the Hyuugas as the three of them vanished over the wall. "You're here to back up Tsunade-sama." His eyes flickered toward the trees through which Tsunade and Madara were stalking each other. "I don't know, yet, what you'll be able to do; keep an eye on them."

Neji nodded silently and drew his cousin a little way down the wall, both of them watching Tsunade and Madara with Byakugan activated.

"This is the biggest clusterfuck ever," Shikamaru muttered, kneeling on the wall beside Ino, eyes flicking over the forest and their forces. "I'm just mentioning."

"Eloquent," Kakashi noted dryly. "And likely accurate."

Naruto was chewing his lip, trying to listen to the mission banter, trying not to let the fox's lengthening silence alarm him. He had such a bad feeling about this.

A red flare burst over the trees, and suddenly Chouji and Chouza were rising out of the trees, almost as tall as the demon. Lines of darkness whipped up from the ground, wrapping around the demon's legs, thickening as they went.

"Wood jutsu," Sakura said, sharp and startled.

"Induced," Kakashi answered, voice distant. "And not even Hashirama himself could have held seven of the beasts at once."

For one breath, though, it was holding, and Naruto bit down harder on his lip, hoping. Chouza charged the demon from the front, massive arms wrapping around it. "Chouji!" he thundered. Chouji was coming from behind, and even Naruto could see the perfect timing of it, the moment when Chouza braced to keep the demon from recoiling, from wasting any of Chouji's strength. The crack of Chouji's fist hitting the demon's back echoed off the wall.

For a moment, Naruto thought it might work.

In the next, though, the demon roared wordlessly and threw both the Akimichi back, snapping the wood binding like string. Sasuke cursed under his breath and Shikamaru's jaw tightened.

The fox was still silent.

You don't think anything but us can stop it, do you? Naruto asked.

I am the strongest of the tailed beasts, and there are seven of my kin locked in that thing. It wasn't an answer. Except that it was.

So we'll do this for them, Naruto promised. And for my important people, here. Okay?

The fox stirred, the sense of him uncoiling up Naruto's spine and down his fingers. Naruto reached out and touched Kakashi-sensei's arm.

"Tell Tsunade-sensei I'm sorry I couldn't get her permission first, okay?" he asked softly.

Kakashi was still for a long moment, in which Chouji, Chouza, and Cat landed back on the wall, all of them wincing and moving carefully. Kakashi finally sighed. "Try not to step on any of our people while you're out there."

"We'll follow as soon as you're done changing," Sasuke said, stepping up beside Naruto. "If the Nine-tails will accept it, I can help shield you from Madara."

The fox snarled and Naruto winced, and Sakura put her fists on her hips, glaring. "I'm very sure that such an old and experienced spirit will have at least as much sense as a yearling squirrel and will accept that assistance," she said in a dire tone.

The fox didn't quail, which was better than Naruto managed when Sakura spoke like that, but there was a sense of grudging respect from him, if not exactly agreement. "We'll try," Naruto promised.

"Sasuke, what are you going to have to do, to shield them?" Shikamaru interrupted. After a silent moment, Sasuke sighed.

"I'll have to be... with Naruto and the Nine-tails. In our minds and spirits."

"Thought so." Shikamaru was actually smiling, just a little and crookedly. "Well, we're used to that. We'll cover you." His eyes locked on Sasuke's, almost as black as his in the darkness. "So don't hold back."

Sasuke smiled back, dark and sharp. "I never hold back."

Shikamaru snorted. "Yeah, Team Overkill, that's the three of you." He beckoned Ino and Chouji closer with a tilt of his head and the three of them whispered and gestured among themselves for a minute, hands tracing sight lines and formations.

"Be careful," Kakashi told Naruto and his team, quietly. All three of them nodded, and Naruto would bet that all four of them knew how little that would probably help.

Naruto stepped to the edge of the wall in the flickering night, hearing Kakashi-sensei behind him, telling the Aburame here to call the shinobi in the south forest back behind the wall and warn everyone the Nine-tails was on their side this time. He breathed slowly, stepping 'down' in that way that took him to the place the fox lived. This time, not blinded by the pain of tearing out the inner seal, he could feel the fox rising past him, a brilliance of fire and wind and the power of mountains, and he leaped out from the wall, arms spread like he could embrace the night itself. As the fox rose over him he felt like maybe Nine-tails was doing just that. The fox's chakra swept through him, around him, merciless and wild, and now it was the fox's head lifted in the wind, the fox's paws on the ground.

And yet... this time it was Naruto too. He wasn't in darkness. He felt the wind, the ground, the lash of the fox's tails. It was a little softened, a little distant, but it was all there.

So he saw when Madara turned from his fight with Tsunade. She took the opening instantly, landing a punch that tore away Madara's arm and shoulder and slammed him into the ground hard enough to crater it. Black fire blasted out from where he landed, speeding away in two directions, ringing in the demon and Nine-tails. And Madara.

And when Madara stood up, he was whole again.

The only thing that shook Naruto out of his shock was feeling Nine-tails' chakra slowing, around him. They were looking right at Madara, he realized, and yelled, "Nine-tails! Oi, stupid fox, look away!"

He got only the faintest, distracted grumble back.

"Oh fuck." Naruto reached out with immaterial hands and seized the fox's chakra, the chakra he was as familiar with now as his own, or Sakura or Sasuke's, and fought to surge it and shake off the Sharingan, to reclaim his partner's mind.

Kakashi-sensei slammed a fist down against the wall, actually cracking the capstone. "Regeneration," he spat, red eye fixed on where Madara had vanished behind the black flames.

"We have to get through," Sasuke said tightly. "I'm going to try to go over."

Sakura snapped out of her suspended moment of horror, and closed a hand around his arm. "Wait." She took a slow breath as he rounded on her, staring out at those flames. "Wait. I'll get you through."

"How?" Shikamaru demanded sharply. His fingertips were set together and Sakura could almost see the thoughts racing behind his eyes.

Her mouth quirked. "Why do you think I asked Jiraiya-sama to teach me some of his sage techniques?" she asked softly. From the moment she'd seen Amaterasu for the first time, from the moment she'd heard Madara still lived, she'd feared they would see it again if Madara ever came; it was the perfect answer to the problem of keeping Leaf's shinobi away while Madara subdued the Nine-tails.

Her response wasn't as perfect, but she thought it would work.

"Sakura," Kakashi said, low, from the edge of the wall, eyes fixed on the still figure of the Nine-tails, "you don't have any helpers for that one." It wasn't a denial; just a reminder of the risk she ran.

"It doesn't matter." She let Sasuke go and stepped to the edge of the wall herself. "Don't count on me for anything after this," she tossed over her shoulder at Shikamaru and didn't look back around until he nodded slowly.

"Sakura." Sasuke's hands slid over her shoulders as he came to stand close against her back. "Tell me what you're going to do."

She stood straight, breathing deep and steady to ready her chakra. "I'm going to remind the world that this fire doesn't belong in it. I don't know whether I'll be able to put it out or just suppress it for a while, so when I tell you to go, go fast."

His hands tightened. "All right." Softer, "I'll keep him safe."

Sakura smiled into the night, heart sure and strong even as her breath wavered in her throat. "Yes." She took one last breath and let her hands flow through the familiar series of her activation and spread them out toward the half a ri of land she needed to protect.

Using nature energy was not a matter of rote, where the right seals and concentration would always produce the same form. She thought perhaps Jiraiya-sama was right when he called it a matter of faith. She opened her own spirit to the inrush of utter wildness and shaped it with her heart, with her need, with the bared strength of her own life and will, holding the open spiral of this jutsu's seals, its shape, steady in her mind. Her three-ply chakra flowed into the shape easily; too easily. The danger of this technique was not burning out her subject, this time. No, this time it was the momentum, that it might sweep her away in the exaltation of being one with everything the world was, here on this night. This was a technique to touch, not only the energy of the land, but it's own chakra.

"Earth," she whispered into the bell of her jutsu, and almost cried out as it resonated, rang out over the forest drawing her chakra to it's own, recalled the very soil to itself. "Wood," she gasped, trembling, wrestling back the need to open her heart wider, to give all of herself to the trees as the smallest particles of them recalled what world they belonged to and shrugged free of the hell-grip of Amaterasu. "Wind..." It was almost a moan, and she sank to her knees as the air sang before the gate, dancing away from the all-consuming black fire, spreading her chakra just as fine and thin as it was.

Amaterasu guttered and sank, and finally flickered out.

Sakura gulped a breath, and pulled herself just far enough back to gasp, "Go!" Sasuke shot forward off the wall without question or hesitation, flickering across the seared strip to land at the Nine-tails' feet. Tsunade-sama was already lunging straight for Madara again. Shikamaru's team followed Sasuke, and relief swept through her. That was the last thing she needed to wait on. Sakura prepared to pry herself out of this wild jutsu before she forgot why she should want to.

An intrusion slid through the earth that her chakra embraced, and she flinched.

"Sakura?" Kakashi asked at her side, low and sharp, and she could feel his chakra too, like this, could almost see the hand seals poised and waiting in his palms to try to pull her out.

"Intruder," she gasped, and, after a moment's struggle to remember the word, "First!"

"The first attacker is coming into this area?"

She nodded, distantly relieved that Kakashi-sensei had understood, and closed her hands into fists, trying to hold onto that trace, to track it, even as it seemed to split.

"Earth," she rasped again, fiercely, to her jutsu and rocked back on her knees with shock when nothing happened. Her control wavered for a ragged breath and she gritted her teeth.

"I'll try to see them," Hinata's voice said softly on her other side. "Sakura-san, can you hold on?"

Sakura swallowed and nodded, and almost lost her grip anyway when Hinata pressed gently against her back and her hands came to rest on Sakura's forearms, three fingers down from her wrists. "Permit me," Hinata whispered. "Life of our land, Will of Fire, permit me."

The words resonated delicately through Sakura's technique, and Hinata's chakra slid down the path they made, light as a bird on the wind. Sakura reflected distantly, through her amazement that anyone else could affect the technique without burning them both out, that now she understood why Neji had consented to follow his cousin.

"All of them," Hinata murmured, distant. "All of them are coming. But they are only two. Only two that we need to find."

Yes. Yes, that made sense of what Sakura felt from the earth, from the trees. Two, and then a... haze around them. She could feel exactly where those two were, like she'd have felt a knife against her skin, but there were no words for it! Nothing she could tell them!

"I see it," Hinata whispered, and then, sharper. "I see them! Neji! They're coming for the Hokage!"

Abruptly she was gone and it was only Kakashi speaking to Sakura, low and sure. "Bring it down, Sakura. The technique. Let the pattern go. Come back, Sakura, your team is going to need you. Can you hear me? Naruto and Sasuke are going to need you."

Kakashi-sensei, Sakura decided, really fought dirty. But he had a point. She let go one finger at a time, pulled herself away bit by bit from the wild, singing being of the world's chakra and finally, with a deep, sobbing breath, snapped her hands together in her deactivation.

The brilliant awareness of the world went away and it was only with her eyes that she saw Hinata and Neji land on either side of Tsunade, spin like water flowing, and strike in perfect unison. A black figure and a white one flew back from their hands and were pounced on by ANBU as Tsunade bared her teeth at Madara and punched the tree he was in hard enough to fell it.

Sakura shuddered as the cold of chakra depletion hit her and heard Kakashi calling sharply for a medic as she fixed her eyes on the enormous, nine-tailed fox that was finally moving again, rearing up as if to claw the moon from the sky.

Sasuke barely spared Madara a glance as he landed at the Nine-tails' feet, barely even noticed Shikamaru's team following him. He had more important things to worry about right now. The fox had shaken its head a little when Amaterasu died, and he hoped that meant Naruto was already pushing Madara's control back. He sucked in a breath and shouted up at them, "Naruto! Nine-tails!"

After a moment of heart-sinking stillness, the fox turned its head and looked down at him.

There were no seals associated with what Sasuke did next, no gestures to key it, but he reached out anyway, open hands stretched up toward the huge red eyes that met his as he cast his chakra out to touch the Nine-tails' and walked forward along that path.

There was another chakra already there, icy and sticky, flowing in strange curls and hitches to Sasuke's sight. He slipped past it, contorting to avoid its touch like he would have climbed through a thicket of poisonous vines. When his chakra met the Nine-tails' at last he gasped with the blaze of it and stumbled through brightness for a few steps before Naruto's hands caught his arms.

"There you are, finally, Sasuke we gotta hurry up, this asshole's Sharingan almost has a grip on Nine-tails!"

"Yes, I noticed that," Sasuke muttered, straightening. He was standing on a plain of water, broken here and there with rock formations, under a brilliant sky. It was the first time he'd walked into a mind so clear and unconstrained.

There was also a constant, harsh growl rolling out far over his head. He looked up to see the Nine-tails again, glaring down at him with furious suspicion. "Look," he said, running a frustrated hand through his hair, "I swear I don't want to control you! You're contracted with my own teammate!"

Naruto looked up at the fox, bouncing urgently on his toes, "Yeah, it's okay, really! I mean you're kind of like me right now, and Sasuke wouldn't do anything bad to me, right?"

"Humans who have power use it," the fox snarled.

"Not like this," Sasuke snapped, cutting his hand through the air, abruptly almost as angry as the fox; he was living his life as best he could to make himself and Uchiha into something that wasn't Itachi, wasn't Madara, and no furry, nine-tailed menace was going to say otherwise. "Not to harm my own!"

Narrowed red eyes stared down at him. "Your own?" the fox finally rumbled, low and dangerous. "You would dare claim that I am your own?"

"You live inside someone who is," Sasuke growled back. "You've helped him. For that, I'll protect you as I would him."

The fox's glare sharpened. "As you would him?" Abruptly, he leaned down, and a nose half as tall as Sasuke was sniffed at him, hard enough to tug at his clothes. When the fox drew back, it actually sat down and cocked an ear at him. It looked thoughtful. "I see." A lot of the snarl was gone. "You love him."

Sasuke stared, caught entirely flat-footed. "I... what?" The thought that the Nine-tails had figured that out from how he smelled rose embarrassingly in his mind.

"My idiot kit of a host," the fox specified, watching him closely. "You love him. That's why you do this."

Sasuke flushed, really not wanting to have this conversation with a demon beast, for crying out loud, and also not while Naruto was listening, watching them with wide eyes. The intuition his clan sharpened on the Sharingan was jabbing him hard, though, so he took a breath and made himself say out loud, "Yes."

The Nine-tails lay down on the surface of the water. "Hm."

"Is that what it takes, for you to accept?" Sasuke asked quietly.

Naruto's eyes widened further, and he spun around to point at the fox. "That's it! That's what it is! That's why you keep getting all mellow and shit at the weirdest times!"

The fox eyed its host with some exasperation, and Sasuke was reminded of all the times Naruto had compared the two of them. "I would say, rather, you keep having love-fests at the strangest moments. Though I suppose life and death combat does tend to remind one of the important things." His eyes narrowed. "And if you'd just said that my part of the bargain was to help you protect what you love, instead of blithering on about your 'important people', this could all have gone much more smoothly. Humans."

Naruto turned a little red. "You don't just say things like that outright, that's... that's... I mean..."

"Idiot kit," the fox growled, ears at a resigned angle.

Sasuke took a slow breath and stepped forward to rest a hand on Naruto's shoulder, looking up at the fox. "I love him," he admitted, low. "And I love Sakura. My teachers. A lot of the village is full of total idiots, but I... I love the quarter where I live. I never thought I would, again. Will this let you accept my protection?" Part of him flinched to be saying all this out loud; this was the truth he held silent in his heart. But if this was what it took to guard his place and his people, he would do it.

The fox's lip curled and it glanced away over the water and stone of this space. "As long as you don't start thinking I'm yours or any such nonsense. Yes, yes, get on with it."

Naruto smacked the fox on the shoulder affectionately. "Well then you have to look over here, already. Quit being difficult."

Nine-tails bared his teeth at Naruto, but Sasuke could tell it was mostly for show. "Insolent brat." He did meet Sasuke's eyes again, though, and this time when Sasuke cast forward his chakra it sank into the fox's and the Sharingan's marks faded up into the Nine-tails' eyes. The fox shuddered the whole length of his body, ears flat against his skull.

"My protection," Sasuke promised, very softly, already feeling the drain on his chakra of holding this seal over such a vast being, and feeling too the cold corruption of Madara's chakra against his, like rotting flesh pressed against his own. He pushed back against that violently, and the fox's ears unfolded just a little. That gave Sasuke an idea, and before he could think better of it he pulled Naruto tight into his arms. "My protection," he whispered again, against unruly yellow hair. "Our strength is your shield. Defend our home."

Naruto's arms locked fiercely around him, nearly crushing his ribs, but that was all right. Besides, the fox's ruff was smoothing, no longer bristled. Sasuke smiled, wryly; whatever worked. He pushed Naruto a little away. "Get going, then."

Naruto laughed and Sasuke found himself back kneeling on the dirt and splintered wood outside the south gates with Shikamaru's team standing guard over him. One of the black intruders was melting into the dirt a little ways off. Ino glanced down at him.

"He's back," she said, clipped, and then, seeing the direction of his gaze, smiled tightly. "One of them tried to attack you just before Neji and Hinata nailed the two that controlled them all. Not a problem."

Having seen the three of them work together, their whiplash speed and precision, Sasuke could believe it.

"Is your technique still running or done?" Shikamaru asked, eyes still scanning the woods around them.

"Still running," Sasuke said, breathing slowly and focusing the outflow his chakra to keep his seal on the Nine-tails, over the flowering of its rage and against the increasing pressure from Madara.

"We've got you," Shikamaru said quietly. "Just work."

Sasuke nodded and focused his eyes on the fox and nothing else as it bounded toward the nine-eyed demon.

Tsunade's heart had turned to ice for one moment, when the marks of the Sharingan appeared over the Nine-tails' eyes. But in the next she heard Madara's snarled curse and saw the fox lunge toward the demon to rip at its arms, and knew they might just win this one after all. She spun in between Madara and Sasuke as the old man turned to make for his descendant with an unholy light glaring in his eyes, and threw him back with a scything kick.

And she knew, knew damn it, that she'd broken his breastbone with that kick, but it was whole when he came back at her and she couldn't sense his chakra doing anything that would account for it! Madara smiled nastily at her bared teeth as they closed again in a whirl of fire and knives and the wild strength that had always lived in her bones.

"Ironic, don't you think?" he breathed. "Senju's strength undone by... Senju's strength."

"What the fuck are you babbling about?" Tsunade pulverized the ground under his feet to dust and leaped after him as he retreated.

"Before I left Hashirama at the Falls, I took a sample, you see." Madara spread his arms wide and she felt the hideous, insinuating strength of his chakra again, shaped by that damn Mangekyou Sharingan. Forcing it out of her own chakra pathways distracted her for one crucial moment and she snarled as she pulled his shuriken out of her leg.

And then she actually heard what Madara said. A sample. From her grandfather, the strongest user of Wood natured chakra the world had seen in generations. Something that could defeat her own combat strength. Decades of knowledge in the healing arts gave her the key that connected the two things. "Regeneration," she whispered.

"You always were a clever child, if led carefully enough," Madara murmured.

Fury blazed up in Tsunade's heart like the sun, fury too wild for any shouting to encompass and so her voice was low when she spoke. "First you betray him, and then you steal from his very blood."

"I would never have had to if he'd just seen sense." Madara's words were soft and calm and mad. "But it's all right. I will rule the world, once all the tailed beasts are mine, as it should have been from the start. And he will be with me, as it should have been."

Tsunade locked down a shudder of horror. There was no time for that; she had a duty to perform, here. Not only for her village but for her blood.

Yes. Her blood. That was the way.

She screamed as she lunged at Madara, letting her punch go slightly awry, letting him retreat with a laugh. While he was laughing, she sliced her fingers on her own kunai and swiftly traced seals in blood over her palms, down her arms. She drew the last one over her own heart.

"You shouldn't have told me that," she said softly, gathering her chakra and her will.

"Ah?" Madara hovered just out of range, taunting. "And why not?"

Tsunade's hands flashed through twenty-eight seals and ended in the Snake. "Because blood calls to blood." She lifted two fingers in the initiation and, as fire spread down every vein from her heart, released her Yin seal. The lines on her arms blazed up and there were no more words.

Blood Song was a forbidden technique, locked away for three generations since the villages were first founded. It was a legacy of the warring clans period, and the cruel expedients that century of conflict had driven the clans to, to protect their own blood. To control their own blood.

Madara fought her, silent and vicious now. She could feel his chakra prying at hers, feel the dizzy warping of the world as he tried to tear himself free of her grip, and she spent her own chakra like water into the desert to hold him, to reach into his body and claim what was hers. To tear it away from him—all that was blood of Senju.

And perhaps the years had taken their toll on this one of the most powerful ninja ever known, regeneration or no, because at last she felt it. As her vision darkened, she saw it. The red eyes fixed on hers lost focus, and the steel and stone chakra that wrestled with hers slackened. The blood of her clan slid into her control and she tore it free in one last burst of rage.

When she could see again, she was on her hands and knees, breath heaving hoarsely in her chest. In front of her was a withered body, barely more than skin stretched over bones, with red eyes. Still conscious eyes.

Tsunade's long years of training prodded at her, and her grandfather's teaching joined in. The way of Senju was one of honor and compassion. That was why she had become a healer. Every breath Madara took was wracked, cut short with the pains and breakdowns of decades all catching up at once. She should, at least, ease Madara's passing. The practical part of her knew she didn't have the strength to offer any kind of mercy, but breath, at least, remained to her. Breath and time for a few words. "My grandfather loved you," she whispered.

And then her lips pulled back off her teeth in a hard smile. "I don't."

Madara's eyes glinted at her past the Sharingan for a moment, before he closed them. Another shuddering breath, and the body before her was still and empty.

Tsunade let her head fall, sliding down to the ground, suddenly aware that her transformation had drained away and every bone in her body ached like something was gnawing on them. A rest would be good. Yes.

"Hokage-sama!" Gloved hands caught her, turning her gently, and even through the masks she could hear the hisses of her ANBU around her, shocked. She imagined she didn't look too very different from the dead body right now.

It took two attempts before she managed to swallow and husk out, "Kakashi."

"I'm here." Her chosen successor knelt beside her, and she smiled just a little to see the straightness of his spine, the mission awareness that wouldn't let him show his fear for her or his relief that she still lived. Stubborn brat that he was.

"In command," she whispered through dry, cracked lips, vision starting to gray again. "Shizune. To me."

"She's coming." Kakashi looked up at the masks surrounding them among the dark trunks. "Will you accept my command until the Hokage recovers?"

Cat stepped forward. "We will."

"Then get the civilians out of the shelters and up to the roofs, and call the patrols in to guard them. I want every citizen of Konoha somewhere they can see what's happening at this gate. Bring the twenty strongest shinobi still uninjured here to the gate to support Naruto and the Nine-tails. Go."

ANBU vanished, except for the two medics already working on her, and Tsunade made a mental note to tease Kakashi later about what a good leader he would make. And then Shizune was beside her, eyes furious and wet, swearing at her in three dialects as her glowing hands pressed over Tsunade's heart. Tsunade just smiled, looking up past the trees as her vision faded, to where a giant fox lashed nine tails across the sky and attacked the demon that threatened their village.

This time it was different. This time Naruto wasn't in darkness, catching moments of action here and there. Instead he felt like he was sitting on a boulder on the water plain and at the very same time standing right behind Nine-tails' eyes as the fox leaped through Konoha's forest, savaging the demon. He could feel the flex of the fox's haunches, the clench of his jaw as he seized an arm and tore at it. He could certainly feel the shift of their chakra as the fox breathed a blast of fire at the demon, wild and exultant.

"How can you be calmed down by someone's love and still like destruction this much?" he wondered as they leaped to evade the demon's fist and the fox lashed out with a tail to throw it backwards.

You call this destruction? the fox sneered. Pah! I raise tsunami and level mountains, kit. I bring fire and death and change, and I sweep corruption from this world. That's what I am!

Tailed beasts, Naruto decided, were even weirder than noble clans. "Well you're not being very much yourself, then, are you?" he prodded. "I mean, after a mountain, one demon shouldn't be too hard to level." Secretly he was kind of wondering if the fox was drawing it out so he could keep his own form for longer. And he couldn't blame Nine-tails at all, but they had work to be getting on with, here!

You were the one who wanted me to be careful where I put my feet, the fox shot back, silkily. And then, with a deeper growl, And watch. He caught hold of the demon's arm again, shaking his head fiercely, and this time he actually ripped the arm all the way off.

There was no blood or anything like it. Nine-tails might as well have torn the arm off a statue, except for the weird, shifting glow that showed through the gap. "What's that?" Naruto asked warily, experienced enough by now to be suspicious of anything that looked this strange. It was usually bad news.

That demon is only a container. The fox's tails lashed grimly. It is animated by the strength of my kin, but it is not host to them or anything like. And what truly binds them lives inside it.

Naruto planted his hands on his hips, annoyed. "Well then why haven't you busted it up yet?"

There was enough roar in the fox's response that Naruto winced. Because, you insolent brat, the moment I shatter the container the binding dragons will escape it! Even I can't catch seven fleeing prey in the same instant!

And, if Naruto was any judge, the fox was immensely pissed off about that. "Okay, okay." Naruto patted the air soothingly with raised hands. "We'll figure something out. Look, what if we switch really fast, and I can do binding seals..."

Someone coughed. It was a teacherly, pay-attention-children cough, and so startling in the circumstances that Naruto and the fox both blinked. The fox turned his head and there, standing on top of a tall pine, was Kakashi-sensei.

"Do excuse my cutting in on the conversation," he said blandly, "but if the binding elementals are not drawing a great deal of power from their captives, I believe we can help with that."

Naruto nearly fell off his boulder laughing. "You said it out loud! After all that pissy growling at me for talking out loud, you said it out loud!"

Shut up, kit, the fox rumbled, examining Kakashi-sensei, and Naruto heard him when he spoke, just a little bit distant or muffled. "Help how, little shinobi?"

Kakashi spread his hands. "If you can shatter that demon, I think we have enough people to catch seven dragons at once."

"Only to bind my kin again." The fox's lip curled up in the start of a snarl, and Naruto was really kind of impressed that Kakashi-sensei was still looking the fox steadily in the eye instead of backing up.

"Have you gained nothing from your own contract, youko-san?"

Naruto actually felt the fox's ear tilt with startlement, and then Nine-tails threw up his head and laughed like thunder. "I see where the kit gets his insolence from." He looked down at Kakashi again, teeth bared. "Very well, shinobi. Ready your people."

This time Naruto felt clearly the wild surge of chakra as the fox tipped his head up and breathed out, building a ball of force over his mouth. He really hoped Kakashi-sensei wouldn't let people get too close too soon. The demon had pulled itself back to its feet and was coming for them again, remaining arm spread wide, mouth gaping as if it wanted to take a bite out of Nine-tails. The hunger in that silent charge send a shiver of nerves down Naruto's spine, and he found himself reaching out, adding his chakra to the fox's until the ball of it roiled. He could feel the fox's approval and all nine of the fox's tails spread in a fan to shape their attack.

The demon was three strides away when the fox whipped his head down and released the sky-shattering blast of power.

Demon-shattering, too. Naruto punched the air, right along with the fox's howl of triumph, as blasted fragments scythed outward into the forest.

And then they were surrounded by nine huge dragons, colorful and transparent like glass ornaments, seven of them wrapped like knots around seven tailed beasts.

That, and by shinobi leaping out of the trees.

Temari was the first one to call out her target, as the colored dragons started to rush apart from each other. "Indigo!" and Shikamaru knew exactly what the imperious glance she flicked at him meant.

"Massive pain in the ass," he muttered. They'd only just gotten Sasuke back up to the wall, after all, and the stubborn bastard refused to terminate his seal on the Nine-tails and hadn't been any help at all. "What do you need me for?"

"To hold it still so I don't hit the One-tail," Temari snapped. "Hurry up."

Shikamaru groaned. He'd known it.

"Oh quit complaining," Ino told him, hip-checking him in Temari's direction. "I'll make sure Sasuke doesn't kill himself with stubbornness. Go on."

Shikamaru muttered under his breath about pushy women, glumly reflecting on how much his father was going to tease him about this when he heard. But he knelt by Temari as she coiled into a leaping stance and set his hands in the seal to initiate Shadow Binding. "Someone give me a flare!" he called. At least seven people sent up bursts of fire from the roofs behind him, and he knew in that moment that Kakashi-san had been wise. The village wanted to save itself, not just be saved, and those who helped in this last part of the fight would remember fighting alongside the Nine-tails.

He drove his shadow across the broken trees to lock around the indigo dragon and set his teeth hard at the tearing resistance. "Do it fast," he gritted out.

Temari sprang into the sky like lightning in reverse, and her fan cut the air into vast knives around their target, over and over, slashing the dragon summons into pieces until the beast it held broke free with a roar. The One-tail was just fine, Shikamaru noted distantly, catching himself with a hand on the wall as he released his technique, panting for breath. She hadn't even scratched it.

Maybe that was why the tanuki just glared around before dissolving into a gritty blast of sirocco wind.

"Whoohoo!" Suigetsu hollered, leaping from the wall, and Choujuurou winced. He really hoped Suigetsu wouldn't get too carried away, and would remember what they were and weren't supposed to kill. That was always a bit of a problem with him.

"Tsururi-san, I think the light green dragon is for us," he told his other companion politely, seeing Suigetsu headed in the general direction of the dark green one wrapped around the Three-tails.

Tsururi, who had retrieved and thus inherited Ringo-senpai's Fangs, flexed her hands around the grips, grinning. "Let's do it."

The dragon they targeted was actually starting to unwind a little, perhaps understanding that it had enemies to face. "Pin the head!" Choujuurou called as they leaped, unbinding Hiramekarei. They needed to do this fast.

"I'll fillet it, you tenderize it!" Tsururi called back, and Choujuurou only refrained from rolling his eyes because this was the middle of a fight and despite what Ao-san thought, he was as dedicated a swordsman and shinobi as any of his lost senpai. So he just narrowed his eyes, shifting his balance in the air to let breath, chakra, force flow through him, through his sword.

Tsururi drove straight up from below the dragon, swords crossed, and caught it under the jaw, slicing in deep. "Now!"

There was no need for words. Choujuurou felt the moment, like a cord snapping taut, pulling his arm down. Chakra blazed around his blade, and he bared his teeth with satisfaction as he struck the dragon's spine and the force of it whiplashed along the summons' length. It uncoiled from the Six-tails like a pulled string and shattered into shards of green light.

And Choujuurou swore that, for one moment, the Six-tails looked at them. At him. Perhaps even recognized them. It was only a single moment, though, before the great slug was diving through the sky, making east for the lakes and the sea. He shook himself, flicking the bindings back around his sword as he touched down on one of Konoha's great trees and looked to see how Suigetsu was doing.

Suigetsu was laughing among the fading mist of the dark green dragon, and Choujuurou thought he might be reaching out to pat the Three-tails as he went past. At any rate, the Three-tails spun on one foot, amazingly fast for a huge sea turtle, and smacked Suigetsu out of the air with one of its tails. Choujuurou winced at the plume of debris that rose from Suigetsu's landing and sighed as the Three-tails raged off through the woods and a squad of Leaf-nin darted over the wall to fetch Suigetsu.

He knew his unit was still rebuilding itself, and that the Mizukage was far too wise and compassionate to expect perfect decorum out of the Swordsmen in any case. But he wasn't entirely looking forward to reporting this to her.

Kiba had never seen his mother quite as pissed off as she was tonight. Apparently obaa-san hadn't been joking when she'd said Tsume had the instincts to lead the clan after her, and that mostly meant a whole damn lot of Mine. First it was hide and seek with those damn black and white things, then demons, now dragons and tailed beasts scattered all over their damn territory; it was enough to make his claws itch, too, and he wasn't any kind of alpha. His mother hadn't stopped showing her teeth all night.

"Yellow," Tsume snarled, and Kiba and Hana both sprang on her heels without protest, bounding over the trees toward the yellow dragon with their partners. Everyone was growling low in their throats as they leaped up to slash and worry at the dragon, pulling it loose from the beast coil by coil even as it hissed silently and slashed back with long talons.

When one of those talons hit one of the Haimaru triplets, Tsume threw her head back and howled, absolutely outraged by the scent of her pack's blood. Kiba yelped a little under his breath, and sprang with Akamaru to pin down the dragon's tail while his mother and Kuromaru whirled into a stupendous Fang Passing Fang and hit the dragon just behind its head.

And that was pretty much that.

The Four-tails shook itself loose from the fading coils and shot for the sky like a comet going home, and Tsume looked just a little calmer when she landed. Enough that Kiba and Hana both straightened up and smiled at her. She smiled back, showing her teeth lazily, and rested a hand on Kuromaru's back. "Well, come on, then. Let's see if any of these other slackers need help."

His mom was definitely scary, Kiba reflected as they bounded back toward the wall, but that was okay. He kind of liked it that way.

Kakashi watched, taut, as Konoha's uninjured jounin and their support dove outward from the south gate to catch the dragons the Nine-tails had broken loose. In some cases, that support was less than he would have liked.

"Come, my student! Let us defeat this foe with the fiery passion of youth!"

"Yes, Gai-sensei!"

Okay, not in that case, he had to admit. Kakashi spared a hidden smile for the sight of his 'rival' and Gai's student, spinning through Gai's extravagantly proclaimed Leaf Coiling Whirlwind with perfect synchronization. He'd almost swear the dull blue dragon's eyes bugged out as two explosive kicks landed on either side of its head. At any rate, it toppled, already fading, toward the ground, and the sleek form of the Five-tails sprang free and galloped east toward the faint beginning of dawn.

No, Kakashi wasn't worried about Gai. What he didn't like was Genma's insistence on taking on the orange dragon that held the Two-tails alone. He knew Genma had known that host, had respected her, but the hard light in Genma's eyes when he'd brushed off any assistance suggested there was something deeper there than he'd thought. That didn't make Kakashi a happy commander. Genma's expertise was with small weapons, and while his water knives were cutting deep, they weren't enough to disperse the dragon.

Just enough to enrage it.

Coil on coil slid free from the Two-tails as the dragon struck after Genma again and again. It was a virtuoso performance of speed and precision to evade and strike, over and over. Even so, Kakashi was poised to call for long-distance support from the watching shinobi whether Genma liked it or not. Just before the measure in his head that weighed Genma's need for revenge against his life tipped, though, one last coil slipped loose.

And the Two-tails struck.

With a yowl that echoed through the valley, the demon cat pulled free and spun to sink claws and teeth into the dragon, ripping it into orange mist. Finally, it stood, stiff-legged and bristling, glaring around the torn ground, and Kakashi had to bite back a curse as he realized Genma was standing right in front of it, out in the open at the top of a half-seared pine. He was talking to the enraged Two-tails, and Kakashi's eye widened a little as he read the movement of Genma's lips.

I remember her. I remember you. We didn't realize, in time to save her. I'm sorry.

The cat stared down at him, and slowly it's hackles lowered. It leaned down to sniff at Genma, and Kakashi's hands wove through the long distance body-switching seals as fast as they ever had in his life, ready to swap himself for Genma, who seemed to have lost his mind.

The cat blinked and slowly dispersed into mist, curling through the trees and away.

Kakashi slumped, leaving the seals just barely uncompleted. "Going to give me a damn heart attack," he muttered, and gave Tenzou, standing beside him, a dour look at his faint breath of a laugh. "Easy for you to laugh. ANBU was never this kind of trouble."

From the angle of Tenzou's head, he was smiling behind Cat's mask. Only for a moment, though, before he stiffened. "I wouldn't be too sure of that."

Kakashi's head snapped around to see Anko diving down, short sword first, on the red dragon currently wrapped in the grip of her snake summons. It would have been the perfect finishing attack if the dragon hadn't torn its head free, jaws opening to meet her.

Anko bared her teeth as the dragon pulled its head loose. It was too late to alter her attack in any way but by aborting it completely and she was damned if she was going to do that. Down the throat it was!

She almost lost her aim when a water rope snaked around the dragon's muzzle and cinched it closed in one yank. In the next moment, she had to focus on her strike, knifing the dragon through the spine with all the force of her descent, but as soon as the damn thing burst into red shards she got a foot against the Seven-tails and pushed off to leap for the wall, ignoring the outraged insectile hiss behind her.

She touched down in front of Kurenai and glared. "What the hell was that?!"

Kurenai was bent over, hands against her knees, breathing hard. "That." A breath. "Was me saving." Another breath. "Your ass. You're welcome."

"You only got out of the hospital a few weeks ago!" Anko hollered, gesturing with her sword, other hand jammed on her hip. "You're still on restricted duties! You're still in the middle of postpartum chakra drain! Goddamn it, Kurenai!"

Jounin, honestly! She swore there was nothing as much of a pain in the ass as a jounin!

Kurenai straightened slowly, tossing her hair back. "I'm a shinobi of Konoha, and I was here when my comrade needed help."

Anko stared at her for a long moment and finally sighed. "Fuck." She slung an arm around Kurenai's shoulders. "Thanks. I owe you one." She watched as Kurenai relaxed, and promptly re-focused her chakra and swept the other woman up in her arms.

"Anko!" Kurenai yelped.

"And I'll just repay you now," Anko said sweetly as she sprang down inside the wall, "by taking you to the medic station to be checked over. Just to be sure." She grinned as Kurenai growled in her ear. A little irritation would help Kurenai recover faster. That was her story and she was sticking to it.

The fox watched the last of the other tailed beasts making tracks away from Konoha and shook himself all over, settling his fur. Well? he asked. Satisfied with our bargain, kit?

Naruto looked through the fox's eyes at the slowly lightening sky and the mess of torn ground and splintered trees, at the shinobi lining Konoha's wall, and the ones who had just arrived on the cliff over the valley. All alive. He felt a last, weary brush of Sasuke's chakra as the Sharingan seal withdrew, and spotted the pink of Sakura's hair at the top of the wall. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, I am. Thank you."

One more thing, then, before you go back to those 'important people' of yours. The fox bent his head down to something on the ground, and Naruto made a disgusted face as he realized it was Madara's body, all withered and yuck.

"Eew!" he yelled as Nine-tails closed his teeth lightly over the body. "Ew, ew, ew, what are you doing?"

What I live for, the fox rumbled, and tossed his head up, throwing the body up in the air, battle fan and all. Naruto felt the ingathering of chakra as the fox inhaled, and then Madara's body was seared out of existence by the exhaled burst of fire against the sky. Mm. Better, Nine-tails growled, tails lashing with satisfaction.

He tilted an ear at the faint cheers from the wall and snorted. Humans. You can deal with that nonsense, kit.

Again there was a strange, sliding moment of rising, of feeling the fox brush past him, and Naruto was standing in a newly made clearing, blinking with his own eyes. Hearing the rising cheers of victory with his own ears. He laughed out loud as he took a running leap up two trees to the top of Konoha's wall and catapulted into Sasuke and Sakura's arms. He held on tight as the first rays of light slid over the horizon and touched Konoha's roofs to color and life again. His village. His people. Alive. He felt the fox settle, in his soul, and smiled.

His home, now and always.

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Twenty-One

The shinobi world starts to settle down again and reach for new equilibrium, and our heroes all get on with their lives. Drama, I-3

Hidden Sound had to find a bigger room, this time, to fit in everyone who wanted to attend the summit. Or perhaps, Kakashi amended as he settled beside Jiraiya at one of the tables making up a large, hollow square, everyone who wanted to hear this after-action report. Even Hanzou of Hidden Rain had come, though it was always possible he just didn't want his heir going without him; as it was, Kanon sat demurely beside him, hands folded on the table in reassuringly plain sight, while Hanzou smirked at anyone who showed discomfort. Even the Master of the Waterfall had shown up, which only left...

The Raikage stormed into the room and pointed at Kakashi and Jiraiya. "Where is she?" he bellowed. "Where is that thieving little—"

Kakashi winced.

"Senju Tsunade," Jiraiya cut over A, straightening up with a forbidding look, "is still unable to travel after defeating Uchiha Madara by her own hand." Sacrificing herself for the sake of us all, his tone implied, and don't you feel like a horrible person for attacking a woman wounded in the line of duty. Kakashi had to admire his delivery.

It wasn't a complete lie, either. Tsunade had torn her chakra pathways with the jutsu she'd used on Madara, and Naruto's chakra transfusions did little good if they couldn't mesh with her coils. He and Shizune had worn themselves to rags trying, and Tsunade was walking around and even yelling at her Council again. But it would be a while before she recovered her full strength, so here Kakashi was to deal with the leaders of the other villages in her place. He suppressed a momentary desire to swap himself for a handy scarecrow and take to his heels while he still could. Truthfully, it was far too late for that.

A opened his mouth and closed it again, glowering at them. B, coming in behind him, tossed Jiraiya a two-fingered wave and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Come on, Aniki, it isn't that bad. You've still got us."

"Indeed," Terumii of the Mist said, raising one elegantly arched eyebrow, "considering that Hidden Cloud is one of only two villages to still have any Sacrifice at all, I think other considerations come first."

A grumbled audibly, but did stomp over to take a table, brother trailing behind him. Naruto grinned and waved from Jiraiya's other side, and B returned a thumbs-up.

"Since this is clearly a major concern," Naridasu of Sound murmured dryly, "may I ask how many villages have seen their erstwhile beasts at all?"

"The Six-tails has been seen on the islands again, not far from Mist's boundaries," Terumii volunteered. "The Three-tails... well. It has been sighted in the ocean, but seems determined to stay away from humans. It has been without a host for some time already; I suppose it isn't all that surprising."

"Interesting." The Tsuchikage rested his chin on his clasped fists, eying the rest of them under bushy brows. "The Four-tails has also returned to Earth, and he seems determined to roam over the whole damn country. He's scared one or two settlements empty, but he hasn't attacked anything yet. The Five-tails, we haven't seen."

"The One-tail will attack if he's approached," Gaara said quietly, "but, if left alone, he too he seems content to roam the country."

"The Seven-tails has not been seen at all." The Master of the Waterfall folded his arms, giving the room an impartial glare.

A's glare topped it effortlessly, and the muscles of his arms flexed menacingly as he folded them. "Our Two-tails is malingering around Leaf." He looked at Kakashi's delegation like he suspected them of luring the Two-tailed Cat with a gigantic bowl of milk or something.

"She appears to enjoy the company of one of our jounin," Kakashi told him smoothly, all innocent smiles. "I believe," he added, over the Raikage's strangled sound, "that the man in question was fond of Nii, the previous host. Two-tails appears to remember her with some fondness as well, and enjoy his reminiscence about her. If you send a few potential hosts of similar temperament, to contract with her, I imagine she might be willing to return."

Most of the room was staring at him, and he smiled impenetrably back, stepping discreetly on Naruto's foot when it seemed like the boy might just stand up and cheer or something equally unsubtle. The other villages need to be coaxed, or possibly stampeded, into this. Warning the target ahead of time was always bad tactics.

"Contract?" the Kazekage asked quietly, fingers steepled, dark eyes sharp.

Kakashi flicked his fingers at Naruto and B. "Beasts in cooperation with their hosts get better results. That much is well demonstrated by now, I think." The other village leaders looked promisingly thoughtful at this appeal to self-interest.

"It's not just that," Naruto spoke up into the quiet, and Kakashi stifled a sigh. Timing. They had to work on Naruto's timing if he was ever going to do this political thing. "The tailed beasts... they all have their own stuff going on, you know? They have their own lives. Their own purposes." Naruto looked down and added softly, "I think that's why things have been so bad since the beasts were captured."

"So bad?" Oonoki was watching Naruto like a rock-cat about to pounce.

"Well, I mean!" Naruto waved his hands. "Sixty years, right? And wars every time you turn around! The villages were supposed to make things better, to keep everyone from fighting everyone else all the time, right?" He made an expressive face. "Yeah, that really worked. I asked Hinata; the Hyuuga records go way back. She said there are even more casualties now than there used to be, and even more destruction!"

"What do you think the beasts have to do with that?" Oonoki probed. "I suppose the greatest destruction comes when they're used but they haven't been used often at all."

"That's not it." Naruto pulled his hands through his hair, looking frustrated. Kakashi really wondered if he'd ever have the patience for diplomacy. Naruto was doing better than he'd expected, though, incorrigible honestly and all, so he leaned back and just watched.

"Nine-tails says his purpose is to destroy corruption," Naruto said finally. "He says that's what he is. An... an embodiment of that. And the last thing he wanted to destroy? Was Madara. You see?"

"Naruto." Gaara leaned forward. "Are you saying that the tailed beasts controlled our corruption, before they were sealed?"

"Along with everything else." Naruto spread his hands wide. "It's hard to put into words. The fox... when he talks about it he gets all mystical and shit." And then he made a face and glanced just over his shoulder. "You do so," he muttered, and a moment later, a bit more loudly, "You talked out loud, so I get to talk out loud!"

Kakashi had to admit, the expressions on the faces around the table, as they watched Naruto backtalk to an ancient spirit of destruction, were pretty priceless. Business before pleasure, though. He crossed his ankles, looking as relaxed as possible. "Of course, this brings up the point that even the Nine-tails needed human assistance to defend it from human interference. That logic was sufficient to lead he and Naruto to form a contract. Surely similar logic would be compelling to the other tailed beasts."

"We would all have to be quick about it, before the beasts lose human language again," Terumii put in, thoughtful. "But it seems worth an attempt, especially considering the casualties that a forceful sealing usually entails."

"And the Five-tails hasn't been seen back in Waterfall, hm?" Amused malice gleamed in Hanzou's smile. "I imagine it would find Rain just as congenial."

The Master of Hidden Waterfall started up in his chair. "You dare!"

"On a related subject," Naridasu interjected smoothly, "several of the villages have expressed a desire for new treaties between us, for the extraction of S-rank criminals. I'm sure none of us wish something like Akatsuki's recent campaign to happen again."

As the Masters and Kage started bickering over this new topic, Kakashi murmured, "Naridasu's good."

"So are you," Jiraiya returned, just as quietly. "I think they'll all at least try the contract route."

Kakashi had to admit, that did seem to have worked. Which implied that, yes, he was going to be good at this.

Damn.

He sighed and slumped lower, hands shoved in his pockets.

"So?" Tsunade demanded, leaning over her desk, which made Shizune shift like she wanted to bundle Tsunade back into a recliner or something. "How did it go?"

"We got everything you really wanted," Kakashi reported. "Though I shudder to think what the first few actual cases of extradition are going to look like."

"Like a hot mess. Welcome to politics." He couldn't help twitching at that, and she relented a bit. "Good job. Go on, then, pick up a nice mission to settle your nerves. There are a few A-class missions gone begging while everyone heals up."

"Thank you, Tsunade-sama." He bowed a little and escaped. Maybe he'd see if ANBU needed an old hand along on something strenuous. They were almost back to treating him like a normal captain, now Tsunade was back on her feet.

Almost.

He landed on the railed walkway around the administration building's sixth floor and gripped the rail, head lowered. The really terrifying thing was, he'd started to not mind.

"Starting to catch up with you, hm?"

Kakashi berated himself for being so far gone he had let even someone of Jiraiya's skill sneak up on him; he'd better not go into the field in this condition. "What is?" he asked as evenly as he could, looking over at the older man leaning against the rail beside him.

Jiraiya gave him a stern look. "The fact that you're pretty much a born leader, Kakashi-kun." He softened it with a small smile. "You've never been a loner, looking for the solo missions. Not like me."

Kakashi raised his visible brow. This from a man who'd been part of the village's most famous and stable team, at least until Sakura, Sasuke, and Naruto came along? "Neither are you, Jiraiya-sama," he murmured.

Jiraiya actually grinned. "There, see? How many people in this village would call me on that to my face?"

Kakashi was starting to have a little sympathy with Sasuke's complaints about how sneaky Jiraiya could be, when he wanted to get a point across. "I know I'll be able to do it," he said quietly, looking out over the town's bright roofs again. "It's just... the whole village, this time."

Jiraiya sighed extravagantly. "Does no one actually listen to a word I say?" he asked the sky mournfully. "It isn't something you do alone!"

Kakashi's mouth quirked behind his mask. "Minato-sensei listened. I listened. Eventually." Quieter, he added, "But I'm not sure I'll have a choice, when Tsunade-sama steps down. Even if it's before her death, she won't want to interfere with my authority."

"Mm. I expect she'll retire to take over the hospital, yes." Another moment of quiet, and then Jiraiya added, softly, "I'll still be here for you, though."

That startled Kakashi enough to look over at him. "You..." He hadn't thought he was anything to Jiraiya that would call for that kind of promise.

"What's so surprising?" Jiraiya asked, brows arched. "You're the student of my student. That makes you my grand-student, so it's part of my job to look out for you." While Kakashi was blinking at this line of logic, he rubbed his chin. "Hmm. You're also Sasuke's teacher, so you're my teacher-in-law too. Two significant bonds! I don't see what you're startled by."

Kakashi opened his mouth and closed it again, feeling unbalanced. He wasn't used to being on this end of that kind of teasing.

Jiraiya smiled wryly and reached out to close a strong hand on the nape of Kakashi's neck. "Kakashi. I'll be here."

Kakashi froze, eyes wide. This... this was his gesture. His reassurance to his students or subordinates. It wasn't something for him. But as Jiraiya shook him gently, he could feel his own shoulders relaxing, his head bending, feel himself leaning into the kind of support he hadn't felt in too many years. Not since... not since Minato-sensei; perhaps he should have wondered where Minato-sensei had gotten it from. He had to swallow before he could speak, and even then it was husky with that sudden awareness of connection. "Yes, Jiraiya-san."

"We'll find the ones to help you carry it, Kakashi," Jiraiya told him quietly. "Don't worry about that."

Kakashi just nodded, wordless, and let that reassurance soak in.

Maybe it would be all right, after all.

Sakura walked quietly down the river path to the Memorial Stone, fingers wrapped lightly around a spray of white bell-flowers.

This was the first time she'd visited the Memorial Stone like this, and Sasuke and Naruto had offered to come with her, but she'd told them to stay at home so she'd know where to find them afterwards. Neither of them were comfortable with the Stone. Sasuke had too many family names on it, and Naruto always felt guilty for the years when he hadn't recognized his own father and mother's names there. Sakura had no family on the Stone. The Haruno family had always been civilians; her grandparents had moved off the farms and inside the village bounds to keep shop, but none of their children had felt called to the field the way Sakura had.

But there were a handful of new names on the Stone, this season, and one of them had been a friend.

Noriko had been part of the Torture and Interrogation unit. Sakura had known her in passing for years, and she'd been present at Sakura and Ino's debriefing about interrogating Sai, when they'd returned from the Island Turtle. She'd taken them out, afterwards, and poured drinks into them until their hands stopped shaking. And she'd been there a few days later, when Sakura had come face to face with Sai in the entrance to Intelligence and frozen like stone, torn between the urge to attack him and the guilt of having screwed with his head to get information out of him. Noriko had been the one to know it was going to happen and the one who'd been there to talk Sakura down. To tell her she wasn't a horrible person for having done it, or a weak person for being disgusted by it.

"You did what you had to, when you had to," she'd said softly, watching the stream of water as she'd run a glass for Sakura. "That's the best any of us do." It had helped.

And now she was dead. She'd been killed by one of the black and white attackers, creating an opening for her team to destroy it.

Sakura stepped out from under the trees and hesitated, seeing someone else already at the Stone. But the slanting afternoon light struck messy silver hair that she recognized, though she hadn't known Kakashi-sensei was back from what Sasuke had dryly called his vacation mission. After a moment she walked up softly and knelt down in silence beside him. She laid down her bell-flowers by the lilies already there and bent her head for a breath, whispering Noriko's name in her heart and wishing her spirit all luck and speed. When she looked up, Kakashi-sensei was watching her, visible eye dark and quiet.

"She told me," Sakura said into that quiet, "the best we can do is what we have to, when we have to."

"Wise words," Kakashi-sensei murmured.

"I thought so." She looked down at the flowers. "So I wanted to thank you."

"Hm?" He cocked his head. "What for?"

Sakura slid her hands through the eighteen seals for silence, stilling the air completely for a meter in all directions. Into the faint flatness of their sphere of sound, not moving her lips, she said, "For killing Danzou."

Kakashi-sensei went completely, dangerously still beside her.

"I know I shouldn't speak about it, even with safeguards," she said, eyes still on the pale flowers. "But I needed to say this to you, and this seems like the right place to say it. Thank you. He was poisoning our village. What he did to Sai, what he wanted to do to Naruto..." her teeth set hard just thinking about it. "So. It needs to be said." She scooted around on her knees and bowed over them, formally. "Thank you for the care you have taken of us."

After a long moment, Kakashi-sensei sighed and touched her shoulder. "Where did you hear of this, Sakura?"

She straightened up and shook her head. "No one speaks of it. Not directly. But I think someone in ANBU is pulling for you, because it's all over half the village that you braved Madara's sword to rescue Danzou. Even though he had already taken fatal damage." She smiled crookedly. "And that's something you would do, Kakashi-sensei, which is why people are buying it. But I was there when you spoke to Sai, when you swore to bring Danzou down. I saw how furious you were. I can believe you didn't want Madara to kill him. But you would never have left him alive." Her hands clenched in her lap, and her voice turned harsh. "And you were right not to!"

She could just see the faint quirk of his mouth behind his mask. "You're going to be the strict one of Naruto's first councilors, I can tell."

Sakura smiled. It was the first time he'd teased any of them properly in weeks. "Yes, Kakashi-sensei," she said demurely, and dismissed her soundproofing. Mission completed, on all counts. She stood, dusting off her pants, and nodded to the Stone. "It was here, wasn't it, that you told us, the first time: those who abandon their comrades are less than trash. You've never done that before; and you haven't now either."

"I suppose not." Kakashi-sensei traced one name with light fingers before he stood too, and strolled with her back down the river path. "So what were the three of you up to while I was gone?"

Sakura laughed. "We're starting a campaign to get Nine-tails accepted by the village." She smiled up at him, sidelong and coaxing. "I don't suppose you have any thoughts about that?"

"Hmm." Kakashi-sensei rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Sakura could tell that he was smiling. "Well, I suppose you need to get people used to seeing him around, for starters..."

Nine-tails bounded across the trees of another forest valley, and behind his eyes Naruto laughed; he could feel the wind blowing past Nine-tails ears, could smell the scents of trees and earth, damp from a recent rain, of quick forest animals, of smoke from a nearby town. Sakura, perched on Nine-tails' neck whooped with glee at the speed, and when Nine-tails was in his own form like this Naruto could feel the brilliance of excitement in her chakra, and the warmth of Sasuke's pleasure, just behind her. Even if Sasuke refused to yell with the fun of it like him and Sakura.

Hmph. Foolish kits. The fox sounded very nearly indulgent, though. Naruto had already figured out that he liked Sakura, especially after getting a good whiff of her when her seal was activated, that night at the south gate. Sasuke and the fox seemed to have reached a mutual agreement to ignore each other, but that was way better than the growling and snapping, so Naruto called that a win too.

And, okay, so the shinobi on the walls still tended to check their weapons when Nine-tails strode up under the sunlight like this, but Naruto was working on that. When he and the fox switched, today, he kept the tails out.

"Naruto?" Sakura rose from her landing and cocked her head at his waving tails. "Did you want to spar for a few rounds before lunch or something?"

He grinned. "Not exactly. Come on, let's see what's at the market."

Sasuke gave him a sidelong look. "You're volunteering to shop for real food instead of agitating for ramen. Definitely up to something."

Naruto grinned, innocent as could be, and grabbed their hands to drag them through the gate. People turned and looked, but, hell, Naruto had been used to that all his life. He concentrated on trotting cheerfully among the produce stalls and arguing volubly with Sasuke over which fish to get for dinner. Finally, after he'd hooked one of the shopping bags over a tail to carry, ignoring the incredulous noise the fox made in the back of his head, the lady with the turnips and potatoes dared to ask, "Er. Uzumaki-kun. The... the tails? Why?"

Naruto blinked at her, wide eyed. "Oh, well, they're kind of handy you know. Like extra hands almost." He squinched up his face, thoughtfully. "Course that isn't always an advantage. I mean, sometimes the fox gets pissy about me using them, and then he..." he yelped as a tail slid under his arm. "Hey, hey, cut that out!" Another snaked up under his shirt and he batted at it. "Cut it out, that tickles!"

What are you doing?! the fox demanded, outraged.

I'm fixing your reputation, shut up and let me work, Naruto answered briskly and continued tickling himself with their tails, ignoring the fox's sputtering. The stall keeper had her fingers pressed to her mouth, but her eyes were starting to dance.

Sakura had a hand over her face, which Naruto could tell was totally hiding snickers, but probably looked exasperated to anyone else. Sasuke just rescued the bag from Naruto's tail and rolled his eyes. "We'll take three of the sweet potatoes," he said, ostentatiously ignoring his squirming, laughing teammate; which, of course, was perfectly normal.

There was disbelief on a lot of faces, but the start of amusement also. Possibly even vindication on a few, the people Naruto had pranked most often as a kid. Naruto bundled the tails up in his arms and grinned, breathless, at Nine-tails' appalled silence in the back of his head.

Total win. He'd have to see if Kakashi-sensei had more ideas. Or maybe Iruka-sensei. Yeah; he'd ask Iruka-sensei. He laughed as Sasuke turned back for home, shaking his head, and Sakura linked arms with him, pulling him along.

They were going to change things.

Tsunade wandered through the Residence library, contemplating the shelves of restricted scrolls and smooth, burled wood pillars. She paused in one corner to trail her fingers along the personal records of the ones who'd come before her. Minato-kun, Sarutobi-sensei, her great-uncle. Her grandfather.

"You didn't know what would happen," she told his memory quietly. "You were doing the best you could for your people. All of us... just doing the best we can and keeping on."

And by that measure, Naruto might really be the best Hokage they'd ever had.

"Tsunade-sama?" Shizune called from the doorway. "It's almost time for the monthly meeting."

Tsunade sighed and pulled her mind back to business. "Anything I need to know before we go in?" she asked, striding for the door.

"A message from the Mizukage just got in, saying Suigetsu might show up here soon and would we please send him home again." Shizune handed over the message strip for her to read as they paced down the Residence halls to the front doors.

Tsunade laughed out loud as they came out into the chill of the afternoon air. "Tell whoever takes that mission to wait until he's finished his drink; we don't want more busted up bars than we can help." She had to admit, she liked that kid's style.

"Yes, Tsunade-sama," Shizune said repressively. "There's one other thing. The master of the last Fire caravan to pass through Hidden Rain says that he saw someone matching the description of Yakushi Kabuto."

Tsunade's eyes narrowed, seeing for one moment that lying smile instead of the trees that lined the way to the administrative center. "So the little snake has surfaced again. Don't let Sakura hear about this," she ordered. "Not until we confirm it. I don't want her taking off after him into the middle of Rain, and most likely her team with her, without full information."

"Yes, ma'am," Shizune murmured.

Tsunade paused at the gates to the administrative center and looked back out over her village, hands on her hips. The streets were busy at this time of day, and a handful of shinobi had taken the roof path, flickering from shadow to shadow. "We're not doing too badly, are we?"

Shizune smiled. "Not badly at all." Of course, then she had to add, gently, "The meeting, Tsunade-sama?"

Tsunade sighed. "Yeah, yeah. I'm going." She straightened her haori and prepared for yet another hour or two of frustrating wrangling. "At least this time the old goats won't be able to claim Naruto and Sasuke haven't earned every bit of their promotions, along with Sakura."

She tossed one last smile over her shoulder, at her busy, lively village full of busy, fractious people, all of them living on that thin line between service and selfishness. Sometimes they fell, one way or the other. Sometimes she fell, like she had for years before Naruto pulled her back. The point wasn't not falling. The point was taking the hand that reached out to pull you up again.

Maybe it was time for her to start keeping her own personal record, as the Fifth. Maybe that would be what she wrote down, to start it.

"Let's go, Shizune," she said, still smiling.

End

Cloud Hands

Hinata has long been inspired by Naruto, and watching his determination helps her find her own. Seeking a way to help her clan and herself, she turns to Hyuuga's history and finds old strength and new thoughts there, courage and hope. In the end, she even finds her way back to an older love. Drama, Action, Romance, I-4

When Hyuuga Hinata was three years old, her playmate Neji-niisan went away for two weeks. When he came back his eyes were darker than they had been. He still smiled at her, though, and tugged gently on her hair, and told her he would protect her, and she loved him more than anyone.

When Hinata was five, she was stolen out of her room in the middle of the night, and woke to darkness and confusion and falling—falling bodies all around her. But her father was there, and took her home again, and everything was all right. It was that year, though, that Neji-niisan stopped smiling at her.

When Hinata was seven, she fainted from exhaustion during training. Her father was frowning when she came back to awareness, groggy and limp-muscled.

When Hinata was eight she entered the Academy and, for the first time, trained with other children who were not Hyuuga. They were loud and cheerful and rude, and never waited long enough to hear her answers when they asked questions. She tried to find Neji-niisan during lunch, to sit with him, but he always vanished as soon as he saw her.

When Hinata was ten, she lost every match in a week to Hanabi, and her father told her she was no longer Hyuuga's heir, and turned away.

When Hinata was eleven, she fell in love a second time, with one of the loud, rude, cheerful boys, because she saw how every back was turned toward him and how, still, he never gave up.

When Hinata turned fourteen, she gathered all her courage in her hands and walked into the training hall while Neji-niisan was working, and asked to train with him. Quietly, face shadowed by the wooden slats of the window, he agreed.

That was the year she began to wonder whether she could change fate, too.

"Chichi-ue?" Hinata hovered in the door to his rooms, nervous. "May I ask for a key to the clan archives?"

Her father looked up, brows rising. "The archives? Why?"

Hinata looked down and murmured, "So that I may learn more of my ancestors. And I thought, perhaps... perhaps there are techniques I might be able to use..."

He sighed, laying down his ink brush. "I doubt there is anything that will help you. But if you wish to search, very well." He rose and went to one of the small boxes along the wall, sliding it open and selecting a small key. "Don't take it out of the house."

"Of course not," Hinata murmured, still cringing from the remark about nothing helping her. "Thank you, Chichi-ue."

"Mm." He had already returned to his writing, and she slipped out silently, clutching the key. This was her chance—her hope.

She stole down the halls, away from the noise of conversations, of training, of food being prepared, toward the still quiet of waiting words.

At first, the sheer volume of the records intimidated her. She'd never be able to get through all of them, at least not quickly; it would take months, years even to read all of these. But she remembered Naruto and his determination. She took a breath full of paper dust, and stood on her toes to take down the scrolls from the clan's founding from their shelf. She would start at the beginning. And she would keep going until she found what she was looking for.

She unrolled the crackling scroll with a delicate hand, only opening a few lines at a time.

...these eyes see to the heart of the world. They may see, also, to the heart of our enemies. My sister is willing, for the sake of our family, to try if we can fix these eyes in our line. We will give the hearts of our enemies into the hands of our children.

And what, Hinata had to wonder, were the children of Hyuuga supposed to do with those hearts once they held them?

She read on, frowning a little, in the steady light of her lamp.

"Hinata? Oi, Hinata! You awake?" Kiba waved a hand in front of her face and Hinata stifled a yawn.

"Of course I'm awake, Kiba-kun." She smiled at him, reassuring.

He hmphed and sprawled next to her in the grass of the hill where they waited for their teacher. "Training is good, but don't do so much of it you're asleep at mission briefings, yeah?" He glanced at her sidelong as Akamaru flopped down between them. "That bastard Neji isn't being too hard on you, is he?"

"No, no, it's nothing like that," Hinata said hastily. Kiba still growled at Neji-niisan whenever they met; even a year later, he hadn't forgiven what happened at their first chuunin exam.

"Well okay, then." Kiba leaned back on his elbows, head tossed back in the sunlight. He looked so much like Akamaru, now flopped over on his back with his paws in the air, that Hinata had to smile. She rubbed Akamaru's tummy gently and he wriggled with pleasure, panting up at her with a dog-grin.

"Kiba-kun?" she said slowly, thinking. "Do you... does your clan breed your nin-dogs? Breed them for the things they are?" She could feel Shino's eyes on her, from where he leaned against the tree at the top of the hill.

"Well we keep track of their breeding, yeah." Kiba reached over and tugged on one of Akamaru's ears, smiling the way he only did for his dog. "But the intensive breeding... that was a long time ago."

"Has your clan mentioned a marriage to you?" Shino asked quietly. Hinata's mouth quirked, a little sad. Of course, another noble would think of that immediately.

"No. No, it's just... I've been reading some of our old records these last couple months. Some of the things that were done to fix the Byakugan in our bloodline were... more than I was expecting." Brother and sister hadn't surprised her, but breeding children to their parents... she was glad she lived in a more civilized time.

Shino just nodded, understanding, but Kiba's eyes darkened. "Hinata..." He subsided with a growl when she shook her head at him. Really, she'd already known that ruthlessness ran in the Hyuuga blood, along with their eyes.

"All right, everyone!" Kurenai-sensei waved at them from the bottom of the hill. "I have the briefing, let's get going! Hinata," she added, as they scrambled up and trotted down to join her, "is everything all right?"

Hinata set aside her reading and the thoughts it brought with a soft toss of her head and smiled up at her teacher, shyly reassuring. "Yes, Kurenai-sensei."

This was a clan matter. She was a daughter of Hyuuga. She would find her own way.

Neji-niisan stopped with his palm against her diaphragm and Hinata straightened with a sigh. "I was too slow blocking," she murmured.

"It isn't speed you need there, Hinata-sama," he said, frowning a little. "You could have avoided that simply by shifting your stance forward and turning your body."

She blinked and ran through the sequence in her head, and blushed hotly. "Oh."

Neji-niisan studied her, head tipped to the side. "You've been missing that more often, lately, and trying to block when you don't need to. I think perhaps you're focusing too tightly."

Hinata clasped her hands together, looking down; even her determination seemed to go wrong when it came to her own clan's techniques. She'd hoped, once, that reading the old records might help her with that also, but after most of a year she understood no better. She started when Neji-niisan touched her wrist. "You're not flinching any more," he said gently. "That's the important part. If you only have the courage to close in, that's when you can use the greatest strength of our art." With a faint smile, he added, "Ignore the hand..."

"Control the space," she recited automatically. Though how a person was supposed to counter a strike by ignoring it she had never understood and no one had ever explained. She sighed softly.

After a quiet moment, Neji-niisan said, slowly, "I think perhaps you were never taught quite what that rule means, Hinata-sama." He beckoned her back in and took up a stance opposite her, nearly knee to knee. She obediently matched him. "Watch my eyes, Hinata-sama," he said quietly. Very, very slowly his hand moved toward her in an open palm strike, and she tensed, arm twitching, ready to strike it aside. "Not my hand, my eyes," Neji-niisan reminded her, and she fixed her eyes back on his hastily.

And started.

She could see his whole body. With her eyes fixed on his, she could see the movement of his whole body—almost as if she had the Byakugan activated!

Neji smiled that faint smile of his again. "There. Now you can see, right?"

Breathless, eyes very wide, Hinata slowly shifted forward. His hand brushed right past her ribs and hers drifted forward through the open space his strike made until it came to rest against his chest. They stood that way for a long moment until she gathered enough of her wits to step back. She was breathing fast.

"That's the nature of our entire art," Neji-niisan told her calmly. "To see the whole space, and to move based on that whole pattern." He held up his hand. "Not just this one part of it."

"Oh." Hinata pressed her clasped hands to her mouth, shaking a little. She understood. She understood! She'd seen! "A..." Her voice broke and she had to clear her throat. "Again?" she asked, husky.

This time, Neji's smile was a full one.

The door to the Hyuuga archives opened and Hinata looked up, blinking in the sudden flood of light. Her father stood in the doorway.

"What have you found today, daughter?"

It was the question he asked every time he came here. She thought he meant it kindly, meant to say to her that what she did interested him as it had not for so many years. But it felt more like a challenge—a cross-examination, to determine whether her work had any worth. She tried to answer anyway.

Hinata looked down and touched the book spread out before her with delicate fingers. "I'm reading the records of the eighth head of the clan. He..." She nibbled her lip. "He took the leadership of the clan from his older brother."

"Ah. Yes, that used to happen, I'm afraid." He came and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Some of this must be very disturbing to you to read."

"It's very different," she said diplomatically. To herself, she thought it had probably worked better. In that day, Neji would have been the clan heir. And wouldn't that have been better for everyone? She certainly wouldn't have fought him for it! And he was just as much Hyuuga blood as she, so shouldn't the strongest lead, if that was what mattered?

And if that wasn't what mattered, why had Hanabi been made heir in her place? Reading the archives made her think of these things.

"Well, it's time to eat soon," her father said, hearing none of her thoughts. "Come."

Hinata nodded obediently and marked her place and followed him out.

The archives made her think. The curse seal dictated much about how their clan lived. But she had found no mention of the seal at all, yet. It made her nervous, and it made her hope. They had lived for so long without the seal. Surely, then, they could find a way to live without it now.

Surely, if she just searched far enough, she could find a way. If she could just see enough of the larger pattern—not the single hand of the seal, but the whole space of their history—surely she would see the space where the Hyuuga could move next.

She thought of Neji-niisan's instruction, and smiled down at the floor of the corridor.

Kiba cursed under his breath. "Lost them again!"

They'd been tracking a group of strange shinobi through Leaf's territory for hours, and the intruders were proving themselves skilled. Kurenai-sensei's mouth tightened with clear annoyance and she paused on a branch. "Hinata."

Hinata nodded silently and put her back to a tree trunk, folding her hands together and activating her Byakugan. "Nothing close," she whispered, and widened her field. Wider. Wider. She was unfocusing, which used to be where she stopped, thinking that was the end of her range. Now she knew to keep going. Wider. There. "Three point two kilometers," she reported, "Northwest, fifteen degrees."

"Can you tell how many of them?" Kurenai-sensei asked.

Hinata took a breath and narrowed her field of vision, pressing back harder against the tree. This always made her dizzy. "Five," she gasped.

Kurenai's elegant brows drew down in a frustrated scowl. "Too many of them for us to take on ourselves without observing more closely. We'll close up slowly, then. Kiba! Send Akamaru back to the village to bring back another team to support us." While Kiba was talking softly to Akamaru, she laid a hand on Hinata's shoulder. "We'll rely on you to track them until we're close enough for Shino's bugs to go on ahead."

Hinata straightened, determined. "Right."

She kept her focus tight on the intruders as they moved, slowly closing the distance between them. She was getting better at this, at holding the Byakugan and even altering her field of view a little bit while moving.

Suddenly, though, the distance was closing a lot faster.

"They've turned around to meet us," she reported, and Kurenai spat a chopped off curse as she landed.

"Kiba, stay up here," Kurenai ordered. "Hinata, Shino, down on the ground. We'll hold them if we can, but if we can't then we'll retreat back toward the village and draw them down our backtrail to meet our support team." Her hands came together in the Monkey and she vanished from sight.

From all sight but Hinata's, that was.

Hinata set herself at the foot of a tree, reminding herself to breathe deep and slow. She could do this. She could. She spread her focus out again, encompassing all of her team, reaching outward. The intruders were coming fast; she let the edge of her range shrink again on their heels, back to a more comfortable two hundred meters. She saw Kurenai's chakra flare and two of the intruders suddenly stumble, wrapped in her illusion. "One on one," she called to Shino and Kiba, and then one of the intruders was on her, dropping from the trees to crouch, poised, in front of her.

She wanted to freeze. She wanted to hide. But she wouldn't do that; this was a mission and she was a shinobi, and she could do this. Watch his eyes, she reminded herself, not his hands!

And she could see. She could see the path of the kunai coming toward her in the shape of her opponent's arm, and swayed aside from it easily. Easily! A breath of excitement joined her determination and she ran forward to close with him.

It doesn't matter how much power the enemy strikes with, Neji-niisan's voice said in her memory, calm and quiet, because you won't be there. That is our defense, Hinata-sama. She kept her eyes on the intruder's, watching the shape of his movements, and slid aside from blow after blow, stepping through the openings his attacks left again and again. Her return blows didn't have great power, but, she reminded herself, they didn't need to. Her enemy was stumbling, now, organs laboring under the jarring shocks of her open palm, chakra sliding out of his control. He was starting to leave himself more and more open.

There!

Before the thought even finished forming in her mind, her hand had closed into a fist and she'd taken one perfect step forward, shifting with all the momentum of her entire body, and driven that fist into his solar plexus. And he fell.

Hinata stood over him for a breath, almost stunned. She'd done it.

Abruptly, she noticed that there were far more chakra signatures in her field of vision than there should have been, and she spun around, looking frantically for her teammates...

Sakura dropped out of the trees beside her, breathless and smiling. "Good job, Hinata! We're just finishing up with the rest of them. Two got away, but we've still got three of them for Interrogation to deal with." More Leaf ninja gathered around them, including Hinata's team. Kurenai had another of the intruders slung over her shoulder and was talking quietly with one of the new team. Hinata only recognized them vaguely; perhaps they were from Intelligence, if Sakura-san was here too.

She squeaked as Naruto came dashing through the trees and landed in a huff. "Lost them. They must have someone who's good at illusion with them." He glanced down at Hinata's opponent and then up at her with a grin. "You got one?"

Hinata just nodded wordlessly, blushing at that smile.

"She did." Sakura put a toe under the man's shoulder to flip him over. Her mouth tightened as she looked down at him. "Hidden Sound. Again." She beckoned to another of the newcomers. "Tie them securely, and we'll take them back right now."

"Is this... is this your team?" Hinata managed, softly, glancing between Sakura-san and Naruto-kun. They were both chuunin, now, after all, and they'd passed last season, only two years after graduation. She wouldn't be at all surprised if one of them were put in command of a new team. Sakura snorted.

"Well, most of them are my team for the moment. That one," she waved at Naruto, "invited himself along."

"Hey, I was bored!" Naruto-kun protested.

"Is that what you're going to tell Tsunade-sama, when she asks why you slacked off your exercises?"

Naruto sputtered for a moment before turning back brightly to Hinata while Sakura gave him a mock glare. "So, hey, you guys are going to take the next chuunin exam, aren't you?" He nudged her with a friendly elbow, making her squeak again. "It'll be a cakewalk this time, you'll see!"

"Course it'll be a cakewalk," Kiba declared, coming up behind Hinata to loom protectively.

"Oh, I know it will be for Hinata," Naruto said innocently. "Dunno about you, though."

Hinata just stood and blushed while Naruto and Kiba's teasing degenerated into wrestling. Eventually, Sakura waded in and pulled Naruto out, rolling her eyes. She was so at ease with him, Hinata thought wistfully, the way Hinata herself never had been. If Naruto-kun took up with anyone, it would probably be Sakura-san or Sasuke-kun. She'd known that for a year and more. But it still felt good to have Naruto smile at her, encourage her. Maybe... maybe he would even be there to cheer her on again, if her team did take the exam again next season.

She would like that. Naruto-kun made her feel like she could do things. Maybe even the things she wanted the very most to do.

Hinata stared down at the page before her with some astonishment. Just when she thought she understood the shape of her clan, something different revealed itself.

The fourteenth head of the clan had been blind.

She'd spent almost two years reading volumes of journals and chronicles from the founding of the clan forward, and the records that filled some of the early pages had been... harsh. For much of their early history, a child who was flawed would have been killed. And, to the Hyuuga clan, blindness was about as great a flaw as one could have. In later years, of course, that had changed. They had become more civilized. The flawed children, if they were whole enough to live, were only... solitary. To be honest, Hinata had wondered more than once if that was to be her fate—to live with neither husband nor lover, that her weakness not be passed to her children.

By all precedent, that should have been the fate of Hyuuga Ririko. Instead, she had risen to lead the entire clan!

She took a breath and sat back. See the space, she reminded herself. This was one more part in the bigger picture. Perhaps...

Perhaps the clan of that day had become too focused, the way Hinata herself had been until Neji-niisan explained things for her. Perhaps Ririko had been the one to step back and broaden their vision again.

Perhaps she had been the one to show that not looking at something helped one to better perceive its movement. Perhaps she had been one of those who had changed the clan.

Hinata leaned over the book table again and turned the page eagerly. Perhaps Ririko could help her.

Hinata shifted her weight on the packed earth of Konoha's arena and ruthlessly stifled a wince as her wrenched knee protested.

The chuunin exam had not precisely been a "cakewalk" but she had gotten this far, along with all her team. The first test, to shadow a chuunin unseen across the fourteenth training ground, had been easy for all of them. They had gotten their 'rescue subject' out of the Forest of Death alive, for the second test, despite Hagane-san's complete lack of cooperation and apparent dislike of Akamaru. Hinata had entertained a faint hope that the last round might actually be the simplest, this time. She had learned a great deal in the past couple years, after all, and even her father seemed to approve of her progress in training lately, though he hadn't said anything. She was starting to actually be good at her clan's arts!

And here she was, facing an opponent that turned those arts into a disadvantage.

The Rain-nin across from her laughed, completely hidden in a shifting mist that fogged both his body and his chakra into an indistinguishable blur. "You should give the match up," he called. "Maybe you'll even get points for knowing when the opponent is too strong to beat."

That annoyed her and she frowned. "That would only be true if my objective were expendable or a distraction," she pointed out sharply. "Neither of those conditions is set, here."

And no un-sealed child of Hyuuga dared surrender, in any case.

The seal, always the seal, and she didn't even know where it came from yet! She gritted her teeth, pushing her Byakugan harder, trying to see past the mist of dispersed and refracted light and chakra. The blur was giving her a headache just to look at. She tensed as it rushed toward her and stepped forward to meet it, spinning on her good leg to catch anything that might be coming. A fist glanced off her arm, and a foot caught her weak knee, and she went down with a gasp, rolling clear to come back up spitting dirt and twice as angry as before.

There had to be a way! Some way to see!

...gift of our clan is not sight alone, or even first. Rather, it is understanding.

Hinata could almost see the page in front of her, the slanting strokes of Hyuuga Ririko's words, of the blind clan head who had written so powerfully of the vision, not the eyes, that Hyuuga passed down generation on generation.

Control the space.

Hinata dodged aside from another rush and chewed on her lip, thinking furiously. She knew the human body, knew it better than anyone but a medic might. She knew where to strike and how, whether she could see or not. If she could just find her opponent in the middle of that fog of...

Her eyes widened.

She could do it. It would work. The plan settled in her mind and she knew it, like she knew the weight of her own kunai. But... Her eyes flicked up to find her father in the galleries, and Hanabi beside him. She was sure he wouldn't approve. Would think it was another failure. What if...

"Hinataaaaaa! Kick his ass! You can do it!"

The yell pulled her gaze over to the next gallery, where Naruto was half standing on the rail, waving his arms as Sasuke-kun kept a casual grip on the back of his jacket to keep him from going over. Determination sparked through her heart again; doubt hadn't stopped Naruto! And behind him... behind him was Neji-niisan, standing still and quiet, arms folded. Their eyes met for a single breath, and he nodded to her, firm and confident. Warmth wrapped around her heart and she straightened with a slow breath.

And released her Byakugan.

A rustle like wind through the leaves passed around the galleries. "Ha! You forfeit?" her opponent called.

"Not at all," Hinata answered calmly. The headache had eased as soon as she released her sight and she let her eyes unfocus too, watching the small bank of mist but not trying to penetrate it.

Merely watching where it moved.

And she'd been right. Without the distraction of details, of seeing the shifting chakra laced through that blind of mist, she could see that it always 'faced' toward her in exactly the same orientation, even as the Rain-nin circled, as if it were a stiff form he pulled along with him.

The sound of his steps, though, said that he was moving to the side of that masked space.

She smiled and kept her eyes open—no sense giving him a hint by closing them. But she spread her attention out to her other senses, just the way she spread her sight out to see the whole field of movement when she and Neji sparred. She could hear the faint scuff of his feet, feel the shift of air as he moved the mist bank, and she stood, stable and relaxed, and waited.

Another rush, and this time she swore she could feel his steps, through the air and the ground, and she turned lightly to meet him. His arm was high, his knee was against hers, and it was so simple to step and turn and strike, hard and sure, hand open and precise as befit a daughter of her clan.

The chakra mist raveled away under the sun and Hinata stood, breathing slow and deep, with her opponent crumpled at her feet.

A roar went up from the galleries, and the referee appeared beside them to turn the Rain-nin over and check him. "Unconscious, but uninjured," he reported to the approaching medic, and glanced up at Hinata. "Smooth." While Hinata was still blushing, he raised his voice and declared her the winner.

She stole a look up at the galleries, at Naruto, who was jumping up and down and waving his clasped hands over his head; at Neji-niisan, who was smiling, faint and satisfied; hesitantly, a little fearfully, at her father. Who nodded to her a fraction, expression cool but not disapproving. She released a silent breath of relief and made her shaky knees support her up the stairs to the examinees' gallery.

Where Kiba caught her up in a hug and swung her in laughing circles until Kurenai-sensei scolded him to let her get a look at Hinata's knife cuts. Hinata was laughing too, though.

She'd done it.

Not even the news, three days later, that she had passed and was promoted could quite compare to that first moment of knowing and triumph.

Hinata sat at the table in the archive room with her head on her folded arms, the last journals spread out around her.

She had her answers now. She knew where the seal had come from and why. She had read from start to finish, from the beginning to the present, and having reached the present she had arrived at the end of other people's words and understanding.

Now she had to make her own.

A shiver ran through her. She had to act, and she was afraid to. Afraid because she knew what she wanted to do but had no idea whether her father would agree. Whether her sister, after him, would agree. Whether this was even possible to dream of.

But she was the one who knew. And so she was the one who must act.

A faint sob caught in her throat, and she huddled closer in on herself. She was so afraid. But the weight of twenty generations was behind her, and she knew them now, felt them. And, set aside or not, she was a daughter of the main house; it was her duty and no other's.

She twitched upright at the soft scrape of the door opening.

"Hinata? It's time to eat soon..." Her mother looked in and frowned, coming across the room to lay a hand on her head. "Hinata, are you well?"

Hinata summoned up a smile for her mother, afraid that it was still rather drawn. "I'm well Haha-ue. I just have a bit of a headache from my reading, I think."

Headache, heartache, it was close enough, surely.

"Well, come out of this close room for a while, then," her mother ordered, chivvying her out the door. "Eat a little and have a walk, and see if that doesn't help. You've been spending so much time here, I'm not really surprised. You have to remember to take care of yourself, even when the research is calling!"

Hinata went meekly, casting only one last glance behind her before she closed the door on the archives.

What she had to do next moved beyond this room.

It took over a week to nerve herself to the only course of action she thought had a chance of working, and another two before she and Neji were home at the same time. She crept through the halls of the compound, tiptoeing around patches of moonlight from the windows, until she reached Neji-niisan's door and could tap delicately on it. She had to tap twice before he heard and came to open it with a small frown.

"Who is... Hinata-sama?" His brows rose. He wore a sleeping robe and he'd taken off his forehead protector and her eyes flickered up once to the seal, clear and dark on his forehead.

"May I come in?" she whispered.

One brow rose higher, but he stood aside and slid the door closed behind her. "Is something wrong?" he asked, eyes lingering on her hands, and she realized she was twisting them together. She took a deep breath.

"Neji-niisan, would you... would you let me try to take the seal off you?"

For the first time since they'd been five or six, Neji completely lost countenance and stared at her in clear shock. "Take the... but... Hinata-sama, what are you saying? That's," he swallowed and finished, husky, "that's not possible."

"It is," she insisted, firm with the surety of her years of research and the copied counter-seals tucked into her sleeve tonight. "I found it, in the archives. Where it came from. Why we used it. It isn't what anyone thinks!" She took a breath and lowered her voice again. "And it was made with a counter-seal that cancels it."

His fingers brushed over the mark on his forehead before he clenched them and lowered his hand. "It's good of you to attempt this, Hinata-sama," he said, very level, "but it would only be re-made."

"That's... I..." her fingers tightened on each other again. "I want this for more than just you. I want it for the whole clan. But I need to know for sure that the counter-seal works, first, that there wasn't anything left out of the records about this." She lowered her eyes to stare at the mats, at his bare feet under the hem of his pale robe. "It isn't just that I know you want to be free. It isn't just that you... you've helped me so much. My reasons aren't that kind or... or good. It's that I know you want this enough to try, even if there's a risk of it not working or going wrong. And if it doesn't work, I'm fairly sure you'll keep quiet while I keep looking." She didn't want him to think better of her than she deserved.

She looked up, startled, when he laughed.

"You still think like the clan heir," he murmured, smiling crookedly, and her face heated with formless shame. He shook his head. "That isn't a bad thing." He looked at her in the half-light for a long, thoughtful moment. "If you're talking of the whole clan, then I imagine you have a plan. Under-thinking a thing has never been your weakness."

Hinata nodded, hesitantly.

Neji-niisan nodded back, looking quite calm. "Very well. If you think this has a reasonable chance, I'll be your test subject. What do you need?"

She swallowed, twice as nervous now that it had come down to the actual technique. "I need to write the counter-seal on you, on your chest." And, having read the records of the eighteenth head of the clan, she had her suspicions why. They would see if she was right. Neji merely nodded and moved over to sit with his legs folded in the fall of moonlight from his narrow window, shrugging his sleeping robe off his shoulders and down to his waist.

Hinata took a deep breath, and then another, concentrating on the movement of her diaphragm, the slow slide of oxygen into her blood, letting the familiarity of it still the trembling in her hands. Slowly and carefully she knelt in front of Neji-niisan, taking the copy of the technique out of her sleeve to read over one more time. She took brush and a slim stone bottle of ink out of the thigh pouch she'd worn under her own indoor kimono and dipped the brush and took one more breath for courage. She rested one hand lightly on Neji-niisan's straight shoulder and bent to trace the counter-seal, character by character, over his heart, careful to keep the radiating lines of it at precise intervals so that they would cross the proper tenketsu in the proper order. Neji was still under her hands, tranquil as if he were meditating.

"All right," she said at last. "Now the activation." She nibbled on her lip and asked again, "You're sure...?"

Neji nodded, eyes dark. "I'm sure."

Of course he was sure. He hated the seal. That was why she had chosen him for this, that and the surviving shadow of trust between them. Hinata laid down her brush on a fold of soft paper and closed her eyes for a moment; this was it. After this there would be no going back. She clung to the knowledge of what she'd found in the archives and brought her hands together in the Ram.

Seal followed seal, Horse and Tiger and Bird and Boar and Bird, on through the full set of thirty-seven. She shaped each one carefully, smoothly, concentrating her chakra on the form of the counter-seal and the building energy of it. And with the final Bird she felt the quick drain on her chakra, like water past a broken dam, and heard Neji gasp. Her eyes flew open, sudden panic breaking past her calm. Had it worked, had it gone wrong, was he all right?

Neji-niisan sat in front of her, eyes wide in the dim room, one palm pressed over his chest. His forehead was unmarked.

"It's gone," she whispered.

"It is," he agreed, husky. "I felt it come undone." They stared at each other for a long moment, neither daring to stir, both maybe a little shocked by how swift and simple it had been. When he did move, at last, it was to gather up her hand and kiss her ink-stained fingers softly. "Whether this works or not, Hinata-sama," he said quietly, head still bowed. "I will always thank you for this moment."

Another time, she might have blushed at such a gesture from Neji, the clan's most brilliant son. In this moment, though, it was all she could do to catch back a tiny gasp of fear at the thought of what she had to to next, stifling it desperately, though she couldn't keep her fingers from clinging to his. "Can you hide it?" she asked, a little shaky. "I want to try to find a good time to speak with my father about this."

His mouth pulled into a crooked smile at the manifest unlikelihood of that that, but he nodded. "I can hide the seal's absence as well as I usually hide the seal itself."

"Thank you." She swallowed, hands trembling as she stuffed her materials back into her pouch. "I... I should get back to my room." He started to say something, one hand lifted toward her, but stopped and nodded silently and escorted her back to the door with a careful hand on her arm. He watched after her, eyes shadowed and thoughtful, as she stumbled down the hall in a daze. Only one thought was clear in her mind.

She was really going to do this thing.

She fell asleep that night praying fervently that the spirits of her ancestors, all the ones she'd spent so long reading and trying to understand, would favor her in what she needed to do next.

It took over a month to find her time. She kept going to the archives every night she was home, partly so no one would ask why she had stopped, but partly to read over the records of the eighteenth clan head again and hold those words to her like a talisman against fear.

Because, of course, what she'd finally realized was that she couldn't possibly speak to her father about this alone. If she did that, he would almost certainly ignore her, and tell himself it was for the good of the clan to keep things just the way they were. No. Not alone. There would have to be witnesses.

Ideally, the entire clan.

So she told over the words of the last few generations to herself and memorized the counter-seal line for line, and waited until the waiting and the secret she carried with her wound together into a hard, dark weight in her chest.

The negotiation of a marriage contract to an outsider involved only the principles and the clan head, but they never went forward until the whole clan had a chance to meet the prospective incomer. The Hyuuga were not as numerous as the Uchiha had been, and small quarrels had torn shinobi clans apart in the past.

And, of course, any outsider must know of the clan's seal, and agree to take it for themselves and their children.

Fushiyama Ran seemed a little troubled by the idea, but had, in the end agreed. And she mingled easily with the rest of the clan. Hinata thought it very likely she would be approved; Hinata's mother, the strongest of the clan in the healing techniques and their best medical researcher, said that Fushiyama's blood carried nothing that would harm a child she bore to Hyuuga.

The hard weight of Hinata's duty to her clan sat behind her breastbone all through the afternoon and evening.

As the welcome feast wound to its close, in bottles of sake for many, Hinata shifted on her cushion at her father's far side. "Chichi-ue," she murmured, "I would speak to the clan of some history I've found in the archives, if you'll allow." When he raised a brow at her, she clasped her hands in her lap so they wouldn't tremble. "I have found some very great things in our past. A time of celebration seems appropriate to remember them."

His expression turned from questioning to tolerant, and he rose. "Very well, then."

She didn't hear a great deal of what he said to call the attention of the clan; she was trying to make the sudden butterflies in her stomach and the tips of her fingers go away. When her father gestured to her, she managed to stand and walk out into the center of the hall on steady legs at least. She raised her head and looked around at the crowd of eyes so like her own, and took a breath.

"I have read in the archives of our clan, and found much pride in the history written there," she started, voice husky despite all her attempts to raise it this once. The rustle and clinking of cups hushed courteously for her, and she took another breath, folding her hands. "We are an ancient bloodline, as all know," she went on more steadily. "This is our twenty-first generation as a noble clan, and our history reaches back even before that. But we have grown and changed over that time as well. In the scrolls and journals, I found that some of our traditions are new." She had to swallow before she could go on. "Indeed, the seal of our clan is only four generations old."

A startled murmur ran around the hall, and her father's mouth tightened faintly. He didn't stop her, though. Hinata held tight to that.

"In my reading, I found the journal of the eighteenth clan head, Akemi. It was she who developed the seal. It was made for times of war." She snuck a quick glance around; some looked startled still, but others were nodding thoughtfully. "It was made to give our clan strength, so that none need fear being forced to give up clan secrets, even in death; so that none need fear betrayal by their own blood, or fear to be turned against their clan and village. It was made to let us fight with our whole hearts and souls, without reservation." The hall was still around her, and she could see shoulders straightening at her words—but she could see that many eyes were also shadowed, in the lantern light.

"This too, I found." Now her voice was husky with something besides nerves. "In that first generation, when peace returned, the seal was removed."

The stillness broke into sharp rustling and muffled exclamations. Even the head table stirred. Hinata avoided her father's eyes and hurried on. "The nineteenth clan head made the decision that war was coming too often to allow the seal to lapse, but Akemi, who created it, wrote this: The bonds of clan are silk, spun from heart to heart. They are strong but not proof against all; when the fires of war threaten, we will wrap them in the steel of this curse seal that the clan may survive anything that comes with whole hearts. When the cool of peace returns, we may strip back the steel and let the silk fly free again, for it is the silk that lets a clan grow strong enough to bear the steel.

"In the archives, I found the technique for releasing the seal," Hinata said into the absolute silence of the hall, and held out her hands toward her father, pleading. "Chichi-ue... we have been at peace for almost twenty years! I beg you, will you not hear the wisdom of the eighteenth head, and undo the steel now?"

Her father laid his hands flat on the table, and his face was stern. "In your own lifetime, Hinata, we have had proof that the seal is still needed to guard our secrets from other villages."

"It was not the seal that protected me," Hinata whispered. "It was my father."

"The seal was what allowed us to avoid war and yet protect our bloodline," her father answered, inflexible. "Even without war, the life of shinobi is one of risk. The seal protects us." A shade softer, he added, "My daughter, you must see how suspect your position is, knowing that you will be marked yourself when Hanabi inherits."

Hinata met her sister's eyes for a moment, and the blank lack of response there made her shudder—no hope, no reprieve, no love showed in Hanabi's gaze, only determination without heart. "How can you not see this is killing us?" she burst out. "My sister's heart is dead! I would have died at the hands of my cousin if not for the intervention of outsiders! All because of that seal!"

"Hinata," her father said, voice flat with denial of her words, "calm yourself and sit down."

The memory of Naruto waving his arms to cheer her on during her exam flashed before her mind's eye. Never give up. She inhaled hard, hands clenched, increasingly wild thoughts of what she might do next circling in her mind.

And then Neji stood. "Hinata-sama." He paced gravely around the end of his table and out into the center of the hall, toward her. "You must calm yourself, Hinata-sama," he said quietly, as he came, and her heart wrenched at that completely unexpected echo of her father.

Until he came close enough for her to see the wicked glee hovering at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

"Calm yourself," he repeated. "You are not alone." He sank gracefully down to kneel at her feet in full salute, and his voice dropped clearly into the utter silence that gripped the hall. "Hyuuga Hinata-sama. I will follow you, and only you."

A roar like surf swept the hall and Hinata's father rose swiftly to his feet. "Neji!" His hand closed and flickered, half hidden by his sleeve.

Nothing, of course, happened, and hush rippled out from the head table, whispers following after.

Neji raised his head and looked over his shoulder with a not entirely nice smile. "You tried to force me, didn't you? It will do no good. Not anymore." He stood and tugged off his forehead protector, and the whispers turned to hisses of shock at his unmarked forehead. "Did you think Hinata-sama would offer such a thing without confirming it?" he asked, mildly. "She has freed me. Even after I attempted, in all sincerity, to take her life, she freed me." His stance shifted and he added, voice darker, "This is the lady who would free our whole clan. I will serve and protect her with my life."

"Neji, don't—!" Hinata gasped. The very last thing she wanted was to see her clan fighting over this, let alone over her.

"Hush, Hinata-sama," Neji told her, and the smile was back in his voice, though he didn't take his eyes off the head table and was still poised in front of her. "I swore to protect you when we were barely walking, before the seal ever touched me. You've simply proven that I was right to do so."

"Silk." Fushiyama Ran stood from the right-hand table, eyes wide as she stared at Hinata. "Your eighteenth head said it. The bonds of silk are what make a clan live, make them strong enough to bear the steel." She reached down and caught Hiroko's hand urgently. "This is true loyalty. This, I can give my life and the lives of my children to!" She and Hiroko exchanged a long speaking look, and even in the midst of tension and anger Hinata wished, wistfully, that someday she might find someone whose heart could speak to hers that way. Hiroko rose slowly and wrapped his arm around Ran's shoulders.

"Sometimes," he said softly, "an outside view sees clearest. Even with our vision," he added, rueful. A huff of laughter answered him here and there, and he met Hinata's eyes for a long moment. "I don't think there's any question that your heart lives, Hinata-sama," he said. "And if Neji will serve you, then perhaps the rest doesn't matter. You have the strength to release the seal. Let that be enough." He led Ran around the table and knelt down in front of it. "Hinata-sama, we will follow you, and our children after us."

"My children..." the whisper was from more than one mouth, and slid around the room like a breeze. One after another, four more women stood and came out into the hall to kneel and bow their heads to Hinata. In fits and starts, their husbands joined them, two with the speed of desperate relief. A knot of the unwed men a double handful of years older than Hinata herself followed. Panic fluttered under her ribs. She'd only meant to convince her father, not start a revolution!

Or a civil war.

Remembering some of the other things she'd read in the archives, of generations split against themselves, she spun back to the head table, hand stretched out in entreaty again. "Please," she whispered. Her father stood staring at the hall, just as shocked as she. It was her sister who slowly stood and came out to face her.

Hanabi's eyes were as shuttered as ever, and Hinata waited, biting her lip, with no idea how this moment would turn.

"You would really never set the curse seal on anyone again?" Hanabi asked, almost without expression.

This, at least, Hinata had already thought on. "Only by consent, and only in extremity," she said firmly. "It was made for a reason, a good one. But never as a weapon against our own clan." She hesitated and added, low, "And if it marked anyone in a team, in a family, in the clan... it must mark all. Including those of the main house. When it was first made, no one went unprotected. Or unrestrained."

"You've thought this out," Hanabi noted, and looked down at her toes for a long moment. "All right." She looked back up and added, "You're still weaker than me. But all right."

Hinata let out a shaking breath, stunned by unlooked for hope, and reached out timidly. "Hanabi... may I hug you? Please?" She hadn't for so very long.

Finally, the flatness of Hanabi's stare broke for a moment, and she stepped hesitantly closer. "I... guess so."

Hinata gathered her up in a tight hug, swallowing hard. "I never wanted you to hurt because of me," she whispered as tears prickled under her lids. "I never wanted to control or rule over you. I swear."

Slowly, haltingly, Hanabi's arms came up to close lightly around her. "You... really want to take care of everyone," Hanabi whispered back.

"Yes. Yes, exactly. Everyone. You too." Hinata dared to stroke Hanabi's sleek, soft hair.

Hanabi sniffed at that. "I expect I'll end up taking care of you. Me and Neji-san." She stayed close for another moment, though, before she pulled away, and she had the faintest of smiles curling up the corner of her mouth when she looked up and added, "Ane-ue."

Hinata had to wipe her eyes hastily. "I'm glad you will." She looked up at their father, feeling a deeper calm in her heart, now. "Chichi-ue," she said, and this time her voice filled the hall, husky as it was. "I beg you again to hear the wisdom of Akemi, eighteenth head of our clan, your great grandmother. The seal is a great strength, but it will weaken us if we let it become a crutch. Please. Let it be released while there is peace."

He swept a glance around the room, at the people who had come forward in support of her, and said dryly, "It appears I have small choice, unless I wish to split the clan." Hinata winced, and he snorted softly. "Very well. I will examine the documents you have found and consider how this might be done. And," he added, more dryly yet as a whisper of excitement spun around the hall, "it also appears that my eldest daughter will once again be our heir. Congratulations, Hinata."

"I didn't mean..." she said in a tiny voice, and he waved a hand as if to brush the words away.

"You did well."

On that stunning statement, he turned and paced calmly from the room.

As some of Hinata's more distant cousins came forward to ask eagerly after how this could be done, whether it was really true, Neji rested a hand on her shoulder and said very quietly. "Remember. I follow you and no other, now."

That support and responsibility settled around her shoulders and she straightened under them. Neji-niisan believed in her. They could never get back the past, the sweetness of their childhood, she knew that, but he had never stopped being her dearest cousin. His support meant something. "I'll remember," she promised.

He smiled and stood at her back as she faced her clan and tried to find answers for them.

Hinata made her way down the hall to the archives, one finger tracing down the lists in her hands. The archives were the right place for these, surely, even if her father hadn't officially decided yet.

Haruka wanted his seal removed, but his partner, Kanon, wanted to keep hers so the seal's trigger needed to be kept from Haruka for now. Arata wanted to keep his, which made perfect sense to Hinata given how much time he spent working at the borders, but he wanted his son's removed immediately until the boy was old enough to make his own choice.

And that brought up the question of when the choice should be made. Hinata supposed it would have to be at twelve, on academy graduation. And under what circumstances should the clan head be able to command it? Only in war? During any mission into non-allied territory? She sighed as she pushed open the archive doors, eyes on her lists.

"Difficulties, daughter?" her father's voice asked.

Hinata looked up, startled. Her father was in the archives, with Akemi's journals spread around him; she recognized them. He was also waiting for an answer. "Oh... well, yes. Or, at least, complications. I suppose that was to be expected." She came and offered him the lists. "This is a record of everyone's wishes regarding their seals. I can see already there will have to be some compromises, and some new policies about how and when the seal is called for." She hesitated, eyes falling. "If... if you approve it, that is."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Sit, Hinata." When she'd pulled up another chair, he waved a hand at the journals. "You made a good point, and Akemi had more. I believe that you spoke for the good of the clan, as you see it." At her soft sigh of relief, he smiled just a little. "Once I calmed down, I remembered how long you've spent in here. Were you looking for information on the seal all along, or did that come to you as you went?"

Hinata nibbled her lip, hands laced together on the table. "I started out looking for the seal. I wanted to know how we came to use it. And as I went on and there was such a long time when we didn't... I started to think perhaps it wasn't nearly as central as we feel it is now. Perhaps it shouldn't be." She nodded at the journals beside them under the amber lamplight. "When I came to Akemi-san's journals, I was sure. But... I was sure because of everything else I'd read before then." She looked up to meet her father's eyes. "We have been many things, over the generations of our clan, Chichi-ue. We have changed, often and greatly. We have bred ourselves and killed ourselves and fought each other for power and for love. We have had leaders of great vision and leaders who were blind. I believe we have become narrow, over these last few generations under the pressure of the great wars. I fear we have turned away from much that we could be."

Her fathers brows had risen along with her voice, as she spoke more and more passionately. "Indeed," he murmured at last. "You are not lacking in vision, that much is clear." He nodded toward the lists. "How, then, would you deal with those?"

Slowly, Hinata pulled her thoughts together. "The seal was made to support us in danger. At war, in enemy territory. I believe it should still be used then. And if any of our clan wish for it, to keep our secrets safe, they should have it." She took a deep breath. "But it must not be the main house's way of controlling the rest of the clan. That's wrong. It creates division, when we need unity!"

"There will always be division," he said, more gently than she expected, "but I understand your point." It was his turn to hesitate, but at last he said, quietly. "There is justice in it." He reached out to touch one of the journals. "Silk as the foundation for steel. Not the other way around. Akemi-san was wise."

There was sadness in the still line of his mouth, the darkness of memory in his eyes, and she reached out impulsively to touch his sleeve. "I'm sure your brother loved you," she said, soft and shy. "Even as Neji-niisan and I still love each other despite it all."

She wasn't sure why that made him chuckle, but at least the sadness was gone. "He's certainly loyal to you." She blushed, and he patted her shoulder and stood. "Keep those lists a while, daughter. Study them. I will wish to hear your proposals for how to address them." He looked down at her with a tiny smile. "After all, you'll be the one who has to deal with the system you come up with."

Hinata stared up at him, stunned by that subtle vote of confidence in her as heir, and broke into a brilliant smile. "Yes, Chichi-ue!"

She had succeeded. And now... now she had to keep going.

For once, the thought didn't make her afraid.

Hinata had been aware that leading the Hyuuga clan involved a lot of training and overseeing the development of their arts. She had known that it involved overseeing every negotiation for marriage or children, consulting the line records and the clan's medics to ensure as few stillbirths as possible. She had even been aware, in a general sort of way, that the clan head was the custodian of a great deal of property held by the clan as a whole.

She hadn't quite realized that there would be so much bank paperwork involved, though.

She added and subtracted carefully down the rows of tiny figures to confirm that the final figure was correct, and cross-referenced with the clan's own paperwork for that quarter, the records of rents and produce. When she was finally sure it all matched, she took the seal her father had left with her and carefully stamped the bottom of the page.

And then it was time for the next page.

She was reasonably sure that her father was not petty enough to have given her this work as some kind of revenge. It was clear that this really was something that had to be done. But she couldn't help feeling that he was getting a certain satisfaction out of teaching her this particular task.

"Ane-ue!" Hanabi pushed the door of the office open and leaned in. "Chichi-ue wants you. He's in the room by the south gardens."

Hinata smiled. "Thank you, Hanabi-chan." Her sister made a face at the pet-name, which Hinata had started using again, despite Hanabi having just graduated from the Academy. Hinata wanted to regain something they'd lost a long time ago, though, and for all Hanabi's face-making, she never told Hinata not to.

Hinata cleaned her brush as Hanabi ran back toward the training hall, and made her way through the dim, quiet corridors to the large room that faced onto the water gardens at the south of the compound.

Her father and Neji-niisan were both there.

"You wished to see me, Chichi-ue?" Hinata asked, sliding the inner door closed behind her.

"Indeed." Her father sounded rather dry as he waved a hand at the cushion beside him. "Neji has something to report about his latest mission, and feels he can only report to you."

Hinata blushed and hurried to settle herself on the cushion. "Neji-niisan," she protested softly.

"You are my lady," he said, quite imperturbable. "I would hardly report to another."

Hinata blushed and stole a glance at her father. He seemed peculiarly amused by this insistence of Neji's; she supposed she was glad for that, but she did wonder why. His glance in return reminded her that this was, in a way, another lesson, and she straightened with a breath. "You have something of significance to the clan, to report, then?" she asked Neji-san.

"I had occasion to speak with your voice, on this mission," he said soberly. "My team was with Kakashi-san's, attempting to retrieve the Kazekage from Akatsuki, and we encountered Uchiha Sasuke's brother." He frowned. "For a madman, Itachi argued like an Elder. First he insinuated that I should be helping him, for the sake of the alliance between Uchiha and Hyuuga. When I pointed out that doesn't apply to outlaws, he said he wasn't; that he couldn't be, because Sasuke was the only one left to pronounce it and he'd never been recognized as the head of Uchiha." Neji-niisan cut a questioning look toward her father, who made a thoughtful sound.

"Indeed, he wasn't. At the time of the massacre, of course, he was too young, but it's true that his confirmation should have come up when he graduated. In the absence of any other heir, Sasuke had the right as soon as he was a working shinobi." He frowned, tapping a finger against his knee. "Perhaps the Third only thought it would be unnecessary pressure, but perhaps..." His lips tightened. "Go on."

"I could tell that point disturbed Sasuke," Neji-niisan continued, pointedly speaking to Hinata. "So, under battlefield exigencies, I spoke on your behalf to recognize him." He shrugged one shoulder. "I don't doubt the Fifth will agree to confirm him, and if she does, and the other noble clans agree, then it will stand. It focused Sasuke again, at any rate, and he declared Itachi outlaw."

Hinata pressed a hand over her heart. "That must have hurt him," she said, soft but sure. Sasuke had always scared her a little, so quiet and so focused, and yet blazing with naked wrath like his clan's own fire. That passion could never have come from an uncaring heart. She looked up at her father. "Chichi-ue, if we are allies with Uchiha, we should see Sasuke-kun confirmed. It's only right, since he's taken up the responsibility, even when it's so heavy."

Her father seemed to come back from his own thoughts, mouth quirking a bit as he glanced down at her. "You do, hm?"

She nodded, trying not to quail at that look.

"Well," he murmured, eying Neji-niisan, "since the motion was made in your name, perhaps you should take the case to the Hokage yourself."

Tsunade-sama couldn't possibly be as intimidating as her father was. Hinata only had to take a single breath before she could nod steadily. "All right."

"There's one thing more," Neji-niisan said quietly. "Itachi said that Uchiha Madara was still alive, and that he is the will behind Akatsuki."

Her father's habitual stillness turned frozen. "Madara," he breathed, after a long moment. "And the Senju's ruling blood too diluted to stand against him again, save for Tsunade-sama."

"There are other bloodlines in this village than the Senju," Neji-san returned, eyes level on her father.

"Indeed." His eyes were distant again. "Hinata. Take the case for Sasuke's confirmation to the Hokage as soon as possible. And then..." he reached over to close his hand on hers. "Then there are some techniques I must teach you, the arts our clan holds against the darkness in the Uchiha."

The very idea that she might have to face Uchiha Madara sent a chill of fear down her spine, but it was countered, here and now, by the warmth and pride that he was willing to teach her like his heir again. She straightened her back and her voice was clear, if low, when she answered, "Yes, Chichi-ue."

Neji-san was smiling, and that warmed her too.

Neji-san was downright smirking two weeks later, when their training session was interrupted by a visit from Uchiha Sasuke.

"Was this your idea?" he asked Neji-niisan as he brushed through the doors of the training hall, waving a scroll marked with the Hokage's seal at him.

"Only in the field," Neji-niisan answered a bit smugly. "If that's the declaration I think it is, you may thank Hinata-sama for it."

Sasuke raised his brows at her and Hinata brushed back long, damp strands of hair from her face. "Chichi-ue suggested I be the one to raise the issue officially," she agreed, still a bit breathless. "You've taken up the work; you should have the title and whatever recognition or support goes with it. The Hokage agreed." She'd agreed so gleefully, in fact, that Hinata now had a small list of questions to ask her father about the political situation between the Fifth and the village Elders.

"The only support I have now is from outsiders," Sasuke pointed out a bit dryly. Considering who his teammates were, Hinata didn't think he was really discounting that fact, so she smiled.

"I'm glad to have been of assistance, then."

Sasuke cocked his head, looking at her frank and curious. "You've changed."

Hinata thought about the past couple years, about the weight of her clan that she felt behind her just about every day now. Suddenly, she wondered if Sasuke felt that kind of weight too, if that was what had driven his burning passion for so long. The shadows behind his eyes and the tension at the corners of his mouth looked familiar, now. It was this that led her to answer, "Hyuuga and Uchiha are still allies."

The long, slow breath he drew looked very familiar indeed, and she met his eyes gravely when he finally looked up again. "Yes," he agreed, quiet and formal. "We are allies, still." He looked down at the scroll in his hand and smiled wryly, the formality dropping away again. "Thanks."

Neji-niisan was giving her a soft, approving look, and Hinata's cheeks heated a little as she smiled back. Her oldest friend believed she could do this.

She was starting to believe she could do this, too.

Rumor had been running through the village for months, among the shinobi and civilians both, stirred up afresh with each new scrap of news. Gossip and tension simmered hotter as Akatsuki attacked host after host, and today Hinata thought both had reached a boil. It seemed to her that half the shinobi of the village were clustered around the mission board in front of the administration building, and she had hung back with her yearmates while Shikamaru-kun pushed through the crowd to get details.

"If this is really a multi-national mission, it must be about Naruto," Ino said, standing on her toes trying to see over the heads of older shinobi.

"Naruto and the remaining Cloud host," Shino corrected quietly. "Most likely."

"I don't see Sakura-san anywhere," Lee put in from the roof above them. "They must have already gotten their assignment."

Finally, Shikamaru hauled himself back out of the murmuring crush in the square, nearly stumbling but for Chouji-kun's quick hand under his elbow. "Air," was the first thing he said, and the whole group joined Lee on the rounded, blue roof of the records office.

"It's the hosts all right," Shikamaru confirmed grimly. "The mission parameters are to provide security for Naruto and Cloud's host in an undisclosed location. Mission time is listed as months, so it probably won't last more than a year, but I'm guessing this could be a long-term one. Risk is listed as very high; it's an A rank mission, even with a dozen or twenty people being called for."

"They must expect at least some of Akatsuki to get through to this mission, then," Neji-niisan said, arms folded.

"Or at least they're preparing for that," Tenten agreed, absently sharpening one of her scythes.

"Akatsuki will get a nasty surprise when they run into us." Kiba lounged back on the roof with a toothy smile.

Shikamaru-kun shook his head sharply. "Not all of us. If the location is undisclosed, they're hoping to hide the hosts, and that means the villages must be hunting Akatsuki in their own territories. Some of us had better stay, too."

Hinata chewed her lip; a hide-out would be in great need of scouts to watch the approaches, but the hunting teams would need them just as badly. "Shikamaru-kun," she asked at last, "where would my team be best placed, in this?"

Kiba leaned up on an elbow, blinking. "Isn't that for Kurenai-sensei to say?"

"Kiba!" Hinata exclaimed. "Surely you've noticed! Or at least Akamaru must have!" She knew her mother sometimes muttered insulting things about men's observational abilities, but surely...

Akamaru panted smugly and Kiba turned a little red. "Well, I mean, of course I have, but...!"

"Even if the medical rules won't take Kurenai-sensei off duty for another month, the long duration of this mission suggests she will be disqualified to go," Shino noted.

"Wait, wait, wait." Shikamaru was looking back and forth between them. "Off duty? You mean Kurenai-san is..." he waggled his fingers in the vicinity of his stomach.

Hinata frowned a little. "Don't gossip about it," she said firmly, in defense of her teacher, "but yes."

"Oh fuck." Shikamaru's elbows thumped down on his knees and his hands fell into his meditative position. "Asuma-san will be totally distracted, and he'll never agree to leave now, that means it's probably Genma-san along with Kakashi-san; there're rumors Genma was kind of friends with the Two-tails' host..." He frowned into the distance for long moments while the rest of them waited quietly. "All right," he said at last. "Hinata, your team should go with Naruto. It will be unfamiliar ground, and you're one of the best scouting teams; we can manage here without you, we've got the territory advantage. I need to stay, and I want Chouji here, but the mission will need as many sharp thinkers and strategists as possible to coordinate a mess like that against Akatsuki. Sakura will be sticking tight to Naruto." He looked up at his other teammate, eyes steady. "Ino. It'll have to be you."

While Ino blushed a little at this vote of confidence from the best mind among them, Hinata traced the thought further along. With Naruto's team gone, much of the village's raw power would be reduced. And the village must still be guarded. She nodded to herself and spoke quietly. "Neji-san."

Neji-san glanced over at her, brows lifted, and she met his eyes levelly. He would have to stay, he and his team with him, to guard everything she was leaving behind. He straightened slowly as their eyes locked, brows drawing down. "Hinata-sama!"

"You must," she said, calm with the sureness in her heart that she was right. It felt good, to know that he wanted to protect her again, the way he had when they were very small; it made her warm again, whenever she thought about it, warm enough not to need her jacket so often these days. But the fact remained that the greatest strength of Hyuuga belonged here, protecting the village, not out wherever she was going protecting only her. She smiled just for him, tiny and soft, and knew he understood when he blew out a sigh.

"Very well," he said quietly, bending his head a little. "I will stay."

"Thank you." And then she realized that everyone was watching them and looked down at her hands, flustered. When she peeked up through her lashes, Ino was grinning and Tenten's eyes were dancing. Shino rested a calming hand on her back and Chouji-kun gave her a small, approving nod. Shikamaru's smile was crooked.

"That was easier than I was thinking it would be," he murmured. "All right, then, that's us. Ino, see if you can put in a few words with Morino-san. Whoever else goes from Intelligence has to have some heavy-hitting techniques along with sharp eyes." He nodded to Neji-niisan. "You're the only jounin among us yet; if you can spread the idea of a lot of small teams hunting in cooperation, here, I think that's our best configuration to find Akatsuki and still be able to lay hold of the strength to fight them quickly. I'll talk to Asuma-san about the same thing."

A chill ran through Hinata as she thought about being on a remote mission for so long, away from her clan, away from Neji-san's reassurance and company. But she would have her team with her, she would be doing good work for the village. Important work. Work that was worth respect.

She clasped her hands tight and thought that maybe the chill was one of excitement.

When Hinata looked back on that mission, months and years later, she found much to be proud of. She had fought well. She had protected her friend, the boy who had given her an example to follow out of the darkness. She knew she had gained the respect of many of the mission's shinobi, and all of that made warm memories to hold in her heart. But the best of them had almost nothing to do with the mission itself, or with Naruto. The best was of one early morning, standing watch over the island's east side, perched up among the cliffs of the Turtle's shoulder.

They took watches in pairs, on the principle that what deceived the senses of one scout might not catch both. Hinata's partner for this watch was Noburu of Hidden Rock, a chuunin a few years older than she was, very strong in Wind techniques. Strong enough to bend air into lenses and listen along it as though the currents of the wind were strands of a spider's web. He was quiet and professional, and Hinata found him a restful partner.

So she was a little startled when he said, out of nowhere, "You're not what I expected."

She blinked "I beg your pardon, Noburu-san?"

He ran a hand through his short, stiff hair, and looked at her sidelong for a moment. "From a Hyuuga, I mean. I suppose all villages that have ever fought have tales of each other's great clans."

Hinata blushed, twining her fingers together. Was it that obvious, still, that she wasn't up to the standards of a clan heir? She'd tried so hard...

"They say Hyuugas are arrogant," Noburu went on, glancing out over the water. "Arrogant and ruthless. But here you are, heir to the clan, and you're not like that at all." He tossed a small, rueful smile over his shoulder at her. "I suppose that's a lesson not to believe gossip."

The cutting edge of uncertainty abruptly blunted. "You... you really think...?" She looked down at her hands, smiling helplessly. "Thank you."

"You've been as good a watch partner to work with as any from Hidden Rock, Hinata-san," he assured her earnestly.

She couldn't help imagining her father's expression on hearing such a compliment offered to his daughter, and then she couldn't help laughing. "Thank you!" She smiled back at him, hands relaxed in her lap as she knelt on their shelf of stone. "Sometimes, you know, Hyuugas are like that. Arrogant, yes. And ruthless. But that's not all that we are. That's not all that we want to be. It makes me very happy, that you see more than that in us."

"Well." He cleared his throat and turned back to their watch over the ocean. "I'm glad, then."

Hinata turned back to the water also. "I'll remember," she murmured. "When I hear gossip about Hidden Rock, I'll remember, too."

He smiled a little, out over the waves. "Good."

She carried away from that watch the increasingly familiar satisfaction that she was accomplishing the mission her Hokage wished to be accomplished, and the unfamiliar excitement of knowing that a shinobi of another village judged well of her. It made her walk a little straighter, to remember it.

She thought was that it would make Neji-niisan smile, to know about it.

The day Hinata and the rest of the Konoha contingent came back from Cloud's Island Turtle, Neji-niisan was away on a patrol. And, despite the busy hours of debriefing and reporting to her father, despite the small, warm glow of being told she would be at his side to attend the council on Shimura Danzou's fate for ordering an attack on the Leaf's own host, she found herself feeling bereft. She hadn't realized how much she'd depended on the thought of getting back to Neji-san's support, how hard she'd come to lean on that. And despite everything, she found herself trailing around the halls of the compound as if she were searching for something lost.

Which was where Neji finally found her.

"Hinata-sama!"

She could already feel the smile on her face as she turned, and it only got wider when she saw him standing on the engawa behind her. "Neji-niisa—" Her breath caught as he strode forward and caught her up in a tight embrace. She clung to him in return, breathless and startled.

"You're all right," he whispered against her hair, and abruptly slid down to his knees, catching both her hands in his and resting his forehead against them. "My lady."

Hinata stared down at him. "Neji...-san?" The intensity of his greeting startled her.

"They said you were back, but I couldn't find you anywhere I looked," he said softly, not looking up. "And the rumors going around about your mission are... rather wild and full of talk about assassination attempts. Against whom varies, but one version said it was you."

Slowly, her cheeks heated. Neji-san had been that worried? For her?

Since he apparently wasn't going to move, she knelt down with him, knees bumping against his. "I'm all right," she offered, a bit shyly. "I wasn't injured."

He finally met her eyes, smiling a little wryly. "I'm glad. I suppose that was obvious."

She blushed a little deeper, starting to feel as flustered as she used to whenever Naruto was around. The thought made her pause, nibbling her lower lip as she met Neji-san's eyes. They were warm; so warm, for her. Suddenly she felt like the day she'd activated her Byakugan for the first time—the world had gotten deeper and she saw what she hadn't before; her hands tightened on his. "I never thought," she breathed, eyes wide and wondering. She'd never thought she could have this again, her beloved cousin, her first friend, looking at her like this. Not like she was the heir, or a good leader, but like she was Hinata and that was important to him.

Neji-san looked torn, hands tight on hers even as he straightened, as if trying to regain his usual reserve. "Hinata-sama..."

"You never said," she whispered. "Neji-san... why didn't you speak?" When they were very little, she'd assumed that of course she would marry her cousin, her protector, her best friend. When they'd gotten older and her failures and Neji-niisan's bitterness parted them, she'd set the little girl's dream aside because it was too painful. If they could have that back again... why on earth wouldn't he have said? Was there something still in the way?

His looked unaccountably hesitant. "Hinata-sama, I don't... It isn't..." He looked away, face still. "It's always been Naruto for you, hasn't it?" he finally asked, low.

She laughed, soft and unsteady. "I like Naruto," she admitted. "I had a crush for a while, even. And sometimes I've thought, if Haha-ue says it's all right and if Sakura-san and Sasuke-kun don't mind, I might ask for a child of Uzumaki blood. But it's not like that. He doesn't love me. It's... he's... he's an example to me. He lives the way I want to be able to."

Neji-san's hands tightened round hers. "Not quite that loudly, I hope," he said, husky.

"No, not quite that loudly." She nibbled her lip for a moment, looking at her cousin from under her lashes. "Just that bravely, maybe."

She took in a startled breath as Neji's eyes flashed and his hands came up to close around her face. "You are that brave," he told her fiercely. "That's why I chose to follow you. That's why..." he trailed off and cleared his throat, and Hinata was startled and just a tiny bit delighted to see faint color on his cheeks. "That's why I love you," he finished, very quietly.

She felt like a flower was opening in her chest, something unwinding, unfurling, something beautiful and delicate. "Neji-san," she whispered, hushed with sudden happiness and a whirl of warm memories from when they were small, before anything went astray.

When he murmured back, "Hinata," the warmth turned into something soft and heated, and she leaned forward willingly as his hands slid into her hair. It was just a little awkward, kissing on the floor with both of them leaning forward over their knees, and she never wanted to stop.

"I suppose," Neji said eventually, stroking her hair tenderly back over her shoulders, "that I should ask Satomi-obasama to evaluate our boodline in consideration of a possible match. To be proper about it."

"I'd like that," she said, completely unable to stop smiling. "I'd like that very much."

Her father's response was, "It's about time; I did wonder when you'd notice the boy was mooning over you again. Though I suppose flowers are a more usual token than noble titles, for most young men to offer."

"Chichi-ue!" Hinata pressed her hands over her flaming cheeks, wishing she could will them cool. Her father's distinctly amused look didn't help any.

But none of that could make her any less happy.

Her mother was openly delighted by the match, and held forth excitedly at the dinner table about the potential benefits of the cross. "Now, I know you won't want to weary yourself with too many children when you have the whole clan to worry about," she told Hinata, hands moving as if to shape a good gene mix out of the air itself, "but you might retire from the field a little early, you know, and have at least one before your father steps down."

"I'll consider it, Haha-ue," Hinata murmured and took another bite of ginger salad. She added, more sternly, as she caught her mother giving Hanabi a speculative look, "Haha-ue."

"I wasn't going to suggest it," her mother said, defensively enough that Hinata knew she had been thinking about it.

"Hanabi-chan is even more dedicated to the field than I am," Hinata said firmly. "It wouldn't be fair at all." She caught the faint relaxation of her sister's shoulders and patted Hanabi's knee under the table. She wouldn't let anything interfere with her sister's chosen career, certainly not clan breeding plans. Her sister gave her a tiny smile.

Her team took the news fairly well, too, though she hadn't quite figured out how to tell them before Akamaru sniffed her over one afternoon and whined inquiringly. That brought Kiba over to take a good scent from her inner wrist, and then there was yelling of course, but it only took him fifteen minutes to stop shouting about all the ways he was going to maim Neji if he hurt her. Hinata shared a tiny smile with Shino; Kiba was clearly happy for her.

"I'm sure this will please your clan," Shino murmured, standing under their meeting tree beside her as Kiba threw sticks for Akamaru and pretended they were Neji's arms. "Will it please you as well?"

"Very much," Hinata said softly, fingers twined together. "I never thought we could come back here, after everything that happened."

Shino touched her shoulder, and a few of his insects danced around his fingers in a secret smile. "I, on the other hand, am unsurprised."

Hinata blushed.

The best part, though, were the times she and Neji met in the training hall and Neji wedged the door firmly behind him with a length of wood and gathered her up in his arms, burying his face in her hair. And proceeded to complain volubly about the fuss everyone was making.

"...and then Shirou pulled me aside to lecture me on how women were different from men! As if I didn't know that already; it's like they think I don't have a woman on my team. I haven't dared tell Gai-sensei yet. Are you laughing?"

"Oh no," Hinata gasped, giggling pink-cheeked against his shoulder. "No, go on."

"Hmph." The fingers that stroked through her hair were gentle, though. "It suddenly makes far more sense to me, why your mother is so determinedly wrapped up in her medical research. I would wager it started as a way to ward off over-enthusiastic friends and relatives who wanted to fuss over the new consort."

Shyly, unable to help blushing a little, Hinata murmured, "You can always come hide from them in my room, if you want."

He held her closer, laughing. "Now that would give them something more interesting to talk about." He kissed her hair and added softly, "Perhaps I will. We can steal mochi from the kitchen, like we did when we were little, and hide under the covers and talk about which missions we want most."

Hinata snuggled against him, smiling brightly; he remembered those times too.

These were the best parts.

Fortunately for her blushes, and the patience of her betrothed, the village was too busy preparing to meet Uchiha Madara to spare very much time on teasing even newly betrothed nobles.

"Your chakra must flow uninterrupted," her father instructed them as Hinata and Hanabi sat, hands pressed palm to palm. "That flow must circle on itself and leave no opening for another's to be imposed."

Hinata chewed her lip and concentrated on the flow of her chakra from palm to palm. She could maintain a closed circle as long as her hands were touching, braiding the two outward flows together, but as soon as she moved her hands apart she lost it. She heard her father sigh quietly.

"Hinata, practice that for a while. Come here, Hanabi, work on holding the closed chakra flow while you move and strike."

Hinata concentrated harder and resolved to ask Neji for help. Neji was, she'd slowly come to realize, a much better teacher than her father.

Of course, that meant she had to show him the technique, and that meant she had to broach the subject that had been on her mind ever since her father started training them in this jutsu.

"Chichi-ue," she breathed softly, trying not to interrupt her chakra flow.

"Hm?"

"If Madara is expected to attack the village, would it not be wise to teach this to as many of our clan as possible? The more people who can defend themselves from his Sharingan the better, surely?"

"This is a technique of the main house," he answered sharply.

Hinata kept her eyes on her hands. "So it is, Chichi-ue."

It wasn't an agreement.

Her father actually huffed with annoyance. "Turning into quite the revolutionary, aren't you?"

"I speak only of practicality, Chichi-ue," Hinata murmured, braiding her chakra together more tightly and slowly standing. "Only of the good of our clan and village in face of a powerful enemy." She breathed in and out in careful, even rhythm, and stepped slowly across the room taking care with every shift of her weight and chakra. There was a heat in her chest, building with every step, and she spoke out of it. "We should be as strong as we can be!"

After a long, silent moment, her father said, "I will consider it."

Hinata lifted her gaze from her intent concentration on the circle of her chakra to see her sister making a tiny victory sign in front of her chest as their father looked away from her. Hinata promptly lost the technique to a burst of delighted giggles. She didn't even mind when her father shook his head with disapproval. Hanabi was smiling.

Hinata knew her sister was fiercer than she was, fiercer and stronger in combat. In the fire and chaos of the night Madara finally struck, it was Hanabi who went with the teams outside the walls, coursing the forest to find their strange, black and white attackers in the dark, tracking them through earth and wood. That had terrified Hinata for her sister's safety, especially once the casualties started filtering back out of the forest.

And yet, she was glad of it now. She and Neji were the ones who'd been sent to the south gate to aid their Hokage against Madara if they could, and Hinata didn't want her little sister anywhere near him.

Neji knelt on the top of the wall beside her, eyes sharp on Tsunade-sama as she fought Madara. "We're not the only ones who discovered how to repel the Mangekyou Sharingan," he murmured, a breath of humor through the cutting tension of the night. "Look at the Hokage's chakra."

Hinata breathed slowly, carefully keeping her own chakra folded in on itself. Which was not, she couldn't help noting, quite what Tsunade-sama was doing, and her mouth quirked a little. "I think that's just because Tsunade-sama is too strong for him."

Neji made a satisfied sound through his bared teeth, at that. "Probably why he's stopped trying to revive his Amaterasu. I think Sakura can let her counter go."

Hinata glanced aside at Sakura-san, kneeling a few arms lengths away on the wall, Kakashi-san beside her. Sakura's chakra was slowly drawing back from the brilliant flood of the technique that had smothered Amaterasu and let Sasuke-kun through to guard the Nine-tails as it fought Madara's demon. "I think she knows."

Just then, though, Sakura flinched and gasped, "Intruder... first!" The strain in her voice pulled Hinata's shoulders taut. Sakura-san sounded like she could hardly speak! But it was a warning worth fighting to give; if the first wave of attackers, the black and white ones, were coming into this area, all of them were in danger. Those intruders would be coming through the very earth itself. Every clan member watching on the walls or ranging the forest had seen that much.

Though often not until too late.

Hinata bit her lip, thinking hard enough that her chakra flow started to unbraid itself and she had to wrestle it back into the proper knot, stream sliding over stream. There must be something they could do to see further, to guard the Hokage and Naruto inside the Nine-tails!

Sakura-san invoked the pure earth again with her jutsu only to gasp, wavering, off balance as if her strike had been dodged on the training floor. The wild life of Konoha and its land, flowing through Sakura's hands, ran faster still, wild as a river in flood.

A river. A stream. Like the streams of chakra Hinata was directing through and over each other right now. Could she do that with the chakra Sakura held? Slide her own through and over such vast power?

Sakura's own chakra was starting to run ragged; there was no more time, and Hinata took a deep breath for courage. "Neji, watch the Hokage," she whispered. He looked at her sharply and she could almost see the protest hovering on his tongue, but he bit it back, only reaching up to touch her hair with silent, desperate tenderness.

"Be careful," he whispered back, and Hinata added the warmth of those words to her courage.

She turned toward Sakura, releasing her chakra from the flowing knot she'd held and reached out to Sakura instead. "I'll try to see them," she said, soft and determined. "Sakura-san, can you hold on?"

Sakura jerked a nod, and Hinata laid her palms over the major tenketsu of Sakura's forearms, sending her chakra flowing lightly over the flood that ran through Sakura-san's hands. It was like sliding down a rope made of lightning, wild and terrifying and beautiful, and Hinata felt for a breath that there was spirit as well as life in it. Not human spirit, but a soul deep and ancient and wordless and new, changing like the colors of the sky and the surface of a river. "Permit me," Hinata begged, terrified and exhilarated by the vastness of this thing. "Life of our land, Will of Fire, permit me..."

And perhaps she was heard, because her awareness and her chakra slipped over and through that wild flow without drowning or burning, and she heaved in hard, panting breaths as her vision exploded outward. She could see a dozen knots in this stream, all converging on them, but the movement... the movement was strange. As if she saw a single hand drawing into a fist. No, two! "All of them," Hinata gasped. "All of them are coming. But they are only two. Only two that we need to find."

She saw the brightening of Sakura-san's chakra, her agreement. She concentrated harder, biting her lip, focusing the way she'd focused to learn this technique from her father, looking for the two centers approaching. "I see it," she whispered. "I see them! Neji! They're coming for the Hokage!" She pulled away from Sakura-san and the land's life with a gasp and would have staggered as she stood but for Neji's hand under her arm.

"Two of them?" he demanded.

"Coming to bracket Tsunade," Hinata gasped, dizzy.

Neji's chakra unknotted from its defensive flow and pressed against hers, steadying her like his hand on her arm. "Can you do Eight Trigrams, Two Mirrors?"

Hinata swallowed and tried to stand upright. It worked. She nodded to Neji, determined, and he smiled, bright and sharp and proud. "Let's go, then."

They sprang from the wall together, turning in counterpoint as they came down to flank the Hokage, and Hinata felt her breath opening up at the feel of Neji on the other end of this technique, sure as sunrise, there for her to lean against as she set her feet on the earth and drew her chakra in, spinning. This time she wasn't out of control or out of rhythm; this time she had someone to mark the correct time, and her chakra flowed up from her feet, through her center, into her hands in perfect sequence.

She and Neji spun together, and struck as one, her hand against the white creature and his against the black. The attackers blasted back from them, broken, and Hinata saw the flare of Tsunade-sama's chakra between them, triumphant and proud. She was smiling as she and Neji sprang back to leave their Hokage room to strike her enemy, and she saw that Neji was, too. They had done it.

Together, the way the Hyuuga clan should be, they had won.

Jiraiya-sama came to the Hyuuga compound, after it was all over, to ask how she'd thought of the possibility of touching Sakura-san's jutsu, let alone dared to act on it.

"I've never seen anyone but a priestess do something like that and not die of it," he said, watching her keenly over his cup of tea as they sat in one of the outer parlors.

Hinata clasped her hands to keep from shrugging helplessly. She felt very young and inexperienced, facing one of her village's legends, reduced to a child's stature again just by contrast to the square power of his frame. "It seemed like a possible application of the technique I was already using, and a reasonable risk at the time. I knew it would be dangerous, but once I'd touched the chakra she held it felt..." She hesitated. "Well, the records of our ancestors sometimes speak of seeing, not just chakra, but the spirit itself. It seemed to me that Sakura-san was touching the spirit of our land, and perhaps that spirit would help us defend it from attack."

Jiraiya-sama's brows had risen while she spoke, and she nibbled her lip, hoping he wouldn't think her foolish. Even her own clan sometimes gave her odd looks when she said such things. "An unusual approach, for one of your clan," he murmured. "I had thought Hyuuga's training emphasized only the reality of what can be seen directly."

At Hinata's shoulder, where he'd insisted on being for this interview, Neji stiffened. "My lady is the vision of Hyuuga," he stated, giving Jiraiya-sama as dark a look as if he'd questioned Hinata's legitimacy. "What she sees is real."

"Neji." Hinata laid a quick hand over Neji's, glancing at Jiraiya-sama. "Forgive us, Jiraiya-sama, I'm sure you didn't mean..."

Jiraiya-sama was smiling. "I see she is your clan's heart, as well," he said mildly, and Hinata blushed while Neji sat back, looking satisfied.

"It isn't truly that unusual, Jiraiya-sama," Hinata said, more concerned with the defense of her clan than her person. "Over the generations of Hyuuga, this is something that rises over and over again. I only took the example of those who have come before."

"And that's the scale of time you think in, hm?" Jiraiya-sama was still smiling faintly, but he was also watching her with sharp eyes. Hinata just nodded; wasn't that the scale any clan head had to think on? Jiraiya-sama set his cup down and rose. "I will be very interested to see what your vision makes of the Hyuuga." His gaze was warm, as it met hers, and he held out a large, square hand to her. "I think it might be something that hasn't quite been seen before."

Hinata rose also, hesitating a moment; she hadn't ever set out to be any sort of revolutionary, honestly! But finally she lifted her chin and took his hand; hers wasn't as lost in his grip as she'd expected, either. "I will do my very best for the people in my care, Jiraiya-sama. Whatever that turns out to be."

His smile broadened. "Of that, I have no doubt whatsoever."

Hinata thought about the smile Hanabi-chan had given her when she'd left two days ago on her first C-rank mission, and the softness of her voice as she'd promised Hinata she'd be back soon. She thought about her father's lack of surprise when he'd come to tell her that one of the Legendary Three was here to see her. She thought about her oldest friend, standing straight and proud at her shoulder. And, at the bottom of her heart, she found that she didn't doubt it either. She had people to stand beside her when she guided her clan, family and even a beloved who believed in her and the future she worked for. She was reviving her clan with her own hands and will. She would succeed.

And when she found herself thinking that, hearing the thought in her own voice this time and not Naruto's, she could only laugh.

When Hinata was fourteen, she wondered whether she was strong enough to change fate, the way Naruto did.

Four years later, looking back, she knew that she always had been.

End

Complement Art: by the lovely and talented Mitsuhachi Follow Only You, and Will of Fire, Permit Me.

Story Notes:

Language

For the etymologically curious: We have almost nothing, in canon, about the internal structure or address used within the Hyuuga clan, so I borrowed from similar situations in other manga and spent some quality time with the dictionary to invent some background for them. What Neji calls Hinata is ç·é ˜ or souryou, a now archaic term for the eldest child who will carry on the clan name; it has the advantage of having, in some periods, been used as a title for the actual clan lord. My theory is that this is not the usual title for the heir; Neji is using it to make a point about his current loyalties. What Neji and everyone else calls Hiashi is å½“ä¸» or toushu, a similarly rather archaic term for the leader of a family or clan. (That actually is canonical for the noble clans.) The connotations of that one are a little less broad and encompassing than those of souryou or, for that matter, soushu. All of this is a little beside the point, because I've translated the terms, but for those who were wondering about Neji calling Hinata "lady", well, this is the background thought that went into that.

Genetics

This is the model of ninja genetics that I came up with with the gracious help of Fer de Lance (all remaining genetic bloopers are my own).

Ninja talents arise from a wide variety of alleles and their combinations. The most "basic" one is the allele that controls the presence or absence of chakra-manipulation ability, let us call it C. CC results in strong ability, C0 in moderate ability, and 00 in none. In addition to this, there are six other alleles whose presence or absence preconditions what elemental affinities a person has. The first five of these relate to the five basic elements of the Naruto world, and the sixth to yin or yang; YiYi results in an affinity for yin, YiYa in either no affinity or a double affinity depending on a different allele completely, and YaYa in an affinity for yang.

Bloodline talents are stable mutations that affect the expression of these seven alleles.

In the case of the Hyuuga, an allele related to the C allele produces their particular chakra-vision. Let us call this modifier H. What we see in the manga is a relatively small clan with a very strong phenotypical similarity (ie, they all look very alike). The phenotype could quite reasonably be the result of endogamy; the clan marries inside the clan whenever possible to keep their talent closely held and as common as possible among them. My supposition to explain the clan size despite the power and value of their talent is that H is next to some important fetal development sequence, and often interferes with it. Further suppose that, in the process of "locking" H into their bloodline, the Hyuuga engaged in some pretty ruthless culling and line-breeding, which means vanishingly few of the clan escaped having genes with a messed up copy of that fetal development sequence. This would result in fairly few live births. The apparent frequency of warfare among the clans, both before and during the hidden villages era, would be plenty of reason to focus on locking in a valuable talent and perhaps not realizing that the frequent miscarriages were directly related until too late. Or perhaps even accepting them at first as the price of doing business. In either case I posit that this connection between the Hyuuga talent and reduced live births, once realized, resulted in a reduction of active culling and an increase in fanatic record-keeping and arranged marriages so as to maximize both live clan members and the Hyuuga talent. Increased sophistication of genetic theory and technologies over time would only have refined this habit.

The next question, of course, is how this results in the Uchiha (note that, in this 'verse, I jettison the Sage descent story completely and return to the earlier hints that the Uchiha descend from the Hyuuga). The Uchiha appear to be a far larger clan, enough to police one of the biggest villages and have a whole subdivision of the village of their own, and not quite as phenotypically similar. I speculate that the mutation that produced the Uchiha talent involved an alteration in H and the addition of modifying allele U, in such a way that they no longer messed up the fetal development sequence as often. I further speculate that one of the reasons for the Uchiha splitting off into their own clan was the founder's disagreement about the intense degree of endogamy the Hyuuga practice. So the Uchiha founder encouraged somewhat more frequent exogamy, and allowed outsider spouses into the clan a bit more often. This both supplied undamaged copies of the fetal development sequence, and greater phenotype variation. It also explains why the fully expressed Sharingan seems to be less common among the Uchiha than the Byakugan is among the Hyuuga. It may even explain why very Uchiha-looking black eyes seem to crop up in Konoha at large, as in Kakashi and Sai.

In all cases of a major bloodline talent, though, I have to suspect that established clans would regard marriage out of the clan as something akin to military espionage. That would be like taking secured blueprints off to a potential enemy. The formalities for gating outsiders into the clan would likely be fairly stringent also. It seems very likely that all noble/ancient clans practice endogamy as their default.

Old Wine

A snapshot of Neji's reaction to any disrespect for Hinata among the Hyuuga. Unrepentant clan-kink with D/s undertones. Set after "Cloud Hands", when Neji and Hinata are, perhaps, in their twenties. Drama, I-3

It was over, everything except for collecting the bodies of the attackers. Intellectually, Neji knew that was exactly why Hiroki said it; the wired exhilaration of having survived again did often unhinge people's tongues.

It didn't make the silence that spread through the courtyard any less infuriating, when Hiroki joked with another of the younger cousins, "Hey, almost too bad Neji's so good, huh? He could have moved a little slower and been clan head for real instead of just behind the scenes."

The weight of the silence spoke of years when that hadn't been a joke, however tasteless and disrespectful, and the watchful memory of those years among the adults of the clan. Hinata's mouth was a little tight, but she ordered a courier to be sent to Intelligence, notifying them of the attack and the bodies to be examined, with perfectly level grace. She was going to ignore it.

Neji... couldn't do that. He very much doubted she'd let him give Hiroki the trouncing he deserved for that, but Neji couldn't ignore it.

And that was why he spun on his heel and strode across the courtyard to stand eye to eye with her, his clan head, his wife, the cousin he had once tried to kill.

"Neji," she said softly, reaching out a comforting hand to him.

He sank down to his knees before her and slowly bowed until he could spread both hands out flat against the earth. Far enough that his hair, ends still stiff with the blood of their enemies, brushed the ground at her feet. Little hisses of shock snaked around the courtyard. It was not the bow of a modern shinobi, even one of a noble clan. This was the way one claimant for the clan had surrendered to another, in the days before the seal, when cousin had fought cousin and sister had fought brother to lead the Hyuuga. It was a gesture not used for generations, and then only for the loser of a succession fight to publicly acknowledge his defeat and submission to the victor.

"Neji," Hinata protested. "Stand up. There's no need for something like that!"

"It seems necessary for some," he answered quietly.

"You're my consort, not my opponent," she said more sharply. "You have not defied me. I won't have you bowing to me like that."

Neji kept his hands spread out and still under her eyes, kept his own eyes on the ground. "There was a time when I did," he pointed out.

He could hear her inhale and imagined the flash of will in her eyes that most likely accompanied it. "Very well, then," she said, soft but clear in the absolute silence of the courtyard. "You were given a command by your clan head. Do you intend to disobey it? Stand up."

Neji bowed his head lower for a moment and murmured, "Yes, Hinata-sama," before he rose to stand before her. As he'd rather expected, there was a glint in her eyes that promised trouble for whoever got in the way of her sense of right. It was one of the things he loved her for, even if he did sometimes think it made her too stubborn about realizing what the clan would and would not accept or understand. He gave her a tiny, hidden smile, a reminder; he would protect her, always and from anything, and that included disrespect within their clan. Of course. The glint eased into exasperation. "Honestly," she breathed, just between the two of them, and touched his hand softly.

Neji regretted her irritation, but when he cast a glance around the courtyard there was no doubt to be seen, no careful neutrality. A little shock in places, especially among Hiroki and his friends who were, perhaps, young and foolish enough to be surprised that Hinata truly ruled him. But there was no doubt. He turned to take his place at Hinata's shoulder, calm and blank-faced. The point had been made. The submission that, by all rights, she should have demanded of him years ago had been given, and witnessed by the clan.

Neji watched as the Hyuuga put their compound back to rights and smiled faintly with satisfaction.

End

The Name of the Sound

Ayanami is more volatile than usual. This time, Hyuuga gets broken harder than usual. And then he has to explain the whole thing to Konatsu. Drama, Non-explicit BDSM, I-5

Hyuuga strolled down the halls of headquarters with a bounce in his step. He always liked it when he got an assignment that was actually fun. Or could be made fun.

"Is Ayanami-sama actually going to accept the idea that you were honor bound to engage in single combat with the whole Gibraldan home guard?" Konatsu asked dubiously, at his elbow.

"Sure he will!" Hyuuga asserted with perfect confidence. In fact, Aya-san would believe nothing of the sort, but he would roll his eyes on the inside and be amused, which came to more or less the same thing. "Just let me do the talking while we report."

"I wouldn't dream of doing anything else."

Hyuuga fancied Konatsu's grim tone covered up a certain amount of amusement there, too. Or at least anticipation. Konatsu always seemed to feel vindicated when Aya-san squelched Hyuuga's teasing. He didn't realize yet that was just Aya-san's way of teasing back. Hyuuga was kind of looking forward to getting to see Konatsu's expression the day he did figure it out. He was smiling as he threw open the door of Aya-san's office. "Aya-tan! We're back from our trip and we brought you souvenirs!"

Ayanami turned away from where he stood at his window, and Hyuuga stilled abruptly at the icy distance in his eyes. Something very close to panic sizzled through him as he looked into the bottomless gaze of Verloren's memories. If he were alone, he could tease or coax or yield, whatever it took to get Aya-san back from the depths of the past, but he wasn't alone today.

"Konatsu," he said quietly, "I'll make our report myself. Go. Now."

Konatsu looked up at him, puzzled. He didn't recognize what Ayanami was right now; Hyuuga had taken some care to keep him away when Ayanami got like this. Perhaps that had been a mistake.

"But..." Konatsu cut off, eyes widening as Hyuuga's hand closed hard on his shoulder.

"Now."

"You overstep yourself." Ayanami's voice was cool and dangerous, and it was rage that flickered behind his eyes today. Not something teasing or coaxing was going to work on.

Not something Konatsu should be present while Hyuuga dealt with.

Hyuuga took a step forward, hoping he could distract Ayanami's attention. "Lord," he said, level and firm, "Konatsu is your own blood and he serves you well. Your anger shouldn't fall on him." From the corner of his eye, he saw Konatsu stiffen, startled and still. Yes, he should definitely have told Konatsu that sometimes the Black Hawks truly did deal with their Lord directly. Hindsight was distressingly acute. Hyuuga stiffened a little himself as Ayanami approached them with a faint, dark smile. His hands curled into fists at his sides as Ayanami stopped beside him, looking at Konatsu.

"You have the arrogance to tell me what I should and should not do, Hyuuga?"

Hyuuga winced; he'd known that was a provocation with Ayanami in this mood, but he'd hoped it would focus Ayanami on him. That... seemed to have backfired. Ayanami took Konatsu's chin in his fingers, looking down at him with cold eyes. Konatsu stood without resistance, barely breathing, eyes wide and alarmed. "Are you saying," Ayanami asked Hyuuga without taking his eyes off Konatsu, "that you don't serve me well? In contrast to Konatsu."

Hyuuga swallowed, relief and tension winding together down his spine. Ayanami was playing with him; he wasn't really focused on Konatsu. This could still go well, if he could guess what would satisfy Ayanami, and call it on himself alone. He took a slow breath, considering his options. "If you break me, I'll survive it and live to serve you after," he finally said, alternately hot and cold with what he was naming and offering, but he suspected that, after challenging Ayanami in this temper, nothing less would suffice. He bent his head down, underlining his offer. "If it's me."

"Indeed." There was a smile in Ayanami's voice, a dark one. "Go, Konatsu."

Hyuuga glanced over from the corner of his eye to see Konatsu, visibly shaking, bow deeply and back to the door. He let out a deeply relieved breath as it closed behind the boy. And then he had to swallow with the heat and apprehension coiling through him as Ayanami turned to him.

"Look at me, Hyuuga."

Hyuuga lifted his head and his lungs locked. The force of Ayanami's gaze on him was like a blow, and he felt breathless, unbearable pressure at the core of himself. An increasing pressure. Rather like someone with a sheet of mica between his hands, pressing on the center with both thumbs.

Like the sheet of mica, it wasn't long at all before Hyuuga's soul snapped into glittering shards in Ayanami's hands.

That was only the beginning.

"...and I've never seen the Major do anything like that before, what's going on?! Ayanami-sama was... I mean, he was..."

Katsuragi ran a hand through his hair and sighed as Konatsu faltered into silence. "There are times our Lord's memories are stronger in Ayanami-sama than others. And our Lord has both great sorrow and great fury in him. Hyuuga is the one who can deal best with him, when he's like this."

Konatsu frowned, worry plain in his face. "But what—" He jerked to his feet and spun toward the door of the Black Hawk's small common room as the first scream rang down the corridor. Katsuragi grabbed his arm before he could run.

"Haruse," he said calmly. "Close the door." He scolded himself for not thinking to do that sooner; as soon as Konatsu started talking, it had been clear just how dangerous a mood Ayanami-sama was in. Konatsu whirled on him, outraged, even as Haruse pulled the door firmly to, closing out the sounds from down the hall.

"Katsuragi-taisa!"

"Hyuuga knows what he's doing," Katsuragi stated flatly. "He got you out of the way for a reason; there's nothing you could do that would help. Don't interfere." He softened a little at the stricken look Konatsu gave him and guided the boy to a seat and poured him a cup of coffee. The heat would do him good. "I know it's hard to believe, right now," he said as Konatsu wrapped shaking hands around the cup, "but Hyuuga does this willingly."

"Hyuuga and this," Kuroyuri said softly, curled up on the couch with her arms wrapped around her knees. "It's kind of like me and flavors." She cocked her head at Konatsu. "You know how it needs to be really strong for me to taste? Like that."

Konatsu bit his lip and Katsuragi rested a hand on his head. "Wait here for him. You'll see." He fetched a cup of coffee for himself and inquired how Konatsu and Hyuuga's last assignment had gone, keeping the boy talking so he wouldn't listen too hard to the faint, desperate sounds still coming through the closed door.

For a long time he drifted in the darkness of his mind and soul. Broken bits of excitement, fear, unbearable and unidentifiable response flickered through and past him. Eventually, slowly, he came back enough to remember a few things. Who and where he was. Who was with him. That sent a jolt of heat and dread through him, though he couldn't put words to why, yet, even in his own head. Anxiety wrapped around him, sourceless until he finally recognized that there were hands on him, an arm around him, fingers brushing back his hair and gently removing his glasses. When Hyuuga managed to open his eyes, seeing Ayanami looking down at him gave him another jolt.

"Lord," his lips formed, driven to respond though his throat was too raw to really say it.

Ayanami pressed two fingers lightly against his lips. "Shh. Be still, Hyuuga. It's all right."

Hyuuga sagged back, relaxing. That was Aya-san; it was Aya-san's hand that rested warm on his chest, Aya-san's zaiphon that curled delicately around long fingers. After another few, dazed moments, he realized that Aya-san must be healing him.

After a time, while he lay in Aya-san's hold, quiet and contented under the hand piecing his body and soul back together, Aya-san asked quietly, "Why did you provoke me?"

Hyuuga shrugged just a little, still shaky with reaction to what Ayanami had done to him. "I wanted to be sure you focused on me and not Konatsu."

Aya-san gave him a slightly reproving look. "You know perfectly well how to turn my anger aside, if you were worried about Konatsu."

Hyuuga smiled up at him, relaxing more as Aya-san's power smoothed away the strain in his body, the lingering twinges of pain in his soul. "Yeah, but I'm the one you don't have to hold back with. I'm not going to change that."

Aya-san looked down at him for a long moment, hand resting against his chest. "Everything changes eventually."

Hyuuga's mouth quirked and he let his head rest against Aya-san's shoulder as his body and soul settled back into solidity. "I'm yours," he answered simply. "Everything I am is in your hands. If you choose to break me, I'll submit. If you choose to heal me, I'll submit. Always" He smiled. "Some day you'll believe that."

"'Always' is an illusion, Hyuuga." Hyuuga wrinkled his nose at Aya-san's stubbornness but held his peace and let Aya-san help him back to his feet. "Can you walk?"

Hyuuga stretched his legs a bit cautiously and nodded. "Yeah." He smiled wryly. "And I'd better walk wherever Konatsu got to and reassure him the world isn't ending."

Aya-san held his eyes for a long moment and finally drew him down gently and kissed him. "Rest once you've done that," he ordered quietly.

Hyuuga smiled. "Yes, Aya-tan," he lilted.

Ayanami looked very nearly exasperated and Hyuuga made his slightly wobbly way to the door, grinning.

Konatsu was trying hard not to bite his nails. The screaming had stopped some time ago, but his imagination insisted on filling in things that might still be happening, each more alarming than the last. When Hyuuga finally appeared in the door of the common room, pale and shaky, Konatsu knocked over his mug springing to his feet. "Hyuuga-san!" He skidded to a halt in front of Hyuuga, checking himself, unsure whether it was safe to touch him.

Hyuuga smiled and ruffled his hair. "I'm fine Konatsu, don't worry. Aya-tan wouldn't let me go without making sure of that." He was leaning heavily against the doorway as he spoke, though, and Konatsu gave him a very dubious look.

"We heard..." he murmured, and trailed off, uncertain how to describe sitting here listening to the muffled screams of his superior officer, knowing they were wrung out of him by the commander they both followed.

Hyuuga winced. "Oh man. Okay, look." He pushed himself more or less upright and Konatsu finally couldn't stand it any longer and ducked under his arm to support him. Hyuuga smiled down at him. "Aya-tan wants me to rest. Help me back to my room, and I'll try to explain, okay?" He waved over his shoulder to Katsuragi, who nodded calmly back.

Konatsu steered them to Hyuuga's rooms, increasingly puzzled. The Major didn't really seem like he was injured—more like he was drunk. When Konatsu finally got them as far as Hyuuga's bed, the man rolled off his shoulder and flopped onto it, limp and relaxed.

"Oof! That was an intense one." He made mournful puppy-dog eyes at Konatsu from where he lay. "Help me off with the boots?"

Konatsu silently unbuckled the Major's boots and set them neatly by the bed, and went to fetch a glass of water too. When Hyuuga smiled and patted the mattress beside him, he came and sat, waiting.

"The thing is," Hyuuga said quietly, after drinking, "Aya-tan only lets himself do this because I like it." Long, mobile lips quirked up. "Once or twice I've even begged for it." Konatsu felt his eyes widening, and Hyuuga chuckled. "You've felt what it's like at the edge, Konatsu, at least with the sword. This is the same thing, to me."

Konatsu's eyes nearly crossed, thinking about it, but he could almost—almost—understand that. "But Ayanami-sama," he said, low. "He wasn't just... he wanted to..." Ayanami-sama had wanted to hurt something; it had been right there in the cold eyes looking down at him.

"Mmm." Hyuuga looked up at the ceiling. "You know the stories our families pass down, about Verloren, right?"

"That he lost his love and followed her soul to the mortal world, mad with grief?" Konatsu guessed. He'd kind of been thinking about that 'mad' part, today, he had to admit.

"Think about what the story really means, though," Hyuuga told him softly. "Before he ever left Heaven, he was blamed for Eve's death and his power was broken from him. That's not just a metaphor, for a being of spirit, is it? It's like he had his hands cut off."

Konatsu stilled, struck by that. He hadn't thought about what that meant before, no.

"And on top of that," Hyuuga went on, holding up a finger, "once he gets here and starts searching for her, his own hands get sent after him to tear his soul and body apart." Hyuuga looked over at him, eyes grave for once. "You've felt what it's like to have your soul divided, and that was by someone who cherishes you and was careful with you. Imagine having that done by force, by someone you hate, someone you're fighting with all your strength."

Konatsu slowly pressed a hand against his mouth, swallowing convulsively as his gorge rose. "Ayanami-sama... I mean, Verloren-sama..."

"Yeah." Hyuuga folded his hands over his stomach, looking at the ceiling again. "All of that is what's inside him. And once Raphael's seal broke, he remembered it."

"Hyuuga-san," Konatsu whispered, shocked. This, this was what his superior had put himself in the way of!

Hyuuga smiled, crooked. "He's the most dangerous thing in all the worlds. And I'm the one person he knows, right down to his soul, he doesn't have to hold back with. You understand?"

Konatsu was silent for a long moment, thinking. He did understand Hyuuga's passion for danger, for the edge of life and death; he even shared some of it. He could see why his superior would court Ayanami-sama's anger. And he thought he could understand why someone who held such anger in his soul needed a way to free it before it overflowed. But there was something else to it, he thought.

"You love him," he said, finally.

Hyuuga blinked at him and then laughed. "Don't we all?"

Konatsu smiled a little. He thought he also understood why Hyuuga had explained all this to him, and it wasn't only for Konatsu's sake. "Yes, sir. We do."

Hyuuga yawned and stretched against the bed, curling up into his disordered blankets. "Mm, think it's about time for me to get some sleep, like Aya-tan said, then."

Konatsu stood. "Sleep well, Shousa." He drew the blinds and turned off the lights, closing the door softly behind him.

And then he made his way back to Ayanami-sama's office.

"Ayanami-sama?" He tapped on the frame of the open door respectfully. Ayanami looked up from where he stood by his desk, and Konatsu didn't think it was his imagination that that still face turned stiller. He'd had a few years, now, to get used to Ayanami-sama's expressions, minimal as they were under his unbending control. This one was shuttered. Konatsu nodded to himself and came to stand before his commander, almost as close as Ayanami-sama had stood when he was toying with Hyuuga earlier, looking up at him. "I don't think you had a chance to hear our report, earlier, sir," he said quite calmly. "Shall I make it now?"

In comparison to the stillness, the faint smile that suddenly curved Ayanami-sama's lips, the light of pride and satisfaction in his eyes, was so clear that Konatsu couldn't help blushing. He ducked his head and glanced up shyly at his commander; he had hoped to offer what reassurance he could, but he hadn't expected to be shown this kind of approval. It settled his heart.

Ayanami-sama finally stepped around his desk and sat, hands folded on the expanse of polished wood. "Yes," he murmured, leaning back. "Tell me how it went."

"Yes, sir." Konatsu settled himself before the desk, hands clasped lightly behind him. "We reached the Gibraldan Duchy late yesterday..."

Ayanami-sama listened, and in the warmth of his regard Konatsu thought that maybe he truly did understand how Hyuuga could go to such lengths to serve this man and never fear or doubt that he would survive it and be well.

Perhaps Konatsu couldn't serve in quite the same way, but the next time he saw that fury he didn't think he'd be afraid either.

End

Seven, Eight, Lay Them Straight

Yamamoto wants some captains back. Hirako doesn't trust him a bit. But there are other people who have a stake in the argument, and he has a harder time saying no to them. Alternate storyline, because if KT really intends to break them up, well I'm just not having with that. Drama, Character Study, A Bit of Fluff, I-3

It had, Shinji thought, been a pretty good day, so far. The chill of winter was still hanging on, but it was sunny and crisp out. Everyone was pretty much recovered from the battle with Aizen. There was a new volume of manga out for Love and Lisa to argue over, and Rose had been talking about making something 'experimental' for dinner which was always good for a laugh or two.

It could have kept on being a good day if they hadn't gotten a visitor.

Shinji sat very still on one of their salvaged couches, eyes fixed on the dapper First Division vice-captain standing calm and collected in front of him. "He wants us to what?"

Sasakibe didn't even have the grace to look ashamed of his message. "Yamamoto-soutaichou asks that the captains of the Third, Fifth, and Ninth divisions return to take up their positions again," he repeated, hands clasped easily behind him. "May I bring him your reply, Hirako-taichou?"

Shinji lifted a brow and looked around at his fellow Visored, perched here and there on the ledges and second-hand furniture of their home in the mortal world, all stopped dead in the middle of reading or cooking or mending to stare down at Sasakibe. They looked about like he felt. "Well, ladies and gentlemen?" he purred. "Do we have an answer for the illustrious Captain-General?"

Predictably, it was Hiyori who first snorted. "Fuck it," she spat, arms crossed.

"About like that, yeah," Lisa agreed, turning back to her manga. "Notice he didn't ask for any of the rest of us; just three to replace the captains his own damn blindness lost. Selfish bastard."

"And I can't say I enjoyed the Court's last reaction when they thought I didn't fit into a proper division any longer," Love added, leaning against a pillar, "I don't really want to see what he'd try to do with a spare captain this time."

Rose's eyes were hard, flamboyance left aside for once. "We served Soul Society loyally and were wounded in that service, and your precious Council would have killed us out of hand like mad dogs. Why should we go back to that?"

"They were told who was at fault and all they did was make the bastards captains," Kensei growled, muscles flexing ominously as he clenched his fists. "Now they want us to clean up their mess?"

Mashiro took another bite of the dumplings she was demolishing and turned a hand palm-up at her captain, shrugging her agreement.

Shinji smiled. "So there you have it," he told Sasakibe cheerfully. "Our answer is that Yamamoto should fold his offer into corners and shove it. Anything else?"

Sasakibe sighed quietly. "I will take your reply back. May I say, personally, that I would welcome your presence in the Court of Pure Souls, setting things to rights once more. I don't believe I'm alone in that." He bowed to them, deep and courteous, before picking his way back to their door.

"Huh." Lisa squinted after him. "That was kind of half-hearted. I expected him to argue more."

Shinji frowned to himself, thinking about the way Sasakibe had phrased that last bit. He wasn't so sure the argument was over.

When their next visitor from Soul Society was Kuchiki Rukia, Shinji figured he'd been right.

"If he thinks he can twist us around to this by sending one of Ichigo's friends," he started, low and hard, as Hachi quietly sealed the barrier again behind her. Rukia instantly looked guilty and Shinji nearly growled.

"It isn't like that," she insisted, eyes wide and earnest, and Shinji slashed a hand through the air, cutting her off.

"You can tell Yamamoto, we said no and we mean no. He made his damn bed, and now he can sleep in it! Not once in a freaking century did anyone even..." he trailed off because Rukia had stopped looking guilty and was looking puzzled.

"Yamamoto-soutaichou doesn't even know I'm here." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her eyes widened and she waved her hands, black sleeves flapping. "I mean...! He approved the project, of course, and Ukitake-taichou knows where I am, so it's not like..."

Shinji ran the last few minutes through the 'Juushirou-san or possibly Rukia is putting something over on Yamamoto' filter instead of the 'Yamamoto is putting one over on us' version. "It's not like you're sneaking around behind Yamamoto's back to do something for Ichigo?" he hazarded and laughed when Rukia's cheeks turned pink. "Well that's different. All right, what are you here for?" He strolled back to his couch and sprawled out comfortably.

Rukia gathered herself and bowed to him formally. "Hirako-taichou, I'm here to beg a favor on behalf of Kurosaki Ichigo, who you have named your ally." She pulled a wrapped bundle off her shoulder and knelt down on the concrete to unwrap it at his feet.

It was a sword. A nameless sword, and yet... Shinji frowned and held his fingers close to it, testing that sense of power. He'd never seen a nameless sword that radiated reiatsu like this one. He'd also never felt such a gathering of reiatsu that wasn't marked with the sense of a single soul. "What's this?"

Rukia sat back on her knees, hands folded. "Yamamoto-soutaichou ruled that, because Ichigo had lost his shinigami powers in defense of Soul Society, it would be proper to restore them if we could. Many have contributed their reiatsu already."

Contributed their reiatsu to a sword. Shinji thought about that for a long moment and finally called, without looking up, "Hachi, is this what I think it is?"

Hachigen came and leaned over Rukia's shoulder, eyeing the sword with interest. "Indeed. As a named zanpakutou can be the channel for a single shinigami's spirit power, this one could theoretically channel the power of all the contributors into the recipient."

Shinji caught a glint in Rukia's eyes before she lowered them demurely, and grinned. "You like the irony?" he asked softly.

That spitfire glint flashed again, along with Rukia's teeth, before she composed her expression. "It was judged the most stable solution, and the one likeliest to succeed," she observed coolly.

Shinji laughed out loud. "You convinced them to let you do it, didn't you?" The very 'crime' she'd nearly been destroyed for, and here she was sanctioned to perform it right out in in front of gods and men.

"It was judged Ichigo's spirit, having accepted my reiatsu once, would most readily accept this infusion from me as well." Rukia was really bad at looking innocent. Shinji approved.

"Give it here." He held out a hand, gathering his own strength. In one swoop he could help Ichigo, who had gotten almost as raw a deal as the Visored had, and put a thumb in Yamamoto's eye. Show the old man he couldn't control everything and everyone.

Because he might have been wrong about why Rukia was here, but he didn't think he'd been wrong about what the old bastard was scheming.

When their third visitor arrived, Shinji knew he'd been right, because their third visitor was Hisagi Shuuhei, vice-captain and acting leader of the Ninth Division. The man who had Kensei's numbers tattooed on his cheek. It didn't take a genius to spot who must have inspired the kid to become a shinigami, and a dispassionate corner of Shinji's mind wondered just how badly it had rubbed Tousen the wrong way, that his own vice-captain had a previous loyalty to the captain Tousen had betrayed. Or, hell, maybe he'd been sick-minded enough, by then, he'd thought it was funny.

Kensei was the only one Hisagi had eyes for once Hachi let him in, at any rate. He went straight to Kensei, like he didn't even notice the rest of them, and after a moment's hesitation he bowed all the way to the ground. Shinji's lip curled, because that was exactly the kind of gesture he'd expect from someone on a mission of manipulation, treating Kensei like he was already the kid's captain. But if that was the case, Shinji didn't know why the hell the kid was so stiff and awkward about it.

"Muguruma-taichou." Hisagi's voice was just as stiff. "The Captain-General sent me to ask that you take up leadership of your division again."

Shinji propped one foot up on his windowsill perch, considering that phrasing while the other Visored started to slip closer through the concrete and shadows of the building.

Kensei folded his arms with a snort. "So he can betray us twice? I don't think so."

Hisagi bent his head. "Your reservations are only sensible," he agreed quietly.

Shinji pursed his lips. Interesting. If he had to guess, he'd say Hisagi hadn't wanted to come here, and might just be resenting the way Yamamoto was using him to pressure Kensei, despite wanting Kensei back himself. "So if it's only logical we refuse, why are you here forking over this steaming crap?" he prodded.

Sure enough, Hisagi's shoulders tightened, all the more obvious in that sleeveless kosode of his. "The Captain-General sent me," he repeated flatly.

"The Captain-General can kiss my ass," Kensei said, rough. "Go back and take the damn division yourself, already."

Hisagi's head dipped a little lower. "I'm not qualified as a Captain. It... it will have to be someone else. I'm sorry, Muguruma-taichou."

Shinji exchanged a long look with Love, brows raised. Love nodded faintly back to him, leaning against the pillar across their 'entry hall'. This kid had it bad for Kensei, just like Kensei's whole seated complement always had, except for Mashiro herself and that poisonous bastard Tousen.

And maybe that was exactly why he didn't want to be here pressuring him. Shinji chewed on a nail and frowned. This could be bad; Kensei had a soft spot for earnestness and honesty.

Kensei blew out a breath, running a hand through his hair as he looked down at Hisagi. "Not like it's your fault."

"Thank you for saying so." Hisagi didn't look up, and Shinji thought he was leaning harder on the hand he had braced on the ground, now; anyone with less of a poker up his spine would have been slumped. "I won't trouble you further, sir."

Kensei shifted his shoulders, tapped his fingers on his belt, and finally asked abruptly. "How are they? The Ninth."

Shinji swore silently at Yamamoto for having the brains to send a messenger who so transparently wanted not to manipulate them that his very earnestness manipulated them. Or at least Kensei.

"Unsettled," Hisagi admitted, low. "Not as badly as the Fifth, but... no one likes being without a captain's strength to guide us. Even if Renji or Ikkaku can be pried away from their captains... I worry that it won't be enough. Renji is still very new to his bankai, and Ikkaku has been holding himself back; neither of them has the confidence that would make me willing to follow them." Not the way he'd followed the bare memory of Kensei. The thought hung unspoken in the air.

Kensei's eyes were dark as he glanced over at Shinji, and Shinji's mouth tightened. "You know the risks," he said levelly.

"No one knows them better, except maybe you." Kensei turned away and banged his fist against a cracked support beam. "My people weren't the ones who fucked us up, though!"

Hisagi's head came up and he stared at Kensei's back with wide eyes, suddenly hopeful, suddenly hungry before he got himself back under control and looked down again. Shinji watched the performance and sighed. He knew Kensei would never deny that kind of loyalty and need; it was exactly how he made them so loyal to him in the first place. "Your choice."

Mashiro rolled onto her stomach on the couch she was sprawled across and dangled her arms over the edge. "Are we going back?"

"I'll think about it."

Shinji rolled his eyes. Deny it as he would, Kensei still thought of himself as a captain, and of Mashiro as his vice-captain, someone he had the right and responsibility to direct without a second thought. "You're too good for that place," he muttered.

Kensei smiled at that, tight and thin. "Tell me something I don't know." He turned back to stand over Hisagi, who looked up at him with fragile calm. "Tell the old man I'll think about it."

"Yes, Taichou," Hisagi answered, husky, and bowed his head almost to his knee. "Thank you."

Shinji flopped back onto his elbows with a sigh as Hisagi got up to go. He wondered glumly who Yamamoto would find to pry at their resolve next.

"We have another visitor," Hachi announced from the ramp down to the red stone floor of their cavern and Shinji puffed a soap bubble from the basin of dishes he was washing away from his face.

"Who is it this time?" he called, dunking the next plate in the rinse water and drying it on his red striped apron. Hachi sounded a little weirdly formal, but he got like that sometimes. "Did the old goat send Retsu-san to scold us or something?"

"Nothing that grand, I'm afraid."

Shinji jerked around, suds dripping off his hands, to stare. No, his ears didn't deceive him, that was Kyouraku Shunsui stepping down the ramp all right. From the corner of his eye he saw Lisa's latest manga hit the ground, pages fluttering as the lurid pink cover flapped closed. He tossed the last plate back into the water, snapping the suds off his hands like blood off his blade. "Kyouraku," he said, low and warning. Lisa had never been one of his division back in Soul Society, but she was one of his people now and he wouldn't have her hurt by Yamamoto's damn politicking.

The man held up his hands, looking apologetic. "I would have told Yama-jii to walk off a cliff, really I would have, but I did want to make sure Lisa-chan was okay." He looked over Shinji's shoulder, eyes deceptively soft. "And it is true you'd be welcome, if you ever decided to return."

"You have a vice-captain," Lisa pointed out, stifled. When Shinji glanced over his shoulder, she was standing still and straight-shouldered, but her hands were fists half hidden in her skirt.

"Nanao-chan would step aside for you," Shunsui told her gently. "You have to know that. She idolized you." His mouth tilted wryly. "Still does."

"Why should you care?" Lisa lashed out, fists tightening until they trembled. Shinji fell back a few steps to be in support range. Or range to restrain her if she broke and attacked Shunsui, because it would only piss her off more when she couldn't even hit him. "You never did anything! You never even looked for us!"

Shunsui sighed and tucked his hands in the sleeves of his extravagantly flowered kimono. "Lisa-chan, we didn't know. None of us knew what had happened until Yoruichi had already gotten all of you to the mortal world." His eyes never left Lisa. "If we had known, we would have acted. I swear that to you."

"He and Ukitake-taichou are the ones who destroyed the Kikou-ou, rather than see Rukia-san destroyed unjustly," Hachi put in quietly from where he sat on the end of the ramp.

Lisa crossed her arms tightly over her stomach, hands gripping her elbows. Shinji ran a damp hand through his hair with a disgusted huff. Lisa was strong and capable, and as pissed off as any of them about the way they'd been sentenced sight-unseen by the damn Council, the way Yamamoto hadn't done a single thing to save them. But he also knew she'd spent the past century missing her captain. "Go on, if you can trust him," he told her quietly.

Lisa worried her lip between her teeth, glaring daggers at Shunsui, but Shinji could see the helpless hurt behind the anger. Obviously Shunsui could too, because he took one step that flashed across the cavern and folded Lisa in his arms. "I'm sorry, Lisa-chan," he murmured against her hair. "I'm sorry I couldn't find you sooner."

Lisa didn't make a sound, but her hands lifted to close tight on his sleeves.

Love came to prop himself against the washing stand and said quietly to Shinji, "Two to zero?"

"Three, counting Mashiro, as soon as Kensei makes up his mind to go." Shinji fished out the last plate and scrubbed it viciously. "Shunsui-san will look after Lisa, at least, but what the hell do we do to keep Kensei and Mashiro safe?"

Love considered for a long moment and finally suggested, "Kill Kurotsuchi before he gets too curious for our own good?"

An unwilling smile tugged at Shinji's mouth. "That'd be a start, yeah."

He was beginning to have a bad feeling about where this would end, though.

When Hinamori showed up, he went right through 'bad feeling' and landed on 'blazing fury' instead.

"I am going back to Soul Society after all," he said, very quietly, "so that I can kill that old bastard with my own two hands." The edge of concrete under his hand was slowly crumbling and the air was ringing around him. He was aware of the uneasy looks the others were exchanging, the way Hachi's hands were slowly folding into the form for a restraining kidou, and couldn't bring himself to care right at the moment. How dare Yamamoto use the girl Aizen broke? How dare he send her here, as if to tell Shinji to take responsibility for the messes his alleged subordinate left behind?

It was Hiyori who stuffed her hands in her pockets and snorted as if she hadn't noticed the weight of his rage. "Yeah, well, he deserves it. I mean, what kind of moron tries to play the sympathy card on you?"

After a long, taut moment, Shinji let out a breath of harsh laughter and hauled his reiatsu in before he destroyed any more of their home. "No one, you'd think."

"I asked to come."

Shinji eyed Hinamori, really seeing her for the first time. The thought wandered through his head that she couldn't be as delicate as she looked if she was still on her feet after the way he'd just cut loose. "You asked?"

She bobbed her head earnestly, hands clasped in front of her. "After I spoke with Hisagi-san."

Shinji's brows rose. "And exactly what did Hisagi say, that made you think coming here was a good idea?" he drawled.

"He ah... well..." Her steady gaze wavered and slid away from his. "You see, Rangiku-san was, er, counseling Kira-kun again, and Hisagi-san said that if he was going to have to take anyone to Fourth afterwards he wanted to at least get some of the sake for himself, and he ah... might have been just a little drunk."

Shinji crossed his arms and leaned back against a fallen block, still showing the sword-cuts from where Ichigo, or maybe Hiyori, had carved it up during their first fight. Kensei had a hand over his eyes, and Love and Rose were both trying to stifle snickers. "Go on."

Hinamori cleared her throat, cheeks faintly pink. "Well, he mentioned that, if Muguruma-taichou did decide to return, it would be for the sake of his division. After the story Renji-kun and Rukia-san brought back, about what had happened to you... it seemed to me that was likely the only reason any of you might be willing to come back. And that the best person to make the Fifth's need clear would be me." She spread her hands, looking up at him steadily once again.

"Ah, I see," Shinji said lightly, temper simmering again. "So it was your own personal idea to guilt-trip me, not Yamamoto's."

"No, sir!" Hinamori started forward a step, chin up, color high. "I would never...!" She stopped, hands clenching tight on each other. When she spoke, her voice was husky, broken around the edges. "I would never try to... to manipulate someone's heart like that. Never."

The shadows slinking behind her eyes and turning them dark were painfully familiar, and Shinji's temper collapsed in a heap. This girl obviously hadn't even had his own native suspicion and nasty-mindedness to help her understand what Aizen was. "No," he said a bit more gently, "I can see you wouldn't." He propped a foot against his broken perch with a sigh, slumping a little. "It's true enough; if I came back for anyone it would be for the Fifth. What happened wasn't their fault. But the Council and Yamamoto are still there, and... Hinamori?" She was staring at him wide-eyed, hands clasped tight against her mouth.

"He got it from you," she whispered. "That's how he made everyone believe it, he was pretending to be you..."

"Hinamori!" Shinji straightened up, reaching out as she started to slide down to the ground, wondering what the hell was wrong with her and why Retsu-san had let her out of Fourth's clutches in this shape. Mashiro was already there, though, easing Hinamori to the floor in a rustle of hakama. Shinji frowned down at them, unsettled. "Hinamori, what are you talking about?"

She gulped and scrubbed her hands over her face. "I wondered how Aizen-taichou could act like he cared, when he obviously didn't," she said, nearly whispering. "I couldn't understand it. It seemed so real! If he could do all those things, to Rukia-san and the people of Rukongai and you and... and me... If he could do that, how could he even understand kindness well enough to fake it?!" She heaved another breath in and out and looked up at Shinji. "But just now... when you spoke more softly, you sounded just like him. I mean, he sounded like you. He's been acting like you, all this time, that's how he did it, that's how he made everyone believe it!" She was shaking in the casual circle of Mashiro's arm, but her voice had risen, hard and steady, and her eyes were blazing.

Shinji had to take a few breaths himself, swallowing down his gorge at the thought of Aizen using him, or at least his memory, that way. "You still sure you want me to come back?" he finally managed, almost as lightly as usual.

"Yes!" Hinamori leaned forward on her knees, tense and broken and looking more alive than she had since she's stepped in the door. "The Fifth was under Aizen for too long, believing lies for too long. Help us re-learn what's real, what that looks like." She finished softly, "Please, Hirako-taichou."

Shinji looked down at her, absently damning his own sense of responsibility. Hinamori had a good instinct for the target, that was for sure. The opportunity to reclaim his division from the traitor who'd stolen them beckoned temptingly, and the determined beginnings of trust in the wide brown eyes locked with his promised silently that things would be different this time. Shinji sighed, reminding himself to do something extremely unpleasant to Yamamoto for letting Hinamori come and close this net around him.

He stalked over and held a hand down to Hinamori. "All right, come on, then. Up!" He hauled her to her feet. "Hiyori!" he called without looking around.

"Yeah?" The single word was toneless and Shinji grinned just a little, guessing what she was thinking.

"Didn't figure you'd want to go back to the Twelfth, so decide which of us you want to stick with. If it's me, you and Hinamori need to hash things out between you. Can't have more than one vice-captain, after all."

Hinamori blinked up at him for a second before a smile broke over her face like sunrise. "Yes, Taichou!"

"What's to hash?" Hiyori fired up instantly, which had been more or less the idea. "I have seniority!"

Hinamori peered around Shinji with a flash of calculation in her eyes before she folded her hands and smiled, sweet and steely. "If you'd like to decide it that way, I'm sure that will be fine. How long was your tenure as vice-captain, Hiyori-san? And how recent is your administrative experience?"

"My what?!"

Shinji faded back to lean against a pillar beside Rose while they watched the show. "So, should we wait for them to send your vice-captain after you, too?" he asked. "Just to have the full set."

"Since it seems I'll need to rescue mine from alcohol poisoning, I think we'd better not." Rose tossed back his hair, looking around at the rest of them. "I suppose this is the best way to take care of everyone in the family."

Shinji's mouth curled up. "Yeah, I think you're right." And he didn't think Yamamoto had really considered that part of it—that he was taking into Soul Society a group who would never be turned against each other, no matter who ordered it. Not after what they'd been through. Well, too bad for him if the old bastard hadn't. Yamamoto had asked for this; he'd get it.

The Army of Masks was coming to Soul Society.

Shinji shook his white haori's sleeve straight with an annoyed twitch of his arm. He hadn't counted on the uniforms they'd worn for centuries feeling so awkward, though it made sense enough once he thought it through. None of them had had any trouble putting the uniform off, even outside of their gigai—not after the way Soul Society had condemned them to death without a second thought. In face of that betrayal, they'd all taken on the clothing of the mortal world with bitter speed and finality.

But the people who'd condemned them were dead of what Shinji could only think of as the world's biggest karmic boomerang, and the people who really mattered wanted them to come home. So here they were, gigai packed away, new manga stockpiled, pantry handed over to Tessai, standing in their cavern and looking at each other. Back in uniform. Wondering who was going to be the one to test their welcome and try to open the senkaimon.

"So?" Hiyori crossed her arms, glowering at nothing. "What are we waiting for?" Shinji's mouth twitched up at the corner.

"For someone to get impatient," he told her and drew his sword. His tilted smile turned true for a breath at the way everyone else breathed out with relief. When he slid his blade through the edges of the world, he felt it catch at once. The turn to unlock the gates was as smooth as ever, a familiar sense of vastness shifting around that tiny motion, and then the gates were in front of them, silently sliding open one after the other.

When eight butterflies flittered through the light of the gates to hover in front of them it was Shinji's turn to sigh as relief ran through him in a warm rush. Their reiatsu imprints had been reinstated, and they were recognized. Official. Accepted.

He was still going to flip Yamamoto off the first chance he got. But he couldn't deny the comfort of having one of those delicate, black messengers hovering at his shoulder, a silent and unmistakable sign of belonging.

"Let's go, ladies and gentlemen," he said quietly.

The walk through the passage was silent, so silent the rustle of haori and occasional clink of swords seemed loud. Shinji halted when they came to the bright horizon of the second gate. "Everyone ready?"

"Ready as we're going to get," Kensei muttered.

"Let's go see what our welcome is," Love agreed, one hand resting on his sword's hilt.

"They'd better be damn grateful to see us after a hundred years of this shit," Hiyori growled and hitched her sword up on her hunched shoulders and stomped through the gate. Shinji smiled at her back, far more gently than he'd ever let her see since they shouldn't really pause in the middle of the passage between worlds to have a brawl.

"Like she said."

They stepped out of the gate and into the pillared staging plaza of Soul Society.

There were more people waiting than he'd expected.

He'd been sure their vice-captains would be there, because Yamamoto wasn't the kind to change what was working, and Shunsui-san would be there to pick up Lisa of course. But Juushirou-san and Retsu-san were both standing back among the circle of pillars also, and he spotted the white haired mini-captain lurking back there too. He almost didn't recognize Kuchiki Byakuya, standing still and poker-faced under another column, and wondered yet again just what had happened to turn Kuchiki House's mouthy little firebrand into this.

Shunsui-san tipped his hat up, smiling quietly at them. "Welcome back, all of you."

"We'll say whether it's nice to be back once we find out," Shinji returned dryly and rolled his eyes a little at the dramatically mournful look Shunsui-san gave him. "Lisa."

She stepped forward, and Shunsui-san's clowning softened at once into something almost tender. "Lisa-chan." And then Shunsui-san grinned. "We have a present for you."

The Ise girl stepped out of his shadow and came forward, holding something clasped against her chest and giving Lisa such a starry-eyed look that Shinji almost laughed. "Welcome back, Yadoumaru-fukutaichou," she said softly and held out the vice-captain's badge with both hands.

Sure enough, the stiff line of Lisa's back eased and she smiled a little. "Are you sure, Nanao-chan?"

"Of course!" Ise was actually blushing. "It will be an honor to serve under you again." Shinji raised a brow at Shunsui-san, who just looked smug.

Lisa laid her hands over the badge, resting them on Ise's for a moment. "Well. Thank you, then." She snugged the badge around her arm with a still-practiced flick and tug and straightened to give Shunsui-san a familiar half-glare. "Well? What are you waiting for? There's work to do."

"I'm sure there is, somewhere," Shunsui-san murmured, probably just to see both of his vice-captains give him matching dark looks. The man definitely had bad hobbies. Well, it wasn't like anyone nice got to be a captain around here, except possibly Juushirou-san and in his case it just made him more alarming. Why had they thought this was a good idea, again?

Finally, the vice-captains who had been waiting started to come forward, and Shinji's mouth quirked. Ah, yes. That had been why.

Hisagi stepped up and knelt down at Kensei's feet, formal and proper, but the husky edge in his voice when he said "Taichou" made Shinji shake his head. Just as well they'd come back, maybe; this one wouldn't have lasted much longer on his own. The weighing look Kensei gave his vice-captain said he saw it too, and his voice was quiet as he reached down to touch Hisagi's shoulder. "Yeah. Come on and let's go see about kicking things back into shape."

Hisagi took a breath. "Yes, sir." He stood and gave Mashiro, standing at Kensei's shoulder, a respectful nod despite the alarmingly thoughtful look she was turning back and forth between him and Kensei. Shinji bit back a snort of amusement, anticipating the volume of Kensei's arguments with her if she started trying to matchmake.

Even as Hisagi stood, the other vice-captain, a lean blond with a noble-family look to him, stepped up and bowed down to the ground before Rose. "Ohtoribashi-taichou," he greeted Rose, quiet and contained.

"Kira-kun, yes? Kira Izuru?" Rose smiled with just a hint of mischief. "No hang-overs today, I hope?"

Kira looked up at that, losing his closed expression to a quick blush and a sputter. "Taichou!"

The mini-captain's curvy, amber haired vice-captain was leaning against a pillar giggling under her own captain's resigned eye and Kira shot her a slightly harried look.

Rose chuckled and beckoned Kira up with a tilt of his head. "I didn't have that long with the Third before everything came apart. You know them better, now. Tell me about them."

Kira composed himself a bit and stood. "Of course." He answered the silent crook of Rose's fingers and walked beside him as they stepped away from the gates, and Shinji's brows lifted. Rose's gestures were open and welcoming, but he was being very careful not to touch Kira at all.

Was there a single damn division that hadn't been left broken in the wake of Aizen and his merry psychos?

Certainly not his own. Shinji eyed his own vice-captain ruefully as she came to him. There were still dark smudges under her eyes, and he was pretty sure it would take some serious work before she was truly ready for duty again. Well, that was his job now and he'd do it.

"Hirako-taichou," she said, low and a little hesitant, starting to kneel formally, head bent.

"Hinamori," he returned, quietly, hands folded into his sleeves. They'd have to work on her self-confidence when she wasn't in a blazing temper, for starters. She obviously needed the forms for her own comfort, right now, but he wasn't about to spend the next hundred years with his vice-captain popping up and down from her knees at every turn. He'd say something once she was a little calmer.

She paused, though, looking up at him. Biting her lip, she slowly straightened. Shinji cocked his head and watched her, keeping his expression neutral, waiting for her to decide what she was going to do. Finally, she nodded, folded her hands in front of her and bowed from the waist. "Welcome home, Taichou," she said firmly.

Shinji smiled, slow and pleased. "There, now. That's more like it." Maybe there wasn't quite as much work to be done as he'd thought.

Hinamori's back straightened a little and she nodded back, determined.

"Are we done yet?" Hiyori growled from where she was sprawled out on the steps to the gate.

"Since the old man didn't show up so I can bawl him out right away, yeah, I think so." Shinji strolled for the stairs down. "Come on, you two."

Hinamori and Hiyori closed up at his shoulders as they followed everyone else out into the Court and Shinji grinned. He could practically feel the suspicious looks Hiyori was shooting his new vice-captain behind his back, and he might still be going to regret having made this choice, but right now he was glad he had. Politics and broken divisions and all.

Hinamori was right. They were home.

End

Chrysanthemum Tea

Aomine reflects a bit on on the effect Kuroko's had on him, and where Kuroko has brought him to by the season's end. Spoilers for anime-only fans. Character Sketch with Drama and Fluff, I-3

Looking back, he'd felt it first during the Interhigh preliminaries when he'd seen, when he'd experienced, Tetsu's fierce rejection of despair. He'd seen a whole team lock together around Tetsu's unwillingness to give up no matter how they lost, and a flicker, just a flicker, of something like hope had brushed over that court.

It had reminded him, for an instant, of the lightness he used to feel playing with Tetsu. At least until he saw that Tetsu had understood the difference between their games, and had to wonder whether even Tetsu would be coming back after that.

When he'd been dragged to the Winter Cup preliminaries though, to see Seirin play that bastard Hanamiya, he'd remembered again. Watching Tetsu's new senpai put their game and all their chances in Tetsu's hands, watching them accept pass after twisting, unpredictable pass, he'd remembered doing that himself, trusting like that. Remembered a time it had seemed necessary. Remembered how good it had felt. To win, of course, when that had still been in doubt.

He missed that.

So he pushed them, pushed Satsuki to convince their captain to challenge Seirin directly, as soon as they knew the bracket for the Winter Cup. Pushed Kagami to understand what he had to do, if he really wanted to be a challenge. And if he also left Tetsu with his water bottle, well it wasn't like he'd forgotten they were friends just because they were enemies.

And when he'd seen them on the court, he'd known he'd been right to push. Kagami had advanced, and that was enough to please him for a while right there. But he'd also felt something at the start of the game that he'd never felt before. Tetsu's presence. Not just his determination, not just unsupported spirit, but the weight in his sense of the court created by a player who had his own strength. He wanted to taste that strength, to push against it and feel it push back, and it was a thrill just like he'd expected. Not hope, he wasn't stupid enough to hope, he told himself firmly, but a thrill. That was the best he had, these days, and the ache of knowing that made him angry and rough, even with Tetsu.

Kagami, though, Kagami was a nice surprise.

Actually, Kagami was a shock. A delicious shock. To push and find, not air, not even just resistance, but an unmoving wall, a wall that he could strain against and still not move, a wall he had to break himself open to knock down... he felt like he needed to scream with how good that was.

Just a little, he could relax against that.

And against Tetsu's ferocity, when he turned his presence outward like an explosion no one could ignore, not even him. Just a little.

Against Seirin's strength, he could relax just a little, just enough to feel it again. The need that would drive him to where the game opened up. Opened up into brilliance. Into the fire of fighting to win, burning away the numb weight of too many opponents giving up, disappearing, leaving him alone on a cold court. Now he felt the heat again, now he could fight with everything in him, push himself past his limits and feel the wildness of fire, not just of rage.

When that fire burned as high as it could go and that still wasn't enough, the shock was like glass breaking all around him. Smoked glass, and now he was squinting in sunlight. He felt like he could see again, and what he saw was Tetsu. The reason he had lost. Tetsu... and his partner, who trusted each other so much they burned like the sun.

Their assurance that it wasn't over yet was warmth to go with the light, another shock but a different kind—not just unexpected but impossible, like landing softly after a long, long fall. Such a long fall he'd long since given himself up for dead, let himself die before he even got to the bottom. Well, here was the bottom, and thanks to those two he'd bounced. The hope he'd first felt a flicker of at the start of the year, even if he hadn't been able to name it then, and the pain of losing that he'd never expected to feel again both itched at him after that, prodding him to repay them.

Which was, he told himself, why he agreed to coach Tetsu's shooting. Why he didn't want Tetsu to lose. Why it stirred something sharp in him, when he wondered whether Akashi had deliberately reduced Tetsu's strength.

Quarter-finals, at least, he could blame on Satsuki. He had less excuse for cold-cocking that idiot Shougo, after, but at least Shougo was the only one who actually heard his reasons. And it was clearly Satsuki's fault that he wound up bringing Kagami shoes for the semi-finals. But he couldn't really pretend that his brief match with Kagami, then, was anything other than a deliberate teaching game; not under the calm knowing of Tetsu's eyes, and his tiny smile. Still, he knew he owed them, and it was easy enough to tell himself that was why.

He didn't really break until the final match. Watching them on the court, the way they held each other up and drove each other forward, he knew that he wanted to touch that again. Wanted to taste that kind of trust again. Wanted the light that his shadow brought with him. That was why he laughed, no matter how strange a look Satsuki gave him. It was Tetsu's victory, all right, complete and inescapable.

When the match ended, maybe he'd find Tetsu and tell him so.

End

A/N: In hanakotoba, chrysanthemum indicate truth (saving gold chrysanthemum, which are the crest of the imperial family). In Chinese traditional medicine, chrysanthemum is also used for clarifying vision or reducing eye-strain.

Strong as Freesia

After the finals of the Winter cup, Kuroko finds Aomine waiting for him. They finally have a long-overdue discussion about what happened in their third year. Implied spoilers for anime-only fans. Drama with Minor Angst, I-3

Kuroko Tetsuya walked the last bit of his way home alone, after Kagami turned off onto his own street, letting the quiet settle over him. As the echoes of his team's voices, of exultation and disbelief and, really, quite a lot of screaming died away, they left one thing behind.

They had won.

He had won. Not alone, of course, but... that had been his point all along. It was Tetsuya's game, and the team he had chosen, that had won through to the end. And it felt good, it felt... warm. Not like the icy, isolated victories of his third year. No, this reminded him of something further backâ€”their second year, when Kise had just joined them and Aomine still laughed and bounced gleefully at winning, when Midorima's calm had still had a little humor in it and Murasakibara's temper had still had a playful edge. When Akashi still smiled at them like he really saw who was in front of him.

Tetsuya tipped his head back and looked up at the sky, past the intermittent glow of his neighborhood's streetlights and door lamps. It didn't hurt as much to think about that time, now.

When he turned in at his house and saw who was waiting, though, perched on the low front wall with his breath showing white in the chill air, it was still a shock.

"Aomine-kun."

"Tetsu." He didn't say anything more, and after a long moment Tetsuya moved to unlock the door.

"Come in. Please excuse the mess."

Aomine kicked his shoes off in the entry, glancing around the dark lower floor. "Your mom isn't home yet?"

"She's traveling for work, this week." Tetsu hung his jacket neatly, reaching out by reflex to take Aomine's before he could toss it over the shoe rack. Then he had to take a slow breath before he could go on. "She sent me a good luck message earlier today."

Aomine's mouth tilted up on one side. "Yeah, that's oba-san." He wandered through to the living room and stood at the wide front window while Tetsuya busied himself with pouring them both water in the kitchen. Aomine didn't like tea, even on cold nights.

"Congratulations," Aomine called from the next room. "It was a good game."

Tetsuya paused in the doorway, glasses in his hands, watching Aomine across the room. "Do you really think so?"

"Oh come on." Aomine hunched his shoulders a little, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. "I always liked your game." He leaned one shoulder against the window frame, still looking out. "That's why I got so pissed off when you left."

Tetsuya set the glasses down on the low table a bit harder than he'd meant to, water splashing up against the sides. "You were the one who left first," he answered shortly. He sat down on the couch, closing his hands on his knees, as Aomine finally turned away from the window looking startled.

"I didn't go anywhere! You were the one who vanished after the final match and dropped your resignation off without seeing a single one of us!"

"I'm surprised you noticed." Tetsuya could hear his own voice turning sharp and didn't bother to stop it. "You spent most of that year acting like I wasn't there on the court at all. Even this year... you kept saying I was your shadow, but it was like you'd forgotten how to see me until we played at the Winter Cup." And now, now after all this, Aomine wanted to scold him for leaving? He looked back at his old partner flatly, mouth tight.

Aomine hesitated that that, and finally sighed, coming to thump down cross-legged on the floor by the couch. "Sorry," he said, low, reaching out to curl long fingers around one of the glasses, though he didn't drink, just ran his fingertips through the condensation on the sides. "I just... I couldn't, Tetsu. That whole year, it was like... like there was nothing under me any more and I was falling. Everyone just gave up, and there was nothing there, nothing to stand on or lean against, everything I loved best just gone! And when we played together... our game together is so strong, Tetsu, it just made it worse." He took a drink and set the glass back down with a restless clack. "I hated the way you left, but I was almost glad when the rest of the team split up. Where else was I going to get a decent game any more?" He propped an elbow on the cushion beside Tetsuya, still looking down. "And even then... I figured once I'd actually played them seriously, they'd give up too, you know? Like everyone else did, and that would be it."

One part of Tetsuya's mind turned that over, thinking that now Aomine's distant look during the preliminary matches in the spring, and his harshness during the the winter match, made much more sense. He'd expected Tetsuya and Kagami to give up, too, and he'd been angry over it. The bigger part of him, though, was buzzing, whiting out into the slow rise of memory and anger.

Aomine still hadn't seen. Hadn't understood what he'd done, that last year at Teikou.

"You didn't give up, though," Aomine went on, quieter. "Kise either." He flashed a lopsided grin up at Tetsuya. "I'm glad."

"No," Tetsuya said softly, "we never gave up. But you did."

Aomine blinked up at him, eyes widening a little. "What?"

"You gave up on me. You gave up on our team. You gave up on the game." Tetsuya looked down at his old partner, recognizing his alarm at Tetsuya's anger and not caring. "I was there to lean against. So was our team, until you turned away from them. And you turned away from me just like your opponents turned away from you. The one thing I loved most, Aomine-kun, the game I could play as part of that team. Gone, just like you said." Feeling that simmering hurt and frustration well up again, he drove home the point with brutal bluntness. "You gave up, and you took that away from me, and you left me behind in the same place you were trying to escape. You climbed over me, trying to get out, and pushed me down deeper, and didn't even notice."

Aomine was pale by the time he was done, one hand clenched on the edge of the couch so tight Tetsuya wondered distantly whether the fabric would tear. "I... did that to you?" he whispered. "Really?"

Tetsuya nodded silently, waiting.

"I..." A shudder ran through Aomine, and he bent his head abruptly, pressing his forehead against Tetsuya's leg. "I... Tetsu..." Tetsuya could see his throat move as he swallowed convulsively, see the gleam of his eyes, wide open and staring blindly at nothing. "I'm sorry," he finally choked. "I'm sorry, Tetsu. I never..."

Tetsuya felt a little shaky himself. His mother had told him, years ago when his parents first separated, that he could let anger drive him but never rule him. He hadn't known until now, he thought, what she'd meant.

He'd hurt, yes. For a long time. But he didn't want to hurt Aomine in return; he wanted his friend back. That was what he'd fought for all this year. So he took another breath to loosen the tightness in his chest, and rested his hand on Aomine's back. "It's better now," he said more gently. "I found a team and a partner. You came back. You saw me on the court, again. It's all right now. Just don't go away like that again."

Slowly Aomine quieted, shaking tension easing back out of his shoulders and neck under Tetsuya's hand. Finally he said, low, "You brought me back. You and Kagami." A soft snort of laughter, a little pained. "He didn't give up, either. Maybe he really is stronger, some ways at least."

"Mmm." Tetsuya rubbed his fingers over the line of Aomine's shoulder. "I knew better, this time, how to keep him away from the edge." How to hold his partner steady in the storm of talent and challenge and pride and frustration and eagerness that was tournament season. After a long, quiet moment, he finally added. "I bet this wasn't why you came to see me tonight, though." He felt Aomine wince under his hand.

"I... I was remembering. Sometimes, after a game, I'd go home with you. And we'd wind down from the match, and if your mom was here she'd listen and cheer us on, and sometimes, if it was still early, we'd go find a court and play around." He was quiet for a long moment, and Tetsuya waited for him. Finally he said, very low, "I'd like to play with you again, some time."

That warm feeling of a happy victory bloomed through Tetsuya again, easing the last edge of his anger, and he smiled. "Yes. I'd like that too."

Aomine finally lifted his head, eyes dark. "Even though?"

Even though he'd done such a painful thing to Tetsuya. The very thing that had driven Aomine to such wildness.

Tetsuya thought about it, letting his hand rest where it was. "Yes," he said finally, very sure. "Even though."

Aomine leaned against his knees, not speaking, but relief was in every line of his body. Tetsuya finally leaned forward for his water glass, to take a drink. He felt wrung out, inside, and very in need of it. As he settled back, Aomine folded his arms on Tetsuya's knees and rested his chin on them. "Kagami too, you think?" he asked, speculatively.

Tetsuya regarded his friend tolerantly. "Yes, you can play Kagami-kun too."

Aomine grinned up at him, with a shadow of his old, confiding air. "You're gonna regret saying we could."

Tetsuya took a composed sip of his water. "If our coach and captain agree, of course," he specified. Aomine gave him a sulky look and he added, "Momoi-san too."

"Okay, I'll be good about it, I give up, I give up!" Aomine declared dramatically, throwing himself back to sprawl over the couch cushion beside Tetsuya. "Except not, of course," he added.

A familiar bubble of laughter burst in Tetsuya's chest. "I know."

Aomine smiled up at him, upside down and crooked. "Tetsu... I didn't say it earlier, but... thanks."

Tetsuya rested a hand on his shoulder again, and they sat together quietly for a long moment.

"So, hey, what's to eat around here?" Aomine finally asked.

"You sound just like Kagami-kun," Tetsuya told him, straight-faced. The resulting protests took them most of the way through the the instant noodles that Tetsuya made, and that Aomine ate two thirds of.

He supposed there was some justice in Aomine's indignation. Kagami would have eaten at least three quarters of it. On the other hand, he'd probably have done the cooking himself, and made something besides just noodles.

Tetsuya watched his friend across the small kitchen table, drinking in all the little things he remembered: the wide gestures and the way Aomine talked through a mouthful of food and the flicker of light in his eyes, still fitful but getting stronger again as they talked over Seirin's match against Rakuzan. This was what he had fought for, and the fight had brought him a new team, good senpai, a new partner, and finally his old partner back again. This had turned out to be a good road.

He would keep going down it.

End

A/N: In hanakotoba, freesia indicate immaturity or childishness, but also the purity of innocence.

The Shade of Sunflowers

Upon the retirement of the third years, Kise gets a bit of a shock over his captain's plans for his future. Drama, I-2

Kise Ryouta stood rooted to the polished floor of Kaijou's locker room, staring at his captain and coach. "You... but..."

Kasamatsu-senpai gave him faint, tilted smile. "You think maybe Hayakawa is a better choice?"

Ryouta ran a helpless hand through his hair. "Well, no, but..."

"I told you when you joined, Kise," Takeuchi-kantoku rumbled, "you're going to be the core of the team. Get used to it already."

"But making a first-year captain...! Ow," he added, as Kasamatsu-senpai smacked him on the arm.

"Quit whining," his captain ordered. "Now we're retiring, you're as good as a second-year. And Kantoku is right about this; it's time you got serious about the club."

"I am serious!" Ryouta protested, indignant. Hadn't he proven that during the tournaments, this year?

"Including when you're not having fun in a tight game," Kasamatsu-senpai specified, and Ryouta ducked his head, cheeks a little hot. Okay, he guessed he did kind of toy with people outside of games, but it was reflex! His agency had pretty much trained the charm into him, and how else was he supposed to get any amusement out of being a public figure since middle-school, for pity's sake?

Besides, he mostly on did it to Kasamatsu-senpai, on his own team. Kasamatsu-senpai gave him a look like he'd heard the thought, and Ryouta ducked his head further, hiding a tiny grin.

"It's not like you can't lead," Takeuchi-kantoku told him heartlessly. "Time to step up and do it. Kasamatsu, you said you have the rest of this?"

Kasamatsu-senpai waved a hand. "Yeah, I've got it."

"The rest of what?" Ryouta asked a bit warily, as their coach took himself out, nudging the door shut behind him. Kasamatsu-senpai sat down on one of the benches, elbows on his knees.

"Listen, Kise, you still have one serious weakness. You aren't experienced enough."

"That's what I was just trying to tell you!"

Kasamatsu-senpai stuck a foot out and booted him in the thigh. "Shut up; I said listen."

Ryouta considered cowering dramatically, but the look in Kasamatsu-senpai's eyes was serious, so he leaned back against the lockers and listened quietly.

"You have incredible potential, and you're developing it fast. That's good. But you've still only been playing for under three years. You can't read the situation on the court very well yet. You need to fix that."

Ryouta bit his lip; he'd known that was why Kasamatsu-senpai had taken him to watch the Tokyo preliminaries, had brought him to every other match they could manage and talked him through every one. "Is there anyone else?" he asked, tentatively. "Anyone else in the club who knows that the way you do?"

A corner of Kasamatsu-senpai's mouth curled up, not happily. "Not really, though I'll tell you now that you should listen to Kataoka; he'll probably make the best point-guard, after me, for that matter. But no. You're going to have to learn this yourself."

"But...!" Ryouta protested. "If it's a matter of experience..."

"It's patterns, Kise." Kasamatsu-senpai leaned forward intently. "And that's what you do best. You just need to see more of them. So here's what you're going to do." He pointed to a stack of two cardboard boxes sitting by the door. "You're going to watch recordings of as many different games as I could lay hands on. Watch them like you were looking at a new move to make your own, but don't just watch the moves. Watch the flow of the game, see what positions people have when plays happen."

Ryouta calculated how many DVDs those two boxes could hold and quailed. "But...!" This time it came out a little desperate.

Expecting an admonitory kick, he stilled when Kasamatsu-senpai just looked up at him instead, quiet and serious.

"You can do this, Kise. I know you can. Will you?"

Ryouta slumped back against the lockers, helpless in face of that kind of trust. "I..." Slowly he let his breath out and bowed his head. "Yes, Captain," he said, low.

"Senpai," Kasamatsu-senpai corrected, pushing up onto his feet. "You're the team's captain, now." He reached up and rested a hand on Ryouta's shoulder, steadying him the way he'd done for Ryouta all year.

Ryouta smiled, small and rueful. "Yeah, I guess I am. But you're the one who put me there. In a lot of different ways," he finished softly.

Answering softness flickered over Kasamatsu-senpai's face for a moment. "You're welcome. Now come on. We have time to watch the first match from that set before it's dark."

Ryouta made a mournful face. "Yes, senpai." He collected a reassuringly brisk smack across the shoulder for that, and trailed along obediently as Kasamatsu-senpai rummaged out a disk and pulled Ryouta down onto the bench in front of the team's DVD player. At least, Ryouta reassured himself, he wasn't being thrown over the edge of captaincy alone. He had his senpai's trust and advice to go with him.

How far those would carry him, he wasn't sure. But he was going to hang on tight to them anyway.

End

A/N: In hanakotoba, sunflowers indicate love and respect.

Colored Like Zinnias

After the Winter Cup, Kuroko is still dealing with old anxiety about his new team, and needs to be reassured that he isn't the only one watching over his partner. Drama, Character Sketch, I-3

The afternoon was bright and chill, and winter sunlight slanted in the high windows of the Seirin gymnasium to glow on the floor. The Winter Cup was over and Seirin's basketball club had settled into their off-season training schedule, which was...

"Again, faster this time!"

...not actually very different. Tetsuya scrubbed his sleeve over his forehead and trotted back to the starting line for today's sprints. The squeak of shoes and the hoarse draw of each wave's breathing echoed off the walls, and Tetsuya settled himself into position for the next sprint with a warm sense of familiarity. The sounds, the feel of the air on his skin, the flex of muscles pushing to the limit, all of this whispered to him that he was right where he should be.

"Furihata, your ankles are wobbling all over the place, twenty scissors hops!" their coach barked, watching the dash with a predatory gleam in her eye. "Kuroko, I didn't see your sprint at all, do another!"

A tiny smile curved Tetsuya's mouth despite the slow burn in his calves. "Yes, Kantoku." He liked how easily his senpai took his habit of concealment in stride, lately. He felt like he belonged, again.

"All right," she called, when he'd finished. "That's enough drills, let's loosen up a little. Five against five, twenty minute match!"

The other first-years were starting to have the endurance to play for longer, mixed in among the regulars, and Tetsuya was starting to feel like he could give them harder passes. That was good. He didn't know what the team would look like by their third year, but he was starting to hope that they wouldn't shame their senpai's determination, following after them. He felt a quick thrill of pressure, even here in practice, as Izuki-senpai dodged straight into his pass route, obviously knowing where the ball should go next.

"Fukuda, mark Kagami!" Izuki-senpai called, and Tetsuya could feel the shrinking possibilities of the next move, like a band tightening around his arms. Fukuda had fallen back to guard Kagami along with Mitobe-senpai, Izuki-senpai was staying between Tetsuya and Kawahara, Hyuuga-senpai was between him and the basket and Koganei-senpai wouldn't be able to stop him from interfering if Tetsuya tried to make his own drive. Tetsuya abandoned his planned play and passed backwards to Furihata instead; if he could get further inside the defense and draw Hyuuga-senpai's attention, he could pass to Koganei-senpai and let him shoot from up close.

Perhaps, he thought later, he had taken his senpai's words about focusing more on his individual game a little too much to heart. For a moment, he forgot just how much it frustrated Kagami to be kept out of the action.

Even Tetsuya almost didn't see it happen. In the moment Tetsuya passed the ball, Kagami ducked back, away from his two markers, and spun around them, impossibly graceful, deadly fast, to intercept the ball himself. He drove for the basket like there was nothing else on the court, and Hyuuga-senpai feinted around Koganei-senpai to lunge for Kagami. Kagami leaped from yards out, and Tetsuya's breath caught; it was a beautiful move, calculated to make any attempt to stop him into a foul. It was also a big risk for a player whose accuracy was still shaky at longer ranges. Tsuchida-senpai was running to support, to catch any rebound, but Tetsuya could see he wouldn't be in time. Neither would Tetsuya himself. Koganei-senpai had even worse accuracy than Kagami and was at a bad angle.

It was all up to Kagami.

Tetsuya felt like the court was holding its breath as the ball flew, and he let his breath out along with Kawahara's cheer when it went in. There was a shaky feeling in his stomach, though.

"Kagami!" Hyuuga-senpai bellowed, hands on his hips. "What the hell was that? You completely outran your team, what were you thinking making a risky shot like that, unsupported, when the other side's outside scorer was near the basket? If it hadn't gone in, and I'd gotten the ball, you'd have been screwed!"

Kagami blinked at the lecture. "Well, I had to, didn't I? None of you can keep up with me."

The simple, matter-of-fact tone made Tetsuya's hand flinch into a fist. It was true, and that was the worst part. The feeling of familiarity was back, but it wasn't pleasant this time. It felt more like something smothering him. Was this always how it had to go, even with Kagami, even after the balance they'd found this season? Had Kise been right after all? Would Tetsuya have to go through this with every partner?

Hyuuga-senpai smacked Kagami briskly across the back of the head.

"Ow!"

"Moron," Hyuuga-senpai said calmly. "The whole point of being on the same team is that we know your moves and you know ours. We don't have to be as fast as you, we just have to know what you might do so we can make coherent plays. So." He glanced around, beckoning everyone closer. "If Kagami is double marked, we can assume he'll get free, as long as he's not right up against the boundary. Work with that thought in mind." He glanced at the other first-years in particular. "Just like you keep in mind that I can make outside shots and that you watch Izuki for cues and that if the ball is suddenly in your hands you don't bother wondering why, just assume Kuroko thinks you're clear." A laugh ran through the club and Hyuuga-senpai smiled faintly. "All right, then, let's go. It's Black side's ball!"

Tetsuya nearly floated through the rest of practice on the warm wave of his relief.

Kagami seemed to take the whole episode in stride, and think nothing of it, either during the rest of the mini-game or during their captain's dissection of it after. He was no more or less impatient and mannerless than always, made the usual faces at the partnered training exercises the coach heaped on him and still did exactly as she said. Tetsuya thought about that, as he rolled his towel into his bag, and decided it was a good sign.

"Hey." Kagami nudged his shoulder as Tetsuya fished out his shoes. "Hurry up or I'm going without you."

Just like always, when Kagami was hungry. "Go ahead, I'll catch up," Tetsuya told him, and smiled inwardly at the way Kagami rolled his eyes and slouched out the door on the trail of obscene amounts of food, hands jammed into his pockets. Just as always, but not quite familiar. Not yet. Maybe that was a good sign, too, for their team, that so many things about it were still unfamiliar to him. It could have been a lot worse, certainly, with a coach or captain who couldn't handle Kagami, or who just wouldn't; he'd seen what kind of team that made, too often this past season, and at Teikou before that. If he hadn't chosen Seirin... if Kagami hadn't chosen Seirin... Tetsuya remembered what the Fukuda Sougou team had become, what the Kirisaki Daiichi team had let themselves be, how wild Touou had let Aomine run, and a shudder shook his whole body. The laces of his shoe snapped as his fingers tightened hard, and he put his head down on his knees to breathe through the sick jolt of those might-have-beens, nightmares riding the remains of the scare he'd had earlier.

"You all right?" Hyuuga-senpai's hand came down on his shoulder. "If you've been over-training outside of practice, you know Kantoku will skin you..."

"I'm fine," Tetsuya said, a little breathless still. "I'm not worn out. It's just..." He swallowed down the last of that fear, pushing it back with the memory of this captain's steady hand on the team. "Thank you."

"What for?" There was a bit of a laugh in Hyuuga-senpai's voice, though he left his hand where it was as Tetsuya straightened again. "It's my job to look after all of you, isn't it?"

"For doing that, then," Tetsuya said quietly to his hands as he knotted the broken lace of his shoe. "It isn't easy, is it? Especially sometimes." Especially for Kagami.

"Ah. That." Hyuuga-senpai shook him a little. "First-years shouldn't worry so much. No matter what kind of monster I wind up with on my team, I won't let him run away with himself." His hand tightened. "Just like I won't let you stand still. Still going to thank me?"

Hyuuga-senpai was teasing, but Kuroko could hear that he was also serious. He meant what he said, and the thought of being pushed like that, pushed by someone of Hyuuga-senpai's integrity, made excitement and trepidation and hope tangle together in his chest. He needed to keep finding new parts of his game, things he'd never thought he could do, things he'd never been encouraged to try; Hyuuga-senpai would make sure he kept going, the way Akashi never had.

Tetsuya knew other people had a hard time reading his expression, but he hoped that his gratitude showed at least a little, as he looked up. "Yes, Captain. I will."

Hyuuga-senpai's smile was crooked. "Thought you might. That's why you belong here. Remember it."

Tetsuya lowered his eyes and nodded. "Yes, Captain." It wasn't familiar, what he felt now. Not exactly. But that was all right.

He was happy.

End

A/N: In hanakotoba, Zinnias/Hyakunichisou indicate loyalty.

Bellflowers Ring Silently

Aomine is straying. Kagami is enthusiastic. Momoi has a plan. And Riko is going to make this all come out right, no matter how many basketball idiots of either gender she has to wrangle to do it. Drama with Developing Friendship, I-3

Aida Riko didn't like Momoi Satsuki. The girl was far too presumptuous, for one thing, and for another all of Riko's idiot boys were too busy ogling Momoi every time they met to remember that this was a scout, this was a spy, this was the enemy, with a better analytical head on her shoulders than even Teppei. It wasn't better than Riko's, though, which was why she had the sense to be wary. So when her phone chimed in the middle of practice, and the name at the top of the message was Momoi's, Riko was instantly on guard.

And then she read it and was just puzzled.

Send dai-chan back pls. Captain very upset.

"Who on earth...?" Riko muttered to herself, frowning. It took a minute to connect Dai-chan with Aomine Daiki, and then she rolled her eyes.

Middle of practice. she sent back. Why would he be he

"You guys are still going? Jeez, take a break already."

Riko glanced up at the unfamiliar voice, and her thumb skidded across her phone when she saw Aomine Daiki leaning around the outside door, eyeing Seirin's practice with disgruntlement.

"Aomine-kun," Kuroko greeted him, a little breathless where he was chinning himself up on the bars set into the wall, as per Riko's orders. "Are you skipping practice again?"

"Yes, he is," Riko snapped. "And apparently his captain is angry about it, which I can completely understand."

Aomine just flicked his fingers carelessly, downright lounging in the door frame. "He gets pissed off over everything." Then he paused and cocked his head at her. "How do you know?"

Riko waved her phone. "Your keeper texted, asking us to send you back." Then she saw her screen and paused to glare at it. She'd hit send when Aomine startled her, and now Momoi had replied, Told you so.

"Satsuki's always interfering," Aomine said, watching her under his lashes. "No reason to do her errands for her, right?"

Riko hesitated, torn between not wanting to do Momoi's errands and being a responsible coach, and also being annoyed that this too-tall, too-talented brat had seen exactly how she was feeling.

"Aomine!" Kagami had finally noticed their visitor, and stopped noticing anything else including the formation he was supposed to be practicing. The ball flew straight past him as he stepped toward the doors, showing his teeth. "Here for a rematch?"

"Isn't that supposed to be for the one who lost?" Aomine shot back with a lazy, equally toothy, smile. "Last I checked, that was you."

"Try me again!"

Riko rubbed her forehead. "Both of you shut up!" she barked. "Kagami, get back to work or I'll triple your training drills! And you," she rounded on Aomine, who had the good sense to look just a little uneasy as she marched towards him. "If you want a match with any of my players, you can just get your coach to set it up with me. Now out!" She body-checked him out the door, ignoring his squawk of protest. "You have your own practice to be at."

"But the drills are boring." He gave her a downright pleading look that nearly made her doubt her own memory of him on the court, as dark and sharp there as he was open and entreating now. "Just one match?"

She could hear Kagami, inside, asking Hyuuga the same thing, and scrubbed a hand over her face. "If you wait quietly out here and don't interfere," she said, irresistibly reminded of certain small cousins she'd babysat for, and negotiations over bedtime, "you can have a one-on-one after practice ends. A short one."

He grinned at her, bright and happy and wicked around the edges. "Okay!" He hopped up to sit on the edge of the tall planters that lined the walk around the building.

Riko shook her head and went back in, closing the door firmly behind her. Maybe Momoi deserved more credit than she'd thought, if she had to manage that one every day. She looked up to see Kagami, Kagami of all people! giving her puppy-dog eyes.

"Kantoku?" he asked, hopefully.

"You really are like a pair of little kids," she sighed. "After practice. If you pay attention."

Kagami brightened up just like Aomine had. "Yes, ma'am!" He bounded back to his place on the court, and Riko exchanged a look of helpless amusement with Hyuuga.

At least Kuroko was still calmly working through his repetitions on the bars, even if there was a tiny smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

Not coming back, Riko texted Momoi. Promised 121 later to stop him interfering. Cptn should put leash on him.

Will go shopping today, came back, and even in a text message Riko could tell she was exasperated. She sympathized.

Can put him in your practice? Momoi sent, hopefully, two weeks (and three more visits) later.

Riko stabbed at her phone in aggravation. Show opponent all our tactics, sure right.

Trade. Will put kagamin in our practice when he comes.

Riko blinked at the text in disbelief. "What is this supposed to be, foreign exchange?" Why would kagami be at touou?

All Momoi sent back was: ...

Riko pursed her lips, looking up at her court, where Kagami and Aomine were dodging around each other, ball flashing through their hands almost faster than the eye could follow. Finally Aomine broke past Kagami and made a clean shot. "I win," he said, as he landed. "Again."

"Once more!" Kagami shot back, teeth bared at Aomine even though his eyes were practically sparkling.

Aomine smirked. "You're way more than one down, you know."

"Either say no, or gimme the damn ball."

Aomine bounced the ball across to Kagami, laughing.

Hyuuga, the only one who had stayed late with her to watch, shook his head in disbelief. "I think I love basketball as much as the next person..."

"The next basketball idiot anyway," she agreed, flipping her phone closed with a sigh.

He ignored that, or maybe just accepted it; Hyuuga was a smart guy sometimes. "...but those two are something else. I think Kagami has actually skipped a meal for this."

Riko thought about that, and looked down at her phone, and turned around to bang her head against the gymnasium stage a few times. "Why does she have to be right about this?" she asked, muffled. If Kagami was willing to skip meals to play Aomine it wouldn't take long at all before he really was sneaking off to Touou for more.

"Momoi-san predicted it?" a quiet voice asked from right beside her, and Riko jumped. Right. Of course Kuroko had also stayed behind to watch. It was her own fault for not paying attention, the way she'd learned to during practice itself. She took a long breath to slow her heart rate back down, and managed not to glare when she looked up. Kuroko was perched on the edge of the stage, looking down at her with wide, steady eyes. "Momoi-san knows Aomine-kun very well. And Kagami-kun is a lot like him."

"I noticed." Riko turned around again, letting her shoulders thump back against the stage, and accepted the silent support of Hyuuga's arm pressed against hers. "So, yes, he probably will be sneaking off to Touou pretty soon, now." How was she going to manage this? It wouldn't be an entirely bad thing if it weren't for Kagami's strategic obliviousness...

"We have a leash for the dog, we can get one for Kagami too," Hyuuga said darkly, and Riko grinned up at him. Great minds thought alike.

After a long moment, Kuroko spoke up again. "Aomine-kun is a better analyst than Kagami-kun, right now."

Kuroko saw the real problem too. "Mm. That's what I'm really concerned about, yes." Riko watched Kagami finally out-leap Aomine's guard to slam the ball home. Both of them went immediately for another point, this time, and Riko sighed, exasperated. Enough was enough, and she didn't want Kagami to over-strain himself. "Kuroko-kun, go stop them."

Kuroko hopped down from the stage and trotted obediently out onto the court. Riko watched him watch the flow of the match for a moment before stepping into it and effortlessly stealing the ball, holding it while both his current and previous partner protested the interruption loudly. Kuroko really did have an amazing eye for the game, and she swore by the time she graduated she and Hyuuga were going to get him to use that eye for more than his own plays. He waited out Kagami and Aomine's complaints and said a few quiet words, pointing to the clock on the wall. Eventually, they both gave in and made for their bags against the wall by the door. Kuroko, responsible as ever, put the ball away neatly in the bin before following after. The three of them pushed through the outside door, Kagami and Aomine still arguing over their match while Kuroko, between them, listened with silent amusement.

"Momoi suggests we can just trade them off, incorporate them both into both practices, wherever they happen to be," she said quietly, once they were gone. "But that won't be an even trade when it comes to what they pick up about an opponent's team. If it weren't for that, I might consider it. It would certainly help Kagami a great deal to train against Aomine with any regularity."

Hyuuga was looking a little alarmed. "Kantoku. You're talking about Seirin and Touou playing tournament matches when we already know what the other team is capable of. What kind of game would that be?"

"A challenging one. You like that, right?" Riko's mouth tilted in a crooked smile. "Momoi seems to have a lot of that information on her books already. It might be very useful to equalize that advantage." Hyuuga paused, obviously just as caught by the notion as she'd been. If only it could work. She was almost regretting that Kagami couldn't analyze his opponents on anything but an instinctive level, yet, not like...

Slowly Riko straightened, eyes widening.

"Kantoku?" Hyuuga asked, warily.

Riko snapped her phone open with a flick of her wrist, and her thumb danced over it as she wrote out, Kagami and kuroko both to touou and I agree.

There was a long pause before the answer came back, and when it finally did Riko let herself giggle with wicked satisfaction.

Hyuuga paled. "Kantoku, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to send Kuroko along." She held up the phone for him to see.

Agreed.

It took another few days before Aomine snuck off to visit them again, and Riko couldn't quite restrain herself from skipping now and then. Her club kept giving her nervous looks, though she was sure she had no idea why they should. She supposed, on reflection, she might have hummed a little, too.

When Aomine finally showed up, peeking in the outside doors to wave at Kagami and Kuroko, she pounced on him. "There you are! Get in here, Aomine-kun, you're taking part in drills today!"

"Oh, she has plans for him," Furihata whispered, in a tone of relief. "Whew!"

"Don't relax yet, they might still be plans for us too!" Kawahara hissed back.

Riko smiled serenely. It was good to keep her boys on their toes.

"Drills?" Aomine blinked at her as she strolled up to him. "Oh come on, I came here to get away from drill--ow!"

Riko marched him into the gym, fingers locked firmly on his ear. "Too bad. You're here. You're practicing." Her boys were looking at her with a bit of awe, and she gave them a sunny smile. "Now." She let Aomine go and folded her arms. "Take off your shirt and let me get a look at you."

"What?!" Aomine looked faintly scandalized. Hyuuga was clearly stifling a laugh as he came and patted Aomine reassuringly on the shoulder.

"She's our trainer; she wants to get a look at what kind of condition you're in. Go on."

"But..." Aomine gave her a rather wide-eyed look. "No, seriously..."

"Aomine-kun." Kuroko, in the middle of the rotating line for lay-up practice runs, looked over at them with an ever so faintly admonishing expression. He didn't say anything else, but Aomine grimaced a little, breath sighing out. Riko chalked up another example of Kuroko's ability to manage his teammates; she was starting to wonder if they should make him the captain, year after next.

"Oh all right." Aomine stripped off his shirt and stood giving her a suspicious look.

Riko took a good look at his body, frowning, pushing aside her eternal amazement over his sheer strength and potential to study the whole picture instead. "Hmm." She hadn't been sure, just watching him slouching around, and it was hard to see very well in the middle of one of his wild matches with Kagami, but her suspicion had been right. Aomine wasn't standing quite square. She walked around him, studying his back. "Hmmmm." Finally, she came around in front of him again, studying the curve of his spine and ribs as she went, and nodded sharply. "All right. Get dressed." As soon as Aomine's head emerged from the neck of his T-shirt again, she gave him a stern look. "I'm not surprised Momoi-kun wanted me to take a look at you. You're right on the edge of some acute injuries, especially if you keep playing the way you are with Kagami-kun."

Aomine shot her a skeptical glance, running his hands through his hair. "You can tell that just by looking?"

"You aren't standing square," Riko pointed out. "You're pulling up just a little short on your right leg, and that's contracting your core muscles on the left, trying to compensate. Your lower back, especially, is weaker than it should be, and you're putting extra strain on your shoulders and chest. That's heading straight for a torn pectoral, and your knees will be in danger, too, if you don't strengthen your hip and lower back muscles again." Aomine's eyes had been widening all through the lecture, turning uncertain as he tried reflexively to adjust his stance and probably felt the muscles pulling. Riko set her hands on her hips, scolding. "You can't let yourself get out of condition like that, Aomine-kun! You should know better!"

"It's never been a problem," Aomine protested, looking shifty even as he said it.

Riko narrowed her eyes at him. "No excuses! You're going to train properly whenever you're here, and that's final! I'm not having any injuries happening in my gym."

"What kind of training properly?" Aomine hedged, though Riko could tell he was weakening. She smiled at him, sweet as honey.

"Oh, dreadfully boring ones." She stepped up nose-to-nose, or at least nose-to-chest, and he edged back. "Which will keep you from having all the wonderful excitement of a serious injury, you idiot." She folded her arms and delivered the finishing stroke. "And no games with Kagami unless I'm satisfied you're making sufficient progress in your re-conditioning."

He finally gave in with a sigh, shoulders slumping. "Yeah, yeah, all right."

One last push. Riko glared at him again. "What was that, Aomine-kun? I didn't quite catch it."

One corner of his mouth quirked up. "Yes, Kantoku."

"Better!" She patted his arm. "Now, don't worry, we'll start easy. Give me fifty side planks, twenty seconds each, and then you can join in the sprints."

Someone on the court, where they had all been eavesdropping shamelessly, squeaked with shock. Aomine, on the other hand, just grinned, eyes lighting up with a little spark. "No problem."

Riko smiled with satisfaction that she'd struck the right note with him, presented this training as both a benefit and a challenge. She kept an eye on him as he went to pull down a mat to work on, and took out her phone.

Could have just said you wanted evaluation of him.

Wheres the fun in that? Momoi sent back a minute later, and Riko rolled her eyes. Dai-chan okay? came a moment later.

Will be, Riko typed back. Close thing. Watch him.

Can have kagamin for bait pls? Riko could almost see Momoi batting her lashes innocently, and snorted.

Will send next week. Kuroko too. Better keep them in shape.

Been doing that for years.

For the first time since the Winter Cup, Riko thought about what it might have been like to manage a team like Teikou while the captain and coach let the whole lot of them run wild in the name of victory.

Not you alone, she texted back. Will be okay now.

It wasn't until five minutes later that her phone chimed with a reply, and Riko fished it out while calling to Koganei to set his feet better before his next sprint.

Thanks.

She closed the phone again and went back to her job, and if she carried a little smile with her, well, none of the boys needed to know why.

One of the things Satsuki had most looked forward to, about Kagami and Tetsu-kun visiting Touou, was watching Wakamatsu-senpai try to deal with Tetsu-kun.

"So try to keep up!"

"Of course." Tetsu-kun stood perfectly calm and attentive, watching Wakamatsu-senpai.

"And... and don't get in anyone's way!"

"Understood." Tetsu-kun waited politely.

Wakamatsu-senpai ran a hand through his hair, clearly bewildered by all the relentless courtesy. "Yeah, well. Just... go get changed."

Tetsu-kun bobbed an agreeable and unflappable bow and herded Kagami off to the side while Touou's captain stalked back to practice, shaking his head. Dai-chan finally stopped laughing long enough lead them to the changing room, and came back still grinning. "That was beautiful," he said, lounging against the edge of the stage beside her.

"Just remember, you're supposed to train properly today or no game with Kagamin later," she reminded him. Dai-chan made a face.

"Yeah, yeah, fine." He muttered some further uncomplimentary things under his breath, but they were mostly directed at Riko-san, so Satsuki let him complain. If Dai-chan didn't realize who had really started this plan, that was actually fine with her. She didn't like having to fight with him. That reminded her, though, and she pulled out her phone to text Riko-san.

Both here. Everything fine. Have a nice day!

A minute later, the reply came back, dryness rising almost visibly off the screen. Good luck. Middle of practice here. Shoo.

Satsuki grinned to herself as she closed the phone again. She was finding that she liked teasing Riko-san, and she thought just maybe Riko-san was finding the whole thing funny too.

"Floor work!" Wakamatsu-senpai yelled as Kagami and Tetsu-kun emerged again. "Break out the mats!"

Dai-chan sighed like it was dragged up from his toes, and slouched over to follow Tetsu-kun as he led both Kagami and Dai-chan promptly over to the stack of rough, blue mats against the wall. Dai-chan and Kagami eyed each other narrowly as they grabbed the same mat, and Satsuki rolled her eyes. She did it extra hard, because she was pretty sure she was doing it for Tetsu-kun also, though he never showed it.

It was an odd day of practice, full of hesitations as people paused to watch Dai-chan breezing through every exercise, or Kagami bursting through them, or Tetsu-kun working his way patiently and sometimes awkwardly through them. It was that last that Satsuki heard murmurs starting over, among little knots of players waiting to shoot or sprint or get one of the baskets for guard practice.

"...the hell..."

"...really from Teikou?"

"...different in a game, but seriously..."

As yet another of Tetsu-kun's lay-ups bounced off the rim, Yoshita-senpai finally said, a little more loudly, "This is a regular from the championship team?"

Yoshita-senpai should, Satsuki thought dispassionately, have remembered who he was currently on a three-man team with. Kagami made a long arm without moving from where he stood, wrapped his fingers in the front of Yoshita-senpai's shirt, and dragged him in close.

"When you can play the way he does," Kagami's growl nearly echoed, "and keep going the way he does, then you can talk. Until then, shut your ignorant face."

Yoshita-senpai, nearly hauled up off his feet, held up placating hands. "Right, sure, whatever you say."

Tetsu-kun slipped back into line for another run, apparently oblivious to the whole thing, and to Dai-chan looming on the other side of the court with a nasty look in his eye.

"Kagami and Aomine really are two of a kind, aren't they?" someone said in Satsuki's ear, and she turned her head to smile ruefully up at Imayoshi-senpai.

"In some ways. Shouldn't you be studying, senpai?"

He gave her an innocent look, leaning crossed arms on the back of her chair. "I heard you'd gotten Aomine-kun to come to practice, and wanted to witness the historic event for myself."

"He's complained the whole time, but he's stayed." Satsuki shrugged. "It's a start. I think he took Riko-san seriously, too."

The teasing smile slid off Imayoshi-senpai's face. "Good. Kantoku was getting worried about that."

"He was right to be." Satsuki wrapped her arms around herself for a moment, pushing away the thought of how much danger Dai-chan had been putting himself in. "But I think this approach will work out."

Out on the court, Tetsu-kun paused abruptly in the middle of shooting. "Aomine-kun. Kagami-kun," he said, firm and clear, not taking his eyes off the hoop.

Satsuki looked around sharply, and scowled to see both Dai-chan and Kagami frozen in the act of sidling toward the outside door, Dai-chan with a ball under one arm.

"Have you got eyes in the back of your head or what?" Kagami snapped, looking guilty.

Dai-chan just sighed. "Yeah, he does," he muttered.

Tetsu-kun finished his shot and turned to look at them expectantly. Dai-chan and Kagami gave in and trudged back toward the court. Satsuki had to bite back a giggle when Tetsu-kun smiled, small and approving, because Aomine lightened up a little and Kagami scowled off to the side, coloring faintly.

No one said a single word about Tetsu-kun's performance in the day's exercises after that.

"I don't suppose we can keep him?" Imayoshi-senpai asked her, just a little wistful.

Satsuki imagined Riko-san's reply, if she texted to ask that, and laughed some more. "Probably not. But this should be enough." She smiled softly as Kagami and Dai-chan argued over who got to have Tetsu-kun on his side for the next mini-game, watching how Dai-chan's eyes turned bright and alive as he leaned toward Kagami and how Tetsu-kun let them argue, tolerant and amused. "It'll be enough, now."

She'd been afraid, for a long time, that her boys were broken beyond repair, but she wasn't afraid any more. Watching them catch fire off each other, she couldn't be afraid of anything. If she'd loved Tetsu-kun before, for his kindness, it was nothing to what she felt now, knowing he'd seen what had to be done and made it happen. It was enough to inspire anyone, and she smiled secretly at the thought, because she'd finally realized something. Her plan didn't have to stop here. Her hand snuck down to touch her phone, and her smile widened.

Riko tapped her toe, arms folded, as she waited for Momoi under the awning of Kaijou's sports complex, feeling conspicuous in another school's uniform. Momoi, nearly skipping up the walk, seemed to feel no such thing, arriving at Riko's side with a bounce in her step and smiling down at her cheerily. Riko was irritated all over again by the girl's height and finally asked what she'd been thinking for months. "Why are you hanging around the boy's basketball team instead of playing on the girl's like you obviously could?"

Momoi widened her eyes. "Well, I suppose could, yes, but I really think I'm just not built for it. All the jumping would make things bounce an awful lot."

Riko wanted to be annoyed by that dig, too, but there was such a sparkle of mischief in Momoi's eyes, so much happier than the girl had been in the spring and summer, that it tugged an unwilling smile out of her. "Speaking of the problems with natural talent," she murmured instead, and took some satisfaction in the peal of laughter she surprised out of Momoi. "Are you sure we need to take things this far?" she asked, more seriously.

Momoi sobered and nodded. "Yes, Riko-san. I'm sure. Midorin has his new partner to look after him, and I think Himuro-san will keep an eye on Muk-kun. But the one who looked after Ki-chan was Kasamatsu-san. And he's retired from the club, now."

"I don't know whether I should call you an amazing scout or an amazing stalker," Riko sighed, and twitched her uniform cuffs down, straightening. "All right, let's do it."

Kaijou's coach glowered at them as soon as they appeared in the door of the gymnasium. "You again," he said, eyeing Riko in particular, and she couldn't help beaming back at him, immensely cheered by the professional vote of enmity. "What do you want now? Wasn't twice enough for you?"

"Actually, Takeuchi-kantoku, we were hoping we could offer a little help with a potential problem." Riko smoothed her smile into something a little more serious, and opened her hand at Momoi.

Momoi nearly sparkled at the poor man. "I think we can all agree that managing an ex-regular from Teikou sometimes takes unusual measure, yes? There's an arrangement that's been working out very well so far..."

"This is something I never expected to see."

Riko looked around to find Kise smiling down at her. "What are you and Satsuki-chan both doing here?" he asked, tossing sweat-soaked hair back off his face.

Riko looked him critically up and down, and nodded to herself; Momoi had been right on target. "You've been pushing your training too hard, Kise-kun," she said, loud enough for Takeuchi-san to hear. "You're going to over-train, at this rate." She really didn't like the twitch in his calf muscles; that suggested he'd been working far too repetitively.

"It isn't that bad, Aida-san!" Kise waved her concern off, laughing, but she thought there was a brittle edge to it. "I haven't been doing that much..."

"Kise," Takeuchi-san cut him off, frowning. "Exactly how much after-hours training have you been doing?"

Now Kise definitely looked guilty. "Not that much, really," he offered, but his eyes fell away from his coach's.

"I think you can see our concern, Takeuchi-kantoku," Momoi murmured, utterly unmoved by the tragically betrayed look Kise gave her.

Takeuchi-san growled under his breath, arms folded grumpily, and Riko caught, "...bad as her damn father..." That made something in her glow, warm and happy, and she waited with her best copy of Kuroko's attentive expression while he thought it over. Finally Takeuchi-san sighed. "All right, fine. You made your point, and I suppose we can risk a little experimenting during the off-season. I'll give you a month to convince me this isn't as insane as it sounds."

Riko bowed smoothly. "Thank you, Takeuchi-kantoku. We'll contact you about scheduling."

He harumphed and turned back to his team's practice while Kise looked at Riko and Momoi warily. "What is this all about?"

Momoi attached herself to his arm, smiling up at him. "It's about trading you and Dai-chan and Kagamin around, to let you play each other more. Tetsu-kun, too, mostly to make Dai-chan and Kagamin behave."

Riko had thought Kise seemed brittle. She hadn't realized just how well he was hiding it until he lit up at Momoi's words, shoulders falling open and easy all at once. "Trading...? You mean, officially, we'd be allowed?"

Momoi's smile had turned gentle, and her voice matched it. "Yes. All above-board and everything. We'll make it work."

Kise covered her hand on his arm with his own, taking a slow breath, just a little shaky. "Thanks, Satsuki-chan." After a moment, he remembered Riko too and bobbed a nod to her. "Aida-san."

"If you're going to be showing up at my team's practices, you should get used to calling me Aida-kantoku," she told him wryly. "You'd better get back to your own practice, now, before your coach gets annoyed." She held up a stern finger. "And no more than one hour extra practice after! Don't think I won't ask Momoi whether you're going over time!"

Kise ducked his head, rueful. "Yes, Aida-kantoku."

"Better." She slung her bag over her shoulder and cocked her head at Momoi. "Ready?"

Momoi gave Kise one last hug, and joined her. "Ready."

They were almost at the school gates before Riko said, quietly, "They're still a unit, aren't they? Even now they're separated."

"Mm." Momoi fiddled with the strap of her phone. "They're... special to each other. Sometimes I think they only became what they are because they were all together at Teikou, and pushed each other forward. Well," she smiled ruefully, "you've seen how Dai-chan and Kagamin are."

Always pushing each other, and loving every second of it, Riko filled in. Almost obsessed with each other, and they probably would be if Kuroko weren't there to rein them in a little.

When she caught herself thinking that, Riko stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and scrubbed both hands through her hair. "Argh!"

Momoi stepped back a pace, blinking. "Riko-san...?"

What the hell was she thinking, relying on another first-year to manage her own players?! She was losing her mind, falling prey to the insanity that seemed to strike every coach who had to deal with a Miracle Generation player. Well nuts to that! Riko straightened her shoulders, glaring at the air in front of her. "Satsuki-san," she rapped out, "I am not leaving them to muddle through this on their own. They have senpai, now, and we will take care of them." She jammed her hands on her hips and spun on her heel to face Satsuki, seeing with new eyes the fear and stress at the corners of her teasing smiles. "And you have senpai, now, too, got that? We're in this together, and we'll keep them together."

Satsuki stared at her for a long, blank moment before a different smile crept over her lips, a little shaky as it went. "Yes, Riko-san." She was laughing a bit as she answered, but Riko didn't miss the liquid flash of brightness in her eyes.

"Good," she said, gentler, and held out a hand. "Don't worry. We'll make sure it's all right. Right?"

Satsuki reached out and shook her hand firmly, smile steadying. "Right."

"Let's get going, then."

They talked, all the way home, about how to best schedule rotations, considering that one of their problem children was a captain now, and how to handle things once tournament season started and they faced each other as opponents. It wasn't until later that night that Riko got a text about the other things that had been said.

Thank you, Riko-senpai.

Riko smiled down at her phone, shaking her head. "Way too long without senpai, the whole lot of you," she whispered, and tapped a text back before putting the phone away and getting ready for bed, and the next day.

You're welcome, Satsuki-chan.

End

A/N: In hanakotoba, bell-flowers indicate gratitude.

Anemone In Sunlight

Kiyoshi is recovering from surgery and now comes the hard part: making him take it slow. In the process, Riko decides it's time to deal with the things she and Kiyoshi and Hyuuga haven't been talking about. Drama, Romance, I-3

Almost two months after the Winter Cup, Riko gathered her club around her at the end of practice, grim and serious. "All right, everyone, listen up. We have a problem." Hyuuga stood at her side looking equally grim; he'd heard the news already. She didn't honestly think she'd be able to make it through this without his support, and she was grateful for it, but that didn't make telling the club any easier. Riko took a deep breath, meeting the suddenly worried eyes of her boys one by one.

"Teppei's surgery was definitely a success, and he's coming back."

Silence fell over the court for a long moment before it was broken by the first-years, with explosive sighs and little laughs.

"Jeez, don't try to scare us like that!" Kagami told her. "You should be smiling for good news!" He paused, looking around at the second-years, who were all frowning or biting their lips or shaking their heads. "...isn't it?"

"Kiyoshi is impossible during rehab," Hyuuga informed him darkly. "As soon as he sets foot on the floor-boards, he'll be trying to do more than he should." He snorted bitterly. "He'll try to pass it off as 'just demonstrating' but if you let him get away with that he'll be doing moves at full speed before you turn around."

"That's the reason none of you even met him before summer," Izuki put in. "Hyuuga threatened to throw him out of the gym if he showed up before his rehabilitation was complete, and Kiyoshi's therapist agreed."

"And now," Riko finished, "he's sent me this." She held up her phone to show the message she'd gotten this afternoon.

Doctor says light training OK! See you soon! ^_^b

Her year-mates contemplated the screen with dread, and even the first-years were starting to look suitably worried. Riko blew out a breath, stuffing the phone away and staring at the floor for a long moment, hands on her hips. "It would have been easier if he'd had the same therapist as he had last time. She understood what he was like. But now he's gotten the go-ahead to come back, and it's up to us to keep him from tearing his knee up again before it fully heals."

"Oh man," Koganei moaned, flopping back against the stage. "We're supposed to stop Kiyoshi?"

"The down-side of Iron Heart," Izuki agreed, nibbling a thumbnail.

"Which is why it's going to take all of us!" Hyuuga rallied them. "Everyone needs to keep an eye on him, and if he tries something he's not supposed to yet... well, do whatever you have to."

A daunted silence fell until Kuroko broke it, stepping forward and raising a hand politely. "What is Kiyoshi-senpai allowed to do?"

Riko growled with remembered aggravation. "His therapist says that for the next two months he can do light jogging, no sprinting, no cutting, no jumping. He can do the pool exercises and stationary shooting practice, though we'll probably have to nail his feet to the floor for that one. No squats, no lateral exercises." And the stupid man had actually seemed to believe this would be possible to enforce when Teppei was attending practice.

"And we can do whatever is necessary to make sure Kiyoshi-senpai doesn't over work?"

Riko blinked and looked more closely at Kuroko. He looked back, perfectly level and calmâ€”just as calm as he'd been when, now she remembered, he downed Kagami by the ankles to keep him from punching another player and getting thrown out of the game. Riko smiled slowly. "Well, I don't think you want to be quite as rough with him as you are with Kagami-kun," she said thoughtfully. "But yes. Whatever is necessary."

The other second-years were starting to grin, too.

Kuroko nodded. "Of course." He turned to look up at his partner. "Kagami-kun."

Kagami folded his arms, looking down at Kuroko. "You want me to help you assault our senpai." It was a statement, if a slightly dubious one, not a question. Riko reflected with some amusement on how good Kagami had gotten at translating Kuroko's not-quite-orders.

"Just restrain, unless it's really necessary," Kuroko corrected, matter-of-fact.

Kagami snorted, half laughing. "Yeah, sure, why not."

"Good attitude there," Hyuuga approved with a certain glint in his eye, no doubt at the thought of Kagami sitting on Teppei or some such.

Riko clapped her hands. "All right! If we can keep Teppei from doing anything too outstandingly stupid for the next six months, we might be able to have him back on the team for the Winter Cup next year. Let's do this!"

Her club chorused back agreement, and she felt about as good as she could over the whole prospect. Which still meant a lot of worry in the back of her mind. So when Hyuuga nudged her shoulder, while they closed up, and said, "We should go see him now, and let him know he's not getting away with anything," she was glad.

She really didn't think she could do this without Hyuuga. He was better at shouting than she was, and she had a feeling there would need to be shouting.

"This is going to be such a nightmare," she muttered into her coat collar as they left campus, fists jammed into her pockets. "Why couldn't his physical therapist have seen what he's like?"

"Because he looks all laid back and easygoing, even when he's steam-rolling over top of you," Hyuuga answered dryly. His hand rested on her shoulder for a few steps. "Don't worry. The club knows what he's like."

"And thank goodness for that!" She snorted softly. "And for Kuroko-kun being used to dealing with difficult players, I suppose."

It didn't take long to get to Teppei's house, and his grandparents were used to seeing her. Riko chatted politely, keeping an ear out for the sound she was positive they would hear soon. Sure enough, there it wasâ€”a brisk but slightly uneven step outside the little sitting room. Teppei appeared in the doorway and promptly lit up.

"Hey, I didn't expect to see you guys until tomorrow! You didn't need to come by just to congratulate me."

Riko showed him her teeth, not that that ever really worked on Teppei but she wanted him to know she was serious. "Oh, it wasn't any trouble at all. Really."

Teppei's grandmother smiled at them indulgently. "Here's the person you really came to see. Run along, dear."

Riko extracted them with a few more pleasantries, and she and Hyuuga herded Teppei down the hall to his room. She watched closely while Teppei pulled out some cushions for them and gave Hyuuga a taut nod: Teppei's knee was still weak and he was wincing when he flexed it too far. Hyuuga sighed and thumped down cross legged on the cushion to Teppei's left.

"You know what we're here for, so don't give me any innocent-idiot looks," he ordered. "We're going to keep you from overworking that knee if we have to tie you up and hang you from the gym rafters, understand?"

"The whole club is in agreement," Riko put in, "so don't think you'll get away with anything." Still in her uniform skirt, she folded her legs under her and gave Teppei an extra glare to make up for the demure position.

Teppei eased himself down, leg stretched out straight; she approved of that at least, if not the big simpleton smile he gave them. "I won't give you any trouble, I promise! The surgery was a success, after all."

Hyuuga scrubbed his hands furiously through his hair, turning it wilder than usual. "That! That! Don't you dare give me that! Not after the bullshit you pulled during the tournament this year, and do you know how close you came to needing replacement surgery?!" He rocked up onto his knees, pointing a rigid finger at Teppei. "I'm keeping you from doing that again if I have to break your other leg, got it?!"

Riko hoped ruefully that Teppei's grandparents wouldn't mind the way Hyuuga's voice was echoing down the hall. On the other hand, if Teppei's sense of humor ran in the family, maybe they'd just be amused.

Teppei wasn't laughing, though. He was looking up at Hyuuga with a small smile and soft eyes. "Thank you for being worried about me."

Hyuuga's outrage collapsed and he slumped back down, looking away. "I'm not worried, I'm pissed off," he muttered, and Riko just had to roll her eyes. When Hyuuga looked back at Teppei, though, the pain and worry darkening his eyes were so obvious it made her breath catch, and she saw Teppei's hand twitch, starting to reach out before he stopped himself.

Abruptly, Riko decided she'd had enough. She'd watched them dance this dance for two years now, circling around their love of the game, and the friction between their different ways of being serious, and the brilliant liquid flow of their teamwork together on the court—always partners and never saying it, Hyuuga never admitting why Teppei got under his skin, Teppei never pushing. That was more than long enough. "Okay, look," she sighed, "you two are boys, and therefore idiots, so I'm going to help you out here." She leaned over and gave Hyuuga a shove toward Teppei. "Just kiss him already!"

They both gaped at her. Boys; honestly.

"But I... you..." Hyuuga sputtered. "Riko, you're..."

She scooted her cushion across the floor until she could take his shoulders. "Hyuuga-kun," she interrupted gently. "How long have we been friends?"

"Seven years, now, I guess," he answered slowly, frowning at her. She shook him a little.

"You don't honestly think you're going to lose me if you and Teppei finally make this official, do you?"

He looked down at her and asked quietly, "Just friends?"

Riko bit her lip. "I can't be on the court with you." And she's always known that was what would make the critical difference, with Hyuuga, basketball idiot that he was even when he was in denial about it. It was why Teppei had reached him, two years ago, when she hadn't been able to.

"You're our coach, of course you're with me on the court," Hyuuga argued stubbornly. "Riko... you can't tell me we aren't sharing our thoughts, out there."

"As captain and coach, sure, butâ€”"

"Riko, you know I wouldn't get in between you and Hyuuga," Teppei cut in, so earnestly that both she and Hyuuga glared at him.

"You keep quiet!" they snapped together, and Teppei smiled and held up his hands peaceably.

"Definitely sharing your thoughts," he murmured, though.

Riko froze, staring at him. He smiled back, calm and sunny, and she knew perfectly well that he was trying to give this to her, give Hyuuga to her. But his words made her think of something different.

Sharing. Sharing thoughts. Sharing feelings, all right, yes, she admitted she and Hyuuga had been very close for a long time, even if it always seemed to be other players who held the hottest parts of his attention. She knew they'd shared the same feelings when Teppei was hurt. If they felt the same way... If they both felt the same way...

She looked back and forth between Hyuuga and Teppei, thoughtfully. Hyuuga, who she'd known since elementary school, who was passionate about things the same way she was, who thought with her and followed her and looked at her with a hidden smile in his eyes. Teppei, who tried to fit years of living and knowing into months, who burned so bright under his easy smile that he'd drawn both Riko and Hyuuga in, who had wanted her fire, and Hyuuga's, wanted them so much it made her heart hurt to think about. Slowly, Riko smiled.

"That could work," she finally pronounced.

Hyuuga, with years of experience, was instantly wary. "What could work?"

Riko folded her hands demurely. "Sharing."

Hyuuga frowned at Teppei, who blinked back at him, equally puzzled. "Sharing wha... wait." Hyuuga's eyes widened. "Kantoku. You're not thinking what I think you're thinking are you?"

He was actually blushing, and Riko grinned. "Why not?"

"Why not?" Hyuuga waved his hands as if to indicate the enormity of 'why', and Riko reached out to catch one.

He stilled at once.

She took a deep breath and reached out her other hand to lay it over Teppei's. "Why not?" she asked again, softer, looking back and forth between them. The thought unfolded wider and wider in her head until it felt like it was taking over her heart, too. Something that wouldn't make Hyuuga choose. That wouldn't leave her out. That wouldn't make Teppei do anything stupid like sacrificing what he wanted. Teppei turned his hand over to hold hers, and hope leaped up, only to crash headlong into his earnest, understanding smile.

"Riko, you're the one Hyuuga wants, not me."

Riko was pulling in a deep, deep breath to argue, or maybe to scream a bit first, when Hyuuga made an intensely aggravated sound.

"You don't believe in yourself," he stormed at Teppei. "You never believe in yourself! Everyone else in the whole universe, you can believe in, but never yourself! Idiot!" His free hand flashed out, catching a fistful of Teppei's shirt, and he growled, "I told you once that I'd believe for you. Fine. I can do it again." He hauled Teppei to him, or maybe himself to Teppei, and kissed him fiercely.

Riko had to blink back a sudden rush of tears at that, and blotted them with the back of her hand, not letting go of Teppei. "Boys," she whispered. "Such idiots."

She'd been right after all; she couldn't do this without Hyuuga.

Teppei just stared as Hyuuga drew back to glare at him, which did nothing to hide how flushed he was now. "But..." Teppei started, low and hesitant. "Is it really...?" He looked over at Riko, who gave him an only slightly watery smile and scooted closer so she could lean against his shoulder.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Really." The careful way Teppei wrapped an arm around her, and the wonder in his eyes when he looked down at her, nearly made her cry again. So she tugged on Hyuuga's hand, and grinned up at him. "So hey. Where's my kiss?"

Hyuuga turned twice as red, and Teppei stifled a laugh against her hair. But after a deep breath, Hyuuga leaned in with one hand still braced on Teppei's shoulder and kissed her very softly. The tenderness of it made her blush a little, too.

The sight of both of them flustered seemed to bring Teppei back a bit to his normal self, and he declared brightly. "Well then! Let's have an excellent springtime of our youth!" He grinned innocently at their expressions.

Riko exchanged a look of perfect understanding and agreement with Hyuuga, and they both tackled Teppei to the floor, ticking him mercilessly. When his grandmother came to ask whether Riko and Hyuuga would stay for dinner they were in a tangle of cushions, Teppei's hair wildly rumpled, and Hyuuga's glasses knocked askew.

All of three them were laughing.

End

A/N: In hanakotoba, anemone indicate sincerity.

Redoubled Peonies

Imayoshi decides to return Riko's favor by throwing Aomine, Kuroko, and Kagami together in a match. It's a different kind of revelation for each of them. Drama, Character Sketch, Romance, I-3

Aomine Daiki was a cynical sort of guy these days, so he wasn't really surprised when Imayoshi-san started showing up at club practices as soon as the national exams were over. Imayoshi-san was a bit like Daiki, really; he got bored without a challenge. Besides, Wakamatsu seemed happy enough to have his 'advice', so who cared?

At least that was what Daiki thought until Imayoshi-san decided his next challenge would be Daiki.

"We're what?" he asked, really, really hoping he'd heard that wrong.

Imayoshi-san spread his hands, smiling innocently. "It will be the best thing for everyone, don't you think?"

"Wait, wait." Kagami was frowning a little, but not enough yet. "Us against everyone? You mean... me and Kuroko and Aomine against the rest of the whole club?"

"Only the first string," Imayoshi-san assured him, as if that made anything more reasonable. "Probably only ten or so. So they get to practice stopping the kind of opponents you are, and you get a bigger challenge than usual." He had the gall to smile even wider at Daiki and finish softly, "You like challenges, right?"

Daiki very definitely wasn't looking at Tetsu to see what he might think about playing together again after the way Daiki had left him out in the cold their third year. Just thinking about that, about Tetsu's reasons for turning to Seirin and Kagami, made Daiki twitchy, so he'd been trying not to. So much for that plan.

"This isn't your business," he snarled at Imayoshi.

"Whose is it, then?" Imayoshi-san asked, head cocked as if he were genuinely curious.

"No one's!"

Imayoshi slanted a glance to the side, where Daiki knew Tetsu was standing. "No one's?"

The urge to violence surged up in Daiki's veins, like it hadn't since summer, and he took one long step forward, hands curling into fists.

"Aomine-kun." Tetsu's voice cut across his fury like a dash of cold water in the face. "I don't mind." Tetsu stepped up beside him, looking up at him quietly. "Do you?"

"It isn't...!" Daiki took a breath with one last glare at that bastard Imayoshi for pushing them into this. "Are you sure?" Sure it was all right, sure they could even try this after so long with Daiki playing solo, sure Tetsu had forgiven him that much, sure he'd forgiven Tetsu for taking a new partner. He was going to wring Imayoshi's fucking neck for making him ask these things in front of other people, no matter how obliquely.

"We can try." While Daiki tried not to wince at the ruthless honesty of that answer, Tetsu looked questioningly at his current partner. "Kagami-kun?"

Kagami was watching the two of them warily. "I dunno what you two are going on about now, but yeah. We can give it a shot." He eyed Daiki more pointedly. "As long as you're not an asshole about hogging the ball."

"Tetsu decides," Daiki said flatly. Didn't Kagami at least know that much, after playing with Tetsu this long? Well, maybe he just didn't think Daiki had known it, because he was looking more thoughtful. Daiki supposed he couldn't completely blame Kagami for doubting that Daiki would follow Tetsu's passes, considering he'd never seen them play together. He was in a bad enough mood over all this to glare at Kagami anyway.

Kagami just nodded, ignoring the glare. "Okay, sounds good."

Imayoshi-san actually clapped his fucking hands. "Excellent! May I join in for this one?" he asked, turning to Wakamatsu.

"Might as well." Their new captain looked sardonic, like he knew perfectly well this was an Imayoshi-special bit of manipulation, which suggested he had more brain cells than Daiki usually gave him credit for. He raised his voice and yelled, "Okay, first string out on the court; if you ever wanted revenge on Aomine, today's your lucky day!"

Tense as he was, Daiki still snorted disdainfully. As if.

"I don't think we should allow that, if we're playing on the same side for this game," Tetsu said, thoughtfully but with a glint in his eye, and Kagami grinned, cracking his knuckles.

"Yeah, I'm thinking not."

A corner of Daiki's mouth curled up, despite it all, as that familiar merciless attitude wrapped around him like a well-worn jacket. "All right. Let's show 'em, then."

As the three of them strode onto the court, he tried hard to remember how it had felt to play with Tetsu before their opponents had all given up and dropped him into the dark. What he remembered most, right now, was how Tetsu had valued their combination. Their teamwork. Exactly what Daiki was out of practice with. This was going to be more than a little strange, he was pretty sure.

Taiga was getting more and more weirded out, as this odd practice game got going. It wasn't that they had no outside at all, even with Kuroko as their sort-of-point-guard. It wasn't that Aomine was a a ball-hog, because with at least three marks on each of them at all times even he had to pass now and then. It wasn't that half the 'team' against them now knew exactly how Kuroko operated and were a lot harder for him to get past than any other players would be. It wasn't even watching their opponents' double size team trip over each other now and then, though that was really funny and kind of distracting when it happened.

No. It was that Aomine was stumbling.

He kept hesitating in the middle of a move, jerking up short for a split second, which was all it took to get him marked again most of the time. The more he watched, the more Taiga thought Aomine was fighting his own reflexes, hesitating because he was trying to do two things at once. His foot would shift to cut while his hand shifted to pass, and neither happened. He'd already been called twice for holding the ball too long. Touou's pink-haired menace of a manager was chewing her lip as she watched.

And Kuroko was tense.

Taiga knew Kuroko and Aomine had a lot of history to work out. He wasn't throwing stones, not after Kuroko had been so good about him and Tatsuya. But he was getting pretty tired of watching Aomine fight with himself instead of the opponents. When the score was flipped over to show the other side ten points up on them, he finally gave up and stalked over to Aomine.

"Do you want to win this damn game or not?" he snapped, hauling Aomine nose-to-nose by the front of his shirt. "Unless you've lost your mind and decided losing is actually fun get your damn head in the game and trust your team to want to win too!"

Aomine had his mouth open to snarl back, and it stayed that way for a moment. Finally, he broke Taiga's grip absently, looking down at Kuroko. "Interesting partner you found," he said at last, almost mild.

Kuroko was smiling. "I thought so, too."

Aomine blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. "So. You want to win too, huh?"

Taiga rolled his eyes; sometimes he thought there must have been something in the water at Teikou. Asshole extract or brainless juice or something. "What the hell do you think?"

"I wasn't asking you."

Something dark flickered through Kuroko's eyes as he looked up at Aomine. Quietly, he answered, "Did you think I wouldn't?"

Aomine winced just a little. "Yeah, okay. Sorry." After another long moment of him and Kuroko looking at each other he said softly, "Trust you to want to win. I can do that, yeah."

Kuroko's shoulders finally settled into their normal line, and he nodded to Aomine like they were sealing a deal.

"You guys still playing or what?" Wakamatsu called, and Aomine bared his teeth.

"Playing."

The word hit the air of the court like a challenge, and Taiga smiled. That was more like it. He grabbed the ball and threw it in to Kuroko as Aomine loped back down the court. Kuroko spun and the ball screamed down the court after him. Aomine caught it, feinted forward, left, passed it fluidly back to Kuroko, cut past two of his markers and caught the ball again.

All without even looking around to see if Kuroko was there.

Taiga felt a little like he had the first time he'd seen Kuroko on the court, from the sidelines. Stunned breathless just because what he saw was that fine. If this was what Kuroko had been used to, with Aomine, no wonder he'd been so furious to lose it, so determined to get it back, so tense when it had looked like Aomine might not be able to get back here himself. Almostâ€”almostâ€”Taiga wanted to hold back, to not break that flow between them.

But Aomine slammed the ball in and Kuroko stepped into the path of the other side's throw in, perfect and inevitable, and it was Taiga he turned to as he spun to pass the ball. As if he'd known already exactly where Taiga would be.

Taiga laughed and ducked past Aomine's screen to drive for the basket.

Many people saw, and remarked on, how Tetsuya supported his teammates, how their strength increased as soon as he was on the court. Tetsuya thought he might be the only one who really understood how the reverse was also true. It was subtler for him, of course, but just as absolute. Without the trust of his teammates, his game was blunted, even if, mechanically, nothing seemed to be changed. His style of play required him to be aware of everyone on the court, to hold them in his mental hands at all times, and he needed his teammates to reach back to him before he could grasp them firmly. If they didn't, if they hesitated, his game broke.

The reverse side of that, of course, was that when they did reach back nothing could break his hold on them. Nothing at all.

He could almost feel the weight of Kagami and Aomine in his hands, the way he could the weight of the ball. This, he knew, was why his game matched so well with Aomine's. This was how Aomine felt the court itself, the space of it and the people in it. Kagami, on the other hand, he matched with because Kagami gave trust the way he needed it, gave it as easily as breathing. Tetsuya had never been more grateful for that than he was today. He was wringing wet and his breath was rasping in his lungs, he could feel the burn in his legs that would turn to watery, trembling muscles soon, and he never wanted to stop. The ball burned through his hands, heavy with the ferocity of his partners, and he gave his own fire to it and sent it back to them. Kagami's teeth were bared as he jumped for the basket, kicking off the grip of gravity.

Aomine was laughing.

Tetsuya didn't want this to stop.

All games stopped some time, though, and this one was only supposed to last twenty minutes. When Touou's coach called the end, Tetsuya braced his hands on his shaking knees, head down, gasping for breath. The corners of his mouth curved up uncontrollably.

They had won by eighteen points.

"All right, there?" Imayoshi-san asked softly, stopping beside him for a moment. Tetsuya slowly pulled himself back upright, hauling himself up by his pride.

"I know how to pace myself with players like them."

"I'm sure you do, when you bother to," Imayoshi-san murmured, giving him a cheerful smile completely at odds with the implied scolding.

Tetsuya lifted his chin a little. "You were the one who started this, Imayoshi-san." He hadn't missed that Imayoshi-san had known Aomine wouldn't want to play like this. He didn't have any problem with Aomine's ex-captain looking after the development of his players, but he didn't think it was reasonable to then object to what Tetsuya had to do to make it work.

"That's why I'm saying something." Imayoshi-san looked at Tetsuya for a long moment and finally shook his head, obviously amused. "More stubborn than both of them put together, aren't you, despite all the polite words? Well, I suppose I can't disapprove. Just use a little of it to look after yourself, too." He patted Tetsuya's shoulder and wandered off to where Wakamatsu-san was talking to the coach.

Just in time for Tetsuya to lose his breath and stumble a step forward under the combined impact of an arm around his neck and a hand slapping his back.

"Tetsu!"

"That was fantastic!"

Tetsuya turned to see both his partners grinning, lit up with victory. More than one kind of victory, today, he thought, just as Imayoshi-san had intended. Perhaps... perhaps he could have one more for himselfâ€”for himself and for his partners. He smiled back at them, and held out both fists.

There was one frozen moment while Aomine wavered again, the way he had earlier in the game, and Kagami glanced between them with sudden hesitation, while Aomine's eyes cut toward Kagami and away, darkening, while Tetsuya told his heart sternly that it was too soon to feel chilled, this could still work out...

The relief when Aomine and Kagami both reached out and bumped their fists against his nearly made his knees give out. He might even have showed it, because there was a flash of worry in Kagami's expression and a flash of what might be shame in Aomine's. Tetsuya straightened his spine, as contained and sure as possible, and let himself feel a softer wave of relief when they both relaxed. As they all turned toward the wall where bags and water bottles were tossed, Tetsuya's gaze crossed Imayoshi-san's, and the impressed arch of his brows added a sharper edge to Tetsuya's satisfaction.

Whatever he and Kagami and Aomine might become to each other now, Tetsuya would make it work out.

Daiki lay on his bed, that night, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the shadows of the ceiling. Playing on a team with Tetsu again, however irregular, had been strange. Hard. It had hurt, trying to remember how they had fit together, trying to move like that again, feeling how far he'd come from that. He'd felt like he was groping for something in the dark, something that he thought should be there but wasn't sure of. Looking at Tetsu's shoulders drawing tighter and tighter, at Tetsu's carefully blank expression, had made something curl up small in his chest. And then Kagami, of all people, had been the one to see it, to see what Daiki was missing, what he hadn't remembered because he remembered too clearly why Tetsu had left.

Tetsu loved to win.

Tetsu wouldn't hold back for any reason, during a game. He would be there.

It had been like a bone, no, like the whole world snapping back into place. And that had hurt, too, but the perfect balance of knowing Tetsu would be there on the court was stronger. It was so good to feel that. So good that, when the game ended, Daiki had wanted to keep feeling it however he could.

He'd almost kissed Tetsu right there in the middle of the gym.

He'd felt Tetsu lean into his arm, too, for one moment; he didn't think Tetsu would have minded. But Kagami had been there, and Daiki hadn't held on when Tetsu stepped free, and Tetsu had held out a fist to each of them. To both of them.

Daiki scowled up at the ceiling. He wanted to keep feeling that bond with Tetsu, but Kagami obviously had to be taken into account. This might take some thinking about.

Taiga watched Kuroko out of the corner of his eye, on the ride home, wondering.

Thinking about it now, he was stunned by how Aomine had opened up in the second half of their game. At the time, in the heat of the moment, it has seemed perfectly natural, but he'd looked so different like that. Not innocent, Taiga nearly snorted at the very thought, but... open. Lit up and laughing, and yeah there'd been an edge of wildness in it but hell, it wasn't any more than Taiga felt in himself when a game heated up. What there hadn't been was the desperation that he remembered from the spring and winter, or the cold containment he remembered seeing off the court. When they'd both pounced on Kuroko after the match ended, Taiga had almost expected that open, grinning Aomine to pull Kuroko all the way against him and mess up his hair or something. And then, again, Taiga had had a moment of wondering whether he should step back a little.

When Kuroko had turned and held out his fists to them, and Aomine had checked so abruptly... then Taiga had very nearly stepped forward instead, to catch his partner. He hadn't quite realized how good he'd gotten at reading Kuroko until he'd seen the hope in Kuroko's small smile, the fear and determination in his eyes at Aomine's hesitation. He'd wanted to whack Aomine one for being such an idiot. He'd wanted...

He'd wanted to hold Kuroko.

Alex had teased him before about being overprotective. He supposed she'd been right. But wasn't it only fair? Didn't Kuroko protect him, all of the team really but Taiga especially, protect his game and his heart from whatever the hell had happened to Aomine?

Now he was wondering. Would Kuroko let Taiga protect him in return?

Tetsuya parted from Kagami with a quiet nod and continued on his way home, thoughtful.

He knew both his partners well, had to know them to play the way he did with them, and it wasn't as though either of them was being especially subtle right now. The way their shoulders had pressed against his as they'd all sat on the sidelines drinking and cooling down before the next drill, the way Aomine had returned again and again to drape an arm around his neck, the way Kagami had stayed close all the way home... it wasn't something Tetsuya had thought much about before, because Kagami was so casual and rough and Aomine had been separated from him. But he thought about it now, about the new layer to his awareness of their bodies next to his. About Taiga's warmth and Daiki's intensity.

Perhaps... yes. Perhaps he would like to hold that part of them, too.

The lights were on when he got home, and he called as he toed off his shoes, "I'm home!"

"Welcome back," his mother's voice answered from the living room, cheerful despite the worn edge.

Tetsuya looked in to see his mother, still in a tailored business suit, leaning back in her arm chair with her slippered feet resting on the table. "Did you just get home?"

She smiled, small and soft and weary, the way she only ever did when they were alone. "Just half an hour ago, yes. My flight out of Shanghai was delayed."

Tetsuya nodded and padded through to the kitchen to pour two glasses of water and a smaller glass of her Yamazaki whisky. His mother laughed softly when he brought the tray out to the table and handed her the small glass. "I have the best son in the world." She ran her fingers gently through his hair. "And you're smiling. Did something good happen today?"

Tetsuya let the smile grow, just for her, looking up from where he knelt beside the table. "Yes. I think it did."

"Aomine-kun?" she guessed. "Today was a Touou day, wasn't it?"

"Aomine-kun... and Kagami-kun," he agreed softly, looking down at his fingers wound around his water glass.

His mother was silent for a long moment. Finally, she touched his cheek, fingers light. "Be careful with yourself, Tetsuya."

He'd known for a long time that he had learned to read people from his mother.

"I will be," he promised, looking up again. "I found them for each other, but... they're both my partners." Personally, he couldn't see any good reason to let either of them go.

A sparkle lit her eyes, at that. "That's my boy." She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Hold on to what's yours, and never mind the ones who say you shouldn't."

He nodded and slid up onto the couch beside her chair. "So how did your trip go? Your texts had a lot of grimace-faces in them."

She flung herself back in her chair and took a substantial swallow of her whisky. "Every time I have to deal with one of Guotai Junan, it's the same...!"

Tetsuya leaned his chin on his hand and listened. Not that he knew a thing about investment banking or corporate contract law, but this was what he and his mother didâ€”listened for each other. It was also, now he thought about it, what he and Kagami did. Perhaps it was what he and Aomine could learn to do properly, now.

The thought made him smile.

End

A/N: In hanakotoba, peonies indicate courage.

A Good, Free, and Unconstrained Will

Kuroko wants a tangible marker of his committment to Kagami and Aomine, and of how they belong to him, and that's when other people start noticing what's going on. D/s, Romance, Porn, Drama, I-4

Cause

It was Daiki who mentioned it first, stroking his thumb along the line of Taiga's collarbone one afternoon when they were all tangled together in Tetsuya's bed, still a little sticky but catching their breaths again.

"You've stopped wearing that necklace all the time."

"Mm." Taiga shrugged a little, trying not to shove anyone off the bed, or scrape his shoulder blades against the wall, or show how the observation made him twitch. "I still have it. Just seemed like it was maybe time to take it off and put it away."

Tetsuya turned, where he was lying between them, unfairly graceful and not elbowing anyone in the stomach. Taiga concentrated on that, and not the question in Tetsuya's eyes. "Did something else happen between you and Himuro-san?" Tetsuya asked quietly.

Taiga sighed, giving in; he obviously wasn't getting out of this conversation, especially since he was the one up against the wall and couldn't make easy excuses to get up. "Nothing new," he said, low. "Just, the more I thought about it, the more I realized Tatsuya was right. He's not my nii-san any more."

"Yousen's Himuro Tatsuya?" Aomine asked, sliding a hand up to drape over Taiga's hip, casual in contrast to the way he was watching Taiga.

"I knew him back in the States. He was the one who got me into basketball." Taiga snorted at the way Daiki perked up. "The rings... it was a little kid's pledge, I guess; he didn't... he's not..." He sighed and turned his head into the curve of Tetsuya's shoulder, frustration bubbling up fresh. "I can understand if he doesn't want to claim something he doesn't feel like he can hold up his end of. But basketball wasn't the reason he was my big brother! It didn't have to be the only thing between us!"

Tetsuya's fingers threaded through his hair, holding him closer. "He took care of you." Taiga nodded silently. Yes, Tetsuya understood that.

"And now that you're a better player than he is," Daiki said slowly, thumb rubbing over Taiga's hip, "he doesn't think he can any more. What a moron," he added, thoughtful.

Taiga snorted a pained laugh against Tetsuya's shoulder. Yeah, Daiki, with his passion for people who didn't give up, wouldn't think much of Tatsuya's choices. "I'm not mad at him. Not really. It... doesn't change how he did take care of me, back then. It's just different now." If Tatsuya wouldn't see that he could still be Taiga's nii-san, no matter who won on the court, then it was time to put the ring away with the rest of his memories.

"Hmm." Tetsuya's fingers rubbed slowly over his bare nape. "Taiga. If you've taken off that necklace, would you let me replace it?" he said at last.

Taiga lifted his head and blinked down at Tetsuya. "Replace it?"

Tetsuya smiled and squirmed out from between them, sliding off the foot of the bed. "Here." He padded across the room and took a small box out of his desk drawer, sliding back up onto the bed as he opened it. He laid the open box between Taiga and Daiki and sat back on his heels, watching them.

There were two slim, dark necklaces in the box, just a little longer than choker length, much shorter than the chain Taiga had kept his ring on. He fished one out, curious, and ran it through his fingers; it was finished leather cord, soft under his fingertips. He glanced up at Tetsuya. "You want to..."

Wait.

This couldn't be a simple pledge among the three of them, like the rings. There were only two necklaces, not three. And Tetsuya had set them very precisely in between Taiga and Daiki. Taiga could feel his face turning hot at the implication, and his voice was a little more strangled when he corrected himself. "You want us to wear...?"

Tetsuya was watching them quietly, not demanding anything, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Taiga hot in a different way.

Daiki lifted the second necklace, running it through his fingers and glancing back and forth between them. "You want the two of us to wear these?" he asked, toying with the slim cord. "For you?" When Tetsuya nodded, Daiki gave Taiga a thoughtful look and smiled slowly. "I will if you will."

Taiga glared. That was playing dirty.

The corners of Tetsuya's mouth were curled up in a silent laugh as he leaned forward and laid a hand on each of their wrists. "Only if you want to," he said firmly. And then his fingers stroked the back of Taiga's hand gently. "But I would like very much to be able to replace that necklace, for you."

To replace the necklace. To replace what it meant. To take care of him. Taiga felt the curl of warmth through his chest that was becoming very familiar; it happened whenever Tetsuya made it clear how close he held them. And Tetsuya would never, ever give up his hold on someone just because they were stronger. Taiga had a year and more worth of proof of that.

"Yeah," he said, a little husky. "Yeah, I'd like that too."

"Good," Tetsuya said softly, and lifted the necklace out of his hand. "Lift your chin."

Taiga had to swallow against a sudden flutter of response low in his stomach as Tetsuya slid up the bed to straddle him, leaning in as he wrapped the slim cord around Taiga's neck. The tiny snick of the clasp fastening, more felt than heard, sent a spike of heat right down Taiga's spine. The delicate stroke of Tetsuya's fingers over the cool line of leather made him shudder. "Tetsuya..." God, was he ever going to get used to the way it made him feel, when Tetsuya took control?

Daiki laughed beside him, husky. "Hey, no getting ahead of yourself. It's my turn."

Taiga opened half closed eyes to see Daiki hand Tetsuya the other length of cord, smiling. He turned over, bending his head down against Taiga's shoulder, offering Tetsuya his bared nape, and Taiga wound an arm around him more or less by reflex. Daiki looked so vulnerable like this.

"Yes, it's your turn," Tetsuya agreed, voice gentle, and passed the soft leather carefully around Daiki's throat and closed the catch firmly. Taiga felt a little shiver run through Daiki. He thought Tetsuya did, too, because he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Daiki's nape, just over the clasp. Daiki practically purred, relaxing against Taiga, and Tetsuya leaned against them looking satisfied.

A thought nudged at Taiga, one that made his face heat a little once again, but he wasn't going to lie to himself. He knew perfectly well what they were doing, what it meant that Tetsuya had put this on him rather than let him do it himself. It wasn't like he objected, but that kind of meant he should ask Tetsuya about taking it off, too, right?

"I don't think we should wear these on the court," he said, touching the necklace. "They aren't very heavy; they could get broken too easily."

Tetsuya smiled, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "Of course. I want you to be sensible about them. Whatever you think is necessary."

Taiga turned into that touch, mouth tilted ruefully as he acknowledged how it relaxed him to have Tetsuya's agreement on that. His permission. Daiki stirred against his shoulder, looking up.

"I think I might be a little not-sensible." Daiki's eyes were dark, on Tetsuya, and Tetsuya's smile turned darker as he met them.

"That's fine too," he said softly, reaching out to hook a finger under the thin cord and pull it taut. "I'll put one of these back around your neck as many times as it takes."

The sound Daiki made, husky and wanting, sent Taiga's blood rushing to his cock. Tetsuya, still straddling him, laughed. "Come here, Daiki. Take care of Taiga for me." He slid to the side, nudging Taiga into the middle of the bed, and pulled Daiki down by his necklaceâ€”his collarâ€”until he was kneeling between Taiga's legs, bent over to nuzzle against Taiga's cock. "Yes. Like that."

Taiga slid his hands down Daiki's arms and over his shoulders, hands working against the sleek muscle there as Daiki licked his cock teasingly. "Daiki..." He loved the way Tetsuya drew them to each other, and it never stopped getting him hot, watching Daiki submit to Tetsuya, but Daiki could be a little disconcerting in bed. He teased even more than Tetsuya. Daiki glanced up at him, smirking a little but gently, and wound his arms around Taiga's hips, long fingers spreading against his back.

"Shut up and enjoy it, Tai," he murmured, and closed his mouth around Taiga, hot and slick and sure. Pleasure tightened on Taiga like a knot closing, and he gasped, trying not to rock up too hard while Daiki's tongue stroked over him enticingly.

And then Daiki gasped around him, abruptly flushed, hands tightening on Taiga's back. Taiga looked up and realized Tetsuya had settled behind Daiki, hands kneading over his raised ass. Tetsuya smiled just a little as he spread Daiki's cheeks wide and rubbed slow fingers over his entrance. Tetsuya had not, Taiga realized, flushing a bit himself, reached for the lube yet. He knew Daiki liked Tetsuya to be rougher with him than he ever was with Taiga, but was Tetsuya really...? Tetsuya pushed a finger in, and the way Daiki moaned around Taiga sent a shudder of pleasure right up his spine.

"Tetsu," Daiki gasped, head tipping back as he arched on his knees to push his ass up higher.

Tetsuya smiled slowly. "I told you to take care of Taiga," he reminded Daiki, working his finger in and out of Daiki's ass with short little thrusts. Taiga could watch it, from where he lay, and see how Daiki's eyes went darker at the quiet command in Tetsuya's voice.

"Yes, Tetsu," he murmured, and lowered his head again, wrapping his lips around Taiga's cock and lapping at him quick and firm, just like the movement of Tetsuya's hand. When Tetsuya pushed two dry fingers into him, Daiki shuddered and sucked on Taiga like he could coax Tetsuya's fingers deeper that way. It felt incredible, like Taiga was part of what Tetsuya was doing to their lover, and maybe that was why he whispered, "Tetsuya, please..."

Tetsuya looked up, holding Taiga's eyes as he twisted his fingers deep in Daiki's ass. "You think I should give him more?"

Taiga shuddered softly with the vibration of Daiki's moan. "Yes!"

Tetsuya laughed softly, drawing his fingers back and reaching for the bottle still tangled in Taiga's sheets. "Very well."

Taiga swallowed, throat dry as he watched. He knew how it felt, knew so well how it felt to have Tetsuya's hands wrapped around his hips, holding him while Tetsuya's cock pushed in slowly, slowly, opening him up. So he knew exactly why Daiki was making those husky sounds and why his hands were clutching at Taiga's back and why Daiki's mouth was desperate against him. He was pleading for both of them when he moaned, "Please, Tetsuya, harder..."

And when Tetsuya shifted, leaning over Daiki and driving in deep and hard, it was Taiga who came undone under the slide of Daiki's mouth all the way down his cock. He lost track of watching Tetsuya, but he could feel everything Tetsuya was doing in the pressure of Daiki's mouth on him as he clutched at Daiki's shoulders, gasping with the pleasure wringing him out. "Tetsuya...! God, Tetsuya, please!"

By the time he came back down, Daiki was sprawled across him, just as messy and breathless as he was. Tetsuya was arched taut behind him, buried deep inside Daiki, flushed and gasping softly. The sight wrung another moan out of him, and when he looked down Daiki's eyes were fixed on him. "I can see it," Daiki told him, husky. "I can see how he looks in how you look right now."

"Mmm." Tetsuya slowly opened his eyes again and released Daiki's hips to stroke down his back. "Yes. Just like Taiga could tell what I was doing and what you needed." He eased free of Daiki and pushed him gently down against Taiga, keeping a hand on Daiki's back as he settled beside them. "We're doing this together, and there's no competition between you. Remember that, all right?"

Daiki froze, staring at Tetsuya with wide eyes. "I..."

Tetsuya smiled and cupped his cheek, stroking a thumb over the sharp line of his cheekbone. "You think I wouldn't see it, when you were my partner for so long and you're my lover now? I want both of you," he told Daiki softly, touching the cord of leather around his neck. "Never doubt that."

Slowly, Daiki nodded, relaxing against Taiga, eyes lowered. "Yes, Tetsu," he said, more subdued by Tetsuya's quiet words than Taiga had ever seen him, even when he was tied up. Taiga wrapped his arms around Daiki, holding him close. He knew how that felt, too. It was, he thought, exactly why both of them were willing to walk around wearing the delicate collars Tetsuya had clasped around their necks, and he smiled against Daiki's hair.

They were all together in this, all right.

Effect

Izuki Shun had always watched the people around him; it was one of the habits that made him a good point guard. And his teammates were always worth watching, for the amusement value if nothing else. So he'd noticed a few months ago that Kagami had stopped wearing the ring on a chain around his neck that used to always be there, even during practice. And he'd noticed about a week ago that Kagami had started wearing a simple leather necklace, the kind that you could find at any accessory stall in any shopping district. That, though, he carefully removed and tucked away whenever he changed for practice or a match.

Which was, perhaps, why it took so long for anyone else to notice. Shun had laid a tiny bet with himself on who it would be, and he won it the evening Koganei looked up from tying his shoes and suddenly grinned.

"Hey, Kagami." Koganei's tone was as good as a knowing nudge in the ribs. "You've got a new necklace these days. Is there someone who wants you to wear her present, instead of your old girlfriend's?"

Kagami promptly turned red and sputtered. "It's not like that!" Shun had expected that kind of response, because Kagami really was awfully innocent in some ways. The surprising part was the way Kagami hesitated as he fastened the necklace, looking aside, and added, "Not exactly."

Of course, that was as good as waving a feather in front of a cat. "Not exactly?" Koganei pressed, sidling up to throw an arm around Kagami's shoulders despite the height difference. "So there really is a girl, isn't there? Come on, you can tell senpai all about it..."

Kagami was sputtering again, and Shun was preparing to take pity on the poor guy and intervene when Kuroko beat him to it.

"Koganei-senpai," he said, sharper than Shun had ever heard him speak to any of his seniors, "that's private. You shouldn't tease Kagami-kun about it."

The entire club fell quiet for a moment, staring. Kuroko tugged down his cuffs and stood, looking back levelly. It wasn't quite the way Shun had seen him stare down opponents, but it was close. He didn't blame Koganei for stepping away from Kagami, hands raised.

"Just kidding around."

And quick as that, Kuroko was back to his usual self, calm and at ease, giving Koganei a very proper little bow. "Of course, senpai. Excuse us, please." He slung his bag over his shoulder and led the way out, and Kagami followed him.

There was, Shun noted, predictable relief at being rescued on Kagami's face, but there was also something soft along with it. As unusually soft as Kuroko had just been sharp. He considered that thoughtfully, as he pulled on his jacket.

Maybe this was something he'd keep a particular eye on.

Junpei had separated from the rest of the team in the wake of the first winter preliminaries, and was walking home beside Riko and Teppei, when Riko finally spoke up.

"So. Did you see Aomine when we passed Touou, on our way out?"

Junpei winced. He'd foolishly hoped she hadn't noticed. "It's none of our business," he said firmly.

"What isn't?" Teppei blinked at them.

"Teppei!" Riko huffed, obviously exasperated. "Didn't you notice that Aomine was wearing a necklace just like the one Kagami wears these days?"

"Well sure," Teppei said calmly. "I'm glad those two seem to be getting along so well."

Junpei buried his face in his hands, groaning. As if Riko wasn't bad enough! "It is none of our business," he repeated hopelessly.

"I wonder if Kuroko set the two of them up," Riko speculated with gleaming eyes, completely ignoring him. "Maybe that's why he was so defensive when Koganei was teasing Kagami."

Teppei made a thoughtful sound. "I have to admit, I always expected all three of them to be together, but maybe you're right. At any rate, he doesn't seem to feel left out, and that's good."

Junpei wondered wistfully if putting his hands over his ears would drown them out.

"Oooo, if they are all together, maybe that's what it is!" Riko clasped her hands in front of her mouth, eyes dancing. "Maybe those are actually Kuroko's necklaces they're wearing."

"Kantoku!" Junpei finally yelled. "Quit talking about our players' love lives!"

From the way she broke down giggling, he figured she'd just been trying to get a rise out of him anyway, and sighed. And swatted at Teppei's hand when it landed on his head and rumpled his hair 'comfortingly'.

"Oh, don't worry." Riko bumped her shoulder against his arm and grinned up at him. "It's not like I'd say any of this in front of them."

"Although, you know, I wouldn't be surprised if Kuroko had it in him," Teppei started, and Junpei cut him off sternly.

"Both of you shut up about this, or so help me I'm going home alone tonight." Which, since his was the only house at which the three of them could reasonably spend an evening together out of reach of paternal death-threats or grand-parental ears, was a significant enough threat to make them stop.

That didn't stop him from remembering the conversation, every time he saw Kuroko smile while Kagami fastened that necklace on after practice, but he'd already become resigned to the fact that being a boyfriend to Riko and Teppei did bad things to a man's brain. He figured it was worth it.

Takao Kazunari had never really been surprised by how often Shintarou wanted to visit his ex-teammates in Tokyo. For all his quirks, Shin-chan was pretty much born to be a team player, and Kazunari actually had no trouble believing he'd been the voice of reason on the Teikou team.

Considering who else had been on that team, after all.

So, even before Kagami and Aomine started sneaking out to see each other, Kazunari had been driving his partner back and forth across central Tokyo at least once a month to give Kise or Kagami or Kuroko very backhanded advice, or to trade insults with Aomine. It was unquestionably good muscular and cardiovascular training, and some days, like today, it was good entertainment, too.

"The two of you have no discipline whatsoever," Shintarou sniffed, adjusting his glasses as he gave Aomine and Kagami unimpressed looks. Admittedly, they both looked pretty scruffy at the moment, wringing wet and gasping for breath.

"Oh, come on Shin-chan," Kazunari called, bouncing the ball easily and keeping a sharp eye on Kuroko. "How long were they been playing for before we got there?"

"That," Shintarou said in arctic tones, "is exactly my point. Both of them should have the strength to go for longer, if they ever bothered to pace themselves properly." He swept back his hair, sweat-soaked for all his breathing was still disgustingly easy, and gave the two other aces a thoroughly disgruntled look.

Kazunari was hard-pressed not to laugh at the way both Kagami and Aomine seemed torn between glaring at each other and glaring at Shintarou. "Give 'em a break, Shin-chan. We can go bug Kise, if you want more of a work-out." That suggestion focused both glares firmly on him, and he smirked back at them. He was pretty sure they'd be pacing themselves more carefully, after having to hear something like that from him; never let it be said he didn't look after his partner's interests.

"Midorima-kun is right, that's enough for today," Kuroko put in, and Kazunari blinked, finding his hand abruptly empty of the ball. Kuroko was getting sneakier every month, he swore. But that little coup seemed to be enough to settle Kuroko's own partners, and they all trouped off the court together. Kazunari stretched his calves thoughtfully as they fished out water and towels, wondering if he'd really make it to Kaijou and back without his legs giving out. Which wasn't a problem in and of itself, but Shin-chan would lecture him just as mercilessly as he did his ex-teammates. From the look in his partner's eye, though, Kazunari really didn't think Shintarou would be satisfied with this game alone, today. He'd been restless all morning, and looking forward to a hard game.

Sure enough, Shintarou was tetchy enough that even watching Kagami fasten a plain and unassuming necklace on was enough to rouse his ire. "You've always been careless, Aomine," he snapped. "I notice you didn't even bother taking your frivolous decorations off while you played."

Huh. Now Shin-chan mentioned it, Aomine did have on a necklace a lot like Kagami's, a plain leather cord number. In fact... it looked almost exactly alike. More to defuse Shintarou's temper than anything else, Kazunari grinned and asked, "What, are you two married now, as well as rivals?"

He blinked when they both turned red and sputtered.

"It's not..."

"Definitely not..."

"I mean, not like that..."

"Seriously, well okay, not exactly like that, but seriously..."

Kazunari's eyes widened with delight at every jumbled denial. "You are, oh that's so beautiful." They nearly gargled at him, at that, reduced to non-verbal protests, and he laughed.

He'd never claimed that he didn't have an evil sense of humor.

Before he could wind them up any more, though, Kuroko straightened up from zipping his bag and said firmly, "Enough."

The command in his tone was a little startling, but Kazunari had seen Kuroko play hot, and he'd seen Kuroko angry once or twice. He knew Kuroko had a cutting edge under that smooth expression. What was a lot more startling was the way both Kagami and Aomine fell quiet at that one word.

At that order.

It all fell together at once, the matching leather necklaces, the way Aomine kept his on and Kagami had flushed just a little deeper putting his back on, the way that one word had pulled them up short. Kazunari pursed his lips and whistled quietly. "Well, well. Congratulations, then," he told Kuroko, perfectly in earnest. He was impressed.

When Kuroko just dipped his head, accepting it as his due, Kazunari had to grin.

"In that case, we'll just be off and let you three get on with things," he said cheerily, slinging an arm, or at least a hand, around Shin-chan's shoulder and tugging him toward the corner of the court where he'd left the bike and cart.

Shintarou frowned down at him in obvious puzzlement. "Takao, what--?"

"Shh." Kazunari laughed under his breath. "Tell you later." Aomine and Kagami were both red in the face. "Not that I'm actually all that surprised," he added as he unlocked the bike and wheeled it around. "I mean, it's always the ones you wouldn't expect, right?" He paused, struck by an enticing thought as Shintarou gave him an exasperated look. "Hm. Speaking of which, what would you say to going straight home instead of visiting Kise?"

Shintarou looked down his nose. "And why would I agree to that, when Aomine and Kagami were barely a challenge today?"

Kazunari leaned against the seat of the bike, crossing his legs, and fished a coin out of his pocket. "I was thinking there might be a form of exercise you'd like more, today." He tossed the coin lightly from hand to hand, smiling up at Shintarou. "What do you say, Shin-chan? Heads, you let me suck your fingers while I fuck you. Tails, I let you fuck me wherever and however you please." The corners of his mouth curled a little higher as Shin-chan's eyes widened behind his glasses. "How's your fortune looking today?" he purred, and flipped the coin into the air for Shin-chan to call. Past the flash of metal, his partner's eyes gleamed.

It was always the ones you wouldn't expect.

Himuro Tatsuya was not expecting to hear his name called. He'd put his back against a nice, sturdy brick wall and was just keeping out of the way as the howling packs of shoppers swept past. But when someone called, "Tatsuya!", he recognized the voice and looked up with a smile. A tilted smile, because he expected Taiga to give him a certain amount of hell for his current errand, but a smile.

"Hey."

Taiga forged awkwardly through the crush, obviously still not used to how close people pressed. His clothes fit into the crowd down here well enough; the sneakers weren't exactly stylish, but when you were built like Taiga a pair of jeans and a shirt thrown on over a tee were all you needed to make people look around for the photo-shoot. No one did, though, because Taiga was so completely unconscious and uncaring of how he looked in the middle of crowds bent on buying things to look prettier. He always had been, and Tatsuya had shaken his head over the fact for years. The only hint of fashion on Taiga, as far as he could see, was the necklace Taiga wore, no longer the chain and ring Tatsuya had gotten him but a leather cord. Even that probably wasn't on purpose. He wondered, a little wryly, whether Taiga had just gotten that used to wearing something around his neck.

Taiga finally fetched up against the wall, a little breathless. "You didn't say you'd be in town this weekend."

"I didn't know I was going to be until extremely early this morning," Tatsuya said, dry. "Atsushi wanted to come buy some new kind of candy that's being sold starting today." He waved at one of the mammoth lines down the street, where one very tall figure could be seen looming over the competition. "First time I've ever seen him get up early." He cocked his head up at Taiga. "So what are you in for?" He'd never known Taiga to willingly go out shopping for anything but groceries.

"New shoes."

Tatsuya started at that quiet voice right at his elbow, and eyed Kuroko, who had appeared there. He was starting to suspect that Teikou's old 'invisible man' got a kick out of doing that to people.

"At least this time I know they've actually got my size," Taiga added, unsurprised. Maybe he'd gotten used to the jack-in-the-box act. "This time I ordered them ahead of time."

Tatsuya could sympathize, especially after the coach put him in charge of ordering Atsushi's supplies. No one stocked shoes that size. He'd finally resorted to online stores with direct shipping. Some of the other team members made jokes about baby-sitting, but Tatsuya didn't actually mind. God knew Atsushi was pretty much at sea anywhere except a basketball court. Someone had to look after him.

Taiga had never needed looking after that way. Not really. He'd always had a solid core in him that held him steady. If it seemed weird for someone to be anchored by wild enthusiasm for life, well it had also been fun to be around. At least, it had been fun until he'd realized that Taiga didn't need him. That Taiga had grown so much that he'd started trying to protect Tatsuya. That... that had been more than he could take.

That wasn't something they could really talk about, though. It wasn't something a person like Taiga would ever understand. So instead he laughed. "First time I've even seen you laying plans to get any kind of clothing, even for the game." He added, teasing, "Though maybe you're getting stylish in your old age." He lifted a finger to flick at the cord necklace that had replaced his chain. Taiga rocked back from the gesture, almost a flinch, and a moment of remorse nipped at Tatsuya. There was no need to be cruel, just because Taiga had grown beyond him.

That wasn't what stopped the gesture, though.

Tatsuya's brows lifted as he looked down at Kuroko, who was abruptly standing between him and Taiga with an iron grip on Tatsuya's wrist. "You have no right to touch that," Kuroko said softly, every polite ending sharpened to a cutting edge.

"I think that's Taiga's to say, don't you?" Tatsuya wasn't going to stand for Kuroko trying to protect Taiga when Tatsuya couldn't. It was ridiculous to imagine.

Kuroko's gaze didn't so much as flicker, and his voice was as hard as his grip. "This is mine to say. And you will keep your hands off it." He nearly threw Tatsuya's hand aside.

Tatsuya snorted. "Taiga, are you seriously going to tell me..." he trailed off, staring at Taiga. Taiga, who was watching Kuroko with suddenly wide eyes, whose hand lifted to touch that necklace lightly. Taiga who glanced briefly at him and then aside, color sneaking over his cheekbones.

"This is Tetsuya's to say," Taiga admitted.

For a long breath, Tatsuya's brain flatly refused to put the pieces together, but they fit so very clearly that he couldn't hold it off for long. That wasn't just a necklace.

And if this was something Taiga wanted, then maybe... maybe they could have...

"Muro-chin?" Atsushi loomed out of the crowd, brightly colored candy bag already open in his hand. "And Kuro-chin."

Tatsuya took a slow breath. No. Maybe if he'd known sooner, but it certainly wouldn't work now. He had Atsushi to take care of, and judging by the narrow look Kuroko was still giving him he didn't think Kuroko was the sharing type. "Well, good luck with those shoes, then," he said, as easily as if nothing had happened. "I'd better get Atsushi back up to Akita before anyone misses us."

"Probably wise, yes," Kuroko murmured, and Tatsuya's mouth quirked. Yeah, that was one possessive little bastard.

"We'll see you at semi-finals, then," Taiga added quietly, watching Tatsuya with shadowed eyes.

"Quit looking like that, Taiga," Tatsuya told him easily. "It'll be fun." Probably more fun for Taiga than for him, but he was used to that. "Come on Atsushi, be thinking about what kind of station bento you want to get; if we miss another train because you couldn't decide, I'm taking the cost of changing tickets out of your wallet." He waved goodbye and led his teammate back out into the crush.

He was used to wanting things he couldn't have. It was always best to just set it aside.

Result

Daiki pretty much took Tai's apartment as an extra home, these days, so he didn't bother knocking before breezing in the unlocked door. "Hey, guys, up for a..." he trailed off, startled. Tetsu and Tai were on the couch; well, Tetsu was a least. Tai was on his knees, head buried in Tetsu's lap, holding on to Tetsu like the last branch in a flood. Tetsu had his fingers buried in Tai's hair, stroking it slowly, while his other arm stayed wrapped around Tai's shoulders. He looked up at Daiki, eyes serious but not dark, and beckoned Daiki closer with a tilt of his head.

Daiki came and knelt behind Tai, pressing close against his back, and wound his arms around Tai. "Hey," he said again, quieter. Tai made an acknowledging sound, but didn't move, and Daiki looked up at Tetsu, questioning. "What happened?"

True anger sparked in Tetsu's eyes, though his hands stayed gentle, stroking Tai's hair. "We ran into Himuro-san today. He took notice of Taiga's collar."

"He let go so easy; he lets everything go so easy," Tai finally said, voice rough and muffled against Tetsu's lap.

Daiki thought about that. "Well," he said at last, "it's a good thing you're with Tetsu, then."

Tai finally lifted his head to blink at Daiki over his shoulder. "...huh?"

"That went by a little fast." Tetsu was smiling, though, and he set his other hand in Daiki's hair.

"Well, think about it," Daiki pointed out, leaning into Tetsu's fingers with pleasure. "Tetsu doesn't let anything go. I mean, I'm here aren't I?"

Tai blinked a few more times and finally looked up at Tetsu. "Not anything?" His voice was still husky, but it was starting to sound like Tai again.

There was fire behind Tetsu's calm smile, the fire that Daiki had always seen in him, always loved in him. "Not anything," he confirmed with absolute certainty. "Not Daiki. Not you." He trailed his fingers down Tai's neck to rest on the leather cord of his collar. "Not ever."

Tai took a slow, shaky breath and let it out. "Okay."

Daiki could feel Tai relaxing, between them, and pulled him closer with a little smile buried in Tai's wild red hair. That was better. It just didn't feel right when Tai freaked out; he was the steady one.

Tetsu slid his fingers through their hair, slow and gentle. "I don't let go of what's mine," he said softly, and Daiki made a satisfied sound against Tai's shoulder. That was the way it should be. He brushed his lips over the cord of Tai's collar and purred at the feel of Tai relaxing some more.

They were together in this, and that was enough.

End

This Moment to Arise - Departures and Arrivals

Kuroko hauls Aomine to Seirin, and Momoi comes with them. The team is delighted, if a little taken aback by Kuroko's unnoticeability and Aomine's lack of condition. Kuroko is all the more convinced he's brought them to the right place after he meets Kagami, and sees the challenge he has the potential to offer Aomine. Drama, I-3

The door of Tetsuya's classroom slammed open and Aomine stood glowering in the doorway. "Tetsu!"

Ah. He'd finally heard. Tetsuya put down his sandwich and waited while Aomine stalked through his scattering classmates to slam a piece of paper down on Tetsuya's desk. The header, as much of it as was visible under Aomine's hand, said Sei. "What the hell is this?" Aomine demanded.

"A letter," he observed, just to get things rolling properly.

"Damn it, Tetsu, what did you say to my parents?" Aomine ran a rough hand through his hair, throwing himself down backward into the desk in front of Tetsuya's. "They went and registered me with this place already, without even asking me!"

"You've rejected four top schools already, left to yourself," Tetsuya pointed out, as he had pointed out to Aomine's parents. "Seirin has a good reputation, but they don't chase after athletes with recruiters. Your parents feel they'll be less likely to indulge you too much."

Aomine glowered at him. "You want to drag me off to some no-name school that doesn't care about their sports programs? Tetsu, what the hell?"

"Their basketball club just formed last year, but they advanced to the finals of the Kantou preliminaries," Tetsuya offered. He hadn't chosen Seirin on a whim, after all. He'd looked carefully for a school that might help him reach Aomine again.

Aomine flicked dismissive fingers. "Yeah, I looked up their record, too. They got trashed by the high-school bracket's top three. And then got trashed some more in winter. It was a decent start, but either it was a fluke or they don't have any staying power. They aren't in our range at all."

"Then won't it be a challenge?" Aomine hesitated at that, and Tetsuya felt the first real tingle of hope that this would work. "Isn't that what you want?"

"Mm." Aomine looked out the window, face still. "...you're coming?"

"Of course." Tetsuya made himself smile a little; if it was painful to do it after the tournament season they'd just had, no one else had to know that. Aomine did still want him there, and that was another grain of hope after the way the whole team had turned away from him on the court. And if doing this ran against the parting orders Akashi had given them... well it wasn't as though Tetsuya was feeling either obedient or charitable toward his ex-captain these days. Besides, Tetsuya was a supporting player. Akashi had said so himself, repeatedly. As long as the light was divided, it shouldn't matter where the shadow went. At least, that would be Tetsuya's story if anyone asked.

Tetsuya wasn't giving up his partner, or his game, without a fight.

Finally, Aomine snorted and wadded up the letter to stuff it into his pocket. "Guess it's too late to be complaining anyway, since my parents already signed me up. Fine. We'll see what this newbie club looks like." He stood and stretched, mouth twisted into a half smile. "Maybe you'll be right, and it'll be a challenge to face the rest of the guys with a half-assed team."

Tetsuya thought about the match footage he'd asked Momoi-san to find for him, and the straight, unbowed shoulders of Seirin's players leaving the court, even after defeat. This time, he smile was truer.

"Yes," he said quietly. "Let's see."

Aomine slouched against the side of the school message board as Tetsuya ran a finger down the map of club tables. "So? Where are we going?"

"Further down on the right." Tetsuya turned and looked through the sway and shuffle of other new students, and older students talking up their personal clubs. Yes, there was the table they wanted, down in a quiet corner as one might expect for a small, new club. There was a student at it signing up already, though, which was encouraging. "There," he pointed.

Aomine glanced over the top of the crowd and didn't move. "Already got someone, huh? Well, at least it won't be just us. Satsuki, go grab us some forms."

Momoi swung her bag briskly and whacked him in the side. "I'm not your manager again until we get joined up. Get your own."

Aomine pouted at her, and that was familiar enough to make Tetsuya smile. "Come with me, Momoi-san, and I'll get them while you talk to the senpai. Aomine-kun can be left out if he wants."

"Hey."

Momoi giggled and linked her arm with his as they slipped through the crowd, leaving Aomine looking indignant by the message board. He steered them through the press with a light hand on her elbow and let her take the seat the tall red-head was just vacating. "Hello!" she nearly sparkled at the slight girl and the boy with glasses sitting behind the table, and the second boy hanging over the end of it looking like he'd just gotten off some kind of hair-raising amusement park ride. "We'd like to sign up for the basketball club!"

The girl smiled, open and pleased, and passed over a paper form. "Would you like to manage the club? That's wonderful, we haven't been able to find a manager before this!"

Momoi smiled her having-secrets smile and plucked a pencil out of the cup on the table. "Yes. I think I'll be able to help out a lot."

Tetsuya took two forms and two pencils and made his way back to Aomine, handing him one. "Fill it out properly," he added, firmly, "or I won't take it back for you."

Aomine sniffed. "Why should I care whether I have to drop it off on the way past?" He ran a quick eye down the form and paused. "Ah."

Tetsuya enjoyed the small moment of triumph as he meticulously filled in his name and his reason for joining. And his previous experience. Momoi could probably pass through without causing too much excitement, if only because so few people knew what she'd really done for Teikou. But two Teikou starting players? There would almost certainly be a fuss, unless Tetsuya was the one to slip the forms unnoticeably back onto the table. He nodded, satisfied, as Aomine heaved a sigh and scribbled down all his information, holding the paper against the back of the message board.

They picked Momoi up on the way past, and she waved her fingers at the girl, who was looking a little exasperated, and the boy, who was looking a little disheveled, like maybe he'd been smacked by his companion at some point. Momoi-san was grinning as they walked away.

"What did you do, Satsuki?" Aomine wanted to know, eyeing her sidelong.

She clasped her hands behind her, wide-eyed. "Nothing much. It's just that Riko-kantoku is really easy to tease."

"Kantoku?" Aomine echoed, looking back at the table, startled. "Wait. You mean... that girl is the coach around here?" He glared at Tetsuya. "I told you this school was half-assed!"

"Aida Riko," Momoi murmured as they climbed the low steps to the school's front doors. "Daughter of Aida Kagetora, who played center for the Japanese national team for five years. He retired to work as a very successful trainer in his own sports gym, and his daughter is following in those footsteps."

"It will never not be creepy, the way you know this stuff," Aomine grumbled, but he didn't complain about their new team any more. Momoi winked at Tetsuya behind his back as they went in and started looking for their shoe lockers. Tetsuya gave her a tiny nod back; they would make this work.

And at least, this way, Aomine was forewarned and didn't do more than sigh when their new coach ordered all the first year recruits to strip, at practice that afternoon. He did roll his eyes when Momoi, standing on the sidelines with a fresh pad of paper in her clipboard, made an interested Oohhhh sound and the entire club blushed as one. Tetsuya was mildly amused, himself, until the coach looked right past him and asked where he was. Then he sighed a little. He'd forgotten the occasional drawbacks of breaking in a new team.

When Aomine and Momoi chorused, "He's right there," and pointed to him, though, he smiled. They were still together. They would make this work.

He felt another flash of hope when Aida-san got to Aomine and paused, frowning. "Aomine-kun," she finally said, hands on her hips. "Why are you in such bad shape?"

"Bad shape?" their new captain echoed, startled. "What do you mean?"

Their coach knelt, one hand lightly on Aomine's knee, studying his legs more closely while Aomine looked a bit flustered. "His figures are incredible. Off the chart, really. But there's a lot more muscle deterioration than I'd expect for just the off-season." She stood and frowned at him more fiercely. "You haven't been keeping up your training at all!"

Aomine shrugged one shoulder. "I win without it."

"That isn't the point!" Aida-san shook a finger at him. "You're going to injure yourself if you keep playing the way your team did without keeping your motion drills up. I'm not having one of my players injuring himself through sheer idiocy! You're barred from full-speed plays and any practice matches we have until you've built up your joint strength again."

"I'm what?" Aomine stared at her in absolute disbelief. Tetsuya exchanged a quick glance with Momoi, who was wide-eyed and looked impressed. Their old coach and captain had set limits on Aomine when he practiced against the rest of the starting team, but no one had ever barred him from matches.

"Don't argue with the coach about training," Hyuuga-san told him flatly. "If she says you're in danger of injury, that's all there is to it. You keep her training schedule or I'll pull you out of the official matches, too."

Aomine stiffened at that, and Tetsuya let his breath out, a little wondering at how easy it had been. That was the one threat that would work. The one Akashi would never have allowed. And Hyuuga-san had delivered it without blinking, clearly in earnest.

"All right," Aida-san clapped her hands. "Let's get started! Today you can get a taste of the kind of training we do!"

Aomine sulked through the drills, and Tetsuya stayed close to him. Aomine ignored him, though, obviously remembering exactly who was responsible for him being here. When practice was over, and they met Momoi at the doors, Aomine said, "I'll walk you home today, Satsuki." He still wasn't looking at Tetsuya.

Momoi glanced between them, worried, but Tetsuya nodded silently. He wouldn't put up with being ignored for too much longer, but it suited him well enough to be on his own tonight.

There was someone else he'd been watching, today. He made a guess at where someone like Kagami, who was almost as impatient with the endless drills as Aomine had been, would go after a practice like today's. Sure enough, he found Kagami shooting basket after basket in the little court at one end of the park between school and the nearest station. He opened the gate and greeted his new teammate quietly. "Kagami-kun."

Kagami jumped and yelped, and Tetsuya waited for him to collect himself again. "You." Kagami shook back sweat-damp hair, tucking his ball into the crook of one arm. "Well, I guess that works; I wanted to talk to one of you. I keep hearing about this 'Generation of Miracles', but when I came back from the States last year the level of all the middle school basketball I saw was pathetic. So, you're from that team, right? Are you really that good?"

Tetsuya nodded to himself; Kagami had reminded him of Aomine, earlier, throwing himself into even drills like he was throwing himself over the edge of something, dissatisfied only because it wasn't enough for him. Kagami was the type who played for intense games.

Good.

"Teikou never lost," he said plainly. "Not once, the whole three years Aomine-kun and the rest played."

Kagami made a disgruntled sound. "That doesn't tell me anything. Maybe your opponents were all just weak." He caught the ball again, bouncing it fluidly. "Play me. I want to see for myself."

Tetsuya shrugged and agreed. It would be a good chance for him to measure Kagami's game and get a sense of his nature.

They made it for about five minutes before Kagami blew up at him.

"Of course I'm not going to win," Tetsuya told him absently, turning over in his mind what he'd seen. "That's not the kind of player I am." Kagami's game burned hot; Kagami obviously loved it, and gave all of himself to it. That was good. But he was still unfocused. Tetsuya guessed that he played by responding to his opponents, shaping his game to against theirs. He'd ask Momoi, after she'd seen him play, to be sure. That kind of reactive play meant Kagami was only as strong as the opponents he'd met so far. It meant Kagami couldn't match any of Tetsuya's old team right now, but it might also mean he could grow to do so.

Kagami stopped yelling and sighed, slinging his uniform jacket over his shoulders. "Never mind. Just... look, take some advice and quit basketball. However much team effort you try to put in, the fact is it takes talent to play and win. You don't have any."

That jarred Tetsuya out of his thoughts, sent his mind flashing back to the day he'd said almost exactly the same thing of himself. Said it to Aomine, and had Aomine convince him to stay, convince him that his love of the game was the only crucial part to being a good player.

If he said those words to Aomine today, Aomine would probably agree, just like Kagami was right now.

The thought stiffened Tetsuya's spine. "No," he answered calmly. "I love the game, and I'm not leaving it. Besides, like I said, that's not the kind of player I am. I'm a shadow. In a game, you'll see." Kagami frowned at him, puzzled, and Tetsuya tipped his head, considering his new teammate. He thought he knew what he needed to do, now, to make use of the strength Kagami did have. "You asked about how good the Generation of Miracles is. Now I've seen you play up close, I can tell you this. With your current game, you couldn't even reach their feet."

Kagami bristled. "What?"

"If you play Aomine-kun, you'll see." If they were lucky, Kagami's fire would start Aomine's again. If Kagami was the kind of player who loved hard games, who grew against tough opponents, this would be good for him, too. And Tetsuya might finally get his partner and his game back. If Aomine had someone to play against who didn't give up easily, maybe he would start to come out of the dark again. "If you're strong enough," Tetsuya added, "you'll have all the challenging games you might want. And when we play together, you'll understand how I was part of that team."

He had his own pride, after all. He would make them all understand, his old teammates and his new ones, that his game was strong in its own right. He hadn't chosen Seirin only for Aomine's benefit; this was a place that suited him. Seirin was a team that could use and would value the way Tetsuya could make them stronger, far more than Teikou had valued it by the end. And Kagami had potential. He had... light. He might become strong enough to be a real partner to Tetsuya.

Aomine wouldn't like it, if that happened.

Tetsuya's eyes narrowed as he pulled his uniform jacket back on. If Aomine didn't like it, then maybe he'd stop acting like such an ass and act like a partner again.

Yes, this might be a place that suited Tetsuya perfectly.

This Moment to Arise - Introductions

Aomine is increasingly annoyed by the attention Kuroko is paying Kagami, and for that matter everyone else on the team, and annoyed by the restraints Aida puts on him, but Kagami does pique his interest a little. Drama, I-3

Daiki had thought he'd gotten used to just how ridiculous it was that Tetsu had dragged him to this no-name school and dropped him into a basketball club that apparently had nothing going for it but enthusiasm. But this was where he put his foot down. The very idea of 'announcing his intentions' during morning assembly in order to 'prove' himself for this new team was laughable. He was the ace of Teikou, he didn't have a damn thing to prove to a team that couldn't even get to the Interhigh.

On the other hand, good entertainment was hard to come by, and he didn't have any objections to watching other people make fools of themselves, so he'd let Tetsu haul him up to the roof to watch the fun. Watching the other first years was good for a snicker as they stepped up to the rail, one after another, and managed to stammer and shout at the same time. He wondered idly if it would be more of the same when the red-head he'd noticed yesterday stepped up for his turn. He was the only one of the club here that actually looked like he might be worth something on the court, tall and powerful. Good reflexes, too, Daiki thought, watching him jump up to balance on the rail.

And then the guy pulled in a lungful of air and yelled, loud enough that it echoed off the school buildings, "Class 1-B, seat 8, Kagami Taiga! I will defeat the Generation of Miracles and become the number one in Japan!"

That was when it stopped being funny.

That was when Daiki stepped in front of Tetsu, as he stirred toward the edge, stepped up and braced a foot against the rail and leaned out into the morning wind. "I'm Aomine Daiki," he called over the lines of assembled students. "And I am number one in Japan." He pushed back and turned on his heel to meet Kagami's hot eyes. "And if you think you're good enough, then come on," he finished.

For a few seconds he thought he might have some light entertainment for the morning, because Kagami looked more than willing, but then the door slammed open and teachers spilled onto the roof. The lecture they made everyone sit for broke the mood. By the time they got to practice that afternoon, he was bored again, and when their little slip of a coach divided the players for a mini-game, he volunteered to be the first-year who sat out.

"Won't be much use in it, otherwise," he pointed out, which was only the truth. She'd said she wanted to evaluate the new players. If he was in, the only one she'd see was him.

"We'll do two games," she decided. "You'll sit out the first one. Kagami will sit out the second."

Annoyance flicked at him again, being equated with that guy, but he shrugged and slid down cross-legged on the side-lines. At least he could watch Tetsu.

It wasn't long, though, before he was frowning a little. "Tetsu, what the hell?" he muttered as Tetsu went to dribble and promptly had the ball stolen by the second-years' point guard. Kagami was the only one scoring, and he was pretty much playing solo. The moment the second-years got serious and put three men on marking him, the other two blew past whole rest of the first-year team. Including Tetsu.

He couldn't actually blame Aida-san that much when she asked Satsuki, "He was a Teikou starter? Really?"

Satsuki gave Tetsu a positively doting look. "Tetsu-kun is so responsible," she cooed. "You said you wanted to evaluate everyone, Riko-kantoku. Tetsu-kun is a specialist; this isn't how he normally plays. But he's showing you everything, so you know."

"So I know how bad he is at every move?" Aida-san muttered. Before Satsuki could sing more of Tetsu's praises, though, there was a scuffle on the court where Kagami was yelling at one of the other first-years. Daiki felt a sneaking bit of sympathy, because the other guys were exactly the kind of losers who kept giving up on him. They deserved a bit of yelling.

And then Tetsu stepped up behind Kagami and knocked his knees out, facing the resulting snarling without turning a hair and gesturing back down the court. Daiki sat up straighter, eyes narrowing. He knew that expression on Tetsu's face. He recognized that action.

Tetsu liked this Kagami guy. He was treating him like a teammate.

And when the first-year team spread back out, Tetsu started passing. He'd obviously been watching everyone, himself, evaluating who could do what, because even with this team of losers he always got the ball to the one who was open enough to gather up his guts for a few seconds and take a shot. As the second-years pulled back from their triple-mark on Kagami, Tetsu shot the ball to him, and in three plays the points were almost level again.

Okay, Kagami wasn't terrible, Daiki admitted grudgingly. He shouldn't be mouthing off about beating Teikou's first string, but he wasn't bad. That still didn't give him any right to be getting chummy with Daiki's partner! He watched like a hawk as Tetsu got the ball for a final play and moved it down the court himself. He couldn't really be meaning to shoot...

Daiki's jaw tightened as Kagami started to move.

Tetsu tossed the ball up, with almost as little regard for form as Daiki had, and Daiki gritted his teeth as Kagami dunked it with perfect timing. But, as much as it pissed him off to see satisfaction flicker over Tetsu's face, there was also a little tingle of excitement. Kagami might just be good enough to be interesting. For a little while, at least. So, while the first-years were cheering over actually winning against their senpai, Daiki went and picked up one of the balls out of the cart, tossing it a little in his hand to get the feel of it.

"Hey, Kagami," he called, bouncing the ball a few times, and bared his teeth when Kagami turned around. "Let's see what you're really made of."

Kagami's eyes lit instantly in answer, which was nice. They'd see how long it lasted. Daiki slid down the court, weaving casually around the rest of the bodies on it, too fast for any of them move. Kagami moved, at least, came to meet him with a sharp, sure step that didn't waver even when Daiki cut around him, past him, leaped to drop the ball in. He looked back, as he landed, to see Kagami frozen and shocked, and sighed. Fuck. Another one. He scooped up the ball on the bounce and turned away, reaching for the familiar blanket of boredom to throw over the disappointment.

"Where the hell do you think you're going!?"

Daiki blinked and turned back. Kagami was pointing at him, indignant. "Get your ass back here and do that again!"

Daiki blinked some more. "...what, you like losing or something?"

Kagami snorted kind of impressively, folding his arms. "Don't be an idiot. Do it again, so I can figure out how to beat you."

Daiki was trying to put words to his feeling that he was not the idiot in this equation, when an earsplitting blast of the whistle made them both wince.

"Aomine-kun!" Aida-kantoku glowered from right next to them. "I told you no full speed plays!"

"That wasn't full speed!" Daiki protested, stung by the injustice. Not that he'd actually been thinking about her orders at the time, but he still hadn't broken them!

Everyone fell silent, staring, and Daiki huffed out an annoyed breath; did these people honestly not know what they'd signed up for their own damn club?

"How much of your top speed was that, then?" Aida-san asked at last, quietly, folding her arms.

Daiki considered. "Seventy percent, maybe." Kagami made an outraged sound, beside him, and Daiki paused to smirk at him. "What was that about beating the Generation of Miracles?" he needled.

"Cut that out, you two," the coach directed absently. "All right. Don't go above sixty until I tell you you can. Your style puts even more strain on your body than I'd realized, and we're going to have to make sure to build up your lateral movement muscles. And you!" she added, turning on Kagami. "Don't you go along with him like that! You can train together when I say you can!"

"Yes, Kantoku," Kagami agreed, glumly, giving Daiki a look that said he was pissed off over being held back like that. That he wanted to play again.

Daiki smiled slowly, spinning the ball lightly on his fingers. Lighter than he'd felt for a while, now. "We can take our time, I guess, yeah," he purred.

Maybe there was some fun to be had, here, after all.

Of course, then she made them play another mini-game with Daiki switched in for Kagami. But at least Tetsu had stopped demonstrating his weaknesses. Daiki didn't actually object to the chance to show Kagami how a real partnership with Tetsu looked, and even holding down his speed to sixty percent the ball sang between them and scorched down the court. The second-years weren't total slouches, either. They gave up on defense after about four minutes of total disbelief and concentrated on offense to even the score.

And they were staying close, because Tetsu kept passing to the other first years. Daiki finally straightened up from blocking yet another shot from Hyuuga-san, who really was a pretty good outside shooter, and jammed his hands on his hips. "Tetsu, what the hell are you doing?"

Tetsu got the set to his jaw that meant he was feeling stubborn. "This isn't a tournament match, Aomine-kun. It's practice. It's training."

Daiki ran an unimpressed eye over their panting 'teammates'. "You telling me you think you can train them up to win with a few passes? Don't be ridiculous, Tetsu. You're a shadow. You make any player stronger, yeah, but your own strength depends on the strength of your light." Quieter, he finished, "No one else here can make you stronger than me. There's no one here you can make shine brighter than me."

Tetsu looked deliberately over at Kagami, fidgeting on the sidelines. "I think there is."

It took Daiki a few seconds to put his jaw back where it belonged. "What the fuck, are you serious?" Tetsu's eyes narrowed, and Daiki rocked back a step. Tetsu really was serious. "Tetsu..."

"Why should I settle for being the shadow of someone who's given up, Aomine-kun?" Tetsu asked, low enough that Daiki didn't think anyone else heard.

Daiki set his own teeth and spun back to the game. He knew Tetsu was right, in absolute terms. But what else was he supposed to do?!

They won the game, just like they always won, no matter what else happened. And the stunned look on Kagami's face was satisfying. But the walk home that night was almost as silent as they'd been yesterday. And when Daiki came in to his classroom the next morning and saw everyone at the windows, chattering, and looked out to see what was written on the assembly ground in boundary chalk, he knew who had put it there.

My strength will make my team number one.

Satsuki slipped up beside him and leaned against his arm. "You know, Tetsu-kun has a point. He's as strong as any of you, in his own way. He deserves a partner who will work for his game."

Daiki turned away sharply from the window. He didn't go to practice that day, either, retreating up to the roof instead, to think. Tetsu had caught him in the trap of this school, this team. If Daiki didn't work hard enough for him, and maybe for the coach, Daiki wouldn't be able to play. Even if he could, he'd still have to watch Tetsu working with Kagami unless he agreed to keep hoping, keep pushing for nothing. And he couldn't do that any more. Part of him wanted to say fuck it all and just let the game go; it usually only hurt, these days, going out to play and having every opponent give up and turn away. But...

Well. There was still that 'but'.

And there was Kagami himself.

And there was Tetsu.

Daiki rolled over onto his stomach, chin on his crossed arms, and sighed. No. He knew he wouldn't actually leave. He supposed he'd just have to hang in there until he could play a team one of the others had gone to. That thought was a pleasant one, and he smiled, contemplating it until he dozed off in the spring sunlight.

This Moment to Arise - Clarifications

Kagami is pleased with his new team and his new challenge, though puzzled by the tension between Kuroko and Aomine. A practice match against Kaijou tells him at least a little of what the tension is over, and also gives him his first taste of working with Kuroko in a real game. Drama, I-3

Taiga swatted his alarm clock into silence, rolled over, and smiled up at the ceiling. He woke up with a smile a lot, lately.

Okay, so his strongest teammate was a total jerk, and he honestly thought Kuroko liked scaring the liver out of people by popping up out of nowhere, and their coach was clearly some kind of demon. He could deal with all of that and more, because basketball was interesting again. A challenge again, and more than a challenge. A bone-cracking, tendon-snapping, nerve-burning hurdle to get over, like it hadn't been for over a year since he came back to this country.

Aomine said he was the best, but Kuroko said the rest of them weren't actually much weaker. And a few of them were in nearby schools. Taiga couldn't wait for the tournaments to start.

And in the meantime, there was Aomine, who might be a deadbeat when he was sulking but was like fire on the court when he did show up. And he was training often enough that Kantoku was starting to let the two of them play opposite each other in the club's practice games. Taiga sometimes caught himself humming as he put together his dinner bento, for evening practice. Aomine was impossible. The shots he could make were insane; it was like the ball and the basket were his two hands and he brought them together easy as that.

But, then, most of the team already said Taiga's own jumps were impossible. And he was pushing his height further and further because it was the one advantage he had on Aomine. So Taiga didn't pay much attention to what was possible or not, only to what he saw in front of him. Right now, that was Aomine.

Aomine... and Kuroko.

Taiga wasn't always sure what to make of Kuroko. He thought about it today, on his way to school, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking out over a landscape of the tops of people's heads. In his own way, Kuroko was almost as impossible as Aomine. The things he could do with the ball, the way he could move over the court unseen, straight through any defense, the way he always, always knew who was open and where... it was amazing. When Aomine and Kuroko played together in a practice game, they went through the other side like it wasn't even there. Even, Taiga admitted, through him, because the speed and precision of their combination was frankly appalling. It was going to be an incredible weapon for Seirin, when the tournaments started.

But Kuroko refused to play with Aomine like that very often. He kept passing to other team members, deferring to Izuki-senpai's plays, concentrating his passes on Taiga himself, if anyone. And when Taiga asked why, all he would say was that his game with Taiga could become stronger than his game with Aomine, and the way Aomine responded if he heard that tended to distract Taiga. The one time he had tried to press for more detail, the teacher had yelled at him for talking during classâ€”at him, but not at Kuroko, because life with Kuroko was just like that.

Eventually Taiga intended to find out why Kuroko kept setting him and Aomine against each other. In the meantime, though, there were other things to think about. Things like failing English class, because the things they tried to teach here were utterly ridiculous and nonsensical. Things like hanging on to the counter during the rush at the cafeteria long enough to get a decent sized lunch, because he swore no one in this country ate enough to keep a squirrel alive. Things like defending his dinner from Aomine.

That last one was giving him some trouble.

Taiga slapped Aomine's thieving fingers away from his box of stir-fry and slid further down the bench. Of course, that just gave Aomine a chance to try to snag one of the sandwiches out of the stack on Taiga's other side; the man really was unfairly fast. Taiga swallowed and growled at his teammate. "What is with you? Bring your own damn dinner!"

"My cooking sucks," Aomine said easily, eyeing Taiga's other box, the one with the cookies, greedily. "So does Satsuki's. And Kaa-san's way too busy."

Taiga pinned down his cookies under his toe, glaring. "So go snitch from Mitobe-senpai!"

From his seat against the stage, carefully out of reach, Mitobe-senpai gave them both a reproachful look.

"That's not a very respectful thing to suggest, Kagami-kun," Kuroko murmured from where he sat on the edge of the stage, finishing a can of Pocari and watching. And laughing at them from behind that straight face, Taiga swore.

"See? Even Tetsu agrees." Aomine feinted for the sandwiches again and got a foot around the cookie box when Taiga shifted his weight, smirking with his success. Taiga decided finishing the rest of his food was more important than defending his dessert, and hurried up. If he finished fast enough, he'd damn well tackle Aomine and wrestle him for the damn cookies.

"Don't you think you should stop them before Kagami chokes on his food some night?" Izuki-senpai asked Hyuuga-senpai in an undertone.

Their captain shrugged with perfect fatalism. "Kantoku thinks it's good training for Kagami's speed, to play keep-away with Aomine. I don't argue with her about training."

Izuki-senpai looked torn between amusement and worry, but he didn't argue either. Taiga growled under his breath, biting into his last sandwich ferociously. Fine, then. If he had to teach Aomine some manners on his own, he'd do it.

Somehow.

"We'll just come with you for your snack after practice," Momoi offered, leaning on his shoulder and plucking the now empty cookie box out of Aomine's grip. "And you can make Aomine-kun buy you dessert then."

"He can what?" Aomine asked, brows going up.

"That sounds fair," Kuroko put in, and calmly ignored Aomine's protests. At least he ragged on them both equally, Taiga reflected.

"As long as there are absolutely no full-speed one-on-ones after," Kantoku specified, looming suddenly behind them. "I'm relying on you, Satsuki-chan."

Momoi pursed her lips dubiously. "I'll do my best, Riko-kantoku, but these two..."

Kantoku sighed. "At least you can report it." She glared down at them forbiddingly. "And then I can take it out of their hides."

Taiga exchanged a look with Aomine, for once in perfect agreement. "After we eat," Taiga muttered, as Aida-san moved off with Momoi, talking about individual training for the second-years.

"You're on." Aomine's smirk was annoyingly lazy and casual, but he'd never once turned Taiga down.

"You really are going to get in trouble with the coach," Kuroko noted, but not as if he expected that to stop them. Just an observation.

The weird part was, that seemed to be as good as a flat no to Aomine. "Oh come on, Tetsu," he groaned, flopping back to sprawl on the floor. "I'm going to die of boredom if I don't get to do something besides drills."

"Kantoku is right about needing to be back in condition before you push harder than you have been," Kuroko told him, even and relentless, and Aomine hauled himself upright to slump against the bench scowling.

"Like I'll have to push harder."

"You will in matches. That's why you agreed to Seirin."

Aomine hesitated at that, and finally sighed extravagantly. "Oh fine." He glanced up at Taiga and waved a hand at Kuroko. "Argue with him about it."

Of course, Taiga didn't. One, because it was time to get back to practice, and two, because he was still trying to figure out what was going on with Aomine and Kuroko. Aomine listened to Kuroko like he didn't to anyone else, up to and including the coach and captain. But there was something else Kuroko wanted, and Taiga could only think it was that something that kept Kuroko turning toward him instead of Aomine. He just had no fucking clue what it was.

He didn't have much time tonight to think about it, either, because Kantoku put Aomine on the opposite side of the practice game from Taiga and Kuroko, and Taiga still had to fight to get passes to and from Kuroko without Aomine being right there in the way. It was annoying as all hell.

Aomine was annoying as hell about it, too. "Are you guys done yet?" he asked, smirking over the ball cradled easily in his grip halfway to Taiga's hands.

"No," Taiga snapped and jerked his head at Kuroko, holding up his hand. They'd find a way around Aomine, because this was exactly the caliber of player who was waiting for the team at the tournaments. Kuroko nodded back firmly, shoulders settling out of the tense line they always seemed to get when Aomine was on the other side.

It really did make Taiga wonder. If Kuroko got this tense about being separated from his old partner, why did he seem so bound and determined to make a new one out of Taiga?

There had to be something he was missing.

When the coach had said she'd gotten them a practice match with one of the other schools that had taken in one of the Generation of Miracles, Taiga had been excited. But he had to say, his first look at Kise Ryouta was not impressing him.

"Kise," Aomine groaned, hand over his eyes, "will you get rid of your damn fangirls?" Once Kise had finished smiling and apologizing and generally dumping pretty-boy charm all over the landscape, and all the squealing girls had been herded out, he added, "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I heard we'd be having a practice match with Seirin, and I thought I remembered this was where you and Kurokocchi came, so I had to come say hello didn't I?"

"Hello, then," Kuroko said from behind two of the second-years, making them jump and yelp. "But if that was all, then we should get back to practice."

Okay, Taiga decided, as Kise downright pouted, Kuroko just liked to wind everyone up, is what it was.

"Kurokocchi is so mean, and after I was the one closest to you at Teikou, too!" Kise actually had tears in his eyes, and Kagami was starting to wonder if this guy was for real.

"I don't remember that," Kuroko said thoughtfully, and Aomine rolled his eyes.

"Do the comedy routine on your own time, you two. Seriously, Kise, why are you here?"

Kise's overdone mournfulness evaporated, and his eyes glinted at Aomine. "I just wanted to make sure you were ready to be playing on opposing teams, Aominecchi."

Aomine bared his teeth, shedding his usual lazy slouch as fast and completely as Kise had wiped away those fake tears, and something in Taiga leaped up like a fire catching. That. That look was the one he wanted to see in Aomine's eyes, when they played.

Which was when he realized that neither Aomine nor Kise was paying any attention at all to the rest of the team.

"Ki-chan!" Momoi appeared in the doors of the gym, bags of drinks swinging from her fingers, laughing. "Tell me you didn't come all the way up here to challenge Aomine-kun! The match is already set up, you know, you'll play him soon enough."

"Momocchi!" Kise brightened up and laughed along with her. "I just wanted to make sure I remembered right, that this was Aominecchi's school!" He paused, looking back and forth between Kuroko and Momoi. "Wait a minute... Momocchi too? That's no fair!" He crossed his arms and huffed at Aomine. "You should give us Kurokocchi, then."

"Dream on," Aomine told him dryly. "He's not going anywhere."

"That isn't actually up to either of you," Kuroko pointed out, and the flickers of guilt and something like panic on both Aomine's and Kise's faces almost made Taiga laugh.

Almost. Because watching the four of them, it was blindingly clear that they were still a team. Even broken up and competing as opponents, they still acted like a teamâ€”thoughtlessly close and knowing each other like right and left hand. Even Kuroko, who was standing a little back from the other three.

Fuck that. Aomine and Kuroko, and Momoi too, were part of Seirin now. They were Taiga's team. He scooped up the ball he'd been drilling with, strolling into Kise's peripheral vision, and heaved it straight for him, fast and hard as if it was a pass he was trying to get past Aomine.

Kise's head whipped around and his hand came up to catch the ball, eyes wide and startled. "What was that for?" he asked, on a breath of a surprised laugh.

"Kind of doubt Kantoku will let you have Aomine, today," Taiga told him, strolling closer, close enough to break the group as Kuroko stepped back further and Momoi rolled her eyes and hopped up onto the stage, off the court. "So let's make sure you didn't waste your time. Play me."

"Kagami," Aomine growled, truly pissed off if Taiga was any judge. He just raised his brows and jerked a thumb at the coach, who was tapping her foot and glaring at all of them.

"Fine," Aomine snarled after a steaming moment. "Get your ass kicked. Maybe it'll finally teach you something." He whirled and stalked out of the way.

"Well." Kise blinked after him before turning a sharp smile on Taiga. "Just a point or two couldn't hurt." He shrugged out of his uniform jacket, ball passing lightly from hand to hand as he did, never leaving his possession. Taiga smirked, pleased, and felt for his footing against the polished court.

Taiga was prepared for the speed, after playing with and against Aomine. He was even prepared for the pure assurance of Kise's moves, the easy, natural grace. What blew him back was the sudden mirror of his own moves, the cut and turn that made his muscles stutter because they knew that shape and this was the wrong end of it. He stared up at Kise from flat on his ass on the court, and just had to laugh, leaning back on his palms. They were obviously all monsters, all of Teikou's starters.

Good.

"Do that again," he grinned, hauling himself to his feet.

Kise gave him a startled look that turned thoughtful as he glanced over at Aomine, simmering on the sidelines. "Maybe I see why Kurokocchi brought him here, after all." He spread his feet, balanced on his toes, and gave Taiga back his grin. "Maybe a few more, then."

"No more," Momoi declared, jumping down lightly to step between them, palms held out. "You've had your look, Ki-chan. I'm not letting you take more of a handicap than that."

"But...!" Taiga started to protest, running together with Kise's, "Aw, Momocchi..." She shook her head firmly, looking past them to speak to the coach.

"No more. Letting Ki-chan see more of Kagami-kun would be dangerous."

Kantoku nodded slowly. "I remember what you said. All right, then." She stepped forward, gesturing Taiga back. "We'll see you next week, Kise-kun."

Kise sighed mournfully. "Yes, ma'am." He paused to stick out his tongue at Momoi, and collected his jacket to toss over his shoulder on his way out. "I'll look forward to it, Aominecchi!" floated back as the doors closed behind him.

"Mm," Aomine grunted in answer. He was looking at Taiga, not his ex-teammate.

"What?" Taiga prodded. Aomine would brood on shit for days if you let him.

"You're getting better," was the startling answer. Aomine stood up and stretched. "A little." And in a flash, he was across the court, blowing past Taiga and stealing the ball. Pure reflex spun Taiga around to follow his cut, and he leaped to block the shot he knew was coming. Aomine's teeth were bared as he slung the ball around at a crazy angle and made the shot as surely as always. "A little," he said again, as the coach yelled at them to knock it off and get back to their drills. "Just not enough." He turned away to pick up the ball again, and Taiga turned to see Kuroko watching them with something dark in his eyes.

The more he saw of the Generation of Miracles, the more Taiga wondered what the hell had happened to all of them.

The practice match against Kaijou ran into trouble as soon as they'd all gotten changed. Taiga couldn't say he was all that surprised.

"All right," Aomine said, dropping his bag behind the bench and turning toward the court with a gleam in his eye, "let's get this show on the hghk!"

Their coach had reached up for a grip on the back of his shirt and expertly yanked him down onto the bench. "Not you. You're sitting this one out."

He surged back up to his feet, towering over her. "What?!"

"You've missed almost a week's worth of practice in the past month," she snapped back, hands on her hips, perfectly uncowed. "You know the rules. You don't practice, you don't play."

Kuroko's voice cut over the start of his protest, cool and level. "Good."

Aomine whipped around to stare at him. "Tetsu? What the hell?"

Kuroko looked up at him, and suddenly there was an edge on the usual calm of his expression. "All you're interested in, here, is Kise-kun. If that's the case, you might as well just ask him for a one-on-one match later, and leave the team out of it. That was what you were going to do anyway, isn't it?"

Taiga found himself edging back, along with everyone else, shocked by actually seeing Kuroko angry, no matter how quietly. And... his voice was quiet, yeah, but also hard. Even Aomine seemed startled, staring at Kuroko with his hands loose at his sides.

"You heard what the captain said, the first day," Kuroko went on. "If you want to play in matches with the team, then you have to be part of the team. If you can't do that, then you might as well leave the game!" He gestured sharply at the club members around them. "I'm glad Seirin is this way. Akashi-kun and our old coach spoiled you, Aomine-kun. They let you turn your game into something that isn't basketball any longer." He jerked his wrist-warmers into place, motions sharp, and turned away. "If you want to remember what it is, what it was, then sit down and watch."

Taiga watched Kuroko stalk onto the court, and Hyuuga-senpai going after him to catch his shoulder with a few low words about keeping his temper. Kuroko ducked his head, apologetic, back to being as deferential as usual to their senpai. The rest of the starting team looked at each other and shrugged, and followed them out.

And Aomine slowly sank back down to the bench, eyes still wide, looking like he'd been sucker-punched.

Taiga glanced over at Momoi, questioning, only to find her biting her lip, brows knitted with concentration like she was watching the team practice some really difficult play. When she saw him looking, though, she just shook her head, shooing him out to the court.

Once again, Taiga wondered exactly what had happened to them all.

"Kagami-kun," Kuroko said softly, as Taiga came up beside him, "will you help me? Without Aomine-kun, there's no one on the team who can beat Kise-kun alone. But you and I might do it together." When he looked up, there was something burning in his eyes. Something Taiga recognized, and he grinned back.

"Let's do it."

Kuroko smiled just a little.

"What was that all about, Kurokocchi?" Kise asked, slipping across the center.

"Something I would have said a year ago, if I thought Akashi-kun would let me," Kuroko said levelly.

Kise quailed back, hands lifted. "Don't involve me if you're getting into another argument with the captain!"

"Which captain was that?" Kasamatsu asked dryly from behind Kise's shoulder, and, while Kise was stammering, turned him back toward his own team and hurried him on his way with a very literal kick in the butt.

"I'm glad Kise-kun found a team he can get along so well with," Kuroko said, to all appearances perfectly serious.

They were all crazy. Every. Single. One.

But being crazy didn't stop Kise from being crazy-good, and Kaijou matched them speed for speed right from tip-off. Within the first few minutes, Taiga thought he might be going to give himself a headache trying to keep one eye on Kise and one on Kuroko. Kise wasn't like Aomine, he didn't seem to feel in his bones where Kuroko's passes would be, but he was fast and powerful and every move Taiga threw at him was thrown back with bruising force. Keeping track of Kuroko so they could actually get the ball to one another was an edge of concentration Taiga couldn't afford to take away from Kise.

Kuroko knew it too. After the third ball they lost, just when Taiga swore he was starting to feel his jersey singe from the force of Aomine's mounting glare, Kuroko touched his arm. "Don't look for me," he said quietly. "Can you do that? Don't watch for me. Just go. I'll be there."

Taiga sucked in a quick breath. The thought made his spine crinkle; it would be almost like playing blind. And... he'd have to trust Kuroko blindly too. But Kuroko's gaze on his, perfectly steady, perfectly calm, still had that will and determination to win burning behind it.

That, Taiga could trust.

"Okay." He nodded shortly, turning to focus on Kise and nothing else. And it was weird. He'd have expected to have to fight to even remember Kuroko was on the court with him. But every time he needed to pass the ball, or found a place to break past Kaijou, Kuroko was right there in of the corner of his eye. Again and again, Kuroko was there.

He was also paying for it, running with sweat, breath rasping in his throat. "Can you keep this up?" Taiga asked as the first quarter ended, frowning a little.

"I can keep it up for as long as I'll be effective," Kuroko gasped, swiping away the sweat running down his jaw with the back of his wrist. "Just go."

This time, the words put a different kind of shiver down Taiga's spine, a feeling more like awe. He knew Kuroko was hopelessly weak outside his specialization, but he couldn't listen to Kuroko, couldn't look at him, and think his determination was pointless or futile. So, as the second quarter got started, Taiga took a deep breath and didn't hold back.

Kuroko was paying hard to keep up. But he was also smiling just a little.

By the time they hit the middle of the second quarter, and Kantoku signaled for a player change, as planned, Kuroko was swaying a little on his feet. His grip on Taiga's arm was hard, though. "Don't let them get too far ahead," he gasped.

"Obviously," Taiga snapped, irritated, glaring down at him. And then he let out his breath and pushed Kuroko toward the sidelines where Koganei-senpai was waiting. "Now it's your turn. Just go."

Kuroko blinked up at him for a moment before it seemed to click, and a real smiled flashed over his face for a breath. "All right."

Kagami watched him off, where the coach pushed him down onto the bench and dropped a towel on his head, crouching down to work on his legs. He watched Aomine watching Kuroko with one of the strangest expressions Taiga had ever seenâ€”pissed off and somehow lost at the same time. He watched until Momoi stepped up to the sideline and signaled him sharply to pay attention to the game, and then he shook himself, getting ready to block Kise as completely as he could.

It was ridiculous to feel a little lost, himself, just because Kuroko wasn't beside him.

Taiga took a couple deep breaths and sank himself back into the game, into the place where 'speed' and 'power' had no meaning. The only thing with meaning, there, was 'more'. His more wasn't enough yet; he couldn't keep up with Kise, not all the way. Couldn't stop him every time. Couldn't take his attention off Kise to help with the rest of the team. Couldn't pay attention to the score, only hope that his senpai could stop the rest of Kaijou. Half time barely registered with him except as a blur of cool water and Momoi's quiet voice talking to Izuki-senpai about how to get past Kasamatsu.

When they got to the fourth quarter, though, they were only eleven points down. There was a glint in Kuroko's eyes when he joined Taiga on the court again, and both Kantoku and Momoi were grinning like sharks beside the bench. "Ready to go?" Taiga asked him, gulping air.

"Of course." In fact, Kuroko looked annoyingly cool and composed, and he eyed Taiga up and down, critically. "Are you?"

"Hey," Taiga growled, and then rolled his eyes when he caught the faint curl at the corners of Kuroko's mouth. "You're just as much of a jerk as Aomine is sometimes, you know that?" He straightened up and swiped his hair back off his forehead. "And what did I tell you earlier?"

Kuroko looked up at him and nodded.

Just go.

Taiga sucked in another breath and took hold of the thought, sinking himself into it like he sank himself into the game, letting go of all the rest. Kuroko would be there. He believed it.

Their first play blazed past Kise.

When the throw-in hit Kise's hands, he blew back through them like they weren't even there, every movement sharp as a knife, and there was a look in his eyes Taiga was more used to seeing in the mirror.

"Right." Taiga rolled his shoulders and jerked his head at Kuroko. "If that's how we're doing it, let's go."

The last quarter was a crazy back-and-forth scramble of offense, of fighting against the weight of Kise's focus, and Taiga knew he was only keeping up because Kuroko was with him, because half their plays were something even Kise couldn't grasp and copy. And even so, they were barely keeping up, and the score was always on the ragged edge of dropping them down too far to get back. Taiga felt the air of the court against his bared teeth.

He loved it.

He didn't know if Kuroko did. Kuroko didn't laugh with him; his face was quiet and intent the whole time. But that was okay. He was there, always there, perfectly in place to catch the bounce of Taiga's passes and send them scorching back, edging Seirin's score up and up, and that was enough.

Kise kept pushing, though, always meeting every drive Taiga made, always passing him, and the last minutes were ticking down. There had to be something Kise couldn't just turn back on him!

"Kagami-kun." He'd gotten so used to knowing Kuroko would be with him that this time he didn't jump, even when he hadn't actually seen him. "There's one thing Kise-kun won't ever be able to return." He looked up at Taiga, measuring. "A buzzer-beater."

"Mm. We'd have to fake him out somehow, and he's getting better at predicting me."

Kuroko nodded, matter-of-fact. "We can do that. You already know my timing, for it. You got it the first time we played."

Taiga's lips slowly drew back off his teeth again.

And when they got to the basket, it worked. Kise obviously knew exactly how bad a shot Kuroko was and turned toward Taiga, only to whip back in shock when Kuroko tossed the ball up in a gentle, completely inaccurate, curve. Kuroko was right, too; Taiga knew just when he had to go up to complete the shot. It was like the flip side of knowing Kuroko would be there for him on a drive. He slammed the ball in and the whistle blew as his feet found the floor again.

They'd won.

Taiga laughed and reached out to slap palms with Kuroko. They'd done it! This time, Kuroko's steady concentration brightened into a real smile and his hand met Taiga's firmly.

That smile stayed with Taiga for a while. So did the absolute stillness of Aomine's face when the team came off the court. For a moment, he wondered whether this was the answer to what had happened to them. But it couldn't be; he'd seen Aomine and Kuroko play together, and Aomine still had that perfect awareness of where Kuroko would be, the trust that he'd be there, the belief in Kuroko that let him just go without holding back or thinking about his partner.

Didn't he?

This Moment to Arise - Preparations

Momoi knows that the problems between Aomine and Kuroko and Kagami have to be ironed out before they start the Interhigh preliminaries, and she has a plan. That doesn't make it easy, though. Drama, Angst, I-3

Momoi Satsuki liked Seirin. They were a challenge, and she liked a challenge to her skills just as much as any of the boys did. Seirin had a coach she could talk with about skin care and cute mascot animals, and Riko-san blushed kind of adorably whenever Satsuki teased her over the captain. (Who totally was her boyfriend, even if neither of them admitted it.) And their captain paid close attention to her, listened to her analysis of what teams were strongest, asked her to scout upcoming competition.

The results of her first scouting expedition after she'd gotten ahold of the Tokyo preliminary bracket, had made him look pained. Her tentative solution had made him look downright dyspeptic. He'd agreed to her plan, though, and she liked the feeling of that trust.

"Gather up!" Hyuuga-san called across the gym, as the club filtered in from the locker room. "Briefing time for the Interhigh preliminaries!"

All the boys perked up and promptly gathered around, watching her attentively, and Satsuki sparkled at them just a little, enjoying the thread of excitement and tension in the air. It was the start of tournament season, and Seirin was about to put her analysis and their skills to the test. "The preliminary bracket is oddly shaped for us, this year," she started, tapping a finger on the edge of her clipboard. "For the most part, we shouldn't have trouble until we get to the final match of our block, where we'll most likely face Shinsenkan. Our very first match, though, has something unexpected." She turned the board around to show them her stats sheet on Shinkyou's new player. "Shinkyou has a foreign student playing this season. Papa Mbaye Siki of Senegal."

There was a moment of silence.

"...Momoi-chan, are those figures real?" Koganei-senpai finally asked weakly.

"Two hundred centimeters," she confirmed. "His arms add almost another meter."

"He won't even have to jump for the basket," Izuki-senpai said, appalled.

"Which is why Mitobe-san will be the key of the defense," Satsuki agreed, and smiled a little as all the second-years relaxed. She liked this about Seirin, too, that they knew each other's strengths and trusted each other so well. "If he manages to break away from Mitobe-san, the second line of defense will be Kagami-kun, to block the shot, or Aomine-kun to steal the ball. Be ready, you two."

Those two exchanged curled lips over Tetsu-kun's head and Satsuki exchanged a resigned look with Riko-kantoku. They'd talked about the edginess between Kagamin and Dai-chan, and about how to bring the boys around. Riko-kantoku had made even worse faces than Hyuuga-san over Satsuki's plan, but in the end she'd agreed also. It was Satsuki, after all, who knew Dai-chan and Tetsu-kun the best, and could project their responses most accurately.

The trust warmed her, but the responsibility made adrenaline tingle through her veins.

"Offense will actually have much the same problem," she went on. "Siki-san is tall enough to block many of Aomine-kun's shots, and even Hyuuga-san's, and catch Kagami-kun's dunks if he just stays under the basket. We have to count on Shikyou's coach and captain spotting that. So!" She clasped her board to her chest and smiled sweetly at Kagamin and Dai-chan. "The two of you will need to work as a pair. Whoever doesn't have the ball will need to screen whoever does and keep Siki-san away from the basket. Let Tetsu-kun decide who takes the ball," she added warningly as Kagamin and Dai-chan eyed each other with an instant flare of competitiveness. She swore it was spinal reflex for both of them. "He has a better sense of the flow of the game than either of you will probably ever have."

Tetsu-kun nodded calm agreement, completely ignoring the way both his current partners shifted their glowers to him. Satsuki stifled a sigh. She couldn't exactly blame Tetsu-kun for using Kagamin to make Dai-chan jealous. It seemed to be the only way to get Dai-chan's attention at all, lately. But the unspoken competition over Tetsu-kun was starting to get serious. It had been heating up ever since the Kaijou game, when Tetsu-kun had come off the court with that little smile on his face, head cocked up to listen to Kagamin with the tolerant affection Tetsu-kun always showed his partners—and no one but his partners. He didn't look like that at anyone who didn't understand and value his style, who couldn't play with him. By that measure, Kagamin was overtaking Dai-chan fast, and Satsuki thought Dai-chan knew it even if Kagamin maybe didn't quite yet. He'd certainly noticed the fresh edge on Dai-chan's jibes at him, though. The tension was starting to interfere with their play.

Which was why the next thing she said was, "In order to help the two of you work as a team, you're going to be spending time together outside training. You'll go for late dinner together every night after practice, from now on, along with Tetsu-kun and me."

"What?!"

Satsuki wondered ruefully if she should consider it progress that they yelped that in perfect unison.

"I am damn well notâ€”" Dai-chan started, heatedly, and Satsuki gave him her sweetest smile and cut him off.

"Dai-chan," she lilted, and he shut up at once, eyeing her warily. He knew what that tone meant, and had ever since they were seven and she'd hit him over the head with a toy train when he wouldn't stop stealing her barrettes.

"We don't really need..." Kagamin tried in turn, looking appealingly at Riko-kantoku. She gave him a gleaming smile back.

"Quadruple drills?" she suggested, and Kagamin gulped and shut up too.

Satsuki wasn't particularly surprised, though, that that evening's Battle of the Bento was especially fierce. Dai-chan came away with skinned knuckles but also with three of Kagamin's meatballs while Kagamin clutched the remainder to his chest and held his chopsticks like he'd stab the next hand that came close. She'd have to remember to make Dai-chan buy Kagamin an extra hamburger tonight.

Tetsu-kun nibbled on the last of his vegetables and watched Dai-chan smirk over his spoils with a distance in his eyes that Satsuki didn't like. They weren't doing this a moment too soon. In fact, she was starting to hope they weren't too late. If Tetsu-kun ever really did turn away from Dai-chan to partner with Kagamin alone, she didn't want to think what that would do to Dai-chan.

Or to Tetsu-kun.

Dai-chan leaned his chin in his hands, watching with some fascination as Kagamin decimated a tray full of hamburgers. "How have you not exploded yet, seriously?" He reached over to poke at Kagamin's stomach, and Satsuki slapped his hand.

"Be nice," she ordered sternly. "This is a team bonding exercise. Besides, it's your fault if Kagamin is extra hungry tonight."

"I've always stolen my teammates food," Dai-chan defended himself. "So if the point is team bonding then you shouldn't stop me."

"The point is for you and Kagami-kun to work together and support each other," Tetsu-kun put in while Satsuki was making frustrated sounds over Dai-chan's personal version of logic. "Maybe you should just ask if Kagami-kun will make extra for you."

Kagamin paused in the process of inhaling another burger and glared at both Tetsu-kun and Dai-chan. "Like hell I will."

Dai-chan leaned back in his chair, hooking an arm over the back, mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. "Yeah, seriously Tetsu, that was kind of obvious."

Tetsu-kun took another sip of the shake he'd been working on, eyes level on Dai-chan, and Satsuki winced. She'd seen that look too often in the past week, and it wasn't one Tetsu-kun gave people he was happy with.

"Then it looks like the way you usually act with teammates doesn't work very well."

Dai-chan's face darkened. "Tetsu..."

"Stop," Satsuki said flatly, and sighed when all three of them looked at her. This was exactly why she'd made sure Tetsu-kun came along; they needed to get all the problems out in the open before they blew up, and these problems were rooted too far in the past for their new captain or coach to deal with easily. So it was down to her. "Tetsu-kun. I know you're angry over what happened last year. You have a right to be. But it's affecting your teamwork with Dai-chan badly enough that I'm not sure we can actually put the two of you in as partners in a demanding game. Is that what you want?" She clasped her hands tight, under the table, hoping the answer was still 'no'.

"Oh for god's sake, Tetsu," Dai-chan exploded before Tetsu-kun could answer. "I told you, didn't I? Yes, you're right! You're the one in the right! But I can't do it, I can't play all out, not when it just makes people give up!" He jerked his head away to scowl out the window.

"Then don't," Tetsu-kun told him, soft and harsh. "If you want to break your own game, fine. Do it. But don't break mine!"

Satsuki was biting her lip hard, fingers wound white-knuckled around each other; she'd seen the problem and she'd brought them here, and now the very most she could do to help was to nudge them. The rest, they had to do for themselves. It was the one thing she hated about her own speciality. "Is that why you've been working more with Kagamin, Tetsu-kun?"

"Of course." Tetsu-kun set his cup down and sat back with sharp, precise movements. "Kagami-kun trusts me. Aomine-kun doesn't."

Dai-chan jerked back at that, eyes wide, and whatever he'd been about to say cut off. Kagamin made a startled sound, one hand full of hamburger still halfway to his mouth where he'd stopped short to stare at the sudden argument.

"What... what do you mean I don't trust you?" Dai-chan asked, half laughing and unsettled. "You're my shadow, of course I trust you. Our combination is still tighter than what you have with Kagami."

"That's practice, not trust," Tetsu-kun said sharply. "You play on your own and just assume I'll follow, if you think about it at all. You don't care any more what choices I might make for the game. If we were in a tight situation again, you'd do what you did last year and keep the ball yourself instead of trusting me with it."

"So you'd rather play with him?" Dai-chan demanded, pointing at Kagamin, who was watching them intently, now, like they were a question he couldn't quite remember the answer to. "If I'm not trusting you enough, then he's leaning on you too much! He won't be able to advance, that way, and then where are you? You're a shadow, Tetsu; to be strong you need a strong light. He won't make you strong enough!"

Finally, Kagamin spoke up. "Don't go making decisions for other people. How strong I can get is up to me. And how strong Kuroko can get is up to him." He finished off his burger and folded his arms, eyeing them.

Tetsu-kun's shoulders fell a little out of their fiercely straight line. "That's why," he said quietly, looking up at Dai-chan. "Didn't you think that, too, when you told me I should stay in the club, in middle school?" He looked down at the table, jaw tight. "I want my partner back, Aomine-kun. But I'm your partner, not your equipment."

Dai-chan opened his mouth and closed it again, eyes dark. Finally, he pushed up from the table and stalked out the doors, head down.

"You okay with just letting him go?" Kagamin asked, dubious.

Satsuki had to take a deep breath to keep her voice from shaking, but she was smiling. "Yes. I think so. When Dai-chan stalks off in a huff like that, it usually means you got him to think and now he wants to do it in private."

"Hm." Kagamin made another burger disappear. "Seems like it's their teamwork you want to work on, not his and mine."

Satsuki pulled herself together and shook a finger at him. "We'll get to yours, don't worry. The two of you really do need to figure out how to work together, or what use is it to the team to have both of you around?" She shot a look at Tetsu-kun, who was staring at his half-melted shake and not drinking. "But it's true that a lot of the problems between you come out of the problems between Tetsu-kun and Dai-chan."

Tetsu-kun looked up at her, brows pinched in a little, and she reached over to rest her hand on his. "I think he heard you, this time, Tetsu-kun. It'll be all right."

Kagamin snorted, standing up with his empty tray. "So that's why you've been pushing us against each other." He looked down at Tetsu-kun, steadily. "You could have just said so, instead of hoping I'd rub off on him or something." He went back to the counter for another five burgers while Tetsu-kun winced faintly.

When he came back, he dumped a fresh shake in front of Tetsu-kun and wouldn't look at either of them while he finished off the rest of his snack. Tetsu-kun watched him for a long moment, eyes just that bit wider than usual that meant he was startled, and finally took the shake. "Thank you," he said, low, sipping quietly.

"Mm," Kagami acknowledged around a full mouth, still not looking at them.

Satsuki was starting to think that they'd all gotten luckier than they deserved, finding Kagamin at Seirin.

Dai-chan stalked through practice the next day, silent and preoccupied, constantly watching Tetsu-kun out of the corner of his eye.

"Do I need to keep those two separated?" Riko-kantoku asked quietly.

Satsuki shook her head. "No, I think we actually got somewhere. Let Aomine-kun play with Tetsu-kun in today's mini-game, and we'll know for sure."

Riko-kantoku patted her shoulder. "Good work. I'll see to it."

Sure enough, Riko-kantoku had a quiet word with Hyuuga-san, and when they divided up players for a mini-game Dai-chan and Tetsu-kun were on the same team. Satsuki watched Tetsu-kun stop in front of Dai-chan, looking up at him without speaking. After a long moment, Dai-chan closed his eyes and nodded. They turned away to their positions, still without speaking, and Satsuki noted ruefully how wary Tsuchida and Furihata seemed of their current teammates. She couldn't entirely blame them; there'd practically been a storm cloud hanging over Dai-chan's head all day. She was having to restrain herself strenuously from biting her nails, or possibly her clipboard, waiting for this game to start.

When they did, her breath caught.

Dai-chan moved like she hadn't seen him move in over a year. Like he and Tetsu-kun were thinking the same thoughts, breathing the same breath. Tetsu-kun didn't need to signal, barely needed to glance at Dai-chan, for Dai-chan to be in motion. Again and again, he hit the perfect mark to receive Tetsu-kun's passes, so cleanly no one could break the route. Again and again, Tetsu-kun sent the perfect pass to match Dai-chan's movement. At the end of twenty minutes, the score was fifty to thirty, in favor of Dai-chan and Tetsu-kun's side.

When they all finished tossing their numbers back in the basket, Tetsu-kun stopped and stood looking at Dai-chan with a smile on his face, faint and true, and Dai-chan smiled back, a little tilted. He held out his fist casually, and after a very still moment Tetsu reached out and touched it with his own, light as though he thought it was an illusion that might burst on contact. Satsuki thought about how long it had been since the last time she had seen them do that, and had to swallow hard to get the lump out of her throat, and nearly lost it anyway when Riko-san wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Shh, it's okay," Riko-san told her softly. "They're okay, now, aren't they?" Satsuki nodded wordlessly, blinking back tears.

"Aomine, you asshole," Kagamin panted, swiping back sweat-soaked hair. "You've been holding out on me." Dai-chan started to smirk, and then both he and Kagamin yelped as Hyuuga-san fetched them brisk, matching swats across the back of the head.

"Okay," he snapped, giving Dai-chan a hard look, "what the hell kind of play was that? I have never seen anyone hog the ball that badly in my life!"

Tetsu-kun looked abashed and bobbed a bow. "I apologize, senpai. I should have paid more attention to that."

Dai-chan looked back and forth between them, utterly blank. "Why should you? I mean, there's no one else here strong enough to deal with him," he jerked his thumb at Kagamin, "obviously you'd get the ball to me. What?" he added, as everyone stared at him.

Tetsu-kun sighed, shoulders slumping a bit, even though his smile still hovered around the corners of his mouth. Hyuuga-san just rubbed his forehead and muttered under his breath, "Why did I let that guy talk me into running this team, again?" He stabbed a finger at Dai-chan. "We are going to talk about why there are other players on a team. Later. Right now, we have shooting drills to get through; everyone get to it!"

Dai-chan gave their captain a baffled look and shrugged at Tetsu-kun before going to fetch them both balls from the bin.

Satsuki couldn't help herself. She turned and buried her head against Riko-san's shoulder, giggling helplessly and as silently as she could manage. Riko-san patted her back with a rueful sigh. "I guess we still have a ways to go, huh?"

Satsuki finally got a hold of herself and straightened up, brushing back her hair and smiling encouragingly for her coach. "Yes, but at least it's a start. If we can get him to work with Kagamin, that will be another step."

Listening to the conversation over late dinner that night, though, Satsuki thought that it might be kind of a big step from Kagamin to everyone else.

"I mean!" Dai-chan gestured vigorously with his cup of soda. "It's just the plain truth, isn't it? It's not like I'm saying they're totally weak, but none of them is up to our level. I think Hyuuga-senpai is the only one who even starts to come close."

She smacked his shoulder with the back of her hand. "Quit being such a snob, Dai-chan. Hyuuga-senpai would probably have been first-string at Teikou."

"Yeah, but there's first-string, and then there's us, is all I'm saying." He shrugged and sucked on his straw.

"And every single one of you is annoying as all fuck." Kagamin unwrapped another burger, giving Dai-chan a dark look. "Kise isn't as bad, and Kuroko's fine when he's not scaring the life out of you for fun, but it's been too damn long since you lost, is what."

Satsuki winced as Dai-chan's face turned still and distant. "No one can beat me," he stated, flat and harsh. "No one but myself."

"Aomine-kun," Tetsu-kun said quietly, with a shadow of something entreating in the way he looked at his partner. Dai-chan sighed and shook the moment off.

"I know, Tetsu, but facts are facts. The best I can hope for is people like him," he flicked his fingers at Kagamin, "who are at least a little entertaining and don't give up too fast." Kagamin growled around a mouthful of food, and Dai-chan smirked at him, humor restored. "So quit letting Tetsu pull your nuts out of the fire for you; it'll make you soft."

"Kagami-kun is my partner also." Tetsu-kun's tone made Dai-chan hold up his hands in surrender and Kagamin settle back in his chair, though his glare still promised the argument wasn't over yet. Just postponed. Satsuki quite deliberately sparkled at them and leaned her chin delicately on her laced hands.

"You can be so commanding when you want to be, Tetsu-kun."

That, at least, got Dai-chan and Kagamin snickering together, and the amused glance Tetsu-kun gave her over his shake suggested he knew why she'd said it. But Satsuki couldn't help worrying that it wouldn't be enough. They only had four days left before the first match of preliminaries, and Kagamin and Dai-chan were still treating each other far more like rivals than like teammates.

Although...

Satsuki gave Tetsu-kun a considering look; he had already set them on track to competing with each other. She didn't think Kagamin understood all of why, yet, but she did. She knew already that Kagamin could grow strong enough to make it work, to make Dai-chan respect him and break through that bleak core in his game. He was closing in on Dai-chan already, and all her projections said he could do it. That was yet to happen, though. Maybe, for now, instead of trying to make them work together the best thing to do was to make use of their competition.

Four days later, Riko-kantoku winced a little as Kagamin nearly ran Siki down trying to slam in another dunk. Not because Seirin was behind in points, which they weren't. No, it was because Kagamin was two baskets behind Dai-chan in their personal contest. "Are you sure this was a good idea, Satsuki-chan?"

"I'm afraid it's the best we're going to get for now," Satsuki murmured, watching the second-years and weighing her captain's fast eroding patience. Hyuuga-san was going to smack both of them any moment now, unless... yes, Izuki-senpai saw it too and sent the ball to the outside to let both the team's aces settle down a bit. Satsuki sighed. "I'll keep working on it."

"We'll all keep working on it," Riko-san corrected firmly. "If both of them were raised by wolves before now, it's up to us to civilize them."

Satsuki smiled down at her coach, sweet and warm with the unaccustomed feeling of a senpai's support. "Yes, Kantoku."

She really did like being at Seirin very much.

A/N: So, here's the thing. Fujimaki's Interhigh tournament brackets are incredibly screwed up. The only preliminary we see, for Interhigh, is prefect-level. This is made very clear by the fact that Kaijou, the Kanagawa champions, do not appear in the preliminary finals. Kanagawa is a prefect of the Kantou region, just like Tokyo is, and if the preliminary had been regional (as Kiyoshi suggests it is much later in the series by calling it the Kantou tournament) then Kaijou would have been in the finals. So, apparently the regional preliminary doesn't exist, fine, whatever. But on top of that, Fujimaki puts two of the three Kings into the same block of preliminaries. This is completely counter to usual practice in any kind of preliminary elimination; three schools as widely geographically divided as those are shown to be should not be in the same block. Over and above that, though, these three are said to always be the three who win the preliminary finals, which means they must never have shared a block before or one of them would have eliminated the other before the finals. In short, Fujimaki decided that Drama > Logic. Fine, whatever, but I'm a little allergic to that kind of thing, and hereby declare that the three Kings are each in a different block, and that Shinsenkan is the only one in Seirin's block. The preliminary finals will, therefore, feature Seirin, Seihou, Shuutoku, and Touou.

This Moment to Arise - Revelations

Aomine plays against Seihou, and the team that surprises him the most is his own. He watches Kagami and Kuroko play against Shuutoku, and understands some of what went wrong the previous year. Drama, Action, I-3

On the second day of the Tokyo preliminary finals, Daiki's heartfelt comment was, "About damn time." He shrugged off Satsuki's admonishing look. "Oh, come on, I've been bored out of my mind. Shinsenkan was pathetic, and even those Touou guys weren't exactly a challenge." Which had been a great disappointment, after he'd hauled himself through the whole month of A-block matches on the hope that the 'Kings of the West' would be at least a bit of fun. Or at least that their first match in the final block would be. But no, not so you'd notice. If it hadn't been ridiculous to imagine, he'd actually have thought Touou was holding back against him. So he had to hope that Seihou would be better; they had Tsugawa, at least, and he might be good for a bit of fun, if Daiki was remembering right.

"Be sure you don't get careless," Hyuuga-senpai ordered sternly, folding his shirt into the locker he'd claimed in the changing room. "All you first-years should be prepared. Seihou has the toughest defense in Tokyo; last year, they trashed us badly enough that we actually hated the game for a while. Badly enough we nearly quit." He banged the locked shut with more force than was necessary.

Daiki's lip curled a little. "Yeah, you and everyone else." He said it quietly, though, because Tetsu was giving him a Look. More loudly he added, "Of course you lost, you didn't have me or Tetsu. Or Satsuki. Or even Kagami, I suppose." He ducked Kagami's annoyed swipe, grinning.

"That doesn't matter."

Daiki paused in the middle of grappling with Kagami, startled by just how level Hyuuga-senpai's voice was. And when their captain turned away from the lockers, Daiki straightened up in pure reflex. Hyuuga-senpai's eyes were gleaming like light off steel.

"It wouldn't matter who we had or didn't have, this year. Because we didn't quit. And we're going to win." He opened his hand to Satsuki, and she stepped forward with a demure, bloodthirsty smile.

"Yes, Captain. We'll be using Aomine-kun and Tetsu-kun in this match, and saving Kagami-kun for the match against Shuutoku. Tetsu-kun, please."

The start of Daiki's protest was promptly cut short by a sharp jab in the ribs. As he turned, gasping, to glare at his partner, he saw Kagami bent over on Tetsu's other side, rubbing his ribs and glaring to match. Tetsu met both glares with a perfectly bland look, just as if he hadn't essentially sucker-punched both his partners. Satsuki was still smiling, sweet and alarming.

"Thank you. It's necessary, Dai-chan, so shut up. Midorin knows you too well, and you don't have the height Kagami-kun does. He's the only one here who might block Midorin's shots. You, on the other hand, are better at getting past defense." She gave Kagami a pointed look while she said it, and he subsided sulkily.

The door of the changing room clicked open and everyone looked around to see their coach standing with her hands on her hips. "It's time," she said, eyes gleaming to match Hyuuga-senpai's. "We have a year's worth of interest to pay Seihou back on our loss last year. It's a big debt. Are you ready?"

The snap of the second-years' agreement made Daiki's ears perk up. That... that was a good sound. He liked hearing it.

As they filed out into the hall, Kagami glanced down at Tetsu. "Something wrong?"

Daiki looked around sharply; sure enough, Tetsu was looking up at the darkening glass ceiling of the main concourse as he walked, eyes distant. "Have you ever hated basketball, Kagami-kun?" he asked quietly.

Kagami blinked. "Not really."

"I have."

Daiki jerked up short in the hall, and Tetsu stopped too. When he glanced at Daiki, those pale eyes were flat and shadowed. "It wasn't for the same reasons as our senpai. But I know that feeling."

"Tetsu, what," Daiki started, chest suddenly tight. "You didn't..."

"It's a painful feeling, to hate what you love," Tetsu said quietly, holding his eyes.

Daiki flinched back from talking about this here, in front of Kagami again. "I don't..."

"I think this is an important game," Tetsu continued as if he hadn't spoken. "For our senpai to get beyond the past. And maybe for us, too."

Daiki just stared back, wordless. It was Kagami who snorted, hands jammed in his jacket pockets. "I don't know what all you're talking about. But if it's an important game, let's go win it."

A slow smile tugged at the corners of Tetsu's mouth, and the flatness faded out of his eyes. "Sometimes maybe it's good to be uncomplicated," he said blandly.

"Of course it is." Kagami frowned. "Hey, wait a minute."

Tetsu looked back up at Daiki. "Well?" he asked softly. "Shall we go win it?"

Daiki still wasn't sure he understood everything Tetsu was asking, but there was only one answer to that question. "Yeah."

And then they were out under the lights and there was no need to think about anything except the ball and the court, which was a relief after all the uncomfortable things he'd had to think about lately. He relaxed into the start of the game, the familiarity of other uniforms lined up across from them, the sound of the first whistle. The absolute presence of the boundary lines closed around him, and the basket was a weight in his awareness, pulling in the ball.

Or at least it would be, as soon as he could shake off Tsugawa, the persistent little bastard.

What Satsuki and Kantoku had said during the week they prepared for this match was true enough. Seihou were only human; they weren't miracles. And it wasn't like Daiki objected to having strong opponents, quite the opposite. But it still just annoyed him to see that creepy smile on Tsugawa's face, and the guy was even interrupting some of the pass combinations between him and Tetsu. It would be satisfying to grind him into paste, no question, but it wasn't being much fun. Tsugawa was strong, but the weight of him in the game was spiteful; it was like playing a shadow of Murasakibara or something, and Daiki hadn't liked doing that either, good training or not. He reminded himself he didn't have to enjoy someone's game to beat them, and pushed his pace faster, cutting sharper, skimming past his marker no matter how smoothly Tsugawa moved.

Or, at least, that was the plan.

Daiki scowled as he was called for charging again, and Tsugawa grinned.

"Aomine-kun," Tetsu said at his elbow, a whole paragraph of scolding about keeping his temper in just two little words.

"I know," Daiki snapped, irritated that he couldn't really open up his game without getting yet another damn foul. "We're still winning." Just not by as much as he'd gotten used to, and not in a way he especially liked. Well, it wasn't like that second part was actually anything new. He rolled his shoulders and focused. Ignore how annoying Tsugawa was, and the fact that none of Seihou's players really excited him, and it really didn't feel like he should have to work this hard against them. Ignore that this wasn't even as fun as teasing Kagami. All there was was the ball and the court and him, sliding around the stiffness of the other players to throw and let the ball drop into the basket like rolling down a hill.

And even Seihou had the same expression on their faces as everyone else did, who watched him or played him. Disbelief. Fear. He turned away, back to their own defense, feeling ruffled up and weighed down all at once. He'd had fun doing this, once, he knew he had, but it was getting hard to remember the feeling of it. Hard to remember what interesting opponents even looked like.

"Good." Izuki-senpai clapped him on the shoulder in passing, and Daiki looked up, startled. There was no relief in his voice, no smugness, nothing to say that what Daiki had done was anything out of the ordinary, no comments on how Seirin would depend on him. Just a moment of approval in passing. Just what any of his old team might have said. If Murasakibara had stopped intimidating the other team long enough to notice, or Midorima had stopped snarking long enough to say something so straightforward, or Akashi had, for some reason, stopped taking it for granted.

Okay, maybe not what any of them would have said, but... the same feeling.

"Stop sulking and come with me," Tetsu said quietly, at his elbow. "We'll take the ball back."

Daiki grinned wryly at Tetsu's familiar snippiness and shook himself back into the game. "Yeah, okay." Seihou was fast, but he was faster, and he liked their sheer indignation when he proved it. Their passing game was strong and smooth, and it probably worked against most people. But he was Tetsu's partner. Seihou's smoothness was nothing to that.

The smack of the ball square against his palm was a good feeling. Tsugawa's grimace when Daiki gave the ball to Tetsu and spun cleanly past to take it again floated a little bubble of laughter through his chest. And the sweep of the ball through the air into the net was always its own moment of perfect balance, where nothing else mattered.

Which made his annoyance all the sharper, when Tsugawa tried to walk through Tetsu and then freaked out over not having seen him. His oh-so-bubbly chatter about how many points down Seirin had been by this time last year made Daiki growl. He knew it was on purpose. He knew the kind of player Tsugawa was; this was a classic psychological attack. But the sudden darkness in Tetsu's eyes and the tightening of the second-years' jaws all across the court kind of pissed him off.

And, okay, he would admit that the pure arrogance of saying all that to a team that contained Aomine Daiki really pissed him off.

He probably should have thought about that more. Should have kept a closer eye on Tsugawa on his next drive down the court, should have realized that those weirdly smooth movements would throw his sense of velocity off, when he jumped to shoot. But he didn't, until he felt impact against his shoulder and heard the whistle and realized that Tsugawa had suckered him into yet another foul. His fourth.

He wasn't surprised when the coach called him off, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. He wanted to grind Tsugawa into the court himself. That would be really satisfying, right about now.

Hearing Tetsu called off, too, and seeing Koganei-senpai and Tsuchida-senpai waiting for them... now that surprised him. "Shouldn't it be Kagami?" he asked, startled. "He's the only other one who can really work with Tetsu."

Hyuuga-senpai shook his head, eyes distant. "No. We're already ahead by twelve points, that's enough. We decided this before the game started. We're only using any of the first-years in the first half."

Beside Daiki, Tetsu suddenly relaxed, and Daiki shot him a questioning look. Seirin wanted to win. He knew they wanted to win, as badly as anyone he'd ever seen. So why were they benching their two best scorers and their strongest supporting player?

"Why?" he finally asked.

Hyuuga-senpai snorted. "Think about it, Aomine. We'll need Kuroko against Shuutoku, no question; we need to conserve his strength. Same goes for Kagami. Seihou is already starting to be able to track Kuroko anyway. And you," he gave Daiki a brief glare, "have four fouls already. With Kuroko off, there's no one left you'll actually listen to about keeping your temper. You think I'm going to risk you on the court like that?"

That stopped Daiki short. It was true, he didn't really bother listening to anyone else, here, except maybe Satsuki. This was the first time he'd felt uncomfortable about it.

"I understand," Tetsu said quietly, and bowed. "We'll leave it in your hands."

Hyuuga-senpai's mouth quirked up and he rested a hand on Tetsu's shoulder. "Yeah."

"Tetsu, what..." Daiki started as his partner took his elbow and started to haul him off. Tetsu was smiling faintly.

"Our senpai have their own determination." Tetsu tagged Koganei-senpai, and Daiki absently held out his hand to do the same with Tsuchida-senpai.

Daiki frowned, but didn't ask again. When Tetsu was in a close-mouthed mood, you just had to watch and wait. So he watched as the game started up again. As Hyuuga-senpai and Mitobe-senpai scored with a very smooth combination. As Tsuchida-senpai slid in easily to screen. As the whole team drew in tight around Izuki-senpai's plays.

Seirin was holding the lead.

"They're better than I thought they'd be," Kagami muttered on the other side of Tetsu, only to collect a swat from the coach.

"Their pride is on the line," she snapped. "This is a revenge game, and it's one we've spent a year training toward. So shut up and watch."

Was that what Tetsu had meant? That their senpai wanted to win with their own strength? Daiki supposed he could respect that. If they could really do it. He frowned as Seihou's captain stole the ball from Tsuchida-senpai and sent it back down the court for a shot Hyuuga-senpai barely managed to block. Minutes ticked by as he watched, frown deepening. Seirin was pushing harder, wearing down. Seihou had taken six of their twelve point lead away. If they lost this game because of the second-years' pride, that would be incredibly stupid.

He meant to say so during the quarter break. If he went back in for the fourth quarter, there'd be no problem. He was used to Seihou's movement now, having watched from inside and outside the game. Tsugawa wouldn't catch him out again. But when he opened his mouth to say so to Hyuuga-senpai, the look in his captain's eye stopped him cold. It wasn't anger. It wasn't desperation, despite the pressure they were obviously under. Tetsu had said the senpai were determined but that was too pale a word for what Daiki was seeing. The force of it held Daiki silent while the second-years went back out again.

And somehow, even through they were wringing wet with sweat and panting for breath, they seemed to be pushing even harder. First Hyuuga-senpai and then Mitobe-senpai and then even Izuki-senpai broke past Seihou's blocks. At the end of the bench, Satsuki made a pleased sound.

"They've got it," she said, eyes intent on the game. "They've grasped Seihou's movements, Kantoku. I think we're clear."

Their coach blew out a long, relieved breath. "Good. I was worried for a while, there."

Satsuki flashed a bright smile down the bench. "It's always easier to see it than to do something about it in the middle of a game. But our DVD player didn't die in vain."

That was weird enough to pull Daiki's attention off the game for a moment. "Didn't what?" he asked Satsuki.

"It wasn't enough for me to analyze Seihou's habits and report them," she told him, matter-of-fact. "Their techniques are woven into every part of their game; no pre-made strategy would keep up. Our players had to be able to see the way I do, at least for this opponent. So all the second-years have been studying all the match videos we could find. It was Hyuuga-senpai's idea."

Studying Seihou, long and hard enough to burn out one of the DVD players, Daiki filled in, a little shocked. No wonder Hyuuga-san's focus had felt so heavy, had such a deadly edge.

And, slowly, Seirin was pulling ahead again. A lay-up that Izuki-senpai broke through for. A hook-shot from Mitobe-senpai, answered by one of those long, soft shots by Seihou's point guard. Seirin was seven points ahead and still pushing like they were behind.

On the other hand, maybe that was wise. Daiki watched Seihou's captain drive straight through a two-man defense to slam the ball in, and he could feel his shoulders pulling tenser. Only five points ahead and over three minutes to go. Seirin could still lose this. "Kantoku," he said, low, "you should send me back in."

"Have a little faith in your senpai, Aomine," she told him, but her voice was husky and a quick look showed her knuckles white on the edge of the bench.

"If you're worried about the fouls, send me in," Kagami said just as Daiki was opening his mouth to argue.

"I'm not going to risk breaking their momentum now," Riko-san snapped, not looking away from the court.

"Kagami-kun," Tetsu said quietly, "Aomine-kun. Just watch."

"Watch what?" Kagami growled, but a brief cheer from the onlookers snapped both their heads around toward the game before Tetsu could answer. Hyuuga-senpai was slapping palms with Izuki-senpai and the score was eight points ahead. Seihou's point guard went for another shot, but Mitobe-senpai was there this time, pressing him back, off balance, and Izuki-senpai stole the ball and gave it to Hyuuga-san for another of those rock-steady three-pointers. Seihou passed the throw-in around, just as fast and smooth as ever, and Daiki stiffened as he saw the pattern; the ball was going to come back to Iwamura, and no one on the court right now could stop a full power drive from him. The clock was ticking down, though, they would still be safe...

Tsuchida-senpai lunged for the ball like it was the last chance Seirin had and slapped it into Izuki-senpai's hands. Izuki-senpai to Hyuuga-san, well outside the three-point line, while Mitobe-senpai slid into Tsugawa's path. And, as the last seconds ran out, the ball sailed in a long, graceful arc and swished through the basket as cleanly as one of Midorima's shots.

Seirin won by fourteen points. Two more than the lead Daiki had left them with.

"Kantoku said it, didn't she?" Tetsu murmured at his shoulder. "Our senpai had their pride on the line."

"I guess so," Daiki muttered, still a little stunned that the second-years had gone that far to take their game back after a loss like the one Tsugawa had taunted them over. They could have kept him in and won easily, maybe even crushed Seihou as badly as Seihou had done to them if Daiki had kept his pace up once he'd found it. But they hadn't; they'd been that determined to prove their game to Seihou and to themselves. He'd never seen anyone else do something like that. Not his own team, who'd never had to go that far, and never had a loss to come back from anyway. Certainly no one he'd ever played against, no matter how much he'd wanted it and even, for the last few desperate months before he gave up on the hope, prayed for it.

Which was probably why the first words out of his mouth when everyone came back to the bench were not congratulations but rather, "Where the hell were you for the last three years?!"

Hyuuga-san slowly adjusted his glasses, eyes glinting, and Daiki resigned himself to a brisk cuff which, okay, he probably deserved for that. But Hyuuga-san's mouth crooked up at one corner and the hand that landed on Daiki's head was only a little rough, messing up his hair. "Learning how not to give up," Hyuuga-san told him. "It's something you could stand to do, too, obnoxious brat."

Daiki started to protest that, but his captain's eyes were still bright and hard with the thing that had driven the team so intensely to win in every way possible, and in face of it Daiki fell silent again.

"That's better," Hyuuga-san said quietly. "You need to learn how to gauge other players more accurately, Aomine. You make too many assumptions."

Daiki was unsettled enough to stop and think about what Hyuuga-san meant. About what might happen if he had been on the other side, playing against that diamond focus and drive he saw in Seirin today—if he'd been as slow to understand Seirin as he had been to come to grips with Tsugawa's tactics, today. It was a thought that unsettled him, made him think of a time when he'd paid a whole lot more attention to his opponents that he had been lately. The discomfort of that thought made him look away from his captain's level gaze.

Hyuuga-san squeezed his shoulder once and let him go, turning back to gather up the rest of the team and harry them off to the changing room. When Daiki turned to follow, he found Tetsu at his side again.

There was satisfaction in his partner's eyes.

Another day, another game, and Daiki was on the bench again. He slouched down with a sigh.

"Quit sulking," Riko-san told him, exasperated. "You knew you'd be out for this game. You're not ready to play hard for two consecutive days, yet."

"I'll sulk if I want to," he grumbled. "You gave Midorima to Kagami. That's so unfair." He'd really been looking forward to playing the others from Teikou. Midorima had had some fairly cutting things to say about the starting line-up, too, and Daiki frankly thought he was right. Riko-kantoku and Hyuuga-san were gambling by using Kagami alone with Tetsu.

Sure enough, Tetsu got the ball through to Kagami for the first shot only to have Midorima block it. Well, at least Hyuuga-san blocked the return shot. It wasn't a start to make Daiki feel confident, though. The slow minutes that went by while both teams fought for the ball and neither scored didn't make him any more relaxed, either.

He was more than half expecting it, when Shuutoku's point guard feinted hard for the basket only to pass the ball back to Midorima, well behind the three-point line. The basket that followed was a foregone conclusion, though Riko-kantoku's choked sound of disbelief made it clear that no one else had really understood what Midorima could do. Daiki kept his eyes on Tetsu, though, because he knew what his partner could do, also.

And he knew Tetsu's temper.

Sure enough, Tetsu was sending Kagami back toward Shuutoku's basket, and Daiki smiled slow and toothy as Tetsu caught Midorima's ball under Seirin's basket, stepped over the line and spun hard on one heel to fire the ball back down the full length of the court. He didn't even mind too much that it was Kagami who was there to catch it, since the resulting basket showcased Tetsu so beautifully. Daiki leaned back on his hands, smirking as players and audience made shocked sounds all around him. "Shuutoku's going to be in trouble if Midorima doesn't pull his head out of his ass and remember who he's playing," he told Satsuki.

"Stop gloating, Dai-chan, it's unbecoming," she told him, just as if she wasn't doting over Tetsu with hearts in her eyes. The next minute, though, her smile turned sharp again. "They'll set Takao Kazunari on Tetsu-kun, now."

Riko-san frowned at the court, fingers tapping against her folded arms. "How soon, do you think?"

"One more play," Satsuki said, serene in the surety of her predictions.

Sure enough, after one more basket for Seirin, the point guard moved to mark Tetsu. Daiki narrowed his eyes at the way the guy was grinning, all bright-eyed. He liked it when other players appreciated Tetsu, but not when they got pushy about it. Though he supposed this would make the counter Tetsu had suggested more effective, if Takao was that focused on him.

The rest of the first-years winced as Shuutoku scored again. "Are the senpai really going to be able to keep up with Shuutoku long enough?" Furihata asked Riko-kantoku.

She smiled, and it reminded Daiki so much of Satsuki when she'd lost her temper and was about to make someone regret the day he'd been born, that he edged away down the bench. Just to be on the safe side.

"Don't worry." Riko-san flicked a little bit of painted wood absently through her fingers. "I trained Hyuuga-kun very thoroughly in how to shoot under pressure."

"Who cares about this this 'King' bullshit?" Hyuuga-kun yelled, out on the court. "Die!"

"Though it maybe did some bad things to his personality," she finished quite calmly as the ball swished through the net.

Satsuki clasped her clipboard to her chest and sparkled. "Riko-kantoku is such a good trainer." The women smiled at each other in a happily bloodthirsty way.

"Why did I let Tetsu drag me here?" Daiki muttered. As if Satsuki wasn't scary enough on her own.

"It's about time for Midorin to try a longer shot," Satsuki murmured, ignoring him, eyes on the players again. "Tetsu-kun hasn't left him any choice, if he wants to avoid those long passes. I hope everyone remembers what I said about that."

"It's hard to really believe, but they'll remember." Riko-san rocked a step forward as Midorima got the ball again. "Here it comes."

Midorima shot from the center line, and Daiki nodded as the ball arced up. "It's in." And he'd give his senpai this much credit; despite the disbelief on every face but Tetsu's when Midorima went up to shoot, that was their only flinch. Izuki-senpai got the ball to Kagami fast, after the throw-in, and Daiki rolled his eyes as the jumping idiot shot from the outside and ran to dunk it himself when it missed. "His accuracy sucks," he muttered.

"So does yours, from the outside," Satsuki scolded, hitting him lightly over the head with her clipboard. "You shouldn't... there!" She went up on her toes, focused on Midorima like a predator. "It's coming! Kagamin challenged him, it's the end of the quarter, he'll use a full-court shot now!"

"Unbelievable," Riko-san whispered as they watched Midorima take a shooting stance under Shuutoku's basket. "You think he can really...?"

"He'll be able to do it, by now," Satsuki said, positive. The ball arced achingly high over the court and down, down, to drive cleanly through Seirin's net. And the buzzer sounded while everyone stood frozen.

Daiki frowned as he followed the rest of the team back to the changing room and watched them, during the half time break. Everyone but Kuroko and Kagami were shaken. He didn't think that would stop the second-years for long, not after what he'd seen them do against Seihou. But none of them were fast enough to stop Midorima before he could shoot. "You should put me in," he said flatly.

"You'd have to use too much of your speed to stop him on the ground, Dai-chan," Satsuki said, laying a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "Kantoku says you're not back in good enough condition. It has to be Kagamin, this game."

Daiki fired up at that; Kagami, to take his place against one of his own ex-team? "Kagami isn't good enough to stoâ€”" he broke off with an oof as Kagami stopped scrubbing a towel over his face and rammed an elbow into Daiki's side.

"Don't make decisions for other people! God you're an asshole when you don't get to play." Kagami look a contemplative swallow from his water bottle. "And when you do, now I think about it. Quit worrying so much, I can do it."

"I wasn't worrying you..." Daiki glowered, aware that the rest of the team was stifling laughter. Even Tetsu, who was perfectly straight-faced.

Hyuuga-san clapped Daiki and Kagami both on the shoulders and said, with a toothy smile, "Good, keep on not worrying. And stop arguing like toddlers, you brats, before I knock your damn heads together."

Both Kagami and Daiki hunched down a little and muttered agreement.

But maybe Daiki's remark really had gotten to Kagami, because when he went back out onto the court he focused on Midorima like Satsuki focused on her player-data. He jumped to block Midorima's shots again and again, and he was starting to actually do it, starting to pull Midorima back down the court so he didn't have to take so long to set up for the shot. Satsuki hissed with satisfaction the first time Kagami actually blocked a shot, and Daiki had to admit that Kagami was tipping the balance of the game. Every shot he blocked, the second-years were there to catch and make a come-back play with. And those jumps were getting higher. Watching Kagami advance like that in the course of a single game tugged at something in Daiki; he remembered how it felt, to do that. Riko-kantoku was starting to make disapproving sounds as she watched him, though, running and jumping and not stopping. She swore out loud when Kagami went to take the ball down the court again and stumbled on one of those jumps, losing the ball to Shuutoku.

Daiki, personally, kind of liked how Kagami wasn't stopping for anything. So he rolled his eyes over the scolding Hyuuga-san gave Kagami during the third quarter break for not paying attention to the rest of the team. Right now, he didn't even care if he was showing sympathy for a rival; he liked how Kagami was playing.

"This is the only way to do it," Kagami argued back, "I'm the only one who canâ€”" Abruptly he stopped talking, so frozen Daiki wasn't sure he was still breathing, and the whole team blinked at him. Slowly, stiffly, Kagami turned his head to stare at Daiki and then at Tetsu, who was standing beside the bench with that shadowed look in his eyes again. As they looked at each other silently, though, Tetsu's shoulders eased and fell out of their tight line, and the crease between his brows smoothed out again. Daiki straightened out of his slouch on the bench; he hadn't realized how tense his partner's silence was until just now.

"Was that... how it happened?" Kagami asked, a little hoarse.

Tetsu nodded. "It's all right, Kagami-kun. I won't let you play like that," he answered quietly, a quiet that Daiki recognized. That was Tetsu making a promise, and his gut clenched hearing Tetsu speak to Kagami that way.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Kagami took a slow breath and shook his head, hard. "Thanks." He gave Daiki a frankly disturbed look, and Daiki realized abruptly that Kagami and Tetsu had been talking about him, somehow. Before he could ask or protest, though, Riko-kantoku was standing in front of them and calling for attention.

"Okay, Kuroko's had a break, so it's about time to spring the trap on Takao. Also, we'll use the accelerated pass this quarter We're eleven points behind, people, it's time to push." She gave Kagami a narrow, measuring look. "You... you can block Midorima twice more, I think. After that stumble, though, they won't think you can do it again at all. We're going to bluff. Block his first shot in the fourth quarter, and then save your last jump in case you need to block a critical ball and turn the momentum. And then you're done, and you leave it to the rest of the team, got that?" Her glare intensified when Kagami flexed his legs thoughtfully, and he ducked his head.

"Yes, Kantoku."

"All right. Get out there, then."

Daiki grabbed Tetsu's shoulder as he stripped off his t-shirt and turned toward the court. "Tetsu, what the hell did you mean? You won't like Kagami play like what?"

Tetsu gave him a level look. "Aomine-kun. If you win with a team that still can't trust each other, if you win but no one's happy about it... is that really victory?" He shrugged out from under Daiki's hand, tugging his wrist-warmers up. "I don't think so."

Daiki watched him walk out onto the court, silent while the words echoed in his head. It was true enough that none of his wins had felt like a real victory for months. Maybe a year, by now. He wasn't even sure it would have felt like a real victory if he'd been the one out there playing Midorima. It wasn't a real victory if you didn't have to fight for it, and he didn't think Midorima could really make him fight.

Except... that wasn't what Tetsu had said, was it? He hadn't said "fight". He'd said "trust". And "happy about it". Daiki froze, staring blindly out at the court. Were those thing things Tetsu hadn't felt for a year? Tetsu's words, back before the start of preliminaries, when they'd fought that one night over dinner, echoed in his head.

Trust... if that was Tetsu's real victory...

"Fuck," Daiki whispered to himself, scrubbing a hand over his face. "No wonder he's pissed off."

He started when Satsuki hit him very lightly over the head with her clipboard, looking up to find her smiling down at him. "Now you're getting it."

Daiki hunched his shoulders a little. "Yeah, yeah." Satsuki had always been the one who saw what was in his own blind spots; she didn't need to rub it in.

And then the crowd roared, and he looked back at the game and smiled to see the ball canon into Kagami's hand from Tetsu's. In fact, he smirked, because as much as he had blind spots, so did Satsuki, and telling Kagami to save a play was like telling a glutton to save some of dinner. He watched Kagami jump to dunk the ball right past Midorima's block, and laughed.

Satsuki hit him harder this time.

"Oh, come on." Daiki rubbed his head, grinning up at her. "Tetsu will take care of things. And you can't say that wasn't a fantastic expression on Midorima's face." Riko-kantoku growled from his other side, and he subsided, still grinning.

The last two minutes turned the grin to a frown, though. Most of Shuutoku fell back to defend, and Seirin was still one basket short. Even Hyuuga-san's shots were only keeping even with Midorima's. Tension crawled up Daiki's spine as the score hovered, deadlocked, and the seconds ticked down. He wasn't the only one who let out a relieved breath when Hyuuga-san finally broke free and sank one more three-pointer to turn over the score in Seirin's favor.

Only he and Satsuki cursed, though, when the ball fell, because what the hell was the rest of the team thinking, why wasn't anyone guarding Midorima?! The ball was in Midorima's hands, Kagami and Tetsu were both closing on him, but if Kagami was past his limit already...

"Kagami!" Riko-kantoku yelled, loud enough to make Daiki's ears ring, up on her feet with her hands clenched. "Don't...!"

Kagami was already jumping, though, as high as any of his blocks during the game, and Daiki held his breath.

"It's a fake!" Satsuki shouted, on his other side, furious, and sure enough Midorima brought the ball back down and set his feet for another jump with a serene calm that ignored that last seconds slipping away. Kagami wouldn't even land soon enough to jump for this shot, never mind whether he actually could or not.

Daiki was still holding his breath, though. There was one person who could stop Midorima, still.

And there, Tetsu was there, striking the ball out of Midorima's hands, and the buzzer sounded just as Kagami's feet hit the court again, one second after the ball. Daiki breathed out.

And when the rest of the team came off the court to be piled on by everyone else and, in Kagami's case, shoved down onto the bench for a fast examination by a furious coach, Daiki just looked down at Tetsu. "I knew you'd be there," he said quietly.

Tetsu cocked his head, still panting for breath. "Did you know Kagami-kun would? Midorima-kun knew."

"Midorima believes in a lot of things I don't." Daiki's mouth twisted and he sighed. "I've only played with him for a few months, Tetsu, give me a little time." He folded his arms, looking down at them, and offered, "Knew Hyuuga-san would make the last shot we needed, though."

Tetsu laid a hand on his arm, and when Daiki looked up he was smiling. "We'll just keep playing until you know for everyone, then."

"Okay," Daiki agreed, low. For Tetsu, he would try. And maybe for that tug of familiarity Kagami's game had given him today.

"I can't believe you!" Riko-kantoku was sputtering over Kagami. "Just look at this! Definitely muscle strain, maybe even torn muscles! I'm taking you to the hospital immediately, and who knows whether you'll be able to play against Kaijou next week?! Basketball idiots!"

Satsuki came to drape her arms over Tetsu's shoulders from behind and murmur, "And now he says..."

"I'll be fine, I can still play!"

She mouthed the words along with Kagami, and Daiki had to laugh.

Maybe he was a little glad Tetsu had dragged him to this school, after all. Just a little.

This Moment to Arise - Stumbles

Kuroko gets a chance to play the way he wants to, again, with Aomine against Kaijou. When he has to play without his partners against Touou, though, he finds himself hitting a wall. Drama, Action, Angst, I-3

Tetsuya was starting to feel that it was somehow fate: if one of his partners wasn't sulking, the other would be. Kagami had been sulking for a solid week, in fact, starting from the moment the doctor had informed him he had put micro-tears in the muscle of his calves and strictly forbidden him from playing for two weeks. He wasn't even allowed to practice, only to do very gentle stretches up on the stage, glowering at thin air under the coach's stern eye. Like the other end of a see-saw coming up, Aomine had become cheerful again. In fact, he was grinning as they lined up to board the train out to the arena hosting this year's Interhigh tournament.

Aomine would be the only ace who got to play against Kaijou, for their first round.

He was so cheerful he was nearly whistling, and he took the seat next to Kagami's, most likely so that he could keep waving his cheerfulness in Kagami's face. Tetsuya rolled his eyes a little and took a seat against the back of theirs so he didn't have to watch it. They were like a couple of little kids sometimes.

Momoi settled next to him, humming to herself, which was a better sign. "You're confident?" he asked quietly.

She smiled, the distant, calculating smile she wore during matches. "Ki-chan is always the hardest to predict because his progress depends so much on who else he's played recently. But Dai-chan is back in condition, now, and he'll be playing his best since it's against Ki-chan." Her smile turned rueful as Kagami and Aomine's muttered exchange devolved into a brief wrestling match, behind them. "And Kagamin and Dai-chan still distract each other sometimes, when they play together. Maybe it's best, for this match, that it's only Dai-chan." She leaned against his shoulder. "And you."

He gave her the tiny smile that only his teammates ever seemed to learned how to spot. "And you."

On the way to a match, she was in a serious enough mood to not indulge in any over-the-top public affection, and just looked back at him, eyes sparkling with the wicked edge of her own determination. "Of course."

This year's venue was down the coast, a town that catered to beach-goers, and a brisk breeze off the water blew through the open streets and snapped the pennons that marched up the steps to the arena. Tetsuya breathed it in, tasting the electric edge in the atmosphere. Knots of other students in school uniforms ignored the gathering crowd around them, aware only of each other. Everyone was here to win, and everyone knew they might lose, and the eyes of the players were bright with that tension every time glances crossed.

Tetsuya loved this. He loved the uncertainty and need and excitement. He knew exactly what it was that drove Kagami against Tetsuya's old team. He knew what it was that Aomine missed so desperately it turned his eyes dark and dull. And even though he'd ignored Akashi's plans and orders for the two of them, and followed his own judgement instead, he hoped that Aomine would find what he needed again today, facing Kise as an opponent. Aomine was smiling, which he really hadn't, yet, through all the preliminaries. There was a manic edge in that smile that made Tetsuya's spine crinkle, though. He thought he wasn't the only one to notice, because Kagami watched Aomine from the corner of his eye as the team got changed, not sulky any more but frowning just a little.

"All right," Hyuuga-san called, waving them to gather close. "We've played Kaijou once, but don't let that make you overconfident. I doubt they were going all out, not in a practice match, and Kasamatsu knows what we can do, now. Stay sharp." He nodded as everyone chorused agreement, and then reached up to wrap a hand around the back of Aomine's neck. "Except for you," he added. "You need to calm down." He shook Aomine a little, holding his rather startled gaze. "Kaijou isn't running away, and you don't need to hunt them down for pity's sake. Breathe."

Tetsuya was actually the one who followed that order, breathing out as one thread of tension uncoiled down his back. He had been right, so right, to bring Aomine to Seirin.

Even if Aomine was currently looking at their captain with that manic edge fading back into shadows. "They probably will, after this," he said, low and so matter-of-fact it made something twist in Tetsuya's chest.

Out of that tight twist, he said, "Kise-kun never runs away. Especially not from you."

Aomine hesitated, and finally lowered his chin. "Yeah. He doesn't."

Hyuuga-san shook his head at them, mouth quirked. "And now the we've had the moment of brooding that seems absolutely required for you two, get out on the damn court and play!" He gave Aomine a little push.

"Yes, Captain," Tetsuya agreed blandly over Aomine's indignant sound, and gave his partner a much firmer shove toward the door with a hand in the small of his back. Aomine pouted at him but went, and Kagami followed after them, rolling his eyes. Fortunately it only took a few steps for Aomine to remember that Kise was waiting for them, and then he picked up his pace.

Momoi touched Tetsuya's shoulder, just before the team went out onto the court. "Tetsu-kun. Are you all right with this, too?" She glanced over at Kaijou, at Kise, who was already smiling that sharp little smile he wore when he let the rest of the world fall away and just played. The one he only ever wore when he played Aomine. Tetsuya watched Aomine's smile start to sharpen in answer and sighed softly.

"Being unnoticed is my specialty, Momoi-san."

She bit her lip at that, and he touched her hand lightly, shaking his head. He couldn't say he didn't mind; sometimes he got really tired of it. But the fact remained, this was his specialty. His strength. So he stepped out onto the court in Aomine's shadow, and took what amusement he could in watching Aomine and Kise exchange jabs, and didn't interject to mention that, even if Kise could beat Aomine this time, Kaijou would not defeat Seirin.

Because Tetsuya was here, also.

Kaijou clearly intended to test that, though. Kise got the ball at once, and only Aomine's raw speed struck the ball out of his hands and into Hyuuga-san's for the first basket. Just as Momoi has predicted, Kasamatsu-san gave Kise the ball again, and Hyuuga-san growled audibly when his own three-point form was repeated. Aomine was there again to deflect it, and Mitobe-senpai got the rebound, but Kasamatsu-san stole the ball from Izuki-senpai as soon as he went to pass it and took a basket of his own with beautiful speed and precision.

"Don't think we're nice enough to just let you take control of the game," Kasamatsu-san told Izuki-senpai with a tight smile.

Tetsuya nodded to himself, watching. Momoi was right; Kaijou believed that Kise could stop Aomine, and were covering for him while he tried.

They might be right.

He watched Aomine and Kise bare their teeth at each other and scuffle back and forth with cuts almost too fast to follow. He could hear Izuki-senpai's hiss of indrawn breath when Kise leaped to block Aomine's shot cleanly. Kise was developing his game fast, at Kaijou, maybe even faster than he had at Teikou. And he had a team prepared to support him, a team led by someone who made Momoi's eyes burn brighter when she talked about his strength and how to oppose him.

But that was all right, because the more Kise and Aomine drew the eye, the stronger Tetsuya's own counter-move would be.

Tetsuya flexed his knees, watching his marker out of the corner of his eye. They'd chosen the hyperactive one, the one who went up for all the rebounds. This one would respond fast when he lost sight of Tetsuya. He hadn't been part of the practice game, though, and would be surprised the first time he experienced it. As soon as Aomine closed again to mark Kise, Tetsuya took the moment of distraction when his own marker glanced at his captain for direction to fade to the side, behind, around, each step smooth and easy, sliding one step ahead of the path of the other player's gaze as he jerked around, looking for Tetsuya. Who, of course, was now in exactly the opposite direction, closing on Kasamatsu-san. He caught up just as Kasamatsu-san spun to the side to evade Izuki-senpai, and tapped the ball out of his hands, sending it singing back down the court to Mitobe-senpai to take the next basket.

"I'm sorry," he murmured in answer to Kasamatsu-san's ferocious glare, "but we're not nice enough to let you have control of the game, either."

Kasamatsu-san snorted, eyes glinting as he straightened. "Uppity first-year brats everywhere," he declared, and spun back to re-deploy his team.

Tetsuya bent his head for a breath, storing up the satisfaction of having such a strong player count him in with Kise and Aomine, to hold back the bitter edge of watching Kise and Aomine focus on nothing but each other. Of watching Aomine forget, again, that he had a partner on this court. He'd known it would probably happen, after all.

By the end of the first quarter, Kaijou was ahead and his senpai were getting tense. But Tetsuya could see Aomine's focus tightening on the challenge Kise presented. When Aomine stood back up from the bench, the weight of his focus was heavy in the air, and Kagami snorted softly, leaning back on his hands. "Nothing to worry about, huh?" he asked.

Aomine didn't look around. "Of course not."

Tetsuya looked over at Momoi, questioning, and, at her nod, sat back down himself.

"Tsuchida," Kantoku called, "you're in. Make sure you get the rebounds, because that Hayakawa they've put in for the tournament games has way too good a record at that. Watch everyone's backs!"

Beside Tetsuya, Kagami made a startled sound, looking down at Tetsuya with raised brows. "But aren't you more of an advantage than him, while the misdirection lasts? Why are they pulling you out already?"

"Because Dai-chan is getting serious," Momoi said softly, behind them. "If we need to bring Tetsu-kun in at the end, he's going to need all the rest he can get now, to keep up with how fast Dai-chan will be going by then."

Kagami looked a little skeptical, but turned back to the court, elbows on his knees as he watched the game start up again.

By half-time, he wasn't looking skeptical any more. Aomine was moving faster and faster, pushing against every advance Kise made, sliding around him like water, blocking his shots. Most of Kaijou's baskets were coming from Kasamatsu-san, now, while Seirin had both Hyuuga-san and Aomine making points. They were pulling ahead.

"All right," Kantoku said, hands on her hips as she stood in front of the bench. "This is the breaking point. Either they'll go with Kise or they won't. Aomine-kun, will you be ready, if Kise can really complete his copy of you?"

Aomine's lips peeled back from his teeth, and his eyes were fixed on the empty court. "Of course I will."

Riko-kantoku sighed and leaned forward to grab him by the ear. "You will not enter the Zone, understand? You're back in reasonable condition, but that would put too much strain on your body, still. Now use your brain to actually think and answer me: if Kise can complete his copy of your techniques, can you still deal with him?"

"Ow, shit, okay already!" Aomine rubbed his ear, nearly pouting up at their couch. "Yeah, I'll be okay; Kise isn't as fast as me."

Kantoku raised an eyebrow at Momoi, and her shoulders straightened in response to Momoi's firm nod. "All right, then, no player changes yet. You all know the strategy, if they don't go with Kise: Mitobe will join in to double mark Kasamatsu. Now get out there and play!"

When play started again, it was tense. Kaijou was pushing hard, but Kise always passed the ball when it came to him. "You were right," Kantoku murmured to Momoi. "Look at how Kise-kun is always on Aomine-kun. He's not just marking tightly, is he?"

"No," Momoi agreed softly, clipboard clasped tight to her chest. "He's going to try it."

"Will it really work, even if he sees it?" Kagami wanted to know, glancing up at her. "I mean, Aomine's kind of a freak, just physically; can Kise copy his moves?"

Riko-kantoku hummed absently, eyes on the game. "Kise's physical condition is at least as good, and his potential is equal to Aomine-kun's. He might not have quite the edge of speed, but he comes very close." She glowered down at Kagami in a forbidding manner. "You're still working up to that level, and you'll be working harder as soon as your legs are healed, believe me."

Kagami snorted, apparently unconcerned by the 'triple drills' glint in her eyes. "Of course. That's why I'm still with Seirin."

Momoi caught Tetsuya's eye and they smiled at each other, wry and tilted. Kagami really was a great deal like Aomine used to be.

And Aomine was looking a little more like himself, as he watched Kise watching him, teeth glinting in a sharp, eager smile every time Kise broke away to try one of Aomine's moves against another player. He started up on his toes every time that happened, and his return baskets came fast and hard. "Aomine-kun wants Kise-kun to do it," Tetsuya noted, quietly.

"Well of course he does," Kagami answered, at the same moment Koganei-senpai said, "Aomine is weird." Koganei-senpai grinned a little, and added, "Kagami, too."

"It is not weird," Kagami insisted, indignant. "I'm not saying he's not an asshole, but he just wants a game worth playing, that's not weird." And then he frowned at Momoi and Tetsuya. "Why are you laughing?"

Momoi wiped her eyes, still giggling. "This is why Dai-chan loves Kagamin."

Tetsuya smiled faintly out at the court while Kagami turned red and sputtered. The shift in Aomine's stance pulled him forward on the bench, though. Aomine had been making more and more daring formless shotsâ€”daring for anyone who wasn't Aomine, at leastâ€”but he'd just fallen completely out of stance, ball in one hand, other hand planted on his hip. He slung the ball over Kise, careless and hard, and it smacked off the backboard and through the net, leaving silence behind it. They could hear him on the bench when he said, "Quit screwing around, Kise. If you don't hurry up it'll all be over. I'm not patient enough to wait until you're all ready."

Hyuuga-san dragged a hand over his face. "Aomine, you little brat..."

Kasamatsu-san barked a laugh. "You think that matters? Who the hell cares about your patience?" The throw-in smacked into his hands and he spun free of Izuki-senpai, and sent a three-point shot sailing through the hoop. "Know your place, first-year. You're not the only player on this court!"

Tetsuya shivered a little, watching. Kaijou seemed to take those words as inspiration, tightening up their defense even more. The next time Hyuuga-san shot, Moriyama was there to block it. The team pulled in around Kise, guarding the score unwaveringly while he prepared. And Tetsuya saw the moment Kise understood what his team was doing, saw the tiny, true smile that curved his lips before he sank into a taut, familiar stance, facing Aomine.

And broke past him like lightning.

The whole bench were on their feet as Aomine gave chase, Momoi shouting a warning just as his feet left the ground that bit too forcefully, driving him into Kise's back. And Kise completed the shot with a hook behind both of them that sank through the net as though rolling downhill.

"He did it!" Kagami yelled, pounding on Tetsuya's shoulder, wonder and excitement in his voice just as though it wasn't the opponent's ace he was talking about.

"Yes," Tetsuya agreed, fingers curling tight. Aomine was standing under the basket, blank and shocked by the actual experience of being passed, but the blankness was slowly fading into a burning focus Tetsuya hadn't seen in over a year. It made his chest tighten, seeing it again, but there was a chill settling around him as well. This was what Aomine wanted, needed, but would he forget the progress they'd made this year, now he had it? Would he forget Tetsuya completely again?

The next ball was stolen when Tsuchida-senpai passed it back to Hyuuga-san, and Kise cut past Aomine again only to have Aomine slap the ball out of his hands, right at the hoop, so hard it landed in the stands.

The other first-years were making shocked sounds, but Tetsuya just nodded to himself. This was more like Aomine, far more like him than all the lazy slouching and drawled complaints of the past year. Aomine blazed through the Kaijou team and faded back almost parallel to the floor to make his shot over Kise's block.

"He really likes that one," Kagami grumbled, and Tetsuya smiled a little. Kagami had been on the receiving end of that move more than once, to be sure. It was one of the things that made him think Kagami might be the answer for both Aomine and himself.

Kise's next shot was the one Aomine had just used, and the ball went in just as smoothly.

Momoi whistled softly. "Ki-chan really has done it. He isn't as fast, but he's adjusted his movement for that. His change of pace has just as much impact, and his flexibility is already equal." She frowned. "Riko-kantoku, this might be a problem."

"Mm." Kantoku shot a glance at the scoreboard, where Seirin was only two points ahead. "I was hoping to have more of a lead, yes, but... Kaijou is a very strong team, under Kasamatsu-san. Kuroko. Make sure you're warmed up."

Tetsuya nodded quietly. "Yes, Kantoku." He started stretching his legs out, eyes steady on the flow of the game. Or, perhaps, the rocking of the game, back and forth between Kise and Aomine, basket after basket. They raced furiously after each other, up and down the court, teeth bared, burning fiercer than Tetsuya had ever seen them, before.

Of course, there was a reason he'd never seen them stretched all-out against each other.

There were only a few minutes left to go in the last quarter when Kise faltered and the whole court froze, watching his ball circle the rim, around and around, before it finally fell in.

"That's it," Riko-kantoku snapped, and signaled for a time-out. As the players came in, she clapped Tsuchida-senpai on the shoulder. "All right, Kise-kun's finally reaching the limit of his endurance. We're putting Kuroko-kun in. Aomine." She latched onto his ear again, hauling him down eye to eye. "You and Kuroko will double-team Kise to get the ball away from him or past him. We need to open up the lead, because Kaijou won't just let us go." She nodded toward the other bench, where, sure enough, the Kaijou players were gathered around Kasamatsu-san, still focused and intent.

"Not like you have to tell me," Aomine complained, rubbing his ear, and then he slanted a sharp, wild grin at Tetsuya. "You ready?"

The tightness in Tetsuya's chest loosened all at once, and he smiled back, tugging his wrist-warmers to settle them just as he liked. "Of course."

He was better than all right. He wanted to laugh. He felt relief sparkling through his veins. This was the partner he remembered.

And when they stepped onto the court, it was the combination he remembered, his partner's casual, perfect awareness of him as Tetsuya slid into the path of the ball and struck it back towards Aomine, turning his movement jagged and unpredictable. They shook Kise loose once, twice, and Kise caught them the third time but faltered again, stumbling on his landing from blocking Aomine's shot. Tetsuya caught the wild-flying ball, spun, sent it scorching back to his partner, and Aomine slammed it home. It was hot, fast, incredible play, and Tetsuya gloried in it. Kaijou wasn't giving way against it, though. Kasamatsu-san stole the ball back for a three-pointer, hauling Seirin's lead back down to three points, and Aomine bared his teeth.

"Full court, Tetsu," he breathed. "You can do it for me, can't you?" And he was gone without waiting for an answer, sprinting down the court toward Kaijou's basket.

That was all right. Aomine obviously knew what the answer was already. Tetsuya stepped over the boundary line, took the ball, and whirled the weight of it around himself until he could fire it back down the court, hard and heavy.

"Kurokocchi!" Kise yelled, and he was already nearly on top of Aomine; he'd known it was coming, too. Despite the danger of having the last ball they'd have time for stolen, Tetsuya smiled a little. Aomine. Kise. They both knew what he could do.

It was such a good feeling to have again.

Both Aomine and Kise went up, Aomine to dunk and Kise to block it, struggling against each other, each with a hand on the ball. For a long second, they seemed to hang there, perfectly balanced against each other, but then the balance tipped, broke, and Kise's hand slipped as Aomine slammed the ball into the net.

The buzzer sounded.

Tetsuya's mouth tightened as Kise stumbled again on landing and went down. Playing so hard against each other, the way they'd never been permitted to do before... he wasn't surprised. Nor was he surprised when Aomine hesitated, standing over Kise, hand twitching uncertainly at his side. In that hesitation, it was Kise's new captain who shouldered past Aomine and bent over Kise to give him a hand up. To lift him, when his legs gave out. Aomine turned away quietly to meet Tetsuya and the rest of his own team.

"You sure you don't want to say anything?" Hyuuga-san asked, mopping his face as they went to line up. "I mean, it's not like you have to forget you knew each other, even if you're opponents, now."

"There's nothing the winner can say to the loser that would do any good," Aomine said, low, and Tetsuya stepped up to his partner's side, brushing his shoulder in passing.

He'd always wondered if maybe Aomine hadn't really thought through the consequences of splitting the team the way Akashi had demanded (and Tetsuya had re-interpreted for his own purposes). If Aomine really did keep winning, he would have to face his teammates after they'd taken a true loss at his hands. He'd have to see Kise's face twisted with the tears he was trying, for once, to hold back, and see someone else's hand ruffling Kise's hair, steadying him. It wasn't in Aomine's nature to think ahead like that, not like it was in Tetsuya's. Tetsuya met Kasamatsu-san's eyes as Kaijou's captain supported Kise to face them, and bowed soberly.

He had known this was coming, and resolved himself to it months ago. It still hurt a little.

It wasn't until they were leaving, until Aomine stubbed his toe on the stairs down from the arena and almost tripped, and Kantoku's voice sharpened with concern, that he realized there were implications he hadn't thought through enough either. Or maybe just hadn't believed. When Kantoku and Aomine came back from the hospital, though, Kantoku's face set and Aomine's dark, he felt the true weight of those implications land like a rock in the pit of his stomach. A chill ran through him, like a cloud had crossed the sun and cut off the light.

"A week and a half off the court," Kantoku told them, flat and grim.

"Are we going to use Kagami next week, then?" Hyuuga-san asked.

Riko-kantoku's hands clenched hard for a moment. "No," she ground out.

Kagami jerked upright from where he'd been leaning against the stage. "But...!"

"I said no!" Kantoku barked, rounding on him. "The doctor said two weeks, and it will be two weeks! I'm not letting anyone who's injured set foot on the court!"

Kagami stepped back, eyes a little wide, hands raised, and Hyuuga-san rested a hand on Kantoku's shoulder for a moment. "We'll deal with it," he said firmly.

Tetsuya took a slow breath and held on to the firmness of his captain's words, to steady himself. They would deal with it. As a team.

Even if it was a team that didn't include either of his partners.

Both Tetsuya's partners were sulking when the team got to the Interhigh venue a week later. At least they were doing it quietly now, since Riko-kantoku had shown no tolerance for whining and actually made Koganei-senpai bring her a paper fan to smack both Kagami and Aomine with whenever they complained out loud. Momoi had looked enchanted with the idea, and it had been a lighter moment in the middle of the week's frantic training toward today's match.
Momoi was looking a lot more serious, now, as she did last-minute briefing while everyone got changed. "...so all of Touou's players are strong, this year, and they have a real reputation for individual play, but you absolutely must keep your eye on their captain. Imayoshi-san is unquestionably the one who's shaped Touou's recent play style, and all of my sources agree that he's frighteningly good at grasping the one thing you least want him to figure out." She flipped her notes closed and finished, "Tetsu-kun. If he targets anyone, it's most likely to be you."

Tetsuya shrugged to settle his shirt over his shoulders. "There's nothing to do but deal with it, if it happens."

A hand landed on his head, ruffling his hair firmly. "Quit stealing my lines," Hyuuga-san told him. "You can panic a little if you want to, you know. All four of you are way too calm to be first-years."

"Yes, Captain," Tetsuya agreed, calmly. All his senpai rolled their eyes, which amused him; someone, some time, had taught his current team how to tell when someone was teasing with a straight face. He wondered who it had been.

"All right, people," Hyuuga-san said, louder. "Don't lose your focus just because there isn't a Miracle on the other side. Let's go!"

It was so familiar, stepping out under the weight of the lights, week after week, to meet whoever faced them. Familiar and also not, because this time, every time, victory was uncertain. The uncertainly pulled Tetsuya's nerves tight and made his breath faster.

It was part of what he played for.

Touou's captain, Imayoshi, smiled as he shook Hyuuga-san's hand, running an eye over the team. "Leaving both your aces on the bench? That's a little overconfident, don't you think?" Without changing his pleasant expression in the slightest, he added, "Or maybe just careless. I suppose you're still a young captain. Perhaps you'll learn, today, to take better care of them for the winter."

Tetsuya could almost see the moment Hyuuga-san's temper, always chancy during a game, snapped. He smiled back at Imayoshi, toothy. "I don't need some snake-eyed bastard on the other side telling me that." He turned on his heel and stalked to his position, glaring the shortest Touou player out of his way, and barked at his team, "Let's go!"

Imayoshi actually clutched a hand to his chest. "So cruel!" Tetsuya saw the way he looked after Hyuuga-san, though. Measuring. Calculating. Perfectly cool. A little shiver went through him. Momoi had been exactly on target, as usual; this was their most dangerous opponent.

Indeed, even though Momoi had warned them to be on guard, Imayoshi still managed to intercept the tip-off and, when Hyuuga-san blocked him, passed the ball too high for Tetsuya to catch. It went to Touou's outside shooter and left his hands again almost as fast as the one of Tetsuya's own redirections. The first basket was Touou's, and it was a three-pointer. Tetsuya's team exchanged grim looks. This was going to be every bit as hard as Momoi and Riko-kantoku had projected.

Touou was fast and strong. The center who guarded their net on defense wrestled with Tsuchida-senpai for every ball. Their shooting guard looked even slighter than Tetsuya, but he shot fast enough that, even warned, Hyuuga-san had to fight to block even some of his balls. Their captain, their point guard, had a sharp eye for the flow of the game and always sent the ball toward a weak spotâ€”the extra moment Izuki-senpai needed to get turned around, the instant Hyuuga-san was distracted by the threat of a pass to Sakurai, the opening behind Mitobe-senpai's back the moment he stepped forward to screen.

Tetsuya took a breath and sank himself into that flow also, hearing the murmur of Momoi's analysis in the back of his head. Their center had good accuracy up close but not at any distance; when he was away from the net, he always passed. Tetsuya slid into the path of the ball and turned it toward Hyuuga-san's hands. Touou's shooting guard was blindingly fast but that meant he never had as firm a grip on the ball as another player might. Tetsuya faded away from his marker and sprinted to strike the ball out of Sakurai's hands. He could feel his team settling around him, settling in for a long fight, but always poised to receive the ball. Poised because Tetsuya was on the court, and they expected it of him, trusted him to intervene. Part of him basked in that feeling, in the reliance of his team.

But part of him was aware of Imayoshi's eyes catching him, over and over again, like an unexpected hand dropping onto his shoulder from behind.

Still, they were holding on. By the middle of the second quarter, when the rest of Touou started being able to find him, too, Seirin was eight points ahead. Tetsuya tagged Koganei-senpai at the side-lines and dropped onto the bench between Aomine and Kagami, breathing hard.

"I will never get how you can be so calm in the middle of such a hot game," Kagami told him, shaking his head.

"Tetsu? Calm?" Aomine stared at Kagami like he was crazy. "Tetsu's never calm, he just doesn't actually, you know, yell about things."

Tetsuya huffed into the towel he was scrubbing over his face. "I can't keep track of the game if I'm one of the ones yelling," he pointed out, hanging it around his neck and reaching for his water. It was true; he had to pay close attention to what was happening to keep up with everyone else, to be in the right place for his passes. However much passion he brought to the game, he had to observe everything carefully, even himself.

He knew that wasn't how his partners played. But he wasn't like his partners. He wondered, sometimes, what it would be like to play hot and thoughtless the way they did. He knew it wasn't how his game, his strength, would ever work, but sometimes he wondered.

The second-years were playing pretty hot, themselves, now, pushing to keep Seirin's lead. Touou was pushing back, though, and Momoi made an annoyed sound between her teeth as Imayoshi feinted around Izuki-senpai and faded back for another three-pointer. "That man is entirely too good at faking opponents out," she declared, clearly offended that even her scouting beforehand wasn't quite enough of an edge to close Imayoshi down.

"He's the one who's making their individual plays work, too," Kantoku agreed, mouth a little tight. "We'll just have to tighten up our own coordination to stop them."

Aomine had been watching the game with his elbows on his knees, head cocked a little as Kantoku moved down the bench a little, tracking play with a frown of concentration. "There's something a little weird about Seirin that way, don't you think?" He glanced over at Tetsuya and then back at Momoi. "About the second-years. I mean, they're tight, yeah. Really tight. But, being as tight as that, shouldn't they be able to make more advanced plays?"

Tetsuya made a thoughtful noise, considering his senpai's play. Touou's center back-cut around Mitobe-senpai. Hyuuga-san wasn't quite close enough to interfere properly, and the center threw one of those ferocious passes to their shooting guard. "Mmm." He had to agree; even knowing Seirin wasn't a defensive team, he'd have expected someone as experienced as Hyuuga-san to catch that.

Momoi was nibbling her lower lip. "It's..." She hesitated, which was uncharacteristic enough to make Tetsuya brows rise.

"Shut up, Aomine." Kantoku didn't look away from the court. "I know already, you don't have to rub it in."

"It isn't your fault, Kantoku," Momoi said softly, while Aomine was blinking.

"No, but it's my responsibility, now." Their coach took a slow breath and glanced down the bench at the suddenly questioning looks of every first-year on it. "I'm this team's coach, yes, but my experience is in training, not strategy. Our strategist is... away right now." Her hand clenched on her knee, and her voice fell. "Just a little longer. If we can just hold on a little longer; he's almost ready to come back."

Tetsuya tucked this new information away; it sounded like their team would be bolstered even more than he'd thought, if they could just win this round. He looked back at the game, focusing like he was out there himself, watching the pattern of the second-years' plays. This was where he put his own fire, where almost no one ever really saw it, into his focus on his team and opponents. This was what he had to strengthen, to support, to make shineâ€”the absolute solidity of Hyuuga-san's outside shots, Mitobe-senpai's steady judgement under the basket, Izuki-senpai's grasp of position.

He could do it.

The second-years were wringing wet and panting when they came in for half-time, and fell on Mitobe-senpai's honeyed lemons like wolves. Tetsuya was absently grateful that Kagami had brought a batch of his own, and offered them around to the first-years. Even, reluctantly, Aomine, though they got into a brief wrestling match over it when Aomine smirked and tried to take four at once.

"You know, I'm not even sure I'm joking about Dai-chan liking Kagamin," Momoi said to Tetsuya, not all that quietly. "He acts just like a little boy pulling a little girl's hair because he likes her."

That had the effect Tetsuya had no doubt she'd intended, as both Aomine and Kagami broke off fighting with each other to protest. He smiled back, faintly, at her tiny grin, but most of his attention was still on the game—on what he'd seen, and how he'd need to play in the last quarter.

It was, he thought, a good thing he had stayed focused, because when they got to the fourth quarter, Seirin was down twelve points. Kuroko took a breath as he stepped out under the lights of the court and slid straight into the game as though he'd never left; in a way, after all, he hadn't. He shadowed Izuki-senpai, following the quick signals of his glances to take the ball at unexpected angles and relay it to its true target. He stole passes to Touou's Sakurai and fired them to Mitobe-senpai instead, in the moment no one was watching. He could hear the shouts from Seirin's bench, hear the enthusiasm of both his partners. And he could feel his team shifting around him, pushing into a higher gear.

This was what he lived for, this feeling, this triumph of his game, of the strength he gave his teammates, over the opposing team. When the score turned over again, he thought the lightness of the moment might lift him off his feet.

When Imayoshi stepped up to mark him, he felt a chill cut through that glow.

"Will you listen to that?" Touou's captain said, conversationally, waving a hand at the stands. "'Can we stop Seirin's energy' indeed. You think they'd know better." Imayoshi smiled, slow and predatory. "Did you know? There are some things you can only see in a mirror."

Tetsuya frowned to himself and waited for the ball to go to Izuki-senpai, for Imayoshi's attention to split so he could fade away and cut free. But Imayoshi stayed on him, close up, close enough to...

...close enough to watch his eyes.

Tetsuya pulled in a hard breath. Every time he glanced at Izuki-senpai, Imayoshi looked away from him. Looked at Izuki-senpai, too.

...only see in a mirror.

It happened again when Tetsuya tried to move to relay a pass between Hyuuga-san and Mitobe-senpai. Again, when he went to screen Hyuuga-san's next outside shot. He couldn't shake Imayoshi off, and the clock was ticking down. The score turned over in Touou's favor. Again in Seirin's favor. And Tetsuya didn't have anything to do with any of it. He was blocked at every pass, and he could feel the team stumbling; it was worse than if he hadn't been on the court at all, because they kept starting to rely on him and having to pull up short.

"It's a double-edged sword, isn't it?" Imayoshi murmured, still smiling. "The way you strengthen them. The way they rely on you. Very double-edged indeed."

Tetsuya's mouth tightened hard, and he met Imayoshi's eyes, direct and intent. This time, he didn't look away, stayed focused on his opponent and just moved. He had to hope Izuki-senpai would see and understand. And, sure enough, there was a flicker of movement at the corner of his eye, and Tetsuya spun away at the last moment to reach for the ball coming toward them.

Imayoshi's hand slid in front of his, and he cut between them, fading back and back and finally going up for a three-pointer neither Izuki-senpai nor Tetsuya were in place to block. The ball arched through the air, slow and high, over the heads of the frozen players, and swished through the basket, giving Touou a two-point lead.

The final buzzer sounded.

Imayoshi looked back at Tetsuya again. "It was obvious they'd rely on you at the last," he said, almost gently. "Seirin is a young team, and your strength conceals your weaknesses. Too bad, hm?" He turned away toward his team.

Cold slid through Tetsuya like a knife. Was he actually bad for his team, when Aomine or Kagami couldn't be on the court? Had he led them to overestimate him, just because he wanted so badly to be acknowledged as a useful player? He went through line-up and the retreat to the changing room in a chill fog of wondering what he could possibly do now.

Everyone was silent in the wake of their loss, and the silence plucked at Tetsuya's nerves. He was almost grateful for the metallic bang when Aomine punched one of the lockers.

"What the fuck good is it being a genius and all that shit, when I can't use it?!"

Momoi roused at that, though her voice was quiet. "Dai-chan, you know why. None of you are developed enough to use your full strength for too long."

Aomine growled.

"Don't be silly, Satsuki-chan." Aida-kantoku stood briskly from testing Hyuuga-san's calves and ankles, and put her hands on her hips. "Now that I have a better gauge for just how much strain it does put on you, you bet your ass you're going to be training to use your full strength for a full match, Aomine-kun."

Aomine blinked at her like she'd suddenly turned on all the lights in a dim room. "...I am?"

"Of course you are!"

"But Riko-kantoku," Momoi started, half hopeful and half alarmed.

Kantoku waved an impatient hand. "In middle-school, of course their bodies couldn't sustain that kind of play for long! And it would have been crazy to try to train them up to it while they were still growing. But now..." she eyed Aomine thoughtfully, "now, I think you have all but an inch or two of your height, and that's the important part. Now that your muscles and tendons aren't constantly under the strain of growing longer, we can take all that effort and energy and pain and put it toward your training." She gave Aomine a sunny, ruthless smile, and he grinned back the way Tetsuya hadn't seen in a while, bright and excited.

Tetsuya started a little when that smile was turned on him.

"Hear that, Tetsu?" Aomine reached out and mussed his hair, through Tetsuya's towel. "I won't leave you alone out there again. You'll have all the light you need."

Tetsuya stilled, caught between relief and a twist of fear. This was what he'd wanted, what he'd worked for, but was it really enough? For the first time, he doubted it. Aomine promised him light. As much light as he needed, to play the way he always had. Enough light to bring out his strength.

Enough light to conceal his weakness?

Kagami's snort broke the circle of his thoughts. "What makes you think someone like Kuroko, the one who hauled your ass to Seirin and dragged your head out of it too, will be satisfied with stopping there?" He tied his shoe with a rather ferocious jerk, set both feet firmly on the floor, and braced his hands on his knees, elbows stuck out aggressively. "We need to be stronger, yeah. So Kuroko can rely on us, the same way we rely on him."

"I told you you rely on him too heavily," Aomine jibed at Kagami. "I, on the other hand, have the perfect balance already."

Momoi coughed meaningfully into her fist, and Aomine added, "Back again."

"Oh, nice save." Kagami applauded sarcastically, and Aomine jumped him, and their corner dissolved into wrestling again. The second-years groaned and rolled their eyes, and the whole room lightened a little.

Tetsuya just sat, not quite seeing what was in front of him, while Kagami's words rolled through his head. Kagami, his other partner, thought he wouldn't stop with the goal he'd just barely regained. Thought he'd keep going, keep building up his game. The idea unfolded slowly, like a flower opening up, until his chest felt full and tight with it. To be more, to want more... could he? Could he really? The memory of a hundred quiet moments of irritation or resignation, playing as Teikou's shadow, came back to him.

Hadn't he always wanted more?

Tetsuya took a long, shaky breath, feeling like he was looking up after staring at the ground for so long he'd forgotten there was anything else to see.

"Tetsu-kun?" Momoi's hand was on his shoulder, and she was looking down at him with a shade of worry behind her smile. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes." Tetsuya shook himself and looked up at her. "I think Kagami-kun is right," he told her. "I... I need to be more, too. Will you help me?"

Her eyes turned wide and surprised. He supposed that wasn't something she'd been in the habit of thinking, either. The surprise melted slowly into familiar determination, though. "Tetsu-kun. Of course I will." She smiled, bright and fierce, the way she hadn't since they'd come off the court today. "I'm Seirin's analyst, aren't I? I'll find a way."

Tetsuya nodded back firmly, feeling that determination settle into his thoughts and bones, heavy but comfortable. Yes. They'd find a way around his weaknesses, until his team could rely on him without danger.

He wouldn't let his game end like this.

The new thoughts tugged at him, as Seirin gathered themselves up and started for home. He'd thought he came to Seirin, and brought Aomine with him, to prove the worth of the way he played the game. He had a team, here, that needed him and knew how he strengthened them. He had a team that wouldn't let Aomine molder in apathy, that demanded he train properly and play properly. There was even Kagami, to spur Aomine out of his slump, to remind him that there were other strong players, to show him how a decent partner acted.

He'd thought that was all he wanted.

But when Kagami had spoken, so confident that Tetsuya wouldn't be content with just that, wanting had flared up instantly. So instantly that Tetsuya knew it had to have been lying in his heart all this time, waiting for a spark. It had taken Kagami to make him see, to make him remember his old hopes from before Akashi had found him and told him his strength was a shadow's strength, from before he'd gotten used to shadow victories.

Maybe it wasn't just Aomine that Kagami could show how to play again. And when Tetsuya remembered how deliberately he'd set out to use Kagami to make Aomine jealous enough to wake up, he wondered, with a twinge of guilt, whether it wasn't just Aomine that needed Kagami to show him how to play again.

When he and Kagami waved good night to Aomine and Momoi, and parted ways at the station, his thoughts finally spilled over into words.

"I'm sorry."

Kagami glanced down at him, brows raised. "What for?"

"I used you for my own ends, to make Aomine-kun remember how to be a partner. And even so, you still have that much faith in me."

"What, that?" Kagami snorted, stuffing his hands further into his pockets. "Don't worry so much about it. Everyone plays for their own reasons; it's not like you made me play the way I do. That's just me." He gave Tetsuya a sidelong look. "As for you, are you going to tell me you will let it end like this? Your game? Seirin's game?"

Tetsuya's response to the mere question straightened his spine in a rush of hot denial. "Of course not," he said firmly.

Kagami was grinning a little. "Thought not."

"Being smug makes you look like Aomine-kun," Tetsuya observed, and smiled just a tiny bit as Kagami's vociferous objections echoed off the yard walls around them.

He walked on through the warm spring night, dwelling on the old, faint taste of playing for himself.

Not the Direction of Gravity

Al stumbles over the clue to finding his brother that he was looking for, in a way he didn't expect. (Continued after a seven year hiatus, I recommend re-reading the first two stories in the arc.) Drama with Angst and Philosophy, I-3

Al

"Alphonse! Get out of this house and take a walk!"

Al looked up from his desk, blinking. "But... I'm studying..."

Sensei put her hands on her hips. "I know. You have bags under your eyes I could pack for vacation in, and the last time we sparred I wasn't even breathing hard." She pointed a commanding finger at the door. "Out!"

"But..." Al glanced out the window, protests taking on a faint note of desperation. "It's about to rain!"

She folded her arms and just loomed. Al sighed and marked his place with his pencil. "Yes, Sensei. It'll probably do me good, right?"

Her mouth twitched and she put a hand on his head, half ruffle and half swat, as he passed her. "And quit stealing my lines."

Al picked an easy path, down by the lakeshore under the trees where the light rain wouldn't get him too wet. Sensei was probably right. His brain felt so full it might spill if he moved too fast, and his thoughts jostled against each other. He was pretty good at modern alchemical codes, but he'd been reading much older texts, and if you went back far enough it was as much philosophy as science and every statement seemed to mean at least three different things at once. Probably more, actually, but he had threes on the brain; it was Trismegistus' fault. And Salmon's. Mercury meant spirit meant animal, and where did that get him?

He toed a stone in the path, not kicking it, just rocking it in its bed of dampening dirt. Now that he was actually outside and didn't have a book in his hands, he wanted to do something physical. A swim would be nice; the sound of the lake's wavelets against the shore was soothing and tempting. He held out a hand and watched a few raindrops patter down onto his palm, thoughtfully.

Well... since he was going to get wet anyway...

Al stripped down to his undershorts and hung his clothes on the branch of a maple that looked dry underneath. He shivered a little as he waded in; it wasn't full summer yet, and the water wasn't exactly warm. He was laughing under his breath though. He didn't act on impulse too often, usually he had to be the sensible one.

Maybe now he could see why Nii-san spent so much time grinning.

He sighed softly and launched himself out into the water, stroking toward the huge boulder some glacier had left halfway to the middle of the lake. He would see his brother again. He would. A few years was nothing; he could keep looking a lot longer than that. Apparently, he already had once.

His breath felt like it was filling his lungs all the way up again by the time he reached the rock. He turned over and rested his head in a hollow and floated, looking up at the sky under his lashes. The rain made it look like the sky was coming down to meet him.

Well, after all, the dusty old philosophers and the shiny new scientists both agreed that all the world was one, in the end.

He wriggled his toes in the water, reminding himself that he wasn't studying right now. Maybe it would help divert him if he paid more attention to sensations. He took a moment to do so and chuckled. It felt very strange, once he noticed. The rain speckled down on part of him, busy and distracting, while the rest of him was underwater and barely felt the occassional current or the passing of a wave.

Come to think of it, his brain felt an awful lot like that. Al let his eyes drift half shut. Odd that thoughts could have sensation, too. But there was definitely a much-less-jostling part in there, underneath.

The more he thought about how the quiet part felt, the quieter everything got. Thoughts drifted instead of jostled. Symbols floated instead of flickered. The circled dot, for the sun, for the Eye, and for gold, and that made sense since "gold" meant inclusion. The inside of a circle. All the stages in one, destruction and creation together and that was life, wasn't it? The process of living was alchemy. Everything became something else from moment to moment, but somehow it was all still there. That was life.

And life was perfection. Always perfecting everything, refining until each thing was itself.

Sensei knew that. Al smiled, in the floating stillness, with the satisfaction of that thought.

Maybe Nii-san did too. Those last lines in his notes: "The Gate is in every living heart". Living. Yes. And it all connected, because the circled dot was also the Eye, and Nii-san had drawn the eye in his first notes about the Gate, hadn't he?

The simple circled dot in Al's head gained more lines, a curve above and below, and a glory radiating around it. It wasn't sketched anymore, though.

He looked closer.

It was... carved.

He reached out to run his fingers over the texture, which was weirdly slick and sharp, and another line appeared, running straight down the middle. He realized that the eye was carved on a slab, and the slab was really two slabs. It was... a door.

It cracked open.

Al jerked and floundered wildly for a moment before he was sure his head was really above water. He clutched the rock, panting a little while the adrenaline burn died back to a sizzle in his blood.
Had he just fallen asleep out here? In the water? He was lucky he hadn't drowned!

Wait, no, he'd been thinking something. Something big. Al chewed on his lip, trying to remember, but all he could catch hold of were fragments of ideas about gold and circles and life. He pounded his fist, lightly, on the stone, annoyed. "Damn damn damn damn damn!"

Finally he let it go and pulled in a deep, calming breath. He'd have to try to catch hold of it again tonight, as he was falling asleep, and hope he could hold on to enough to write it down. For now, he'd just work off his annoyance by swimming back to shore, and maybe not mention this to Sensei. If she knew he'd 'wasted' his exercise time thinking, she might get more direct about making sure he got more physical activity.

Izumi

Izumi scrambled out of bed, ignoring Sig's grunt as she planted a hand on his stomach for leverage.

Al had screamed.

She strode down the hall and threw open his door, eyes sweeping the room for any threat. But there was only Alphonse, bolt upright in bed, eyes huge and dark and staring at nothing. She came and took his shoulders gently. "Al? Al, wake up. It's all right."

She hoped she wasn't lying.

His hands closed on her arms hard enough to bruise. "Empty," he gasped, sounding like he'd been running for miles, and maybe for his life. "It echoed. Inside me was empty and it echoed!"

Izumi slid further onto the bed and cuddled Al as if he weren't almost as tall as she was. As if she could enfold and protect him. Her lips were pale and tight as she stared over his head into the darkness. "It's all right," she murmured again. "You're here. It's now. There's no echo now, right?"

The desperate tension in him unwound just a little, and he started shaking against her. "I... yes. I mean, no. I mean..."

"Shhhh." Izumi stroked his hair, sifting her fingers through the springy strands. She had almost hoped she was wrong about what he meant, but no such luck. She sighed, resting her cheek against the top of his head, rocking him a little as the shaking grew worse and the shoulder of her nightgown started getting wet.

He'd found it. Or it had found him. And in the morning she'd have to try to figure out how. Try to find some way to keep the idiot boy from diving head-first into the Gate after his stolen memories and destroying himself with his own brilliance.

Again.

But for tonight they could both pretend that she could protect him, and that everything would be all right. And if the world could spare them both just a little kindness, maybe he could sleep out the night safe in her arms.

End

This was written on 9/24/06. Yes, I know. Yes, it took me this long to give in and admit I wasn't going to finish the arc, and post what I have.

Rotation

Al visits home and tells everyone about how his studies are coming, and Rose talks sense to him. Drama, I-3

Al ignored the rattle of the train wheels to scowl over his notebook, certain at the bottom of his heart that his notes weren't going to do him any good. Plenty of people wrote about the Stone, but as far as he could tell no alchemist, in four hundred years and more, had written down anything about the Gate. Given his own experiences, he supposed he couldn't blame them, but still...! And Sensei must agree that his books were a dead end, or she wouldn't have loaded him on the train for a visit home without a single book to his name except one volume of poetry he'd bought a year ago and hadn't opened since.

The whistle announcing the next stop was a welcome interruption. Even more welcome was the sight of both Rose and Winry waving at him from the platform.

"Winry!" he called, grabbing his suitcase and jumping down the stairs as the train slowed. "You got a break too!" He grunted as she more or less tackled him into the side of the train, and grinned. He was finally as tall as she was.

"Of course I got a break!" She hugged the breath the rest of the way out of him. "You wrote and said you were coming home to visit, what else was I going to do?"

She took him by the shoulders and held him off to arm's length to look him up and down.

"You look good," they said at the same time. There was a pause and then laughter, and Al was glad for that, because his observation had been a bit shyer than hers. Winry was wearing charcoal overalls, instead of her old light blue ones, and she looked... older. Which she was, of course, and she'd always been a little older, but now she was a lot older and...

Well, she looked it.

Rose came to herd them off the platform, laughing softly herself. "Come on you two, let's go. I left bread in the oven, and you know Pinako-baachan won't remember to take it out if she's working on that new knee for Peter."

Al swung his suitcase as they walked, noting the little changes in the fields by the road, listening to Winry talk about the new alloy mixes she was experimenting with. It was good to be home. Sensei was great, but this was home.

He got through dinner and the dishes, which he'd volunteered to help Rose wash, before Pinako-baachan beckoned him back to the table with the stem of her pipe. "And how's your work going these days?" she asked.

Al sat back and looked at his folded hands for a moment. "I've made progress this year," he said at last, quietly.

Rose set the teapot on the table and kicked off her sandals as she sat down, curling one foot up under her. "You don't sound very happy about it."

Al drew a finger down the side of his cup. "Sensei is pretty sure I've already made the breakthrough I need. But you couldn't tell it by me; as far as I know, all I have is some really strange dreams." He shrugged, rather uncomfortable with the whole thing. "So, um, don't worry if I get kind of... loud when I'm asleep. It's nothing."

"Al..." Winry frowned. "What kind of dreams?" she asked softly.

Al's mouth twisted and he took a quick drink to keep her from seeing. "Well. Sensei thinks I'm actually reaching the Gate when I'm asleep. That I'm seeing my own memories." He attempted a light tone. "So I guess I have something back: memories of the dreams, some of them." He winced at the darkness in Winry's eyes and groped for a way to get off the topic of his nightmares. "If the things the Gate takes away include memories, I can see why there isn't more written about it, I suppose, but," his mouth tightened in genuine irritation, fear buried in scholarly ire, "you'd think scientists would know better! I mean, honestly, it's the most basic experimental good sense to keep notes of everything, even if you don't know what they might be good for yet." He crossed his arms and scowled, reminded all over again of just how unproductive the past months had been.

"So nothing mentions this Gate at all?" Rose asked, curiously.

Al slumped bonelessly over the table, stretching his arms out along it, comforted by the familiarity of the smooth, battered wood under his hands. "Nope." He sighed, drawing concentric circles on the wood with a fingertip. "The only books that mention anything like it are old Ishvarite philosophy texts, and they're not about alchemy." He frowned and tapped his finger. "I'm not really sure what they are about, actually. Just that it's definitely not science."

"Well, you could ask the Ishvarites," Rose pointed out.

Al opened his mouth and then stopped with his jaw hanging there until Winry tapped him on the head. "Al? You still in there? A bug's going to fly into your mouth, you know."

He closed his mouth, pausing only to stick out his tongue at her for old times' sake. "Rose-san, you're brilliant!" He chewed on his lip, and muttered, "Only the Ishvarites never talk to alchemists, I wonder how I can get them to..."

"You're not asking about alchemy," Rose stated. "You said it yourself; you're asking about philosophy." She smiled at him. "You and Winry are just alike, you know. Always so focused on the practical. Sometimes you forget to look up."

She looked up, herself, as laughter and excited barking drifted in the window. Al thought her little Christopher was probably playing with the new dog Al had helped Winry pick out two years ago; Den sounded a lot gruffer than that, these days, and was too stiff to run around with a young boy. Rose's mouth tilted. "Sometimes the problem isn't what you think it is," she said quietly. "You don't want to miss the moment it turns into something else, just because you were concentrating too hard on what it used to be."

Al thought maybe she wasn't talking about alchemy or the Gate any longer. But the tightness in Pinako-baachan's face indicated that might not be the best thing to point out right now. "I'll try not to," he promised.

Rose shook herself. "Well, good then!" She poured Al another cup of tea and smiled at Winry. "Any problems you have that I should solve while I'm at it?"

Winry laughed. "I've gotten better! I haven't even forgotten to eat because I'm working more than once in the last couple months." She paused. "Well, maybe twice." Another, slightly fidgety pause. "Definitely not more than three times!"

Al relaxed in the warmth and laughter of the kitchen, and the thought that he might have a way forward again.

End

The Simple and the Subtle - Chapter One

Al goes to Ishvar, searching for answers. Drama, I-3

Al stood by a low fountain, hands opening and closing around the handle of his suitcase. It was baking hot under the afternoon sun, even though it was autumn elsewhere in the country, but he made no move for the shade of the wide porch across the square. There had been too many doubtful or questioning looks directed at him as he crossed the city, and he wanted to start off on the right foot, here; his eyes searched through the knots of people sitting among the pillars, looking for a face that seemed receptive or curious or welcoming. Unfortunately, everyone seemed very wrapped up in whatever they were discussing, in some cases quite loudly and with vigorous gestures.

Al sighed. Getting to New Ishvar had been simple. Finding the temple had been even easier; it was the tallest building in the city and by far the most finished-looking one. The next step was proving a little harder.

"You can drink from the fountain, if you like, young man."

Al turned to see a comfortably plump woman smiling at him, offering a tin cup of water.

"You look like you've just gotten here," she added.

"Yes, ma'am." Actually, water sounded really good now that someone mentioned it. Al took the cup with a bob of thanks and sighed with pleasure as he washed the grit out of his throat. "Thank you very much."

"We don't get many travelers," she observed to the water as she went back to filling a large jug.

"I was hoping to speak to some of your scholars." Al felt deeply self-conscious, now that he actually came to say it. "They, um, all seem to be very busy, though."

The woman laughed. "Ah, half the men up there are just arguing for the fun of it." She set her full jug down in the shadow of the fountain and beckoned. "Come along, I'll show you to someone who can actually help."

"Oh. That's very kind; thank you again." Al trailed behind her, surprised.

She tossed a wry grin over her shoulder. "I think anyone who comes to learn instead of shoot should be encouraged."

Al flushed. "Ah. Yes." How did you answer something like that?

She led him between the knots of gesticulating debaters and finally tapped the shoulder of a square, strong looking old man. "Sensei, you have a visitor."

The man looked up from the group of boys he'd been speaking to, smiling. "A visitor? How unusual. Thank you, Nahal." He waved to the boys, who scattered looking cheerful; Al suspected he'd just interrupted lessons of some kind. The old man nodded to him courteously as the woman shook her head and went after some of the children. "And how can we help..." He trailed off and frowned. "You...?"

"My name is Alphonse Elric." Al hesitated as the man's eyes widened. "I... may have met you before sir. I don't remember that time, though. Please excuse me."

"Hm. Well, you certainly look rather different than I remember." The man waved to one of the benches beside him. "I take it," he said quietly, as Al sat, "that your brother succeeded in healing you."

That was actually a very good way to put it, Al thought. "Yes, sir. He gave all of himself to do it, though, and..." Al's hands tightened on each other, "now I'm trying to find where he's gone."

"Where he's gone?" the man prompted softly.

"He isn't dead," Al told his hands. "I'd know if he were dead."

"You must know, Elric-kun, that we do not teach or learn the old Art." The man's voice was kind but utterly inflexible.

"I know." Al looked up, meeting his eyes. "I don't think it's the Art I need to learn. There's..." He took a deep breath. "There's a Gate. It's spoken of in some of the old books of your people, and nowhere else I've found. I've passed that Gate. Twice. But I don't remember it."

The man sat back, looking startled. "Twice?" He examined Al in silence for a long moment and finally said, "I think you had better tell me the whole story, Elric-kun. If you can."

Al's mouth quirked. This should be interesting. "Well, I suppose it starts from the fact that my brother and I inherited our father's gift for alchemy..."

Dusk fell while he spoke, blue shadows sliding over the sand and stone.

"...so I came here, hoping I could learn more about what happened. Maybe enough to find the Gate when I'm awake and find my brother through it."

Al turned one hand palm up and waited as calmly as he could for his answer.

"If he has passed through the place you speak of, I do not know if it will be possible to call him back. He was not bound to this world, as you were by the blood seal." The old man stood. "Nevertheless, you have come to us honestly, to share learning. As long as that honesty does not fail, you are welcome to learn what you may."

Al let out the breath he'd been holding. "Thank you, sir."

The man's teeth flashed in a smile. "My name is Amos. And now, we have to find some place for you to stay." He chuckled. "I'm sure Leo and Rick will be happy to see you again, but Maria has her hands full looking after them; lodging you there might not be the kindest thing to her."

"I don't want to make any trouble," Al said, hastily, already imagining the look this Maria would give him. "Of course, I'll do my best to help out wherever I stay, but I can stay outside of town, too, if that would be easier." After Sensei's ideas of training, camping in the nice, calm desert would feel like a vacation.

"Hm. No, no I think I have a better idea. Come along." Whatever he had thought of put a glint in Amos-san's eye, Al saw as they passed into the lamplight spilling past the temple doors. Al braced himself and followed along as Amos-san led him out into the city.

The buildings got less and less finished as they went until, at the edge of the city-in-progress, they were mostly wood and stone frames with tent canvas for walls. Amos-san finally stopped at one and rapped on the frame beside a drawn door-curtain.

"Gil! Are you in?"

The man who drew the curtain aside was even bigger and more solid-looking than Amos-san. He had a young face though, as far as Al could make out past the old scarring over most of it. "Shifu? What can I...?" He trailed off as his eyes fell on Al and widened.

Al tried not to sigh, and got ready to repeat the pertinent parts of his story. Again. He got very tired of explaining why he didn't remember people.

"Gil, this is Alphonse Elric. I believe you've met." Amos-san sounded just a little too bland, and Al glanced at him with some suspicion.

"Alphonse?" The man, Gil-san, stepped forward, frankly staring. "You're alive," he finally whispered.

Al paused. He didn't remember the name Gil, but it sounded like this man knew a great deal about him. "Yes," he said, finally, and borrowed Amos-san's words for the rest. "My brother healed me."

If anything, Gil-san's eyes got wider.

"He's come seeking a different kind of learning than the last time the Elrics visited us," Amos-san said, quite calm. "I think it would be best if he stayed with you, while he's here."

There was some kind of protest in Gil-san's expression as he turned to Amos-san, but it died as their eyes met. Finally Gil-san dropped his gaze and nodded.

"Excellent. I'm sure the two of you can help each other." Amos-san patted Al's shoulder and turned back toward the center of the city.

Al didn't know exactly what was going on, but he was sure that Amos-san was doing something for someone's own good. He'd sounded far too much like Sensei at the end, there, not to be. "I don't want to impose, Gil-san," he said, cautiously.

Gil-san snorted a little at that. "I'm sure you don't." He shook himself and held the door-curtain aside. "You might as well come in."

The house was bare and simple; interior walls were half built or only marked out and the furniture was makeshift. Al was reminded of his thought about camping in the desert, and smiled.

"You are welcome," Gil-san told him, waving a rather sardonic hand at the crates and bed-rolls. "If you really want to be."

First things first, Al decided, firmly. "Gil-san, I'm afraid I don't remember the years I traveled with my brother. It's clear we met you, but, I'm sorry, I don't recognize you at all."

Gil-san stopped by the scuffed table, looking at him for a long few breaths with unreadable eyes. Finally he nodded. "Only your life could buy your life." Al blinked at this succinct summing up of the price he'd paid as Gil-san turned away and rummaged in a flat chest, coming up with an extra bed roll. "There's space in the bedroom; sharing shouldn't be a problem."

Al was a bit bewildered by how Gil-san knew what had happened to him, and how simply he'd accepted it. Maybe a good night's sleep would make it all make more sense. "Thank you, then." He bit his lip and added, "If, ah, I seem to be having strange dreams, please don't be concerned. It... happens lately."

Gil-san's hands paused for a moment, spreading out the bedding. "I see."

Al was starting to suspect that Gil-san did see, and he wasn't sure whether that comforted or alarmed him.

"I'm sorry if I, um, miss anything," Al said the next morning as he cut bread for Gil to toast. "I'm afraid I didn't recognize your name."

"I'm not surprised."

Al sighed. This was the third time he'd tried to imply that it would nice if Gil-san said how they'd met and none of them had gotten anywhere. He had a bad feeling it had been in Lior, where an Ishvarite could probably go unnoticed, and that had sounded like it had been a very bad time, when Winry and Rose told him about it. He didn't want to push harder. Amos-san wouldn't have brought him here if there had been problems between them, right?

Al would have felt better believing that if Amos-san's smile had been even a little bit less like Sensei's.

Al put the worry aside as well as he could, though, and set off for his first day of new research. Amos-san had said Al should look for someone named Alec.

"A gate, hm?" Alec-san turned out to be an old man with brushy gray hair and long hands and extremely sharp eyes. "A number of things have been called that." Alec-san paged through a book pulled down without looking from the shelves surrounding them. "Hm, yes. Human transmutation. Life and death, that. Does this look familiar?"

He held out the book, open to a sketch: an eye made up of eleven concentric circles. Chills slid down Al's spine and he nodded positively. "Yes." He wasn't sure where he'd seen it, but he recognized it. Which was fairly good evidence right there.

"Hmm." Alec-san set the book aside and leaned back. "The Gate before the Crown. That's what our scholars and teachers have called the thing you seek after."

"Before the Crown?" Al asked, slowly. That was new.

Alec-san gave him a wintery smile. "Divinity, young man. The sum of all that is. That is the Crown."

Al's eyes widened. "Oh."

"So it's not surprising if you don't remember it," Alec-san added, a bit breezily Al thought. "I doubt it's possible to reach the Crown and remain your limited, mortal self. The Gate, though..." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "That I suppose you might do. It will be interesting to see."

Al nodded politely and tried not to feel like a lab animal.

Alec-san pulled down another book. "Start with this. You'll need to understand the concepts of the eleven realms and how they're connected, if you want to understand what the Gate is. Don't take it out of the library, here, we don't have copies of any of these yet."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Al settled in one of the other chairs and opened the book, determined to make as much as possible of his opportunity. He had one end of the thread, now, and that meant he could unravel the whole picture if he just worked hard enough. He'd follow that thread all the way to his memory and his brother, and be damned to anything that got in his way.

Behind him, Alec-san made an amused little hmph. "Two of a kind, you are, you and that boy. Amos got that right."

That nudged at Al's attention, but he was already into his note-taking and what Amos-san had gotten right would have to wait for another time.

Poetic license has been taken with the Kabbala and the Tree of Life, in order to fit the Gate in there. Amos is the name I have given to Scar's unnamed mentor. Alec and Nahal, though, are my own invention.

The Simple and the Subtle - Chapter Two

Gil does his best to make restitution and finds himself being drawn out by Al. Drama, I-3

Gil had not been surprised when Alphonse mentioned nightmares. The boy had died, been hauled back by his heels and bound to a suit of armor, tramped all over the country running after the false hope of the Stone, been transmuted into the Stone, and finally sacrificed those years of love and effort to be returned to true life. Nightmares were surely to be expected. He hadn't quite expected his new houseguest to start up in the middle of the night, screaming, though.

He certainly hadn't expected it to happen every night.

That wasn't quite true, of course. Two nights, even three, in a week, Alphonse slept quietly. The others, well Gil was twice over glad he had no near neighbors here at the edge of the city and that doors and windows were shuttered tight now winter was on them.

He did wonder, once or twice, whether his teacher had known about this, and thought it proper for Gil to deal with.

Either way, it was fair enough resititution for the part he'd played. He leaned up on one arm, half awake, to reach across the space between their makeshift beds and shake Alphonse's shoulder as he started to thrash around. Alphonse came awake with a harsh gasp, eyes wide and staring before he fell back against his blankets.

"Ah. Gil-san. Sorry."

"Mm, don't worry," Gil mumbled, settling back into sleep already.

He barely remembered it in the morning, until Alphonse looked up from staring into his tea. "It really seems like there should be two circles on the Gate, not eleven."

It must, Gil decided, have been a dream of the Gate itself, last night, then, for Alphonse to break into philosophy at the breakfast table. Usually he waited and beleaguered the older men at the temple, in the evening.

Still, he probably owed Alphonse this help too. "Why?" he prodded.

"Well it's only one step away from this world; there don't seem to be any others in between."

Gil considered that while Alphonse wolfed down his toast. "I don't think distance to divinity works in a straight line like that."

"Oh." Alphonse blinked and laughed a bit self-consciously. "Of course." He rubbed a hand through his hair. "I suppose I've been drawing arrays for too long; it's hard to shake the habit of geometry."

"Most habits are hard to shake," Gil agreed quietly. The habit of revenge; the habit of wrongheadedness; the habit of solitude; they were all hard to shake.

Though Alphonse was making an impression on that last one, and Gil suspected that had been his teacher's real purpose in lodging Alphonse here.

"Well, I can think about that more later," Alphonse said with that alarming determination of his, draining his tea. "What is there to do today?"

"Walls. There's a new load of stone in."

Alphonse brightened, and Gil raised a brow at this rather odd response to the prospect of hauling stone blocks in the desert sun and stingingly dry winter air. "Good! I think the house frame is cracking in the east corner, I heard it last night, and I knew you wouldn't want me to strengthen it."

"Thank you," Gil muttered, surprised all over again by Alphonse's restraint; he hadn't used a single flicker of alchemy since he'd come to New Ishvar. Of course, Gil probably shouldn't be surprised. Alphonse had never had his brother's brash edge.

Or, at least, didn't have it in the same way.

As they walked through the outskirts to collect the first pallet of cut stone, Gil watched smiles come out everywhere in answer to Alphonse's.

"Al-kun, you'll come play with Rick and Leo later won't you?"

"Alphonse-kun, I'll have that book for you tonight!"

"Al, you and Gil will stop with us for dinner, won't you?"

"If Gil-san agrees," Alphonse returned, laughing. Gil snorted softly.

"You can go without me."

"Yes, but Eli-san invited both of us," Alphonse told him, firm and scolding. "You should accept more often, Gil-san."

Gil's mouth tightened. "I have no right."

Alphonse stopped in the middle of the street-to-be with his hands on his hips and glared. "Why not?"

Gil glowered down at his houseguest, though it never seemed to have quite the effect on Alphonse that it did on anyone else. "The price for what I have done is exile. I knew that from the start. I will pay it," he bit out.

"Even when no one is asking you to?"

"Some things aren't required by other people."

"No, they're just required by your stubbornness," Alphonse snapped, sounding thoroughly exasperated. "Gil-san--"

"Enough."

After a moment Alphonse sighed. "We should fetch the stone."

Gil nodded agreement to that, at least, and ignored Al's muttering about how well the blocks would match certain heads. He was starting to wonder whether Alphonse had gotten this way because of Edward or whether Edward had gotten that way because of Alphonse.

It was two loads later before Alphonse said anything that wasn't to do with hauling and stacking.

"Gil-san, may I ask you something?"

Gil made a noncommital grunt, hoping Alphonse wasn't going to badger him more about dinner invitations.

"Will you tell me how I met you?" Alphonse looked up as Gil's hands froze over the mortar he was mixing. "You know so much about me, but I don't even remember your name from the things people have told me about those years."

Gil could feel his jaw tightening.

"How did we meet, that you don't want to tell me?" Al asked quietly.

Gil bowed his head over his hands. Alphonse had left off asking for so long, he'd hoped to not be asked at all. He should have known better. Sooner or later, it would have to be said. Gil took a slow breath. "You didn't know my name, then," he said, voice low. "You called me Scar."

The broken beam Alphonse had been using to lever the stones up clattered to the ground. His eyes were wide, when Gil looked up. A flicker of dark amusement tugged the corner of Gil's mouth up. "I suppose that transmutation gave both of us our lives back. I don't know that it did either of us a favor." He looked away, not wanting to watch the shock in Alphonse's face any more. "You've done more than enough work here, Alphonse," he gestured at the half-laid walls, mouth twisting with the double edge of his words, "if you want to go think for a while."

"I... I'll... yes, for a while." Alphonse tidied his tools with a blank stare that didn't see them, and walked away toward the temple, steps slow and halting.

Gil rested his forehead against a stone, eyes closed. He'd thought he already knew where he stood with the world. He hadn't thought it would hurt so much to see that shock in someone's eyes--to know it would unfold into fear or disgust.

It was only, he told himself sternly, what he should expect; it flowed naturally from his own actions and choices.

When he had made those choices, it hadn't seemed like such a high price as it did now.

It didn't take long before Amos showed up.

Gil's shoulders tightened, but his teacher only picked up the lever Al had dropped and helped to lay the last row of stone. It wasn't until Gil had poured them both a drink of water that Amos spoke.

"Well, it doesn't seem that you think Al-kun's life is unclean."

Gil flinched. "Of course it isn't," he muttered. "He isn't one of us, to live by our laws. Besides, his brother chose freely to make that sacrifice for him." Unlike the men Gil had killed to form the Stone. Not that he felt sorry for those soldiers, he thought stubbornly; they'd made their choices too. But the fact remained. "Alphonse wasn't the one who killed and used the lives to live."

Amos took a drink and leaned back against Gil's new wall thoughtfully. "No, he didn't. Instead he took those lives and used them to bring his brother back from death." He tipped his head at Gil. "You still don't think that was wrong?"

"It..." Gil's thoughts stumbled. "The killing was already done," he said at last.

His teacher's silence was eloquent of the inadequacy of this answer.

"At least those lives and deaths meant something in the end!" Gil finally burst out. "At least they did something worthwhile!"

Amos smiled at him. "So they did."

Gil's eyes widened. "But I'm... I'm not..." Not worthwhile, not worthy.

His teacher patted his shoulder, heaving himself to his feet. "Well, perhaps I'll give young Al a bit longer to work on it, then."

As Gil watched Amos walk back into the city he thought about the enthusiasm with which Alphonse threw himself into rebuilding Ishvar and the raw determination of his search for answers among the books of old and new learning and the stubbornness he already showed in trying to draw Gil out. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that his teacher had a ruthless streak.

It was late when Alphonse came back, and Gil watched his face warily, in the lamplight.

Al just smiled and set two loaves of bread and a travel-bruised pomegranate on the table. "We're running out of bread so I stopped at Sarah-san's. She said to take the fruit, too."

"That was kind of her." Gil fetched cups of water for them, waiting for the rest of it. He was sure there was more.

"Gil-san," Alphonse said, softly, as he peeled the pomegranate, "will you tell me what happened?" He looked up, honey-colored eyes dark. "No one else was there."

And so no one else could tell it. No one else could explain the dreams, if Alphonse had dreamed about it. Gil set down his bread; he doubted he'd be able to eat through this. "I had planned to lure soldiers into Lior and create the Stone with their lives. For the sake of all the citizens who had been killed, the people of Lior were willing to let me do it. You and your brother stumbled into the middle of it, though. You and one other. The Alchemist who did this," he gestured to the scar across his face, "and you were too close. When he tried to kill you, by transforming you and breaking your blood seal... I made you the focus of the Stone's creation instead, to preserve you."

He watched Alphonse's fingers, breaking the pomegranate seeds into smaller and smaller clusters, as he spoke. He didn't want to watch Al's face, and perhaps that was more cowardice, but he didn't think he could finish if he was looking Alphonse in the eye. Alphonse's eyes were far too expressive.

"After it was done," he finished, "I was left with a whole body and the empty desert and nothing else. I..." his hands clasped hard around his cup, "I had thought to make the Stone for revenge; to carry out a destiny. But it seemed to me, then, that whatever there was of my old destiny had passed to you." He was silent for a moment before adding, voice low, "It was then that I realized how heavy I had made it. I'm sorry."

"Yes. So am I. But I'm glad, too."

Gil finally looked up from Alphonse's fingers, stained a little red with the seeds' juice, to see his housemate looking reflective and not shocked or disgusted at all.

"I wish those soldiers hadn't died," Alphonse said, softly. "But you saved my life. And what you did saved my brother's life, too. And I can't help being glad for that." Alphonse looked directly at Gil and smiled, eyes clear. "I wish you hadn't. Thank you, Gil-san."

Gil felt himself settle into stillness with those words. It was not forgiveness Alphonse offered. It was more real than that. "So do I," he said, quietly. "And you're welcome." His own sincerity surprised him.

Alphonse pushed a wooden plate with half the pomegranate seeds on it across the table. "I suppose I should tell you what came next. I only really know it from what other people have said, but I know Nii-san and I ran for it."

Gil listened and ate the sweet, crunchy seeds one by one. It was late by the time Al finished, and Gil felt tired--more than tired, wrung out.

He also felt more at peace than he had for a long time.

He turned over new thoughts, as they cleaned up. "You and your brother succeeded in your search, last time," he said, finally. "But the cost was one I think you wouldn't pay again."

Alphonse nodded firmly as he swept away the fresh stone chips in the bedroom and unrolled his bed. "The Stone isn't the right way. I know that, at least."

"Knowledge might be, though," Gil offered, knowing that he would once have denounced any outsider seeking the old knowledge of his people. "You are... welcome here for as long as you search." He started to unroll his own bedding and hesitated. He'd long since moved his bed across the room, next to Alphonse's, the easier to wake him from nightmares.

Alphonse smiled up at him, smoothing his bedroll, and it struck Gil that that was what he had wanted, why he had spoken: to see Alphonse's hope, undamaged. That hope seemed... very important. "Thank you for that, too, Gil-san." Alphonse helped unroll Gil's bedding the rest of the way and patted it briskly into place beside his.

Gil lay down silently, accepting Alphonse's wordless assurance that it was well.

He was surprised to wake the next morning from a sleep unbroken by nightmares. He had expected telling over some of the ugliest parts of Alphonse's lost past to call to those memories.

Then again, perhaps it had. Alphonse slept quietly, but his arms were wrapped tightly around one of Gil's and he refused to let go. After a few gentle tugs, Gil gave in and turned on his side to settle Alphonse against him more comfortably until the boy woke. His mouth tugged up helplessly into a faint smile as Alphonse relaxed with a sigh and moved closer.

Gil lay and watched the light grow slowly outside the window, thinking back to another life when his older brother had read him to sleep on stormy nights and stayed with him, safe and warm.

He was smiling for real by the time Al woke and stared at him with wonder in the morning sun.

A/N: Those who are wondering how on earth Scar can be here should read Long Enough.

The Simple and the Subtle - Chapter Three

Al settles into closer company with Gil and, as the year draws on, finds the key he needs—if he can use it. Drama, I-3

Al mentioned Gil-san's thought, about divine geometry being very different than regular geometry, to Amos-san. Amos-san chuckled.

"Oh yes. Gil has a good instinct for these things. It's a loss to us all that he probably won't ever go on in his studies and join us here." His wave took in the whole temple, not just the corner of the porch that he and Al sat in.

"Mm." Al sighed a little. He thought it was a waste, too. They both had new lives; Gil-san should do something with his.

Nahal-san told him, while they screwed together pipes to plumb her sink, that Gil-san never stayed in the houses he built.

"Whenever he finishes one he gives it to some couple or family and moves out again, like he's chasing the edge of the city," she said, grunting as she tightened down an elbow. "Here, hand me that long bit. It's a crying shame. No one blames the boy for being a little off his head after what happened at the old city." She sighed, gazing down at the pipes scattered in the summer dust around them and, if Al was any judge, not seeing them at all. "I suppose that won't be any good until he stops blaming himself."

Al hoped it would happen; he thought it would. Gil-san had been kind of scary, or at least it sounded like he had in all the accounts, but he'd also saved Al's life and he'd been kind here and now.

Al was sleeping a lot better, now.

Al scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. "Why is the same thing drawn different ways?" he muttered to himself. Even after almost a year studying, he still found many of these things peculiar.

"So that we remember to look at the truth from more than one perspective," Alec-san said briskly from behind him.

Al jumped a bit. "Ah. Well, yes, I suppose so..."

Alec-san waved a hand. "You must remember, Alphonse-kun, all these drawings and descriptions are only metaphors. We can only see as much of the greater truth as our souls are prepared to see. If we could see it as it is..." his wintry smile flashed, "well, then we'd be one with divinity, yes?"

Al thought about that. "So, you're saying that everything I've seen is... not really real?"

Alec-san snorted. "Of course it's really real. It just isn't complete."

Al frowned, puzzling through this new thought. "So it's more like a... a parable."

"Exactly." Alec-san looked pleased.

"So why do different people see the same thing?" Al shot back.

Alec-san's smile grew. "Because, Alphonse-kun, you aren't the only one involved. What you see is telling the story along with you."

Al shivered. The idea that the Gate was talking to him unnerved him. He might only be able to remember dreams of memories, and almost nothing of the Gate itself, but he remembered fear.

Fear.

He frowned down at the sheaf of papers in front of him, the delicately colored and carefully labeled concentric circles and the dissertation below on their interrelations. "All these accounts and explanations... they all talk about joy," he murmured.

"Of course." Alec-san blew on a carefully copied page to dry it and pulled up a fresh sheet of paper, turning to the next page. "They speak of the pathways to completion, to perfection, if you will."

Al frowned some more, tapping his pencil against his chin. If that was so, then why was it only fear that he remembered?

"Not everyone studies that branch," Gil-san pointed out around a mouthful of nails as he attached the back to a new chair and Al cut up a handful of tiny potatos for dinner. "Even of those, not many seem to see this Gate. Perhaps you have to be prepared properly for it."

Al made a rueful face. "I guess we were about as unprepared as two people could get."

"It was irresponsible to allow children access to such learning," Gil-san growled.

Al's mouth quirked. "So you mean Amos-san and Alec-san are being irresponsible now?" he teased. Gil-san glowered at him, but Al was learning that he did that regardless, and it didn't always mean Gil-san was angry.

"You are not a child, Alphonse."

Al's brows rose at that and Gil-san looked back down at the chair.

"Whether you remember them or not, those years left a mark on you," he said, quietly. "You were a child when I first met you. You are not, now."

Al scraped the potatos into their pan and watched them start to sizzle. "I suppose not," he murmured. It was, in a way, a sad thought. But he also found himself sneakingly pleased that Gil-san thought so.

Al went to sleep thinking of joy and memory and his dreams started out more softly than usual. He was running through grass with his brother and Winry. He was arguing with his brother over cheating at cards. He was playing marbles with a little girl and if, in the dream, his hands were metal, she still smiled at him and crowed with happy triumph over her small, glassy winnings.

Joy.

Wholeness.

A part of him thought the words and then he was standing in a galleried ballroom, filled with light and fire, and a feeling of perfect calm. His brother's body was at his feet and he knew that Nii-san was dead. That didn't change the calm. The part of him that knew this was a dream clung to that perfectly balanced heart with wonder, burying himself in it.

The Eye flashed before him and doors opened. There was darkness beyond it, and light, and things Al couldn't name. He stepped past the doors and held out his hands.

"Nii-san!"

His voice echoed and re-echoed and tiny, dark hands unreeled, reaching back in answer.

Knowing it was a dream, Al still flinched, afraid.

Within the dream, Al brushed the hands away, calm, and they recoiled.

His brother's hands clasped his and Al felt himself unravelling, the power of his body spooling away and leaving only...

Him.

And he started, slowly, to walk beyond the Gate, beyond the hands and mocking, angry voices, towards the things without name.

"Haaah!"

Al's eyes were wide open on darkness and there was a warm arm around him.

"Alphonse!"

Al dropped back down to his bedroll as if all the strings of his muscles had been cut at once. "I... I'm okay." He was shaking.

Gil-san didn't comment, only rubbed Al's back quietly while he caught his breath. Al pressed his forehead against Gil-san's chest, grateful beyond words for the solidity of him.

"I remember," he whispered. "Something in the Gate. Something to be afraid of. But I wasn't afraid. And past that..." he frowned, puzzled. "I don't know what it was."

Gil-san's voice rumbled in his chest. "Beyond the Gate is the Crown, isn't it?"

Al stilled. "Oh." He could almost hear the click of thoughts coming together. "The Gate before the Crown," he whispered, eye wide for a different reason this time. "Peace. Joy. That... that balance. That's the Crown. What's at the Gate..." He sat up, catching Gil-san's shoulders in his excitement. "What's always in the Gate, what stays in the Gate, that must be separate! Of course!"

Gil-san eyed him thoughtfully. "As souls pass the Gate," he murmured, "perhaps some things must be left behind before we can go on."

"Everything that isn't ready for that oneness, yes, of course!" Al nearly bounced. "It makes sense now!" He paused. "What?"

Gil-san's eyes were gleaming in the dimness and a corner of his mouth twitched. "Did you wake up your brother, often, to discuss philosophy in the middle of the night?" he asked.

Al cleared his throat, flushing. "Ah. Sorry." He settled himself back down on his bedroll. After a moment he muttered, "Actually, yes."

Gil-san hmph-ed and a large hand ruffled Al's hair a little before withdrawing. "I'm not surprised."

Al smiled shyly and snuck a little closer into Gil-san's warmth before closing his eyes again.

"Hm. Interesting." Alec-san scratched his chin with the end of his pen, looking up at the ceiling. "I can only speculate, you understand, not having experienced these things myself."

Al made an encouraging sound, impatient, for once, with Alec-san's pedantic precision. He got one of Alec-san's small, frosty smiles for his pains.

"I would speculate, based on what you have told me, that these creatures in the Gate are indeed the remnants of souls that have passed through and beyond. Echos, if you will. Being without form or soul, being only scraps of will, of course they would be hungry for both body and spirit, if they find one they can reach. Living, presumably, rather than dead and passing beyond."

"Then," Al said slowly, "they don't really have anything to do with the transmutation process at all. Or with passing the Gate to other worlds."

"Never having witnessed it, I can't say. But the hypothesis does match your experiences." Alec folded his hands and regarded Al sharply over his knuckles. "The price you pay for transmutation, in strength or life, is one thing. But if these things truly are the will that returns in a homunculus, and if the homunculi are incapable of alchemy, then it follows that the bargain these creatures made with your brother to release your soul once they had captured you was their own and apart from alchemy as it is known to our world. They were likely," Alec-san conluded, "merely taking what they could get from children strong enough to open the Gate but not to guard themselves properly from what lies within it."

Al closed his eyes and took a slow breath for calm agains his sudden anger. "It does make sense," he said, low and even.

After a long moment Alec-san added, "As the Crown is perfect oneness, it also makes sense that the Gate is the point at which all worlds touch and join. How a living, embodied soul that does not seek the Crown can pass the Gate and move between with impunity, without falling prey to these creatures is a question we have not yet answered." His eyes sharpened still more. "Will you keep looking for it?"

Al's chin came up. "Of course."

Alec-san's smile was amused and, briefly, affectionate, and Al ducked his head, abashed.

"Well. After all, my dream might have given me a clue."

Alec-san raised his brows and made interested noises.

"In my dream," Al said, softly, looking up at the sunlight streaming in the skylight, "I wasn't afraid."

The Simple and the Subtle - Chapter Four

Gil assists Al and has a bit of an epiphany, and finds some peace with his past. Drama, I-3

Gil wasn't entirely surprised when Al came to him and asked for help. That didn't mean he didn't have misgivings.

"Are you sure Shifu wouldn't be a better choice?"

Alphonse looked stubborn. "I need to not be afraid. If I'm afraid of the Gate, I'll just keep running away from it and forgetting and I'll never be able to find Nii-san through it." The stubbornness shifted into the earnest entreaty Gil was far more wary of. He had fewer defenses against it. "Please, Gil-san. I do think it should be you."

Gil stifled a sigh. He wasn't at all sure he was ready for the burden of that trust, but if it was laid on him already he couldn't bring himself to break it. "Very well."

And so he found himself sitting beside Alphonse's bedroll in the middle of the day, one of Al's hands clasped in his, while his young friend sought, by all accounts, creatures that would happily devour his body and soul.

He hoped this would be enough to give Alphonse the courage he needed.

Gradually Alphonse's breathing slowed and evened. His eyes stopped flickering under his lids. Gil watched the sunlight creep across the floor and waited, sinking himself in the patience he had once employed to hunt and kill. He thought this was a better use for it.

Abruptly, Al's hand tightened on his. Gil leaned forward, intent, frowning, carefully tightening his grip in return. Alphonse's eyes were moving again, now. When his breath stumbled Gil couldn't keep from resting a light hand on his hair and speaking in a bare whisper. "Alphonse. I'm here."

Al should know that, whatever he faced, he was not alone. Gil knew too well how that felt to leave someone he knew lost in it.

Alphonse's grip on Gil's hand firmed and he drew in a long breath.

It wasn't long after that he relaxed, bit by bit, and his eyes opened, dark and dazed. Gil brushed light, flyaway hair back out of them and waited.

Finally Alphonse looked up at him and smiled. "Thank you." The smile grew wider, gained a triumphant edge. "It worked! I found it and I remember!"

Gil smiled back. "I'm glad."

Al hauled himself up off the bed, wobbling just a little, and rummaged for his notebooks, muttering to himself as he scribbled and chewing the end of his pencil. Gil stood and went to see about some dinner. He was hungry and he'd only watched.

As he pulled out bread and onion to cut, he found that he was still smiling.

Gil couldn't deny that he was very impressed by Alphonse Elric. Days turned to weeks and still Alphonse burned with the light of his discoveries, focused and intent. Gil often had to remind his housemate to take a break to eat.

And even in the midst of his ferocious research, Alphonse turned a hand willingly to the neverending chores of building New Ishvar. He sawed wood and laid pipes, helped paint and mortar, heaved blocks cheerfully. The house they stayed in was finished, and Gil wondered if he shouldn't move on as usual. But somehow he didn't want to disturb Alphonse, didn't want to dislocate him when he seemed so close to finding what he needed.

Didn't want to leave him behind either.

So he stayed and soothed his vague discomfort over it by going out to work on newly laid foundations each day. Many days Al came with him, and if Alphonse banged his thumb every now and then when he was thinking too much about his latest reading and not enough about where the nail was, most of the citypeople were indulgent. By now everyone knew of the outsider who had thrown himself so whole-heartedly into their studies that even Alec approved of him. If Alphonse still gathered a few dark looks in the evenings, when he joined the everlasting debates on the temple steps, there were only a few.

If Alphonse still woke, some nights, shaking and tense, Gil found some satisfaction in the knowledge that Al could sleep calm the rest of the night as long as Gil held him.

His hands could do something besides destroy, now.

His teacher found him stitching canvas into window covers against the deepening cold of winter nights.

"It seems you've decided to stay in one of your houses, finally."

"It's Alphonse's house, too," Gil answered, eyes on the canvas.

"So it is. Many of our people approve of that young man." This was said in such a bland tone that Gil looked up, wary. Amos was smiling at him. "Many of our people approve of you, too, you know."

Gil looked down again. "I shouldn't... I don't have the right..." It was harder, lately, to say the words with conviction.

Amos sighed. "Do you think the proper restitution for bringing death is to create still more absence in all our hearts?"

Gil bit his lip.

Amos reached over and gripped Gil's shoulder with a hard hand, shaking him a bit. "Stop being so stubborn, boy."

Gil managed a small smile for his teacher. "If you wanted me to become less stubborn, are you sure you should have housed Alphonse Elric here?"

Amos laughed. "He's just stubborn enough to match you." He leaned back in his chair and added, "Many of us would be pleased enough if he chose to do so for longer."

Gil shook his head, trying to ignore the twinge at the thought of Alphonse leaving. "He won't stop searching for his brother, wherever that takes him."

"Mm. Journeys usually end in returning, you know." Amos' eyes on him were dark and thoughtful. "If they last long enough. Maybe the both of you have further to go."

Gil sat, after his teacher left, hands smoothing the canvas. The memories of his last journey were dark ones, and he knew many of Alphonse's were also. He had to wonder, just a little, if the return was worth that kind of price.

Gil woke a little as Alphonse turned restless, reaching out to rub his back. Al's tossing increased, though, and the sounds he made were desperate and stifled, and Gil roused all the way.

"Alphonse." He gathered Al close, calling his name quietly. "Alphonse. Wake up."

Al woke with a start that was half a scream, sitting up with a jerk. "Seal... close..." he panted, eyes wide and blind.

"Alphonse," Gil called again, quiet and insistent.

Al's eyes finally focused on him. Gil started a bit himself as Al flung himself back down, burrowing into Gil's chest, shaking. "I was changing," he choked. "It was almost at the seal. I was almost gone."

Gil remembered the steady creep of corruption over steel armor, moving toward a small seal drawn in old blood. That certainly explained it. Gil rubbed Al's back silently.

"And then... I changed again," Al went on, muffled. "I was back, I was all right. There was just this... light inside me." After a slow, shaky breath, he looked up. "You saved me."

Gil made an uncomfortable sound. "It was the only thing I could think of that might halt the process." And it wouldn't have been needed if any of them had just been more alert to what that insane State Alchemist was doing as he died. Al could have been spared all of it. Although, if he had, he could never have saved his brother, nor been saved himself. Of course, neither of them might have been in that danger if Alphonse hadn't been turned into the Stone. But then neither could have been restored... Gil tried to make his thoughts stop spinning. Done was done and he couldn't pick apart the threads of the past.

Al managed a tiny smile. "Thank you."

Gil looked down at him, mind still full of causes and consequences. "For what?"

"For everything."

After a long moment, Gil breathed out and smiled faintly in the dark, feeling the whirl of his head and heart settling. "You're welcome," he murmured.

The Simple and the Subtle - Chapter Five

Al finds his brother. In a way. LAST CHAPTER, INCOMPLETE Drama, I-3

Even asleep, Al could tell this dream was different.

He sat beside his brother in a deep lecture hall, and the lecture was all about extremely combustible fuels and some kind of nozzle and someone named Goddard. Nii-san's hair was longer than in any of the pictures Al had from those lost years, even the oldest ones, and he was dressed so respectably Al wanted to stare.

But he couldn't.

Al leaned closer to Nii-san, which he hadn't intended to do, and murmured "So? Do you think this one can make it?"

They weren't Al's words. They weren't his thoughts.

"Maybe," Nii-san murmured, eyes fixed on the lecturer. "But making it out of atmosphere is just the first step."

Al laughed--only he wasn't--and spun a pen between his fingers. "Ed, you're obsessed."

"I'm getting back," Nii-san stated, with determination that Al remembered in a way, from other dreams. And then he glanced over, mouth curling wryly. "Besides, you're just as obsessed with your own stuff, Alfons."

Al's start woke him up.

And that was when I got stuck for a little while, and other series intervened, and I eventually admitted that I wasn't going to finish writing this.

How it was going to finish: Al would realize he'd found Ed in an alternate world by dreaming contact with his alternate self, and head back to Izumi with his insights to figure out a way to bridge the worlds and retrieve his brother. Gil would, with a little prompting from Amos, realize that he really has bonded deeply with Al and would go with him, and there might even be a kiss somewhere in there to get Al to understand why Gil wants to travel with him. Al is entirely pleased with this and shows Gil off to Izumi, much to Izumi's amusement and Gil's exasperation. Gil and Sig bond over the trials of being an alchemist's lover while Al and Izumi get as far as stabilizing Al's contact between worlds while he's waking, but can't figure out how to get someone through without them getting caught by the fragment/creatures in the Gate.

In the meantime, Ed would be researching furiously on how to get to another world via space, and Hohenheim would be sneaking around trying to stop a Nazi experiment in human sacrifice involving the mass death of asylum inmates. Hohonheim would, of course, be captured, and Ed would chase after him, bursting in on the scene just in time to stop the bad guys, but not in time to save his father. Hohenheim would alter whatever inscription/array the Nazi would-be-magicians were using to make it actually work, and sacrifice himself to open the Gate and send Ed through, where of course he promptly enters Al's perception and is dragged back home on the strength of Al's knowledge of what the Gate truly is.

(I don't actually remember if I even knew what I was planning to do with Alfons; maybe he meets a nice mechanic and falls in love.)

Once home, Ed would be delighted to see Al whole, threaten Gil on older-brother-principles, be appalled to find out that Mustang had entered politics but glad that Lisa is keeping an eye on him, and be happy for Winry and Rose that they'd made a match of it. He and Al would bury themselves in theory for a while, hammering out what it was that happened to them, and what it means about the universe. Eventually, though, Al would drift more toward the philosophical end, and he and Gil would return to Ishvar while Ed took up his travels again, looking for fellow alchemists who would listen to the new theory and also for trouble.

The end.

Long, Like Memory

Four moments when Miyuki actually thinks about his hair, often to keep from thinking about something else. Drama with Angst and mild UST, I-3

His mother always combed his hair for school.

"Kazuya! Breakfast!"

He thumped down the stairs, dragging his book bag behind him by one strap. "Coming!" He scrambled up into his chair at the table, across from his dad who had the morning paper folded beside his plate, and grinned up at his mother as she set his smaller plate in front of him. Her eyes danced when she laughed.

"Oh, Kazuya." Cool fingers smoothed back his hair, which he'd splashed water on this morning to try to make it lie down flat. It had... kind of worked. "Hold still for a moment, sweetheart."

He stuffed a piece of toast in his mouth first, but then held obediently still while the comb tugged gently through his hair, smoothing the top down and the sides back so they didn't fluff out. He could never figure out how she did it. Even his dad couldn't do it; the time he'd tried, when Kaa-san had been too tired out to get up one morning, Kazuya's hair had stuck up all over, and they'd both had exactly the same helpless look in the mirror, and his mother had laughed and laughed when he'd gone to say goodbye before leaving, even though it made her cough.

So he sat still every morning while she combed his hair and finished with a pat. "There you go! Eat up, now, so you have energy for the whole day."

Kazuya promptly shoveled rice into his mouth. "Thank you, Kaa-san!"

"Swallow before talking," his dad directed, completing the final morning step with a shake of his head and a tiny quirk at the corner of his mouth. It got a little bigger when Kazuya swallowed and smiled back at him, wide and happy.

Kazuya liked mornings.

(He never did figure out how his mother had made his hair so neat, and eventually he stopped trying. Maybe it really was the pat that did it.)

The first time Kazuya put on a catcher's skull-cap, it flattened his hair right into his eyes.

"You're going to need to push your hair back as you put it on," the coach said, and Kazuya could hear the laugh the man was holding down under the faint wobble in his voice.

A few tries to swipe his hair back fast enough to get the helmet over it and the coach was coughing unconvincingly into his fist, so Kazuya relieved the poor guy by laughing himself. "I'll practice at home!" he promised, reaching for his water bottle. Water was pretty much the only way he'd ever gotten his hair to lie down, even a little.

He ignored the stares on the train home. The older kids had already had a good laugh over how his hair was sticking up, after practice. At home, he carefully followed the directions in his mother's old cookbook to make dinner the way she couldn't any more, standing on the step-stool and pinning faintly stained and heat-stiffened pages under two cups. After eating, he carefully wrapped his dad's portion for when he finally came in from the workshop. And then he took the odd, brim-less helmet upstairs to practice in front of the bathroom mirror. The helmet was a lot heavier than his cloth cap, and he couldn't duck into it quite the same way. His forehead was a little scraped up by the time he thought he had the hang of it. But that was okay. He'd learned how to doctor his own scrapes lately, and he thought he was getting pretty good at it.

After a few months of having the catcher's mask get caught in the hair sticking out the sides of the skull-cap, he asked Fukuda-san, the barber, if he could make the sides shorter and answered the man's jovial comments about growing up and paying attention to his looks with a wide grin. It kept most people from wanting any more of an answer. Frankly, he thought the way Fukuda-san trimmed and fussily shaped the hair in front of his ears looked a little silly, but it did get rid of the clumps over his ears when he was wearing the catcher's equipment, so that was fine.

(He only thought once about how brightly his mother would have laughed to see, and then he made himself not think about that again.)

"You should do something with your hair," Kuramochi said out of the blue on afternoon, as they waited for the math teacher. He had turned around in his chair and was squinting rather judgmentally at Kazuya's hair. Which, admittedly, was probably sticking up a bit from where Kazuya had his fingers shoved into it while he leaned his head on one hand and tried not to fall asleep. Batting angles and distances were doodled in the margins of his notebook around last week's far more boring details on how to calculate the missing angle of a quadrilateral.

"Mm." He turned the area equation around to calculate diameter and made a face. What good was this to know, anyway? What really mattered was the angle and spin of the ball as it came in...

"Seriously, you look like an upside-down mop most days," Kuramochi prodded, and Kazuya finally slouched back in his seat with a snort.

"You're the last one I want to hear that from, Hair Cream-san."

"Hey!" Kuramochi ducked the class rep's dirty look and hissed, "I do not use hair cream!"

"Not anymore," Miyuki agreed sunnily, and stifled a laugh at Kuramochi's growl. The guy should know better than to play this game with Kazuya, especially considering the photographic evidence passed around by Kuramochi's third-year roommate and foresightfully secured by Kazuya. "Besides," he added, more to the point, "why should I bother when I spend all my time with my hair mashed down under one helmet or another?"

"There are some times we're not playing," Kuramochi said, but only half-heartedly and Kazuya didn't dignify it with an answer. They both knew that time boiled down to class hours and not much else. It was one reason Kazuya was at Seidou, after all.

The math teacher finally slid the door open and the class rep called "Stand!" Under the scrape of chairs and shuffle of feet, Kuramochi muttered, "You look like a little kid, still, as long as no one can see your eyes. It's just weird."

Kazuya was distantly glad that Kuramochi was sitting in front of him, and not behind. He had sharp eyes, and might have wondered about Kazuya's stillness before Kazuya could get it under control again.

(He hadn't even tried to comb his hair back for almost four years. Three years, ten months, and twenty-three days, actually, but who was counting?)

The first-years were gathered around one corner of their usual table, whispering over something, and Miyuki craned his neck for a look as he went past with his dinner tray. It was always good to know what they were up to, especially given Sawamura's moments of amusingly bizarre behavior. Kazuya knew there was no way on earth the boy had been raised in a dojo, but sometimes Sawamura acted like he wanted to have been, or had maybe been raised on the movie set of one. There were really times that Sawamura's dramatics reminded him of Mei, and he was saving up that observation to tell them both, so he could see what kind of fits they both pitched over it.

"...he looks so young!" Haruichi was saying.

"Well, it is from when he was in middle school," Kanemaru pointed out, but trailed off at the end as if he too were struck by the apparent youth of whoever they were talking about.

"And he was amazing even then!" Sawamura sounded vastly enthused, but Kazuya didn't put much weight on that. Sawamura usually sounded enthused over whatever he was talking about, including dorm chores. More usefully, his expansive gesturing made several other first-years duck and Kazuya caught a glimpse of the old paper they were gathered around. There was a large picture of Chris-senpai on the front of the section, looking very much as Kazuya remembered him from two years ago. He smiled a little to himself and strolled on. No harm in a little hero-worship now and then; if it weren't Chris it would probably have been one of this year's MVPs or something.

"What are the first-years up to?" Kuramochi asked as Kazuya sat down across from him.

Kazuya cast a quick eye over the third-year tables to make sure Chris wasn't there yet before he smirked and said, clearly enough to carry to the first-years, "They're discussing how cute Chris-senpai was in middle school."

Sawamura's outraged protest rose over the snickering, and even Kuramochi's cackle, and Kazuya took a composed bite of his dinner. Every now and then he wondered if maybe getting a rise out of Sawamura was beneath him as too easy, but the kid's reactions were great. It was like sugar candyâ€”no nutritional value at all but still tasty. It was probably a doubly good thing Kazuya had turned Mei down, now he thought about it; he'd have gotten metaphorical cavities for sure, in a battery with Mei, who rose to the bait just as easily.

Chris' entrance provoked another flurry, this time to hide the newspaper, and Kazuya snickered some more.

As dinner conversation turned to classes and practice, though, the image of a younger Chris stuck in the back of his head. Chris-senpai was actually looking a lot more like he had back then, now; aiming Sawamura at him had definitely been a good idea. The memory of Chris from their middle school match, of all that sun-bright talent and brilliant game-making, was so clear in Kazuya's mind that it was actually startling to look up and see Chris pass their table, taller and broader, still with that shining presence but more dignified now, all his edges sleek and tucked-in.

The thought that Chris-senpai was the only one Kazuya would trust to comb his hair back, smooth and neat like it used to be, was so unexpected, sneaking past the things Kazuya didn't let himself think about, that its arrival was like a shock up his spine.

He must have shown it somehow, because Chris-senpai paused and glanced down at him, questioning. "Miyuki-kun? Is something wrong?"

Kazuya shook himself and grinned up at Chris. "Nope, all good!"

Chris' eyes held his for a suspended, breathless moment before he nodded quietly and moved on to the third-years' tables.

"Guess the first-years aren't the only ones with crushes, huh?" Kuramochi asked, grinning wickedly.

Kazuya rolled his eyes and flicked his hand dismissively. "Like anyone in this whole club, yeah." He swallowed another bite and gave Kuramochi a toothy smile. "Not always on Chris-senpai, of course."

Kuramochi glared, but they'd been holding Chris-senpai and Kominato-senpai over each other's heads for more than a year and Kazuya knew neither of them would actually rat the other out. In his more honest moments he admitted, ruefully, that they were both obvious enough there was probably no point in doing so. They were probably lucky the senpai remembered their own little crushes and were relatively kind about such things, for values of "kind" that could be "not very" in Kominato's case, and sometimes he really did wonder about Kuramochi's taste. Youthful days of high school in a sports dorm, he supposed. It probably made them all a little crazy.

So he kicked Kuramochi lightly under the table and said, "Anyway, about batters for fall, has Zono noticed anyone new who's a good contact hitter, besides Toujou?"

Kuramochi scowled at his rice. "Not really, and that's going to be a pain. Asou might be a decent power hitter if he doesn't drop out during summer training, but it's going to be a weaker line-up at this rate..."

They traded names around mouthfuls of stew, and badgered Zono for more when he came back from getting seconds, and Kazuya settled back into dealing with things he knew were possible.

(He took the thought of Chris-senpai's fingers moving through his hair and closed it carefully up in a mental box, and put the box on a mental shelf beside his mother's.)

(Just because he didn't think about some things didn't mean he forgot them.)

End

At Your Fingertips

Miyuki spends some time contemplating Chris' hands. Drama with Romance, I-3

Miyuki Kazuya tended to watch people's hands. He watched their whole bodies whenever they were throwing, of course, but especially their hands. It was the hands that told you exactly where the ball was going. And, of course, he watched his pitchers' hands still more closely, looking there to see the first signs of strain, of exhaustion, of confidence, of nerves. You could just about read a pitcher's mind by watching his hands, if you knew what to look for.

So it wasn't as though it was strange that he should find his attention taken up by Chris-senpai's hands, even if he was another catcher. Chris' hands were as impressive as the rest of him, broad and limber and strong, fingers always so certain in their grip on a ball or in the quick flash of signs. Watching Chris handle the ball sometimes sent Kazuya's thoughts wandering down rare paths of what-if.

What if Kazuya had chosen differently, all those years ago at the start of his baseball days? What if he'd followed after the power of his arm and shoulder, instead of his eye and mind? What if he'd come to Seidou as a pitcher, instead of a catcher?

Admittedly, he wasn't at all sure he'd have ever mastered the prima donna grandstanding that so many pitchers seemed to feel it was their positive duty to cultivate. But he'd always had the flexibility and strength to be a very good pitcher, and if he'd followed that path he knew he'd have relentlessly pursued the control required to be excellent. He didn't believe in holding back, once he'd made a choice. He doubted it would have made any difference in his middle school team; a pitcher couldn't carry a mediocre team all alone, any more than a catcher could, and he doubted he'd have been much more loved on the mound than behind the plate. Focusing on the batters from the front wouldn't have blunted his perception of his own team, or the edge of his tongue any. He'd never had the least patience for half-hearted play. But if he'd been a pitcher, then he thought he'd have seen Takigawa Chris Yuu in a different light, when they'd met.

He'd still have followed Chris to Seidou, but not as his rival or his goal. No. Chris would have been a potential partner. His catcher. The sharp eye and mind he could trust to make the game. The strong hand he could trust to catch and hold even him.

The thought made him smile as he traced his fingertips along the tendons of Chris' hand where it rested on his hip, just above the white line of the sheets.

"You're smiling," Chris murmured, catching Kazuya's chin and stroking a slow thumb along his lower lip. "What are you thinking about?"

Kazuya let his tongue dart out to lap softly at Chris' thumb, coaxing it back so Kazuya could wrap his lips around it and suck on it softly, watching Chris' eyes darken in the golden, late afternoon light. When Chris pressed his thumb deeper, sliding over Kazuya's tongue and pressing down to hold it still, heat twisted low in his stomach and he couldn't help a soft, wordless moan. He enjoyed Chris' control, even now. As Chris' pitcher, he might have pushed enough to make Chris prove himself, but he knew he'd have given way in the end, given himself and all his strength into Chris' hands. Chris was the only one he thought he could have trusted enough, and they would have been unstoppable. "I was just thinking about your hands," he answered, husky, when Chris finally drew his thumb back.

Chris smiled, tracing slow fingers up the bare length of Kazuya's spine to slide into his hair. "Ah? Anything in particular about them?" He drew Kazuya's head back, gentle and relentless, and kissed him very thoroughly. Kazuya was a little light-headed with the heat winding through him by the time Chris let him go, and maybe that was why he answered with what was uppermost in his mind.

"How much I trust them."

Chris' smile softened, and he gathered Kazuya closer against him, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. "Thank you for that honor," he said, so quiet and so sure and so gentle that Kazuya couldn't do anything but curl into his arms and bury his head against Chris' shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while, and Kazuya slowly settled under the steady warmth of Chris' hand on his back. The only hands strong enough to hold him.

End

Under One Sky

On a night, soon after affairs in the Water tribe's territory are concluded, Hak, Yona, and Soo-won think about each other, what they've become to each other, and what may wait in their future. Drama, Character Study, Loyalty Porn, Light Angst, Sort-of Threesome, I-3

Hak watched the campfire with unfocused eyes, hands moving over the blade of his spear with absent familiarity, cleaning and oiling, testing the edge. He listened to Yun ordering Yona's dragons around, briskly assuring the last of the evening's camp chores were all done, but he wasn't paying attention to that, either.

He was listening to the whisper and snap of Yona's bowstring, and the small, flat thud of each arrow flying home into tonight's target tree.

Hak tried not to be grateful that Yona's hands were as sure, now, on her bow and sword as they were, once, on her long sashes and bright over-robes. He tried hard not to be grateful for that.

It wasn't because of the old king's memory and his determination to keep his daughter and people free of blood, though Hak still respected that. It wasn't because he was her guard, should be her sword, should never allow her to be in danger, though he still felt that. It was because of where the gratitude came from.

Hak knew himself reasonably well. He'd known for a long time that he loved Yona, for example. So he'd known for even longer that he loved the sharp edge of violence, of strife, of exercising his greatest gift. He loved how bright it made the people around him, bright with their own effort, their desire to live and triumph. People fighting burned as bright as the logs at his feet, lighting up the falling night. If that were all he saw, when he watched Yona shooting or practicing her sword form, then he'd feel no conflict, would love that fire in her with a whole heart, give himself to her burning without a flicker of doubt, as completely as any of her dragons.

He did give himself to her completely.

But when he watched her with weapons in her hands, something deep inside him relaxed, eased, not just because he rejoiced in her strength but because her fierce brightness, then, tugged his attention away from the memory of another's brightness. Another's brightness that some part of him still yearned toward, still needed to be distracted from, and that need infuriated him.

Hak knew himself reasonably well, so he knew he'd chosen his master years ago, and that master was not Yona. Not then. He'd loved her, of course, and he'd always protected her with everything in him, but her brightness was lighter, back then, softer. The one whose brightness was heavy and edged, then, wasn't Yona.

It was Soo-won.

Watching Soo-won's smile turn sharp, watching his eyes turn intent, watching him move pieces on a playing board or people to his will, feeling him block even Hak's attacks and take the bruises from them and retreat until he found the perfect moment to strike... Sitting flat on his butt in the Royal Guards' empty practice yard, staring up at the brilliance of Soo-won's grin in his flushed, dripping face as he offered Hak a hand back up and wiped away a trickle of blood with his other wrist... In that moment, Hak had chosen his master. He'd felt the shape of his future, then, felt it like something snapping into place and settling. He would guard them both, be their sword and shield, Yona's shelter and Soo-won's right hand. He would serve them and be loved by them. His queen would be beauty and warmth enough for a whole kingdom, and his king, his master, would be greatness enough. And Hak? He would be strength enough. It had felt so right, in his heart, in his head, knowing that was how things would be.

A log collapsed in a brief cloud of sparks, and Hak blinked away the brightness of them, jaw set.

That rightness had shattered, all in one night of rain and blood and the incomprehensible flatness of Soo-won's eyes as he'd admitted to killing Yona's father in front of her. Hak would never forgive him for that, not for Yona's pain and not for the loss of their world and future together. But the memory of that future still sang to him, and he was grateful, so very grateful, that Yona had grown bright enough, hot enough, fierce enough to hold his loyalty as well as his love, to command the attention of what lived at the base of his spine and under his ribs. To pull that attention away from Soo-won.

He hated the need to be grateful.

Yona took a slow breath, feeling the flow of steady strength from her firmly set feet, up through her lungs, down her arms. It was late; the moon had risen on her target practice, making the shafts of arrows she's already shot stand out, pale against the shadowy trunk she was aiming for. She wasn't weary yet, though, and she drew the bow again, taking a small moment's pleasure in the resilience her body had gained. She didn't precisely love her current life, but it satisfied something deep inside her, far deeper than was ever reached or woken by her life in the palace. She lived this life for her people, and was not broken by it. She released the arrow, and released her breath, and smiled as the shot bit firmly into the tree where she'd aimed it.

Her last kanzashi had never broken, either.

Yona's smile faded. She wished, sometimes, that it would. If it broke, from the roughness of the life she lived now, then she could tell herself that it was a sign her old life (her old love) couldn't fit into her new one.

But the bright, pretty hair ornament Soo-won gave her had never broken, no matter what falls or blows she'd taken while carrying it, and that... well, she had a hard time, sometimes, not viewing that as a sign too.

Her fury had never faded, not since the day she first woke from her daze, pulled awake by the specter of losing Hak and the sudden, hot need to close her hands on him and keep him. Her fury simmerd in her blood with every breath, drove her arms through the motions of pulling her bow or swinging down her sword, drove her feet down the path that would protect her realm. But none of that helped her, because that road only seemed to lead her back to Soo-won, or at least alongside him.

This would all be easier if she hated him. Sometimes she wished she did.

She was infuriated with him all the time; to call it anger was far too pale a word for the razored edges of rage and pain that clawed under her breastbone every time she remembered her father's body on the floor at Soo-won's feet. At the same time, though, every time she saw the changes he'd made, the faces of the people easing at news of new markets, new crops, safer borders, she saw the smile of the boy she grew up with, was struck still on the road, sometimes, with the memory of it. Every time they actually met, the whole ball of rage and sorrow and sweetness whirled up inside her, tangling her in the burning strands of it until she almost screamed.

She forced away those memories with another hard breath out and instead drew another arrow and set it, feeling for the proper pressure and slide of the bowstring under her calloused fingertips, pulling it back until she could almost hear the tension on the string, sighting down her arm in the ghostly reversed shadows of the moonlight.

Thinking about Soo-won was like seeing by moonlight. Shadows spread unfathomably black and in strange shapes, so that she couldn't always tell what daylight shapes they might belong to. But the pale light spread out as well, softer-footed than daylight, showing her things the sun never did, if only she stepped outside the firelight and looked. And the further away she stepped, the more things she saw that were new and strange.

She released the arrow, knowing, now, just from the surge of the bow in her hand as the string recoiled, that this one was true. For a breath, she almost felt Hak's arms around her again, his hands over hers, showing her how to draw, how to stand, how to aim. She shook her head fiercely, shook her arm out, pulled another arrow maybe a little more roughly than she should.

The moonlight made everything strange, everything new. She wished it didn't. Because sometimes, now, when Hak's hands over hers on the sword felt strange and new, made her stomach flutter for a moment, other strange thoughts snuck in. Sometimes, looking at the world with her new eyes and feeling the small, unbroken hardness of the kanzashi against her ribs, she wondered if it survived because there would come a day when she must wear it again.

A day when she must stand, with bow and sword and burning rage, at Soo-won's side.

Soo-won laid down the sheaf of reports from his observers on the Xing border and rubbed tired eyes, closing them against the low lamp-light of his records room for a long breath. By the time he'd turned his attention south, he'd more than half expected Yona to be there before him. That didn't make it easier to read the accounts of "bandits" with increasingly ridiculous names, led by a red-haired woman who carried a bow and defended their people with a ferocity that sent his hand reaching, again and again, for the old book of legends, stories of a dragon god who burned with such love for his mortal people that he called miracles down around him.

Part of him, the cynic who had known since the age of nine what evils even well-meaning humans could do, scoffed at the very idea. Another part, the child who had never stopped crying for the loss of his father's love and strength, raged and demanded why, if Yona truly bore the blood of the sky dragon, if she could truly call down miracles, that blood had not wakened sooner, in time to spare them all what had followed from his father's death. And the calculation that had once delighted in the complexity of the world around him, the part that had frozen cold over his father's pyre and never truly melted again, considered what use he could make of this new legend growing in the land. For the sake of their people, he suspected she would let him.

He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh and stood to blow out the lamps by the window, fluttering and smoking now as the night breeze strengthened. He didn't want to think such thoughts about Yona. Even when he'd thought he must kill her, lest she be used by one of his enemies, she had seemed the purest, truest creature in Kouka to him. He had never wanted to sully that, had planned for her death rather than her exile or imprisonment exactly so that no one of his enemies would ever lay hands on her and twist her to their ends. He had rejected, violently, Kye-Sook's suggestion he might marry her, supposing he'd been able to keep his assassination of the king secret from her as well as the populace.

His hands tightened into fists, in the concealment of his sleeves, as the last threads of lantern smoke rose to curl around his head before blowing away. He would use anything he had to, to save his people, but at least, he promised himself once more, he would not try to twist her to an end she did not choose. He would not promise what he could not give--not safety, not mercy, not justice. Not yet.

Soo-won did not lie to his people.

He knew that Geun-tae and Joo-doh would probably both disagree, if they heard him say it, Geun-tae loudly and Joo-doh fiercely. They were very alike (though they'd probably disagree with that also) and had little patience for subtleties or shades of meaning. And it was true that he kept his own counsel, did not tell even his advisor or the General of his own tribe most of his plans, at least not in detail, smiled softly even at opponents sometimes. But this shade of meaning was one Soo-won was painfully sensitive to.

He'd never lied to Yona or Hak.

His care for them, his happiness whenever he was with them, his delight in Yona's sweetness and Hak's strength, her honesty and his protectiveness, all of those things were true. True as death. True as blood. He felt those things still, and the pain of knowing he'd never have any of them again twisted something deep inside him until he thought it would be a relief when he'd finally wrestled his country back to safety and could let Yona take his life, as was her right by any just measure. He had never been able tell them everything—Yona would not, then, have understood any of it and Hak had still been the old king's man, and Soo-won had known from the day of his father's death that they could not be his once he set his feet on the path that led to Kouka's throne. But every word he had said to them, every smile, every clasp of hands had been his heart's truth.

Knowing, every instant, the full measure of the misdirection he practiced with nearly every word and breath, that was the line he chose, with which to measure his own honor. He held to that same line, now. He might keep his silence, he might conceal his talons in soft feathers for a time, but he would never lie to his own people. Any with eyes to see would have the chance and the right to note his true colors, to mark the feathers of a falcon rather than a sparrow. Though Joo-doh would scoff at such metaphors as pointless fancy, he was still one of the few to see and understand, years ago, the things that so many others missed, and he was one of Soo-won's closest retainers now because he still saw—at least when his temper wasn't getting in the way. It was that very thing that had troubled Soo-won for some time, now.

He still didn't know whether he'd told Joo-doh the truth or not, when he said he would kill Hak when next they met. When he'd thought, after, on why he didn't even attempt to defend himself, when Hak had advanced on him with bloodlust weighing down the very air around him, Soo-won had finally had to conclude that he hadn't believed Hak would really do it. Or rather, he'd known the man facing him truly meant to kill him. But somehow he hadn't, in that moment, connected that man with Hak. At the same time, he'd also known, down in the core of his bones, that Hak was present, and every reflex of nearly twenty years had insisted that Hak would never allow him to be harmed. Soo-won sighed at his own foolishness, scrubbing his hands briskly over his face. He didn't have the luxury of those old certainties, not any more. He just didn't know whether he'd truly be able to conquer them, when his path crossed with Yona's again.

He reached out and rested his hands on the ornate frame of the window, leaning out into the cool, dark night beyond, drawing a deep, slow breath of that clean air. He wondered if Hak and Yona were watching the same moon as he was, standing high and clear tonight.

And then he turned away, once again, from that old yearning, and picked up his brush to write the next set of orders that might shore up the crumbling foundations of his realm. The same sky might cover them all, but he was the one, the only one, who had undertaken to be the sun for his poor, worn-away people and country. He could not afford to let personal wishes bank his fire in any way.

Not yet.

End

The Blood of Kings

Joo-Doh tries for a long time to contain, or at least conceal, what Soo-Won's anger at his father's death might lead him to do, and in the process misses exactly what Soo-Won is doing and what part he may have to play in it. Character Study, Drama, Loyalty Porn, I-3

Joo-Doh was beginning to worry about Soo-Won.

Months after his father's funeral, the boy walked the halls of the palace as if he were still in the funeral procession, stumbling and uncertain. Joo-Doh was a little afraid that, if the princess stopped coaxing him to eat like a pet bird, he genuinely wouldn't remember to do so. And Joo-Doh didn't know what to do, now, any more than he had years ago when it was the queen who had been killed and Yona who was wild with grief.

Actually, that wildness had been easier to deal with than Soo-Won's pale, stunned silence.

As though the world had just been waiting for him to think that, voices raised sharply down one of the inner corridors, and Joo-Doh strode forward with an exasperated sound between his teeth. As if he didn't have enough problems already, with discipline on the edge of breaking down in some squads, it seemed Yu-Hon's death was stirring up tempers even among the...

...the king. And Soo-Won.

"Do you think I don't know?" Soo-Won was shouting, tears on his face even though his eyes blazed through them. "Did you think I wouldn't learn?!"

"I told you the truth; it was an accident!" Even more than Soo-Won's unaccustomed rage, the edge of strain and anger in Il's raised voice shocked Joo-Doh still, where he stood at the turning of the corridor. "He was my brother!"

"So you say." Soo-Won stepped back, expression hardening into something far too chill for a boy that young, and his words cut like a live blade. "I see no relation." He spun on his heel and stalked down the hall, shoulders high and stiff. Il reached a hand after him, only to clench it and let it fall, head bowed. Joo-Doh stepped back, carefully silent, into the main hall, looking around to be sure no one else had witnessed that. This was not the time for anyone to hear of dissension in the royal family, not with the man whose leadership in the field had kept their borders safe so recently dead. Apparently he was going to have to add 'keeping the king and his nephew from each other's throats' to his list of a newly minted war-leader's chores.

He suspected, darkly, that anticipation of watching him have to deal with this kind of thing was why Geun-Tae had been grinning so broadly at his investiture.

He made a careful bit of noise, turning the corner again, and bowed to the king exactly as usual, brief and perfunctory. The king's smile in return was weak, but when was it not? He'd never been comfortable around the kingdom's warriors. Joo-Doh counted it as a successful return to normality, and turned briskly down the corridor that would eventually lead to the courtyard of the messenger birds.

He didn't think he could bring Soo-Won back to anything like normality, not if his normally even temper had snapped so spectacularly, and it was looking like the princess couldn't either, so it was time for last resorts. A corner of his mouth quirked up, wryly, as he started composing a note to Mundeok, in his head. Young Hak could be a hell-raiser, especially when Soo-Won saw fit to incite him, but he did have a way of rousing Soo-Won in return. Right now, Joo-Doh was willing to deal with the one in return for the other.

He didn't really want to think about what the palace would be like, if Soo-Won stayed as coldly furious as he'd just been.

Joo-Doh sighed as he paused in his final, evening round of the palace. There was still light burning behind the screens of Soo-Won's rooms.

Nearly three years after the accident that killed his father, and it was like part of the boy was still frozen in that moment of knowing the most important thing in his world was gone. His mourning time was nearly over, but clearly not done. Open loss might not show on his face, any more, but his smile was different these days, barely skin deep and scraped thin over pain. Anger still flashed out from behind it, too, every now and then, and Joo-Doh couldn't really blame the boy for that. It was such a stupid, pointless accident that took Yu-Hon from them all, but especially from his son. Small wonder if Soo-Won was enraged at the world for permitting such a thing, cold to his uncle, and painfully quiet sometimes, even with the princess or their partner in crime, Hak.

He supposed he should be grateful that the lights were burning, Joo-Doh reflected as he climbed the stairs to the breeze-way; at least it meant that Soo-Won was in here instead of sneaking out into the town as he'd done more and more often lately. But at least when he was sneaking out he wasn't brooding. Joo-Doh had looked after the royal children for over five years, now, and seeing Soo-Won's bright laughter and subtle spark of challenge quenched like this was troubling.

So his voice was a bit gentler than usual when he tapped on the door and nudged it open. "Soo-Won-sama? You should get some sleep."

Soo-Won was standing at the widest window of his rooms, with his back to the door, looking out over the drop of cliffs that guarded the palace's rear. He stood so still in the lamplight that he barely even seemed to be breathing, arms stretched out until his fingers touched the frame to each side. That position made Joo-Doh just a touch nervous, though if asked he'd have said no one was less likely to take his own life in grief than Soo-Won. Soo-Won had always had more resilience in him than that. Just in case, though, Joo-Doh eased quietly inside and closed the door behind him before taking a few steps toward his charge. "It's late, Soo-Won-sama. Come get ready for bed."

"Does this seem right to you, Joo-Doh-shougun?"

The soft question was so level, so distant, that a faint chill ran down his spine. That was not a child's voice. "Does what seem right?" he asked, edging around to get a look at Soo-Won's face.

"This country is dying, like my father died. Not of malice, but of misadventure and bad timing and incompetence." There was a flick of sharpness on that last word, but when Joo-Doh stepped far enough around to see, Soo-Won's face was perfectly still, almost serene if not for the tightness around his eyes, the dark shadows behind them. That expression didn't change in the slightest as he turned his head to look straight at Joo-Doh. "Does our world seem right to you, Joo-Doh-shougun?"

"This is the mortal world, not the celestial one," Joo-Doh answered quietly. Under the weight of that gaze, he could only give his charge the hard truth he'd felt sawing away at his own soul more than once. "There will always be things that are wrong."

That hidden rage flared in Soo-Won's eyes for a moment, sudden and hot, and just as suddenly concealed again. Soo-Won's voice was as measured as ever when he spoke. "I know that this is true. Some things will always be wrong. But that does not mean that we should tolerate those which can be put right."

True unease nipped at Joo-Doh for the first time. On the face of it, this seemed like the abstract discussion of evil in the world that any child probably needed to have, sooner or later, after losing a parent. The princess certainly had, after her mother died, though hers had involved far more tears and smashed dishes. But it wasn't just pain looking back at him from Soo-Won's eyes, tonight. Soo-Won had spoken of his father, yes, but also... the kingdom. Incompetence killing the kingdom, and wrongs that should not be tolerated. The earlier chill he'd felt turned to ice, coiling heavily in Joo-Doh's gut, and he couldn't help how his eyes widened. However much he might agree, sometimes, there were names for what Soo-Won was saying. Deadly names.

Soo-Won's perfectly level gaze narrowed for a fraction of a moment, and then melted away into a rueful smile. "I'm sorry, Joo-Doh-san. I'm rambling aren't I? You're right; I should go to bed. I hadn't realized how late it's getting."

That just made the chill grip harder, because Joo-Doh didn't believe for an instant that this had been over-tired rambling—nor that the lateness Soo-Won spoke of was anything to do with the advancing night. He'd seen Soo-Won smile just like that, before, usually to cover the kind of risks with his person and safety that by rights should have turned Joo-Doh's hair white years ago. It was always completely natural, entirely believable, and invariably meant that Soo-Won intended to keep right on doing whatever he'd planned on. "Soo-Won-sama..."

"Yes, Shougun?" Soo-Won was still smiling, but now Joo-Doh could feel the edge hiding under it, like a knife under silk, and finally realized part of what alarmed him about this whole conversation.

Soo-Won never called him by his title, always spoke to him as a familiar guardian, not as the war-leader of the Sky tribe. Always, until now. Joo-Doh looked at his royal charge's smile, sweet and open and utterly implacable, and swallowed hard. Softly, trying not to tip this precarious balance in any direction at all, he said, "Please sleep well, Soo-Won-sama."

Soo-Won's shoulders bowed for a breath with what did look like weariness, and he closed those bright, hard eyes for a moment. "I'll try, Joo-Doh-san."

Joo-Doh nodded warily and withdrew, trying not to feel like he was retreating from a battlefield as he left the room and latched Soo-Won's door closed behind him.

The memory of chill followed at his shoulder as he moved on through his evening rounds.

Joo-Doh sat at the more sheltered of the two tables in the dusty back court of a small, run-down inn and glowered at his drink. If he looked up from his drink, he'd just glower at his infuriatingly stubborn charge instead, and if he heard one more soldier mutter about royal nannies under their breath he wasn't going to be responsible for his actions.

In retrospect, it had probably been a bad idea to change out the handful of men he took along with them on this past year's increasingly frequent travels, but it was bad enough that he was being dragged back and forth across the country. He hadn't wanted to take any one group out of the regular rotation that often; it was bad for discipline and worse for their training. So every time Soo-Won had insisted on gallivanting off outside the palace, visiting yet another port or village or fortress, every time the king came to Joo-Doh and asked if, just perhaps, he wouldn't mind too much, Il didn't want to say no but the boy was a royal nephew after all and kidnapping was always a possibility... Every time, Joo-Doh had stifled a sigh and agreed to watch over Soo-Won's journey, and chosen a new set of guards to go with them. Apparently this had just made the amusement of his men at his difficulty in managing one sheltered noble boy more wide-spread.

Joo-Doh took a long drink and shot a dour look at the three soldiers who'd taken the next table over and were laughing quietly into their own drinks. He'd like to see them do any better.

Of course, most of them still thought these trips were some kind of whim. Few of them ever noticed that Soo-Won was always awake and up before them, and only a handful had actually caught Soo-Won at his sword training and seen for themselves the knife edge that lay under that silk-soft smile. Joo-Doh had, so far, been able to keep those few quiet by reminding them of how much the king disliked weapons and how displeased he might be to find his nephew practicing with such fierce dedication. His men had all dealt with enough royal interference curtailing their field training, or quashing even ceremonial appearances by the palace guard, that they'd kept their mouths shut. He suspected word might be making its way slowly through the ranks of the guard itself, but it hadn't gone further yet. Joo-Doh was grateful for that.

Because he hoped, with all his heart and soul, not to ever find himself ordered to execute Soo-Won for treason.

The thought made him take another long drink, and beside him Soo-Won laughed softly. "Has it been such a long day, Joo-Doh-san?"

Joo-Doh gave up any further attempts at avoiding his barracks nick-name and glowered at Soo-Won properly. "It's been a long year," he corrected, acidly, "and if you'd told me you intended to come this far north into Fire, on this trip, I'd have brought another five men along. Or have your travel journals," he infused the phrase with as much sarcasm as possible without raising his voice, "not mentioned the increase in bandit activity?"

He was fairly sure that Soo-Won's travel notes did mention exactly that, because he'd caught sight of a page of them now and then. They were more comprehensive than the reports he received himself from trained observers. Passing those steadily growing files off as a "travel journal" had made him choke at his charge's bland-faced audacity, the first time he'd heard it.

Sooner or later, this charade had to break, and every time he thought that he tried to bury the knowledge. He would hold that day off as long as he could.

Soo-Won smiled at him, sunny and gentle, and spoke just clearly enough to be heard at the next table. "I'm sure the skill of your good soldiers will be more than enough to keep us safe." The soldiers in question elbowed each other and puffed out their chests, half-jokingly, to look more impressive. Soo-Won positively beamed at them.

Joo-Doh's hands itched to strangle the boy, just a little bit. Except that he was reasonably sure Soo-Won would be able to hold him off for a while; he knew Soo-Won had been training with Hak every time the boy visited the palace. And such a display would raise the very questions he'd been trying to avoid. He took a slow breath and tried to stop grinding his teeth.

The sunny smile barely dimmed, but Soo-Won's eyes acquired a hard glint behind it. "Be calm, Joo-Doh-shougun," he murmured. "I have my reasons for coming here."

That was exactly what Joo-Doh was afraid of, but saying so might invite finding out what those reasons were. Frankly, he was still hoping to bluff through whatever happened when the king finally caught wind of all this, and surely that could be better done with some genuine ignorance at work. So he didn't answer, only leaned back as the inn's one server arrived to set out bowls of soup and rather scant dishes of cabbage and dumplings, and took another drink.

And nearly choked on it as the server pulled a knife out of her sleeve and pressed the edge swiftly to his neck.

"Don't move!" barked the inn-keeper from where he was suddenly filling the doorway, a horse-bow already drawn and aimed at the soldiers' table. "You. The noble boy. Set your purse on the table and stand back."

Joo-Doh silently cursed himself for letting his temper set him even a little off-guard. He cast a quick glance around the tiny courtyard and growled low in his throat as three more men, far scruffier than their host-turned-bandit but just as well armed, popped out of the nearest buildings and ran to flank them, swords and cudgels in hand. "Please do as he says, Soo-Won-sama," he gritted out, opening his hand slowly toward his men at the next table who were frozen in the act of standing, teeth bared in grimaces of outrage and embarrassment.

Not that he had any intention of letting this riff-raff keep their money, but it would get Soo-Won further out of the way of that bow and clear of Joo-Doh's swords when he drew them.

"Yes... yes, of course," Soo-Won stammered, eyes wide as he stumbled to his feet, and that should really have warned Joo-Doh. Soo-Won only ever stammered like that when the princess was trying to hand-feed him or when Hak was scruffling up his hair. Even so, he was caught nearly as much by surprise as the little gang of bandits when Soo-Won's hands lifted away from the purse and he took one long step back from the table, whirled toward the inn-keeper, and cut the man's head half off in one fast, hard sweep of steel.

Later, Joo-Doh would think. Later, he would remember the sureness of Soo-Won's hand sliding under the concealing looseness of his outer-robe, the calculation of the turn that flung his robes clear of his sword's draw, the utter stillness of his face as he cut. Right now, though, he had other concerns, and long training and hard experience threw him back from the knife against his throat, drove his elbow into the woman's stomach, and cut her arm to the bone with the first sweep of his own draw. "Get the flankers, search the buildings," he snapped at his men as they started up from their table, the tension of the ambush breaking into the reaction speed he'd trained into them. He silenced the high, shrill sound of pain the woman was making with a hard blow of his hilt to the side of her head and left her in a heap as he herded Soo-Won back under the courtyard's tiny balcony. His eyes tracked back and forth across the open space, half street and half town square, that the little inn backed up to.

When Soo-Won spoke, it was so soft he almost missed it.

"There are only the five of them."

It took a few seconds for the implications to penetrate the singing of adrenaline, but when it did Joo-Doh froze. Soo-Won knew how many this little bandit gang had. He's brought them here, insisted on stopping at this scruffy inn, knowing that the inn-keeper had taken up with bandits. Joo-Doh turned slowly to face him, fury rising. "Soo-Won-sama..."

"I had to know," Soo-Won cut him off, voice harsh before he took a slow breath and continued with his usual evenness. "I had to know if I could do this, and no lives of those who are in my care could be lost in the knowing." His eyes flickered to the sprawled body of the inn-keeper and away in a flinch that Joo-Doh recognized from other boys fresh from their first kill. "This town was as prosperous as any in this region manages to be, before he came. I doubt Kan Soo-Jin will spare the tax money to re-build that prosperity fully, but at least now they have a chance."

Joo-Doh could hear perfectly well the fingernail grip on composure running under this small economic lecture, and made an intensely exasperated sound between his teeth. He laid down his swords on the nearest table and pushed Soo-Won down into one of the chairs. "Breathe," he ordered briskly, setting a hand on the back of Soo-Won's neck and pressing his head down. "Slowly." He could feel the tremors running through the boy gradually subside, faster then he would have expected, to be honest. When Soo-Won made to straighten up, Joo-Doh let him and busied himself with cutting the late inn-keeper's overshirt into rags, to clean the swords, and strips to tie the woman up with. Soo-Won accepted a swatch silently and cleaned his own sword with only a few pauses to swallow hard.

Joo-Doh was, rather reluctantly, impressed. The royal children had been kept away from violence of any kind, and even if he'd come here seeking it, Soo-Won was dealing with his first kill better than some young soldiers Joo-Doh had commanded. Blood would tell, he supposed.

The possible consequences of that didn't quite occur to him until his three men came back, dragging another unconscious prisoner with them, and he saw the way their eyes moved from the splash of blood across Soo-Won's robes to his steady hands sheathing a clean blade. When Soo-Won nodded to them, cool and apparently unshaken, Joo-Doh could see their shoulders straighten exactly the way he'd seen happen when Soo-Won's father acknowledged one of the men under his command. That was when Joo-Doh started cursing again, silent and heartfelt.

How was he supposed to keep this quiet?

Joo-Doh paced the dark halls of the palace on his way to his rooms, slow and weary. It had been a very long month.

First there had been the princess' thirteenth birthday, which had put Soo-Won and Il in the same place all day, resulting in a great deal of tension as they both smiled for Yona and tried not to show how chilly Soo-Won's glance got every time it crossed the king and how the king's voice turned tight and sharp every time he spoke to Soo-Won. Then there had been a caravan coming south, decimated by bandits just inside Fire's north border, and Joo-Doh had to spend far too long arguing with Kan Soo-Jin until the prickly bastard agreed to accept a few squads of men from Sky to help clean them out. And just to tie things off perfectly, the past two solid weeks had been full of negotiations that started with an incursion over the border from Sei, moved through two shouting matches between Soo-Won and Il that he knew of, and ended with another territorial concession. Joo-Doh had just returned from seeing off the Sei envoys, far more courteously than he would have preferred, and he wanted to find his bed and sleep for a day or two.

But there were lamps still burning in the guest rooms Soo-Won kept here, now he'd moved back into Yu-Hon's house in the town.

Joo-Doh spared a moment to reflect, darkly, that he would probably get more sleep if his sense of responsibility were just a little less developed, before he tapped on Soo-Won's door and called quietly, "Soo-Won-sama? It's late." After the last few years, the corollary please go to bed and stop plotting something I'm going to regret some day was probably understood on both sides.

Tonight, though, he got a surprise when the door swung open to show, not Soo-Won, but the attendant and aide he almost never brought to the castle with him, Kye-Sook. He looked Joo-Doh up and down, coolly, before turning back to the room where Soo-Won stood in a pool of lamplight. "As we have discussed, then, my Lord," he murmured, and bowed deeply to Soo-Won before slipping out past Joo-Doh and down the quiet corridor. Joo-Doh was still looking after him, trying to pin down why that cool look made him uneasy, when Soo-Won spoke quietly.

"Come in, Joo-Doh-shougun."

It was a command, not an invitation, and Joo-Doh was moving before he quite realized it. He drew a breath to remonstrate, only to loose it as his eyes finally met Soo-Won's. They were as level as he'd ever seen them, but tonight they were also fiercely intent, and that look cut off his words like a blade laid against his throat.

"I have need of you," Soo-Won said quietly.

"Soo-Won-sama, I can't... This won't..." Joo-Doh made sharp, frustrated gesture, the knowledge that had walked beside him for the last seven years boiling up in his throat. He couldn't go along with this. What good would a civil war do anyone at all, especially now with every surrounding country gathering like vultures, circling lazily as they waited for something to die.

Soo-Won cocked his head, pinning Joo-Doh under that uncomfortably sharp gaze. "In three years," he said, quite conversationally, "this country will be no more. The only reason we've made it this long is Kai's own internal strife. But now that Xing and Sei have realized that they can start carving away our territory and meet no resistance, smaller interests than the Empire itself have started to look our way. Li Hazra, north of Fire, will be ready to move within three years, and there are two separate Southern Kai traffickers who are already moving in on Water's port markets. Once Earth has exhausted the mines left them after my uncle's last concessions to Kai, those same interests will move on Geun-Tae-shougun's territory, and he will have to choose between loyalty to Kouka's throne and safeguarding his people." Soo-Won's mouth tilted in something that didn't look in the least like amusement. "I think we both know how that will play out."

The litany of disaster waiting to happen—starting to happen—froze Joo-Doh's heart. "Then you must know," he managed, voice rough, "that anything that divides the kingdom further will only bring the end faster."

Soo-Won folded his arms and leaned back against the window-frame behind him with a sigh. "If I sought merely to depose my uncle, perhaps to exile him, then yes. You would be right. Nothing would bring down the scavengers more quickly than the least hint of a figurehead they could use as an excuse to invade. And that," his voice fell, soft and cool and level, "is why I must kill him. Swiftly and as secretly as may be done, so that I can present myself as the only surviving heir and be fairly assured that the tribe's war-leaders will acknowledge me rather than see chaos." When he looked up from his folded arms, the fire in his eyes rocked Joo-Doh back a step. "And then, Joo-Doh-shougun, then we can start to take our territory back and to remind Sei and Xing and Kai that we are not a country it is safe to take lightly."

The absent thought ran through Joo-Doh's mind that, if Geun-Tae were standing here, he'd be cheering out loud and probably planning their first campaign before he even remembered to tell Soo-Won 'yes'. Joo-Doh felt that he had considerably better sense than that overgrown adolescent, but he still felt like Soo-Won had reached in and turned his world inside out with one pull.

He hadn't realized how much his own vision had narrowed, how far in he'd pulled it in an effort to ignore the bleak future looming up. Not until Soo-Won spoke, and suddenly he could see a future more than a year or two away. Suddenly, the dull grinding awareness of threats closing in from every side, threats he was not permitted to drive off, eased into a glimmer of hope and an unfolding path forward. It flowed over him like the first breath of a new dawn, and he breathed it in with something painfully like wonder.

One thing caught at his attention, though, like a thorn caught in his clothing. "The only heir? But the princess..."

Soo-Won flinched, the first time Joo-Doh had ever seen that happen, he realized. "I love my cousin well," Soo-Won said, folded arms tightening until his shoulders drew in. "I will do my best to keep her out of it, to find somewhere safe to send her." He rubbed his fingers across his forehead, still not looking up. "It can't be a noble family, but she's very young still. Surely she will adjust if I can find a merchant family to hide her in. One that travels a lot, ideally."

"And if you cannot?" Joo-Doh asked, slowly, not wanting to think about it himself, but he hadn't become the Sky tribe's war-leader by ignoring critical strategic issues.

Soo-Won's hand fell, fisting tight as he tucked it under the concealment of his sleeve. For a long moment he was silent, head bowed, shoulders taut. When he spoke again, his voice was thin and airless. "I will not be the contemptible creature my uncle is. I will not allow personal grief or guilt to rule over my responsibility to my people. If I cannot keep her hidden... then I must see her killed as well, before she becomes a pawn in the hands of our enemies." He pulled in an unsteady breath and looked up with a brittle smile. "Kye-Sook asked me that as well. I will do whatever must be done."

"Soo-Won-sama." Joo-Doh moved to reach out a hand, only to halt. What could he possibly say? It was the truth, and while there was enough resentment against the king that he might not make a very good cat's-paw, Yona was a beautiful and innocent young girl that all hearts would melt for. If she learned of this, if her grief was seized on by one of the Kai nobles and set up at the head of an army... Even the people in the army's way might wonder if she didn't have justice on her side.

Soo-Won shook his head. "It is what it is." He let out a slow breath, and then straightened, and the intensity that had struck Joo-Doh so silent at first rose around him again, like a fire catching. "I will do what must be done," he repeated. "And to do that, Joo-Doh-shougun, I need you. I will need at least two of the tribes' war-leaders to support me from the first, but above that I need you. I need the unbending determination that drove a young officer who was merely competent to become the equal of Lee Geun-Tae. To recover our country's footing and drive off the scavengers coming now to feed, I need the strength that holds Sky's warriors steady even as their king turns away from them." Very softly, he finished, "Will you give these things to me?"

It struck Joo-Doh a little breathless, to be seen through and through, and then to be called on to serve as he once hoped to. "Soo-Won-sama..." It came out husky, and he swallowed, drawing himself up in return. "To one who sees, and will act, yes. For this, I will give all that I am." He had to swallow again before he could finish, because there was no going back from this. But his steps were firm as he came away from the door and knelt down at Soo-Won's feet, head bowed. "Soo-Won-heika."

Soo-Won's hand rested briefly on his bent head. "Thank you, my Shougun."

The calm certainty of that acknowledgement put a tiny shiver down Joo-Doh's spine. He had come up as Sky's war-leader under Il, and he'd never had his king's full trust.

Until now.

The thought quieted an old, old tension in his chest, and it came to him that, yes, he could rest in his king's hands now, and be sure that he would be used rightly in the service of his kingdom and people. The bared steel in the gaze that met his, when he raised his head, promised him that, and he met that steel willingly with his own.

"Your will, my king."

Joo-Doh would never have expected that becoming involved in plotting a treasonous coup would make him feel so much more relaxed at meetings of the Five Tribes, but this seemed to be the case. For once, he'd managed to sit through An Joon-Gi's obvious obfuscation as he talked around the condition of his northern port towns, and Il's obliviousness as he tried to agree with everyone, and even Geun-Tae's open yawns, without his hand itching to knock anyone's heads together. He only marked these things as indicators of future projects. It was a bit of a revelation, suddenly having that vast weight of frustration fall away, lifted by the surety that all of these things would be seen and seen to.

That didn't mean he was enthusiastic about having Kan Soo-Jin as a co-conspirator.

"Are you sure about this, Soo-Won-sama?" he asked quietly as they watched Fire's war-leader sweep away down the corridor in a nearly visible cloud of self-satisfaction.

"I know he's loyal to nobody but himself," Soo-Won murmured, cutting straight to the heart of the issue as Joo-Doh was coming to expect of him. "But Fire has by far the largest army of any of the Tribes. Better to have it behind me for now than to risk him picking up on our plans from the outside. While he believes that he may make use of me, he will be a powerful ally."

Joo-Doh snorted a bit at that, because that didn't say very kind things about the man's perceptiveness. "And when he realizes otherwise?" Because even Kan Soo-Jin probably wouldn't be able to keep believing that once Soo-Won took the throne.

The brief curve of Soo-Won's lips, distant and yet anticipatory, almost made him shiver. More than ever, of late, he saw Soo-Won's father in him—Yu Hon's skill with a sword and his strategic vision both. Strange, given how much Soo-Won looked, and even sounded often, like his mother.

"That," Soo-Won said, soft and certain, "is when there will be an opportunity to see to Fire's recovery. One way or the other."

Joo-Doh bowed his head, at that. He didn't like the idea of having to fight amongst themselves, but he doubted Kan Soo-Jin would feel the same. Soo-Won's hand rested on his shoulder for a moment, and his voice was low but even when he spoke. "Whatever must be done, we will do. But I will do everything I can to protect as many of our people as is possible."

Joo-Doh raised his head, looking back steadily, reassured again by the fire that burned at the back of Soo-Won's eyes. "Yes, my Lord."

The quick patter of slippers coming down the corridor made him step back into the shadows of the nearest door as the princess came careening around the corner. "Soo-Won!" She lit up like sunrise at seeing her cousin and reached out to catch his hands as she skidded to a halt. Soo-Won reached to catch her, so swift and unthinking and protective that Joo-Doh couldn't help rolling his eyes a little. Both the boys were so transparent around the princess.

"I have dancing lessons this afternoon, and Hak says I dance like a crow, and you have to come watch so you can tell him I don't!" she said all in one breath, tugging on his sleeves insistently, already poised to dash back the way she'd come, presumably with her cousin in tow.

"I'll come, Yona-hime," Soo-Won promised, smile distantly kind while his hands were thoughtlessly tender, straightening her over-robe. "In just a moment."

She pouted up at him, and not just because of the delay in meeting her whim, Joo-Doh thought. Yona was more than just transparent, where her attempts to capture Soo-Won's attention were concerned. "Come quick, then."

Soo-Won watched her as she turned with a soft huff and ran back down the outer corridor, light as the garden breezes that followed her. His face was perfectly still, but the darkness in his eyes and the white-knuckled fists he hid in the folds of his over-robe made Joo-Doh step close again and say, softly, "We will do everything we can to confine her away from things, Soo-Won-sama."

Soo-Won closed those shadowed eyes for a breath. "Thank you, Joo-Doh-shougun." When he opened them again, they were distant, but intent again—sharp and fierce. A king's eyes, Joo-Doh thought, and Soo-Won's words carried a king's knowledge and weight. "I will do what must be done."

Joo-Doh bowed, and answered that the only way he could, the way he was increasingly sure the entire country would answer Soo-Won's blazing will.

"Yes, my king."

End

And Like A River Continues

The anime's ending leaves a great deal up in the air; this story takes up some of those loose threads. Picks up immediately after the end and throws everyone a little further into the future. Drama, I-3

When Sugata tried, later, to explain what driving Samekh had been like, all he was able to say was that he wasn't Samekh's driver; he was only its pulse. Samekh needed a living heart, and that was him. But the cybody answered none of his actions or impulses, the way the warrior bodies did. It slept, but only because its heart had stilled himself. When the screaming sense overload of zero-time breaking jerked him out of stillness, it was Samekh and not him who bolted for the sky, who hovered above the world and reached out to gather it all in. All the life, all the power, all the passion of a whole planet had begun to pour through Sugata, and there'd been no way to stop or escape it, though he'd tried. Tried to drag himself out of the cybody, to fight free of it's grip, until his own heart had been racing and spasming.

Until Takuto and Tauburn had broken in, and he'd made one last desperate lunge through Samekh's vast darkness to meet them.

Which was how they'd come to be here, floating in their flickering driver spheres above the world among the slowly spreading debris of Samekh. It took a few minutes before Sugata could stop marveling over the miracle of everyone still being alive and think about the practicalities of keeping them that way. "Can Tauburn still move?" he asked. Frankly, he doubted it; the most intact part of the cybody was the hand and arm curled around Sugata's sphere.

Takuto frowned and reached his hands out slowly. Tauburn didn't stir. "It looks like not," Takuto said thoughtfully. "But you know... I think I can fix that, now."

Sugata jerked upright, alarmed. "Takuto! A regeneration in your condition is..." he trailed off, looking hard at Takuto's small smile. "Not something I'm going to talk you out of, is it?" he finished with a sigh. "All right. Let me help, then." This was clearly everyone's day for doing stupidly reckless things; he might as well add another to his tally.

Takuto's smile brightened and he set a hand against the curve of the sphere that still held him safe, even though Tauburn's chest was cracked through. "Sure."

Sugata's mouth quirked ruefully and he spread his hands against the wall of his own sphere, reaching out again. He felt, sometimes, like he'd been reaching for Takuto from the moment Takuto had washed up on the island. Slowly, he drifted out of Tauburn's palm to hover over Takuto and sink down, down, until their spheres merged with a flash. Sugata landed lightly on his toes behind Takuto and set his hands on his friend's shoulders. "All right. Let's try it."

Takuto looked over his shoulder, even as his mark started to brighten, eyes steady. "I have a few things to say to you, you know. But that can wait until we're back."

Sugata firmly stifled a flush of heat to his face and concentrated on his own mark, instead, and on lending his strength to the cybody he could feel trying to stir around them. At least, he thought absently, Takuto lecturing him, embarrassing as he expected that to be, would probably be better than Wako; her version was entirely too likely to involve hitting.

Wako wrapped her arms tighter around Kate, holding her old friend close as they knelt at the peak of the mountain over the old "mine", where the dissolution of zero-time had dumped them all. "It's okay," she whispered, stroking the long fall of Kate's hair, tangled now from her last wild scramble, trying to halt Samekh. "It's going to be okay."

"But Samekh," Kate whispered, voice shaking. "Sugata..."

"Takuto is with him," Wako said firmly, eyes fixed on the sky. "They'll be all right." Takuto's look had promised her that, in that long, silent moment of fierce understanding they'd shared before she'd agreed to break the southern seal. And she was going to hold them both to that promise, if she had to regenerate Wauna and go up there herself to make sure of it!

"Can even Tauburn do anything about Samekh?" Honda-senpai asked quietly, arms folded as he also stared up at the sky.

"Maybe," Okamoto-sensei answered, low and tense, from the other side of the clearing. "If Sugata-kun has enough influence on Samekh to slow him, it's possible. Tauburn is different from the others, and even the Science Guild still doesn't know all of why or how."

Kate shivered in Wako's arms. "I shouldn't have agreed to break Samekh's seal."

Wako shook her a little. "Now you cut that out! It was what Sugata-kun wanted! It was the incredibly stupid and bone-headed thing he wanted," she added, mouth twisting a little, "but it was what he wanted and it's not your fault he was being an idiot!"

Kate looked up at that, laughing even as tears spilled down her cheeks and smudged her glasses. "Wako-chan."

Wako smiled, warmth gathering in her chest at hearing that again after so many years. "Kate-chan," she said back, gently, and kissed Kate's forehead. "It'll be okay." A flash of light, like a tiny, abrupt sun in the night, rolled down over them, and everyone looked up with a gasp. Wako pressed a hand to her chest, just under the lingering presence of her mark, eyes widening as a pull she hadn't really noticed in all the madness eased. "Kate-chan," she whispered. "Do you feel...?"

Kate scrambled upright onto her knees. "It's gone," she agreed tightly. "The pull. I think... that was Samekh."

"The Eastern miko would know, if anyone would," Okamoto-sensei said softly, and the remains of Kiraboshi looked at each other across the clearing, slowly relaxing. Wako kept her eyes fixed on the sky, ferociously willing something to move.

When something did, she started up to her feet, and everyone in the clearing jerked like they'd been shot. "Takuto," she whispered, clasped hands pressed hard against her lips. "Sugata. Let it be you. That had better be you. If that's not you, I'm going to kill both of you myself!"

Kate was still on the ground, laughing helplessly into her hands, interrupted now and then by a hiccup. "Wako-chan..."

The dot of light was brightening.

Wako bit her lip until she tasted blood, watching it come. It had to be them!

When Tauburn, shoulder shattered, missing a leg, swooped unsteadily over the clearing her heart nearly stopped. There was nothing in his hands. "Sugata," she whispered, throat tight and choked with the sudden, crushing weight of grief she'd been holding off, hoping. "Sugata..."

But when Tauburn landed and the sphere in his chest dissolved, two people dropped down to the earth, not just one. For a moment, Wako didn't understand what she was seeing, didn't believe it after that moment when she'd believed he was gone. But that was Sugata, standing next to Takuto in his flamboyant Kiraboshi outfit, both of them battered and breathless. And looking at her.

One step, and another, and she was running, wrapping her arms around Sugata and burying her wet face in his shoulder. "Sugata...!" She reached out blindly for Takuto, pulling him close as well, and cried harder at the feeling of their arms around her as relief shook her whole body.

It took a while to stop.

When she finally lifted her head, Sugata wiped her cheeks dry. "I'm sorry," he said softly, eyes sad in the darkness.

Wako punched him in the shoulder.

"You're damn right you're sorry!" she shouted over his yelp. "I can't believe you did that! That was the stupidest idea you've ever had! You were going to just up and sacrifice yourself without saying a single thing, weren't you?!" She pounded on his shoulders a few more times before he caught her wrists, wincing. "Don't you ever do something like that again, do you hear me?!"

Takuto propped an elbow on Sugata's shoulder, mouth curling up wryly. "That's about what I was going to say, myself, but it looks like Wako beat me to it."

"I knew her version would be worse," Sugata sighed, but he was starting to smile again. "I won't do that again. Not without telling you. All right?"

"And listening when we tell you it's a dumb idea," Takuto specified, raising a finger admonishingly. Sugata gave him a long look.

"I'll listen," he agreed at last, and Wako huffed with exasperation.

"He isn't saying he'll actually agree," she warned Takuto from long experience with Sugata's stubbornness.

Takuto laughed softly, smiling bright enough to light up the night. "That's all right. As long as we're listening to each other, we'll work something out. Just like we did this time."

This time. It really had worked out. They were all alive, and safe, and hadn't failed in their charges. Not even her, since all the cybodies were broken and not about to go anywhere. Wako sniffed back another treacherous wave of tears and pulled them both close again, holding tight to this reality.

Kanako nearly cooed over how adorable Wako and her two boys were. Not everyone was as impressed with the romance, of course.

Or, at least, not impressed the same way.

"That's so sweet I think I'm going to be ill," Scarlet Kiss, or rather Shinada, said flatly. "Come on, guys, it looks like there'll be school tomorrow after all." She stalked off through the trees, and Honda and Gouda followed after her as they always did. Gouda gave the other group of three a thoughtful look before he vanished down the path to the foot of the mountain, though, and Kanako almost cooed over them, too. It looked like both those little triangles might be settling a few things soon. Good; she was enjoying the show very much.

Business first, though. She cast a thoughtful look around the clearing. Okamoto had an arm wrapped around Nichi Kate, steadying her as she stood, and that was a good sign for Kiraboshi's (or at least Kanako's investments') continued viability. Kanako didn't see Dr. Shibuya or any of the support staff anywhere near, nor Head and the Chairman. Those were less good signs. "Simone, Takashi," she murmured, "I think we should be going as well."

"Yes, Madam," Simone said softly, and Kanako hid a smile at how closely she and Takashi walked as they moved off. This evening had settled things for many people, it seemed. As they passed Okamoto, though, she caught the woman's eye and raised a brow at the empty woods around them, the missing members who apparently had no wish to share Sugata and Takuto's triumph. Okamoto's lips thinned and she nodded a fraction. Kanako nodded back.

Yes. There was work still to be done. Kanako slipped her personal phone out of her jacket's inner pocket and hit her husband's speed-dial as they walked downward through the trees. "Leon, my love? It's me."

Her husband's voice was sharp, even through the crackle of static. "Kanako, what happened? That explosion..."

"Mm. That was Samekh's destruction, fortunately. I'm afraid we were too hasty with the project, and did not understand Miyabe Reiji's motivations. We need to track him down, and make sure he isn't any further trouble. We should also throttle funding, to keep the cybodies from being repaired immediately. Speaking of which, Dr. Shibuya needs to be reassigned somewhere that will take up his attention." Simone stumbled, behind her, and Takashi gasped. Kanako smiled over her shoulder at them, waving reassuring fingers at their stares. Really, you'd think they'd never watched her salvage a sinking project before.

"Hm. I take it you believe Dr. Okamoto will be more willing to take the time and care you feel are required, if she's in charge of research instead?" She did love how quickly Leon could follow her thoughts. "That can be done. And reducing funding," he added dryly, "will not be a problem for the immediate future. How long do you need?"

Kanako considered the two mikos they had left behind in the clearing as she stepped around a bit of loose stone in the path. "Six years should do, I think."

There was silence on the line for a moment. "Kanako..."

She laughed softly. "My love, there will be no shortage of second thoughts after the backers hear what very nearly happened. And I would like to give Wako and Kate a chance to be at least a little free before we ask them to take up their duties again. It will help keep them properly dedicated in the future."

His voice was gentler when he answered, "As you wish, my dear." He had always understood the sacrifice Kanako had made of her own freedom, of any pretense at carefree youth, and had always honored her for it. It was why she had meant all the vows she spoke when she married him. It was one of the things she truly did love him for.

"Besides," she added, "funding can always be channeled into collecting the remains of Samekh. The majority of them should appear to be destroyed; in fact, they can truly be destroyed if necessary. I believe the core is the only really important part to retrieve."

He made an interested sound. "I'll be waiting to hear what you're planning, when you have a more secure line. Call me when you're home, my dear."

She turned off her phone and waited, smiling into the darkness.

"Madam." Ah, it was Simone who spoke up first; Kanako wasn't surprised. Simone had steel in her spine, no question. "Why do you want Samekh's core? After what our own cybodies said..."

"They felt that Samekh's purpose is mistaken, yes," Kanako said quietly, recalling the deep echo of Betraida's memory and protectiveness in her heart. "But I believe they may have meant something different than we thought. If the other information we have heard is accurate, Samekh was made to rule, not to destroy. If he can be regenerated in a design that matches the life of this world..."

Endou had called Samekh a ship, after all, in her little parable of a play. Kanako didn't think that was an accident. The cybodies did not have life as it operated in humans, though they could take motive force from human life and passion. The very life and passion Samekh seemed built to absorb. Absorb... and transport intact, like a ship did its passengers? The very possibility was so delightful she gave a voluptuous little wriggle that made Simone snort and Takashi clear his throat in a flustered way.

"Let's keep that our little secret, though, shall we?" she murmured. "There's no reason Wako and her young men shouldn't enjoy their high school years, and perhaps university." Or perhaps a career as an idol. She would have to look around among her contacts and see who might offer Wako and Kate a good contract.

"You think they'll really join us willingly, in the end?" Takashi asked quietly.

Kanako smiled up at the starry sky through the leaves. "Sugata already did, for his own purposes. And Wako has a powerful sense of duty, wouldn't you say? I'm sure we can give them a while to sow their wild oats before it's time to settle down, though."

They would need the southern seal regenerated, at the very least, before exploring working cybodies further. The eastern seal might be wise also, if Kate was willing to return. But that could wait. The true star drivers of this age were all still young. Surely there could be time to enjoy that.

She was sure Takuto would agree.

Reiji stood under the darkness of the trees and watched the drivers go, a few at a time, heading down the mountain and away from the half-wreckage of Tauburn. The boys of Vanishing Age had, appropriately enough, disappeared already, most likely back to the obscurity they'd followed him to escape. He wasn't surprised. Those three had ambition, and passion of a kind, but little resilience.

Ryousuke stirred, at this shoulder, as Takuto and his two friends turned away down the mountain as well, Takuto with a last pat for Tauburn. "They shouldn't be leaving any of the cybodies out in the open like that," he murmured, disapproving.

Reiji shrugged. "I'm sure that will occur to one of them tomorrow. Kate, perhaps. Or Kanako. And Watanabe certainly has the resources to take care of any satellite images caught before then. Besides," he strolled out of the trees toward the cybody, "it's a nice chance for me."

"Chance?"

Reiji's lips quirked. After this long, he could hear when Ryousuke was alarmed, even though he'd probably sound indifferent to anyone else's ear. "A chance," he murmured. "A last chance, I suppose." He laid a hand on Tauburn's side and closed his eyes, listening intently.

The children might only just have discovered that they could hear the voices of the cybodies, but it was old news to him. Without the right mark or, with more of the seals in place, the right interface badge, it was only a bare whisper of unformed feelings, but with enough concentration, and direct contact of some sort, it could still be heard. Tauburn was the one cybody he'd never been close enough to listen to, and the acid burn of anger over that washed through him again. He took a slow breath to quiet himself, and listened now.

Sadness.

Satisfaction.

Waiting.

The waiting flowed past him, not noticing him at all. Tauburn was waiting for Takuto. Reiji's hand curled into a fist against Tauburn's side.

"Tokio?" Ryousuke asked, cautiously. Reiji slumped with a short laugh.

"It's over," he said, low and tired. All the hope he'd had to recover the terrifyingly brief and fragile beauties of the world, to return to them and live joyfully in the moments where they were... it was over. Ryousuke's hands closed gently on his shoulders.

"Good."

Reiji stiffened, glaring over his shoulder. Ryousuke looked back steadily. "Good," he repeated, more forcefully. "You've thrown away too much, chasing this. Your friends, your lovers, your child, your painting... You would have thrown away the whole world, Tokio! Don't you think it's time to stop?"

"I could have gotten them back!"

"No you couldn't have!" Ryousuke shouted back, and Reiji blinked; Ryousuke never shouted. "How many times do you think you could relive a moment before it lost its beauty?" Ryousuke actually shook him. "The whole reason those moments are precious and beautiful is that they pass! They change! They're never the same twice!" He pulled Reiji around and glared down at him. "When I thought you just wanted the strongest cybody, to make up for not having Tauburn, that was fine. There were other cybodies and other drivers, and I thought the challenge might be enough to make you look at the present again." He shook Reiji again, hard. "But you were going to throw it all away, destroy it all like a spoiled child, because you couldn't see that what you wanted was right in front of your face! Your sunsets, those were all now, not the past. Sora, she was now, and she would have stayed if you hadn't thrown her away too!"

Reiji pressed back against the not-metal behind him, staring at Ryousuke, at this startling flare of passion in him, fear slowly tightening in his chest. "It goes away," he said, low and raw. "It all goes away."

Ryousuke stared down at him for a long moment before he sighed, letting that bright, alarming passion (the bright things always went away) fall from him. "Come away, Tokio," he said quietly. "Let's find somewhere new to paint for a while, all right?"

Reiji let Ryousuke draw him away from Tauburn, but stopped him with a hand on his chest when he turned toward the trees. "Just a minute."

All the bright things went away, and it seemed that Ryousuke could be bright too. Despite all those years of seeming dull and steady, he could be. And it was already too late to let him go, because Reiji had spent all these years thinking Ryousuke was safe to be with! There was only one thing he could think of that might slow things down, might keep Ryousuke from going away for a while yet. A moment of concentration and Resh flared to life on Ryousuke's chest, under his hand. "There." With zero-time unlocked, Reshbal should be able to slow Ryousuke's aging even without being regenerated.

Ryousuke was staring at him, and Reiji snapped, irritably, "What?"

Ryousuke smiled. "Nothing. Shall we go?"

Reiji sniffed and stalked down the mountain ahead of him. Come to think of it, he couldn't wait to get off this island. They would make arrangements tomorrow.

Kate carried her tray through the cafeteria to a table in the far corner, listening to the conversations around her. Nearly everyone had felt the shock of zero-time coming unlocked, but it seemed almost no one had seen Samekh rise. Her schoolmates were gossiping happily about what the strange event might have been, but the wildest tales, for example that it was some kind of alien spaceship either landing or returning home, were clearly told as jokes.

Despite how bruised her heart and mind felt by last night, she appreciated the irony.

She wondered, as she pulled out a chair and sat neatly, as everyone expected of a class president, what she should do now. Part of her thought her work was done; Samekh was both unsealed and destroyed, and Sugata still lived. But the part of her that had been Ivrogne for two years remembered that she still had another driver and a support staff to look out for. Who would take charge of Kiraboshi now, with Head broken? She remembered hearing that the Chairman had been one of the people originally in charge of the project, but he'd given the project up to Miyabi's direction for so long... could he be trusted, now?

She sighed and took another bite of the cafeteria stew, and resisted the urge to hunch down grumpily in her chair. Winning shouldn't be this difficult.

"Inchou-san!"

Kate rolled her eyes. A voice that low should not be capable of caroling her school title, but this was Tsunashi Takuto, after all. "Yes, Takuto-kun," she started, repressively, "what is i—" She stumbled over her own words as she turned and saw who was behind him.

"Is it all right if we sit here?" Wako asked shyly.

"I... I suppose it's... I mean, yes that's fine," Kate stammered, one hand clenching around her napkin. She really didn't deserve to have Wako still look at her like that, like she was a friend.

"Kate," a lower voice than Takuto's said, at her shoulder, and Kate had to close her eyes for a moment. "It's okay to say no, too. We won't press, if you're uncomfortable."

"It's all right," she said quietly. She watched them settle themselves around the table, Wako on one side of her and Sugata on the other with Takuto smiling across the table at her, and stifled an urge to take Wako to task for not sitting between her and Sugata. This would be so much easier if Wako treated her like a rival, albeit a vanquished one, instead of a friend. If she had, Kate might have found a crumb of an excuse to hate her, which just about had to be easier than this tangled-up ache in her chest of wanting her best friends back, and wanting Sugata for herself, and knowing none of it was going to happen.

Except that getting her friends back looked like it just might.

"So, um, the math homework today," Takuto was saying, fiddling with his fork sheepishly. "I kind of didn't hear it."

"I'm not surprised in the least," Kate said dryly, concentrating on her plate. "You were pretty distracted by Watanabe-san." Who had been teasing Takuto as if nothing in the least unusual had happened last night. Kate was starting to think the girl had actual ice water in her veins.

"Sugata-kun has it; you can get it tonight," Wako told him laughing. She glanced over at Kate to share the joke and Kate's breath caught. "Um." Wako was making cross-hatches in her stew with her fork. "You know, I really was wondering... do you... do you still sing at all?" She looked up at Kate under her lashes, biting her lip.

Kate hesitated, looking aside, only to catch Takuto's eye. He was leaning his elbows on the table and smiling at her exactly the way he had when he'd promised not to tell anyone about her singing, warm and friendly. "Some," she muttered, looking at her plate again.

"I'd like to sing together again," Wako said shyly. "Sometime. I mean, if you'd like."

Kate swallowed hard, nearly flattened under a sudden cascade of memories. She and Wako singing along with the radio. Singing on the beach and arguing over who had to take which part and who got the most lyrics, dissolving into a sandy scuffle. Singing together for Sugata and seeing his eyes turn brighter and happier. "I... yes," she managed, husky. "Sometime. That would be... nice."

"I'd like to hear both of you again, too," Sugata murmured, and she looked over at him before she could help herself. He had his chin in one hand and a small, warm smile on his lips, and her heart turned over at the sight of it.

She was grateful when Takuto asked, "Can I come listen too?" and let her look away. His eyes on her were thoughtful, despite his light tone, and when she snorted he grinned brightly.

"I suppose you might as well, all things considered," she said, giving him a dire look. That little bit of silent teasing over the time he'd walked in on her singing in one of the karaoke booths, the little bit of normalcy, helped her take a breath, and another bite of stew, and reclaim her balance. It was the sort of small, warm kindness she was starting to simply expect out of Takuto, and really it was no wonder he was Tauburn's driver.

"All things considered?" Wako repeated, and gave Takuto a beady eye. "Takuto, what did you do?"

"Nothing!" he insisted, holding up his hands. "It wasn't my fault!" He looked at Kate, appealingly. "It wasn't, right?"

Her usually quiet table was dissolving into something bright and noisy. Wako was leaning shoulder to shoulder with her, and Takuto was trying to defend himself without telling anything he'd promised not to, and Sugata was laughing softly at all of them. Kate took a slow breath and leaned back against Wako's shoulder. Maybe it wouldn't happen the way she'd hoped it would, but it seemed she had a place with them after all.

The knot in her chest was a little looser than it had been.

Midori leaned back in her desk chair and stretched with a sigh. The cybodies were broken. Kiraboshi was finished. She didn't know whether she was happy or sad about that. But the work of the school nurse went on, so here she was for another day.

A tap on her office door punctuated the thought.

"Come in," she called, and frowned when Watanabe let herself in. "Headache?" she asked brusquely.

Watanabe laughed. "Not yet. I came to deliver this." She held out a few sheets of carbon paper and Midori's brows rose as she scanned down them. It was a contract.

Okamoto Midori, aka Professor Green... position as sole head of Kiraboshi's Science Guild... monthly stipend plus bonuses as stipulated... "What is this?" she asked at last, waving the paper. "Kiraboshi is over."

Watanabe raised an annoyingly superior brow. "Come now, sensei, I'm surprised at you. Haven't you put it together? Zero-time is undone; regenerating the cybodies will no longer take the kind of mechanical support it used to, not if the driver's will and life are strong enough."

Midori froze in her chair as realization slid through her mind, chill and electric. It was true. "You intend to repair them and push ahead with the Departure?" she whispered.

Watanabe's smile turned feline. "Keep reading."

Midori flipped to the next page, only to blink. "Six years of study before repairs are attempted?" she asked, disbelieving. "Didn't you just say—"

"It is possible now. That doesn't make it advisable." Watanabe leaned a rounded hip against the desk, arms crossed under her annoyingly voluptuous breasts. "After what Samekh turned out to be, do you really want to risk another surprise from the cybodies?"

Midori shivered. The girl had a point. She read on a little further and snorted at the line about the Bank asserting ownership of all cybodies. "Do you really think the drivers will stand still for that?" she asked, flicking a nail at the clause.

"Not for a single second," Watanabe said, sounding perfectly pleased. "Which will give us a very strong lever indeed to persuade them all to accept limitations on their uses of the cybodies in return for ownership after six years are up. A rent-to-own arrangement, as it were, compliance with those limitations to be the payment."

Midori leaned back, chilled again for a different reason. She thought she might understand, now, why a ruthless financier and multimillionaire like Leon Watanabe had married Kanako. "So. Are you Kiraboshi's new leader?"

"Would you prefer someone from Vanishing Age?" Watanabe asked, eyes sharp on her.

Midori's mouth twisted. Another point for Watanabe; as much as Midori was fascinated by the physics of the cybodies and wanted to know more, she wanted just as strongly to put one in the eye of Vanishing Age. Them and their arrogance, thinking no one else was a true driver. She picked up a pen and signed her name firmly on the last page. "Why six years?" she asked. "Why not set a knowledge goal, instead of a time limit?"

"Six years should give our mikos time to fly free for a while and satisfy some urges before they return to settle down." Watanabe sighed, eyes distant for a moment. "Though I do regret having to ask Wako to sacrifice taking her two boys to bed for so very long."

Well, that made a kind of sense at least; for such a schemer, Watanabe was a bit of a romantic. But that comment about Agemaki brought up another annoyance, and not just that Agemaki was hogging two gorgeous boys all to herself! Midori tossed the contract down with an exasperated sound. "Doesn't anyone ever listen to a word I say?" she asked, aggravated. "There are absolutely no indications that the drivers of the miko cybodies have to be virgins! And there is conclusive evidence that higher levels of passion and desire equate to stronger bonds to a cybody!"

Watanabe blinked, off balance for once. "But the mikos themselves say that—"

Midori cut her off with a wave. "Oh, I'm sure the idea's been passed down for hundreds of years. If you're feeling primitive and superstitious, I suppose entering a cybody could look a lot like being possessed by a god. But it isn't!" She added, grudgingly, "There could be an effect if the driver herself believes it strongly, I suppose. It might weaken her will, and that does interfere with the bonding. But it's pure self-sabotage!"

Watanabe smiled slowly. "I'm so pleased you'll be continuing with us, Professor Green," she purred. "I can see your knowledge and skills will be a great asset." She counter-signed the contract and tore off the top two copies, handing Midori the last. "We'll see you for the weekly meeting this Sunday, then?"

As Watanabe strolled back out of the office, humming, Midori wondered for a moment whether she'd gotten herself into something troublesome by going along with that girl's plans, whatever they really were. But the cybodies were so fascinating. And besides, the drivers included so many simply delicious young men who didn't seem to mind going around half dressed.

Midori sighed happily, chin her hands, and contemplated the future.

Benio walked soft-footed along the "mine" track down into the mountain, feeling rough gravel turn under her boots.

"Are you sure about this?" Tetsuya asked quietly, cautious as ever about anything not having to do with his precious motorcycle.

"I'm sure," she bit out. "I don't know what anyone else is planning to do, now, but I do know we just got our families' marks back and I'm not leaving Peshent down here in pieces!" Her eyes narrowed with satisfaction when they got to the end of the cart tracks, at the landing for the vast wheel that would take them below; everything was dark. "Looks like we're the first to come back, too. Good."

"You really think we'll be able to repair them?" George asked, glancing over his shoulder at her as he pulled open a discreet metal cabinet and hauled down the manual switch to engage the capsule track. Muffled clanks vibrated through the rock under their feet and a glass-and-metal capsule rose to the landing.

"We should." She led them in and pressed the start switch, bracing herself with a hand against the wall as the capsule started to move. "Zero-time is undone. There shouldn't be any more barriers between us and the cybodies."

Tetsuya leaned against the transparent wall with his arms crossed, watching the bottom of the cavern swoop towards them. "Nothing but our own limits."

Benio shot him a hot glare; every now and then, a little less pessimism would be nice. "We're Filament! We're the ones who shine! We'll find a way." She spun toward the door as the capsule slowed to a halt, stride firm and confident.

Though it did stumble a little when the door opened to reveal Watanabe's blonde assistant standing there.

"Scarlet Kiss. Speed Kid. Raging Bull." She bowed politely. "Right this way, please."

"'This way' where?" Benio sputtered. "What..."

Secretary (Benio didn't even know her actual name) looked over her shoulder, quite calm. "The President hoped you would visit this evening. She's waiting by the cybodies."

Benio exchanged a look with Tetsuya and George, lips tight, and nodded at the hard wariness in both their faces. "Let's go," she said softly.

They flanked her as she followed Secretary down the causeway that led out from the landing and finally across the open floor around the cybodies. Sure enough, Watanabe was lounging against one of the powered-down terminals there, in her uniform but without her mask. "Scarlet Kiss," she greeted, lazy. "I'm so glad you could join us."

Benio halted and crossed her arms. "Let's be very clear," she said in her meeting-hall voice. "We're not here to join you. There's no need for expensive support any more, to drive the cybodies, and you have no leverage over us."

Watanabe pursed her lips as Secretary came to stand quietly at her shoulder. "You intend to regenerate your cybodies, yes? I wouldn't recommend doing that completely without hardware support."

"If so, then it's Professor Green I'd be talking to, not you." Benio had never trusted President, or her campaign to get control of the cybodies.

Watanabe smiled, somehow both sensually pouty and annoyingly cheery. "Well, you know, scientists are generally loyal to whoever funds their research. Professor Green has already signed a renewed contract with me."

And that was why Benio had never trusted her. "I only have your word for it that regenerating the cybodies is still dangerous," she growled. "I'm not taking that alone. I did it once, when they were still half blocked off from us; I'll do it again!"

"And risk your loyal followers?" Watanabe asked softly, eyes flicking to George and Tetsuya. "I think," she added, as Benio's lips drew back off her teeth, "that we might reach some accommodation that will make everyone happier." She held out a couple forms, fanned in her hand; Benio eyed them like she'd been offered a viper.

"What's that?"

"A contract." Watanabe's voice was cool and hard. "With all the rules and compensations spelled out, so we all know what we're here to get." Secretary took the papers from her hand and brought them silently to Benio, Tetsuya, and George.

Benio read quickly down the page and snapped her fingernails against the clause she'd expected to find, halfway down. "I knew it! You want us to actually agree you own the cybodies and lease them—lease them—from you! What absolute bullshit! This is just another power-play, isn't it?"

"Benio," Tetsuya broke in, frowning down at his copy. "This is really weird. Take a look at the terms of that 'lease.'"

She scowled down at the paper, reading on, only to stop short. "Full ownership by the Bank for a period of six years," she muttered, voice rising in disbelief, "leased with all rights in exchange for agreement not to regenerate...? What the hell?"

"For six years," George put in, eying Watanabe with just as much suspicion as Benio was. "Why would you want the cybodies to stay broken for six years?"

"In six years, I expect to convince the miko of the south to return and repair the last seal." Watanabe waited out their choked sounds of shock. "I don't think you understand just how precarious a position we're in right now. Kiraboshi had at least tentative agreements with a great many companies and nations. Those have come mostly undone in the wake of Samekh's rising and destruction. If any cybodies left the island now they would be picked off and destroyed by people who fear what they could do. Or even who just want to get a monopoly for themselves. Leon and I have enough money and influence to secure this island, but I can't make any promises at all if you leave it."

"And leaving the cybodies broken means all those people with itchy trigger fingers might not be as excited?" Tetsuya asked, eyes narrow.

"Exactly," Watanabe nodded, look as pleased as if she'd just gotten one of her through-the-glass kisses out of him. "Besides, we need to know more about them before we risk activating them out in the world again. Considering what we didn't know about Samekh."

Benio settled back on her heels. "That's actually a decent point," she allowed. "I'd still like to know what Head knew, and why he was the only one who did know."

"Samekh, at least, he learned about from his own father."

All five of them jerked around at the new voice, and Benio tensed as Chairman stepped out of the shadows of the machinery. Anyone with eyes knew that Chairman belonged to Head; what was he doing here now?

"Katashiro Ryousuke," Watanabe greeted him, with the same wary chill in her voice that Benio felt; on this, at least, they agreed. "Why are you here?"

A corner of his mouth quirked faintly. "I'm here to hand in my resignation, actually."

Slowly, Watanabe settled back against the console, and Benio's brows rose at that relaxation. "You were one of the original project personnel," Watanabe murmured. "You would leave all that behind to keep following Miyabi Reiji?"

"I've worked for Watanabe for almost twenty years, now," Chairman, Katashiro, said quietly, looking around the cavern with its machines and broken cybodies. "I fulfilled my contract, even when it was Tokio who really kept me here, even when I was part of a different faction than yours. But the project is done, now." He nodded at the papers in Filament's hands. "You know that, if you're drawing up new contracts."

"He's leaving, then?" Watanabe asked, eyes fixed on him like a hawk's.

Katashiro lowered his head, shoulders pulling in a little, like there was a weight on them. "I still believe he can be helped," he said, low. "But it won't happen here. I want Watanabe to let us both go."

"You're staying with him, even after all this?" George asked, incredulous, hand slashing out to take in all the cybodies broken in their desperate attempt to stop Samekh.

Katashiro's smile was bitter. "Once you're caught by one of that lineage, it's hard to even want to break free again." His eyes swept over them, dark and knowing. "As you've found out, with his son, I think."

Benio flinched back a step from that knowing look, from the lines of pain around the man's mouth. Would she ever look like that, over Takuto? She was grateful for the quick protection of George's arm around her shoulders, and the subtle support of Tetsuya's hand against her back, reminding her of what she still had. This was hers, through everything that had happened, and whatever she felt for Takuto wouldn't change it. "Maybe we do," she said, rallying, "but Takuto isn't the one who's crazy."

Katashiro snorted and pulled out a cigarette. "So maybe you'll have better luck than I did." He lit it and breathed out a steady stream of smoke, looking at Watanabe. "So?"

She nodded slowly. "Very well. You will take Miyabi Reiji, also known as Tsunashi Tokio, away from Southern Cross Island, and keep him away. For my part, I take responsibility for closing your contract. All severance and benefits will be forwarded to your account. We will take no action against Miyabi unless he makes another attempt on the cybodies."

Katashiro inclined his head. "Done." As he turned to go, though, Tetsuya stirred and called after him.

"Hey! If Head's dad was the one who told him about Samekh, why didn't Takuto know?"

Katashiro paused and looked over his shoulder, the end of his cigarette glowing as he breathed in. "If you had a son, and told him all about your mark, and the cybodies, only to find that the only value or wonder he could see in them was a chance to break the world so he could live in his own personal dream... wouldn't you be a little cautious about what you told the next heir?"

All of them were silent at that, and Katashiro's steps echoed softly all the way out of the cavern. Benio thought about just how crazy Head had to be, to do what he'd done, and how none of them had realized it until too late, and about other people who might just want to use the cybodies for their own purposes. Better Watanabe than another Head, that was for sure. And she was giving the drivers all rights, plus continued support, in return for sticking to the island. "What happens at the end of six years?" she asked, abruptly. "These contracts only say the Bank owns the cybodies for six years, and then you want to re-engage zero-time. What then?"

Watanabe shook herself, looking away from where Katashiro had vanished. "Then we re-negotiate," she said briskly. "Six years gives us time to be sure of each other's motives. And with zero-time re-engaged, some of the pressure will be off; I trust we'll be able to reach an agreement like sensible people, by then."

Benio looked at Tetsuya and George, head cocked. The boys looked at each other for a long moment before turning back to nod to her. She smiled, slow and bright. "All right. You have a deal, Watanabe. Filament will light the way, still."

Watanabe smiled back with obvious satisfaction. "Welcome back, then."

Benio took a pen from Secretary and signed, hearing the scratch and rustle of George and Tetsuya signing theirs. The back of her mind counted up divisions. Vanishing Age looked pretty defunct. The Adult Bank and the Science Guild were already accounted for, and now Filament. She doubted Emperor would reappear. That just left... "So, have you snapped up Ivrogne for this, yet?" she asked casually.

Watanabe touched a finger to her lips, coy. "One thing at a time, Shinada-san, one thing at a time."

After another day with no mysterious new events, the gossip on campus had died down and everyone had gone back cheerfully to their regular routines. Wako approved, in a general sort of way. But she did wish Kate would agree to expand her routine just a little bit.

Just a little. Really.

"The drama club will need another member, now that Endou-senpai is graduating," she coaxed, arm linked with Kate's as they walked down the broad brick path to the club building.

"You already got a new member this year," Kate pointed out, jerking a thumb over her shoulder at Takuto, walking behind them with Sugata.

Wako gave up on logic and descended to wheedling. "Pretty please?"

Well, at least it made Kate laugh. But her eyes were distant and sober when she said, "I like discovering things more than pretending things."

The way she'd had to pretend to be part of Kiraboshi for so long, right. Wako sighed. "Okay," she gave in, bumping her shoulder against Kate's. "But you'll walk home with us, won't you?"

"Yes," Kate agreed, smiling a little. "I'll do that." She stiffened beside Wako, though, pulling to a stop. Wako looked around hastily, and her own eyes narrowed as she spotted Watanabe-san sitting alone on one of the benches by the path.

"There you all are," Watanabe-san called, draping an arm over the back of the bench. "I've been waiting." There was something new about her voice, Wako thought; an arrogance that wasn't there when she spoke in class, no matter how casually self-centered she was then.

Kate stepped in front of them, hand slashing out to hold them back behind her. "What do you want, President?" she asked, and her voice had changed too. It was harder, lower, confident but edgy.

Watanabe-san chuckled. "Nothing dreadful, Ivrogne. I'm just here to ask what you and your fellow miko are planning to do, now."

"The cybodies are destroyed," Kate snapped, not even glancing around at them, and Wako realized how tense her friend was. "Why should we be planning to do anything?"

"Those broken cybodies are outside of zero-time, now," Watanabe-san pointed out, crossing her legs and leaning back. "It might not take mechanical support to regenerate them any more."

The boys had come to stand close at her back, and Wako felt both of them start at that. Slow, cold realization tightened around her heart. "Is it true?" she whispered.

"We couldn't repair Tauburn completely, but... yeah." Takuto stepped up beside her, looking down at her with worried eyes.

Sugata's hand closed on her shoulder as he stepped up on her other side. "That was what you wanted, wasn't it?" he asked Watanabe-san, voice cold. "Are you simply here to try to threaten the mikos into staying away?" His eyes narrowed. "Or is there something different you want, now?"

"You know, I wouldn't entirely object if Emperor returned," Watanabe-san murmured, full lips curved. "You have a good mind for these things. I assure you, though, I have no intention of threatening the mikos. I simply want to know what they plan to do."

"It isn't over, is it?" Wako asked, wrapping her arms around herself. She hadn't realized just how much she'd hoped that it was, that she could be free now. The realization that her duty was still waiting for her felt like someone hanging iron weights on her shoulders.

"Why shouldn't it be over for us, though?" Kate asked, spinning to face her, hands reaching out to catch hers. Wako saw the same desperate hope she'd felt, blazing in Kate's face. "The real threat is gone! Samekh is destroyed, out where no one will regenerate it again. Isn't it all right if the other cybodies are free, now?"

"That is your decision to make, now," Watanabe-san said softly. "No one else holds the marks to drive the miko cybodies. Is it time for the cybodies to be released? Or will you choose to contain them still?" Wako bit her lip, thoughts spinning. They could be free; but was that the right thing to do?

Sugata had his other hand on Kate's shoulder, now, drawing both her and Wako close as he locked eyes with Watanabe-san. "What will you do if the mikos do choose to leave zero-time unlocked?"

Watanabe-san examined her nails. "I'll scatter the parts of the cybodies as widely and secretly as I can. It will slow down research, but without the protection of zero-time that can't be helped."

"What?" Kate half turned, not letting go of Wako's hands, and stared. Watanabe-san shrugged.

"We aren't ready, yet. Not without knowing more than we do about the cybodies."

The words halted the spinning in Wako's head and she let out a slow breath. "I think that's right," she said quietly, and closed her eyes for a moment, opening her hands to let the future she'd almost had go.

"Wako," Kate whispered. Wako looked up and smiled, small and unsteady.

"Look at what everyone did with the suits, all this year. Lying and cheating and really trying to kill each other. That... that's what we're here to stop." She pressed a hand against the place where her mark had been; where she suspected it still was, if she only invoked it again with all of her will.

"But then we're the targets," Kate whispered. "I don't want to be afraid like that again."

Takuto, who had been watching them with quiet concern the whole time, rested his hands on Kate and Wako's shoulders, the same way Sugata was on their other side. "We'll protect you," he offered, soft and sure. "It'll be okay, Kate-san. I promise."

Kate bit her lip, looking up at him, and then at Sugata, who nodded firmly. When she finally looked back at Wako her eyes were wide and wet, but she swallowed hard said, husky, "All right. You're right. What happened this year... it shouldn't happen again." The slump to her shoulders felt just as defeated as Wako's own, though.

"Kiraboshi will protect you, as well," Watanabe-san murmured. "And I can give you a little time before you need to come back."

Wako frowned, stepping out from under the boys' hands to face Watanabe-san herself. "What do you mean? If the cybodies need to be in zero-time to be safe..."

Watanabe-san cocked her head and smiled up at Wako, wry. "Leon and I have a great deal of money, and that can buy security for a while. I don't want mikos who are pining and depressed, after all; you'd never be able to regenerate your cybodies in that condition. I can give you six years—time for college, or a career if you choose to be an idol singer." She pursed her lips and frowned critically. "Just make sure you don't take the first offer, if you do; you have a good enough voice to make them bid for you."

Wako looked over at Kate with wide eyes. Kate was opening and closing her mouth as if she wanted very much to say something but was sure what. "Why?" she finally ventured.

Watanabe-san held up her left hand, so that her wedding ring glinted in the sun. Her eyes stayed on the ring as she spoke. "I know something about sacrifices. Leon and I both... we made a promise, of faith and unity, and despite all appearances we'll hold to it. That's because we both think this marriage is worth what we pay to keep it." Finally, she looked back at Wako and Kate. "You should be sure that what you plan to do is worth what you pay."

"And you want someone else to be free, if you can make it happen," Takuto added, smiling. Watanabe-san shrugged and glanced aside, and Takuto's smile got a little softer. Somehow, that made Wako relax; Takuto was too chivalrous for his own good sometimes, but he was one of the best judges of character she'd ever met. If he thought Watanabe-san meant them well, she'd trust him.

Watanabe-san cleared her throat. "That reminds me! I have a present of sorts for you." Thinking about it seemed to please her, because she smiled, full and teasing as ever. "Professor Green tells me that there's no evidence the drivers of the miko cybodies actually need to be virgins." While all four of them were staring at her, off balance from the sudden non sequitur, she stood and brushed off her skirt. "Just something to think about." She waved her fingers at them and strolled back down the path toward the school. Wako caught her eye as she passed, gleaming and mischievous, and pressed her hands to her suddenly hot cheeks. A glance at Kate showed her friend's face was red too.

"I... need to talk to Okamoto-sensei," Kate said, a little strangled. "My club advisor. Yes. I'll... catch up with you later, okay?" She squeezed Wako's hand and broke into a run back up the path in Watanabe-san's wake, leaving Wako with the two boys.

The two boys who had their eyes locked on each other, and who wore matching tiny grins—the same ones they wore when they challenged each other with swords. Wako's eyes narrowed. Honestly, if the two of them started acting like she was some kind of prize in their personal competition again, she was going to smack them both!

"Wako! Sugata! Takuto!" Endou-senpai leaned out a window of the club building, yelling. "You're late!"

The boys didn't even twitch. Wako pressed a hand to her forehead, torn between laughing and groaning. "I'm going on without you," she told them loudly, hitching her bag over her shoulder and setting off down the path. As she'd more than half expected, that broke the deadlock and they scrambled to catch up and walk on either side of her. She rolled her eyes and caught both their hands. "Come on," she admonished. "We'd better run if we don't want Endou-senpai scolding us."

Sugata smiled, just the tiniest bit sheepish. Takuto swung their clasped hands and agreed cheerfully, "Okay!"

Wako couldn't help grinning back at them, and took off running, pulling them after her. "Come on!" In a few paces, they'd matched their strides to hers.

Wako was laughing when they reached the door.

End

Basically Three

Wako has an epiphany and decides it's time to break the deadlock between her boys in a way neither of them anticipated. Drama, Romance, I-3

Wako leaned her elbows on the sill of one of the school's wide windows and stared out over the dusty courtyard between the classrooms and the dormitory. Normally she'd be spending lunch with Ruri, or maybe Sugata and Takuto. Ever since Watanabe-san had dropped her little surprise on them, though, Wako had been avoiding all three of them a little, so here she was in one of the quiet back hallways instead. Thinking.

She'd known practically all her life what a miko was; she lived at a shrine, after all. She'd spent most of her life also knowing that she was a slightly different kind of miko—her "kami" were a bunch of machine-creatures, and just possibly aliens. But that hadn't changed the basics. The old basics. She protected and purified and interpreted for those who didn't have such a strong ear for their local kami-robots. And she was marked. She was given to her kami, and forbidden from giving herself to anyone else. That was just how it worked.

Only apparently it didn't. The cybodies, according to every piece of data Kate had dragged out of Okamoto-sensei, weren't jealous of their mikos the way kami were supposed to be. If the miko drivers wanted to take human lovers, there was nothing stopping them. The morning after Kate had come back, dazed, to tell her it seemed true, Wako had spent her morning ritual meditating on all the memories of Wauna she still held in her heart. It felt true; at least, the only memory of anything resembling jealousy was in the faint, confusing memories of Samekh's nature and purpose, and Wako didn't think purity, ritual or otherwise, would matter at all to the consuming hunger of Samekh.

All of which meant that Ruri's teasing about choosing either Sugata or Takuto had a new point on it.

It was a painful point, because Wako understood, with the clarity that believing you or someone you loved was about to die brought on, that she loved them both. Very much. And that they might just both love her back. How was she supposed to choose? She folded her arms on the sun-warmed metal of the sill and buried her head in them with a sigh. It seemed as though, whatever happened, and whoever finally broke the triangle, someone was going to have to be hurt. She hated that.

Voices drifted up, indistinct, from the courtyard below and Wako glanced up. Students weren't really supposed to go back to the dormitory during school hours, when there wouldn't be any school officers to supervise.

It was Shinada-senpai down in the courtyard, though, and Wako supposed wryly that the residential advisor was allowed. She was less sure about Honda-senpai and Gouda-senpai, who were both with her. Wako doubted anyone would say anything, though. Those three had been inseparable since middle school. She remembered them, a little, from back then, and they'd still all been together when she'd caught up again in high school.

Why couldn't she and Sugata and Takuto be like that?

Wako stifled a groan at the thought. Was that what they'd have to do, to stay together? Not let anything be romantic or... or anything, between them at all? Because, for all Shinada-senpai teased their schoolmates sometimes, none of those three had ever dated anyone. Certainly not each other. Wako jammed her chin on her folded arms, glum, and watched while Gouda-senpai explained something vigorously to the other two, hands shaping and slashing the air. Honda-senpai seemed skeptical about whatever it was, arms folded firmly over his broad chest as he leaned back against one of the courtyard trees. Shinada-senpai was listening, though, head cocked, hands on her hips. She lifted one hand to wave in a circle at the three of them, asking something, and Gouda-senpai nodded sharply.

Wako wondered what they were talking about. She could hear a little of their voices from up here, but no words. They seemed pretty intense about it, though, and the thought niggled at the back of her mind that Kate had identified these three as the ones who'd kidnapped her earlier this year. Surely they weren't planning anything else like that, though...

Her thoughts broke off and her eyes widened as Gouda-senpai gestured briskly at Honda-senpai, as if waving Shinada-senpai toward him. She could see Honda-senpai stiffen against his tree, even from here, and there was a smile on Shinada-senpai's red lips as she went and rested her hands against his chest. Wako thought she asked him something.

After a frozen moment, slowly, Honda-senpai nodded.

Shinada-senpai leaned against him, standing on her toes to wind her arms around his neck, and Wako clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a squeak as they kissed. Gouda-senpai was just standing there, arms crossed, every line of him looking... vindicated maybe? Had he stepped aside, the way Sugata had tried to when he still thought he was going to die? Wako chewed on her lip, eyes clinging to the three of them even though she knew this was private and she shouldn't be watching. If these three could make it work, somehow, and still be friends then maybe...

Her eyes stretched wider when Gouda-senpai strolled up to Honda-senpai and Shinada-senpai, and clapped a hand on Honda-senpai's shoulder. She could see the flash of his teeth, as he grinned, from two floors up. Shinada-senpai hooked her hand around the back of his neck, and he smirked as he leaned down to kiss her too.

When he drew back, Wako caught Shinada-senpai's expression for just a moment, and it was full of fierce satisfaction.

Gouda-senpai cocked his head up at Honda-senpai, thin mouth tilted in a wry smile as he asked something. Wako thought Honda-senpai was a little redder than usual, but he nodded just a little and leaned in to meet the light kiss Gouda-senpai offered.

Wako spun away from the window so she could put her back to the wall beside it. She was breathing fast and light, above the hand still pressed to her mouth. Three of them. All three of them. Not just Shinada-senpai with both the boys. In fact, it had looked like Gouda-senpai's idea, to be with Honda-senpai too!

Wako peeked back out the window. The three of them had settled against each other under that tree. Shinada-senpai was snuggled into Honda-senpai's chest, fingers fisted tight in Gouda-senpai's uniform jacket as she held him close. Gouda-senpai had his arm around her as he rested against Honda-senpai's shoulder, eyes closed. Honda-senpai had wrapped his arms around them both and turned his head to press his lips to the wild brush of Gouda-senpai's hair.

The sight of them like that made Wako's chest ache. She wanted that, she knew, abrupt and sure. She wanted that for herself, with Takuto and Sugata. She wanted it for Takuto and Sugata. She wanted it to work, without anyone having to make the faces both boys had made when they talked about visiting her after she married the other one!

She slid down to sit against the wall, knees pulled up so she could rest her forehead on them. Could it happen? Could it work? The boys were important to each other, she knew that. Takuto had been just as determined to get Sugata back as she had been. Sugata had trusted Takuto with her happiness. They'd saved each other, more than once. Could it work?

In the silence of the hall, she whispered out loud, maybe to the cybodies she'd served for so long or maybe just to fate, "Please let it work."

Sugata eyed Wako down the length of the table as she prodded at her fruit salad with a fork. All of them who had grown up together made jokes about Wako's appetite, but the truth really was that if Wako didn't want to eat, something was very wrong.

"Wako?" Takuto asked, looking across the table at her, forkful of omelet poised but suddenly ignored. "Everything okay?"

Sugata hid a wry smile in his napkin. He was the one who noticed first, but Takuto was the one who would come right out and ask first. It was their relationship to Wako in a nutshell.

Expecting Wako to say it was nothing, he was startled when what she actually said was, "It's just... Well." She fidgeted with her napkin, not looking at either of them. "You know how Ruri teases me about you two?"

Sugata did indeed know, and had to repeatedly stifle the urge to strangle the girl for pushing things when, honestly, he would be perfectly happy if Wako took her time making that decision. "Did she say something that upset you?" he asked quietly.

"It's not... it's just..." Wako put her fork down with a sharp tap and looked up at them, one after another. Her eyes were bright and her mouth was in a determined line. "I don't want to make that choice."

Sugata sat back with a soft sigh. She'd decided on neither, then. He supposed, this way, it meant neither he nor Takuto would be closed out. Even if neither of them really got what he wanted either. "If that's what you want, of course."

"Wait," Takuto said slowly, looking back and forth between them. "Wako said... that choice. Is there something else you want to do?" he asked her softly, hopefully.

Wako was folding and unfolding her hands, now, but her eyes were still steady. "Yes. I don't want to have to choose between you. I don't want one of you to do anything dumb," she shot a momentary glare at Sugata, "like trying to 'give me up' to the other. I want it to be the three of us." She finished, lower, starting to be a little uncertain, "The three of us together. If... we can?"

Sugata realized he was staring at her.

"You want... um." Takuto was slowly turning red. "Both of us?" His voice was a little weak, kind of the way it got when Watanabe was entertaining herself by making him blush.

Wako was a little pink too, by now. "It's just... I know the two of you are important to each other, too. Right?"

Takuto looked over at Sugata, wide eyed. He didn't, Sugata reflected distantly, look like anyone's steadfast defender, or like someone who would get into a knock-down drag-out fight to pull a friend out of a funk, or like someone who would unleash a monster and then chase it into space and nearly kill himself destroying it, just to save a rival. But he had done all of that. Sugata's voice was a little rough when he finally answered.

"Important. Yes." He swallowed the roughness down, looking down at his plate. Takuto was important to him, probably more so than anyone he'd only met this year had a right to be, but that didn't mean he'd ever thought about this kind of relationship with him! "Wako, I... are you really...?"

"I'm just asking if it's possible," she said softly.

"All right."

Sugata's head jerked up and he stared at Takuto, shocked. Takuto's blush had gone down, and in its place was that earnest clarity, that rock steady look he always seemed to wear when setting out to accomplish completely unreasonable things. Learn the sword in mere months. Defeat a whole organization of other star drivers. Enter a threesome with his best friend and rival, and their mutual romantic interest. Sugata closed his eyes for a moment, fighting a sudden urge to laugh. "Nothing has ever complicated my life like you have," he murmured.

When he looked up again, Takuto was smiling, bright and open and just a little challenging. "Well, maybe that'll be a good place to start."

Sugata gave in and laughed.

They got through the rest of breakfast with amazingly little awkwardness, considering what they'd just agreed on. It didn't trip Sugata up again until they were leaving, and he offered Wako his hand down the front steps. She squeezed his fingers a little, smiling up at him with such relief and hope that his heart turned over. He hesitated, looking down at her and finally offered his other hand to Takuto.

Takuto looked back at him, thoughtful in the way that was always a bit startling in someone as guileless as Takuto was. When he smiled this time, it was small and true, and his hand closing around Sugata's was warm. It felt... good. Perhaps, Sugata thought, this could work after all.

They had a place to start, at least.

He and Takuto still walked on either side of Wako, on their way to school that day, but when Ruri met them at the stairs and immediately teased Wako for keeping both of them dangling, Wako only laughed, bright and clear. The sound lit up the morning, and for once Sugata didn't hesitate to catch Takuto's eye over her head. They shared a smile and Sugata let himself hope. Maybe. Maybe it really would be all right, after all.

He tipped his face up to the morning sun, and smiled at the future.

End

Black Turns to Blue

Lin Shu survives, and, with a certain amount of salutary brow-beating, finds a purpose in doing so that moves him to enter the world again, seek out his loved ones, and start walking a meaningful path forward with them. Drama with Adorable Romance, I-3

One

When Liu An had come to be examined for betrothal to the new Crown Prince, she had been a little nervous, but mostly excited. She was not one of the great beauties of the realm, had never even imagined appearing on the List, but she was thoroughly schooled in managing a household, was a reasonable musician with a flute, was even judged fairly deft at body services. She represented quite a good political alliance. And, her own close-held secret, she had actually met Prince Jing. She knew better than to place too much weight on that, but being rescued from bandits certainly made more of an impression than anyone else her parents had spoken of betrothing her to!

So she'd bowed deferentially under the cool, lovely eyes of her prospective mother-in-law, answered her questions softly, and hoped. And, indeed, fate seemed to favor this chance of hers. When she heard she was the one chosen, she'd been nothing but excited, delighted, holding her mother's hands and laughing at the news.

It wasn't until she stood before her newly betrothed that she felt a faint shiver of alarm up her spine.

She had not expected to be particularly noticed, that day at the monastery; he'd been seeing to his men, speaking to the priests, had spared no more than a glance to be sure she was not injured. Everyone knew Prince Jing was a man of action, so she hadn't been surprised. But even here, in the outer rooms of the Eastern Palace, somewhere that should be a place of repose and even triumph for him... he was so stern. His eyes saw her when he looked at her, yes, but he only looked for a moment before turning away again—courteous, but so distant. Intimidated, she spoke only formal words of pleasure, and he spoke brief, equally formal words of welcome, and then he was gone, striding out the doors like someone shrugging off a cloak, and An bit her lip.

Consort Jing's arm settled warm around her shoulders, and when An looked up, the Lady wore a small, rueful smile, so she dared to ask, "Mother, is my husband-to-be displeased?"

"Not displeased, child. Simply... distracted."

Men of the military families were taught to track the movements of armies, but women who were meant for the courts were taught to track other things: the flicker of an eye, the passing word, the shift of weight that could say where thoughts marched. Liu An had learned her lessons well; she heard the delicate emphasis Lady Jing placed on her words, and her heart sank. She looked down at her clasped hands and murmured, "Is there another?"

This close, she could feel her mother-in-law's sigh. "He is Crown Prince, and likely to be Emperor; much of his attention will always be given to his people. As for his heart... even I did not realize how much of that was given to his young cousin until xiao-Shu was gone." She held An a little closer and murmured into her ear, "If you can be here for him and not reproach him, and accept how much of him is given to his kingdom, his people, the brother of his heart, then it will be well. I believe you can do this. It's why I chose you."

An took a breath, heartened by that; it was not another woman she would need to contend with for control of the household. Rather, from what Lady Jing said, it was only that her husband-to-be was a man of duty and... and, perhaps, of grief, if his heart's brother was gone. "I will, Mother," she answered stoutly.

It was not difficult, to start with. Her husband-to-be was stern, yes, and reserved, and focused on many things that were not her, but he was courteous when they met, and she started to know how to look for the little easing in the straight line of his mouth that meant he was pleased. An attended closely to her mother-in-law's quiet directions and demonstrations of what made her son's relentlessly straight shoulders relax a little. And the Lady was very kind to her. She started to find that Lady Jing's gentle smiles, when she succeeded in some small thing, like the first time she made hazelnut pastries that the Crown Prince liked, made her almost as happy as they made the Lady's son. The first time she and her husband-to-be smiled at each other, awkward but sweet for all that, was when Lady Jing kindly complimented her tea brewing in the Prince's hearing, and An looked away, delighted and a little flustered, only to catch his eye.

Though she had no idea why the Lady's remark that they both disliked strong tea so, perhaps An would let him have as much water as he really liked should make his gaze turn distant again.

As the days passed, she found herself increasingly in awe of Lady Jing, her knowledge of the court, the graceful calm with which she spoke to this maid, that eunuch, another consort, and thereby opened the way before her son and his advisors, broad and smooth with the good will or self-interest of everyone around them. She attended to these subtle lessons, also, though she doubted she would ever be the master Lady Jing was. And the day Lady Jing laid a quiet hand on her shoulder and murmured in her ear exactly who her long-time nurse was beholden to, An clasped her hands tight together and smiled.

"I will take the utmost care in choosing my attendants," she murmured. "And I'm sure my house's guards can secure everything that needs to be brought here to the Palace." The tiny, satisfied smile the Lady gave her at her faint emphasis on 'everything' made her heart nearly burst with pride.

Making her first moves in the game of court, rather than waiting for another to move her, making a successful move, she understood a little better how some people let themselves be drawn so very deeply into that game. She understood it, but she could not entirely approve of where that so often led (only look at where it had led the Empress and Lady Yue!), and she thought her husband felt the same. And, once the wedding was past and she began to take hold of the Eastern Palace as her household, she began to wonder at how often she saw the scholar Mei Changsu visiting her lord. She knew the whispers of him, of course; who didn't, after the past few years? The genius strategist, the Qilin scholar, the one behind the rise of the old Crown Prince, of Prince Yu, and then of her husband.

Thinking on what had become of the first two men, she couldn't help but feel some trepidation. Was her husband only the most recent in some longer game? Would he go down the same way, dropped from this man's hand when his use was done? Eventually, unable to tell for herself what Mei Changsu meant to do, this man who walked so softly and casually through her house, who smiled at her, faint and distracted, and nodded courteously, but whose glance was so sharp it felt like it should slice her skin each time it fell, even glancingly, on her, she went to Lady Jing.

"Mei Changsu?" The Lady blinked at her, hand actually paused on her cup, seeming genuinely startled.

"I'm probably being foolish," An murmured, looking down at the delicate, celadon pot as she set it down, carefully aligned in its corner of the tray. "You must surely have thought of all this already. I just... my lord..." Gentle fingers touched her cheek, and she looked up to find her mother-in-law smiling, affectionate and yet sad. So very sad, and An caught her breath on the sudden understanding of how deep that melancholy that often hung around Lady Jing like an old, faint scent must truly run. "Mother...?" she whispered.

"Be at ease, child," Lady Jing said, softly. "There is nothing in that man that is capable of betraying Jingyan."

An nodded slowly, still uncertain. She knew Lady Jing had greater understanding of the situation than she did, but this was so counter to everything she had ever heard of Mei Changsu. Her mother-in-law's smile lightened a little with amusement, and she patted An's hand. "Here." She called one of her ladies to bring her a stacked, lacquer box, and set it on the table before An. "Bring them some sweets, today, and watch a little. I think you will see."

An straightened; this was a lesson, then. "Yes, Mother," she murmured, gathering her robes to take her leave, taking the box of sweets with her.

Sure enough, Mei Changsu was announced that afternoon, and she waited until her husband called for tea, minding her breathing to hold down her nerves. Both men looked up with some surprise when she accompanied the tea in, but as soon as Mei Changsu's eye fell on the box in her hands he smiled, faint but knowing. An tried not to feel like a transparent screen as she bowed and answered her husband's raised brows with, "Your lady Mother sends these, my lord."

As she knelt to unpack the delicate sweets and lay them out, Mei Changsu's smile deepened at the corners, and he slid her husband a sidelong look. "Still no hazelnut. Are you going to perish from the lack, yet?"

A sudden smile, albeit half stifled, broke over her husband's face, startlingly bright, and only years of training kept An's hands moving smoothly as he elbowed Mei Changsu without looking at him, and Mei Changsu elbowed him back, both of them positively grinning. She stood in a bit of a daze at this sudden, so very clear friendship between them, holding on to her countenance with her fingernails, and bowed herself out. Her husband's nod was kind but thoroughly distracted, all his focus on the man beside him.

"I'm sure Mother simply doesn't want to deal with xiao-Shu complaining over having to spend a week in bed after encountering them," he said as she turned to go, clearly teasing. That, in itself, was a sufficient shock, coming from her stern, reserved husband, that she didn't register what he'd called Mei Changsu until she was nearly at the door.

Xiao-Shu?

A relation, her social training supplied in calm reflex, regardless of the disorientation of her thoughts. One he was close to, perhaps had grown up with. Genealogies unfolded before her mind's eye, the families connected by marriage to the royal line: Yan, Xie, Lin, though no one spoke aloud of that now, of the disgraced family that had seemed so secure and so gifted with talent...

Lin Shu.

She had to catch herself against the edge of the room's open screens at the shock of that name surfacing. It shouldn't be possible, the whole family had died, but that was the only Shu she could think of that Xiao Jingyan would speak to so familiarly. And hadn't Lin Shu been hailed as a genius? She glanced over her shoulder at them, and got another shock; Mei Changsu (Lin Shu?) was looking back at her.

He held her eyes for one long moment, and then gave her a tiny smile and a deliberate nod, and yet another shock ran through her.

He had let her see this.

It had been he who started the teasing exchange in her presence, showed her how close he must be to her husband, possibly (probably!) even known that would prompt him to use that old, familiar name. And had, apparently, judged her accurately enough to know she would be able to unravel the name. And had confirmed all of this in no more than a nod. She clutched the screen's frame, feeling a little faint, the way she had the first time she'd truly understood the reach of Lady Jing's influence and control, in the Palace.

It was the memory of her mother-in-law that steadied her, though, because she heard again the Lady's quiet words, in her mind. There is nothing in him that is capable of betraying Jingyan. She clung to the memory of those words, even as the scope of what her husband might be planning started to expand alarmingly, in her mind, and drew herself up, resettled calm around her like a fine robe. When she dipped another bow to the man watching her, straight-backed, she thought she saw a glint of approval in his eyes before he turned back to her husband.

So there were two masters of this deadly game who stood behind her husband, she thought as she walked away. So be it, then.

It wasn't until she'd gone to bed, that night, settling herself under the summer-light coverlet, that she remembered where she'd heard the name "xiao-Shu" before—it had been when Lady Jing was telling her of her husband's beloved cousin, who had been lost, and her mouth tilted ruefully in the darkness. No wonder he brightened so, when Mei Changsu teased him. Well, at least this answered her unvoiced question—whether the Crown Prince truly intended to force the issue of the Chiyan case. He almost certainly did, if the one Lady Jing had called the brother of his heart had returned from death itself to stand beside him and demand justice. She turned over, pulling the cover closer around her shoulders. It would be dangerous; she remembered whispers of what had happened to those who tried to defend Lin or Prince Qi, and death had been the kindest outcome. She couldn't deny the fear that wrapped around her throat, when she thought of that. And yet...

Wasn't justice right? Wasn't the bright, unyielding conviction of that one of the things she admired in her husband? And hadn't she thought, just this afternoon, that two masters had both bent their thoughts and skill to this end, supporting him? Very well, then; so would she, as was only right and proper.

Her husband's unbending integrity was a measure she thought she could willingly raise her children to, and, thinking that, she smiled into the darkness and returned Lin Shu's quiet nod, firmly.

Liu An stood in the entrance of her husband's rooms, watching over him quietly.

She didn't know what else she could do.

They had triumphed so greatly, politically and personally, and she had rejoiced with them—her husband, her mother-in-law, her cousin by marriage. Even now, the rest of the country celebrated their military victories, the successful defense of their borders. In these rooms, though, and in the rooms of the Lady Jing, there was grief, grief so heavy in the air she could nearly taste it.

Lin Shu was dead.

Her husband sat quietly, staring straight ahead with a still face, and a casual passer-by might only think him deep in his own thoughts. But he hadn't moved for hours, and his eyes... she tried not to look too closely, because when she did she had to step back into the shadows of the pillared hall and wrestle back her own tears.

"My lady?" It was Zhao Fang beside her, one of the attendants she'd brought from home, hand hovering under her elbow. She must look in need of it, An supposed.

"I'm well," she murmured, and a tiny smile tugged at her mouth, at the frankly dubious look on Zhao Fang's face as she bowed acknowledgment.

"My lady..." Zhao Fang hesitated but finally rushed out, very softly, "My lady, have you told him? It might... it might comfort him."

An laid her palm against her stomach, biting her lip. They'd only been sure this month, and already the flurry was starting among her attendants, to ensure the harmony of her surroundings and the well-being of her developing child. But the news from the border had come before she could tell her husband. Would this news help, here and now?

She found herself thinking of the man she'd only met a few times, of how his spirit had burned in him, a cloak of fire laid over shoulders that had always been bent under the weight of illness. Even without Lady Jing's great learning in medicine, An had seen that weight, and honestly been a little frightened by the force of will that drove forward despite it. And yet, even in the midst of all that burning will, he had still teased his cousin, reassured her, been mindful of the hearts around him.

Liu An did not yet have the knowledge or skill of Lady Jing, to match the scope of Lin Shu's strategies, nor did she have the strength of arms to win victories in war, like Duchess Nihuang. But Lin Shu's mindfulness, that she could carry on, here and now, with nothing but what already lay in her hands. "Leave us for a while," she told Zhao Feng, and drew a long, slow breath for calm before she turned and walked into her husband's rooms, steps sure and steady.

It wasn't a memorial. The time for that would be later, after clean-up had been done and they'd returned to the capital. Tonight was a different kind of tradition—soldiers still in the field, gathering to mourn the fallen at least enough to put the grief aside in the morning and go on.

"Was he always like that?" Jingrui asked, low, eyes on his cup. A ripple of something fond, if too subdued to be laughter, ran through the tent where the northern army's officers had gathered.

"The entire battlefield at his fingertips, even when he's in the middle of it?" Zhen Ping asked, with a faint smile. "Yes."

"Always sure, in an instant, what you should do?" General Meng added, and tossed back his own drink. "Yes."

"And really thinking about, well, the long term?" Yujin asked, looking around at the older men. "I felt like he wasn't just looking at the battlefield. He was thinking, the whole time, about all the next steps, and getting everyone home, and..." He broke off, blinking hard, and took a long drink, himself.

"Yes," Li Gang said, simply, reaching over to pour again. "Those of us left, we didn't just follow him because we survived together. It's that he never stopped being our Marshal. And our Marshal was always like that."

Jingrui closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he let it out he felt a twist of pain he'd never been able to let go before ease a little. "I'm glad of the chance to know him, this way." Maybe it was just the change in his own perspective or expectations, but with Lin Shu as his commander, he'd never felt that he'd been set second to anyone or anything, even when it was his unit used as bait or ordered to hold, even when they lost men doing it. Rather, he was an indispensable part of the whole that Lin Shu commanded and cared for. He was grateful for that knowledge, to hold in his heart, the last gift from the brilliant cousin who had pulled he and Yujin into manhood this past year, like it or not.

And it was Yujin who held up his cup and said, softly, "To Lin Shu, Marshal of the Chiyan Army and commander of the Northern border."

Everyone in the tent drained their cups, and Jingrui thought that maybe his cousin's spirit smiled at them, wry and affectionate.

Nihuang had expected the letter.

Of course she had. The words on which she had parted with Lin Shu were not words spoken by a man who thought he would return.

Even so, it took a few breaths before she could force herself to reach out and take the letter held out to her by the girl at her feet, hand shaking. Both their hands were shaking.

She opened the letter only long enough for the characters "is dead" to make sense to her, and then her hand clenched on the thin paper, crushing it, and she closed her eyes against the burn of tears, trying to breathe past the pain sawing at her heart.

She had expected this, hadn't she? Why did it hurt so much?

It wasn't until the girl whispered, "I should go," that she managed to regain a small grip on her composure, swallowing hard and wiping half-angry palms across her wet cheeks.

"Rest the night here, at least," she offered, husky. "You've come a long way." And then she looked down, really looked, and saw the wet tracks on the girl's own cheeks, the trembling of her mouth, even when the girl's teeth closed on her lower lip, obviously trying to conceal it. Softer, remembering Lin Shu's rather plaintive complaints of how determinedly a young woman followed him, even to battle, Nihuang asked, "Are you Gong Yu?"

The hint of trepidation in her eyes, when the girl glanced up answered the question, even before she nodded slowly. Nihuang took a deep breath and smiled down at her. "Stay a while, mei-mei," she said gently, laying a hand on Yu's shoulder. "We can talk."

The helpless widening of those eyes was reward enough for pulling herself together, as was the quick hand Yu dashed across her face before looking up again and answering, hesitant and hopeful and maybe even a little awed, "Yes, jie-jie."

Nihuang knelt down and gathered Yu close, laughing a little with soft, painful recognition when Yu buried her face in Nihuang's shoulder, armored as it still was, and sobbed. Yes—this she recognized very well. She stroked the loose hair falling down the girl's back and let her own tears fall into the dark braids wrapped around Yu's head.

The sun was almost down before they got around to speaking in words, but that was all right. They both knew all the words already.

At the top end of a northern mountain trail, a man in flamboyant layers of white shook his sleeves back, eyes sharp and determined. "All right. Let's see what we can do."

Fei Liu nodded, holding tight to Su ge-ge's hand to keep him from trying to leave again.

Su ge-ge wasn't going anywhere without him.

Two

For a long time, or what might have been a long time, he was afraid he'd failed, each time he woke. He woke weak, groggy, never able to rouse to full awareness, and he knew that sensation from a decade worth of illness, fought stubbornly against it, as he always had, to push his thoughts past the fog to grip on the world again.

This time, though, he could never force himself past the cloudy uncertainness of almost-dreams. And what did that mean, if not failure, to fall ill again before his last task was done?

As it happened again and again, though, he started to wonder, in the fuzzy way that was all that was available to him, if perhaps it was all a dream—he'd never been so ill for so long. He'd have thought, if he really was this ill, he'd be dead. Or perhaps he was dead, and this not-quite-existing was what came next, for him. He'd been resigned to hell for years, really, and this was surely his personal hell. The one time he actually recognized one of the vague voices around him, it was Lin Chen saying, furiously "If you die, after all my hard work, I'll revive you just so I can kick you down this mountain."

An eternity of Lin Chen's idea of beside manner. Most likely hell, then.

Eventually, though, he started to see things, lost in that fog of half-thoughts. He saw them very clearly, though he was almost sure his eyes were closed. Perhaps this was the vision of spirits?

Green grass, and a sky bluer than he'd thought was possible, and a white sun shining down—not scorching, but gentle.

A carriage with soft, gauzy orange curtains. He could hear every crunch of the wheels over a dirt road, but couldn't feel the jolts, so he must not be inside it. Somehow this made sense to him.

A red streamer, blowing in the wind. Or a scarf? It moved like silk.

The tiny curve of Jingyan's mouth that said he was amused, and he felt that curve pull on his chest like drawing a bow, felt the weight of that faint smile so viscerally he tried to speak to it, but he couldn't move his mouth and no, no, he can't be back to this again, he didn't have the strength to start over a second time, no.

Air choked him and someone's voice exclaimed "Idiot!" and he sank down into darkness again with relief.

Feeling returned first. He was lying down on something cushioned. Something heavy was draped over him from chin to toes. Slowly, it came to him that there was soft light on the other side of his eyelids. That he knew what the sounds around him were—not one vast cloud of noise any more, but the rush of running water, the brisk song of mountain birds, the rustle of cloth nearby.

There was a reason all of this should not make sense, but he couldn't quite grasp it in his head. He tried to open his eyes, hoping sight would spark thought.

His lids were heavy, and slow to rise, but after a few tries he finally kept them open for more than a fuzzy flash of lightness. Half-drawn shades of bamboo hung from above. White screen paper was bright against the smooth, dark wood all around. Slanting sunlight made a glowing bar on the pale quilt laid over him. The fabric was soft under his hands when he finally managed to stir.

Lin Chen was sitting beside him, and lifted his head at the faint motion, brows rising when he saw his patient was awake.

That was the sight that sparked, not just thought, but memory, knowledge, panic, and Lin Shu tried to jolt upright, made a hoarse sound of frustration when he could barely move. Lin Chen rolled his eyes and pushed him firmly back against the bed.

"Of course your very first move would be to try to leap to your feet and gallop off. It's fortunate I know exactly what kind of fool you can be, or I might have let you wake up before this and then we'd probably be stuck chasing you through the woods until you fell into a river and drowned of stupidity. You really do have a death wish, don't you? You want to absolutely ruin my reputation as a healer, don't you? Don't bother denying it!"

He ignored this, as one was always well advised to ignore Lin Chen once he got going, and finally managed to rasp out of a desperately dry throat, "The border?"

Lin Chen gave him an exasperated look. "The border is secure, of course. You saw to that, before you got yourself stabbed in the side and tried to bleed out on the last battlefield."

The relief of that was dizzying, and for long minutes, he just lay back and tried to breathe through it. Lin Chen snorted and picked up his discarded scroll again. Eventually, though, enough sense returned that he realized why this all seemed so very strange, and cleared his throat as much as possible to ask, roughly, "Why am I alive?"

At that, Lin Chen threw down the scroll and positively glowered at him. "Did you become stupid, just because you were surrounded by stupidity, in the capital? What did you think I signed up with the army for?" When Lin Shu only blinked at him, not quite able to gather his thoughts enough to explain that this was insufficient information, Lin Chen sighed and leaned over to pick up a cup and feed him water, a sip at a time. More quietly, he said, "I'm not you, so I didn't think to switch the pills until after you'd already badgered the bottle out of me. And then I had to follow after you anyway, to adjust the doses and make sure you didn't just collapse because I was using less deadly measures to increase your strength." His mouth twisted, and he added, rather sourly, "And if those hadn't been sufficient, I have no doubt you'd have gotten the more deadly measures out of me; I only hoped a little, and certainly not enough to say anything to you about it." A haughty look. "Which you can hardly complain about, now can you, Su Zhe?"

A faint huff of laughter shook him. No, he probably couldn't. Still. "How?"

Lin Chen smiled at him, sunny and glinting in a way that made him reflexively check the distance to the room's exits. "You have assisted the study of medicine, Changsu, be proud. Since you were already going to need transfusions anyway, I took a chance."

Horror crept through him, freezing his lungs, his heart, his blood...

Lin Chen thumped him irritably with a knuckle to the hollow of his shoulder, sending a jolt down his arm and air flooding all the way down in his lungs, and snapped, "Don't be ridiculous!" The air cleared his head enough, at least, to nod an apology for thinking his friend would use what they'd both agreed was a rightly forbidden procedure, even in extremity. Lin Chen resettled his sleeves, like a bird settling ruffled feathers. "You have your genius, I have mine." At Lin Shu's raised brows, though, he sat back a little and expanded. "I know you read the records on how Bingxu grass can be used; did you understand why?" Lin Shu shook his head and looked inquiring, which worked on Lin Chen about half the time. Fortunately, this seemed to be a day for it to work. "It increases your yin energy."

Lin Shu blinked at this, because... well, he knew medicine wasn't always intuitive to the lay-person, but still... Lin Chen smirked at him, good humor apparently restored.

"To put it simply, Bingxu grass dramatically increases your absorption. It poisons the system because we are not made or meant to indiscriminately absorb the influences around us. A body that suffers serious enough depletion will benefit from this, briefly, but without any way to filter or balance what is absorbed, any body will collapse into irrecoverable disorder in a few months. I gave you many strengtheners during the campaign, at very dangerous doses, but I didn't give you Bingxu until I had you back here in Langya, where I could control your surroundings."

All right, that made sense enough. "And transfusions?"

"Mm." Lin Chen looked out the propped open windows over the new spring green spreading over the gray mountain slope outside, eyes distant. "Your followers are mostly fools, but even a fool can be correct sometimes. Zhen Ping asked me, during the campaign: if it would take the lives of ten to let you recover, would a tenth of the lives of a hundred not also serve? I had to delegate more of the selection process than I really like, but Yan did an adequate enough job." He looked back down at Lin Shu, gaze dark and steady in a way that held him still under the flow of words. "We found a hundred. And then I suppressed your mind and stimulated your instincts as intensely as possible for seven months, while they came, one after another, to offer a year or two of their health to you. Your instincts, at least, want to live, so there's a small part of you that isn't an idiot, I suppose. Enough to accept their gift, at least."

He still didn't like the sound of that at all. "Chen—"

Lin Chen snatched a fan out of his sleeve and smacked him over the head with it. "Their health, not their lives! They will all recover with a little care, which is something you made possible for most of them in the first place! Shut up and be grateful!"

"I am grateful," he protested mildly, rubbing his head with a trembling hand. He held it up to regard the tremors thoughtfully, but had to let it fall after a breath or two, unable to keep his arm lifted longer. His hands were thinner than ever.

"You'll probably have to re-learn how to walk, after this long bedridden," Lin Chen supplied. "Perhaps I'll make a harness for you and give the leads to Fei Liu, to keep you from falling every other step."

His mouth quirked, and he murmured, "You'll have to leave off teasing him, then, or he'll take me flying when he runs from you."

He hadn't realized quite how stiff Lin Chen's shoulders were, until they relaxed, and then he wondered just how close to death he'd been, all this time. Lin Chen, of course, ignored his sharp look and only prodded him playfully with the end of his fan. "It might be good for you. Get your blood flowing properly. For now, though, let's see how much you can eat without getting sick." He pushed himself to his feet, shaking his robes straight, and swept out of the room, head high.

It seemed likely he'd been very, very close to death, given that kind of flamboyance. Lin Shu laid quietly, watching the shadows of the ceiling move, and wondered rather tiredly whether he was to find himself carrying the weight of other lives yet again, albeit smaller bits of them.

He didn't know if he could do that, again.

The answer to how much food he could keep down was "almost none." It prepared him a little bit for the answers to several other questions, such as how far he could walk (he passed out the first time he tried to so much as stand up) and could he even bathe himself (no). After having even a few months of something approaching his normal strength, again, it was galling. He quickly learned that Fei Liu haunted his rooms, and that waking up when the boy was gone had been very much an exception to the normal state of affairs, which now included Fei Liu being the one to put up his hair, on days Lin Shu was awake enough.

He was reasonably certain, as he ruefully patted at the knots that resulted, that this was a bit of Lin Chen's revenge for worrying him.

Slowly, as days passed into weeks, he re-learned how to stand, how to hobble, at least, and sent Fei Liu out onto the mountain's darkening green slopes to cut staffs for him to support himself on. Slowly, as the pines put out soft, new needles and the air warmed, things other than rice started to appear in his rice porridge. Slowly, as the white and pink lotuses bloomed on the verges of Langya's river, his hands stopped shaking when he tried to hold up even the lightest book.

So very slowly. And for what was all this effort, now?

"You've done this before," Lin Chen scolded him, when he was slow to get up and go for his excruciating hobbles around the broad stone flags of the plaza outside his rooms. "Last time, I had to keep you from breaking your neck by pushing too hard. Never thought I'd miss that," he finished in a mutter.

Lin Shu rolled over on his back and stared up at the grimly familiar ceiling. "A year of recovery, again, for how much life left? You said it yourself: the body can only take so much." Lower, he added, "The soul likewise, I think."

Lin Chen crossed his arms, leaning against the room's open screens. "True enough. You don't have any reserves at all. Your tissues have lost almost all elasticity. You'll fall ill easily. But," he held up an admonishing finger, "the Poison of Bitter Fire is purged. You may live like a man over twice your age, but you can still live."

"How long?" Lin Shu asked calmly, having long since learned to listen for what his friend didn't say.

"Perhaps ten years."

A crack of laughter escaped him, then, though it wasn't amused. He hadn't lied to Nihuang after all. It was no comfort. "Ten years of what kind of life? Should I go back to my loved ones and lay that kind of fate on them, to fret over me for years and then grieve me a third time?"

"I take it all back," Lin Chen snapped. "You have no understanding of women at all. I think we shall have to reduce your rank on the gentleman's list."

The reminder of the other half of his place in the world outside jolted him up on one elbow. "Chen...!"

Lin Chen rolled his eyes. "Oh calm down. Your name hasn't appeared for two years, and right now you wouldn't even make the top fifty, let alone the top ten. I'd rank you just below a drowned rat, at the moment."

"What a relief," he shot back dryly, propping himself fully upright and trying to catch his breath. Lin Chen eyed him for a long moment and then smiled, smugly.

"There, you see? You didn't even cough once."

He snatched up and threw the only thing in reach, which was his staff. Lin Chen slid aside, laughing, and caught it, spinning it deftly up and over to rap him, very delicately, over the head. Lin Shu swept a hand up to deflect, reawakened body memory taking over, however futile it had been for years now, and had to stop still when it actually worked. He could feel the pressure Lin Chen was putting on the staff, but his arm didn't give way under it. That was what the angle of a deflection was for, of course, but still...

"You see?" his friend repeated, quietly.

He slowly closed a hand around the still-extended staff, taking it back. His grip trembled, and the staff wobbled. But he could still feel the force of actual strength, however small, that had been behind that single, unthinking move. "I could never really go back, though, could I?" he asked, low. "A man over twice my age would be retired long since."

"Do you think you're the only one?" Lin Chen shot back. "Your Crown Prince will never take the field again either, will he? Do you think him less for it?"

Lin Shu opened his mouth and then had to close it again to order his suddenly scattered thoughts. "Of course not," he murmured, distracted by the new constellation those thoughts had fallen into in the wake of Lin Chen's jarring question. "The work he has now is even more demanding, and..." He trailed off, remembering an empty throne room, and the empty remains of his uncle jabbing a finger at the throne.

Anyone who sits on this throne will change.

And perhaps... perhaps that was true, though he'd bet on Jingyan's stubborn integrity against the weight of any throne. But change... yes. Jingyan would have to change, had already had to change, was already trapped in the Capital as much as Lin Shu was trapped in his body most days. But he knew Jingyan would already be reaching for new footing, a new place to stand strong. He knew Lin Chen's point was that he should not be less, should not let himself fall to despair either, but there was another thought linking itself ever so softly to the end of that chain.

Was it possible that he and Jingyan, shifting to each find his new footing, could stand in the same place, once again?

The thought spread through him like a fire catching from a spark, one slow lick at a time until it finally flared up in a burst of wanting that stole his breath. If he hadn't already been sitting, he'd have fallen, dizzied by the very possibility. He would never, could never, ask Nihuang to abandon the field, would never permit another to suggest she open her fingers and release the martial brilliance she was born to, not for any man. But Jingyan... Jingyan was fighting a new kind of battle, now, and it was one Mei Changsu knew the ways of. To serve his dead he'd walked even the most shadowed turnings of that way, but to serve Jingyan, now, what was needed was to find the brighter tracks, the ones that would not consume his heart. And perhaps, just perhaps... Lin Shu could walk those ways with him.

He only realized he was gasping for breath when Lin Chen took his shoulder and shook him a little, frowning. "What idea have you gotten into your head now?"

Lin Shu laughed out loud, for the first time since he'd woken, and smiled up at his friend's startlement. "Help me up. I need to walk."

Startlement faded into a rueful twist of Lin Chen's mouth, and he sighed. "I suppose I should know, by now, to be wary what I wish for, around you. Come on, then." He hauled Lin Shu upright and handed him his staff, standing on the veranda with folded arms and a wry smile as Lin Shu made his way, with slow determination, around the plaza, staff clacking down firmly on the stones.

Recovery with no goal to work toward had been soul-killing, but recovery that still dragged on once he had a reason to fight through it was infuriating. He'd actually managed to forget just how frustrating it was when he knew he could be better and simply wasn't yet. It had been quite a long time since he'd had any hint of "better" to look forward to, after all. Fei Liu brightened, though, and started perching in the trees again, to watch over him, instead of huddling stubbornly in a corner of his rooms, never budging outside unless it was to help him walk somewhere, and then refusing to move further than arm's length away. Li Gang, when he visited, looked less like a man attending a very extended memorial service, and more like a man visiting a sick friend, though he still had a certain air of resignation about him.

Lin Chen had it, too, and finally said, one day while helping him get dressed like a civilized person and not an invalid, "You're still going to leave your life with us, aren't you? I can barely call you Changsu, these days."

He tugged his sleeves straight, slowly, eyes on the soft layers of blue. "My life with you was only ever borrowed."

"Oh, don't be more of an idiot than you can help!" Lin Chen yanked his outer sash snug enough to drive a tiny grunt out of him. "You lived by the laws of our world without fault or hesitation for twelve years. You led Jiang Zuo with strength and care, and protected those who had obligation to you. Of course you had your own reasons for it, but what moment of that time was false?"

"No moment, perhaps," he allowed, quietly, "but the reasons and intent that drove me do not weigh nothing in this. As you say, I am not, now, Mei Changsu."

Lin Chen sniffed, stepping over his scattered books and scrolls to take a seat at the low table, graceful as he only ever was when he fought—or when he had a point to make. "Lin Shu isn't completely intolerable, I suppose. Except when he's moping." He stabbed a finger at Lin Shu's tiny snort of amusement. "But he does not make Mei Changsu a falsehood, any more than Changsu makes Lin Shu false."

The words rang in the air, in his head, the way true things did. He stepped slowly over to the table, lowering himself down on the other side to watch his friend, who watched him back, sharp-eyed. "So, as you say, I have had two lives," he finally answered, softly. "I will count myself fortunate for them. For you. For my people. But it's true, isn't it, that I can only live one at a time?"

For a long moment, he thought Lin Chen would not answer, or would turn aside with a jest. Instead, Chen sighed, propping an elbow on the table, loose hair sliding over his shoulder as he turned to look out at the brightening sky. "You weren't wrong, you know; Lin Shu is a friend. I will visit him now and then, perhaps, to make sure he isn't undoing my hard work, and I expect to see him visit here and mock with me all the foolish questions Langya receives. But no—you cannot live as both at once. No man can live in two worlds at the same time."

It felt like release, like absolution, and Lin Shu took a long breath in. "Thank you." His smile tilted wryly, but it was still true. "My friend.

"I would be a poor physician if I couldn't see what my patient required to be strong again," Lin Chen grumbled, not looking at him. "So? Who have you been grooming to take Jiang Zuo after you?"

It was, Lin Shu had to admit, refreshing to talk with someone who took his foresight and forethought entirely for granted, sometimes. He leaned against his backrest and offered the future a tiny, satisfied smile. "Nie Duo."

Lin Chen's head snapped around, and he stared for a breath. "Nie Duo? The brother of that hairy General of yours who married the investigator girl?" Lin Chen was the master of Langya, and almost as good at keeping track of affairs as Lin Shu; he could see the connections linking together, one after another, in those sharp eyes. Nie Duo was a man from a well-established military clan, one who'd grown up learning tactics, troop movements, how to plan a battle at the knees of his elders, who had connections to the military via his brother, to the intrigues of the capital via his sister-in-law. Nie Duo was the one who'd been sent beyond Liang's borders bearing messages to the further flung members of Jiang Zuo, who was known and trusted by entire networks, who had laid the groundwork for the gambit in Yunnan, years ago, and would be recognized—though not for who he was—by Mu Qing. In short, Nie Duo was a man to make anyone hoping to take advantage of Mei Changsu's disappearance regret the thought, swiftly and sincerely. Nie Duo was also the brother of a Chiyan General, and would never forget his debt to either his chief or a revived Lin Shu. And when that last piece fell into place, Lin Chen threw back his head and laughed, open and delighted as he'd ever been with Mei Changsu.

In a softly-lit room of Liang's Inner Palace, the woman who had become the Palace's de facto mistress sorted through her day's correspondence as little Lan put up her hair. Letters from the agents she'd finally been able to spread outside the Palace went to the side, to go over with An later, once Jingyan's son was taken off for a nap. Inventories, she glanced over and passed to Li Mei, who would see they came to Lady Hui. The few notes from officials she set firmly in the "not until after I have had tea" pile. That left...

"Shall we use the blue enameled hairpiece today, my lady?" Lan asked, and Jing smiled a little at the sparkle in the girl's eyes. She'd chosen Lan as one of her dressers exactly because she delighted in achieving the proper harmony of fabric and jewelry with the day's work, rather than simply piling ostentation atop display. It was one less thing to worry about.

"Yes, that will do." She frowned down at the last letter, though, as Lan carefully settled and pinned the gold and blue hairpiece in place, turning it over in her fingers. It had the seal of Langya Hall.

She had considered, on more than one occasion, sending inquiries to Langya, especially regarding the balance of power beyond the borders, but every time the value of keeping her own counsel and questions close had weighed more heavily. And now they wrote to her? Perhaps... perhaps there was some last request xiao-Shu had left with them? She broke the seal and unfolded the delicate paper, running her eye down it as Lan brought over a pair of long but simple gold earrings on a tray.

"Will these suit, my—my lady!"

The tray clattered to the floor and Jing clutched at her table, trying to steady her breath, her heart, unable to tear her eyes from the few, simple characters on the paper in her hand, even as her attendants caught her arms to hold her upright.

Your nephew lives.

"Call for a physician, quickly," Li Mei was snapping, kneeling beside her to feel her hands, her brow. "My lady?"

"I will be well," she tried to reassure them, though she was ruefully aware of how unsteady her voice was, and that she would undoubtedly have ordered herself to bed, dosed with heart-strengtheners, were she her own attending physician. Actually, that was a fine thought. "Bring me my red medicine chest."

Li Mei frowned, but did as she said, and brought a cup of water to help her swallow the two pills she extracted from the upper layer of boxes. She counted breaths out, slowly, and finally felt the easing of her own pulse. "I'm well," she reassured the girls clustered around her. "There's no need to trouble the physicians."

Li Mei's mouth tightened for a moment, at that, but she dutifully shooed everyone back to their places.

"Are you sure, my lady?" little Lan asked, picking the earrings she'd brought and laying them back on the tray with fingers that trembled just a little. Jing patted her arm, kindly.

"Quite sure. And those earrings will do nicely." She sat, calm and poised, while the last of her jewelry was placed, and drank her first cup of tea with hands that were perfectly steady.

She had, after all, many more years of practice than Lan did.

"You look like a housecat in a patch of catnip."

Lin Shu took another loving breath of the steam rising from his cup and ignored Lin Chen.

"Are you actually going to drink that or not?"

"Good tea deserves to be savored." Finally, he took a slow sip and nearly sighed with pleasure at the rich, delicate flavor.

On the other side of the room's low table, Lin Chen held the letter he was reading a little away from him, brows raised. "You know," he said, slowly, "your noble aunt has quite the vulgar turn of phrase on her, for a woman of the Inner Palace."

Lin Shu nearly passed the first mouthful of real tea he'd been allowed in months through his nose. Fei Liu, looked up from the paper menagerie he'd been creating with a worried frown, and only settled back slowly at Lin Shu's waved assurance. "You wrote to Lady Jing?" he gasped, once he'd finished coughing, sleeve pressed to his mouth. "Chen...!"

"What? You are planning to go back, aren't you?" Lin Chen gave him his most infuriatingly cheerful smile.

"Yes, but—!"

"She is your Prince's other strategist, isn't she?"

Lin Shu took a long breath, reminding himself not to argue on Lin Chen's own terms, and set his cup down with precise fingers, which he was finally, thankfully, able to do. "I was hoping to manage the news of my revival in a slightly more graceful manner than driving a Noble Consort to swear at you in letters."

His friend smirked at the letter. "Not a problem, really. I'm actually a little impressed."

After a long moment, Lin Shu decided firmly not to ask. "Does my honored aunt have anything to say, aside from pointing out your lack of manners?"

Lin Chen fanned the letter through the air, looking more smug than ever as he leaned an elbow on the table. "She admonishes you to attend her in the capital with all due haste."

"Do I take it, from this maneuver, that you think I'm fit to make the trip?" Lin Shu asked rather dryly.

Lin Chen looked him up and down, piercingly, and finally nodded. "You're recovering more according to normal rules, this time. It will continue to be slow, and you will reach a limit, but that limit will be far less a matter of looking constantly over the edge of death and more a matter of... well, of simple age."

Lin Shu dared another sip of his tea, this one rather more satisfactory. "Twice my age, hm?"

"That's how much wear you've put on your body, yes. A man of sixty, who's lived his whole life in war. He may be perfectly well, but he will often ache, he will be slow to recover from any illness, and he won't be able to bear great stresses on his body." Lin Chen leaned forward, slapping the table for emphasis, "Because he's already borne as much as he can!"

"I heard you the first time," Lin Shu pointed out, mildly, mouth quirking at the snort of disbelief he got.

"At any rate, yes. As long as you go slowly, you've reached the point where it would be good for you to be out traveling. I might even let you on a horse." At Lin Shu's startled look—this was the first he'd heard of any such possibility—Lin Chen flapped an impatient hand. "You're recovering better than I expected, actually, and working on practice forms has smoothed your qi considerably. Provided you don't do anything too very stupid, I'm starting to think you might live as much as twenty more years."

Lin Shu had to set his cup down, feeling like his hand might start shaking again. Twenty years? That was... it was almost a life. His voice was a little hoarse when he asked, "How is that possible?"

For a long moment, Lin Chen didn't answer, gazing instead out the open windows at the first flashes of autumn gold, dancing as wind swept through the bamboo on the mountain's flanks. "The will of those who came to help and heal you is still with you," he said at last, quietly. "It's as if the tiniest seeds of a hundred benevolent ghosts gather around you." After another moment, he shrugged off the sober mood and slanted a smile at Lin Shu. "When I write this procedure up, I'll have to make very clear that the circumstances and intentions of the donors appear to weigh very heavily on the results."

"Of course." Lin Shu folded his hands together, more shaken by this news than he had been by the last two seasons of slow, painful recovery. He was used to slow and painful. Hope was what bewildered him, now. Even he could hear how tentative his voice was, when he said, "I suppose I should write to Meng da-ge to start arranging things, then."

"Excellent idea!" Lin Chen pushed himself up from the table in a flurry of robes and smiled down at him, sunny and ruthless. "You can think about what to say while you work through your afternoon training form."

With a glance of wistful regret at the teapot, Lin Shu levered himself upright as well. "As if your standards of proper form leave the slightest space for thinking about anything else."

"You'd have plenty of mind left for it if you weren't wasting so much on complaining. Ingratitude!" Lin Chen gestured broadly at Fei Liu, who promptly edged around Lin Shu's other side. "Just look how pleased Fei Liu is that his Su ge-ge finally knows how to do something useful!"

That got him a very dark look from Fei Liu, who declared, "Fine!"

Lin Shu smiled wryly. He'd insisted as much, himself, for twelve years, flying in the face of all evidence. And now, past any point he'd ever thought to even imagine himself alive in, he seemed to finally be fine again—and barely knew how to deal with it. But perhaps, if all went well, he'd find out soon.

He'd know, when he saw Jingyan again.

Jing descended from her closed carriage, passing from the assistance of Li Mei's hand to Jingrui's and smiled quiet acknowledgment of his greeting. "Her Highness is gracious to receive me," she murmured as Jingrui led her up the stairs of Grand Princess Liyang's elegant house. "I was worried when we didn't see her for the Moon Festival. Is she quite well?" Without waiting for a reply, as the doors shut behind them, she added, "Is she truly willing to have this meeting here?"

"I don't think she's happy about it, but she's appreciated your visits and care, this past year," the young man answered, level. "If it's true, I think she will be glad for you, at least."

Jing could well believe that. Princess Liyang had, in the end, loved her husband, but "complex" did not even begin to describe that love. She nodded silently and let Jingrui guide her through the courtyards to Liyang's outer receiving room, dark wood lightened today with the pale rose her attendants wore, and the soft green of the tea set waiting. Liyang herself, as she rose to exchange greetings, was still in her dark, mourning blue; Jing thought she would probably wear it the full three years, and not for her husband alone. At least one of the agents she'd been able to send out into the world had gone to quietly add Liyang's gifts to the ones Jingrui sent to the Zhou family.

"Do you think this is for real?" Liyang asked, as they sat, reaching for the tea set.

Jing folded her hands tightly under cover of her sleeves. "I hope so. From what the Master of Langya sent me, it seems... possible."

Liyang's mouth twisted a little as she poured. "I think the heavens must have a purpose for that man, that they return him so persistently to this world." She looked up, eyes sharp. "Have you told the Crown Prince?"

Jing held back an indelicate snort with the ease of long practice. "No. Not until I'm sure." There were few things that could break Jingyan as surely as lying hope of his beloved cousin, and that she would not permit.

"They're coming," Jingrui said, from the door, nudging it open and beckoning his younger brother in, along with Meng and a tall, hooded figure. Jing rose, eyes fixed on them, taking in Meng's open excitement, Jingrui's slowly brightening face. Thin hands rose to fold back the hood, and Jing had to breathe through a wild rush of emotion—joy and shock and disbelief and a thread of hope that slowly strengthened as the man who stood there smiled, small and wry the way he seemed to have learned to in his second life.

"Xiao-Shu." It came out husky, and his smiled softened a little as he bowed greeting to her.

"Aunt Jing." That made her have to blink back tears for an instant; he used to call her that when he was much younger, careless of the protocol of court.

"Come here and let me see," she ordered, as she had when he or Jingyan or Nihuang had managed to injure themselves training. He smiled for real at that, and came to hold out his wrist, obediently. She nearly held her own breath, setting her fingers over the pulse point, hope and fear of what she might feel tangling together, but long habit composed her to quiet attention.

And his pulse beat, sure and steady under her fingers, no hint of the stumble and catch that would tell of poison, of a body on the verge of collapse at any moment. It was weaker than it should be in a man only just past thirty, but it was steady. "It's true," she whispered, for the rest of them, for herself, for xiao-Shu, because she suspected he needed to hear it again, too. The laughing and shoulder-clapping among the men gave her a chance to re-gather herself, and she added, more calmly as she tugged his sleeve back down, "Perhaps I won't do anything too very dreadful to your friend after all."

He turned a little red at that, but only asked, "Does Jingyan know?" The rest of the room quieted, Meng looking hopeful, as if he might volunteer to carry the news. She gave him the same look she gave overexcited young maids, their first time serving in the Palace.

"He does not. And I believe this is news you should bring to him in your own voice." Her nephew looked, perhaps, a shade nervous at that, which she honestly felt was to the good. She never wanted to watch her son collapse at her feet again, and one of the only people in the world who could either cause or avert that was standing in front of her right now, hands vanishing into his sleeves as he clasped them.

He'd probably learned that from her.

"If you think it best," he agreed, quietly.

She gave him a nod of approval and gratitude, and hid a smile when he ducked his head a little; yes, for all he'd learned in twelve years focused on vengeance and death, he was still their xiao-Shu. "I'll arrange for the meeting. General Meng, if I could trouble you to bring xiao-Shu to the Eastern Palace at the appropriate time?"

"Of course, Lady," Meng agreed, clearly delighted by all this, and she had to wonder whether xiao-Shu had told him, yet, that actually staying here would likely have to wait on the Emperor's death.

"Very well. If the Grand Princess will permit," Jing looked a question at her, and Liyang nodded slowly, eyes flicking between xiao-Shu and her son, whose whole body was turned and focused on xiao-Shu, nearly as firmly as Meng's. "Let us sit and talk a little," Jing finished, gently.

If Liyang's son had been captured by Lin Shu's brilliance, the way the boy's subordinates so often had been, they would need to speak, later. Liyang would need reassurance that xiao-Shu returned loyalty given to him without stint—which the events of a year ago should bear abundant witness to, but mere bonds of friendship had been harshly strained to keep that dire loyalty and the heart often needed these things explained.

Even xiao-Shu's heart, which was another reason she wanted him to bear this news to Jingyan in person.

Jing took up her tea cup and smiled over the edge, satisfied.

Lin Shu felt distinctly like the lover, in some tale of romantic adventure, being smuggled into the Palace. Except that, instead of going to meet a Concubine, he was being led through the shadows and back stairs to meet the Crown Prince. His sardonic amusement, every time the senior palace lady they followed hissed at Meng to walk more softly, was undercut by a certain amount of nerves. Last time he'd come to the capital and sought out Jingyan, he'd had a very clear idea of what would need to happen. This time, all he had was the understanding that both of them were standing at the start of new lives, and the hope that they could lean on each other while finding their way.

Hopes could always fail.

He'd been the one to push Jingyan into this position, though, and if he had honor left after what he'd done to restore the names of his family and his men, it had to lie in supporting the Prince he'd placed here in the Eastern Palace.

Finally, they cleared the maze of gardens and back walks, and the lady waved them across the plaza in front of the Eastern Palace, blue robes vanishing into the shadows as she slipped away. Meng escorted him across the lantern-lit space, nodding approval at the alert guards, and Lin Shu had to stifle another chuckle at the whole affair. A young eunuch let them in, the slightly wide-eyed expression on his face suggesting that someone, likely Lady Jing but possibly Lady Liu, had had some firm instructions for him regarding what he was to do and questions he was not to ask. In any case, he led them down the halls and deposited them just outside one of the few brightly lit rooms, and took himself off without a word. To them, at least; Lin Shu had no illusions that this whole trip would not be fodder for gossip at once, at least within the Eastern Palace.

He nodded to Meng, who nodded back, nearly grinning, and stepped into the light. "Your Highness? I brought that visitor your Noble Mother mentioned." Following behind Meng, Lin Shu could see the tired look that crossed Jingyan's face, as he folded and set aside one of quite a stack of report folios on the low table before him before pushing himself to his feet, not even looking up yet.

"Very well. Come in."

"You'll like this interruption, Your Highness," Meng promised, holding out a hand to usher Lin Shu in. He stepped forward with the gesture, refraining from rolling his eyes at Meng's obvious glee.

"I suppose it will be a change at least," Jingyan started to say, but as he looked up, Lin Shu stepped fully into the light, and for a moment it seemed as if time had stopped. Jingyan stood as if frozen, only his widening eyes telling that he knew what he was seeing. Lin Shu took another step forward. "Your Highness..." started to fall from his lips, because he had drilled that habit into himself as deeply as he could. It hadn't been deep enough, of course; he knew perfectly well, looking back, when Jingyan had known in his heart, if not his head, who Mei Changsu was, and it had been the moment when he'd called Jingyan by his name. And so, knowing that, he closed his eyes and took another breath, and said, instead, "Jingyan."

He could see the simple name go through his friend like a sword, and when Jingyan stepped forward it was almost a stumble. "Xiao-Shu?" Another step, and another, faster, and then he had hold of Lin Shu's shoulders, holding them tight, as if he were truly afraid it was an apparition in front of him. The shock on his face, and the open, breathless hope cracking through Jingyan's iron reserve shook Lin Shu down to the heart of him, that his mere existence should be the cause of this.

"How?" Jingyan breathed, voice breaking for one instant on the word, and Lin Shu's hands came up in automatic response, to close on his arms.

"Lin Chen." He shrugged a little, as much as he could under the hard grip of Jingyan's hands. "He tricked even me, this time."

A voiceless shade of laughter escaped Jingyan. "He had to trick you into living?"

"Well..." Lin Shu's breath caught as Jingyan shook him a little.

"Be quiet." Jingyan closed his eyes for a long moment, head bent down, and finally managed, in something closer to a conversational tone. "Of course he did. But—" he looked Lin Shu up and down, hands working a little on his shoulders, and finally asked, hope fragile in his voice again, "you're well?"

"I'm well," and it turned from assurance to promise, in his mouth, pulled from him by the tiny shivers of reaction he could feel running through Jingyan, under his hands. "Lin Chen said at least ten years. Perhaps even as much as twenty." Jingyan's hands tightened until he could feel his bones creak, and the open relief that swept Jingyan's face clean wrenched another promise from him. "I will be with you, here."

The smile Jingyan gave him then stopped the breath in his throat, so bright for such a faint curve of lips that he could only tighten his hold on Jingyan's arms and let it be what it was.

Eventually, reluctantly, Jingyan released him, and Lin Shu was grateful because he didn't think he could have pulled himself away and Meng was still standing by the entry, positively grinning at them both. Jingyan straightened and gave the General a grave nod. "This was a very welcome interruption, General Meng. Thank you."

"It was my honor, Your Highness." Meng gave them a parting bow and strode briskly back down the hall, as if the thanks had been a dismissal.

Lin Shu was starting to suspect that Lady Jing had managed and directed this meeting in far more detail than he'd at first thought she would. And that led him to wonder why she should trouble that much, and to think about how Jingyan had looked at him when he'd stepped into the room, and then he had to stifle a wince. He hadn't the slightest doubt that his aunt was delighted and grateful for his return, but she was probably upset with him at the same time. He'd done his best to hold his loved ones away from him, when he'd thought he would have no choice but to leave them within months. Jingyan...

Jingyan turned back to him, and if Lin Shu had been the sort to ignore the world around him, he might have thought he'd imagined the tiredness hanging so heavy on his friend mere moments ago. There was no sign of it, now. A year ago, he'd thought there was no help for it, had done his best to surround Jingyan with others who could stand behind him and support him, even as he himself withdrew. Now, it was painfully clear that those efforts hadn't been enough.

Well, perhaps he could do something about it, now.

"Come." Jingyan beckoned him through to the inner room. "Tell me what happened."

They wound up sitting by his bed while Lin Shu recounted his recovery, and then had to go further back and explain how Lin Chen had made off with his body from the final battlefield, with, from what he'd heard, Meng's grief-stricken permission, and then Jingyan asked his perspective on that battle and the cushions wound up serving as placeholders for the army's regiments while the covers were pressed into service as mountain geography.

Lin Shu wasn't really surprised when he woke up with his head pillowed on Jingyan's bed and Jingyan on the floor beside him.

He wasn't surprised, but he did have to stop and breathe carefully for a while, so as not to wake Jingyan with the burst of grief and hope and pain that memory shook out of him—heart memory and body memory of so many mornings like this. His life had come full circle, in a way, but how much had he lost on the path to return here? He buried his face in the bed, concentrating on keeping his breath even, again.

"Xiao-Shu." Jingyan's hand was warm, resting on his head, deep voice still rough with sleep, and Lin Shu made an annoyed sound, not looking up.

"You were supposed to stay asleep."

"I always woke up, when you woke up."

At that, he smiled a little, lifting his head. "Yes. I did, too."

Jingyan smiled back, more peaceful than Lin Shu had seen him in a very long time. All he said, though, was, "It will be time for food. Come eat."

Liu An had been as shocked as anyone else, when her mother-in-law had told her, very quietly, who would be visiting her husband in the night. She'd had over a year under Lady Jing's tutelage, though, and as she prepared for bed, herself, she'd turned the thought of Lin Shu's return over in her mind, examining the angles of it. She had little doubt that her husband would wish to bring the man into her household; she approved of Lin Shu's support for her husband, and did not object to the idea. But Lin Shu (Mei Changsu, as was) had been instrumental in forcing the Emperor to face truths and duties he had not wished to face. If Lin Shu entered the Crown Prince's household, now, she could not see any way to prevent a very sharp downturn in the Emperor's already brittle relationship with his current heir.

With that in mind, she brought her son to breakfast with her, a wordless reminder of the dynastic stakes still in play within the Palace.

And, indeed, Lin Shu's first sight of the boy made him stop in his tracks, but she was fairly sure politics weren't the cause. The flash of shock that broke his faint smile was unmistakably a personal response. She thought, though, that the tangle of melancholy and thoughtfulness that followed might mean his thoughts turning in the direction she wished.

She was quite sure that the flicker of amusement in his eyes when he greeted her meant he knew exactly what she'd been doing. So she dipped a graceful bow of acknowledgment and waited quietly to see how he would answer her.

They had barely started when Lin Shu looked over at her husband and said, "I won't be able to stay for long, not yet." Jingyan's head came up sharply, and Lin Shu raised a hand, holding his eyes. "That was the deal I made with the Emperor. That Lin Shu would not return to the capital. But to be of the most aid to you, I need to be Lin Shu again."

"Do you think I care how much aid you can be?" Jingyan asked, quiet and fierce, and a rueful smile tugged at Lin Shu's mouth.

"No. But I do." He met her husband's dark look with perfect equanimity, and An had to hide a smile. "So, there are two ways to do this: the safe way and the fast way." He waited for Jingyan to sit back, arms crossed but not interrupting, and continued. "The safe way is to wait for the Emperor to die, and return then."

"The Lady Jing believes that will be within the next four or five years," An put in, softly. "His health was already not the best, and it took a blow, a year ago."

Lin Shu nodded, and the faint light of approval in the glance he gave her lifted her heart so that she understood, abruptly, how this man might inspire such unending loyalty in the men he led, and why an Emperor might, indeed, fear him greatly.

"Five years, then," he said, turning back to Jingyan. "It's longer than I like, of course, but I could, at least, visit discreetly during that time."

"And the fast way?" her husband prompted. The sparkle that put in Lin Shu's eyes made An brace herself.

"Well, I should go south and see Nihuang in any case, at least if I wish to continue living. The fast way is for me to return to her openly, as Lin Shu, and let the Emperor order us to the capital so as to keep us under his eye."

"The Marshal of Chiyan and the General of Yunnan, united," Jingyan filled in, rather dryly. "Yes, that would likely get very fast results."

"There's a certain amount of risk in it." Lin Shu took a sip of his tea and, for some reason, gave her a look of deep amusement before turning back to the matter at hand. "He will understand quite well that I'm forcing his hand, and if I then stand openly in support of you, his fear may overcome his good sense. Again."

Her husband's face turned set and cold, at that. The reminder of Prince Qi's fate made An think of something else, though. Of a certain memorial tablet, and what her mother-in-law had never quite admitted to doing, to secure it. "Perhaps," she said, words falling softly into the quiet between the two men, "that need not be a great concern." At Lin Shu's raised brow, she lifted her chin, hands clasped tightly in her lap. "You should consult with Lady Jing, who often has such influence over him."

She didn't think her husband knew what she was saying, but Lin Shu went very still for a long moment before nodding slowly. "A wise suggestion, Lady Liu. My thanks."

She nodded back, trying not to show the tiny shivers running through her at the enormity of what she'd just said might and should be done. The warmth of her husband's hand covered hers, though, and the small, quiet smile he gave her slowed the quick beat of her heart again. This was her rightful work and duty, to do all in her power to safeguard her husband and children, and if her husband did not yet know all she intended, still he approved of her joining this effort. An drew a long breath and bent her attention to the plans her husband's brother in heart was setting out.

Three

Nihuang sighed, exasperated, as she sorted through her letters. The Emperorâ€™s tournament for the right to marry her had started a positive flood of ongoing proposals, some subtle and some rather less so. She was starting to recognize some of them by the writing, and those she crumpled and tossed aside.

â€œIs the Da Yu envoy still bugging you?â€ Qing asked. â€œHeâ€™s so annoying! I should challenge him, next time we have to host him.â€

â€œDonâ€™t challenge envoys just because theyâ€™re annoying me.â€ Sometimes Nihuang wondered whether she should move her daily work into an office of her own, if only to keep her little brotherâ€™s nose a bit further out of her business. The rustle of paper from his table caught her ear and she added, absently, â€œRead the whole thing, Qing-er.â€

He gave her a hang-dog look and pulled back the report of crop plans that he hadnâ€™t spent nearly long enough on to be finished with. Nihuang smiled down at her own table, which had almost certainly been her brotherâ€™s goal. Heâ€™d gotten more subtle about teasing her, this past year. Perhaps she would move to her own office some year soon, but there were compensations for staying here, for now. She picked up the last letter and almost crumpled that one unread, too; she was almost sure she recognized this writing from somewhere also. But it had no name or seal on it, from the sender, which the diplomatic proposals always did. She frowned at the characters of her own name and title, thoughtfully. Where had she seen this writing before, then?

â€œItâ€™s almost time for training, my lady,â€ a soft voice interrupted, and she looked up to see Gong Yu, looking a bit like a shadow in the dark greens sheâ€™d worn all year, hovering by the entrance. â€œShall I help you change?â€

Nihuangâ€™s smile gentled; she was glad the girl had agreed to stay with her, and not only because it was pleasant to have another woman versed in the arts of war to accompany her. Without some kind of task to accomplish, and one she could tell herself would have pleased her Chief, Nihuang thought that Gong Yu might not have survived the year. And she couldnâ€™t deny that it had helped her, too, to have some living piece of Lin Shuâ€™s life to look after. â€œYes, just let me see who this last letter is from, and we can go.â€

Gong Yu turned white as snow.

â€œYu!â€ Nihuang started to her feet, hand outstretched, wondering if the girl was going to faint.

â€œThatâ€™s the Chiefâ€™s writing,â€ Gong Yu whispered, one hand clutching the frame of the screen beside her, knuckles white. Nihuang felt she might need to hold on to something solid, herself.

â€œAre you sure?â€ Her voice rasped in her throat.

Gong Yu hurried across the room and slid to her knees beside Nihuang, eyes fixed on the slip of folded paper, wide and devouring. â€œYes. Yes, Iâ€™m sure.â€ She looked up at Nihuang, entreating. â€œJie-jie, you knowâ€¦â€ Nihuang nodded silently; she knew what it was to recognize something of Lin Shu, to know, at once and without doubt. She took a slow breath and reached out to take Gong Yuâ€™s hand, wondering if her own fingers were as cold as Yu's.

â€œLet us see what this is, then, mei-mei.â€

Qing had come to hover over her shoulder, anxious, as Nihuang unfolded the letter. Her heart caught as she scanned down the page; if Gong Yu recognized the writing, she recognized the turns of phrase. â€¦truly ridiculous plansâ€¦ â€¦cannot leave him surrounded by foolsâ€¦ â€¦thought I had betterâ€¦

â€œJie?â€ Qing-er asked, softly, and she realized there were tears on her cheeks. She wiped them away with a quick palm.

â€œHeâ€™s coming back.â€ She lifted her head and smiled at Gong Yu, laid a hand over Qingâ€™s, on her shoulder. â€œI suppose weâ€™d better get ready.â€ After all, the one thing her betrothed had always brought with him was actionâ€”often action that no one else would have dreamed or dared.

It was one of the things she loved in him.

Lin Shu had debated whether it would be best (and even, now he had that luxury, kindest) to send a letter ahead or not. In the end, heâ€™d chosen to write, hoping the shock would be a little less; he had no wish to be mistaken for his own ghost, however briefly. And, once he started writing, heâ€™d found himself explaining at some length, writing of his exasperated gratitude to Lin Chen, his concern for how Jingyan could handle the burden Lin Shu had dropped on him, his worry for her. It was when he finished that last, that he had to stop and rest his head in his palms and laugh at himself. Heâ€™d spent over ten years winding himself ever deeper into the mindset of a strategist, of a revenger, of one who would do whatever it took to drive a plan through to completion. And where was all that icy focus, now?

Apparently, heâ€™d only ever managed to close Lin Shu up (briefly) in a box that turned out to have the flimsiest of latches.

When he was shown into one of Mu Palaceâ€™s inner receiving rooms, he knew heâ€™d been right about that, because he couldnâ€™t make himself turn his eyes away from the hand Nihuang pressed over her lips, the water-brightness of her eyes. The habit of long years still froze him in the entrance until she strode across the room and threw her arms around him, but the warm press of her against him broke that habit and discipline like thin ice snapping in spring, and he caught her close in return, laughing low and helpless into the darkness of her hair until they were nearly giggling together, unstrung by the long, long release of grief and tension.

She balled up a fist and hit him in the shoulder. â€œYou said ten years!â€ she accused without lifting her head from his chest.

â€œI was actually right, though I didnâ€™t know it then.â€ He smiled down at her as her head jerked up and she stared, disbelieving. â€œPerhaps as many as twenty.â€ Softer, as her hands closed desperately tight in the fabric of his sleeves, he added, â€œI will stay as long as I can; you have my word.â€

She smiled back, slow and brilliant. â€œDonâ€™t think I wonâ€™t hold you to it.â€

â€œI hope you will.â€ They finally managed to step back a little, only hands still clasped, and Lin Shu looked up for her brother, wryly aware that he was probably in for some exuberant congratulations and teasing. His attention caught on the completely unexpected presence beside Qing, though, standing with clasped hands and wide, dark eyes. â€œGong Yu?â€

â€œShe brought me the news, and I convinced her to stay with me.â€ Nihuangâ€™s smile turned a little wicked, and he automatically braced himself. In the past, that was the look that had accompanied challenges to climb the city walls or race each other across the roofs. â€œMy younger sister's company has been a great comfort.â€

He might, Lin Shu thought distantly, have preferred the roof race to the open gratitude in Gong Yuâ€™s face, quickly replaced by shy hope as she glanced up at him under her lashes. Even in his current condition, it would have been less trouble. â€œNihuangâ€¦â€

â€œThey train together,â€ Qing supplied, grinning, clearly in on the whole conspiracy. â€œGong Yu is the only one of her ladies who can keep up with her, riding.â€

That was no small thing, Lin Shu had to admit, but stillâ€¦ â€œWe can discuss that later,â€ he said, firmly.

Nihuangâ€™s cheerfully unyielding expression made his heart sink a bit. â€œYes, we shall.â€

He sighed quietly; apparently, he had better start planning for a larger household, in the capital.

Gong Yu had spent her whole life in the pugilist world, and a mere year as a palace ladyâ€”especially lady to the General of Yunnanâ€”was not nearly enough to wear away the responses sheâ€™d absorbed from the time she was big enough to walk on her own. In her bones was the knowledge that Mei Changsu was her Chief, even with a new name and a new, or old, life.

Names were changeable things, in her world, at need.

So when the evening meal ended, and he caught her eye, she followed him out without question, without even glancing at Nihuang. She probably should have looked to her lady, she realized, pacing down the dark walks of the palace behind him, for approval orâ€¦ or direction? But, then again, perhaps not, if Nihuang meant her for his concubine. The thought sent a flutter of excitement and hope through her, which she tried to restrain, clasping her hands before her and hoping the chill of the winter night would cool the heat in her cheeks. When her Chief paused, at last, resting fine hands on the rail of the palaceâ€™s smaller water pavilion, she stood quietly at his shoulder, waiting for orders and hoping, deep in her heart, for acceptance.

â€œNihuang has already fallen prey, once, to the politics of the Inner Palace.â€ His words fell into the evening quiet like petals falling onto the water. â€œThe thought of someone beside her to watch her back does set me at ease.â€

â€œMy lady has a very ardent heart, and does not always guard herself,â€ she agreed, cautious. It was clearly something he already knew, but the heart was not always sensible. She had no wish to sound jealous, especially of the one who had been so good to her, a goodness she had almost forgotten the taste of over the years of pursuing her revenge.

â€œYou must know that I do not love you.â€ He did not look at her, so she dared to look up and watch his face, still in the faint glow of lamps across the water. â€œDo you wish this, even so?â€

His bluntness stole her breath like a blow, and yetâ€¦ he was not denying her. â€œIf I can continue to serve you, I will be satisfied.â€

His hand snapped up and caught her chin, not cruelly but very firmly, and dark eyes bored into hers. â€œDo not ever lie to me,â€ he said, very softly.

Gong Yu swallowed, heart beating fast, not daring to move, in his hold. â€œIt is not all I wish,â€ she admitted, voice a little ragged with nerves, â€œbut itâ€™s not a lie! Yes, I would wish you toâ€¦ to look on me kindly, but if I can still serve you I will be satisfied! And Nihuang jie-jieâ€¦ sheâ€™s sheltered me. She found a place for me. I would willingly live under her, and guard her from her enemies.â€

For a long moment, he only examined her, searchingly, but at last he granted her a slow nod and let her go. â€œVery well, then. You should know, I have never stood in the way of what my people wish to doâ€”only used those wishes. If that will truly content youâ€¦â€ his hand lifted to rest lightly on her head, â€œthen I will accept you into my house.â€

She bent her head, shaking, by now, hard enough that he could probably feel it. â€œIt will content me, my lord,â€ she whispered. He sighed, quietly, and patted her head, gentle and absent.

â€œVery well, then. Let us go in and speak to Nihuang.â€

She was still shaking a little, when they came to Nihuangâ€™s outer rooms, and when Nihuang gave them both a look of rather smug satisfaction and held out an arm, Gong Yu was more than willing to hurry over and bury her wildly vacillating mix of triumph and shock and hope and fear in Nihuangâ€™s shoulder. Nihuang jie-jie gathered her in and stroked her hair gently. â€œThere, mei-mei, donâ€™t worry. You get used to him, in time, and Iâ€™ll protect you.â€ Gong Yu couldnâ€™t help the tiny sound that jerked out of her, half giggle and half protesting gasp.

â€œI beg your pardon.â€ He sounded amused, though.

â€œJust like I used to protect Yujin,â€ Nihuang continued, clearly teasing, and Gong Yu started to relax against her side.

â€œI donâ€™t recall you ever protecting Yujin,â€ Lin Shu pointed out, robes rustling as he seated himself on the riser beside them. â€œIt was Jingrui that Yujin always hid behind, which was very wise of him.â€ He was smiling when she dared to look up from Nihuangâ€™s shoulder, wry and affectionate, and when his glance fell on her, curled in the circle of Nihuang jie-jieâ€™s arm, it was gentler than before. â€œWell. How shall we do this, then?â€

Nihuangâ€™s smile turned a little vicious and a little dreamy, and Gong Yu perked up to listen. She recognized that kind of look; she saw it often, in her own world. â€œPerhaps we can write to the Emperor asking his blessing, since he was so very concerned with my marriage prospects, recently.â€

Lin Shuâ€™s smile nearly matched hers. â€œOr perhaps Qing should write to notify him, since itâ€™s technically Qingâ€™s blessing you want, now. Iâ€™m sure heâ€™d write very enthusiastically of my return from â€˜exileâ€™.â€

Nihuang laughed out loud. â€œOh, I like that!â€ She sobered again quickly, though. â€œShu ge-geâ€¦ how much of Jingyanâ€™s position will we risk, provoking the Emperor that way?â€

â€œWe run a risk now in order to reduce it later.â€ He turned a hand palm up. â€œAnd, too, I have Lady Jingâ€™s assurance that the risk can beâ€¦ minimized.â€

â€œThe Emperor never struck me as that susceptible to his Consorts,â€ Nihuang said skeptically.

â€œNo. I believe she intends to take more direct action; she's a physician, after all, and knows very well what would calm him.â€ His eyes narrowed, thoughtful. â€œIn fact, itâ€™s quite possible sheâ€™s already taken direct action and merely needs to modify what sheâ€™s already doing.â€

Gong Yu was, frankly, impressed. Sheâ€™d never thought noble ladies could be so iron-nerved and dare such consequences as would come from drugging the Emperor. Nihuang shivered, though, perhaps remembering her own close call, and Gong Yu wrapped a shy arm around her, nestling closer. Jie-jie didnâ€™t need to worry about that, not while she was here. Nihuang gave her a quick smile and dropped a light kiss on her hair. â€œAll right, then. Let us hold the banquet on the next suitable date, and send the letter.â€

Lin Shuâ€™s smile at her made Gong Yu catch her breath, so soft, and a little wondering. â€œI never thought this would be possible, you know.â€

â€œIt was never yourself you made wonders possible for.â€ Nihuang reached out a hand to him. â€œBut now it can be.â€ The simple clasp of their hands made Gong Yu blush to watch.

Yes. She thought she could be content with this.

Chief Eunuch Gao had lived quite a long time in the Palace, and knew its moods. He knew the hushing of everyday sounds that meant the ministers would spend the day glancing nervously at each other, watching for where trouble or change might come from. He knew the sharpening of the palace ladies' graceful gestures that meant the balance of power had shifted, in the Inner Palace. He knew the sweetening in the air that meant everyone was thinking of the new year celebrations. All those shifting moods focused on or stemmed from the Emperor, which made many people think they were caused by the Emperor. Gao, however, had served the Emperor himself long enough to understand that, far from weaving all the threads of the Palace's fabric himself, the Emperor was as enmeshed in them as anyone else, influenced by his ministers, his family, even the shadow of his parents.

And, of course, by the officials like Gao.

Gao had been a young man, working his way up the hierarchy of the imperial messengers, when he'd first seen those threads pull tight and start to snap, yanked in two different directions—one the old Emperor, pulling toward governance and empire by brute force, the other the then-Crown Prince, pulling toward policies of strategy and diplomacy. He'd watched the fabric of the Court tear, then, taking with it the life of the Emperor, the guiding hand of the Dowager Empress, and the soul of Xia Jiang. He'd seen how long it took to reweave even a little of the fabric's sturdiness. And he had seen how the smallest word of comfort to the new Empress' ladies, or a calm smile to a nervous minister could help.

It was those small words and smiles that had made him Chief Eunuch by the time he was forty.

The second time he'd seen the threads of the Court fabric pull dangerously tight, he'd been new to his position as the one who watched over and minded the Emperor, and perhaps he'd been too cautious with his words, his smiles, his gentle nudging of the Emperor toward one concubine or another. Or perhaps there had simply been no help for it, whatever he'd done. The only one gripping and tangling the threads, then, had been the Emperor, afraid of his own reflection in the mirror of his mind, but they'd snapped all the same.

Gao had still been at work patching that tear when he'd heard yet another shift in the mood of the Palace, heard the name Mei Changsu whispering down the halls like the scent of plum blossoms through winter air. When that name had flared to life, in the Capital, like fire reaching down the threads of the Princes' rivalries, Gao had braced himself to preserve what he could, attempting again and again to calm and amuse the Emperor with the stable, everyday foibles of Palace life.

To little effect.

When Prince Jing had seemed to finally lose patience with the resulting tangle, himself, and reach out to lay his hand on the threads of the Court's fabric, Gao had blessed the chance and willingly steered the Emperor into Lady Jing's arms. She was another who understood the power of a gentle word and a calm smile.

In retrospect, he could only salute the Lady; the fabrics she wove from the threads of the Court ran soft and subtle and untorn from end to long end. Which was why, after the crisis had passed, he had come at once when she requested his presence.

"Chief Eunuch Gao," she'd greeted him, serene as a lily pond, and extracted a small, black bottle from her sleeve, setting it on the table between them without so much as a click, as she spoke. "I believe you know how harshly the Emperor has used his own heart and health over the years. Before any others, the palace officials must be aware of how his care for the Court and the Princes must wear on him." She'd looked up at him, dark eyes as deep and inexorable as the sea. "I know you must surely wish to ease his way. I beg that you will let me know if there is any way I can assist His Majesty."

In her words, he'd heard a promise—the promise of an Emperor to come, who would not rip the fabric of the Palace over and over, in his care for nothing but playing one Prince, one faction, against another. The promise of an Emperor who was, in so many ways, already there, doing the work of a ruler with an iron integrity Gao had not seen through the reigns of two Emperors before him.

So he'd taken the bottle with him, when he'd left, and measured a careful three drops into the Emperor's tea every morning, and he'd watched the sharpness leach out of the Emperor's eyes with regret. But not enough regret to throw away that little black bottle. Not when it had been months since the Emperor's temper last exploded, longer than that since he'd done more than nod upon reading one of the Crown Prince's meticulous weekly reports, or wave a dismissive hand over Duchess Mu continuing to lead the southern army in the field. Gao had begun to hope this Emperor might even manage to die in bed, instead of at his desk, of heart failure.

...though today's letters looked like they might set that hope back a bit.

Gao stepped cautiously closer, watching the Emperor's face twist and redden as his eyes sped down the paper. "Majesty? Is anything—"

"Yunnan?!" the Emperor exploded, fist clenching on the letter. "I tell the damn boy he can't return to the capital, so he goes to Yunnan instead?! To get married?!" He banged the desk furiously with his free hand, waving the letter in Gao's direction while Gao patted the air with both hands, trying to get a word in edgewise. "Does he think I'm a fool? Does he think I'll let this stand?"

"Majesty," Gao put in in his most soothing voice, "who is this from?"

"Lin Shu!" the Emperor raged, pounding the desk again. "Back from exile, Qing says! Sister delighted, he says! The Marshal of Chiyan and the General of Yunnan both on the south border in the Mu princedom? I won't have it!"

"Then surely all Your Majesty need do is order Lin Shu elsewhere," Gao said reasonably, hoping that Lady Jing's drug would take hold again soon enough for reason to actually work. "As Lin is exonerated, Lin Shu is legitimately under your command. And if the Duchess has finally married him, then she is bound to go with him."

"I wouldn't trust the pair of them anywhere!"

Gao sighed to himself, seeing exactly how this was to go, and in his mind he offered 'Mei Changsu' a rather weary salute; the man did plan well. There seemed to be no way around it, so he obediently laid out the next move. "Perhaps the best place is under your own eye, then, Majesty," he 'jested' with a small chuckle.

"Ha! That's probably exactly what he wants!"

"Then surely he will give you no trouble?" Gao suggested, watching closely, and nearly sagged with relief when he saw the fire in the Emperor's eyes begin to dim, losing the struggle against the soft haze of Jing's drugs. "Surely you'll feel better with them here under your eye," he repeated, gently.

"Mm. I suppose." The Emperor leaned back wearily in his throne, and waved a hand at him. "See to it. Lin Shu and Mu Nihuang are commanded to present themselves before their Emperor..." he rattled off the language of an official order, seeming to lose interest even as he did, and regret nipped at Gao. Relief was still stronger, though, watching that alarming red fade to a healthier color. Gao gently tweaked the offending letter off the desk and into his sleeve, and bowed.

"I will see to it, Majesty."

Jingyan had just presented his weekly report on the affairs of Court and the Ministries to the Emperor, wondering as always whether his father's wordless grunt as he glanced over it was approval or pique, when the announcement was called from the door, the one something at the base of his spine had been waiting months for.

"Marshal Lin Shu and Duchess Mu Nihuang request permission to enter the Emperor's presence!"

The Emperor snapped the report folio closed and tossed it aside on his desk. "About time. Bring them in."

Lin Shu swept through the room's pillars, Nihuang at his side. He'd laid aside "Su Zhe's" muted colors, and looked so very familiar, in brilliantly embroidered white over rich, dark blue, that Jingyan couldn't keep his fingers from curling into fists, as if he could physically grab hold of this new-and-familiar Lin Shu and keep him. Nihuang held her head high, matching his stride, hair swept all the way up for the first time Jingyan had ever seen, and her smile was as fiercely delighted as Jingyan felt. He tried to catch his breath, and calm, as they knelt and bowed to the Emperor, only to have it stolen again by the direct look, straight as a sword, that Lin Shu gave the Emperor as he straightened.

"You called for our attendance at the Capital, Majesty?"

The Emperor considered them for a long moment and finally shook a finger at Nihuang. "Finally found someone you'll deign to marry, hm?"

Nihuang gave him the sharpest smile Jingyan had ever seen out of her, and another short bow. "The one promised to me, yes. Thank you for your concern, Majesty."

The Emperor snorted and eyed Lin Shu in turn. "Fine, then. You might as well be useful. So you can keep him," he jabbed his finger at Jingyan, "from upsetting all the diplomatic channels I spent so much trouble creating. That should keep you busy."

Jingyan didn't think he was that bad at it, but the thought slipped away when his friend, his brother, turned his head and gave Jingyan Mei Changsu's tiny smile with Lin Shu's fire blazing in his eyes. "As my Emperor wishes," he stated, never looking away. Jingyan couldn't manage to look away either, and it was to Lin Shu that he spoke when he said, "I will be most grateful for the assistance." And then common sense gave him a jolt and he turned hastily to give his father the bow that went with the words.

The Emperor leaned back with a tetchy sound. "The two of you make me tired. Go away."

Gao stepped smartly forward. "His Imperial Majesty's audience is ended!" he announced, and flicked urgent fingers at Jingyan. Jingyan took the direction, as his mother had firmly instructed him to always do, and bowed along with Lin Shu and Nihuang, backing two formal steps before making for the doors. They only made it as far as the stairs before they all three stopped and stared at each other.

"You did it." Jingyan still couldn't believe it had been this easy.

"I always do. Pay attention, Jingyan." Lin Shu kept a mostly straight face until Nihuang swatted his shoulder, and then he was laughing, soft and bright, throwing an arm around her and leaning against Jingyan for balance as she elbowed him, and Jingyan found his own arms around their shoulders, all three of them ignoring the raised brows of the Palace guards, laughing together in the slanting sunlight.

The leaf buds were barely starting to unfurl, here in the Capital, but it finally felt like summer in his heart, again.

End

Red Heart and White Sword

Lin Shu and Nihuang settle into life at court, in the field, and in Jingyan's home while Lin Manor is repaired. The rest of the court may need a few stiff drinks to recover from the process, especially once a complex political scandal breaks in the middle of it. Drama with Politics and Porn, I-4

One

"I suppose I should see if the Lin manor can be reclaimed and repaired," Lin Shu mused, hands clasped behind him as he, Nihuang, and Jingyan walked slowly through the palace complex's roofed walks toward the Eastern Palace and Jingyan's waiting work. Jingyan was the one walking slowest, he was rather amused to note.

"And perhaps beg some staff from someone," Nihuang put in ruefully. "We came on so fast we left almost the entire rest of our train and escort a day or two behind, and we don't keep more than a handful of people at the Mu house here, regularly."

Jingyan nodded to a small herd of ministers who crowded out of their way and bowed—and started whispering as soon as they'd passed, Lin Shu noted. "Go to my house in town, then. It's almost fully staffed." His mouth quirked at the corner, the quieter relative of that irreverent grin Lin Shu had always loved to pull out of him. "Since none of my officers really wished to enter the ranks of the Palace officials at this point in their lives."

"Jingyan! You didn't actually suggest that to them, did you?" Nihuang asked, eyes dancing.

"No." Jingyan's smile faded. "I wasn't in the mood for laughing, at the time."

Lin Shu laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight for a moment. "I'm here," he said, softly. "I will remain here."

Jingyan took a quick breath and visibly settled himself. "Yes. And I said it a long time ago, didn't I?" he added, more briskly. "What's mine is yours, including that house. Stay as long as you like."

It was Lin Shu's turn to feel his breath catch, though he knew it should be no surprise that Jingyan also remembered.

Nihuang slid a thoughtful look back and forth between them, and finally smiled. "We will, then." At Lin Shu's raised brows she tucked a hand into his and otherwise ignored him, still smiling, which meant she wanted to tease him over knowing something he didn't. It probably said something about his own nature that he found that endearing. He laced his fingers with hers, ignoring the sidelong glances of passing officials and the faint quivering of Jingyan's shoulders that said he was trying not to laugh at them. It was their own business if they wanted to take this delayed opportunity to act like youngsters in love. "You should join us, in the mornings, for practice forms" Nihuang added, to Jingyan.

Lin Shu winced, pinched pride twinging a bit, but Nihuang just gave him a stubborn look. He knew she was right, that a partner closer to his own build would probably help him re-find the edges of himself more quickly, but he still had to take a moment to stifle the internal wail that said he didn't want Jingyan to see how much he'd lost.

Jingyan, for his part, had stopped still in the middle of the open walk between buildings, eyes wide. "Xiao-Shu... you can do forms again?" The first, faint stir of delight in his voice, and the aching hope in those words snuffed any remaining protest like a pinched-out candle.

"My sword forms are still appallingly stiff, and I can't complete any but the lowest leaps." Lin Shu's mouth tilted wryly. "The Lin swordmaster would weep. But yes. Every morning." Looking away, through the pillars of the outer walk ahead of them, he admitted, softly. "You would be welcome."

"Then I will come," Jingyan told him, just as softly.

"Excellent," Nihuang declared, looking downright smug as she caught their arms and towed them back into motion. "Then, for now, you can show us what's giving you a headache, Jingyan."

"Nothing is giving me a headache." Jingyan disengaged from her grip, nearly rolling his eyes.

"Then show us what would be giving you a headache if you were not Lady Jing's son," Lin Shu specified, and shared a knowing look with Nihuang when Jingyan's gaze slid aside. More seriously, he added, "Jingyan. This is exactly what I came back in order to help you with. Let me."

Now Jingyan returned his gaze, steady and serious. "Even though you hoped to be done with being the strategist, after Prince Qi, my brother's, and Lin's and Chiyan's names were restored?"

For a long moment, he was silent, because that had been true. "I did finish with it, though," he said at last, slowly. "And I returned to my old self, my own world, long enough to die there. I thought that would be the end of it, and I still believe I was right about that. This," he swept a hand around, at the palace, at the ministers and officials and ladies moving through the halls and gardens, each intent on their own ends and ambitions, and the three of them in the middle of it all, "this is what comes after that end, another new life." He gave Jingyan a tiny smile. "Now, what I can do, all that I can do, is for you and with you, nothing held back. That's as it should be, and I have no wish to be done with it."

Jingyan paused at the turn in to the Eastern Palace's garden walk, and Lin Shu saw true relief in the faint easing of his shoulders. "Xiao-Shu," Jingyan said, softly. "Thank you."

"If you thank me too often, I'm going to start calling you Your Highness again," Lin Shu warned.

Jingyan laughed at that. "Fine. Come on, then." He gestured them down the walk, and Lin Shu exchanged satisfied smiles with Nihuang. Her eyes were dancing, like she was laughing at them, again.

Eventually, he'd have to figure out what it was she thought he didn't know.

Things that were attempting to give him headaches took them all the way through dinner, and for once Jingyan didn't feel bad for complaining. Nihuang might not be any more of an adept at politics than he was, but they all knew how to read a situation and xiao-Shu seemed to know most of what he said even before he said it.

"Of course Zhu Yue still bears a grudge; he's actually quite aware of the city's political currents, even if a mole would have a better view of the country's larger concerns." Xiao-Shu pointed a sliver of dried apricot at Jingyan. "As far as he's concerned, you're directly responsible for his sister's death."

Nihuang rolled her eyes and pushed his hand toward his mouth. "I'll hardly deny that it was our actions that brought Prince Yu down, but even if Lady Zhu had really died, that would have been her own choice; she wasn't condemned with him."

"I did say Zhu Yue had a narrow view." Xiao-Shu finally popped the bit of apricot into his mouth. "He'll bear watching, even demoted, but I doubt he'll go beyond a little obstructionism. She was always the one with the most courage, in that family."

Jingyan sat back, trying not to laugh as Nihuang nudged a dish of dumplings under xiao-Shu's hand without looking. "Are you practicing for your future children?" he finally asked. It was at least the fourth time she'd done it, this meal. Nihuang snorted inelegantly.

"Hardly. It's that this one has gotten careless," she aimed a quelling look at xiao-Shu's indignant sound, "and always forgets that he has an appetite again, or what one is supposed to do with an appetite."

"I eat," xiao-Shu protested mildly. Jingyan eyed the dishes around them; xiao-Shu's were, perhaps, half as empty as his and Nihuang's. At his raised brows, xiao-Shu sighed and reached for another dumpling. Nihuang gave Jingyan a pleased, complicit nod, and Jingyan made a note to see how soon he could take xiao-Shu to his mother, who could give authoritative orders about how much to make sure he ate—orders that xiao-Shu might even follow, coming from her. It was xiao-Shu's open amusement and the laughter in Nihuang's eyes that he took to bed with him, though, the still-strong wonder that the brother of his heart had returned to him, and when his eyes opened on the soft light of early morning, he was smiling.

It was good, so very good, to step out into the cool air and see Lin Shu and Nihuang standing in the middle of his house's open training ground as if they had never left. Good to settle into his stance beside them without needing a word spoken, and move as one, hands sweeping up in the opening movement of the first form they'd all been taught. Good, above all, to watch Lin Shu out of the corner of his eye and see steadiness in the slow sweep of his feet over the dusty ground, true calm in his eyes and not the brittle, desperate edge of a year ago.

They were all quiet for a long moment after closing, all three of them, he thought, basking a little in having regained this peace together. At last, though, Nihuang stretched and nudged xiao-Shu with her shoulder. "You should do paired forms with Jingyan, today."

"Are you all right continuing?" Jingyan couldn't help asking, a little hesitant to even bring it up but remembering all too well the days of illness that had come after even small exertions, last year.

Lin Shu chuckled, sweeping one hand up to guard and beckoning. "Amazingly, yes. I can't come close to full speed or force, and Lin Chen threatened some fairly grisly things if I dared break a bone while practicing, but we haven't even been out here for half a shi. I'll be fine." His smile turned into a flashing grin that nearly knocked Jingyan's breath out with the weight of years suddenly rolling back. "Just be gentle with me, hm?"

"Yes, of course." Jingyan couldn't even blame Nihuang for stifling laughter as she took up a practice sword and stepped apart, ruefully aware that he'd answered far more earnestly than the joke probably called for. But that, too, was familiar, and he was smiling back as he stepped forward, letting that old shock of contact roll over him as his arm met xiao-Shu's and his other hand drove in, past xiao-Shu's shoulder as he turned, not as light on his feet as he'd once been, not as sure, but still fluid in a way Jingyan had never hoped to see again.

Their rhythm was different now, and the shape their forms took against each other. Jingyan had always been given to driving through the center, but had also always kept his own center, been careful not to overextend. Xiao-Shu used to work around the edges of him, forcing him to turn, breaking his footing, leaping to catch his back. Now there were no leaps or lunges, only the fluid swirl of Lin Shu's movement around and past his strikes, so that any strike immediately edged on overextension, ran the risk of giving xiao-Shu his back. It was... exhilarating. Now, their rhythm together demanded all his skill, just to keep xiao-Shu from controlling it completely.

Perhaps it was exactly that which led him to push a little faster, and then a little more. In the end, it was xiao-Shu's step that stumbled, tangled, and tripped. That snapped Jingyan out of the form's focus, and he lunged forward to catch xiao-Shu before he fell. They stopped there for a long moment, clutching each other and leaning together, panting for breath. "Was that too fast?" Jingyan finally managed to ask.

"A little," xiao-Shu admitted, in exactly the same tone he'd used to allow that his first sword wound hurt 'a little'. He huffed a bit at Jingyan's dark look, and pushed himself upright. "I wasn't exactly complaining."

"You never do. That's why we worry," Nihuang pointed out, closing her sword drill to come and wind her fingers with xiao-Shu's, tugging a little. "Come wash up, both of you."

"Fine, fine," xiao-Shu agreed, tolerantly. "But if either of you try to treat me like glass tomorrow, you'll regret it."

Jingyan smiled, reassured by the familiarity of the threat. "All right."

He thought he could get used to having xiao-Shu around again very quickly.

Interlude: Appraisal

Lu Jian, one of the better architects in Jinglin if he did say so himself, stood in the first courtyard of the Lin Manor, hands planted on his hips, and turned on his heel to get a sense of the place. Six courtyards and three gardens, one of them a water garden—he wasn't looking forward to that cleaning job—not counting the tangle of the kitchen gardens, now an impenetrable riot of herbs and gourds. The bones of the place were still elegant, but rich paint was weathered off and peeling, everywhere, the metal sheathing at the feet of the pillars was grimy, and tile and shingles were cracked on nearly every surface they covered.

"This is going to be a pretty big job," his senior foreman, Shi Ping, said, squinting up at the underside of the inner gate. "We've never worked on someplace let to rot for quite this long. The framing will need checking, everywhere."

"Make sure you check the supports before you let anyone up on the roofs." Shi Ping gave him a patient look in answer, and Jian laughed. "I know you know, but there's always someone on the crew who thinks he can rush."

"If there are any, I'll give him a scythe and send him out to clear the west field; looks like they kept that one trimmed down." Shi Ping was circling the courtyard, and paused when he got to the inner hall, on the north side. "Or maybe make them work on this hall."

Lu Jian blinked at that; the steps didn't look in that bad of shape. "Why that hall?" He strode across the courtyard to join his foreman, kicking debris and broken clay shingles out of the way as he went. When he got to the steps, though, he stopped short. "Oh."

Some attempt at clean-up had been made at some point, but there was still a wide stain on the landing, just before the doors to the hall, where something dark had seeped through the paint, blistering it up and soaking into the wood. Someone had died on these steps, without question; died and been let to lie for a time.

"The Lin family have a hall of remembrance," Jian said, quietly. "You remember; last year, the Emperor himself led the first prayers. And their son has surely performed all the rites, since he returned."

Shi Ping, kneeling beside the steps to check for warping, gave him a speaking look, and Jian sighed.

"No, you're right. We'll make an offering, before we start." Jian rubbed his arms briskly, where goose-flesh had risen at the sight of that stain. "And we'll replace these steps first thing, I think."

Shi Ping grunted approvingly, as he stood. "Good idea. This is going to be a tough enough job, as it is."

Two

Cai Quan knew that, objectively, his life was far easier now than it would have been under Prince Yu or, thank the Heavens for forbidding it, Prince Xian, or even the Emperor had he still been the one whose hand was on the reins of the Ministries. He knew this. He knew that having a reasonable assurance of being able to take action when he uncovered some bit of corruption in his ministry was a gift, that the full-blooded support of a Crown Prince like Xiao Jingyan was a blessing. He knew that.

It just didn't make the apparently unending parade of peculation and bribery and misappropriation and plain old incompetence any less frustrating.

He exchanged bows in passing with a palace official, as he stalked down the breezeways to the Eastern Palace, and tried to ignore the obvious amusement in the man's smile. Yes, he was here a lot. Yes, he was usually annoyed over the reason. That was not actually a good thing! He stumped up the steps and waited for his presence to be called; at least the Crown Prince's close attendants were more sympathetic than amused. They undoubtedly got to watch the ongoing struggle to bail out the exceedingly leaky boat of the government from much closer up, and with the immediacy of it being their own master who was getting blisters from hauling the buckets.

Cai Quan shook off these rather frivolous mental images as Zhou Wei, who had taken over managing the Eastern Palace after the debacle of the old Crown Prince, gestured him in, pulling his thoughts back to the day's business. "Your Highness..." He only got halfway through his greeting before the presence of the man beside the Crown Prince's desk registered, and then he nearly swallowed his own tongue, staring. "...Mr. Su?" he finished, a little weakly. The clothes were different, finer than he'd seen on the man he'd only met once or twice, at the Prince's own manor in the city, the expression was different, the stance was different, but that was the face he remembered throwing a litany of betrayed history in the Emperor's teeth.

Su only smiled at him, a slow curl of lips that nearly made him take a step back. "I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else, Minister. I am Lin Shu." He bowed gracefully in greeting.

Cai Quan fumbled a bow back, stunned. Lin Shu? Lin Shu? He'd speculated, with Shen, that their Prince's brilliant strategist had to be someone from Prince Qi's or the Lin's service, but the Vice-Marshal of Chiyan, himself? How was it possible?

The Prince directed a tolerant look at the impossible man standing at his side, and Quan had to admit, dazed, that it was exactly the kind of look one would give a cherished but mischievous younger relative. "Vice-Marshal," he finally managed. "Congratulations on your return." He was most definitely dragging Shen out drinking this evening; this was news that called for alcohol along with it, and perhaps Shen's advice on how much to say to anyone else.

"You had something for my attention?" the Prince asked, and Quan shook himself back to the business at hand.

"Yes, Highness." He fished the report folio out of his sleeve and proffered it. "Evidence of some long-running misappropriation has come up, in the southern Qing Li supply depot. Investigations have only started, but this is a list of the missing equipment so far." His mouth twisted. "I learned only recently that the Ministry of War might have suffered some delay in passing the information on to you."

The Prince flicked open the report, frowning more and more darkly as he read down the fairly extensive list. "You think someone there is involved?"

"As I said, Your Highness, the investigation has only begun." At the Prince's sharp look, though, Quan admitted, "I think it likely." Shen would complain about quick judgments, but really, what else could it be?

Su... rather Lin, was reading over the Prince's shoulder. "Mmm. This was probably sold off to the Dao rebellion in Southern Chu."

The Prince looked up at him, brows raised, and Lin Shu's mouth quirked up. "Look." He leaned over the Prince's shoulder to tap the start of the list. "There's plenty of horse-gear taken, yes, but it's all basically replacement straps, no saddles, no stirrups even; that was taken to be resold for money."

"And without that all the rest is skirmishers' gear or food," the Prince murmured. "I see. You think it goes back that far, though?"

"If it wasn't critical before now..."

"...then it was a trickle over time, yes, but I thought Qi would be the ones to support Dao..."

"It's Northern Yan that's keeping Qi standing firm..."

"...which means they'd have the most stake in making sure Southern Chu was distracted..."

"...but also be the place hardest to get supplies out of."

The Prince sighed and settled back in his chair. "We'll need to check for Xuanjing involvement, then."

Cai Quan shook his head a little, trying to catch up with that rush of shared thoughts weaving back and forth like currents in one river, and asked, "Xuanjing?"

"Putting Dao in their debt, and possibly implicating Northern Yan in Chu's internal politics, would have been a desirable move, from the viewpoint of the network of Hua agents that Xia Jiang wanted to keep control of," Lin Shu supplied, and Quan's jaw tightened. Even dead, that man was still trouble.

"My investigators will be alert for the possibility."

"Good." The Prince nodded brisk dismissal, and Quan took himself out, tallying up the wagon-load of extra documentation and background he'd probably need to have his people find, to unravel this one, and which of his inherited agents he might need to keep away from it lest old loyalties interfere. Perhaps he should put Xia Dong in charge of it...

He was definitely dragging Shen out for a drink, today.

"Nihuang!" Xia Dong strode through the pale hangings and dark wood of her outer rooms in the Nie manor to catch Nihuang in a quick hug before taking her shoulders and holding her a little away, eyeing her up and down, and finally smiling. "You look well. It's true, then?"

Nihuang smiled, the way she sometimes felt she hadn't actually stopped smiling for months, now. "It's true." The smile faded a little as she reached out for Dong-jie's hands. "And I wanted to speak with you about that."

Dong-jie looked at her, dark and steady, for two long breaths and then nodded. "Come on, then." She gestured Nihuang toward the inner rooms and made shoo-ing motions at her attendants.

"Dong-jie," Nihuang admonished, laughing a little when Xia Dong rolled her eyes.

"I've never been the inside type, you know that." She settled Nihuang on one of the stools by her well-piled writing table and pulled up another. "Now. Tell me."

Nihuang folded her hands in her lap and took a breath to organize her thoughts. "There is a cure. It's not a sure thing. It depends on finding enough people who will with all their hearts for him to live, who are willing to give a little of their own lives. And I know that is a weight on Shu-ge." She looked up to meet Dong-jie's sober gaze. "And it's not... I mean, it's..." She had to bite her lip to still its stubborn trembling. "It doesn't erase anything of what they went through, before."

"Oh," Dong-jie whispered. "Oh, Nihuang..." She leaned forward, winding her arms back around Nihuang, and Nihuang let herself cling tight for a moment while Dong-jie rubbed her back. Finally she asked, gently, "I imagine touching is a difficult thing for him, still?"

Nihuang nodded, sitting back just enough to blot her eyes on her cuff. She'd thought Dong-jie would probably understand; Nie Feng had almost certainly been dealing with the same thing.

The first time Shu-ge had come to her bed, after their so very long-delayed banquet, she'd been startled by how hesitant he was. He'd seen to her pleasure all right, with slow hands and mouth, but when she'd reached for him he'd flinched. And then apologized in a stifled, helpless voice while she'd been frozen, stricken. Only when she'd insisted had he told her, one slow, painful burst of words at a time, about thirteen years of pain and exhaustion and honest forgetting that pleasure of the body was even possible. Of feeling nothing but fury and betrayal for his own flesh. Of bitter, bone-deep knowing that he'd have nothing to give any lover, and the shock and blankness of mind he'd felt the first time his flesh stirred, after he'd woken up to this new life. They'd wound up huddled together among the covers and pillows, crying in each other's arms, that night.

"The memory of pain is slow to leave," Dong-jie said quietly, stroking her hair back with light fingers. "You've recovered from injuries before; you know."

Nihuang blinked hard and nodded. "A little. Yes. But Dong-jie, thirteen years..." Those light fingers touched her lips, hushing her, and Xia Dong's smile was tight and tilted.

"Yes. It took... a long time before Feng-ge could even lie in the same bed with me, let alone anything more." She huffed, half amused and half annoyed. "Of course, part of that was convincing him his appearance wouldn't disgust me, silly man." She took a deep breath, shoulders straightening. "But we have time, now, Nihuang. Time and peace that we've all fought for and won. So take it."

Nihuang took a breath of her own, telling herself to trust Dong-jie's wisdom, which was what she'd come for, today, after all, and nodded, smiling through the wetness still in her eyes. "Yes, jie-jie."

"Better," Dong-jie said, firmly, and grinned at her. "And I hear you have a younger sister in your household, now, to help you?"

Nihuang laughed, only a little damply. "Yes. She was so annoyed that I made her watch over the rest of the train while we came ahead; I'm going to have to make it up to her, when they get in."

"Bring her to visit," Dong-jie told her. "Or perhaps I'll come see you. I still have to thank her for taking my place in the prison."

"You'll like her," Nihuang predicted. "She's a lot like your agents."

"Hmm." Dong-jie got a speculative glint in her eye. "Perhaps she'd like a job..."

Gong Yu directed the unloading of the last horse with the same smile she'd used on importunate clients when she was an entertainer, and stalked up the stairs of Prince Jing's manor (which she knew her way around very well, thank you), and made for the inner halls, tugging the sleeves of her travel robes irritably straight. She still couldn't believe she'd been left with the baggage, and yes, she knew that there'd been a definite chance of attack on the train of Lin Shu and Mu Nihuang, but really! She knew for a fact that two of the servants were men of Jiangzuo, and could look after affairs just fine without her!

"Jie-jie, the baggage is all disposed of," she reported, a bit sulkily, as she entered Nihuang's rooms, and then stopped short in the entry. Nihuang jie-jie had company. And her company was the most beautiful woman Gong Yu had ever seen.

Yu knew that she was considered very beautiful, and by classical standards she supposed it was true. She'd certainly used the fact often enough. But the woman standing to greet her was slim and straight as a sword, had swift, graceful hands that settled into place like the flick of a knife, and her sharp features were alive with a wicked, sardonic amusement.

"Thank you for taking care of the train, mei-mei," Nihuang was saying. "Come and greet Xia Dong, third rank official in the Ministry of Justice. Dong-jie, this is Gong Yu."

Yu hurried forward, and nearly wobbled as she dipped a bow of greeting. "Madam Nie."

"Gong Yu." A light touch under her elbow made her look up. Xia Dong's smile had softened, and Yu could feel herself blushing. "I didn't get a chance, a year ago, but I wished very much to thank you for enabling me to leave the prison and see my husband." She gave Yu a bow, swift and precise as every other move she'd made. "My thanks."

Yu returned it hastily, unaccustomedly flustered, heart beating quick. "It was my honor to assist, Madam Nie."

Xia Dong gave her a wry grin, and Yu's breath caught. "You're part of the clan, now. No need to be so formal."

Yu blushed deeper, cheeks hot, and clasped her hands tight, wetting her lips. "Xia Dong jie-jie," she amended, obediently.

Xia Dong clapped her lightly on the shoulder. "Better. Come tell me about how the roads are; it looks like I'll be headed a little south soon, myself." She sank down cross-legged by a low table with a tea set sitting out, fluid and graceful, without a single second of wasted motion. Yu tried not to stare.

"You have a case?" Nihuang asked as Yu settled on the cushion beside Xia Dong, carefully graceful so as not to look like any more of a fool.

"Theft from one of the rear area army depots. A leftover from Xu Anmo's style of leadership, I'm guessing." Xia Dong's mouth twisted expressively.

"Ah. That case." Nihuang poured more tea, passing Yu the third cup. "Jingyan is angry over that one. He was in the field long enough to know well what happens to the troops who have to meet action when their supplies are interfered with."

"Minister Cai isn't too happy about it, either." Xia Dong sipped her tea, and her mouth curved like a drawn bow, sweet and deadly. "That's why he's sending me."

"The roads are clear near the capital," Yu supplied, hoping she didn't sound breathless, "though they'll be worsening soon, as the wet season sets in. I hope your case goes swiftly." And that Xia Dong returned swiftly; it was a real shame she couldn't do something about that directly, any more.

"I shall see that it does." She give Yu a knowing, sidelong smile. "Would you like to help?"

Yu truly couldn't help the way a smile took over her face. "Oh! May I?" She turned to Nihuang, who was laughing behind her hand. "Jie-jie, may I? Oh, but..." she drooped on her cushion. "My lord wished for me to guard you, in the capital."

Nihuang made a hmph sound, setting her cup down with just a little more force than necessary. "Shu-ge can just learn that I can guard myself."

Yu nibbled her lip, somehow doubtful that this would satisfy Lin Shu.

Xia Dong shook her head, smile wry. "You're in little danger, now. Tell you what, we'll ask Lady Jing to have a few of her girls keep an eye out. Xiao-Shu won't have qualms about her arrangements."

Nihuang positively smirked with satisfaction. "That should work." She leaned over and patted Yu's hand. "Go have fun, mei-mei."

Yu barely managed to hold back her squeak of excitement.

Lin Shu looked down at the woman in the circle of his arms, brows raised. "Are you telling me Dong-jie stole my concubine?"

Nihuang burst into such gales of laughter that he had to wonder if that was more accurate than he'd thought. "It will be good for her," she said, when she'd finally recovered. "Gong Yu is used to having more to do; she gets impatient with nothing but household duties to occupy her."

Lin Shu smiled, stroking back her loose hair with gentle fingers. "Like you?"

"Like me," she agreed easily. "Only without the military training and experience that will keep me in place as one of the generals of the nation. This will be good for her. Besides," she smirked, "Gong Yu has a crush on Dong-jie."

When he murmured thanks to his ancestors, she swatted his shoulder, and he laughed, gathering her close. "I hope they have a good time together, then." Against the darkness of her hair he added, still a little hesitant, even after their months together, "Come to bed?"

Her smile this time was sweet and brilliant, and she stood on her toes to kiss him. "Yes."

They helped each other out of over- and under-robes and, more slowly, undergarments. He still had to go slowly, when he actually started touching her skin, had to steady his breath and remind himself that it had always caught like this when they'd kissed, that it was normal, and even to be expected, surely, that the softness of her skin under his fingers would make any man a little dizzy. When she tucked herself under his chin, arms wrapped around him, and just settled there with a pleased sound, he had to hang on in return and close his eyes for a moment, nearly overwhelmed by the warmth of her pressed against him.

She waited for him. Waited for him to convince himself, again, that this was real. Waited until he stopped trembling and could slide his hands gently down the curve of her bare back to smile up at him and tug him toward the bed. As they stretched out together, he murmured against her shoulder, "Thank you."

"Oh hush." The words were impatient, but her voice was gentle and her hands were slow as they slid up his chest. "We have time."

"Even so." He kissed her softly, and laughed at the faintly exasperated sound she made into his mouth.

His awareness of his own body still came and went sometimes, but tonight, when she hooked a leg around his hip and rocked against him, slow, heavy heat curled at the base of his spine, and it felt... sure. Immovable. As steady as the knowledge of where his own center was, when he took a step in their training forms. And so, tonight, he slid his fingers into her hair and kissed her deeper, open and openly wanting, moving with her, sliding against her until she shivered, arching against him, and murmured, "Shu-ge..."

"Oh yes." He almost didn't recognize his own voice, rough and husky with the urgent heat running in his veins. She was wet against him, now, and the sound she made when he pressed into her was nearly a growl. The heat of her filled his mind, his lungs, and all he could do was catch her closer, drive into her, let the tide of sensation take him and trust that the ferocious intensity of it would be pleasure. Nihuang ground up against him, strong arms winding tight around him, and the burst of brilliant heat as her body tightened knocked the breath out of him in a wordless groan, drowned everything else in the wild surge of his body's response.

Other sensations settled back into place slowly. His mouth was dry from panting. Nihuang was pressed tight against him, shuddering as her body settled from her own pleasure. Her hands were stroking up and down his back, the slight scrape of callouses reminding him again that this was real.

"There," she finally said, voice just as rough as his, "see, we're getting better at that."

And, at that, he couldn't do anything but laugh, helplessly, and kiss her again.

Three

While Jingyan had been entirely correct about how easily he could become accustomed to having xiao-Shu always near, again, apparently this was not the case for his officials and ministers. Nearly a month after his arrival (or re-arrival) in the capital, whispers still followed Lin Shu through the halls of the Palace like an over-robe trailing off his shoulders. Xiao-Shu only smiled at them, though, small and amused, so Jingyan paid it as little mind as he could.

The distraction of half the officials reporting to him, he was less willing to ignore. He tapped a finger meaningfully against his desk, and the Minister of Personnel started a little, gaze jerking back to him from where it had been wandering off to the side. Admittedly, the tangle of tables and shelves, all stacked with books, scrolls, ink, bushes, and the occasional candle tree, which was slowly engulfing one side of Jingyan's outer receiving room, was worth a second glance. But He Jingzhong had seen what Jingyan couldn't help thinking of as xiao-Shu's command center before, and there was other work to get through, today. He raised pointed brows, and He cleared his throat.

"Ah. Yes. So, all the ladies the Crown Princess requested be inducted to the Palace staff have been approved." He bowed and offered a report folio. Jingyan refrained, with what he felt was admirable self-discipline, from rolling his eyes, and flipped through it quickly. Everyone An had discussed with his mother was, indeed, present.

"Very good." He nodded a dismissal, and He took himself off, a little slower than was really necessary.

Jingyan gave in and rolled his eyes.

From his own desk, xiao-Shu chuckled, finally looking up from the stack of reports and letters he had been giving every appearance of being completely engrossed in. "Give them a little longer to become accustomed, before you start thinking of distant posts you can banish people to."

"I wasn't thinking of banishing anyone," Jingyan said with dignity, if not with entire truthfulness. Xiao-Shu laughed out loud, at him.

"Of course you were. It's exactly the same little lines between your brows that you always got when dealing with idiots. It's probably the same look Nihuang is giving the Ji army generals at this very moment."

Nihuang had declared, when offered her own work space in the Eastern Palace, that she had just escaped a princedom's worth of paperwork, and demanded some field work to clean the paper dust out of her throat. Jingyan had sympathized too heartily with the sentiment to argue, and had asked her to inspect the armies posted to the interior. He trusted that she would bring back reliable accounts of whomever she didn't terrorize into shape on the spot. And also that she would make Lin Shu stop looking softly distracted and then a little disappointed immediately after. As he was, for example, at this moment. "She'll be back in ten days," he offered.

Xiao-Shu actually blushed, and Jingyan couldn't help laughing. "An thinks the two of you are adorable, you know." Actually, so did he. The two of them had only recently grown out of teasing each other mercilessly, when everything went wrong, and he treasured the chance to see them acting properly lovestruck. And, because that clearly meant someone else would have to do the teasing for a while, he added, "Mother thinks you're adorable, too."

Xiao-Shu snatched up a report folio and threw it at him, half-laughing and half-glowering. Jingyan grinned as he caught it, and ignored Zhou Wei's faint sigh from the side of the room. He didn't think the man actually disapproved. He did turn back to his work, though, because there was just so much of it to get through. "Do we have that review of boat-masters shipping under an Imperial charter yet?" he asked.

"Yes. You're holding it." Xiao-Shu smirked at him sidelong, and Jingyan snorted. All right, fine, yes he should know better than to try and get the better of his cousin.

That did not, of course, mean he would stop.

Jingyan was smiling as he bent over the endless reports.

Li Len climbed the steps to the Eastern Palace in Cai and Shen's wake. The two of them were already, or perhaps still, arguing.

"You should have gotten rid of Tian Gen as soon as you knew he was corrupt!"

"The point is that I didn't know; I can't just purge my ministry on suspicions."

"Suspicion is good enough for demotion, and then he couldn't do as much damage."

"Cai Quan..."

In a way, Len could see why the Crown Prince favored the two of them together. They did provide a fairly balanced view of any topic if you let them argue long enough, but it was a little nerve-wracking to be around, and he could do without extra nerves on any visit to the Crown Prince. At least Cai and Shen stopped arguing long enough for their entrance to be called.

That didn't actually help Len's nerves any, though, because Lin Shu was at the Crown Prince's side, today, as he was so constantly since he'd returned, leaning casually on the Prince's writing table and pointing something out over his shoulder. As someone who'd survived by adherence to protocol for decades, Len freely admitted to getting twitchy over how easily the Prince accepted Lin Shu's unpredictable shifts between knife-sharp observance of protocol and casual disregard of the same. How was a man supposed to know how to keep his head on his damn shoulders without at least a few guidelines?

He salved his nerves with a rigidly proper bow, along with Cai and Shen, and took a deep breath. Today was going to be tense enough as it was.

"Ministers," the Crown Prince greeted them, sitting back. "I take it you have something significant to discuss, today, to have all three of you here?"

"Unfortunately so," Shen agreed. "Your Highness will recall the misappropriation from the Qing Li southern depot. We seem to have struck an impasse, on it."

At Shen's nod, Len stepped forward. "Minister Cai's investigator determined which of the depot officers was responsible for the theft, and he has been remanded to prison already. Unfortunately, he has not yet been persuaded to give up the names of who else he worked with." He spread his hands, half helpless and half frustrated, and tried not to wince at the way the Prince's always-stern expression was turning dark and hard. "I am willing to approve sterner questioning, but..."

"I doubt it would be of use," Cai finished for him, clearly and entirely frustrated. "If he's this resistant to interrogation, to begin with, we'd have to use extreme measures, and the information that comes from that is always questionable. We do have a suspect, one Tian Gen, but I will admit that the evidence is very circumstantial."

"I see." The Prince's increasingly cold gaze turned to Shen. "Someone from your ministry, then?"

Shen nodded rather wearily. "What we do know points that way. Sergeant Yang covered his appropriation of supplies by reporting a good deal of spoilage, more than would have normally gone without question or inspection of the depot's storage itself. Investigation traced that money, and some of it was sent back to someone in the capital, but the trail ends at a pick-up point and a false name, and we have not been able to get a definitive description of the man who picked up those moneys."

"But you assume it's Tian Gen," Lin Shu murmured from where he stood by the Prince's chair, arms crossed, eyes distant, as though he were reading a scroll no one else could see.

"He's the one who should have overseen reports from that area." Shen gave Cai, who was nearly bouncing on his toes, a patient look, and added. "And he rose very quickly under Lou Zhinjing. I will admit that many of those who did likewise have been... less than reliable. But it is not evidence."

"He fits the description we do have," Cai grumbled.

"So do a quarter of the men in the city!" Shen pointed out, exasperated. "I can't throw the man out of the ministry just for that!"

"I can," the Prince stated flatly, and Len saw Lin Shu's head jerk up.

"Jingyan," Lin Shu said, sharp and warning, and Len tried not to actually pale with shock. He knew the man was sometimes casual with the Crown Prince, but this...!

Beside him, Shen sighed and murmured, under his breath, "Oh dear."

The Crown Prince nearly exploded up out of his chair, rounding on Lin Shu. "If he should have had oversight, he's guilty in any case!"

"Then let him be tried and removed for that," Lin Shu snapped back. "You cannot set a precedent for removing officials at your whim!"

The Crown Prince gestured sharply, as if to strike that aside. "This is hardly a whim!"

"It is if you don't wait for evidence!"

The two men glared at each other for a long moment before the Prince turned away and planted his clenched fists on the table, head lowered. Li Len wondered, a little distantly, if he could sneak out now and pretend he'd never witnessed this. He jumped a little when Shen patted him on the arm. "Calmly, Minister," Shen said out of the corner of his mouth, nearly whispering. "They do this now and then."

Before Len could ask how, in that case, Lin Shu was still alive and walking around free, Lin Shu sighed and stepped forward, anger falling away as he laid a hand on the Crown Prince's shoulder. "Dong-jie is very good at what she does," he said, quietly. "She'll bring you what you need, to act on this. Trust the people we've chosen."

The Crown Prince didn't answer, but did lift a hand and lay it over Lin Shu's. When he straightened again, his fury seemed to have washed away, or at least eased into a focused calm. "Minister Cai," he said quietly, "when do you expect Xia Dong to return?"

As if there was nothing at all strange about the Crown Prince, and de facto emperor, having a public shouting match with his closest advisor, Cai answered, "Likely another month; she's following the matÃ©riel trail to see whether we can trace more conclusively where the goods went. She sent the girl who accompanied her back, along with her interim report, though." He made a dubious face. "She suggested we try the girl on Tian Gen, actually."

Lin Shu smirked, where he was still standing close at the Prince's shoulder, and put in, "Gong Yu was one of my agents in the Capital for years. She's very good at getting men to talk."

"Ah." Cai bowed briefly. "With both of you vouching for her skills, sir, I'm willing to let her try."

"Do so," the Prince approved. "Let me know when you have more information. You will have my support for whatever needs to be done, to clear this matter."

Len bowed acknowledgment, along with Cai and Shen, and followed them out the door, finally releasing a relieved breath, when they were clear. And then he spun to Shen and demanded, "Exactly how often is 'now and then'?!"

Shen and Cai exchanged thoughtful looks. "Twice?" Shen suggested.

"This time makes three, that we've seen." Cai clapped Len reassuringly on the shoulder. He thought he must look as horrified as he felt. "Don't worry so much!"

"They both obviously have the family temper," Shen put in, more quietly. "Better they use it to keep each other in check than otherwise, yes?"

"I suppose so," Len had to agree, albeit a little weakly. He shook himself and continued down the steps with them. After a few more, in which he recalled the lack of space between the two men, and the gentleness of Lin Shu's tone, he added, "Do you think the two of them are... that way, perhaps?"

"You have to think," Cai agreed. "Considering."

"Oh certainly," Shen murmured. "Just as soon as one of them notices."

Len and Cai both stared at him, Len picturing Lin Shu's easy hand on the Prince's shoulder and the Prince's hand covering his. "You think they haven't?"

Shen chuckled. "Remember your son's courting, if not your own. Not quite yet, I don't think."

Len considered how his own son had behaved, when he'd finally noticed his betrothed was a girl, and a pretty one at that, and rubbed his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on already.

"My turn to host drinks," Cai stated firmly, and Len let the two of them steer him toward the gates with gratitude. He felt badly in need of a little fortification.

Interlude: Clearing

Lu Jian was knee deep in slimy mud, the day Princess Nihuang, Madam Lin, visited, debating with the boss of his garden crew whether the bed of the water garden needed to be dredged. By the time he'd scrambled up the ladder and over the edge, he was even muddier. The Princess only smiled, returning a courteous nod to his bow. "Your message said you wanted someone who was familiar with the manor to look at something?"

Jian tried not to goggle at her, and hastily bowed again. "One of the servants would have done, Milady!"

She waved this off. "There aren't many left, and none in the city at this time. What is it?"

"Well..." Jian ran a hand through his hair, hoping against hope to neaten it after his morning climbing in and out of muddy holes. "I was hoping to speak with someone who knew how the manor was furnished. I know the family belongings probably can't be recovered, but... well, I was hoping to at least come close."

Her smile warmed, and Jian suddenly understood why one of the premier generals of the nation also had so much poetry written about her. "That is a kind thought, and one I will be pleased to assist with."

"Yes, Milady," he agreed, just a little faintly, before he pulled himself together and called for the senior secretary on site.

He tried to make the tour of the premises quick, but the Princess herself kept pausing, considering the Inner Hall for a long moment before telling him that the candle trees had been four-tiered, sighing at the eastern garden's disarray before telling him that the Royal Princess Jinyang had favored azaleas and roses there, touching the fresh timber of the main hall's rear supports with light fingers before confirming that they had been colored a deep black. By the end of it, Jian felt somewhere between guilty for making the lady relive the past to answer his questions and delighted that he now had a chance to match her memories (and thus Vice-Marshal Lin's memories) so closely.

It was not a comfortable mix.

"Anything for me to take to the suppliers?" Shi Ping asked, once he'd seen the Princess off.

"Quite a bit, actually." He gestured for his secretary to pass over the list. "This renovation might just restart the fashion for painted hangings."

"Well, at least they'll be less expensive right now," Shi Ping pointed out, practically. "I'll see about these. You go talk to the garden crew again. Whatever we save on hangings, I'm thinking we'll have to spend on rock to re-line the water garden."

Jian groaned at the mere thought of the expense, but he couldn't actually argue; a water garden with that kind of slime built up at the bottom had to be cleaned out completely, or it would just pollute the new water and kill off any new plantings. You couldn't argue with the facts of nature—only work with them. He turned and made for the third garden.

He was probably going to need two baths by the end of the day.

Four

More and more often, lately, Lin Shu found himself remembering Prince Qi, the brother Jingyan had idolized, the Prince that Lin Shu himself had thought to serve. Once in the field, the Emperor had been a distant, abstract sort of memory. It had been Jingyan at his side, his father in command, and Prince Qi's orders, thoughts, ideals guiding them. Now that management of the whole nation, rather than just one army, had fallen on he and Jingyan, he cast his thoughts back to those ideals whenever he could.

He also found himself wondering how Prince Qi had possibly been able to keep his relatively cheerful disposition when buried in the paperwork of government.

"Xiao-Shu."

He believed in staying informed as much as the next man, and considering the next man was often Lin Chen this was saying something, but he would be happier if more officials and ministers spent a season or two writing via messenger pigeon to master the art of concise language.

"Xiao-Shu?"

The explanations for official expenditures ran especially long, and he was seriously considering sending sub-minister of Public Works Huang a note advising him to simply put "bribe to expedite construction" in his next report. Both honesty and efficiency would be served well, thereby, and he wouldn't have to comb through his own height in paper just to find out which shippers were building up unusual funds and might, therefore, be trailed back to foreign sources he could use to track future goods smuggled out of the country.

"Xiao-Shu." A firm hand fell on his shoulder and shook him out of his concentration, and he blinked up at Jingyan.

"Hm?"

Jingyan was smiling down at him, openly amused. "Nihuang only returned yesterday. If you miss dinner because you were reading reports, I hesitate to imagine what action she'll take to rectify matters."

"Ah." Lin Shu straightened in his chair, glancing around at his stacks of reading, and he had to smile himself, a bit wryly. He was, perhaps, too used to working alone with a small network, still. "Yes, all right. I suppose the rest of this can wait." As he stretched upright, all the muscles in his back registered their agreement.

There was definite approval in Jingyan's voice when he said, "Good." He squeezed Lin Shu's shoulder and let him go.

Perhaps it was only that Lin Shu was already paying attention to what his body was telling him in the moment, but when Jingyan's fingers brushed against the bare skin of his neck, drawing away, that one moment of contact poured a warm shiver straight down his spine to pool low in his stomach, hot and startling.

Or... perhaps not startling, exactly, because Lin Shu could remember many moments like this, when they were younger. They spilled through his mind, quick and visceral, those moments of heat, of awareness, that had accompanied Jingyan's hand in his hair, on his neck, on his wrist, moments so easy to fold into his love for his cousin, his desire to always be near, the easy knowledge that Jingyan would never deny him. Now... now he had fourteen years of separation, of fiercely ignoring his body and its pain, of ignoring everything he knew he could never have again. Now it stood out.

And what did he do with it, now?

"Xiao-Shu?" Jingyan had turned back, half-way to the entrance to the inner rooms, brows lifted. Lin Shu shook himself and stood.

"Yes, of course." He made his way to Jingyan's side and tried not to let his breath catch at the easy nudge of Jingyan's shoulder against his as they passed within.

What on earth was he going to do with this now?

Nihuang eyed her husband thoughtfully, as they ate, aware of Jingyan doing the same, with, perhaps, a shade more concern. Of course, Nihuang was fairly sure she knew what was behind all the moments when Shu-ge hesitated just a bit longer than usual before answering someone, when his hand stayed poised just a beat too long before actually conveying food from dish to mouth. The decisive clue, she thought, was that, in each one of those moments, Shu-ge's eyes slid toward Jingyan and then snapped away an instant later. Even An was giving him a puzzled look, now and again. Nihuang caught her eye and gave her a reassuring smile, rolling her own eyes toward both the men. An looked down quickly, stifling a giggle, and relaxed again.

She and Nihuang had talked about this before Nihuang had ever left the capital.

And tonight, Nihuang thought she might just be able to get through another of the necessary discussions to untangle her husband from his own uncertainty. So as soon as they'd finished, she reached out to twine her fingers with Shu-ge's and said, "Come and talk. I've missed you."

Jingyan chuckled at that, which made her think he'd been teasing Shu-ge about her, which was an encouraging sign. Shu-ge only smiled, though, small and warm. "Yes, of course."

So she tugged him off to her own rooms and promptly snuggled close as soon as he sat. It was entirely true that she'd missed him, after all, and missed the way he gathered her into the curve of his arm and pressed his lips to her hair. There were other matters that were overdue to be seen to, though, so as soon as she was settled to her satisfaction, tucked up against him, she asked, "Shu-ge, is something wrong? You spent all evening not looking at Jingyan."

He huffed softly. "I suppose I should have expected you to see it."

"So what is it?" She nudged him and added, leadingly, "You must know he'd never disapprove of anything you wanted to do."

"It's not like that. I just... That is, today..." She waited while he took a long breath and let it out. "Today, when Jingyan touched me, I remembered how it used to be, back then."

"Ah." Now they were getting somewhere. She smiled and cuddled closer. "You mean when, every time he touched you, he was smiling like the dawn sun, and, every time, you looked back at him like he was the world's first sunrise?" His arms tightened around her sharply, and she reached up to touch his cheek and maker him look at her. "And how is that in any way different from how it is now?"

After a long, wide-eyed moment, he smiled down at her. "Well. I'd forgotten how it felt."

"So now you remember." She stroked her thumb along his cheekbone, gently. "Shu-ge, do you remember what we used to talk of, back then? That we'd find another girl of a military family for Jingyan, and all live together in one house, and be together always?"

A soft, unsteady laugh escaped him. "And that we'd all four take the field together, and be as fierce as legends, and sweep the enemies of the nation before us?"

She smiled back, a little unsteady herself with the sweetness of those memories. "And look at us, now. All in the same house, much of the time. And if An isn't of a military family, she is the one who understands best the other ways you fight, now." She reached up to cup both hands around his face, finishing in a whisper, "And have we not swept our enemies before us?"

He caught her close, burying his head in her shoulder, and she could feel him shaking a little in her arms. "Yes," he answered, low and rough. "Yes, we have."

"Then be as fierce as the legend we will become," she told him, completely sure of this one thing. "What is there to fear, after all this?"

Finally he lifted his head, eyes a little wet though he was smiling. "You've grown so wise, my heart." He still hesitated, though, and she cocked an eyebrow. "I know you were jealous of him, sometimes," he said, low.

"Sometimes, when we were first betrothed," she agreed, quietly. "Yes. But Shu-ge... do you know how you looked at me, back then?

He smoothed back a strand of her hair with light fingers, eyes soft. "How?"

"Back then, you stopped in your steps, now and then, and looked at me like I'd just stepped out of the sky itself to take your hand. And I looked back like you were the beating heart in my chest." She leaned up to kiss him, softly. "And that, too, is no different, now, than it's ever been."

He caught her closer, tight enough to drive her breath out, this time. "No different at all," he agreed, husky, and kissed her back, slow and tender. Against her mouth, he murmured, "So, may I be legendarily fierce tomorrow? I believe I'd like to stay here, for the the rest of tonight."

She laughed, free and open, and twisted to pull him down to the bed with her, hands buried in his hair as they kissed again, sweet with the fierceness that was always at the heart of her brilliant boy, even when he didn't see it. That was all right. The ones who loved him saw it for him.

And she had always known that Xiao Jingyan was a true partner, in that.

Predictably, Lin Shu found himself even more distracted the next day. It felt like the first few weeks after he'd returned to Nihuang, all over again. His eyes constantly strayed to Jingyan, to the tilt of his head as he read, to the movement of his hands over paper, to the occasional curl of his mouth. His memory, now thoroughly stirred up, insisted on recalling all the other times he'd seen Jingyan smile, so many of them at him.

Of course Jingyan noticed.

"Xiao-Shu?" he finally asked, quietly, once they'd sent the sub-minister of Rites away with a quelling promise that Marquis Yan would review his recommendations, coming to stand close. "Are you all right?"

And, of course, that was where Jingyan's mind would immediately go; he should have anticipated it. Lin Shu reached out, in unthinking reassurance, and rested a hand on Jingyan's chest. Just as unthinkingly, Jingyan's had rose to cover it. "I'm well, I promise," he soothed. "I just..." he paused as the warmth of Jingyan's hand on his finally registered, and looked down at his own hand on Jingyan's chest. They were standing so close, and he hadn't even noticed, because that was how they'd always been. Always, save for a year ago, and that had been two solid years of restraining himself at every turn from stepping closer, reaching out, knowing that Jingyan would never deny him if he did. That Jingyan hadn't denied him, once he'd known. Jingyan's voice wound through his memory, low and sure, stating like a fact, We are as one person.

Now he felt like a bit of a fool.

"Xiao-Shu?" Jingyan asked, softly.

Lin Shu took a breath and let it go, uneven with the thread of laughter in it. "Sometimes I miss the obvious, it seems. In my defense, I never even thought to be alive, here and now, let alone returned to you."

"You, miss something?" Jingyan asked, straight-faced and teasing. "Surely not."

Lin Shu shoved at him, lightly, and then turned his hand to catch Jingyan's, smiling. "Say rather I wasn't letting myself remember. This," he added, as Jingyan started to ask, and lifted their clasped hands to press a kiss to Jingyan's fingers. In the quiet of the room, he could hear the quick draw of Jingyan's breath. When he looked up again, Jingyan was standing very still, eyes wide and dark.

"Xiao-Shu."

It was little more than a whisper, but the weight it sank into his chest like a sea anchor in a storm. "You said it, didn't you, a year and a half ago?" he answered, low. "We are as one." Agreement and promise and apology wrapped together in the simple words. "I won't forget again."

Jingyan's stillness finally broke, and he stepped closer, free hand lifting to curve around Lin Shu's nape. Gentle as he was, the gesture caught Lin Shu's breath short with the heat that curled through his stomach in answer. He was remembering now, all right, but he wasn't used to this any more.

A faint, meaningful cough from the direction of the doors reminded him that they were also standing in Jingyan's outer receiving room in the middle of a work day, and that Zhou Wei was probably going to give them both long-suffering looks for days, over this. He leaned his forehead against Jingyan's, trying to hold back laughter, which would only make the long-suffering last longer. Jingyan's mouth curled in an answering smile, and he murmured, low, "Later, then."

Well, there was his concentration gone for the day, Lin Shu reflected, ruefully.

He did make it through the rest of the day without any really egregious lapses, but by the time Zhou Wei firmly closed the Eastern Palace's main doors his expression had turned from long-suffering to downright exasperated. Jingyan thanked him, with, perhaps, just a bit of suppressed merriment in his eyes, and calmly set his hand on Lin Shu's back to guide him toward the inner rooms. Lin Shu swore he could hear Zhou Wei rolling his eyes behind them.

By far the majority of his attention was on the heat of Jingyan's hand through his robes, though, not a light touch, not the pro forma gesture of everyday courtesy, and he had to concentrate a little to put one foot steadily in front of the other. By the time they reached Jingyan's rooms, he felt as though all his skin was sensitized to that simple, steady touch. "Jingyan," he said, softly, not entirely sure what he meant to say after that. Whatever it might have been was lost as Jingyan turned to him, smiling, and drew him close with that hand on his back.

"Do you remember this?" he asked, low and intimate, just the sound of his voice enough to stroke a finger of heat down Lin Shu's spine. Even so, even a little breathless, he had to laugh, because Jingyan was teasing him.

"I certainly do." Which was true. It hadn't been at all unusual for them to end up pressed together, and sometimes, if training had devolved into rough-housing, tangled together. And he remembered the times Jingyan had pulled him close, triumphant or laughing or... just leaning together at the end of the longest days. He slid his hands up Jingyan's arms and over his shoulders. "I wondered, a few of those times, whether I shouldn't do something rather like this." He leaned in and kissed Jingyan, light and questioning—the same question he'd had in his heart, those times, wondering if the beloved cousin who gave his world a center would wish this, also.

Jingyan's hand slid up to cradle his head, mouth unhurried and sure on his, kissing him back until he was a little dizzy with the thoroughness of it, the slide of Jingyan's tongue through his mouth, tasting him slowly. When Jingyan finally drew back, he answered Lin Shu's half-forgotten question, softly, "I would have welcomed you then, too."

The assurance unwound something deep in Lin Shu's chest—the lingering wonder whether Jingyan would have merely indulged him or actually wanted him in return. He'd been used to being wanted, really, but Jingyan was the one, the only one, he'd never been able to easily move to his whim. The one who really counted. Jingyan must have felt him relax, because he shook his head, mouth quirked wryly. "Xiao-Shu. You have always been my heart and soul," he said, quiet and easy.

Lin Shu's breath stopped for a moment, as those words sang through him, resonating in his own heart. "Jingyan..."

"It's true," Jingyan told him, perfectly serene, gathering him close. Lin Shu settled against him willingly, smiling small and true. Jingyan rubbed slow fingers up and down his neck and made a satisfied sound when Lin Shu unwound a little more, leaning against him. "Will you come to bed, xiao-Shu?" he asked against Lin Shu's ear, low and warm, sending a little shiver spilling down his spine.

"Yes," Lin Shu answered, husky.

Jingyan stayed close as they undressed, hands sliding down Lin Shu's arms and chest as he took each layer away, as if he wanted to re-learn Lin Shu's body. He was far more careless of his own clothing, tugging belts loose quickly and shrugging out of all his layers together as soon as the ties were undone. That simple motion fixed Lin Shu's eyes like nothing else could have, though. Jingyan had always been beautiful to him, and he'd grown into something magnificent, the hard muscle of one campaign after another shifting under his skin, sleek and powerful as a tiger prowling, as he stepped through the muddle of silk toward Lin Shu. He reached out for Jingyan because he could scarcely help it, and Jingyan gathered him close again with a smile. The heat of Jingyan's bare skin against his, the line of Jingyan's back under his palms, took up all of his awareness, at least until Jingyan's mouth found his again for a slow kiss, this one so unmistakably possessive that it pulled a soft, wanting sound out of him.

"My own," Jingyan said against his mouth, answering Lin Shu's want as easily as he always had.

"Yes." Lin Shu pressed close, arms tightening hard around him. "I wish that." He had wished that, even when he'd carefully slipped away, determined that those he loved would not have to watch him die. And now... He gasped, breath driven out by the force of Jingyan's arms closing around him.

"Then I will not let you go." Jingyan's words felt like they burned into him, fierce and hot as the kiss that followed, and he answered with all his heart, moaning out loud as Jingyan's mouth moved down his jaw to his throat. The pull and soft sting of Jingyan sucking a mark into his skin, nearly made his knees give way. Jingyan made an agreeable sound against his skin and let them both down to the bed, leaning over him on one elbow. "You like that," he observed, satisfaction clear in the curve of his lips as he ran a slow finger over the tender skin he'd marked. A hot shudder ran through Lin Shu, in response, and he reached up to pull Jingyan down against him, to another kiss.

"I do," he finally answered, when that burst of heat had eased a little, settled by Jingyan's weight over him. He was so hard he was dizzy with it, in fact.

Jingyan smiled, slowly, eyes bright. "Well, then." He leaned down, nuzzling under Lin Shu's jaw until he tipped his head back, and kissed slowly down the line of his throat, biting gently here and there until Lin Shu was pushing up against him, breathless little sounds catching in his throat as need and pleasure danced down his nerves.

"Jingyan..." He nearly whimpered as the wet heat of Jingyan's mouth continued down his chest and stomach, and he should really have remembered how much trouble they'd almost always gotten into when Jingyan got that look in his eyes. When Jingyan settled between his legs, broad shoulders pushing them apart, arms curled around his thighs, he moaned out loud. "Jingyan."

"Xiao-Shu." Jingyan looked up at him, and this smile was quiet and sure. "It's all right." The assurance in that deep voice settled over him like summer sunlight, warmth and comfort and security sinking into his bones. Jingyan made a pleased sound as he relaxed, and pressed a soft kiss to his inner thigh, and another, and then slowly sucked a mark there.

Relaxed as he was, the answering rush of heat went through him like the breaking of a storm-front. "Jingyan!" Jingyan only purred, marking his inner thighs again and again, holding him gently in place as Lin Shu tried to spread his legs wider, to press into his hold. He kept going until Lin Shu was twisting breathlessly against the bed, hands closed tight in the soft blankets under them, half wild with the hypersensitivity of his skin under Jingyan's mouth and the knowledge that Jingyan wanted to lay such a thorough claim on him.

When Jingyan's mouth finally closed over the length of him, hot and wet, he was so overwhelmed by sensation that all he could do was groan, wordless, and all it took was Jingyan's mouth sliding down him, slow and sure, to undo him completely. Pleasure shook him senseless for endless moments, left him wrung out and panting, muscles trembling under the warm stroke of Jingyan's hands.

"Mmm," he finally managed, reaching for Jingyan, and sighed with satisfaction as Jingyan's weight settled against him again. Jingyan smiled down at him, fingers sliding gently up into his hair.

"Looks like I guessed right."

"Very right," Lin Shu agreed, softly.

"Good." Jingyan slowly tugged loose the pin of his hairpiece and unraveled the snug twists of Lin Shu's hair until he could run his fingers all the way to the ends. "Do you remember this, too?"

"Mmmm." Feeling nearly liquid under the slow, easy strokes, Lin Shu wound his arms more snugly around Jingyan. "Of course. You always liked to take my hair down." He could feel the vibration of Jingyan's silent chuckle, this close.

"Well, you put it all the way up so young. I didn't think you needed to, to be taken seriously." He pressed a kiss to Lin Shu's forehead, and murmured, "And I liked being the only one who got to see it down, when we were in the field."

Lin Shu smiled up at him, sliding his hands up the broad line of Jingyan's back. "And is that all you wish of me, right now?" Lying this close together, it was fairly clear that it wasn't.

"Do you want more?" Jingyan countered, hand sliding gently down his neck, thumb stroking over tender, marked skin. "Or is this enough, for now?"

The curl of heat that answered that caress actually startled him, and he pulled in a quick breath. "Oh..." Jingyan's eyes on him darkened, hot and focused, but he still waited until Lin Shu reached up to cup his cheek and answered, "My desire for you has never had an end. I just never thought I'd be able to feel it like this again."

Jingyan caught him close, at that, and his mouth on Lin Shu's was fierce and hungry, this time. "Then you need do nothing but feel." Those words, wrapped in Jingyan's deep voice, stroked down his nerves like a fine brush, dark and soft, and left him flushed and breathless against the bed as Jingyan slid away to reach for the small cabinet beside it. When Jingyan gathered him up again, one hand sliding under him, slow and slick, he pressed close, accepting Jingyan's word and letting that touch fill his mind and senses, clinging to it just as fiercely, now, as he'd pushed sensation away for years. It was easier when Jingyan's fingers pressed into him, intimate enough to leave him gasping for breath against Jingyan's shoulder, and completely new. Jingyan went slowly, working his muscles open with gentle, relentless fingers until he was thoroughly unwound, hands flexing against Jingyan's back with each slow push in.

When Jingyan set his teeth on Lin Shu's throat and bit down softly at the same time, the sensation took fire all in a rush and it shook an open moan out of him. "Jingyan."

Jingyan kissed him, deep and sure. "Yes."

The feeling of Jingyan's hands sliding down the marked skin of his thighs, to catch his knees and press them back and open, put a hot shudder through him and he was already breathless when Jingyan pushed slowly into him. The hard stretch and slide of it stole the rest of his breath and most of his thoughts, leaving only want and the anchor of Jingyan leaning over him, dark eyes intent on him.

"Just feel," Jingyan told him, low and husky, rocking into him slowly, over and over. "Xiao-Shu. I have you. Just feel."

"Jingyan..." It was almost a plea, and Jingyan leaned down to kiss it off his lips, gentle.

"Just feel," he repeated, deep voice soft and coaxing, and reached down, wrapping still-slick fingers firmly around Lin Shu's length.

Lin Shu didn't think he could help it, as pleasure spiraled through him in a dizzy climb that jumped with every stroke, every slow thrust. And it was Jingyan with him, in him, holding him, so he didn't try—just let the rush of pleasure take him, groaning out loud when it finally burst through him in a wash of fire down every nerve. Jingyan's deep moan answered him, and he looked up, dazed, to see Jingyan arched over him, flushed and gorgeous, lips parted. Every short, hard thrust into him sent another shock of pleasure up his spine, and he clung to the sweetness of feeling so much, so close.

When Jingyan drew back a little, easing his legs back down to the bed, Lin Shu shivered and reached out, not wanting to be parted even that little bit. Jingyan smiled and settled over him, holding him tight even as Lin Shu wrapped around him. His fingers slid through Lin Shu's loose hair, slow and easy, familiar and soothing after that wild surge of sensation.

"My own," Jingyan murmured against his ear, and the reminder relaxed him further, that he didn't have to lose this.

"Yes." He touched Jingyan's cheek to turn his head, and caught his mouth for a slow, open kiss. "As I always have been."

Jingyan positively purred at that, mouth curling in a satisfied smile. "Then I will keep you. My treasure."

Lin Shu felt his face heat at that, and bent his head, laughing. "Jingyan!"

"It's true," Jingyan said, calm and immovable, and Lin Shu gave in with a sigh, settling against him. He couldn't deny that the part of him that had always turned to Jingyan, always sought him as Lin Shu's personal pole star, was warmed and settled by every tender word.

"My heart," he admitted, softly, winding closer around Jingyan. He could feel Jingyan's lips curve against his temple, and smiled helplessly against his shoulder in return.

Now, now he truly felt he was all the way home.

When he'd been selected as the head of Prince Jing's attendants, on Jingyan's creation as Crown Prince, Zhou Wei had been pleased. Possibly even a little excited. Whatever his reputation for bullheadedness, Prince Jing was clearly the rising star of the Palace, and Zhou Wei would be the one responsible for looking after his affairs. It was even possible, given the Prince's equal reputation for rectitude and loyalty, that this would put Wei on track to become Chief of the palace officials, when Gao stepped down. Gao-gong had even spoken with him personally, about the appointment, and had a few quiet words of advice, which Wei had taken firmly to heart.

He had sought out Lei Zhanying, the Prince's left hand, and asked him how the Prince preferred to be served. Thanks to that discussion, Wei kept himself close to the Prince, whenever he was in the Eastern Palace, but unobtrusive. He firmly discouraged the other palace officials from attempting to fawn, the way the last Crown Prince had liked, and hustled ministers and officers in and out of the Prince's presence as expeditiously as possible.

Thanks to Gao-gong's advice, he'd also sought out the Noble Consort Jing and made himself known to her. The Lady had smiled, faint but warm, and invited him back a month later, to what had turned out to be a strategy meeting with the young Lady Liu. That had been invaluable, and only the suspicion that Lady Jing would dislike fawning as much as her son had kept him from truly effusive thanks. Wei and the Crown Princess now sent each other at least weekly notes about the Crown Prince's health, temper, and schedule.

The last piece of advice Gao-gong had given him was to never, ever speak ill of Prince Qi or Chiyan or Lin or, most especially, Lin Shu. To think of Lin Shu, in particular, as his Prince's dearest brother.

That advice had served Wei very well, indeed, in the months following the Crown Prince's ascension, and had made him careful of his Prince's grief during the year that followed.

It had not, however, quite prepared him for Lin Shu's return.

Suddenly, the man was everywhere, never apart from the Prince except when he was boring through some unfortunate Ministry's records like an arrow through straw. A few of the younger officials actually hid when they saw him coming, now, and the keepers of the Royal Library looked pained, because no one could stop him. Lin Shu might as well be an extension of the Crown Prince. If the Prince was in the Eastern Palace, so was Lin Shu, and if Lin Shu was in the Prince's city manor, so was the Prince.

And they were really not discreet in the slightest.

Zhou Wei caught a rustle of robes from the room behind him and resisted the urge to rub his forehead. He knew without looking, without even looking at the half-delighted, half-scandalized expressions on the door attendants as they peeked past him, that Lin Shu was stealing another kiss from the Prince. They'd been doing it all morning, and sooner or later someone besides their own attendants was going to notice. Wei made a mental note to speak personally with the Crown Princess about how to manage the rumors. A note was not going to be sufficient this week.

A messenger started across the plaza to the Eastern Palace steps, and Wei sighed, stepping back into the outer receiving room. Sure enough, Lin Shu was leaning over one arm of the Prince's chair and the Prince's hand was curled around his nape, fingers sliding under the collar of his robes.

"...been able to feel the marks of your mouth on my thighs with every step I take, all day," Lin Shu was murmuring, as Wei got back into earshot. Wei attempted to quash that mental image, violently, and made sure to kick a bench in passing. The Prince, at least, had the grace to flush a little when the two of them looked up at the little clatter and saw him approaching. Lin Shu just smiled, straightening up slowly and folding his hands.

"A ministry messenger for you, Highness, Sir," Wei said, trying not to sound harassed. From the upward crimp at the corners of Lin Shu's mouth, he didn't entirely succeed.

"Let him in," the Prince ordered, reaching for one of the report folios on his desk, as if he'd been paying any attention to them at all, today. Wei sighed and waved at the door attendants.

He'd entered Palace service, among other reasons, because he didn't want to deal with a family and children. Why did he suddenly feel like he was getting all the annoyances of parenthood anyway?

The messenger bowed quickly. "Message from Minister Cai, Highness, Sir. He says the lady is in place."

Gong Yu stepped lightly through the halls of Jinglin's second best brothel, a demure smile settled over her like a fine headdress, drawing eyes and clearing her way at the same time.

She'd forgotten how much she enjoyed this work.

The actual arts of the body she found merely tiresome. Give her a sword drill any day. But this—the careful tension between a welcoming smile and averted eyes that kept all the clients at just the right distance for her to stalk her prey—this was almost like the strings of a zither under her fingers.

Today, she'd painted her cheeks darker, to make them look thinner, sharpened the line of her jaw, dressed her hair up high to lengthen the lines of her head. No one had recognized her as Miao Yin's finest musician, least of all the rather discontented looking man watching the dancers in the public room. Gong Yu exchanged a nod across the room, with the house's Madam, and folded herself down beside him in a sigh of fine silk, leaning in just enough to suggest intimacy without touching him. "Does our company not please you this evening, good sir?"

He harrumphed and tossed back his cup of wine. "Apparently," he said with heavy sarcasm, "all the private rooms are taken. What kind of House is this, to keep clients sitting out so long?"

She poured him another cup and lifted it in her fingertips to offer with a smile. "How unfortunate, good sir. Perhaps you will deign to allow me to entertain you while you wait, then?"

He finally looked at her properly, and the tight line of his shoulders relaxed a bit. "Hm. Well, now, that's a little more like it." She smiled back, sweet and winsome, and leaned a little closer, playing the developing tension in the air between them, delicately.

And all the while she cooed and snuggled at this fool, she held close in her heart the memory of Dong jie-jie's teeth flashing as she bared them in a fierce grin the day Gong Yu had gotten past her guard during morning training, the hardness of her eyes when they'd finally pinned down when Qing Li's southern depot had started losing goods—just a year after the man beside her had gained his current office in the Ministry of Revenue. Even more than that, the sober confidence in her voice when she'd told Gong Yu to return to the capital without her and close this half of the net. She made her smile bright with that memory and poured more wine.

Tian Gen was getting to what Yu privately thought of as the usefully drunk stage—expansive but not so loud or sloppy that the House's attendants would start trying to nudge him outside. "I have plenty of money for the best room here!" he declared, waving his empty cup in a broad gesture.

Yu promptly filled it again, making her eyes wide and impressed as she hung delicately on his shoulder. "Truly?" Dong jie-jie would have laughed long and hard at the breathless note in Yu's voice, she reflected.

"Ha! I have more money than even a Second Rank Minister, these days! And no one knows how!"

Yu molded her body a little closer against his side. "But... how can no one know, good sir?"

Tian Gen smirked and leaned toward her, clearly woozy though he kept his voice down, and Yu leaned in with a conspiratorial giggle. "I was smart, see. I never touched the money myself. I sent my man to get it for me."

Yu covered her mouth with her fingertips. "Oh!" Really, it was a good thing Tian Gen was this drunk; surely no one sober could have kept from laughing at her performance. She leaned on his shoulder, lips just brushing his ear, and breathed, "Are you sure he won't tell anyone? If it's that much money..."

Tian Gen laughed out loud, wrapping an arm around her, and Yu deliberately called to mind the feel of Dong jie-jie's hands closed around her face and the gentle kiss she'd given Yu in parting, letting that memory flush her cheeks and make her eyes soft. Tian Gen grinned down at her. "Deng has been with me for fifteen years. I've no worries about him!"

Yu smiled up at him, and if that smile's brilliance was due to the fact that she had a name to bring back for Dong jie-jie and her lord, well, Tian Gen didn't need to know.

She hoped Dong jie-jie's hunt was going as well.

Xia Dong crawled out of a drainage ditch in the Northern Yan capital, spat out muddy water, and wondered yet again if she should have kept Gong Yu with her after all. Trying to infiltrate another country's capital and steal the financial records of one of their royal factions was not a solo job. Though she had to admit, the contact Yu had sent word of her to wasn't doing too badly.

Her current associate, Wen Ru, landed in the slick grass beside her, breathing hard. "I think we're clear."

"Good. Do you know where I can get a fast horse?"

His grin winked in the darkness. "Who do you think you're talking to, again? One of the stable-boys at Prince Kang's manor is Jiangzuo."

Kang being the prince who had lost the succession race to Northern Yan's present Crown Prince, which would nicely derail any suspicions that it had been a Liang agent who'd raided the secret records of Duke Ma, the Crown Prince's strongest supporter. She hauled herself upright and made a dash for the nearest alley, Wen on her heels. "I like the way you think."

"It was the Chief who set it all up." He grabbed her arm to hold her back while a city patrol passed. "How is he doing, by the way?"

Xia Dong paused in the shadow of a wagon and gave him a sidelong look. "With Jiangzuo's information network, I'd have thought you knew better than I."

"I know he lived, and that he's making himself busy in the Capital." Wen jerked his chin up and leaped for the top of the wall beside them. She followed, landing light-footed and careful on these unfamiliar tiles. "What I don't know is if he's happy."

She shot him a searching look at that, but even in the moonlight up here she still didn't recognize him. "Were you one of his men?" she asked as he led the way over one ridgepole after another.

A faint snort answered her. "I suppose that was obvious, yes." They both froze, flat to the roof tiles as a clutch of servants passed by below. Xia Dong was very glad of a guide who knew his way, by the time they got to the edge of the manor, and its stables; alone this would probably have taken her past dawn, and then things could have gotten... exciting. Instead, a few low words from Wen got them both into Kang's livery and onto some of his horses in short order.

Once they were into the streets again, she said, quietly, "I think he is happy, yes. There's a great deal of foolishness to deal with, in the Court, but he's with the people he loves. That makes a very great difference." As she had cause to know.

His answer was a sigh in the darkness. "Good." For a long moment, she thought that would be all, but eventually he added, "He made a home for we who had lost ours; that's what Jiangzuo is, for we few who survived. But it never was for him. Madam Nie," she had to stifle a start at being recognized when she swore she hadn't known him, and he gave her a wry smile as they turned onto a torch-lit boulevard, "for the sake of what you regained, too, look after our Vice-Marshal?"

She swallowed back the memory of those cold years without Feng-ge, along with a lump in her throat, and nodded. "I will. As will others, as well."

He nodded back solemn acceptance of her word, and lifted his reins. "Then let's get you and your information out of here."

Jingyan and all his people were fortunate that xiao-Shu had returned, bringing back much of his old fire as well as his new and formidable network of alliances and loyalty. As they trotted briskly toward the city gates, though, stolen armor rattling, Xia Dong's hard-trained suspicious side had to wonder just who was going to end up ruling Da Liang, when xiao-Shu's reach was already so much greater than Jingyan's.

Interlude: Supports

Lu Jian wished that, just once, they could all get through a job without anyone trying to argue Shi Ping (and by extension him) into cutting corners.

"But if we don't trim the ends short, we won't be able to get the beam into place without cutting into the roof again!"

Just once.

"Not the roof," Shi Ping stated. "We'll cut the wall to bring it in upright."

Xu Hai, Jian's soon-to-be-ex head carpenter ignored the flatness in the foreman's voice and positively wheedled, "It will be just as stable once it's in place..."

"We are not going to shim the foot of a load-bearing beam," Jian snapped, ducking into the 'office' they'd set up in the south-western hall. "Have some pride in our work, man!"

Xu Hai jumped a bit at his arrival, but only sulked at his words. "How can we be sure we're even going to get paid for doing that kind of work, this time?" he muttered.

Shi Ping only looked a little weary at this; Jian, less reserved by nature, groaned out loud. "Is the entire crew doing nothing but listening to court gossip and rumors?" he implored the heavens. "Look, if the Crown Prince doesn't know his own childhood friend, surely the Princess must know her own betrothed! Isn't she the one who refused to marry anyone else for years? You can't seriously think the Vice-Marshal is really some kind of impostor."

Too late, he caught Shi Ping's urgent throat-cutting gesture and saw the gleam of an avid rumor-monger in Xu Hai's eye, as the man leaned forward eagerly. "But what if he really is Su Zhe? He was supposed to be such a brilliant courtier and scholar, and then he just vanished into thin air, and now there's another brilliant courtier showing up. What if it's him?"

"If it is, then he's obviously got the Crown Prince's favor, and we'll still get paid," Jian said, with as quelling a glare as he could generate. "And that means we are doing to do this job right, so stop gossiping and get back up to the main hall. I want calculations by the end of the day, on where to cut the back wall, to bring in a new support beam without having to do any stopgap shimming once it's in!"

Xu Hai deflated and allowed Shi Ping to herd him out at last, while Jian scrubbed both hands over his face. "Why can't anyone just do the job?" he muttered.

Shi Ping, ducking back through the door, clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "At least our client is probably doing his job, if there are this many rumors flying around," he offered.

As he'd probably intended, Jian laughed. "We'd best do ours, too, then. Once that support is replaced, we'll be ready to re-roof the main hall. Is the last load of shingles in?"

Properly tallied figures and solid workmanship, that was the thing that would always win out, in the end.

Five

Gao Zhan had many years of experience with Palace politics, and knew well the importance of having either an impenetrable smile or an equally impenetrable blank stare at all times. It was solely due to this long experience and habit that he was able to refrain from rolling his eyes at Pan Bai, the under-minister from the Palace Affairs Bureau, who was slowly edging his way toward a point that Gao, for one, had seen coming two ke ago.

"...so the Crown Princess' new additions to the palace ladies are very well thought-out, really, she is clearly a thoughtful and accomplished lady."

"Of course she is," the Emperor said, impatient, tossing the redundant report the man had brought onto the edge of his table.

"Surely, then, she should not be slighted or set aside...?" Pan Bai suggested, raising his brows in what he clearly thought was a meaningful, way.

The Emperor frowned at Pan. "Obviously not; there's been no thought of such a thing." He sounded rather offended on Lady Liu's account, which clearly heartened Pan. Gao stifled a sigh.

"Even though the Crown Prince and Vice-Marshal Lin Shu are..." the man trailed off and coughed delicately. "Well, it does seem to have become clear that the Vice-Marshal is a man the Crown Prince would cut his sleeve for..."

The Emperor snorted, sitting back in the throne with an audible huff. "If the idiot boy would take a cup of poison for him, I fail to see how that should surprise anyone."

Pan's eyes bugged out, and Gao had to bite back a snicker. He returned the man's stare blandly, not offering the tiniest clue what the Emperor might be speaking of. He'd had a good deal of practice doing so, in the past year, as Lady Jing's drugs did loosen the Emperor's tongue just a bit.

"I... that is... Then, ah..."

"Is that all you had to report?" the Emperor demanded, cutting off Pan's stammering.

"Yes, Majesty," he answered, sounding a bit dazed, and bowed himself out at the Emperor's brusque wave.

The Emperor settled back with a disgruntled look. "Do they think I have time for idiots wasting air, just because Jingyan is dealing with the day-to-day work?"

"Perhaps it will entertain Your Majesty to watch how Lin Shu deals with them, then," Gao suggested, just a bit slyly, he would admit. He'd observed that, much as the Emperor complained about Lin Shu, he also seemed obscurely proud of the young man's political ability. And, indeed, his suggestion drew a smirk from the Emperor.

Gao smiled with satisfaction, and made a note to see about sending young Zhou Wei some extra help at the Eastern Palace, to compensate for the increased headache his charges were about to become.

Dinner had become a more cheerful affair, over the past months, which Jingyan had to admit he enjoyed. This particular evening, though, his young wife appeared to be stifling actual giggles, which was a little unusual. "An?" he inquired courteously, and quietly, leaning a little toward her. He was a bit disconcerted when that made her turn very pink. Xiao-Shu, on the other hand, seemed to understand, and gave her a conspiratorial smile across the dishes and trays.

"How are our rumors progressing?"

An burst into helpless giggles behind her sleeve. Xiao-Shu seemed to think this was a good sign, or at least he sat back with a satisfied expression. When An caught her breath again, she glanced up at Jingyan, eyes dancing, and said, "Lady Hui thinks the two of you are romantic."

Xiao-Shu definitely smirked. "Romantic, hm?"

"Returning to your love from beyond the grave," An recited. "Realizing your heart is too full to refuse your second love. Finally requiting the Crown Prince's silent yearning. Oh, and the Princess Nihuang is very noble and generous; that's a new one to encourage."

Nihuang and xiao-Shu both burst out laughing.

Jingyan was still halted over the mental image of the royal Consorts gossiping over his bed affairs. "Xiao-Shu," he started, because he had no doubts whatsoever who the planner behind this was.

"Jingyan, there are going to be rumors," xiao-Shu told him, pulling himself back to some semblance of dignity. "We need to steer them as much as possible, and that means indulging the Palace's taste for drama. Besides," he smiled, gentler this time, "Lady An is very good at it."

An blushed pink again at the compliment, and peeked up at Jingyan, hesitant and hopeful. Jingyan gave in with a sigh, and rested a hand over hers. "Very well, then." He almost felt guilty, seeing how she relaxed and brightened, at his approval. They were still learning their way around each other; he supposed he should be grateful that xiao-Shu and Nihuang had so clearly accepted An into the family circle.

If only they hadn't also infected her with their terrible senses of humor.

"Speaking of rumor," Nihuang put in, picking up a piece of melon and nudging the plate toward xiao-Shu, "one of the officials from Personnel tried to sympathize with me, today."

"Ah." That was all xiao-Shu said, but there was such a weight of understanding and satisfaction in it that Jingyan raised his brows. Xiao-Shu smiled, sharp as the edge of a knife, and selected a melon slice for himself. "I was wondering whether the Chancellor would use Personnel or Rites, for this."

All three of them were looking questions at him, now. "None of Chancellor Yu's assistants have been involved in any of the rumors, so far," An said, slowly.

Xiao-Shu's smile widened. "Exactly."

An nodded, eyes turning distant and calculating for a moment. "I'll speak with Zhou Wei about watching that, then."

"What could the Chancellor possibly have against you?" Jingyan demanded, annoyed. "Aren't you only making his job easier?"

Now the other three were all looking at him with varying degrees of amusement. "Even I know that no minister is going to be happy about someone else touching his work," Nihuang pointed out. "Even to help."

Jingyan knew it was true, but that didn't make him any happier about it.

"It's more than that, actually." Xiao-Shu leaned against his back-rest. "The Chancellor, and the entire Department of State Affairs really, has had to deal with the Emperor's secretiveness, and his preference for using off-record methods like Xuanjing's agents to solve a lot of internal issues. Now, just when they thought they were done with that, here I am, bringing an unknown network of unknown strength with me. From the outside, would I not look very much like your private action or enforcement agent?"

"Then the rumor that you are the Crown Prince's lover..." An said, slowly, frowning.

Xiao-Shu nodded. "Makes some of them fear that either I will be unassailable, if they let me become entrenched, or even that I will seek to become the true ruler by manipulating Jingyan from behind the throne." He opened a hand, palm up. "Chancellor Yu is a good enough man, who has done his best to stay out of factional strife after being promoted to this position, but all men have their limit. He's reaching his. So he will use Personnel and Palace Affairs to put pressure on me, to set me off balance, and then attempt to cut the ground out from under me, when he sees a chance."

"Can you prevent him, then?" An asked softly, still looking a bit worried. "Without impairing his function as the Chancellor, I mean?"

Xiao-Shu gave her an approving smile. "I believe so, yes. He'll be far less trouble than the ones who are merely trying to safeguard their own personal power, of which we still have an unfortunate number."

"And I suppose there's still no hope of getting me eighteen more like Cai, to put under the Inspector of Discipline," Jingyan grumbled. That would fix a lot of problems, he was still convinced.

"We can work on it," xiao-Shu told him, smiling.

Nihuang nudged him with an elbow. "You couldn't have just gotten him some peaches? You had to get him a government, instead?"

Xiao-Shu colored a little, at that, but shot back, "Governments last longer, at least if you're doing it right." He paused, then, and looked down at her, suddenly serious, lifting a hand to brush her cheek with light fingers. "Nihuang..."

She leaned just a little into the touch, smiling up at him, so softly that Jingyan picked up his cup to have an excuse to look away and give them a little privacy. "Don't be silly, Shu-ge. Didn't I tell you, already? You still look at me that way; that's all that matters." The softness of her voice suddenly turned bright and wicked. "Besides, I already share the care of you with my younger sister. Why should I object to sharing with a brother, too?"

Jingyan nearly choked on a swallow of water, An squeaked, eyes wide, and xiao-Shu caught Nihuang close, laughing out loud against her hair. "If I need a charge to break the ministries' ranks, I'll definitely call on you," he promised, eyes bright.

She leaned up to kiss him, with a satisfied smile. "Good. Do so." She pushed to her feet. "Now, you haven't spent the night with Jingyan all week. I am going to make sure Gong Yu doesn't actually sleep out in the mews, waiting for word from Dong-jie."

An promptly stood, as well, eyes dancing as she bowed to Jingyan. "I will bid you a good night, then, my lord."

Jingyan gave her a faintly exasperated look, but had to allow, in justice, that she was only following the example of her elders. Unfortunately. "Yes, yes. Good night, then." He drew her close and dropped a light kiss on her hair, and she smiled up at him, sweet and happy, before following Nihuang out.

Xiao-Shu was still laughing. Very quietly so, but Jingyan could tell, and eyed him thoughtfully, stepping around the trays to close the distance between them. "So. It appears that I'm the one who's joining your household, then?"

Xiao-Shu rose to meet him, almost straight-faced as long as you couldn't see how bright his eyes still were. "It is the business and expertise of the ladies to arrange these things; I try to always trust in my experts."

Jingyan reached out to catch his hips and pull him closer, smiling at the slide of xiao-Shu's hands up his arms, slow and firm, as if xiao-Shu wanted to memorize how he felt. "Do you trust my expertise, then?" He bent his head and nipped gently at xiao-Shu's neck, making a pleased sound when xiao-Shu's hands tightened sharply on his shoulders.

"Entirely," xiao-Shu answered, a little husky with the way he tipped his head back as Jingyan kissed down his throat.

"Good," Jingyan murmured against his skin, and sucked a mark into it, just under the line of his collar. Xiao-Shu's body arched taut against his, like a bow drawn by his hands, and the sweetness of feeling xiao-Shu answer him so freely made Jingyan smile and stroke his tongue over the mark he'd left.

"Jingyan." Xiao-Shu pushed him back a little, flushed and dark-eyed. "Bed."

Jingyan grinned at him, pleased, and agreed. "Bed."

There were times, he had to admit, when he showed his own share of his family's sense of humor.

Xiao-Shu had recovered his composure by the time they were both undressed, and came to press close against him, catching Jingyan's mouth for kiss after heated kiss, murmuring between them, "You make me want, so."

"What is it that you want?" Jingyan asked against his mouth, hands sliding down the lines of xiao-Shu's body, still lean but no longer so desperately thin.

Xiao-Shu's slow, wicked smile warned him to brace himself as xiao-Shu leaned in and spoke against his ear. "I want you to fuck me." Hearing xiao-Shu's smooth voice wrapped around the kind of barracks language they'd both learned from soldiers in the field sent a shock of heat through Jingyan, and he caught xiao-Shu closer as xiao-Shu leaned against him, laughing.

"If that's what you wish," he agreed, a bit breathless, and drew xiao-Shu onto the bed, pressing him gently to his knees.

Xiao-Shu smiled that slow, heated smile again and bent over, stretching his arms along the bed for a moment before folding them loosely and resting his head on them. "It is what I wish."

Jingyan knelt behind him, sliding his hands down the arch of xiao-Shu's back, slow and easy. "Then feel," he urged quietly, the way he'd learned he had to coax xiao-Shu along to do just that. After a moment's thought how best to effect it, he smiled, perhaps a little wickedly himself, and settled his hands on xiao-Shu's lifted rear, spreading him gently open. The faint catch of xiao-Shu's breath turned fast and shocked when Jingyan leaned down and stroked his tongue slowly over xiao-Shu's entrance.

"Jingyan!"

"Shh," he said softly, hands tightening a little as xiao-Shu shivered. "Just feel." He lapped, soft and slow, at xiao-Shu's entrance, and made a satisfied sound as xiao-Shu slowly unwound, under him, with a low moan. He listened to xiao-Shu's breathing as it turned deeper, faster, waiting for the muscles under his hands to relax. It wasn't until they finally did, accompanied by a soft sigh, that he slid a thumb down, working the pad of it against xiao-Shu's entrance in slow, firm circles, urging those muscles further open.

"Jingyan..." Xiao-Shu's arms were unfolded, now, thrown out along the bed as his hands flexed slowly in the covers, and Jingyan could see that his eyes were closed, his lips parted. "Jingyan, please..."

That went through him like a stroke of fire; xiao-Shu still asked for so few things. Jingyan's voice was rough and low as he answered, "Yes, my own." He leaned over the side of the bed to rummage out the sealed jar of seaweed gel (one of the few medicinals he did not get from his mother). The slickness of his fingers sliding down his own length made him shudder, hot anticipation pooling low in his stomach. The tightness and heat of xiao-Shu's body around him as he pushed in made him moan, low and open. And the wordless, entreating sound xiao-Shu made drove his hips forward, sinking all the way in, leaving them both gasping for a moment.

"Xiao-Shu," Jingyan breathed, when he had his voice back, leaning down to wrap his arms around xiao-Shu, curling his body over his lover's until he could gather xiao-Shu in against his chest and nuzzle the curve of his neck. All the gathering tension in xiao-Shu's body loosened again, and he moaned softly as he unwound to lie quiet and breathless in Jingyan's arms; the trust implicit in that relaxation caught in Jingyan's chest. "Thank you, my heart," he whispered against xiao-Shu's shoulder.

Xiao-Shu laughed, soft and breathless. "Why thank me for the things you do to me?"

Jingyan smiled against his shoulder. "Because you let me." Before xiao-Shu could argue with that, which he knew was a distinct possibility, he slid a hand down xiao-Shu's stomach to wrap around him and stroke, slow and firm. Feeling xiao-Shu lose his breath on a soft moan, feeling the way his body tightened, braided pleasure down Jingyan's nerves, and he rocked into xiao-Shu, sure and hard.

The sounds xiao-Shu made were breathless and openly wanting, and Jingyan couldn't help but catch him closer, drive into him harder, drawn on by how rarely abandoned xiao-Shu was, tonight. The flex of xiao-Shu's body under his was so open, so wanton, it took his breath, and when xiao-Shu tightened around him with a low moan, Jingyan let pleasure sweep him down, as well, shuddering as heat burst through him.

Eventually, they both lay quiet, catching their breaths together. When he had the sense to, again, Jingyan eased back and stretched out on his side, and promptly gathered xiao-Shu back against his chest, pressing a soft kiss to his nape. "My treasure," he murmured. This close, he could feel xiao-Shu's skin heat as he colored, and smiled. "It's the truth." He found himself repeating that a lot, to xiao-Shu, but that was all right; he was perfectly willing to repeat himself until xiao-Shu believed it.

And perhaps that was closer than he'd thought, because although xiao-Shu didn't answer, he did cuddle deeper into the circle of Jingyan's arms. Jingyan held him closer, breathing in the warmth of that simple acceptance, and closed his eyes. Nothing undid him like these small moments of closeness and trust, the reassurance that his xiao-Shu was returned to him, whole and entire.

He cradled xiao-Shu closer and let the sweetness of his presence sink into his bones and soothe away the chill that had grown there over the year and more he'd had to bear the growing shadow of the throne's weight alone.

Six

Normally, Cai Quan rather liked seeing Xia Dong stalking into his offices. She was undeniably his favorite official, in his own Ministry, and the knife-sharp smile she wore when she'd secured unarguable evidence of some wrongdoing never failed to cheer him. Today, though, her expression was darker, fiercer, and Quan braced himself as he accepted her report folio.

"I tracked the goods," she said, flatly, folding her hands behind her, "and the money. It came from us."

Possibly, he had not braced himself quite enough. "Did you find from what faction?" he asked, grimly, not looking forward to the scandal and infighting this could spark.

"I recognized the name given by the courier." Her jaw was tight. "He was one of Xuanjing's agents."

Quan's hands closed tight on the edge of his writing table as a cold wave of fury and reflex fear washed over him. "This... this was approved by the Emperor? Undermining one of his own armies?"

Now he understood perfectly the hardness in her level gaze. "The Emperor never favored the military. This is the man who approved the execution of Chiyan's commanders when, as far as he knew, the Da Yu army was still a threat on our northern border. I suspect he would have thought the extension of Xuanjing's network and influence beyond our borders a decent trade."

As would Xia Jiang, Quan added to himself, as she probably would have added if she ever spoke Xia Jiang's name, these days. He glanced over her summary report and scrubbed his hands over his face with a resigned sigh. "Their Crown Prince's faction, wonderful. I'll probably have to bring the Chancellor's office in on this." That was never pleasant. The whole of that office tended to an approach they called 'pragmatic' and he called 'morally questionable'. Well, no help for it. He straightened and gave her a firm nod. "I'll probably call for you, when we go before the Crown Prince. For now, get some rest and catch up with yourself. And also with that girl you recommended." He had to smile a little, remembering. "She's impressive, but she also drove the mews-keepers to distraction, waiting for word of you."

The tight line of her mouth softened a little, at that. "Gong Yu gets very focused," she agreed, and took what looked like her first full breath in a while. "I'll be standing by, Minister." She gave him a short bow, and strode out.

Quan contemplated the tangle of military, ministries, and imperial plotting that an apparently straightforward case of misappropriation had developed into and indulged himself in one heartfelt groan before picking up his brush and starting to write his requests for time and information from the other ministries.

Jingyan was beginning to be just a little sympathetic to his father's tendency to shout when arguments broke out in front of him. Not terribly sympathetic, but he was aware of a growing urge to gag his ministers with their own hats.

"This wouldn't have happened in the first place if military officers were paying more attention to their duties than to promotion!"

"This isn't about the Ministry of War, this is about a history of corruption in State Revenue..."

"We can't just strip either Ministry, this is going to take time to fix..."

"The real point here is that this was approved at the highest levels..."

"No, the real point is that Northern Yan's Duke Ma is threatening reprisals, and we don't have enough money to support another extended campaign, yet..."

"And he only knows because your agent was careless!"

"Duke Ma and their Crown Prince clearly knew the source of that money." Xia Dong's voice cut easily through the bickering. "It's a safe gamble, to accuse us." She stood straight and calm at Cai Quan's shoulder, not bothering to defend herself further, for which forbearance Jingyan was grateful.

And, through it all, xiao-Shu sat out of the way, at his own desk, reading reports and correspondence with a calm smile, not even looking up at the racket of the ministers arguing. Jingyan was starting to suspect, a bit darkly, that xiao-Shu was willing to indulge the Court's taste for drama, at least in part, because he enjoyed it himself. Jingyan drew a fortifying breath and waded in.

"Sergeant Yang Liu and under-minister Tian Gen are already in the custody of the Ministry of Justice, and their trials will be conducted according to the law," he started, and waited until Li Len and Shen Zhui had bowed acknowledgment. "Minister Cai has already judged the competence of his agent in this matter, and I have accepted his judgment." Cai Quan and Xia Dong bowed in their turn, and Jingyan turned to Yu Qiao, the Chancellor of the Department of State Affairs, for the past two years. "Chancellor Yu. What, exactly, is Duke Ma saying to us?"

Yu Qiao stopped giving Xia Dong a dark look and drew himself up. "Highness. He is insisting that we were clearly behind the recent raid on his sealed records, and demanding recompense under threat of a military raid. I believe that we can still negotiate with him, though, if Your Highness will empower an envoy." His gaze flicked sidelong at xiao-Shu, who appeared oblivious, only looking up to take a handful of paper from the Eastern Palace attendant xiao-Shu had unofficially annexed as his secretary and courier, who had sidled in and along the side wall. Xiao-Shu glanced over it all, nodded, handed back a sealed note, and went back to reading. Jingyan thought he saw a flash of satisfaction in Yu Qiao's face before it smoothed into respectful entreaty. "The Department of State Affairs has many officials who are experienced in diplomacy, Highness. If I may suggest Huang Fu? We may have to make some gifts to Northern Yan, to smooth this unfortunate affair over, but Huang will be able to prevent the matter from escalating to Northern Yan's Crown Prince."

"On the contrary," xiao-Shu called, from his desk, still not looking up from his reading. "Involving the Crown Prince is precisely what we wish."

Yu Qiao's turned to glare at him. "There is no benefit in forcing an international confrontation to a higher level!"

Finally, xiao-Shu looked up, smiling. "Chancellor Yu. I understand very well your frustration, and I have no wish to add to it, but I have a responsibility to my own people. My workings cannot all be transparent to you." He stood, brushing his robes straight and laying aside his papers. "I am, however, willing to make the results transparent."

Jingyan thought that Yu Qiao suddenly looked less angry and more wary.

Xiao-Shu stepped out onto the floor before Jingyan's desk. "You fear that Northern Yan's Crown Prince stands behind Duke Ma, is using the Duke to test us, our cohesion, our readiness to war or to words. The reality is that, on the contrary, Ma is the one who wishes to test us. The Crown Prince will restrain him."

Yu Qiao drew himself up, face hard. "Vice-Marshal, I ask that you not interfere in state matters on the basis of such wild supposition."

"Supposition?" Xiao-Shu raised his brows at Yu, looking quite entertained, and Yu's temper snapped.

"There's no way you could possibly know—!"

"Under-minister Huang Fu requests entry!" one of the door attendants called. Yu turned away from xiao-Shu, every movement sharp and annoyed, and bowed to Jingyan.

"Highness, under-minister Huang undoubtedly has news of this matter."

Jingyan eyed xiao-Shu, who folded his hands and stood calm and smiling, and had to stifle a snort. Clearly, xiao-Shu's game was still in play. "Very well. Let him enter."

Huang Fu hustled through the room and bowed hastily to everyone. "Your Highness, Sir, Ministers. Chancellor Yu, we just received a letter under the seal of the Crown Prince of Northern Yan."

Yu Qiao stiffened. "Already? What is he..."

"He apologized!"

In the resulting silence, Huang Fu proffered a folded letter. Yu Qiao slowly accepted and opened it, looking more and more baffled the further he read.

"Well?" Jingyan finally prodded.

Yu shook himself and looked up. "Highness. It's as Minister Huang said. Northern Yan's Crown Prince states that there is evidence this matter is internal, and apologizes for Duke Ma's hasty judgment." He stared at the letter for another long moment before it seemed to sink in, and then his head whipped around toward xiao-Shu. "How...?"

Xiao-Shu was still smiling, but it was a sharper, fiercer smile, now, and his voice was dangerously soft when he answered. "I know, Chancellor Yu, because I was the one who set their sixth Prince there, to be a friend and ally to my Emperor."

Something like a shiver ran through the room. Everyone there knew it was not the current Emperor that xiao-Shu spoke of, and long years of stepping softly around the Emperor's paranoia made xiao-Shu's fierce candor chilling. Yu Qiao was looking wary again, perhaps even a little afraid. Xiao-Shu considered him for a long moment, and finally shook his head, smile turning wry. "Peace, Chancellor Yu. I understand your concerns, but, really, does this affair not assure you that I work only for the benefit of my lord?"

Jingyan tried very hard not to turn red at the familial title xiao-Shu used, especially when Shen Zhui started 'coughing' behind his fist and Dong-jie smirked outright. Trust xiao-Shu, he reflected, ruefully, to use everything to his advantage, even this. Yu opened and closed his mouth a few times before finally throwing up his hands. "Fine! You work for His Highness' benefit. Have it as you will!"

"Only when it's important," xiao-Shu murmured.

Jingyan really did snort this time, at the magnitude of that untruth. Xiao-Shu nearly always got his way, and always had.

Yu's expression said that he also doubted xiao-Shu's words very much, but he only bowed to Jingyan. "It appears my Department's concerned are resolved, for the present, Your Highness."

"Then we're done, here." Jingyan held out a hand for the letter Huang Fu had brought. "I will respond to this myself." After all, if xiao-Shu had arranged this alliance, for him, he should probably do his part to secure it.

Yu surrendered the letter with good grace and all of the ministers bowed themselves out. Finally. Jingyan contemplated the letter in his hands for a moment, and cocked a brow at xiao-Shu. "To be my friend and ally, hm?"

"We could use some," xiao-Shu pointed out, dryly, leaning a hip against his writing table. "Northern Yan and Southern Chu were not the only places your father sought to keep busy by funding one faction against another. Admittedly, Prince Ren didn't refuse the funds, or the plot, but he's the sort that prefers fair dealing, when it's possible." He smiled at Jingyan, small and warm. "You make it possible."

Jingyan smiled back, helpless, as always, to respond otherwise. "Very well, then. Let's begin it here." He unfolded the letter and spread it out over his desk, and xiao-Shu came around to read over his shoulder. The warmth of him against Jingyan's side eased all the muscles that the morning's arguments had pulled tight, and Jingyan settled down to read.

His ministers would hopefully learn this, in time: Lin Shu was the best hope they could have for an Emperor who would stay sane.

It was one reason that, while he would be glad for xiao-Shu's sake, Jingyan wasn't actually looking forward to the Lin Manor repairs being finished.

Interlude: Fulfillment

Lu Jian took a last turn through the Lin Manor, once everything was done. He always did this, with any project he worked on, making sure the blinds and dividers were all rolled evenly, picking up the bits of wood and paper that were always missed in shadowed corners, putting away the pails and scrub brushes that inevitably got left out. Shi Ping didn't protest, or call him 'fussy' for it, just followed after him with a sack for the scraps, which was why Shi Ping was his senior foreman.

The Lin Manor wasn't perfect. It was clear that major repairs had been done, and some of them showed, especially where he'd had to replace support beams and parts of walls. There were still places where the paint didn't quite match, where the newer tiles stood out. This was still a manor that had been neglected for fourteen years before being repaired. Even so, Jian was proud of the job they'd done. The place was solid and safe; it was even beautiful again. The gardens were clean and growing to some good order again. The sharp lines of each hall's framing were softened and graceful with hangings. Jian watched the breeze send ripples across the pools of the water garden and nodded, satisfied. "This was a good job."

"Do you think they'll actually use it?" Shi Ping asked, as they turned back toward the gates.

Jian blinked at him. "Why wouldn't they?!" He gestured around at the just-finished and, frankly, quite expensive renovation they'd completed, and and been paid for by Lin Shu.

Shi Ping examined the roof-lines, as they passed through the second courtyard. "You hear rumors."

Jian rolled his eyes. "Rumors are only rumors. And even if it's true," he had to clear his throat, because some of the rumors were downright lurid, "they commissioned repairs. Someone is intended to live here." He patted a pillar of the inner gates as they stepped through. "They aren't living at Mu Manor either, are they, but that certainly isn't being left to rot."

Shi Ping looked satisfied, and Jian shook his head, amused. Shi Ping invested a lot more in each job than anyone who'd just met him would ever realize from his laconic manner. "Lin Manor has a master again, and one that cares about the house" he said, firmly, as they stepped through the main doors and he turned to pull them shut, pausing to rub a stray speck of paint off the bronze ring. "That's what keeps a house alive."

His foreman knotted the sack of trash and tossed it over one shoulder. "Well, then. On to the next job."

Jian laughed and clapped him on the other shoulder. "As always!"

Seven

Lin Shu's fingers paused, unfolding the accumulated night's notes over breakfast. "Lu Jian writes that the repairs are finished," he said, quietly.

Sound around the room hushed, just like the sound in his head felt like it had. Jingyan looked up, sober, hand a little halting as he set down his cup. Gong Yu clasped her hands tight, dark eyes watching him intently, waiting for a cue. An was biting her lip, just a little, glancing back and forth between Lin Shu and her husband. After a moment, Nihuang reached over and closed a hand over his, tight and sure. "Shall we go and see, today, then?"

He took a breath, trying not to be obvious about how much he needed the moment to settle himself, and nodded, turning his hand up to lace his fingers with hers, anchoring himself. His eyes slid back toward Jingyan as if pulled there, though, and Jingyan caught them. When he smiled, small and warm, and asked, "Shall I come along?" it felt like release through his chest and down his spine.

"If you have time." That was disingenuous, of course. He needed them both with him, very much, these two who had been there, who shared so many of his memories. Fifteen years ago, he'd have said so. Fortunately, both of them still understood him perfectly well, at least if the exasperated looks they both gave him were any indication. He bent his head with a slightly unsteady chuckle. "Yes, all right."

Nihuang leaned against his shoulder, warm and steady. "Watch over things while we're gone," she directed Gong Yu, who nodded seriously, as if she'd heard more than just the words Nihuang had said. If Lin Shu hadn't spent his entire life observing every man of his acquaintance have just as little control over what was allegedly his own inner court, perhaps he'd be worried about that. As it was, he took a moment to be rather smug that his mother had chosen so well, for him.

It was a moment's distraction, anyway.

He continued focusing firmly on little things, as they made their way out through the north-east district—the brightening of the gray sky as morning drew on and lit the overcast clouds, the tug of the leather reins in his hands as his horse tossed it's head at a passing wagon, the steady chime of the bells on Nihuang's horse's chest-band. And these little things brought him, without panic, to the steps of Lin Manor.

The last time he'd seen the entrance, it had been overgrown, even in winter, untrimmed bamboo running wild, flowering trees sprawling messy and unpruned, doors hanging open and a little askew. Now the summer-green trees framed the fresh, dark paint of the doors neatly. It looked like someplace people might live, where he might expect a house servant to open the door at any moment and bow greeting. Except that they wouldn't, at least not the servants he remembered. Not more than a bare handful, if they even wanted to return, by now.

Jingyan's hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present with a jolt, and he swallowed the shock of it, nodded, and put his foot on the stairs. And another. And another. Until he could touch the doors, and see Nihuang's hand beside his. When he glanced over, she was looking up at him, eyes dark, and gave him a steady nod. He returned it as well as he could, and, together, they pushed open the doors.

The house was bright and clean. As he stepped through to the inner gate, feeling like he might be walking through a dream, he saw fresh paint, washed flagstones, scrubbed tile everywhere he looked. The first courtyard was neatly swept, autumn flowers just starting to show buds in the lining beds. The deeper into the house he walked, the more he felt like these simple sights were knocking his breath out.

He didn't quite realize it was literal until Nihuang pushed him down on the steps of the west breezeway and rubbed his back, frowning. "Shu-ge, look at me." She studied him intently, when he looked up, and pursed her lips. "Well, you're not in shock. Yet. Sit and catch your breath for a minute, though, all right?"

He took a deeper breath and nodded, trying to ground himself in the warmth of her hands, and of Jingyan's hands when he knelt in front of him and took his shoulders.

"Xiao-Shu..."

He flinched at the way Jingyan's voice echoed in memory and the present both, and Jingyan frowned, worried. Lin Shu reached out to rest his hands on the sleek, heavy silk of Jingyan's robes, so much finer than anything he'd have bothered to wear back then. It helped.

"I'm all right," he finally managed, husky.

"Should we leave, for today?" Nihuang asked, still rubbing his back slowly. He shook his head.

"I want to see it all." To see and know, and not wonder later. Nihuang and Jingyan exchanged not entirely pleased looks over his head, and he huffed a faint laugh. "I need to see it all as it is, now."

"All right," Jingyan sighed, and held out his hands to pull him upright.

Lin Shu took them and stood, and was grateful that both of them stayed in contact once he was up, Nihuang's hand wrapped around his arm, and Jingyan's resting on his shoulder. It helped remind him of what was real as they circled the mansion slowly, passed through the third and fourth courtyards, newly painted red framing gleaming gently in the day's indirect light, echoing with the memory of his younger cousins running down the outer walks, laughing, calling for Lin Shu ge-ge to hurry up.

They took one turn through the rear building and started back toward the gate through the main hall. His steps slowed there, caught by the memory of his father leaning one elbow against a backrest, cup half-forgotten in his fingers as he argued strategy with his generals, of the sweep of his mother's sleeves as she gestured, laughing together with Aunt Yueyao, when she visited.

The inner hall was easier, in a way; the room for the family shrine was empty, but he'd seen the hall where the tablets did stand, now, had finally performed the proper rites for them. That was a memory he could hold on to without being cut. There was new wood here, too, he noticed as they stepped out. It was smoothly set into the landing, and the whole steps and landing re-painted, but it flexed a little differently under his feet than the older wood. He wondered what had happened to it; the framing, and sometimes walls, had been replaced elsewhere, but not the floors.

A memory slid past his mind's eye, of his mother standing at the top of these steps, smiling, hands held out to welcome him home.

Something that wasn't a memory, something made of whispers and rumor and horror, followed—his mother, at the top of these steps, sword drawn, watching strange soldiers burst through her home. His mother's blood spreading and pooling over the wood, sinking in and staining, too deep to ever plane away. His knees hit the steps, and he reached out, half expecting his hand against the wood to turn red.

"Shu-ge!"

"Xiao-Shu!"

It took long, long moments to remember where he was, and when, and why, to understand why there were arms around him, why the shoulder under his head was wet and the hand against his neck was shaking just as badly as his own were. It took long, gasping breaths before he could gather himself enough to lift his head, to see Nihuang and Jingyan looking back, faces just as wet as his. "I can't," he whispered, voice rough and choked. "Not where Mother..."

Nihuang pulled his head back down, arms tightening around him fiercely. "Then we won't. It's all right."

"But..."

"So stay in the home you already have," Jingyan told him firmly. "With me."

He looked up again at that, with a faint, helpless laugh. "Zhou Wei really will resign if we try to do that."

"Nonsense," Jingyan said at the same time Nihuang was saying, "Don't be ridiculous." They smiled at each other in a way that made him laugh again, rough in his throat after the tears. Jingyan reached out to wipe the wetness off his face with a gentle palm, and he couldn't help leaning into the touch, the reminder of what he still had, here and now.

"Most of the Court already knows perfectly well that you're lovers," Nihuang pointed out, rubbing her hands gently down his arms. "And half the ministers already treat the two of you like you're some eight-limbed beast named Highness-Sir."

Jingyan snorted over that, mouth tugging up in a wry smile. "True enough."

Lin Shu shook his head a little, thoughts turning over again, albeit a little slowly still. "Maybe that will work for now, but when you take the throne..."

"Then our rooms will be further apart," Jingyan stated, flat look daring anyone, including Lin Shu, to argue. "I won't say that I'll like that, but I also won't let it make any more difference than that."

Lin Shu felt too wrung out to argue with Jingyan's stubbornness. especially backed by Nihuang's. Perhaps he'd best leave that to Gao. Yes, surely Gao would have the wisdom and patience to argue them back to reason.

He couldn't. Even if it would be the wise thing to do, he couldn't. Not now.

They both smiled, obviously feeling the tension in him slacken, and he rolled his eyes and let them help him to his feet, keeping his back carefully to the inner hall. By the time they'd reached the outer gate, he managed to say, quietly, "Perhaps we could keep some staff here, if anyone wishes to return." He didn't want to see Lin Manor fall into disrepair again, just because he couldn't bear to walk here again.

Nihuang smiled up from where she'd ducked under his arm, eyes a little wet again for a moment. "Yes. Let's do that."

Stepping back out into the city, feeling the support of Jingyan's arm around his shoulders, and Nihuang's warmth against his side, he took what felt like his first free breath all day, and turned toward the horses that would take them home.

Coda

Gao smiled benignly at the youngsters gathered in the inner receiving room of the Eastern Palace, folding his hands. "Why yes, I don't see why not."

The Crown Prince smiled with immense satisfaction, and the Princess Nihuang exchanged a pleased nod with the Crown Princess, while Lin Shu stared at Gao with a betrayed look.

"Gao gong-gong," he started, nearly sputtering. Gao waved dismissive fingers.

"Palace Affairs may complain a bit, at first, but, really, it's hardly the first time this has happened. They'll find precedents, and then they'll be happy again." And if they weren't, well, they would be once Lady Jing was finished with them. Gao's smile may have broadened a hair at the thought, and the young Vice-Marshal threw up his hands.

"All right. All right! Fine!"

Gao bowed, hiding the urge to laugh outright at the young man's dramatics. "If that was all, then I will take my leave." He patted Zhou Wei on the shoulder, on his way out, and got a harried look in answer. Yes, they were all settling in quite well. Zhou Wei had always needed a challenge to bring out his best.

He strolled back through the Palace complex, enjoying the late-summer warmth of the evening, reflecting on how pleasant it might be to have an Emperor who loved, rather than feared, those nearest to him, and was loved by them with such fierce loyalty. Gao liked the thought quite a bit. He thought the Court and country would, too, once they got accustomed, and if time had taught him anything it was that people did get accustomed if you just gave them a little while. He smiled up at the first stars coming out in the darkening sky, and though he'd never gained the learning of the royal scholars who read the skies, he felt deep in his heart that those stars agreed with him when he murmured, softly, aloud.

"All will be well."

End

Candles Lit at the Doors

Jingrui is finding himself drawn back toward a military position, after fighting at the northern border, and Yujin follows along, as he always has, despite his own reservations. Along the way, the two of them get into trouble, politics, and eventually a deeper understanding. Drama with Politics and Romance, and also a Sprinkle of Porn, I-4

Finding a Path

The road that led past the river north of Jinling was a good one for racing on. It got less traffic than the others, and ran fairly flat until it reached the tree line. Yujin had raced Jingrui down this stretch many a time, once they were both old enough to be let out on their own horses without an older cousin to mind them.

Today they gave their horses their heads, but it wasn't a race. They rode close all the way to the trees, horses running shoulder to shoulder, slowing together as they passed between the first tall trunks. Yujin waited until they were well under the unfolding spring leaves before he spoke.

"It's really true, then."

Jingrui flashed a bright smile over at him. "It really is." And then he looked faintly hangdog. "I'm sorry I didn't say, in the winter, when he first visited. Aunt Jing made me promise not to."

Yujin waved that off, scoffing. "Don't worry so much; of course you kept quiet if she asked." He did give Jingrui a long, searching look as they turned onto the path to the river, though. "That's why you've been thinking about returning to the military, though, isn't it?" He'd wondered about that, a little. He knew Jingrui had stayed in contact with some of his men, even once their year-long obligation was up, and he'd been watching the capital patrols with a more and more considering look in his eye all winter.

Jingrui smiled down at his horse's neck. "A little." They reined in at the edge of the clearing by the river's wide bend and dismounted as one. They'd always moved together, like that, but Yujin was starting to wonder how much longer they could do so. His own military experiences, so far, had left him ambivalent, aware he could likely be a good commander but sickened by the waste of every fight, and furious that some ambitious fool's failure of thought had made it necessary. Though he admitted he'd felt somewhat less of that under Lin Shu's direction, on the north border.

"Everything I've heard says he'll never take the field again," he said to his saddle, loosening the reins so his horse could drink from the river. "You would never be under his command again."

"Not in the field," Jingrui agreed. "But... well, it's Lin Shu ge-ge. If he's back, then..."

Yujin couldn't help the grin that tugged at his mouth. "Then he'll be the one in charge anyway." Only Prince Jing had ever really been able to stand firm against Lin Shu's impatient assumption of command, and the Crown Prince certainly wasn't going to be refusing any military distribution the brilliant Vice-Marshal of Chiyan might advise. Not after the battle at the northern border had demonstrated so conclusively that Lin Shu had lost none of his tactical brilliance. Yujin pulled his horse gently back from the water and tied it so he could walk around to join Jingrui at the water's edge. "You're sure, then?" he asked, quietly.

"I think so." Jingrui gave him a bright, open smile, elbowing him lightly. "So, what about you?"

Very few of Yujin's reservations had ever held up in face of Jingrui's smile. Not when they were little and stealing sweets off Aunt Jing's table (with her amused connivance, Yujin had realized years later); not when they were a little older and Jingrui had dragged Yujin everywhere after their glamorous, if also sometimes alarming, older cousins; not when they'd come of age and Jingrui hauled Yujin out onto the roads to wander the country with that very same smile. He could barely imagine leaving Jingrui's side, at this point. So there was really nothing else to do but elbow him back until they managed to shove each other into the shallows, laughing.

In the end, it was Meng Zhi's still-pressing need for commanders he could trust without question that quashed the last of Yujin's reservations. Because he could see the uncertainty, at every gathering he attended, hanging in the air like smoke—the doubt in the eyes of nobles and ministers alike, whenever they looked sidelong at the Imperial Guard, or even the City Guard. He'd learned young how dangerous that kind of doubt and fear could be, and had no intention of letting his loved ones live in that kind of capital again, if he could do anything to help it.

"You're sure you won't mind?" he asked his father, a little hesitantly, as they sat together over wine in the evening. "I know our family is a scholarly one, it's just... I feel as though I could do something, there."

His father's mouth quirked faintly under his mustache. "If I'd minded you taking up martial pursuits, I'd have needed to do something about it a long time ago."

That was not, Yujin had to observe, actually a 'no', and he chewed on his lip behind his cup.

This time his father laughed, quietly. "It's fine, Yujin. You did well, dealing with both politics and battle two years ago, and you obviously already know how to listen for what's not said." He settled back a little on his cushion though his eyes were still sharp and thoughtful, resting on Yujin. "The Imperial Guard isn't a bad place from which to watch the workings of the court and the ministries. I doubt that's what Jingrui needs or will find in it, but for you... well, go and see."

Something in Yujin relaxed, hearing that, something deeper than his concern for his father's approval, the hot thread of outrage that curled tight every time he saw yet another thing about the capital that was still broken in the aftermath of the princes' fight for the throne. "It just... it makes me so angry, sometimes, to see what always seems to lead up to an actual battle," he admitted, looking down.

"What, stupidity?" his father asked, blandly, taking a sip of his wine. He smiled a little at the sputter of laughter Yujin couldn't hold back. "That's why I'm not worried, boy. You're true blood of the Yan lineage. You'll never be content to fix the results when you could be laying hands on the cause."

Yujin took a deep breath, feeling the words settle into his heart and ring true, there. "Yes," he agreed, softly. And then he had to sigh a little, as his heart did a prompt and familiar about-face and tugged in the other direction. "Jingrui..."

"Jingrui has to follow his own path." His father softened the flat statement by laying a hand on Yujin's shoulder, and added, "That doesn't mean your paths can't go in the same direction, if you both choose."

Yujin paused, suddenly remembering the handful of times he'd heard his father refer to 'Lin Xie da-ge' in his hearing, always with affection and fierce loyalty, and nodded slowly. "I'll remember, Father." He still didn't like the thought of not being right at Jingrui's side, but... perhaps it truly would be enough to travel the same way, if not quite the same road.

He would hope so.

And for now, at least, they could go together. He didn't have to try to explain another road to Jingrui, yet. He would hold tight to that, while he could.

Li Gang stepped past the house servant who'd shown him through to the Chief's rooms, here in Prince Jing's city manor, and gave the Chief a quick look up and down. He looked far less like a man trying to outrun a slowly festering gut wound, these days. He also snorted as Gang and Zhen Ping bowed.

"I'm fine, yes, and don't try to tell me you haven't been in communication with our members in the Imperial Guard, to get reports on me, all this time."

Gang exchanged rueful looks with Zhen Ping, and didn't try to deny it. "You called for us, Chief," he said, instead.

"Mm." The Chief jotted a note on the lists spread over his writing table, and said, in the thoughtful tone that meant he was saying more than it sounded like, "Neither of you have accepted reinstatement, yet."

This time, the look Gang traded with Zhen Ping was wary. "It didn't feel right, without you in command." He could hear the faint edge of entreaty in his own voice, and didn't try to stifle it, because if the Chief was about to give the orders it sounded like he was thinking of...

The Chief looked up, eyes steady on them. "You had a chance to see a bit of how Xiao Jingrui and Yan Yujin commanded, at the north border. What did you think?"

Gang blinked a little, but he was used to not being able to follow the Chief's quicksilver turns of thought. He settled back and considered. "They're both strong warriors, and not afraid to lead from the front. They're not as good, yet, at keeping a whole unit's position in mind, when they're fighting, but I thought they both had potential, as commanders."

"Yujin is better at strategy than Jingrui," Zhen Ping put in. "At least right now. Yujin thinks more. But Jingrui..." He raised a brow at Gang and Gang nodded agreement.

"Jingrui has stronger command presence, with the men."

"It's not that Yujin doesn't have it," Zhen Ping added, "but he doesn't throw it out into the world, as Jingrui does. In time, the men would follow Yujin, with a good will, because they'd know he'd make wise choices. But they'll follow Jingrui right now, because he calls on their hearts."

"Romantic," Gang accused, under his breath.

"Not like you don't agree," Zhen Ping muttered back.

From the smile the Chief was stifling, he'd heard that.

"There is one thing, about Yujin, though," Zhen Ping said, slowly. "I noticed it at Jiu An. Most of the time, in the field, he's a thinker. But he has a streak of savagery in him, when he's protecting something. That day, with his father, and then Gong Yu, behind him... he never took a single step back toward those stairs. Not one."

Gang's brows rose; that had been a close, bloody fight, from everything he'd heard. For someone who'd never experienced a battlefield before to hold his ground so hard... yes, 'savage' was a good word for it. That could be a helpful tool, in the field, but it could also get a lot of people killed. "It would almost be ideal for them to be co-commanders, then, wouldn't it?" he mused.

A faint huff of laughter escaped the Chief. "Except for the part where Jingrui is one of those things Yujin would defend to the death," he pointed out, dryly. "But what is it in Jingrui that makes you think so?"

Gang settled himself more firmly into the familiar flow of reporting to the Chief, focused on question and answer, and never mind the side-tracks the Chief himself might dart down. All Gang had to do was answer the questions as they came. "He's protective enough, but he doesn't fight to protect, and he doesn't get lost in that urge. He fights for his ideals. What he wants is to help."

"Hmm." The Chief settled back in his chair with a distant look in his eye. "Help whom?" he murmured.

"His friends. His people. His nation." Gang thought for a moment, about what he'd seen of the young man, at the north border. "The nation, that part is still unformed. He's not very fond of the government, and who can blame him? But, having traveled as much as he has, he's seen a lot of the people. His men kept mentioning that he recognized where a lot of their homes were. He values the wellbeing of those people he met."

The Chief was smiling. "Yes. For a young man who never had the slightest ambition for the scholar's way, Jingrui does a fine job of embodying righteousness and benevolence."

"He still assumes those in others a little too much, but," Gang shrugged, "that's what makes the men respond to him, too. At the north border, he fell very easily in with the brotherhood of soldiers. He just needs to learn not to trust everything reported to him."

"So Jingrui will be well, with a little more seasoning and a commander he believes in," the Chief mused. "And Yujin will need someone to watch his back." He straightened and looked directly at them again, tone slipping out of thought and into command. "Jingrui and Yujin are both considering entering the Imperial Guard, this season. I need some experienced officers under them, to keep an eye on them. Zhen Ping, you'll go to Yujin. Li Gang, you will go to Jingrui."

"Chief..." Gang half-protested, looking at Zhen Ping for support.

"If we're reinstated, that isn't something we can go back from easily," Zhen Ping agreed, just as anxious as Gang felt.

"Nor is the Palace somewhere I can easily return from, any more," the Chief said quietly.

That halted them both, and Gang turned this new charge around, in his head. If the Chief was part of the Palace, now, and they returned into the Jin army, they'd be closer to hand than anyone but the Palace eunuchs could get.

And Gang didn't really want to become a Palace official, at his time of life.

Relief spread, warm, through his chest, and he bowed, Zhen Ping a second behind him. "Yes, Chief."

"Tomorrow, then." The Chief gave them a sharp nod that was so very much their Vice-Marshal's gesture, Gang had to brace himself against the spike of nostalgia, so intense it was nearly pain, like hot blood rushing back into a long-deadened limb.

He'd been with the Chief long enough, he didn't think for one second that it was accidental.

"So, we're going back," Zhen Ping murmured, as they stepped out into the slanting, early evening sunlight.

"With yet more of the family, to look after," Gang agreed, a little ruefully.

"At least they can't possibly be as much trouble as the Vice-Marshal and the Prince were." Zhen Ping sounded hopeful, but Gang winced a little.

"Don't tempt fate."

Zhen Ping laughed, quietly. "All right, but at least the capital barracks are supposed to be better than the border cities."

Gang finally smiled. "Now that, I'll drink to."

Following a Path

It didn't actually take Yujin long to settle in to his new work. From his point of view, not a great deal changed.

There was training and drill, but that had always been true, especially once Dong jie-jie had started taking his training seriously. There were suddenly a lot more people he was responsible for, but he'd been the one looking after the Yan household for a long time, and just like he had the steward and housekeeper at home, he had sergeants to help with his battalion.

(The first day he'd met his unit, and watched the man he still thought of as Mei Changsu's personal swordmaster step forward, with a professionally blank face, to hand over the tally of his men, he'd been startled enough to ask, "What, really?"

"You're his family, Commander," Zhen Ping had said, under his breath but apparently quite calm. "Of course he wants to make sure you're taken care of."

Yujin hadn't quite had the nerve to protest, at the time, and he had to admit that Zhen Ping was very helpful.)

And he and Jingrui were both currently assigned to the bulk of the Jin army garrisoned outside the Palace itself. So, really, Yujin was feeling a great deal like this was an extension of his travels with Jingrui, except that both of them actually went home at night.

It was possible that their 'business as usual' approach was not endearing them to their superior, though.

"You want to do what, now?" Sun Wen, the Vice-Commander they both reported to squinted at them like he might be getting a headache.

"A mock battle," Jingrui repeated, brightly. "It'll keep everyone from getting too bored and losing their edge."

"They like being bored," Sun Wen pointed out, a bit dryly. "The alternative to bored is called 'battle'. And, frankly, we want hundreds of soldiers all crammed together to have less of an edge to them than a couple of hot-blooded young warriors used to gallivanting around as they please. Just for example."

That was definitely to their address, and Yujin stepped in to deflect it with a hopeful smile. "Varying the way they train will keep their skills sharper, won't it?"

"Which is exactly why we have several mock battles a year, out on the plains, about which you'll be informed in good time." Sun Wen picked up the report he'd put down when they entered.

"This would be indoors, though." Jingrui leaned forward, earnestly. "Won't that be good training for our Palace rotation?"

"Indoors?" Sun Wen looked up at them, brows arched incredulously. "Where, exactly, do you think we have space for two battalions to go at each other indoors?"

"The old Zhang manor, in the west-central district," Yujin supplied promptly. "Old Man Zhang's daughter has been trying to convince him to have it knocked down and rebuilt for years. If the army rents it for a while, then he's happy because it isn't getting knocked down yet and she's happy because they'll be getting more money to eventually rebuild it, and we get an interior practice area that's almost as complex as some of the Palace."

"So everyone's happy, hm?" Sun Wen eyed the two of them, and Yujin gave him his very best reassuring smile. Sun snorted. "All right, you seem to be reasonably organized about this; you can try it once. But if there are too many injuries out of this, and the physicians come after you, I'm going to leave you to their mercies. Just keep that in mind."

Yujin immediately thought of Aunt Jing's scoldings and quailed. From the look of trepidation on Jingrui's face, he was remembering exactly the same thing. "Yes, sir," Jingrui hastened to assure the Vice-Commander. "We'll make sure everyone is careful."

"Do so." Sun Wen nodded dismissal in answer to their bows, and picked up his reports again. And if he was shaking his head as Yujin left on Jingrui's heels, well, at least they'd gotten permission to convince him.

Yujin grinned at Jingrui as they clattered down the steps to Wen's office, and Jingrui grinned back, and they clapped each other on the shoulders, laughing. This should be fun. Also productive, of course, because that's what they were here for, after all, but it was very gratifying to find that he could still combine the two, now and then.

Perhaps he could find uses for more than his martial skills around here, after all. The thought made him relax under Jingrui's hand, smiling.

Zhen Ping crept through tall, dry weeds beside a weathered breezeway, after his Commander, and had to hold back a smile. He'd wondered, a little, how much of Yan Yujin's determined pleasure in life would survive something like Jiu An, especially once Yujin took a military post. But his Commander's eyes were bright, and he grinned as he watched their forward scouts sneak up to the tattered doors of the next hall and signaled Ping for two more squads to follow them. That cheer seemed to ripple out through the men who caught a glimpse of him, like a gust of wind through grass.

Ping observed that, and thought about the fact that Yujin did seem to have a good instinct for the morale of his men, and finally asked the question that had been nagging at him. "So, for this exercise, we're supposed to be rescuing a Minister from kidnappers who are holding him in his Palace offices, aren't we?"

"Exactly," Yujin agreed, and added thoughtfully, "It's really too bad we can't use the actual offices, but I suppose that would be too much disruption."

Ping took a moment to offer silent and fervent thanks that his Commander hadn't suggested that plan to Vice-Commander Sun. Sun Wen had been recalled from retirement to fill one of the two posts left empty (again) after the executions that had followed Prince Yu's rebellion. He didn't have a reputation as a harsh man, but the whole Jin army knew that his patience had a definite limit, after how briskly he'd restored order among his battalion Commanders. Thinking on the Vice-Commander's potential lack of amusement with them, Ping was a little cautious when he asked the next question. "If that's so, sir, then why do I keep hearing Commander Xiao's men yelling about having spotted the kidnappers?"

"Because their objective is to defend a Minister against the attack of kidnappers who have penetrated the Palace offices," Yujin said, quite calmly, eyes on the progress of the men clearing the hall ahead.

Ping had been afraid that was going to be the answer. "Sir," he started, searching for a respectful way to put this, "isn't that a little too..."

"Realistic?" Yujin's smile was crooked, now.

Ping had been thinking 'cynical' and still was, but 'realistic' also worked. "Yes, sir."

"That's the all clear sign," Yujin said, instead of answering. "Come on."

Ping ran forward on his heels, keeping a sharp eye out for anywhere around the dilapidated court that bowmen might be hidden. Li Gang believed quite devoutly in extra precautions, and Xiao Jingrui turned out to have a good eye for crossfire positions, as they'd already found out once. Over fifty men had had to retire, grumbling, with ink-spattered armor showing where they'd been shot.

It wasn't until they were safely under a rear window, with scouts ducking underneath the breezeways to crawl forward again, that Yujin said, quietly, "Jingrui said people fight better if it's for the right reason. And I didn't want any of our men thinking too long about being asked to attack the government." He looked over his shoulder at Ping, eyes steady. "If anyone asks, we thought it would be a good joke, for both sides to actually have the same objective."

Ping couldn't help giving an abbreviated bow to that level expression. "Yes, sir."

He still thought that it was Yujin who had the better strategic sense, but the longer he spent at Yujin's side, the more he heard 'Jingrui wants' or 'Jingrui said'. He was starting to wonder if Yujin ever really did anything on his own account or for his own sake, or if, perhaps, someone should suggest the idea to him.

And then one of the scouts popped out of the long weeds, signaling back that they'd found an opening, and Yujin lit up, laughing. "We've got them!" He bounced up onto his toes and dashed forward.

Or perhaps, Ping reflected, ruefully, as he sprinted after his Commander, he'd better save his worrying for keeping his charge in one piece right now, and let the future take care of itself.

Yujin loved sparring with Jingrui. Jingrui's sword form was beautiful, full of clean, sharp turns that swept aside any weakness in defense, meeting his blade only to spin aside and suddenly return from another angle. Yujin was, justifiably he thought, proud of the demonstrated effectiveness of his own style, but sparring with Jingrui was like playing a line of music.

Of course, all that sleek economy of motion and momentum did tend to mean that he often got worn down before Jingrui did, when they fought with swords.

"Ha!" Jingrui's eyes were bright as the line of his sword settled delicately against Yujin's neck. "Finally got you!"

"What 'finally'?!" Yujin demanded, laughing and out of breath, as cheers and groans broke out from their spectators around the drill field. "You think you shouldn't have to work for your win?" He tossed his sword back to his off hand and elbowed Jingrui as Jingrui flung an arm around his neck.

"Should I have to work, against you?" Jingrui teased, leaning against him until Yujin rolled his eyes and shifted his weight to dump him off, one of the most useful moves Dong jie-jie had ever taught him. Jingrui stepped through, graceful as ever, to catch his balance, laughing.

"Time to give someone else a chance, you two," one of the onlookers called out, and Yujin looked up to see Wan Fa, the Commander who'd been shifted over to take Jin's Second battalion while Yujin took over the Fourth from him. A little murmur of anticipation ran through the noise of bets changing hands, around them, enough to make Yujin nod to himself.

The battalion hadn't been in bad shape, when Yujin took it, not the way Jingrui's had been, with their previous Commander dismissed from service, the company captains anxious or wincing, and the sergeants uniformly grim. But Yujin was used to listening for what wasn't said, and that wasn't only useful in keeping a party going cheerfully. He'd watched his men watching him, seen how his captains' shoulders eased down when he'd called them in, that first month, and asked about the distribution of men and equipment across each company, whether anyone needed him to go argue for extra from the Logistics Bureau or needed to be on light duty while they got new men trained up.

The battalion hadn't been in bad shape, but it hadn't been well cared for. It had made Yujin think of what Yan Manor might have been like, without him, for the years his father had had his mind on other things. And that made him smile at Wan Fa with just a bit more teeth than usual, and say cheerfully, "I was thinking of a round unarmed. You interested?"

Jingrui's brows rose for just a moment, because normally an unarmed match was Yujin's chance to get his own back, if he'd lost with swords, but one look at Yujin's smile made Jingrui clap him on the shoulder and agree, brightly, "I wanted to steal Zhen Ping for a little, anyway!"

They exchanged a quick, complicit grin and Jingrui faded back into the onlookers, positively smirking. Yujin sheathed his sword and stepped back out, re-settling himself, waiting for Wan Fa to come at him.

As he'd more than half expected, Wan Fa had no problem with making the first move, and a showy move at that, a broad, circling strike at Yujin's ribs. Yujin's smile thinned, and he shifted for a high, sweeping kick, arm snaking out to lock Wan Fa's against his side as it came in. Wan Fa didn't quite yelp, but his expression looked like he wanted to as he twisted under the kick, only barely pulling free enough to keep from breaking his own arm in the process.

Mostly because Yujin let him.

Wan Fa was glaring when he came in again, this time with a more focused chest strike. Yujin flipped back out of range, easy and springy, and then, to bait him more firmly, flipped up over Wan Fa's head. The 'just swallowed a bug' expression on the man's face as he spun around nearly made Yujin laugh. He knew a lot of people looked at his stocky build and assumed his form would be thin on aerial maneuvers, grounded and strength-based.

And it wasn't as if they were entirely wrong, after all.

Yujin stood his ground as Wan Fa spun into a series of high, scything kicks. He bent back from one, blocked the next cleanly, and then he was far enough inside to wheel on his own center and land a brutal double punch that threw Wan Fa back to the circle of spectators to land in a gasping heap. Yujin came back to a neutral finishing stance, and gave his collapsed opponent a bow and a sunny smile, and whoops went up all around. Yujin laughed and went to give Wan Fa a hand up, as comradely as could be. He wanted to shake the man up, after all, not actually alienate him.

"Dong jie-jie would have twisted your ear off for that flip," Jingrui told him, grinning, as Yujin joined him at the edge of the circle.

"Dong jie-jie isn't here, or I wouldn't have done it." Yujin jostled through the press of men, as they broke up to return to drills, and grabbed a dipper of water. He turned a little, as he drank, casting a quick eye over the training ground, listening for the tone of it the way he'd listen to the tone of a social gathering. The men of his battalion, and for that matter of Jingrui's, were mostly grinning, smug. The few who wore darker expressions were still satisfied, just with a far harder edge of pride in it—he'd already marked most of them as soldiers who'd been at Jiu An, and he added the ones he hadn't known of yet to his mental tally. In turn, Wan Fa's men elbowed each other and rolled their eyes, some exasperated but most only rueful. That was a good sign. He'd ask Zhen Ping to check on that battalion, and make sure their morale (and supplies) really were being kept up reasonably, but it didn't look like more energetic measures would be needed.

"Yujin?" Jingrui asked, softly, stepping closer and turning a little to watch behind him. "What is it?"

"Nothing right now," Yujin murmured, leaning against his shoulder for a moment, warmed by how easily Jingrui still guarded his back. "Just keeping an eye on things." He grinned up at Jingrui. "Ready to go look commanding, Commander Xiao, and make sure your men are doing their drills properly?"

Jingrui drew himself up, managing to look dignified despite the way his eyes were dancing. "Always, Commander Yan."

Yujin gave him a mocking bow, and laughed as Jingrui pulled him along across the training field.

Nothing was wrong right now, and that was why he'd keep an eye out. Yujin didn't intend to be caught in the crossfire of politics and poor choices twice, and he especially didn't intend to let Jingrui be caught, no matter how much of an uphill battle that had always been, against Jingrui's lack of self-preservation.

Jingrui looked up with a satisfied smile as the last of his company captains filed in, and waved the letter with their new orders between his fingers. "Get everything polished up, this week; we're on rotation at that Palace starting next week!"

"Really?" He Niu sounded shocked, and the rest of them were exchanging equally startled looks, some pleased, some alarmed, but all about equally taken aback by the news. Jingrui shook his head at them.

"It's our turn, in the schedule; there's no reason to think we wouldn't be. You can't be held to blame for obeying your commander," he said firmly. Again. He felt a bit like he'd been repeating some variation on this at least once a week for months, now. And it wasn't as though Peng had even been clearly in collusion with Jin's late, unlamented Vice-Commanders. Personally, Jingrui thought it likely the man had just been currying favor with whoever presented themselves above him; he'd seen a lot of similar behavior, since he'd come here, and that, at least, he found understandable, if not at all admirable.

What he found less understandable, and wouldn't have believed if he hadn't heard it from Yujin, was the real reason his men never quite seemed to believe him. It still shocked Jingrui down to the core, what the Emperor had almost done to even the surrendered Qing Li soldiers, what had only been averted by the Crown Prince and High Commander's pleas. To hold a servant to blame for following his master's orders... Jingrui knew he'd been only a middling-good student but even he knew that struck against both the codes of law and the roots of civility itself. The limits on a servant's responsibility, or a soldier's, (or a son's) were all that made obedience a virtue and not some form of madness. Jingrui had been fresh from the orderly (if rather voracious) atmosphere of his blood-father's court, when Yujin had told him the story of Jiu An, and the thought that the Emperor, the nation's source of order, would do such a selfish, chaotic thing had chilled him.

At the same time, and much though the Crown Prince should never have had to do it, Jingyan ge-ge's example had heartened him. If he could follow that example, give the men he was responsible for some of their moral certainty back... well, he'd think that worthwhile work. No matter how many times he had to repeat himself.

His captains ducked their heads at the reminder, He Niu with a sheepish expression.

"Yes, Commander. Sorry, sir."

Jingrui smiled at them. "Just make sure the men are ready. The timing of our rotation means we'll be escort for the Fall Hunt; remind everyone. If there are any who are likely to have trouble at Jiu An, let me know and keep an eye on them." He nodded dismissal to their bows of acknowledgment, and only shook his head ruefully once they were all gone.

"They're getting there, sir," Li Gang said quietly, at his shoulder. "Who else is on this rotation with us?"

"Yujin's battalion, and Wan Fa's, and the First and Third too."

Li Gang snorted a little with amusement. "Everyone Commander Yan has under his wing, then. Probably a good thing."

Jingrui smiled, only a little wryly for the fact that Li Gang was so very right. "Yujin is good at looking after things." He touched the pile of tallies and lists on the side of his writing table. "So, I have the inventory reports, reports from the stables, though I want to double-check those before the Fall Hunt, preliminary patrol schedules for the Palace complex, and I'll be meeting with the other Commanders tomorrow to finalize those..." He looked up at Li Gang with a soft chuckle. "Anything I'm forgetting?"

His sergeant gave him an approving look for asking (he was getting better about that!) and answered, respectfully, "Have you written the City Guard, yet, to arrange the route we'll take to the Palace complex, sir?"

"No," Jingrui sighed, reaching for his brush to jot a note to himself. He was coming to realize, this year, that while he was actually fairly good at command, he was not good at bureaucracy. He was working dutifully, if not exactly enthusiastically, to get better, but he was also starting to have a terrible suspicion that he was going to wind up in Marquis Ning's position some day, buried in reports with a perpetual headache, even if he genuinely managed to avoid politics. He couldn't see any way around it, not if he wanted to actually have enough rank to do some good for the nation his greater clan ruled.

On the other hand, at least Yujin would be with him, and Yujin was very good at this side of things. Jingrui added the first character of Yujin's name to his note, and smiled.

They'd manage together, the way they always had everything. He honestly couldn't imagine it being any other way.

Duty at the Palace complex was a prized and prestigious one. People actually competed for it. There were even rumors people had killed for it, if the High Commander wasn't careful to maintain even rotations of the duty.

Yujin was incredibly bored by it.

He did, actually, understand Vice-Commander Sun's point that boredom was desirable, especially here. But Palace duty involved a great deal of doing nothing. The Imperial Guard detachment stood rigidly in place at their posts. They escorted palace officials on their very brief trips out into the city, to act as the Emperor's voice, or, more commonly these days, as the Crown Prince's voice. They patrolled the Palace complex, keeping a careful eye out for any untoward behavior, of which there had not been any, lately.

And Yujin spent most of his time in the Imperial Guard's offices, writing up duty rosters and patrol patterns without even being able to get out to walk many of the patrols. He'd started debriefing the on-call troops who rode out escorting palace officials, just to have something mildly interesting to do. He'd pulled out all the detailed and confidential maps of the Palace complex their offices contained and baited Jingrui and Wan Fa and Xu Jian and Yuan Kang with the housekeeper's best snacks until they all sat down and drew up freshly optimized patrol routes to submit to the High Commander. He was actually looking forward to the Fall Hunt. He was also starting to understand why the Palace guard detachment trained so very vigorously; it was probably so they didn't die of boredom.

Or, in Jingrui's case, because Meng Zhi was around to train with.

Yujin couldn't help smiling at the delighted grin Jingrui wore as he spun just a breath past Meng's kick, palm driving hard toward Meng's ribs. Not that he connected, but Jingrui looked pleased to have come as close as he had. Jingrui really was adorable, when he was around someone who could teach him. Yujin had thought, more than once, that Zhuo Qingyao was a lot of the reason Jingrui had thrown himself so wholeheartedly into being a son of Tianquan Manor, all those years. Jingrui made a good enough big brother, responsible and kind, but he was a lot better at being a little brother.

"Good afternoon, Commander Yan."

Case in point, Yujin thought, a little wryly, turning to bow to the man who'd come up quietly to stand beside him. "And to you, Vice-Marshal Lin."

Lin Shu chuckled softly at their formalities, folding his arms and joining Yujin in watching Jingrui and Meng separate and then close again, twice as fast as before, both of them grinning. "This is my first chance to see how the two of you are getting on," he murmured. "Jingrui looks to be enjoying himself."

Yujin had to give him a long look, at that, brows raised. "Have Zhen Ping and Li Gang been forgetting to send all their reports? That doesn't seem like them."

His cousin's mouth crimped up at the corners. "My first chance to see for myself," he specified. "They've only kept me generally informed. It's not quite the same." He glanced sidelong at Yujin, smiling. "So, how have you been? Keeping busy?"

Reminded, Yujin made a face and grumbled, "Not very. I'm wondering if the request process over in Logistics and Supply can be streamlined, actually."

Lin Shu made a sound that may have started life as a snort of laughter. "Is there a particular reason you're contemplating take-over of a bureau?"

Yujin sighed. Yes, he'd been afraid that was what it would probably take. "It's not that there are any particular delays, yet, it's just that I was looking at the timing of fulfillment so I could write up the next few months in advance, since I had the time..." He paused, blinking, because Lin Shu had dissolved into helpless laughter.

"Ah." His cousin finally straightened up again. "All right, now I see why Meng da-ge asked me to come speak to you."

Yujin started a little at that. The High Commander had? He glanced up at the practice area where Meng was throwing Jingrui's kick briskly back off crossed arms. It wasn't like he didn't have plenty of opportunities to speak, himself, now Yujin and Jingrui were on Palace duty. A hand closed on his shoulder and shook him gently, and he looked back to see his cousin smiling.

"What he actually said," Lin Shu told him, still amused, "was 'he's getting almost as bad as you used to be, in camp'."

Yujin's eyes widened, and he felt quick heat in his cheeks. Chiyan's brilliant Vice-Marshal was one person he'd never thought to be compared to, even in exasperation.

Lin Shu patted his shoulder and let him go. "You think too much, for ceremonial duty, is all. It's not a bad thing." His mouth quirked up again. "Unless it leads you to start taking over the Ministry of War, one bureau at a time. Save that for when you're a little older."

That was not helping Yujin stop blushing. "Shu-xiong," he protested. "I'm not going to..."

His cousin's eyes sharpened, and he held up a hand, cutting Yujin off. "Yujin, we both know you won't let Jingrui go down this path alone or unguarded."

After a moment, Yujin nodded slowly, mouth a little tight. He wasn't exactly surprised that Lin Shu had seen that particular motive, but he still didn't like having it said out loud. Lin Shu's expression softened a bit. "Don't worry too much, yet. Jingyan and I are watching. We'll make sure nothing happens."

All in a rush, Yujin remembered the warm, easy comfort he'd felt when he was younger, before the Chiyan case, before his first priority had become being able to pull Jingrui back from the capital's political bear-traps. He'd been sure, back then, that nothing too very bad could ever happen, because his cousins would watch over them—Prince Qi, kind and patient, Prince Jing, so strong and steadfast, Lin Shu, bright and fierce. And had Lin Shu not still watched over him, even after it all? He had to swallow hard, blinking back those memories and the echo of them in his cousin's quiet assurance. His voice was a little husky when he answered, "Yes, Shu ge-ge."

For a moment, he thought Lin Shu might ruffle his hair, the way he had back then. Thankfully, given they were surrounded by half of Yujin's battalion, his cousin only smiled and turned to look back at Jingrui and Meng's match, which had now moved on to swords. "For now... hm. Perhaps I'll ask Meng da-ge to let the Guard escort ministers around the city, again, as well as the palace officials."

Yujin perked up at that. That would surely make for far more interesting gossip that he could get. "Did we used to?"

"Before the ministries got so enmeshed in the fight for the throne, yes. Now that there's less danger of the Guard getting pulled in after the ministers, I think it would benefit everyone to take that duty back off the household guards. I'll suggest it." Lin Shu winced at the next step Jingrui took, which was apparently an over-extension, because in the next moment his blade went clattering aside and Meng was at his back with his own sword across Jingrui's throat. Jingrui shook his head ruefully as Meng let him go, but Meng just laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"That was better than last time! Try it again." He backed up, beckoning, and Jingrui's smile turned brilliant as he scooped up his sword again and flowed into a low stance.

Lin Shu smiled, wry but not quite as bitter as Yujin thought it would have been two years ago. "I'll suggest it later," he corrected himself.

Yujin couldn't help laughing.

It was a little strange, for Jingrui, to return to Jiu An as a commander of the soldiers who guarded the Emperor and his retinue, after so many years as part of that retinue. Everything was brushed with newness and unfamiliarity, seen from this new angle. The mountain and its forests were still wild and full of life, but hunting the wild creatures was not his focus. The fortress itself was still airy, its long halls gracefully shadowed, but he was in a new wing of it, with new shadows.

Some of them in the eyes of the men around him.

It put a little chill down Jingrui's own spine, to see the bright newness of the gates, set in the middle of the old, scored walls, but some of the men stepped through that new gate into the plaza on the other side and shuddered.

Yujin was one of them.

Jingrui knew he'd been hovering a bit, since they got here. A Yujin who wasn't smiling or frowning or pacing, always expressive and in motion, a Yujin who paused so still he might not be breathing and wore no expression at all for a handful of heartbeats before turning with a smile harder than it was bright, was a Yujin who worried him a little.

And apparently hovering had actually worked, because Yujin had just rolled his eyes and taken Jingrui's hand to slap a stack of reports into it, and told him, in a tone of rare exasperation, to go fill in the rest of the injuries log, if he didn't have anything else to do. That had been more of the usual Yujin than Jingrui had seen since they'd arrived, complete with deeply expressive eye rolling. Jingrui smiled as he scanned down the list of men who'd been involved in Tingsheng's little mishap with a yearling boar. There was someone who'd gotten a wrenched shoulder when his horse threw him, Jingrui was sure, but who had it been?

He almost rolled his eyes at himself when he remembered; it had been one of Wan Fa's men. He was getting as bad as Yujin about casually counting them in among his own.

On the other hand, if they wanted complete accounts, which Yujin clearly did, then he should get the man's name anyway. Jingrui laid down his brush and crossed the small courtyard of their wing to the rooms Wan Fa had taken, rapping lightly on the open screens as he stepped in. "Wan Fa, can I get the name of the man who was injured in that little scuffle with the boar, the other day?"

His fellow Commander looked up from his own paperwork with a snort. "Yan has infected you, too, has he?"

Jingrui couldn't help laughing. "Always, sooner or later."

And clearly Wan Fa wasn't that annoyed, because he got up from his writing table willingly enough and opened up a chest to one side. "Just a minute, then."

Jingrui waited politely while Wan Fa dug out what looked like the list of his whole command, though he couldn't help raising a brow at the fact that Wan Fa apparently didn't have any more concise reports of the incident handy. Possibly it was a good thing Wan Fa had his back turned. Jingrui glanced over his writing table, a little curious to see what he was doing, if not writing up the reports he really should have ready. A familiar hand caught his eye, on the top of a letter sticking out from underneath a few other reports. Had Yujin been sending notes over already? Alright, perhaps Jingrui could understand a little huffing, if so...

A chill uncurled down his spine, though, as the realization settled into his mind: Jingrui recognized it, but that wasn't Yujin's writing.

It was his sister's.

Yuwen Nian wrote to him often, and he replied as often and kindly as he could, knowing she was still disappointed that he had not stayed in his blood-father's court long enough to escort her wedding journey north. Knowing how impetuous she could be, he could well believe she might have written to any Da Liang officer she knew to be in contact with him for more news. What he couldn't image was why any officer of Da Liang would keep or reply to a letter from the highest ranking Princess of what was, after all, an enemy state.

He stole a quick look at Wan Fa, who was muttering under his breath as he wound through his long scroll, and set his fingertips on the letter, inching it out from under the reports it lay under until he could slide it into his sleeve.

"Ah! That was it, it was Lu Qiang." Wan Fa turned and caught up his brush to jot down the characters on a bit of clear report paper and tore the strip neatly off to hand to Jingrui. "Was that all?"

"Yes," Jingrui said, as calmly as he could, taking the slip. "Thank you." He sketched a short parting bow and made for his own rooms with a quick stride. He hoped this would turn out to be nothing but one of his sister's headstrong whims, the letter one that Wan Fa simply hadn't had a moment to burn, yet.

He really hoped.

Yujin was just putting away his sword, after cleaning, when Jingrui burst into his rooms, so abruptly that Yujin nearly drew on him. "Jingrui, what...?"

"Yujin," Jingrui interrupted, only to stop short, looking over his shoulder. "Not here. Come on." He seized Yujin's arm and more or less dragged him out and down the interior passage.

"Jingrui!" Yujin tugged loose once he'd managed to catch up, frowning at the set look on Jingrui's face. "What's wrong?"

Jingrui's jaw tightened. "Not here," he repeated, and didn't say another word until he'd led them back into one of the unused inner halls. Once there, where, Yujin couldn't help noticing, the doors and screens he'd left open in their wake gave them very clear line of sight in all directions, he thumped down onto the hall's veranda and put his head in his hands.

"...Jingrui?" Yujin settled slowly beside him, watching him closely. "What happened?"

Jingrui didn't look up, but he did fish a letter out of his sleeve and hold it out. "This. Read this."

Yujin frowned, quickly turning over, in the back of his mind, the tally of who might have news that could make Jingrui look like this. When he saw the letter was addressed to Wan Fa, not Jingrui, he just blinked. "What...?"

"Read it," Jingrui insisted, and the flatness of his voice made Yujin settle back and unfold the letter.

My thanks, once again, for your news of my honored brother, Commander Wan. It has been a great comfort to know he is well!

Yujin put down the letter and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "She didn't really."

"She really did," Jingrui sighed. "I'm sure she didn't mean any harm at all, she just doesn't think things through sometimes."

Yujin found that a little rich, coming from Jingrui. Though Jingrui had been getting better. Maybe it just ran in the family? He stifled a groan over how much coaxing was likely going to be required to get Nian to stop this—especially when she could, with at least a small amount of justice, insist that she was betrothed to an Imperial prince and could write to Imperial officers if she wanted to—and glanced down the rest of the letter. He froze when his eyes got to the last fold.

"Yes," Jingrui said, tone suddenly flat and grim again. "That part."

The last bit was written in a different hand, smaller, as if it had been added as an afterthought. Or, more likely, without the Princess' knowledge.

We always welcome news from you, and you rise higher in my cousin's esteem all the time. One hopes that Da Liang values such a perceptive officer as he deserves.

Yuwen Xuan, Prince Ling

Yujin had found out more about the court of Southern Chu, after Jingrui had left to visit there. Their current king, Jingrui's father by blood, was said to have mellowed a little, as he aged, and was currently concentrated on assimilating Chu's recent conquests rather than expanding the borders again, but no one believed that would last long. Many of the younger nobles, Prince Ling vocal among them, were in favor of new forays to bite off land to the north. And now Prince Ling had found a path to communicate with an ambitious officer within the Imperial Guard of Da Liang. He'd most likely been the one to provide the Princess, his cousin, with a way to send secret letters north in the first place, and the one who had, almost certainly, given that phrasing, sent this letter on its way with some token of his own 'esteem'.

In short, the one who was trying to suborn a Commander of the Imperial Guard.

Yujin took a deep breath and let it out slowly, staring at the letter. What a mess. "Well, first we need to convince your sister to stop writing to Wan Fa."

Jingrui surged up off the veranda and stalked back and forth across the small garden below it, scowling. "No, the first thing we have to do is report Wan Fa! No matter how foolish Nian-er is being, it's Wan who's passing information to the prince of an enemy nation!"

"We don't know that!" Yujin said, sharply, trying not to think about all the gruesome things Dong-jie had let slip, over the years, about how investigations around the Palace usually went. He would have expected Jingrui to be the one most against risking any such thing. "We don't know that he's done anything more than send news of you, personally."

"Which means Wan is passing on information about a Commander of the Imperial Guard. And probably more that was addressed to Prince Ling separately. You saw what he wrote! Admiring how 'perceptive' Wan is." Jingrui's mouth was tight, and his eyes hard. "And Wan is using my sister to do it, just as much as Yuwen Xuan is."

Yujin bit his lip for a moment. Now Jingrui's anger made sense; he'd become doubly protective of his family ties after losing so many of them. "But Jingrui... if we report this officially, the Emperor will hear of it."

That stopped Jingrui's furious pacing, at least for a few breaths, though his eyes were still dark. "We can just report it to the High Commander, then."

"Who's sworn directly to the Emperor!" Yujin threw up his hands, exasperated. "Do you know what would happen to him as soon as the Emperor got the tiniest hint of him withholding information?"

Jingrui's temper sparked again. "So we'll tell the Crown Prince! You can't tell me he can't keep a secret from the Emperor!"

Yujin made an inarticulate sound of frustration. He knew Jingrui didn't always think things through, and it was clearly a family trait, but he had to know better than that. "Like the Crown Prince taking direct action to discipline a Guard Commander isn't going to be talked about?!"

"We have to do something!"

Frustration pushed Yujin to his feet as well. "If you'll just stop for a minute..."

"No," Jingrui said, harshly, eyes burning, hand sweeping up as if to strike Yujin's words aside. "Not this time!" He started to storm past Yujin, and Yujin reached out to catch his arm, frustration suddenly sharpening into fear, fear that Jingrui would push himself into the Emperor's notice after all, and all the risk of destruction that notice brought with it.

"Jingrui...!"

Jingrui half-turned, sharply, throwing off his hand.

Yujin felt his face turn cold and stiff as blood drained from it, felt his eyes widening, felt his breath stop in his lungs for a long moment as he stood, hand still stretched out toward Jingrui. When he managed to take a breath again, his knees shook, along with the air in his chest, and he stumbled down to the edge of the veranda again. "Jingrui?" This time it was barely a whisper.

At least Jingrui had stopped. At least that.

After a long moment, Jingrui sighed and stepped back toward him. "Sorry. But I can't just stop this time, Yujin; I have to do something."

"All right." His voice was still rough, and all the fear in him had turned over, turned inward, turned sharp and cutting to hear Jingrui say only I. He reached up to catch Jingrui's sleeve, fingers closing white-knuckled in the fabric. "All right, we will, just..." the words pushed out, and he was shaking too much, inside, to stop them, "don't leave."

"I wasn't... I mean, not leaving leaving. You know that." Jingrui took another step closer, frowning down at him a little, puzzled. "Yujin?"

"No, it's fine." Yujin tried to pull himself together, to brush the spike of cold panic off with a smile, but he could feel it waver, unconvincing.

It probably didn't help that he couldn't make himself let go of Jingrui. But Jingrui had left once, even if he'd come back. And he'd been going to leave for the same cause this time, hadn't he? Family, it was always family with them, and this time it had caused Jingrui to show Yujin his back, just like Yujin's father always had, for so long. Shouldn't he be afraid, then? He felt like his thoughts fractured on that question.

"Yujin." Jingrui sat down again, beside him, hand covering his, still fisted in Jingrui's sleeve. The warmth of it cut through the tangle of Yujin's thoughts, and he looked up to see Jingrui looking more concerned than angry. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, really." Yujin felt like this smile was maybe a little more successful. "I'm just... I don't..." It would be better if he could get his words out in order, but he wasn't even sure, himself, what they should be. "I didn't mean to say I wouldn't help." That was better.

Jingrui ducked his head a little, looking penitent. "No, I know. I shouldn't have..." He trailed off, thumb running over Yujin's still-white knuckles, and he was frowning when he looked up. "Yujin?"

Yujin finally managed to force his fingers open, glancing away as he retrieved his hand. Or, at least, tried to. Jingrui's fingers caught his again, half way. "Tell me what it was you were thinking of doing, then," Jingrui said, quietly.

Yujin swallowed to get his heart back down out of his throat, not looking down to see his hand folded with Jingrui's. "Well. If Nian stops writing, then that gets her out of the line of fire, on the Chu end. And Wan Fa will already have had a scare, when he can't find that letter. If we let him know that we'll have to report any further communication, I think that will stop him. Without any of this getting back to the Emperor." He looked back at Jingrui, intent and serious. "Because if the Emperor gets any hint of collusion with an enemy state, we don't know how many he might order executed, and you're right in the middle of it."

Jingrui's eyes widened, and he flushed red. "Yujin." He reached out and pulled Yujin close, hands closing tight in the back of his robes. "I'm sorry. I was an idiot."

Yujin leaned into him, nearly shaking with the sudden release of tension. "Yes," he managed, against Jingrui's shoulder, a little husky. "You are. But that's okay, that's what I'm for."

Jingrui's huff of laughter against his ear, light and teasing, nearly made him melt with relief. "Are you sure? I thought it was for the comic relief."

Yujin elbowed him, finally managing to laugh, himself, and they both sat back, smiling.

That was all he needed, really.

Jingrui had felt like the worst friend imaginable, when he'd finally realized what Yujin's real concern was, and all the more so because Yujin's plan worked. Wan Fa was applying himself strictly to the business of his battalion and had started fading to the back of any gathering that included Jingrui or Yujin with nervous, sidelong glances at them. And perhaps Jingrui's own guilt over his temper was what made him pay a little more attention than usual. He kept remembering the white-knuckled clench of Yujin's hand on his sleeve. For whatever reason, he'd really scared Yujin, and he had no wish to do it again.

The reason had finally clicked, for him, a week after they'd all returned from the Fall Hunt, when he'd stopped by the Yan Manor in the morning, to ride in to the Palace complex together.

Yujin had been coming down the stairs of the inner hall, as Jingrui passed through the first courtyard, and he'd laughed and called, "You're actually out of bed early! Should I mark the date specially?"

Yujin had elevated his nose. "A gentleman maintains moderation in everything. Besides, Father wasn't here for breakfast, today."

There'd been a flicker of darkness in his eyes, and it had come to Jingrui, abruptly, that it was the same darkness he'd seen when Yujin was staring at him, stiff and pale, that day. The same darkness Jingrui had seen Yujin push so determinedly away for years, whenever his father came up. The darkness of an empty house, echoing around them, and nobody in it but them and the servants. That was the moment it had come to him that he'd nearly walked away from Yujin, nearly left him in a literally empty hall, that day.

The worst friend ever.

So he tried to stay closer, for a while, to stop in after drills to ask whether Yujin had taken over any more ministry paperwork, yet; to glance at Yujin's schedule to be extra sure they'd meet in the training yard to spar together; to wrap an arm around Yujin's shoulders when he pulled his friend toward the gates in the evening, to head home (where, more often than not, he'd stay until Marquis Yan also arrived home). And, perhaps because he was paying extra attention, he'd noticed the thread of tension, in Yujin, that seemed to ease every time Jingrui touched him. Noticing that, of course he'd done it more often, let his arm lay there longer, and taken satisfaction in feeling Yujin's shoulders drop just that little bit.

Which had gotten them to today.

A late autumn storm had chased everyone indoors who could go, and after making sure that the men had cleared all the equipment off the drill grounds, Jingrui and Yujin dashed for the Guard offices, though the cold rain, piling inside on each other's heels. Jingrui's arm found its way around Yujin's shoulders out of growing habit, and they leaned against each other, breathless from cold and laughing a little. Yujin wiped rivulets of rain off his face, leaning into Jingrui more firmly for a moment as he tossed back his head, hands sweeping the wetness back over his hair. Jingrui sputtered as a few drops hit him in the face.

"Yujin!"

Yujin grinned up at him, bright and teasing. "Hm? Was there something?"

And Jingrui felt his heart turn over, at the same time his awareness of Yujin's body against his escaped his control and unfurled like eager spring leaves.

"Only the honorable Commander Yan's lack of manners," he shot back automatically, and Yujin's laugh shivered down his nerves, made him tighten his hand on Yujin's shoulder. Yujin leaned back into him, easy and relaxed, and Jingrui had to swallow a little hard.

Probably the only thing that kept him from doing something rather rash right there in the entry room was the pointed clearing of a throat behind him. He and Yujin finally broke apart and stepped further in, to let Li Gang get inside after them. Jingrui gave his sergeant a slightly sheepish smile in return for his dryly raised brows, and the moment passed.

For now.

Jingrui retreated to his writing table to stare at the patrol rosters blankly, thoughts in complete disarray. He'd thought, for years now, that Yujin must not have any interest in men; if he had, well, surely Jingrui would have heard about it, wouldn't he? He'd teased Yujin, often enough, about the time he spent flirting with shop girls and courtesans alike. So he'd turned his thoughts away from the idea of ever having Yujin like that, sunk himself deeper into the oneness of heart, between them, and refrained from touching too much. But the easy way Yujin leaned into him... was Jingrui deceiving himself, that there was acceptance, and maybe even hunger, in it?

The thought lodged itself in the back of his mind with a firmness that said he wasn't going to be able to just ignore it any more.

So perhaps... perhaps he could test it, a little, instead? Carefully, of course, but if he was right, if Yujin did welcome his touch, then just maybe...

Jingrui smiled and picked up the top report, bending over it with a better will than usual.

"This is your fault; you jinxed us."

"I did not!" Zhen Ping looked over his shoulder at where their Commanders had their heads together over a plan for cavalry drill. Yujin had his whole body oriented on Jingrui, and Jingrui was stealing soft little glances at Yujin whenever Yujin wasn't looking. "This is not my fault," he muttered.

"The heavens were listening." Despite this contention, Li Gang held out a flask to him. "Drink?"

"We're on duty," Ping said, not with a great deal of conviction.

On the other side of the Guard offices, Yujin elbowed Jingrui indignantly for whatever he'd just said, and Jingrui threw an arm around his shoulders, laughing, pulling him close for a breath. For the space of that breath, Yujin relaxed against him, grin softening.

Li Gang gave Ping a speaking look and shook the flask invitingly.

Ping accepted it with a sigh, and took a long drink.

For the most part, Yujin was pleased with his life at the moment. Palace duty had ended, and he'd left behind a legacy of reporting procedure for all Guards on escort duty. He was fairly sure Lin Shu had been the one to insist it be continued, which he tried not to blush like a little boy over. The Jin army's field drills, battalion against battalion, had arrived as promised, which was fascinating. Yujin was not a fan of battles, or the idiocy that seemed to lead up to them, but the strategy of maneuver caught his imagination.

Unfortunately, being out in the field, beyond the city, seemed to have revived one of what Yujin personally considered Jingrui's worst habits—waking him up early.

Yujin was not, by nature, an early riser. Jingrui, however, was, and when they traveled, he sometimes decided that Yujin should be as well. Yujin invariably got revenge, one way or another, but apparently it had been too long since he last did, because Jingrui had taken to visiting his tent at ridiculous hours to wake him.

At the first whisper of canvas being pushed aside, Yujin pulled the covers over his head.

"Commander Yan," Jingrui called, light and teasing. "Good morning!"

Yujin made a wordless sound intended to convey that it was not morning, yet.

"Time to get up," Jingrui declared, in defiance of all reason, coming to tweak the covers down.

Yujin yanked them back up by reflex. "Still dark," he mumbled.

"Of course it's dark, with the covers over your head." Jingrui yanked them down again.

Yujin swiped at him without opening his eyes and snatched the covers back, diving under them with a growl.

Jingrui had the gall to laugh. Yujin stayed stubbornly still for as long as he could before admitting that he was actually awake, but eventually he had to give in. He shoved the covers back and glared up at Jingrui. "I will kill you slowly," he declared.

Jingrui positively grinned down at him, eyes sparkling, entirely too awake for not-quite-sunrise. "After breakfast?" he suggested.

"I will poison your food," Yujin threatened, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Once you're awake enough to," Jingrui taunted, and then chuckled as Yujin pushed himself upright. "You're a mess, after fighting with the covers like that."

He ran a hand over Yujin's hair, hopefully smoothing it down a little, and Yujin was still drowsy enough to lean into it. "Mm. Whose fault is that?" He took a breath and blinked himself a little more alert, only to realize that he was still leaning into Jingrui's hand, which had settled along his cheek. "...Jingrui?"

Jingrui colored and drew his hand back. "Sorry. Should I not?" He looked disappointed, Yujin realized, slowly.

Yujin was going to blame the way he caught Jingrui's retreating hand on not being awake, though that wasn't the whole truth by any means. "No, it's fine, I just..."

Yujin had been perfectly aware of the silent apology in Jingrui's increased tendency to touch, to drape an arm over his shoulders, to lean against him. To be honest, he'd been enjoying it very much. But this was different; this was starting to spill over into the kind of thing he'd never expected from Jingrui. At least, not directed at himself.

"I thought it was Lin Shu ge-ge, with you," he finally said, quietly, trying to stifle any urge to hope. "I mean... even when we didn't know it was him..."

Jingrui just blinked at him, sitting back on his heels beside Yujin's bed, hand resting easily in Yujin's grip. "Well, but that's different." Yujin raised both brows, because he remembered very clearly the way Jingrui had always tagged after Lin Shu, with shining eyes, and dragged Yujin along. Jingrui ducked his head a little and added, "It's you I never wanted to be apart from."

The way he smiled, sweet and open, made Yujin's chest squeeze tight, made him breathless with the dawning realization that this wasn't a mistake or the result of wanting so much that he saw what wasn't there. "Oh." He took a breath and reached up, fingers shaking just a little bit, to touch Jingrui's cheek. "Me too."

Jingrui's smile turned brighter at that, so simply and openly happy that it made Yujin forget to breathe for a moment. "I'm glad." Jingrui turned his head and pressed a soft kiss to Yujin's fingers.

Yujin made a small, wordless sound, at that, unable to catch it back, not when everything he'd thought was too much to ask for had fallen suddenly into his lap. Jingrui looked back at him, chewing his lip for a moment, before taking a breath and leaning in. His glance was a little shy, under his lashes, but hopeful, and Yujin was as helpless as he'd ever been to resist that. He leaned forward to meet Jingrui, and the brush of Jingrui's mouth over his made him close his eyes, every sense narrowing down to this touch, this moment.

"Oh," he said, softly, as their lips parted, feeling the reality of it all settle into his heart.

"Yes," Jingrui answered, just as soft.

They sat there, smiling breathlessly at each other as sunrise finally lit the walls of the tent white.

The last exercise, in this year's field drills, set double battalions against each other, as if they were vanguards clashing in the first engagement of a battle. It was the kind of exercise that was, honestly, more to Jingrui's taste than maneuver of huge blocks of soldiers, even if he knew that maneuver was preferable to engagement, if it could be managed. This was practice, though, he told himself virtuously, as he urged his horse to the front of their running line, and he needed more practice converting his sword form to the balance of horseback. And also in not letting himself get too caught up in trying to convert everything.

Or, as Li Gang had succinctly put it, after Jingrui's first few horseback drills, "Less dueling, sir, more hacking."

And, best of all, today he was paired with Yujin again, could see Yujin's quick-footed black coming up beside him, from the corner of his eye, could catch the way Yujin was shaking his head but still grinning.

And then it was time to close his knees tight around his horse, shift his weight forward with the sweep of his sword and the momentum of their gallop, and bash one of the other side's company Captains soundly out of the saddle. It registered, in the back of his head, that with anything but the blunted wood they were given for the drill, it would have been a disemboweling cut, but the thought was distant, subsumed in the urgency of another target in front of him, and then another, the press of horses lunging against and between each other—

—and, abruptly, the awareness that he'd outpaced his own men just a little too much.

He ducked under the jab of a spear from one side while blocking the swing a sword on the other, tried to send his horse forward so he could get space to turn, but he was hemmed in too close. This, the back of his head informed him, was why Li Gang kept looking disapproving of how fast Jingrui went during horseback drills. Jingrui gritted his teeth and heaved against the swordsman on his right side, swung his sword around to strike down another jab from the spear, risked pulling one foot free of the stirrup to kick the swordsman solidly in the hip, and that was one side about to be open...

A completely unorthodox but painfully effective sideways sweep from the spear hit him in the ribs and swept him right out of the saddle. The ground smashed the breath out of him, and for a long moment he could only gasp for air and be grateful that his horse was stepping to the side rather than on top of him. A furious shout rang out above and behind him, and he hauled himself up to his knees just in time to see Yujin sweep past him, cutting down the spearman, and the swordsman behind him, with two brutal strokes, barely a pause between them. Zhen Ping galloped past on Yujin's heels, both swords out, guarding his back as Yujin set his position and two charging soldiers broke against it, one down and the other pulling his horse around to retreat. Jingrui grabbed at his horse's stirrup to pull himself further up, staring. And perhaps he'd banged his head on the way down, but what was floating through his mind right now was something Zhen Ping had said months ago, when they were all still on duty at the Palace.

He'd been teasing Yujin about how Vice-Commander Sun might take his proposed improved patrol routes, and Yujin had been insisting roundly that the logic of them would be obvious to anyone. Jingrui had actually been a little rueful about not being able to see it, himself, before Yujin had explained it, and apparently their sergeants had caught that fact.

"You'll probably start to see it soon, sir," Zhen Ping had said, looking up from the gear he'd been cleaning. "You see it clearly on the smaller scale already, don't you? Where your opponent is likely to step or cut next."

Jingrui had cocked his head, curious. "You think it's the same thing?"

Zhen Ping had smiled a little, wryly. "The Vice-Marshal always said it was, and the way he talked about seeing the movement of a battle... I think he's right. I can't do it with more than a squad, myself, but it really did sound like the same thing."

And now, watching the brief, clear wake Yujin's savage attack left, watching the way the other vanguard was drawing back toward the right like a swordsman shifting his weight, the swift gathering of horses like an arm drawing back to strike, Jingrui did see it. Saw it and saw how it would sweep over Yujin's position, the opening he'd made, and threw himself back up into the saddle, hauling in a deep breath.

"Third Company forward! Now!"

He heard the horn repeat the order, behind him, saw the company to his left start to move, like his own sword sweeping in to meet the opponent's, and kicked his horse forward to join Yujin, ignoring the painful jar of bruises. After all, it was the two of them who were going to be the hand that pushed the opponent back off balance.

Yujin looked around as Jingrui came up beside him, Zhen Ping sliding to the side to let him through, and the set, furious darkness of his expression lightened. Jingrui leaned out to clap a hand on his shoulder. "One more push forward?" he called, and was glad to see Yujin's head come up, turning to take in the field around them, before his friend gave him a firm nod.

Jingrui was grinning as their horses leaped forward again, together this time.

Lin Shu had already gotten reports from both Li Gang and Zhen Ping, so he was unsurprised to hear Vice-Commander Sun's voice raised, as he approached Meng da-ge's offices.

"...never putting them on the same side of an exercise again! The physicians are nearly in revolt, half of Eighth battalion is terrified of Yan and the other half is enamored of Xiao, and thanks to the fact that they won I'm going to have to deal with idiots trying to imitate them!"

"Bear with it for a handful more years, if you'd be so kind," Lin Shu said, stepping into the room and exchanging nods with Meng da-ge, who was looking wryly amused and possibly a bit envious of the fun the boys had had during the field exercise. Sun Wen, on the other hand, looked suspicious.

"And what is it that will happen in a few years, Vice-Marshal?" he asked, a little stiffly. Lin Shu mentally marked down another who was uncomfortable with his lack of a clearly defined position, here in the capital.

"In another few years, I expect Xiao Jingrui will be promoted." Lin Shu raised inquiring brows at Meng, who nodded, judiciously. "When that happens, Yan Yujin will retire—from the military, at least. He won't be able to protect Jingrui without a political position, at that point, and he's spent far too long guarding Jingrui from politics for it to be imagined that he'll give it up, now."

"I can't argue that he's fiercest in Xiao Jingrui's defense," Sun Wen said, slowly. "That's where a quarter of the broken bones in the vanguard exercise came from." He gave Lin Shu a long look. "Are you saying you want us to encourage that, in someone going into politics?"

Lin Shu turned one hand palm-up with a little shrug. "It is what it is, Vice-Commander. I'm saying nothing any of us do will change it. Therefore, the best course of action is to place the two of them where it will be most beneficial. Jingrui's leadership and example, his sense of loyalty and righteousness, will be of great benefit in the Imperial Guard, and his presence there will ensure that Yujin's efforts are bent toward maintaining the integrity of our armies and preventing internal strife." Sun Wen was looking increasingly sour as he listened to this, and Lin Shu smiled faintly, adding, "It's also where they'll be happiest. They wouldn't stay there, if it weren't."

Sun Wen sat back, at that, eyeing him. "I trust you'll excuse me if I still try to reduce Yan's tendency to extreme action, while I have him," he said, at last, rather dryly.

"Not at all." Lin Shu tapped one of the taller stacks of report folios on Meng's writing table. "You might also consider keeping him busy by putting him in charge of some intelligence and analysis."

Meng da-ge snorted, obviously remembering Yujin's rotation at the Palace, and the new reporting structure that had resulted from his boredom, very clearly. "I'll approve that."

Lin Shu smiled, satisfied. Yujin needed a new information network, now he had less time to spend in the capital's social circles. This would be a good start. In another handful of years, Yujin would enter Ministry politics well equipped. And, once he had more leverage in the political arena, perhaps Yujin would calm a little from his fever-pitch of protectiveness.

They could hope, at any rate. After all, it had worked on Lin Shu, when he was thirteen and furious over Jingyan going into the field without him.

"...and Zhang Ying will be back on duty next month."

Jingrui made a quick note on his roster of those injured in the field exercises. "Good; I hoped that wouldn't be a bad break." Reminded, he frowned and glanced up at Li Renshu, captain of his Sixth Company. "What about Wu Shen?"

Li looked gratified that his fourth squad leader had been remembered, which Jingrui was pleased to see—six months ago, he'd have been surprised. Every now and then, Jingrui was still possessed of an urge to hunt down these men's previous Commander and kick him soundly in the behind. Not for the little cravenness of following questionable orders, but for leaving these men so uncertain of their purpose and worth that the smallest gestures reassured them so.

"He won't be cleared for full-length drills for another few weeks, but he's back on his feet, Commander."

Jingrui sat back from his table with a satisfied smile. "We'll be back up to full strength, then. Good. Is there anything else I need to know of before I write up the battalion's monthly report?"

His company captains shook their heads with murmurs of "No, sir," and "No, Commander," and Jingrui nodded approval and dismissal. He jotted down one last note, as they filed out, and stretched his arms over his head, glancing at the water clock. It was definitely time for him to head home.

The way from his office, through the barracks that housed his battalion's soldiers, and around their drill field, was familiar by now, and Jingrui absently noted to himself the old planking he'd been meaning to ask to get repaired, nodded to the squads changing watch as they stood aside for him, paused to raise an eyebrow at the wrestling competition that spilled off the edge of the drill grounds into his path, trying to stifle the grin that really wanted to break free. He thought his men might have seen it anyway from the sheepish but unalarmed way they ducked their heads as they scrambled back out of his way. By the time he reached the gate to their block of the ward, his horse was waiting for him.

It felt comfortable, to have his battalion around him. Welcoming and stable, in a way he hadn't really felt for three years. His mother's manor still echoed with the breaking of his family, if only because she was there and still mourned. When he traveled outside the cities, he was always a little tense, part of him always watching out of the corner of his eye for any sign of his other family, and flinching every time he caught himself at it, because he had no right. Here, though, he could feel again that loosening in his chest, the complete ease of his breath, that came from knowing without a shadow of a doubt that he belonged to these men, and they to him.

And here, of course, he still had the one constant that had been his all his life, still so one in thought that he wasn't at all surprised to see Yujin turn onto the central road just ahead of him and rein in to wait for him.

"I bet your monthly report is finished already," he said, in greeting, and Yujin laughed as he nudged his horse forward again.

"Of course it is. Unlike some, I know how to be efficient. That's how I caught up with you so easily, despite being born later."

"Ah," Jingrui nodded, wisely. "This is what they call the genius of laziness, I see."

The guards on the east gate of the quarter were stifling grins as they stood back to let Jingrui and Yujin pass. Out of the north-west quarter, the roads were too busy for much conversation, and they rode in companionable silence until they reached Yan Manor. Yujin glanced sidelong at him.

"Will you come in?"

Jingrui's breath hitched a little at the heat and uncertainty in that look, so close a match for his own feelings, of late, that he couldn't help the rueful smile that tugged at his mouth. "Yes," he answered softly. "I'd like that."

He'd grown up as much in Yan Manor as in his own house, but today he found himself not quite knowing where to step, what to do with his sword, what to do with himself once the doors of the east wing were closed behind them. He looked over to find Yujin looking back, chewing on his lip. Their eyes caught, both wide and uncertain, but as one moment and then another slipped by, Jingrui saw Yujin start to smile, felt his own answering smile spreading, and then they were laughing, reaching out to each other as easily as ever, and when he caught his breath again Yujin was folded tight in his arms and he could feel the solid strength of Yujin's arms around him.

From there it only made sense to lean in and kiss him.

Yujin's arms tightened around his ribs, and his mouth opened against Jingrui's, turning the kiss softer, hotter—a wet, hungry slide of lips and tongue that put a shiver down Jingrui's spine. When they finally drew back a little, though, Jingrui had to take a moment to understand what he was seeing. Yujin's lips were parted in a way that made Jingrui want to dive right back into the kiss. But his eyes were wide, soft, wondering, and that made Jingrui stop. He was fairly sure that, of the two of them, Yujin was the more experienced in this kind of thing. Why wondering, then? "Yujin?" he asked, softly.

Yujin shook his head, and this laugh was barely there, just an unsteadiness in his breath. "I never thought..."

There it was, again, and Jingrui freed a hand to touch his cheek. "Why not, if you wanted it?" He had a hard time imagining anything he would deny Yujin. Surely the one person he'd shared the whole of his life with didn't think a crush Jingrui had always known was hopeless would really stand in his way?

Now Yujin looked exasperated and pummeled him lightly on the shoulder. "Because I thought you were in love with someone else. That you've been in love with him since we were barely old enough to know what that meant!" He looked down and added, low, "And I didn't want to come second."

That closed around Jingrui's heart like a fist clenching, and he pulled Yujin tight against him. "Yujin..." He could feel the tension in Yujin's body, against his, and stroked open hands up and down his back, trying to soothe it. Yujin pressed close, silent, and he spoke quietly, against Yujin's ear. "I suppose I always have been a little in love with Lin Shu ge-ge. But I'm not actually blind, and I always knew there'd never be anything there, not for me. You..." he leaned his forehead against Yujin's. "You've always been there for me, Yujin. You're like my breath, my heartbeat." He laughed, a little unsteady in his turn, arms tightening. "I don't even know how to speak of love, to you, because you're so much, to me. You could never come second to anyone."

He could hear the way that made Yujin's breath hitch, sharply, feel the tremor that went through him. "Why didn't you speak, then?" Yujin asked, husky.

"Well, I didn't think you liked men that way!" Jingrui protested. "I mean it was always the shop girls you were flirting with."

Yujin dissolved into laughter against his shoulder, and took a while to stop. That was all right, though, because he didn't let go the entire time. When he lifted his head, Jingrui wasn't surprised to see wetness on his cheeks, but there was a familiar smile, too, bright and rueful. "Well, I didn't want to put you off, if you ever did decide to get over him and speak up." He grinned at Jingrui's exasperated sound and scrubbed a palm over his cheek.

Jingrui smiled, soft and helpless, and reached up to wipe away the wetness on the other side, and then had to catch his breath at the way Yujin's whole face softened, expression turning open and unguardedly happy as he turned his head into Jingrui's hand.

"It's easier for me to see women's beauty," Yujin said, softly, lifting a hand to lay over Jingrui's. "But I can see the beauty in men, too." He looked up to meet Jingrui's gaze, eyes dark. "I've seen it in you, for years."

Jingrui had to swallow at the curl of deep, soft warmth that sent through him, and now he thought he understood the wonder a little better. "Yujin..."

This time, it was Yujin who leaned in to kiss him, hands sliding up over his shoulders to close around his face, and Jingrui was entirely content to relax into that gentle hold. Yujin kissed him again and again, soft little sips of kisses that made Jingrui open his mouth against Yujin's, tongue darting out to stroke against his and coax him deeper. It seemed to work, because Yujin relaxed against him, and he was smiling when he drew back.

"Jingrui. Let me try something?"

Normally, those words, matched to the sparkle in Yujin's eyes, might have made him a little wary, but here and now Jingrui couldn't imagine anything he wouldn't be happy to let Yujin do. "Of course."

Yujin laced their fingers together and tugged him through the outer rooms, toward Yujin's bed. Another sidelong look, questioning and a bit shy, made Jingrui smile, tightening his hold on Yujin's hand before reaching for his own sashes to undo them. Yujin only let him get his outer robe untied, though, before coming to him, his own inner robe still trailing off his shoulders, and laying his hands over Jingrui's. Very softly, eyes steady and serious, he asked, "Let me?"

Jingrui's breath drew in swiftly, a tiny shiver running over him at the earnestness of that question. He had to swallow hard before he could answer, and his voice was husky when he said, "Yes. Always."

Yujin smiled, quick and brilliant as a lightning strike, and it stole Jingrui's breath all over again, to see how much it meant to Yujin, that Jingrui would welcome this small intimacy, would promise it to Yujin's hands and care. He stood quiet while Yujin undressed him, turning with his gentle nudges. Yujin's hands were so careful, on him, that it made Jingrui have to blink back wetness in his eyes. When he was finally bare, and Yujin had come to stand in front of him, hands resting on his shoulders, the soft satisfaction in Yujin's smile finally crystallized what this was telling Jingrui's heart.

"You've always been taking care of me, haven't you?" he asked, softly.

"As well as I could," Yujin answered, simply.

Jingrui had to swallow again, but he was smiling when he reached out and slid his hands down the open collar of Yujin's robes. "Will you let me take care of you, now?"

Yujin blinked, very much as if the notion had never occurred to him, but then he smiled, small and pleased, ducking his head a little. "Yes. If you like."

"Of course I like." Jingrui tipped his chin back up and kissed him, softly, promising again, against his mouth, "Always."

Yujin's breath caught, and Jingrui kissed him one more time, gentle, before setting about divesting Yujin of his inner robe and undergarments, just as carefully, as tenderly, as he could, hoping to ease the fragile edge on the hope in Yujin's face. When he was done, he gathered Yujin tight against him, and repeated softly, against his ear, "Always." The fierce tightening of Yujin's arms around him was enough to drive his breath out, and he would have pursued the issue further—surely Yujin knew they were for always?—but Yujin drew back and tugged him down to the bed.

"Let me?" he asked again, pressing Jingrui back against the stacked pillows.

"Of course. Anything you... want..." Jingrui's answer ended rather breathlessly, as Yujin nudged his knees apart and settled between them, leaning on his elbows. Yujin looked up at him under his lashes, with that wicked sparkle back in his eyes. Jingrui made a wordless sound that was definitely not a squeak, as Yujin leaned down—a sound that dissolved into a moan as Yujin's tongue ran up the length of him, hot and slick. Yujin made a pleased sound of his own and leaned down further, wrapping his mouth around Jingrui.

Jingrui had already been most of the way hard, just from touching as they'd undressed each other, but now it felt like all the blood in his body was rushing to fill his cock. He could feel every movement of Yujin's lips and tongue, against him, and each soft, wet stroke sent a thrill of pleasure up his spine, leaving him gasping. "Yujin..."

"Mmmm?"

The vibration of Yujin's mouth around him wrung a groan out of him, hot sensation bursting wildly down his nerves. Jingrui clutched at the folded covers under him, completely unable to stop the little upward jerks of his hips. After some hesitation, Yujin finally folded his arms over Jingrui's hips and leaned his weight on them, making a pleased sound as he slid his mouth back down and Jingrui found himself without enough leverage to move. Jingrui moaned out loud at the way that sent heat twisting through him, tight and sweet, and when Yujin sucked on him, hard, it all came undone in a wild rush of pleasure uncoiling. "Yujin!"

He felt Yujin's fingers tight around him, stroking him through it, and looked up to find Yujin watching him, eyes dark with heat, mouth red, and that wrung him out yet again, until he moaned, breathless. When he finally lay quiet again, undone and panting for breath, Yujin slid back up to wind around him, settling close with a satisfied smile. Jingrui wound slightly shaky arms around him, and laughed. "Have me where you want me?" he asked, husky.

Yujin smirked and snuggled closer. "Pretty much, yes."

After a few quiet minutes of cuddling, Jingrui regathered enough of his thoughts to stroke a hand down Yujin's body, a little shyly. "Let me, now?"

Yujin looked up from his shoulder with a smile that had the same edge of shyness in it. "Yes."

Jingrui gathered him closer and turned them, settling Yujin back against the now-disordered pillows. A little wryly, he added, "Though I'm not sure if I'm ready to try exactly that, just yet."

Yujin settled back with a small, contented sound, and reached up to brush back Jingrui's hair. "Of course not. I don't think I'd have tried it myself, yet, if I hadn't had advice."

Jingrui stopped quite still for a long moment. "...advice?"

Yujin's eyes were sparkling again. "Mm. From the ladies I visit. They thought it was sweet, that I asked."

Jingrui sputtered. "You... you asked... Yujin!"

Yujin laughed at him, reaching up to pull him down and hug him tight. When Jingrui had given up and stopped sputtering, and Yujin had finished laughing, he added, softer, "If it ever happened, I wanted to get it right."

Jingrui gave over and held him close, helplessly tender. "Then thank you." When he lifted his head, he could see Yujin was blushing at that, and cradled him closer, kissing him softly, coaxing. The way Yujin answered him, so open, so willing, made it easy to run his hands down Yujin's body, slow and caressing, glad to have an answer for the hunger in him. When he wrapped his fingers around Yujin's length and stroked him, the shaky edge to Yujin's moan made heat curl through him in response. The knowledge that Yujin wanted this, wanted him, so much, settled warm in his chest, and he worked his hand over Yujin, slow and firm, attending to what made him gasp or arch up against Jingrui.

Yujin liked to be touched firmly. He liked to be kissed while Jingrui rubbed a thumb over the head of his cock. And when Jingrui bit gently at his lower lip, hand tightening on him, Yujin bucked up sharply into his hand, moaning out loud, hands tight on Jingrui's shoulders as he came undone. Jingrui smiled, pleased, and swallowed the sounds he made in a deep, fierce kiss, stroking him until he stilled.

"Oh," Yujin said, softly, eyes a little dazed when he looked up at Jingrui. Now Jingrui understood the satisfaction in Yujin's smile perfectly, and cuddled Yujin close with a contented sound. When Yujin curled into him, relaxed and easy, Jingrui thought he might be perfectly happy to stay this way for always. At some point, no doubt, food and work would get them out of bed again, but for now at least, they could stay here and he could soak in the feeling of Yujin, warm and close in his arms.

Jingrui pressed a kiss to Yujin's now-mussed hair, and smiled.

Contrary to the image he'd cultivated over the years, Yujin was actually quite well-versed in self-control. A seamless social front was not achieved through lax control, and even less by ignoring the unspoken rules of one's environment. Nevertheless, he had to admit that it was extremely tempting to ignore them for just long enough to lean over the writing table that held their latest plans for interior drills, and kiss Jingrui. From the way Jingrui was grinning sidelong at him as they sorted lists of archers to decide who got the fixed position and who got to sortie, Yujin was fairly sure he was aware of the urge, which did nothing to discourage the idea. Rather the reverse, actually.

Just as he was about to abandon the personnel lists and kiss that curve off Jingrui's lips, though, there was a brisk rap on the door frame and Yujin looked up to see Lin Shu standing in it. From the way the corners of his mouth were curling up, he probably knew just what they'd been about to do, also. Yujin sighed; this was what he got for letting his guard down, he supposed. "Lin Shu ge-ge. Hi."

Jingrui promptly blushed and straightened up with a self-conscious look. Yujin shook his head, smiling helplessly. Jingrui was so transparent. It was adorable, when it wasn't alarming him.

Lin Shu chuckled and stepped in, taking the seat Jingrui hastily cleared off. "Good afternoon to you. I'm glad I caught you both here."

"Was there something you needed..." Jingrui hesitated and glanced at Yujin before finishing, more formal than usual, "sir?"

Yujin tried not to let that little bit of thoughtfulness make him smile too foolishly, and settled himself to attend to their cousin.

"Just some clarification, really. We're finally ready to start clearing out the problems among the lower ranks of the armies, and that overlaps your own work in places." Lin Shu gave Yujin a level look. "Did you want to keep working on Wan Fa, yourself?"

Yujin froze, reflex panic flashing cold down his nerves; if they knew about Wan Fa, they knew about Jingrui's involvement...

"Only Jingyan and I know," Lin Shu said quietly. "We have not spoken of it, even to his mother or wife." Just as Yujin was starting to take a full breath again, he added, "Not yet." He sighed and shook his head at Yujin's hand, suddenly clenched around the list he'd been holding. "Yujin, think. Lady Jing, at the very least, will need to know of this when Yuwen Nian marries Prince Ning, if only to guide her against any repeat." A little more gently, he finished, "And you have to know you won't be able to keep Jingrui entirely in the background any longer, now you both have positions in the capital."

"What are you talking about?" Jingrui was frowning. "Yujin has never..." He stopped at Lin Shu's raised hand, but he was still frowning, still puzzling at the words, and Yujin took a long breath, trying not to glare at their cousin for letting on so much. That wouldn't help.

"We're only Commanders. There's no reason for anyone but Vice-Commander Sun or High Commander Meng to take notice of us, is there?" he asked, tightly, more a demand than a question, really.

"For now," Lin Shu agreed, so easily Yujin was already wary when he added, "But the two of you are bright and skilled. You can't imagine you'll go very long without being promoted." He leaned over the table, eyes turning sharp. "Especially when we need exactly that, in our officers."

Yujin bit his lip. He didn't need Lin Shu to draw it out for him, from there. If there was need, then of course Jingrui would be promoted, quite possibly into Sun's position; the Vice-Commander had made no secret of his desire to get back to his retirement once the Jin army was back on its feet. And a Vice-Commander of the Jin army was too high and too close to the Palace to be ignored any longer. The first minister who happened to be nearby the next time Jingrui was irritated over some remnant of corruption that affected his men or their duties would know the kind of vulnerability Jingrui's idealism could provide, likely before Jingrui got to the end of his sentence. And, at that point, Yujin wouldn't be able to stop whoever it might be from using Jingrui as a lever or a tool, from blackmailing him with the threat of reporting disloyalty to the Emperor, from using him as an unknowing conduit to the Crown Prince's ear, from using Jingrui's easy friendship as a counter in the games of court, not unless...

"So," Lin Shu said quietly. "Knowing what is coming, do you wish to keep working on Wan Fa yourself, or shall I deal with this, for now?"

Yujin closed his eyes. Now he knew what Lin Shu was really here to find out. "I'll keep this one," he answered, low. The sooner he got started building his contacts and reputation, the better.

A warm hand covered his wrist, and he opened his eyes to see Jingrui leaning over the table toward him, eyes sharp and rather fierce. "Yujin, what are you talking about?"

Yujin chewed on his lip, looking back. He'd never actually told Jingrui what it was he did. Jingrui had been so angry and upset over the little they'd understood of the fall of Lin and Prince Qi's household that Yujin hadn't thought he'd go along with it, and that had never quite changed. But there was trust and belief looking back at him, now, in Jingrui's level gaze, and he couldn't betray that.

"Yujin," Jingrui said again, softly, hand tightening. "You're about to do something dangerous, aren't you? Tell me. Let me help."

Yujin's mouth quirked. As much as Jingrui didn't usually pay attention to social (or political) nuances, Lin Shu's very presence was surely enough to tell him this was dangerous, yes. "I..." He sighed, leaning both elbows on the table. "Ever since the Chiyan case, I've tried to keep you away from politics."

Jingrui blinked at him for a moment, but then, slowly, nodded. "Because you thought it would be dangerous?"

"Because it was dangerous," Yujin said, flatly. "Idealists die in our court. It's just what happens. I think..." he looked down at his hands. "I think that's why my father withdrew to the temples, as much as he could."

"It was," Lin Shu put in, softly, and Yujin nodded.

"So I listened, at parties and events, for the names of the people who were playing court games, and I tried to keep you from getting involved, sidetrack you however I could. Which didn't get any easier when the Marquis started playing both sides," he added, disgruntled just remembering how much that had complicated his life.

"That was why...?" Jingrui huffed a soft laugh. "Oh, Yujin." He let go of Yujin's wrist and laced their fingers together instead, gently. When Yujin looked up, he was smiling. "Thank you. For taking care."

That gentleness pulled words out of Yujin before he thought to stop them. "Of course I took care. You and my father were all that was left."

The slow widening of Jingrui's eyes made him tense again; had that been too much to admit, too much to ask for (again)? But Jingrui's hand tightened on his, holding him. "Yujin..." Jingrui took a breath and said, steady. "I'm sorry."

Yujin blinked, caught flat-footed by that, and Jingrui smiled a little, ruefully.

"I'm sorry I didn't see. I made life harder for you, didn't I?"

Yujin shook his head. "It was something I chose to do on my own." Jingrui's grip tightened again for a moment, stilling him.

"If we're promoted... it will be harder again, won't it?"

Yujin took a breath and shook his head again, feeling certainty settle in his chest. "No more than usual. Not if I'm in the ministries."

Jingrui took a breath to protest—Yujin knew it was going to be a protest—but then he stopped. Slowly, watching Yujin carefully, he asked instead, "Will you be happy, doing that? I know you're good at it. I know you can. I know you think you need to. But will it make you happy?"

Yujin opened his mouth only to close it again, a little nonplussed at how thoroughly Jingrui had closed down all the answers he'd normally have used to dodge the actual question. Jingrui's smile, a little chiding and a little coaxing, said he knew it, too. "All right, all right," Yujin huffed, but had to smile back. "Yes. I think it will." He waved a hand at his writing table, stacked with more reports than any other Commander in Jin willingly invited, all in the name of knowing what was going on. "It seems to be what I do."

"All right then," Jingrui agreed, softly, and lifted their hands to press a kiss to Yujin's fingers.

Yujin turned very red and shot a quick look at Lin Shu, who was, thankfully, pretending to look at the shelves and not notice. "Jingrui!" he hissed.

Jingrui just laughed, not letting go of his hand, and Yujin gave him a long-suffering look. He didn't pull away, though.

"Well, if that's settled," Lin Shu murmured, looking very entertained, "think about where you'd like to enter, Yujin. Either State Revenue or the Bureau of Discipline would be easy to fit you into, but if you have your eye on another route, tell me."

"Where are you expecting those routes to go?" Yujin asked, a little cautious. He had cause to trust Lin Shu's ability to plot these things, and that he was well disposed toward them, but he also had a lively respect for his cousin's ruthlessness. And however much affection Lin Shu ge-ge had for them, he was the Crown Prince's man, now. Whatever he did would serve Jingyan's ends first of all.

Lin Shu rose, shaking his robes straight, and smiled down at them. "Yan has produced two Chancellors, for this nation. Perhaps it should be three, hm?"

Jingrui's eyes widened, but Yujin smiled, even as he felt his face heat again at that casual vote of confidence. He'd been seen, and seen clearly, and for once he thought he didn't mind it—not when it meant Lin Shu understood how far Yujin would go to keep his own safe, and was willing to support him in that. "If you think so."

"I do."

Yujin ducked his head, honestly flattered by the firm certainty in his cousin's voice, and Lin Shu ge-ge patted his shoulder as he stepped past, toward the door. Yujin sat back as he swept out, and tightened his grip on Jingrui's hand, feeling more settled than he had in a long time.

This was his, and this he would guard.

The year had turned, and all through the city families celebrated whatever fortune had favored them, hoped for more in the new year, gathered to drive out the winter darkness and welcome in the new life of spring.

Jingrui wandered through the soft, colored brightness of the Lantern Festival at Yujin's side, as they'd done so often over the years. This year, though, he found himself suddenly more aware of some things. He'd always teased Yujin about how much attention he tended to attract, during the festival, but this was the first time Jingrui had gotten personally annoyed by the number of matrons and chaperones and matchmakers who found a moment to pause their party by Yujin and Jingrui, and have a few smiling words with the son and only heir of the Yan family. This year, he had to stop himself from 'accidentally' stepping between Yujin and the next party they saw that included a girl out for a promenade at the festival.

No sooner did he notice the urge, though, then he also noticed something else. Yujin looked like he was flirting; he smiled and flattered the older women, and said kind things about the young women, loudly enough to be overheard. But he was also, unmistakably, turning them away. It tugged at Jingrui's attention more and more as the evening drew on, and once he started really watching, he could see that Yujin's body language turned reserved, straightening into a quiet restraint, every time another party approached them. Without a word spoken directly, one mother or matchmaker after another patted Yujin's arm and passed on, sweeping the girls along without a backward glance.

And then Yujin would relax, and lean against his shoulder, and laugh openly again.

The more Jingrui saw, as they wound past the stalls of lanterns and the bright-glowing fronts of the capital's mansions and pavilions, the more he thought back over other festivals or parties or outings he'd seen Yujin at, always smiling and laughing—what else had he been doing, all that time, that Jingrui hadn't noticed?

Not that he really needed to ask, after Lin Shu ge-ge's recent visit. Still, when they fetched up at a grove on the edge of the east district's pond, quieter and a bit darker than the streets if still fairly crowded with strolling groups, he drew Yujin closer and asked softly, "How much of that have you been doing, all this time?"

Yujin's dark eyes looked bottomless in the evening's soft glow. "As much as seemed necessary," he answered, low.

"Necessary," Jingrui repeated, slowly, turning over the things Yujin had said during that startling meeting. "To keep me safe."

Yujin just nodded, as if it were perfectly self-evident, and Jingrui couldn't help laughing, soft and more than a little stunned. "All that... all this time..." Jingrui swallowed hard and reached out, careless of who might be watching, and pulled Yujin close, holding him tight.

"Thank you," he whispered against Yujin's ear.

Yujin made a dismissive sound, but his arms wound tight around Jingrui. Jingrui leaned back far enough to look him in the eye, and closed his hands around Yujin's face, gently, to make sure of it. "Yujin, listen. I'm yours, all right? Whatever happens, whatever it is we do with our lives, I'm yours. Just like you're mine. You have my word." He could feel the tremor that went through Yujin, at that, though the only visible sign of his reaction was a little widening of his eyes, and nodded to himself. He thought he was figuring out how to read Yujin properly again, the way he hadn't, perhaps, since they were much younger. Since before the fall of Lin and Prince Qi.

Thinking that, he listened to the way Yujin's body swayed just a little towards him, and leaned back in to kiss him, slow and sure, in the warm light of the lanterns—kissed him until the quick clench of Yujin's hands in the back of his robes eased, until Yujin's mouth against his softened from the first desperate hunger.

Then, at last, he drew back and rested his forehead against Yujin's, smiling. "So. Go ahead and take over Jingyan ge-ge's government, if it will make you happy, and I'll see to his soldiers. And let me guard your back, as you guard mine."

Yujin smiled back, brighter than all the lanterns in the streets behind them, and answered, softly, "Yes."

"Good." Jingrui stepped back, sliding a hand down to tangle their fingers together, and tugged Yujin back toward the brightly lit streets. As they plunged back into the light, even when Yujin's grip on his hand eased, as if to obey propriety and reserve, and let go, Jingrui only tightened his hold.

He would never let this go, again.

End

Ground Fire

Their work finally pushes Akai and Furuya together once too often, and Akai forces the issue of what happened to Scotch. In the wake of it, they find in each other some of the understanding they've both needed. Kinda Romance, Porn with Characterization, I-4

This arc is undoubtedly in the process of being jossed, but that just means I get to write it again in another couple weeks. Or months. Well, by the end of the year, surely.

One
Furuya Rei, currently known to his targets and associates as Amuro Tohru, knew he was not at his best when he was surprised. As Hiro had trenchantly put it once, Reiâ€™s observational ability meant he just didnâ€™t get surprised often enough to figure out how to deal with it very well. Rei knew it was a vulnerability, but since he wasnâ€™t about to stop observing the world around him, he hadnâ€™t seen any good way to fix it.  At least not until just recently. Akai Shuuichi had been responsible for most of Reiâ€™s least pleasant surprises over the last few years, and Rei rather hoped that his pursuit of Akai would help fix the issue. Surely it wasnâ€™t unreasonable to want Akai to be at least a little useful before he died? Unfortunately, it seemed Rei still had a ways to go. Admittedly, Vermouth's message was enough to occupy anyone's mindâ€”that Gin might be scouting the same professional sniper that Conan was currently tracking (and of course he was, if there was one place their miniature Holmes should not be, you could count on finding him there every time, and yes Rei was aware of the irony of his exasperation). So when he came out of the stairwell onto the roof, he was prepared to either tackle a sniper or bullshit Gin just as fast as humanly possible, and perhaps to restrain Conan from charging straight at a rifle barrel. He was not expecting to find Akai Shuuichi vaulting up the last steps of the fire escape onto the same roof.  They both froze for one long, startled second, and then years-long rage sent Rei's hand diving for his gun in the same moment that Akai lunged straight for him. He tried to turn out of Akai's line, but even the most sternly trained muscle memory tripped over the unexpected. One hand occupied, he missed his stance (trying to do two things at once, the remembered voice of the Academy jujutsu instructor berated him, in the back of his head) and the full weight of Akai's body slammed him back against the wall beside the stairwell door. When Rei had managed to haul breath back into his lungs, he was pinned, and Akai had an iron grip on his gun hand. Rei bared his teeth in a furious snarl, outraged that he'd had a clean chance at Akai, and as himself instead of as Okiya for once, and he'd missed it. Akai's expression, half in shadow as he looked down at Rei, was pensive. "Can you not let this go?" he asked, quietly. "Let it go?" Rei spat, yanking futilely against Akai's grip, nearly wrenching his own shoulder with a twist he didn't have the leverage to complete. "Let it go that you killed my best, oldest friend, with your damned illegal interference?" Akai's eyes narrowed. "You know better than that. You, of all people, must have seen better than that." "So he pulled the trigger himself! You were the one who made him do it, just to keep your cover!" Rei threw back at him. "You must have been! He'd never have done that on his own!" Akai stared at him silently for a long moment, and then bent his head and let out a long, faint sigh. Anticipation pulled Rei's muscles taut, waiting for the moment that well-earned guilt might give him a break in Akai's hold or attention. "It wasn't on his own, no," Akai said, very quietly, and rage cranked Rei's whole body a notch tighter, teeth grinding hard on that admission. When Akai lifted his head, though, it wasn't guilt in the pinch of his brows or the sudden softness of his mouth. Only... what? Sadness, yes, but also something else. "You see so clearly, most times," Akai said, very softly, almost a whisper between them. "Remember what you saw, Furuya-kun. He didn't do it on his own. Think about what he would have seen and heard, up on that roof. Already sure that the Organization would be coming for him, what did he hear right before he shot?" Rei stared up at him, mind turning the thought over and poking at it automatically. Did Akai mean there was something he'd said to Hiro just then? Or was he trying to palm this off on something else, a phone call, or another member approaching, or... Rei's breath froze in his lungs. Another member approaching. Footsteps, fast and intent, rattling up the metal steps of the fire-escape stair. Rei's memory played them back as if it were just yesterday. "No," Rei whispered, eyes wide and blind with the image building itself inexorably in his mind. Hiro had heard footsteps approaching and thought it was another member. He'd heard Rei's footsteps. And then he'd pulled the trigger. "No!" It ripped out of his throat on a scream, furious and helpless and pained (it had been him) but the sound was muffled in his ears. It took a moment for Rei to realize there was a hand cupped around his head, pulling him down against the worn leather of a jacketed shoulder. It took longer to realize that the hard clatter he'd heard was his own gun, fallen from his hand. The realization was like a fist in his stomachâ€”it had been him. He hadn't thought anyone could have found Hiro before him, had counted on his friend's steadiness, even under the worst pressure, to make Hiro wait and see who was coming, never thinking that someone else might have gotten there first, that Hiro might already be on a hair-trigger. He hadn't thought. Hadn't looked ahead. Hadn't seen what was right in front of him, that night. Hiro had died because of him. Rei barely felt the rough tar-paper under his knees as he collapsed, didn't think about whose hands caught him or whose jacket was muffling the sobs tearing out of his chest. That one damning thought echoed through his mind and pushed out everything else, until all he could do was howl with the pain of it. But there was nothing that grief could changeâ€”that was why it was grief and not rage, even though he'd tried so hard to make it stay rage, to imagine that vengeance would change something, if only in his own heart. Eventually even nearly four years worth of tears ran dry, because there was nothing else to do. That was when the realization finally made its way to the surface of Rei's thoughts that Akai was kneeling on the roof with him, and the hand resting on his head was Akai's, and so was the shoulder his face was buried in. The very wet shoulder. As soon as he stirred, the hand dropped to his arm, helping him upright as he pushed away. Rei didn't look up as Akai stood, just scrubbed his sleeve over his aching eyes; how were you supposed to talk to the man you'd just cried all over, who you'd been trying very hard to kill right up until that moment?  Two hands appeared in front of him. "Up," Akai said. Rei did look up at that, startled. "Come on, up," Akai repeated, and flicked his fingers, beckoning. "We can't stay here." That was good enough sense that Rei mustered the coordination to take Akai's hands and haul himself upright, biting back a curse as he almost fell and Akai had to catch him again. "What do you mean 'we'?" he jabbed, half-heartedly, voice rough and hoarse. The look Akai gave him made him feel like a rookie again, and the heat in his face made his raw cheeks burn. "You shouldn't be somewhere the Organization knows about, right now. So you're coming with me." "They know about Kudou's house," Rei protested, even as he stumbled toward the fire stairs after Akai. "Which is why we're going somewhere else."  Rei sighed and climbed onto the stairs after Akai, wondering if he was this annoying himself, when he was keeping some tentative conclusion behind his teeth. It was hard to hold on to the thought, though, or to noticing the way Akai stayed poised just a few steps below him, as if he thought he might have to catch Rei yet again. By the time they reached Akai's car, he'd completely lost track of why he should refuse, and climbed into the passenger seat silently. He didn't keep good track of the passing streets outside the dark windows. The disorientation seemed of one piece with the fragments of thought that spun through his head, bits of memory and shards of future plans swirling together. Hiro's quiet laugh. The glint in Conan's eye when they found that sniper's name. The number he'd meant to call in a tip to, when the man's location was nailed down. The lyrics of the first song he and Hiro had ever written. The name of the garage he'd left his own car in. None of his thoughts connected to one another. When they finally stopped, and Akai's hand under his elbow guided him up some stairs and over to a low bed, he was glad to let those fragments go, to let himself sink down onto the worn blanket and down into the dark as his eyes fell shut. The last thing he heard was a faint creak of floorboards as Akai sat beside the bed.

Shuuichi was just finishing a message to Conan, agreeing that yes, it would be wise to take some of the Metropolitan police along to the next stop he hoped to find the sniper at, since "Subaru-san" was delayed and Gin might be present, when he heard Furuya stir. He closed his phone and slid back from the little apartment's low table just a bit, in case it took Furuya a minute to remember why he might not want to kill Shuuichi any more. When Furuya's eyes opened, though, they were dark with knowledge and memory, and he pushed himself upright on the bed slowly, as though his whole body ached. Shuuichi silently passed him the tumblr of water waiting on the table, and Furuya took it with a tiny nod. It wasn't until he'd drained it that he even looked around, and Shuuichi noted that he'd won his bet with himself. Furuya was still in shock.  Not completely out of it though, because his first question, voice still hoarse despite the water, was, "Where are we?" "One of my bolt-holes, just over the district border in Edogawa." As he'd half hoped, though after a longer pause than he liked, a faint smile tugged at Furuya's mouth. "Edogawa?"  Shuuichi let his own amusement warm his voice. "It seemed appropriate." "And you brought me here." Furuya stared at him for a long moment, and finally gestured with an open hand, as it to take in the whole past day. Or possibly the past year. "Why?" Shuuichi had known that question had to be coming, but he still sighed a little as he leaned his elbows on the table. "Because I've lost someone I loved to them, too."  Furuya blinked at him. "You really loved her, then? Akemi-san?" And that was why Shuuichi hadn't really wanted to say it, but Furuya was already wincing at the clumsiness of his own words and Shuuichi couldn't hold them against him right now. He has his own share of responsibility for Scotch's death, and for the shape Furuya was currently in. "I did, yes," he said over the beginning of Furuya's apology. "It was probably unwise, with someone who was only supposed to be a way to get deeper into the Organization, but this job is easy enough to die in as it is. Anything that reminds us we're alive is worth some risk." The memory of Akemi's smile flashed through his head, and he pushed himself abruptly to his feet, gathering up his glass and Furuya's to refill at the sink. When he thought he could keep his voice steady again, he finished, "Even if it ends." Furuya had his head down when Shuuichi turned around, leaning over with his elbows on his knees, hands hanging loose between them. Shuuichi recognized the shape of it, the braced position that you hoped would hold you steady through something shaking your heart so hard you thought it might stop beating. He'd spent weeks, after Akemi's death, sitting like that. He set the glasses on the table and sat beside Furuya on the bed. Jodie had spent more than one day sitting beside him like this, just being another living person close enough to hear her breathe, and it had helped. "Morofushi Hiromitsu," Furuya said, voice low, not lifting his head. "That was his name. We grew up together. After the Academy, when we both chose Public Security, the Tokyo bureau for him and National for me... It was natural to assign him as my liaison, and we did a lot of fieldwork together." Furuya lifted a hand to rub his forehead, shoulders hunching a little tighter. "I was the one who took the assignment to infiltrate the Black Organization. Once I was inside, I asked to bring Hiro in after me." Furuya's hand banged down on his knee, and his voice turned stifled. "And then, up on that roof... It was my fault...!" Shuuichi straightened, eyes narrowing at the tight-wound strain in Furuya's voice. He'd said something similar, once, on the phone with his mother right after hearing about Akemi's death. She'd nearly reached through the phone to shake him by the scruff, and maybe now he knew why, if he'd sounded anything like this. "It was hardly your fault alone." Furuya laughed, ragged. "You were the one who told me to think about what he heard right before he pulled the trigger." Shuuichi frowned; yes, that was more than enough of that. He reached over to take Furuya's chin and force his head up again. "Three people made choices, that night, Furuya-kun," he told those startled blue eyes, "and we all made mistakes. I shouldn't have let go of the gun. You shouldn't have charged in without warning or scouting the situation. He shouldn't have been so quick to assume the worst and fire before even seeing who it was." Furuya started to shake his head, and Shuuichi tightened his grip. "I'm glad you don't think I drove him to his death, any more, but that doesn't mean you should take all of that guilt and pile it on yourself instead." "I don't... I'm not..." Furuya's voice was softer now, much less certain, and trailed off completely at the look Shuuichi gave him. "All right," he finally said, face a little red, eyes falling away from Shuuichi's. "Better." Shuuichi started to let go, but his attention was still snagging on something about Furuya's expression. It wasn't that dangerous bleakness, any more. In fact, now he was thinking about it, that flush looked less like embarrassment and more like... something else. Especially with the way Furuya's lips had parted when Shuuichi had grabbed his chin. That had been startlement, yes, but also... Well, now. Wasn't that interesting?

Rei was in so much trouble. He watched Akai's eyes flick over his cheeks, his mouth, his throat as he swallowed, and he could nearly read the words of the conclusion forming behind that look. So, so much trouble. And the thing was, Rei knew this about himself. He was careful about it! He hadn't had many senpai worth the name in his life; the ones who hadn't turned away from the halfblood had been scared off by his intelligence, the things he saw, his passion for the chase. So when an older student or agent had stepped up, once or twice, to try to guide him... well, Rei responded pretty intensely. He watched that, in the field, to make sure his little quirk wouldn't get him into trouble! And now he'd been blindsided by a stern talking-to from Akai Shuuichi of all people, whose brows were lifting just a little, whose thumb was sliding up to stroke gently over Rei's lower lip. Rei pulled in a quick gasp of breath, stumbling over just the man's name. "Akai... -san?" "I wouldn't mind," Akai murmured, fingers still curled around Rei's chin. "As long as you're sure." "I... it wouldn't be..." Smart, or sensible, or other reasonable things that he couldn't quite think of with the warmth of Akai's fingers against his skin. It had been so long since anyone had really touched him. And Akai... Akai was waiting for him calmly, eyes steady on his. Anything that reminds us we're alive is worth some risk. The words echoed back to him, and they rang so true. So painfully true he had to squeeze his eyes shut against it and try to breathe through it. They'd both risked love and lost it to the Black Organization. Rei understood very well some of the fire that drove Akai, and of all the people he might call on in this moment, of all his allies, old and new, permanent and temporary, Akai Shuuichi was the one who knew right down to the bone how this was driving Rei. And god but he had to find someone to confide in, to reach out to, before Vermouth started looking like a good option! He opened his eyes again, calm settling over his spinning thoughts, the familiar certainty of having found the right answer, and answered quietly, "I'm sure." Akai nodded, unsurprised. "Come here, then." His fingers tipped Rei's chin up as he leaned in, and Rei really couldn't help the way his breath caught. In the back of his mind, he was expecting a kiss between the two of them to be fierce, to be heated with the memory of how they'd stalked each other through this city. It wasn't, though. Akai's mouth on his was warm and slow, and Rei closed his eyes, leaning into the understanding that warmth told him of, more clearly than any words. Akai slid back to stretch out full-length on the bed, tugging Rei down against him. The steady slide of his hands up and down Rei's back eased away Rei's hesitance until he settled against the length of Akai's body and tucked his head into the curve of Akai's shoulder. "That's better," Akai murmured to him, and Rei felt his face heat again. He was never going to be able to listen to that husky voice turn low again without getting turned on, was he? For as long as they both survived, anyway. The thought made his fingers wind tighter in the dark cotton of Akai's shirt, and the corner of Akai's mouth quirked like he'd heard the words out loud. He slid his hand up to curl around the nape of Rei's neck. "Easy, Rei. I've got you."  The intimacy of his bare given name tugged a breathless sound out of Rei, sent him pressing closer. "Akai-san..." Akai turned his head and pressed a kiss to Rei's forehead. "Shhh. I'm not going anywhere." His lips curved against Rei's skin. "You should know that better than anyone." It wasn't desire that made Rei's face heat, this time, and he growled a little, thumping Akai on the shoulder when he laughed. "Easy, easy!" Akai gathered Rei closer and Rei let him, though not without one last glare. Akai smiled down at him, wry and warm. "We've both beaten the odds for years. We know how to keep doing it." He hesitated for a breath, but finally finished, "We will keep doing it; even after we're finished. Deal?" Rei froze, eyes widening. For one moment it was Hiro's face he saw, and the private smile they'd shared over agreements. No one else had ever had seen Rei clearly enough to put their finger on the risk that he'd spend his life to finish the last job they'd taken together. And maybe no one else had for Akai, yet, either. Rei swallowed hard and pressed close, ducking his head back down against Akai's shoulder, suddenly ashamed that he hadn't let himself see how alike the shape of their actions were, since the business with Miyano. It had been less than a year ago, hadn't it? And even still raw from that, Akai hadn't lashed back at the man trying to expose and kill him, had understood, had been amazingly gentle about fending him off, all things considered. Akai didn't press him now, either, just waited again, fingers sliding slowly through Rei's hair. "All right. It's a deal," he finally agreed, and added more fiercely, "You'd better keep it." Akai's arms tightened around him. "I will. After all," his voice lightened again, "I've found a number of things around here that make me think it might not be such a bad thing to keep going on." "Myself, and Conan, and what else?" Rei asked with a sly glance up at him. Akai's open laugh warmed him like another kiss and Rei pressed closer, holding tight to that warmth.
Two
Rei had thought it would take longer to get used to working with Akai Shuuichi, instead of against him at every opportunity. The handful of jobs they'd both been sent on, when they were both still in the Organization, had been tense and edgy even before Hiro's death, neither of them sure of the other, neither of them trusting the other with his back. Rei had thought, after three solid years of enmity, that working together would still be rough. But it wasn't. Three nights ago they'd sat on the roof across from the cafe and the Mouris, talking about a hacking attempt on the agency's records, plus both Ran and Conan's school records. They'd throw the thread of reasoning back and forth as smoothly as a shuttle to weave the profile of the hacker, until their eyes had met and neither of them had even needed to speak Bellini's code name out loud. Rei hadn't been too very surprised by the shared reasoning, after the number of Conan's cases they'd met over. But now... Now he barely needed to glance at his watch to know that Akai was in position, and it was just in time, just as Bellini was about to break through Rei's defense to Agasa's records. Rei was folding his tablet as the network icon blinked off, and he smiled, imagining the way Bellini was probably swearing. He stood, dusting off his jeans, and slipped in the fire-door without bothering to glance across the street at the next roof. The crack of quite a high-caliber handgun didn't make him start; he was expecting it. It did start the timer in his head, and he waited as seconds ticked away, as the door four floors down slammed open and hurried steps started upward, waited until he knew Akai had crossed the street to start down the stairs, letting his heels ring against the concrete.  "That complex has bulletproof glass on the windows," he'd said, three nights ago. "But only Level 3, at that age," Akai pointed out, eyes gleaming in the nighttime lights of the city. "She wouldn't have thought more was necessary. After allâ€”" "Gin prefers handguns," Rei finished. "Especially his 92. If you're going to make it across the road inconspicuously, to catch her at the bottom, though, you'll needâ€”" "Who do you think you're talking to again?" Akai asked with a smirk. "I can handle a .50." Rei excused himself for not knowing that, honestly. Akai had never shown just how much ability he had as a sharp-shooter, in the Organization. Understandably. To do so would have sent him straight to the snipers, and the Organization liked snipers who didn't ask questions, which meant they had a lot of crazy ones with little intelligence value. Of course, Gin didn't like anyone who asked questions, which undoubtedly led to both Bellini's precautions in her living space and the panic behind her hurried footsteps after getting one of her bulletproof windows shot out. The footsteps below hesitated. Rei took another heavy, measured step and smiled as Bellini reversed and made for the ground floor, clattering downwards and slamming out the back fire-door. Right into Akai. By the time Rei reached the ground himself, Akai had just finished zip-tying the unconscious woman's hands and ankles. He looked up, smile sharp, already reaching out a gloved hand. Rei bared his teeth in answer and handed over the printed note with Bellini's code name and affiliation, to tuck into her waistband. And, right on time, there were the sirens of the police who would have been called by someone after the gunshot earlier. Rei sprinted after Akai down the back alley. Around two corners, over a wall with two running steps and a vault that they made in perfect unison, slowly down a well-lit block like two friends out for a drink, quickly down another side-street, and they were safe in an alley with no connection to the first. Rei leaned back against the wall, laughing softly as the rush of triumph swept through him. Akai leaned beside him, breathing just as quick as he was, with a light in his eyes that made Rei think of the gleam on the edge of a sword. Rei knew that light, could feel it burning hot in his veins, and it was that feeling, that knowing, that made him reach out, slide his hands over Akai's shoulders, curl his fingers in the collar of Akai's jacket, and pull him down for a kiss. The way Akai's hands wrapped around his hips and pulled him closer told him that Akai recognized the same thing in him, and he laughed into Akai's mouth, hooking a leg around Akai's and grinding up against him. Yes, Akai was definitely feeling the same thing Rei was. "Akai-san?" he purred, sliding his hands down over Akai's chest. He could feel the vibration of Akai's silent chuckle. "Yes?" Rei smiled up at him, hot and wild. "Fuck me. Now." Akai surged a step forward, bearing Rei back against the wall of the alley, brick prickling along his shoulders. His voice was low and cool, though, and the contrast stroked a shiver up Rei's spine. "Are you sure? I don't have anything on me..." Rei snorted. "What kind of an agent are you? Isn't 'always prepared' the motto of one or another of you lot?" "I believe that's the Boy Scouts." Akai's voice was perfectly sober, at least until Rei fished a foil packet out of his jacket's inner pocked and slapped it against Akai's chest. He was laughing as he caught Rei's mouth again. Rei only waited until Akai took the packet before he reached down to undo both their pants, reaching into Akai's to stroke slow fingers down the already-hard length of him. Akai groaned, husky, against his ear. "Rei."  The sound of that smoky voice wrapped around his bare name slid through Rei, hot, and he hooked his thumbs into his own pants, pushing them down off his hips. "Akai-san, now." In three quick movements, Akai had the packet ripped open, a handful of slick stroked over his cock, and was sliding his hands under Rei's thighs to lift him. Rei approved completely, and wound his legs around Akai's waist, deliberately relaxing into his hands as soon as Akai's weight pushed him up against the bricks. Akai made an approving sound of his own, and finally Rei felt the blunt press of Akai's cock against his entrance, pushing into him hard and slow and steady. The fierce stretch of his muscles matched the edge this whole night had had in his senses, and Rei moaned, low and breathless, feeling his body open up for that that burn and slide. "Yes." "Ah." Akai's sound of understanding was huskier than usual, but when he pressed a kiss under Rei's ear, his lips were curved against Rei's skin. That was all right, though, because he also lifted Rei up a little higher and drove into him hard, which felt just perfect. Akai fucked him deep and sure, every stroke sinking in and driving him up against the rough brick, and the flood of hot sensation shook loose all the tension of the night and the days running up to it. It was sweet and wild in a way Rei hadn't felt in years, and it shouldn't have surprised him that he didn't last long, but the crest of pleasure still came as a shock. His voice echoed off the close walls as heat burst down his nerves and wrung him out around the hardness of Akai's cock inside him, and oh it had been too long since he'd had someone close enough to trust with these moments. Akai's groan, against his ear, told him Akai was still right with him, and it felt so good to know that that he was breathless with it. When they'd both stilled, they just stayed there for a moment, and Rei let the settling calm sink into him. Finally, though, Akai shifted back and eased Rei down to the ground. Rei winced a little as his muscles protested their rather abrupt workout; it had been worth it, though.  "Better?" Akai asked quietly, and Rei couldn't help his chuckle. "Much." He slid his hands over Akai's shoulders, thoughtfully. They did seem a bit lower. "And you?" Akai's smile was crooked in the shadows of the alley. "Not one of my usual coping methods, but I think I like it." And then he pulled a packet of tissues out of his jacket pocket and handed them over. "A bit messy, but very effective." It took a moment before Rei could stop laughing and clean up. He really should have known Akai would have exactly this sly sense of humor, after the go-around with the ambush at the Kudou house. At the time, he'd just been too blazingly furious to really consider it. He'd certainly never expected Akai to be openly protective, and he rolled his eyes a little as they moved toward the lights at the mouth of the alley and Akai's hand settled at the small of his back. "Akai-san..." "You know, after this evening, I think you can probably call me Shuuichi. Don't you?" Rei paused with a startled glance up at him. This certainly wasn't the first time they'd had sex. That wasn't what Akai had said, though, was it? The glittering clarity of their work that evening came back to him for a breath, and he remembered the weight of it in his mind, like his gun in his hand, of knowing where Akai was at every step of the way. A tiny shock ran through him with the thought that Akai... that Shuuichi might have felt the same thing. Rei swallowed and took a breath, feeling like all his attention was taken up by the warmth of the hand at his back. His voice was husky when he said, "Shuuichi-san." Shuuichi smiled, eyes warm for him. "Better." Out of everything that had happened, that night, that was the thing that made Rei's face heat, but he didn't shrug off the hand at the small of his back as Shuuichi guided him out of the alley.
Three
At the sound of five long strokes[1] rapped on the back door, Shuuichi marked his place in the book he was reading and switched off his voice-changer. They were rapped considerably harder than was really necessary, so he was expecting it when Rei stalked into the living room glaring fit to set something on fire. He'd been expecting that even before Rei tried to leave dents in the door with his code knock, to be honest. "Long day?" he asked, mildly, crossing his ankles and leaning back against the arm of the couch. "Kir is an absolute madwoman," Rei snapped, immediately starting to pace the room. "How she's lived this long, I don't know. She's taking ridiculous risks to eavesdrop on Vermouth, of all people, and remind me again why I should be risking my neck for a foreign operative?" "You diverted Vermouth for her," Shuuichi translated, and cocked his head at the blistering glare Rei gave him. If he was that annoyed... "You mentioned Conan to do it, hm?" Rei growled and paced another length of the room. "It's just about the only thing that's sure to turn her aside. The woman is obsessed! And if I can get her interfering with Rum, all the better." Shuuichi felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Rei was very good at what he did, and used that expressiveness of his to create just as impenetrable a mask as Shuuichi's own calm. But he never showed anger, as part of that. Anger was too revealing, for both of them. Rei would smile charmingly while he pulled the trigger.  He never showed open temper to anyone but Shuuichi, and the intimacy of that always settled warmth into places that had been cold for years and frozen hard for months.  On Rei's next pass by the couch, he reached out to catch Rei's wrist, returning Rei's irritated look with a calm, "Come here." He tugged until Rei huffed and let himself be pulled down to the couch to stretch out with Shuuichi. "Vermouth won't do anything to hurt Conan," he said quietly, running his fingers through the fine texture of Rei's hair. "I know that, that's why I did it." Rei still sounded snappish, but Shuuichi could feel the subtle tension in Rei's body easing. Sometimes, he knew very well, even they needed to hear a conclusion echoed by someone else. Who knew if he'd have been able to carry through the plan that had landed him on this very couch as Okiya Subaru without Kudou's fierce (if pint-sized) agreement and backing? And if he hadn't landed here, who knew if he'd have ever come so close to Rei, again, that he'd need to force the issue of what happened on the roof the night Morofushi had died? Thinking of that, he settled Rei closer against him. Rei promptly undid his effort by leaning up on an elbow to examine him, but softened against him almost immediately, settling close again. "I thought I was the one getting wound up, today," Rei murmured against his shoulder. "You are," Shuuichi told him, and chuckled silently when Rei thumped him on the other shoulder. "It was just a passing thought." It wasn't really a surprise when Rei said, quietly, "I'm not going anywhere." They knew each other's minds so well, after years of sparring in the shadows. He gathered Rei closer and pressed a kiss to his temple. "I know." The entire length of Rei's body unwound against him, at the quiet certainty in Shuuichi's voice, and Shuuichi smiled against his hair, settling back against the couch cushions. They knew each other's minds and responses so very well.
Four
"You're just incapable of not looking alarming, aren't you?" Rei smirked at the raised brow Shuuichi gave him.  He was teasing, but at the moment it was also true. In the middle of a club full of people dancing, drinking, laughing, shouting, Shuuichi was a silent, watching shadow. Plenty of people in here wore black, but Shuuichi wore it with a definite air of being working clothes rather than play clothes. That and an unsmiling expression seemed to be keeping everyone but Rei at arm's length, despite the crush. "Stop worrying about me," Shuuichi told him, putting his finger directly on why Rei was teasing, of course, which made Rei's smile turn sharper. "I don't dislike being here." Rei flicked a glance up and down Shuuichi's body, noting the way his weight was on his heels, and completed the sentence for him. "You just don't dance." Now it was Shuuichi's mouth that curved, sharp and pleased. "Mm." He plucked the drink from Rei's hand and set it down beside his own, supplying an iron-clad reason, for any watchers, why he was staying at the table. "Go have fun." Rei laughed out loud and turned for the dance floor. He loved the electric flow of thought and perception between them; there was nothing quite as much fun as that. He had come to dance, though, and that would be fun too. He was kind of overdue, actually. This was one of the reasons he'd lasted as long as he had in his current cover, after all. He was careful. Not just the way all agents were taught to be carefulâ€”with what they said and where they went and who they saw. But also careful to make room in every cover for something that the core of him loved. For music in some form. For crowds and sound and moving to a beat. For food he could make with his own hands. He might have gone out as Furuya Rei, tonight, but Amuro Tohru was also with him, and there was a wild laugh in the back of his head whenever Amuro remembered he was out with Akai Shuuichi at his side. It was a good night to dance. Aside from an absence of Organization interest, Rei had broad standards for acceptable clubs. This one had generally cheerful crowds, mostly palatable drinks, and actually quite a good DJ, so it he was marking it a success. It also had the usual share of cheerful groping out in the surge of moving bodies, but nothing he'd have to break anyone's fingers for yet, so he shook his head, laughing, at the most persistent young woman and gave himself up to the rhythm driving out of the tall speakers. It resonated in his chest, drove the sway of his hips and opened up the swing of his arms until he felt like he was breathing all the way down in his lungs again. He was drenched by the time he finally decided it was time for a drink and pushed his way back off the floor to the table Shuuichi was still holding down. He was entertained to see that, despite the crowd, no one was even looking suggestively at the empty stools on the far side of it. He broke out of the crowd and fetched up beside Shuuichi, catching up his now-acceptably-watery drink and finishing it in three long swallows. "Thanks for watching it," he teased, smirking up at Shuuichi, knowing that it was the people Shuuichi had undoubtedly spent most of his time watching. "Mm, it's an excellent evening for watching things, yes." Rei saw the gleam in his eyes, but was still startled when Shuuichi reached out, set his hand against Rei's back, and pulled him in close, so firmly Rei stumbled against him, hands spread against Shuuichi's chest to catch himself. "What...?" he started, laughing, only to lose it on a gasp as Shuuichi set a knuckle under his chin and tipped it up. "Shuuichi-san?" he asked, considerably more breathless than a moment ago. "I noticed quite a few people getting pretty familiar with you, out there." The gleam was definitely wicked amusement, Rei noted, despite considerable distraction. "Since you brought a scary-looking companion along, you might as well get the full benefit out of it."  Rei had just connected the dots when Shuuichi tipped his chin up a little further and kissed him, deep and slow and thorough, and Rei's inarticulate sound of maybe-protest-maybe-not slid into a breathless moan. His thoughts tangled between mischievous glee and a little honest shock at being so public. His senses overrode all of it for a long moment, though, with the lean, warm line of Shuuichi's body against his, the slide of Shuuichi's fingers into his hair to cradle his head, the heat of Shuuichi's mouth and the wet stroke of his tongue against Rei's. When Shuuichi finally drew back, smiling down at him, still with that wicked quirk at the corner of his mouth, it took Rei a second to pull words together. It came out a little husky when he said, "That wasn't necessary." "Probably not, but it was fun."  Rei couldn't help laughing at that deadpan delivery. "And is that why you still haven't let go, yet?" Which was making sure the flush of heat over his skin didn't go away; he could feel the eyes on them, from the surrounding tables and possibly even from the dance floor, watching how close Shuuichi was holding him. It hadn't taken him long at all to realize that Akai Shuuichi liked to tease, if he thought you could take it. "That too, certainly." Shuuichi's hand against his back spread wider, thumb sliding under the edge of Rei's shirt to stroke against bare skin, and the sensation pushed Rei up onto his toes against Shuuichi's body. "But I was also serious, Rei. If you don't enjoy something, there's no reason to tolerate it. Not here. Not right now." Rei closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath. He knew that Shuuichi had seen the hunger, in him, for a guiding voice. Shuuichi teased him about it enough, after all. But that was just it; Shuuichi teased him, let it be an inside joke between them. Except that, every now and then, he turned it real, and those moments shook Rei. "I wont, then," he agreed, softly.  Pressed up this close, he could feel Shuuichi's silent laugh. "Not now you won't, no." Rei reflected on the likely effect of having a tall, dark, dangerous looking boyfriend standing on the sidelines watching over him, after a display of apparent possessiveness like this, and had to laugh out loud. He pushed back, hands against Shuuichi's chest, teeth bared in the flashing lights of the club. "I'd better go take advantage of it, then, shouldn't I?" Shuuichi let him go easily, mouth curling up at one corner. "You should, yes."  Rei's own smile softened helplessly at that encouragement, the unspoken assurance of Shuuichi's support that ran under it. "I will, then." He would accept it. He would trust it, this alliance between them. Shuuichi nodded silently and held Rei's eyes until he spun to dive back into the crowd of dancers. All of whom suddenly minded their hands much more carefully. Rei stretched his arms up to the glare of spotlights above, whole body arching up on his toes, head tipped back as he laughed. Some people might think he was crazy for giving this much trust to the man he'd tried to kill for three years, but those years were exactly why he knew he could. The wonder of having an ally he would rely on lifted him up like the beat of the music, and he let it. This was a rhythm he could dance to. It felt amazing
Five
Shuuichi pressed closer up against his lover's back and nipped at Rei's nape, lips curving at the breathless sound Rei made. He loved Rei's contradictions. His precise reasoning and his impetuous actions. His sweet manners and his cutting ruthlessness. His fashion-conscious looks and his ability to fade out of people's attention. His iron will and his desire to be overruled. It had taken Shuuichi a while to be sure how deep that last one ran. He'd never really had that wish. For Shuuichi, the desire that lived deep in his heart was to have his judgement trusted by those he trusted and loved. For Rei, though, who seemed not to have had much support he could lean on for a very long time... well, he wanted some. Provided that support could prove itself to him. Given Rei himself, Shuuichi wasn't sure anyone besides Shuuichi himself would passâ€”an older agent who could match Rei's brilliance and skill, who knew exactly what it was to take dubious actions while fighting to keep hold of your soul. Shuuichi was possibly the only person in the country right now who Rei would trust to overrule him. This evening, Shuuichi was finally sure enough to that trust that he was prepared to act on it, further than just teasing. He leaned up on one elbow and tugged Rei over onto his back, smiling down at him. Rei was always lovely, but there was something more elemental about his beauty, like this, flushed and relaxed, skin nearly glowing against the white of the sheets. When he ran his fingers through Rei's hair, Rei tipped his head back, nearly purring with pleasure at the simple touch. "Yes," Shuuichi told him, softly. "Just like that." He leaned down and closed his mouth on Rei's neck, sucking firmly enough to mark. Rei arched up taut against him, hands closing hard on Shuuichi's shoulders. "Shuuichi-san...!" He sounded shocked, and Shuuichi wasn't surprised; they'd been careful not to mark each other anywhere that would show, until now. "Hush, Rei," he said, quiet but firm, satisfied at the shiver that ran through Rei. Shuuichi stroked his tongue over the mark and Rei pressed against him harder, breath coming short. "Shuuichi-san..." Rei's voice was a little uneven, now, and Shuuichi wound an arm around him, cradling him close. "Hush, I said." When Rei did finally hush, he brushed a soft kiss over Rei's lips. "What's the point of having learned excellent disguise skills if they can't hide a love-bite or two?" Rei was staring up at him, eyes wide at the suggestion that Shuuichi would use those skills for something like this, and it took him a moment to whisper, "Oh." Shuuichi smiled and caught Rei's chin, feeling the pulse against his thumb speed up. "Easy, Rei. I have you." It was what he'd told Rei that very first night, and he could feel the memory easing the tension in Rei's body even as Rei's breath came faster. When Shuuichi kissed him again, deeper this time, Rei moaned softly into his mouth, and Shuuichi made a satisfied sound. "That's good."

Rei shuddered as Shuuichi's mouth moved down his throat again, heat curling low in his stomach. He'd known Shuuichi understood, but he hadn't expected him to take that understanding this far. Which had been, he was realizing, very foolish of him. Akai Shuuichi had never been a man who did things half-heartedly. Re's heart was still beating fast from the jolt of his response to Shuuichi hushing him so firmly, and when Shuuichi's teeth closed, hard enough to mark his skin again, Rei nearly came right there and then, hips bucking up sharply against Shuuichi. The sound Shuuichi made could only be called a purr, and it stroked down Rei's spine like a finger. The wet heat of Shuuichi's mouth slid down to his chest, scattering slow kisses down his body, and Rei's eyes widened as Shuuichi's hands stroked down his thighs, caressing and sure, and spread them wide for Shuuichi to settle between them. "Shuuichi-san..." Those sharp, green eyes flicked up to meet his, and Shuuichi smiled, a slow curl of lips that made Rei shiver. And then Shuuichi's hands closed around Rei's hips, pinning him firmly in place against the bed. Heat surged through him before Shuuichi's mouth even touched his cock, and when slick, wet heat did wrap around him, Rei lost any hope of coherent thought and groaned out loud. Shuuichi's mouth moved over him, slow and deliberate, and Shuuichi's hands held him still for it however Rei pulled against his grip as pleasure stroked down every nerve. It felt so good. So good to be safe in hands he trusted. To know he could, for just a little while, relax and know someone else would do the worrying. That was the feeling that undid him in the end, shaking him apart in a wild burst of pleasure that Shuuichi held him steady through. When he'd recovered enough of his scattered thoughts to put one next to another again, Shuuichi had settled beside him and gathered him up close. Rei lifted his head from Shuuichi's shoulder to look up at his lover, still a little stunned. "Shuuichi-sanâ€”" he broke off with a tiny gasp as Shuuichi pressed a finger to his lips. Even completely wrung out, that still sent heat curling through him. "You're the one who's still under as one of the Organization, without the support you must have counted on when you first took the assignment," Shuuichi said quietly, holding Rei's eyes. "You deserve this. You deserve everything I can do for you, Rei." Rei sucked in a hard breath, arms tightening hard around Shuuichi. He'd never had anyone actually say that to him, and he had to blink back water in his eyes with the enormity of it. "Shh," Shuuichi told him, pressing Rei's head back down to his shoulder, and Rei made a small sound of agreement, curling close.

Shuuichi cuddled Rei close, one hand sliding up and down his back, soothing him. Slowly, the faint hitch in Rei's breath evened out and the fierce tightness of his arms around Shuuichi's ribs relaxed a little. It seemed, he reflected a bit ruefully, that he was doomed to lovers who didn't say anything was wrong until they were nearly breaking. Admittedly, he knew he hadn't been much better, himself, for some time. Jodie had had enough to say on that subject that he was aware of how he'd been slipping. He just hadn't been able to stop. He'd been heading for a crash, had even started to see the shadow of the wall ahead of him. Until a pint-sized detective had looked up at him with a gleam in his eyes, confident that they were thinking the same outrageous thing, and proposed a way to make it work. And just like that, his life had opened up again, had filled with the Kudous, with Agasa and the children, with whole divisions of the Tokyo police. With Shiho, not dead after all, not yet beyond reach of his promise to Akemi. With Furuya Rei, the last one he'd expected to settle this deep into his heart. Shuuichi rested his cheek against Rei's hair, smiling small and crooked. One of these days, he'd have to find a way to thank the boy. Rei stirred and lifted his head to eye Shuuichi a bit suspiciously. "You're laughing. I can feel it. What's so funny?" Imagining Kudou's face if Shuuichi ever specified exactly what he was thanking Kudou for, Shuuichi couldn't help chuckling out loud. "Just thinking about how surprising our lives have gotten." Rei snorted. "Of course you think that's amusing. You have the worst hobbies." He was smiling as he snuggled close again, though, and Shuuichi's own smile softened. He didn't like a lot of how they'd gotten here, but this... this was good. This was something he'd hold on to. End

1. International Morse code for 0 is five dashes. back

The Wandering Fire

Shen Wei's ten thousand years of watching Kunlun's lives and, eventually, finding his own. Character Study, Drama, Angst (lots of angst), I-5

So, about the Changes arc. I loved the Guardian drama, but the backstory and cosmology of the novel appealed to me mightily. I mean, really; gods and demons, ten thousand years of angst, who could resist? And when I went to think about it, the two actually fit together reasonably well, if you tinker both ends a bit. So this arc is a fusion of the drama and novel.

A fusion isn't quite like a crossover. Instead of, for example, Inu Yasha and company being dropped into the Cowboy Bebop world, a fusion means that Inu Yasha is Spike. So here we have a novel!Shen Wei who is, or becomes, drama!Shen Wei. Part of the fun is, of course, getting him from point A to point B, and the question this arc asks is: what might happen to make the novel backstory lead to the drama canon events? And what would happen next, especially to Zhao Yunlan?

To find out, forget the drama preamble, and read on.

When his love chose to release his final hold on the world, to make way for the new growth of mortal life and the spirits that life created, Shen Wei watched it happen. He watched, and did nothing to stop it, nothing to deny Kunlun's choice. But at the end of that choice, he made one of his own. He caught Kunlun's soul before it could unravel and brought it to Shen Nong.

He didn't like the price Shen Nong demanded from him, before agreeing to give Kunlun's soul to the cycle of reincarnation. To be guardian to the humans and the shadow of death to his own kind was a harsh task. He agreed to it, though, because one of those humans would be Kunlun.

And so Shen Wei watched most of Shen Nongâ€™s being shift, flow the way the material existence of gods so easily flowed, into another form. That form was an immaterial shape of potential and life-brightness rather than physical being but it still spoke to him of a wheel, an endless turning. He watched that turning catch up two souls, Kunlun and Shen Nong, both now shorn of the weight of memory and power that would mark a god, and buried his face in his hands, shaking with relief and pain both.

It was done.

Kunlun would live, if not as himself and not as Shen Weiâ€™s any more. He would move through the world as a human, terrifyingly fragile and brief, but he would live.

Live again and again, with no memory of Shen Wei.

The voraciousness at the core of Shen Weiâ€™s nature raged over that, screamed at him to seek out something to break, some power to conquer and consume that might change what was. For the first time in many centuries, he was tempted to listen. Yet, at the same time, Kunlun's parting gift, the part of Kunlunâ€™s own nature that heâ€™d poured into Shen Wei, soothed the rage a little, gentled it until Shen Wei could tell it was actually grief. Perhaps it was even what had moved Shen Nong to agree to their bargain, in the end.

Or perhaps it had just been the possibility of seeing all ghosts finally destroyed, if the seal between realms was ever broken again.

Shen Wei sighed and straightened. Whatever Shen Nongâ€™s motive, heâ€™d agreed. A bargain between gods, even if one of them was only half a god, impressed itself on the material of their very beings. Now the integrity of that seal was his to ensure. He would follow that imperative that was now half of his nature.

But first, he would follow the spark of Kunlunâ€™s soul and see where he found life again.

For quite a while Shen Wei found no difficulty in fulfilling his bargain to contain his people while also keeping an eye on Kunlunâ€™s soul. Considered frankly, few ghosts had any particular ability with planning ahead; most would seek the nearest source of power or life-warmth to attack and devour. If that source was another ghost, without the generative capability of a god or human or shape-changer, that would be cause for rage but not for plotting an escape from their realm. Shen Wei merely needed to keep a distant eye on the seal between realms, and visit now and then to check it in detail.

It wasnâ€™t until Kunlun was reborn in Shuâ€™s great inland city that Shen Wei realized he might need to do more than that. The city was far enough from the gateway and itâ€™s ancient marker tree that even he had trouble seeing that far without time slipping forward or back in his sight. Still, it wasnâ€™t too difficult to craft alarms to leave at the gate. That much use of his power drew down his ability to shield his nature and kept him further from humans than heâ€™d have preferred, but if he was careful to conceal and contain himself he could still come close enough to listen to Kunlunâ€™s current incarnation debate cosmology with his fellow priest-administrators.

â€œ...really reasonable that none of the gods could have stopped a mere flood from causing such widespread devastation as the Second Chronicle speaks of? Even Beiling could handle a flood.â€

â€œBeiling, the king who drowned and returned to life?â€ Kunlun asked dryly. â€œWho was selected by Duyu himself to watch over the people precisely because he proved to have power enough over water to handle a flood? It wouldnâ€™t surprise me at all if the Chronicle is true.â€

Shen Wei wondered, sometimes, just how much or little Kunlun truly remembered of his past existence, to be so certain the legends were true. Shen Nong had said he would remember nothing, could remember nothing lest the weight of his soul be too great for the still-fragile inertia of reincarnation to hold. But Shen Wei still wondered, sometimes.

By the time Yu of Xia started his ambitious canal project, Shen Wei had stopped wondering if Kunlun remembered and started wondering if humans in general had somehow managed to imprint a universal urge to be prepared in the re-event of catastrophic flooding.

If so, he didn't suppose he could blame them, but to Shen Wei the changing moods of the landâ€™s rivers would always remind him of Kunlun. Their summer ferocity, that surge that swept over the land and altered it, reminded him just as intensely as the calmer, nurturing flow of autumn. He loved them both.

He wondered if it was irony that Kunlun was here, heaving shovel-fulls of dirt alongside the rest of his team of canal diggers, working to tame one of his own wild rivers. Yet he knew, watching Kunlun straighten and scrub a dirt-smeared hand across his forehead, laughing at some joke from one of his men, that Kunlun had liked the wildness in humans, too, and probably would have enjoyed watching the contest between the two, no matter which triumphed.

He wished he could do more than watch, himself. That he could be down there with them, with Kunlun. That he could lay his hands on those bare shoulders, lean against Kunlun, listen to what made him laugh. The ache of that wishing grew until he thought it might cut off his breath completely.

Shen Wei watched Kunlun, a soldier this life, climb the shallow hill behind his current encampment and sprawl in the tall grass, leaning back on his hands to look up at the clear arch of the sky overhead. It was the time of evening that Kunlun had called the blue hour—after sunset but before full dark, when the sky was a sweep of shifting blue, trees and mountains stark black against it as the strongest stars began to shine.

Kunlun had always said this hour reminded him of Shen Wei himself. Dark, yes, but beautiful and changeable, all shapes knife-edged sharp but with the sky softening behind them for this brief time. Kunlun wouldn't be thinking about that right now, though. Couldn't remember it, because Shen Wei had chosen Kunlun's life over his memory, over preserving those memories as all Kunlun would be. He didn't regret doing it, but seeing Kunlun be so much himself, still, hurt like a blade slicing down Shen Wei's heart, over and over and over.

Shen Wei drew concealment tighter around him and watched over the encampment as blue slid away into blackness.

It was a handful of rebirths after that that Shen Wei first lost track of Kunlun, who had died while Shen Wei was examining the seal between realms. That was when it came home to him just how widely humans had spread themselves. It was possible that the ghost who managed to thread past the seal and take up Shen Wei's time tracking him down didn't entirely deserve to bear the full weight of Shen Wei's frustration, but if it served to deter others of his kind from trying his patience, Shen Wei would consider it a net gain.

It took him a ridiculously long time to remember that he carried a spark of Kunlun's soul with him, considering that his fingers found that bead of golden warmth at least twice a day, for comfort. By the time he'd followed the whisper of connection all the way north into the mountains of Yan, he was determined to do whatever was necessary to keep his watch over the seal without leaving Kunlun. He'd followed Kunlun's soul through another rebirth, this time in the capital of Luoyi (and hadn't the capital been further west just a bit ago? couldn't humans ever hold still?) before he finished the beacon that would connect his awareness to the sacred tree that marked the gateway between realms. It took significant power to keep up, more than his simple beacons had, but it wasn't as though he needed his power for anything else, these days.

The first time Shen Wei heard the phrase â€˜The Mandate of Heavenâ€™ he was hard-pressed not to laugh out loud. Heâ€™d never observed any mandate to guide or restrain living creatures. Gods and ghosts and humans and beasts, they all sought their own way and then had to deal with the consequences, and the heavens said nothing about it that heâ€™d ever heard.

â€œThe true nature of the Mandate must be care,â€ Kunlun expounded enthusiastically, and probably a little drunkenly, to two of his fellow scholars. â€œItâ€™s when care for the land and people fail that Heaven withdraws its approval, thatâ€™s demonstrated time and again!â€

"No, no!" one of his at least as drunk companions complained, waving his cup. "Clearly the law is the true core of the Mandate! Care must follow the path of the law, otherwise it's blind and you'll have no balance at all."

"Only," Kunlun leaned back with a sidelong smirk at their third member, "if you let care be tainted by personal concerns."

"Which is the only natural approach, and not a corruption at all," the third man huffed.

Shen Wei leaned against the wall in his shadowed corner, arms crossed, smiling a little to himself. At least it was entertaining to listen to. Kunlun still had all of his gift for bringing the most unlikely of conversants together.

When the great states the humans had scraped back together proceeded to spend a solid couple centuries warring with each other, Shen Wei was entirely unsurprised. Neither was he surprised when the constant tide of wars sweeping back and forth, flaring all kinds of passions higher, tempted more of his kind to dare the gateway between realms. The spell he'd left to warn him of such tugged at his attention more and more over those years, and he was grateful that Kunlun's soul seemed to have settled into mercantile pursuits for a while, with only occasional forays into politics. It was easier on Shen Wei's nerves, that way.

Kunlun's idea of useful politics was often a little... unconventional. If he didn't have money on hand to use as a lever, he'd probably resort to direct action. Again.

Shen Wei wasn't sure he was ready to watch over another life of dashing banditry, yet.

Shen Wei sat beside the bed (the deathbed), curled tight in on himself, head buried in his knees.

Two years.

One moment of carelessness, letting Kunlun, letting San, realize he was present, and he hadn't been able to leave again. And for that weakness, San had died. He was human; he'd only been able to survive Shen Wei's presence at his side, in his bed, for two brief years.

And, like a fool, he'd promised to await San's, Kunlun's, return. How could he keep that promise, when it would mean Kunlun's death? Death because of him?

If only Shen Wei's nature could be sealed away, the way his people were sealed. Half of his nature was a god's nature, wasn't it? Kunlun's own nature, his last gift, taken in and made Shen Wei's own. If only there was a way to lock away the half that was ghost. He would do it, in a heartbeat, if it would prevent this grief happening ever again, prevent Kunlun dying for Shen Wei's weakness, the next time it overcame his better sense.

He knew he would never, could never, deny Kunlun, no matter what shape or name or life he wore. This would happen again, the next time their paths crossed, unless he stayed away entirely or...

His link to the gateway tugged at his attention, a flash of vision of the sacred tree Nuwa had planted to mark the gate, and Shen Wei uncoiled upright, eyes wide.

The tree.

None of the first gods lived as themselves, any longer, but the tree touched by Nuwa's hand still lived and grew. It had its own spirit; Shen Wei had felt it, when he'd set his watch-guard spell. The tree had its own share of a god's nature. And Shen Wei knew, from the working out of his bargain with Shen Nong, that deals made between gods branded themselves deep into the world. If the tree's spirit consented to help, could they perhaps create a bargain that would seal Shen Wei's ghost nature while he was in this realm? Could they, perhaps, even transmute Shen Wei's power into something that would protect humans?

The breath of hope finally unlocked Shen Wei's bleak, frozen despair, melted it back into grief, and he turned to bury the tears that stormed through him in the bed he and San had shared, fingers fisting tight in the blankets. "I will wait for you," he promised again, hoarse, when they'd finally eased. "But it can't be here." He pushed himself up to his feet, scrubbing his palms over his face, and took a deep breath.

He would try.

It took nearly thirty years. The life of trees was slow, and the kind of working Shen Wei asked for was not a small matter. It built gradually between them, not a bargain spoken once and bound in that moment, but a repeating cycle, year on year, that circled between them again and again. Again and again, Shen Wei agreed and offered; again and again, the tree accepted his power, drank it and changed it, like sunlight into sap. And as the last year drew down into the darkness of winter, Shen Wei felt the bargain crystalize between them, gain matter and reality in the world. The shape of it flickered, now a wood tile, now a pressed sheet, now stamped metal. Finally, as it dropped into Shen Wei's outstretched hands, it settled into a scroll of wood slats. Marked on the outside, as though burned there, was a single word.

Guardian.

Shen Wei smiled faintly, resting his hand on the tree. "Thank you."

The leaves above him rustled without any breeze.

Their bargain hadn't taken all of his power as a ghost. He was, after all, his people's ruler—the strongest among them. But about half was sealed away and siphoned off, now, he thought. It should allow the other half of his nature to dominate, in this realm at least, and to restrain the relentless void of a ghost's nature from consuming whatever lives of humans or shape-changers he came close to. If the human in question was the holder of the bargain's physical token, then the thing would be certain. In time, this bargain might even affect all ghosts, through him. Shen Wei straightened and lifted a hand to lay his fingertips against his pendant, listening for the whisper of Kunlun's new life.

He arrived just in time for the wedding.

Shen Wei kept himself wrapped deep in concealment as he watched Kunlun and his bride depart from the banquet, watched the wistfulness in Kunlun's eyes as he glanced around, as if looking for someone absent. He watched Kunlun pat his bride's hand, and smile kindly, if distantly, and then Shen Wei went to find the nearest bottle of plum liquor and drink himself unconscious.

When the pain in his heart had died down enough that he could face consciousness for more than an hour at a time, again, he asked among the Crow tribe to see if any of the Cat tribe had survived. Not entirely to his surprise, the Crows told him Da Qing himself was still alive; at another time, he might have been amused by their apparent glee that the dark Envoy had some business with the cat. He laid the Guardian scroll in Da Qing's hands, told him where Kunlun was starting married life, and retreated to the gateway between realms.

For years, the quiet presence of the sacred tree was the only company his freshly torn heart could endure.

It was whispers of the brutality of a budding empire that drew Shen Wei away from the peaceful company of the sacred tree again, and out into the world to follow the faint voice of his pendant until he found Kunlun's soul again.

Not to stay. Not to get close enough to be caught again; that would still be dangerous, regardless of the locks he'd put on his own power, and he wasn't quite fool enough to court that kind of pain twice. But if Kunlun was in danger, in this sudden festival of military conquest and consolidation, there were still things Shen Wei could do.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised to find Kunlun among the ranks of the new scholar-officials, still speaking on the nature of benevolence, if more quietly this life.

For all that Kunlun favored peace, he'd always had a talent for finding trouble. Just look at Shen Wei, himself.

The next time Shen Wei visited his own realm, he was honestly surprised by what he found.

"Bureaucracy? Really?" he asked, as he was shown through an already growing library of laws and precedents. Admittedly, some of those laws were his own dictates, as he saw paging through a volume or two.

"We may be creatures of chaos, but exactly for that reason we always seek form. It's one of the things we take, when we consume human life, is it not?" The one who was now calling himself only Regent paced beside him and cocked a sharp eye up at him. "And even through we are sealed away from the human realm, we are not separate. Every time one of your people looks up, we see the light of the Lamp. It was created to comfort and guide, for all that it's also a prison to us."

"And every time someone sneaks past it," Shen Wei added, dryly, "they bring back a new piece of human form to imitate." The Regent spread his hands, noncommittally, and Shen Wei stifled a sigh. He'd known he was sacrificing some control, when he chose to guard the seal largely from the other side, but someone had to be in the human realm to do so and he certainly didn't trust anyone else with that.

"Very well. But what's this about choosing a Lord?"

"Never one that could supersede you, of course." The Regent bowed deeply, and Shen We suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Clearly, the Regent had absorbed some human court manners, and likely the notion of politicking that went with them. "But laws need a final judge, do they not?" He led the way back out into the high ceilinged central hall, and gestured to the broad, elaborately carved throne at one end. "And, as you see..."

The throne had a feel of embedded power that Shen Wei recognized from the token of his bargain with the sacred tree, though on a smaller scale. He skimmed his fingers close to the seat, testing the feel of it, and jerked back. "This is—!"

"What is necessary to preserve impartiality," the Regent finished, quite evenly. "Is that not ideal? The one who wishes to take this throne will serve the needs of our realm."

Would be bound to serve, every bit of will and desire bound to the execution of those growing volumes of laws, until death. "I think you've learned a little too much from humans, lately," Shen Wei said, low and sharp.

The Regent looked back at him, calm. "Would anything less hold one of our kind to such a task?"

Shen Wei's mouth tightened. He knew the nature of ghosts; it was still half of his own nature, after all. His people were rapacious and violent, even in their hunger for some stabilizing, ordering force to form around. Those who were even capable of desiring peace were still rare, even after thousands of years of the Lamp's slow influence.

It was the reason he had never yet destroyed the Regent.

"Very well," he said, at last. "But be sure that those who seek this Lordship know the terms of it before they choose."

Unmistakeable satisfaction flashed over the Regent's face as he bowed again. "As you command, my Lord Envoy."

Staying near, but not too near, to Kunlun's incarnations was even more frustrating than watching over him from hiding close by had been, which Shen Wei hadn't previously thought was possible. To distract himself, he started listening to the local scholars and priests again. It passed the time, and watching the concept of family be re-worked to support imperial rule honestly amused him.

Really, it was no wonder his people mirrored humans so closely whenever there was contact between them. Humans had their own share of the world's darker elements, and sometimes the generative properties of their souls only went to fuel that.

It was on one of his visits to the Imperial University that Shen Wei first heard another amusing trend in philosophy.

"Of course the legends aren't literal." The mid-rank scholar he'd been listening in on gave his student a withering look. "The gods named in our legends represent universal principles. Their tales are a moral guide to be unraveled, not some kind of engineering map of creation."

Shen Wei couldn't help but wonder, wryly, just what kind of moral guide he was supposed to be, then.

After the long peace of the empire, the bloodshed that followed came as a shock, even to Shen Wei. Kunlun lost three lives in the span of little more than half a century, and frantic worry drew Shen Wei to follow his soul more closely again.

The farmer in the central plains died.

The soldier in the east died.

The small town scholar's son in the north died, and that time Shen Wei couldn't stand it any longer, tried to intervene, but he could only hold off so many unless he wanted to break his oaths, shatter his promises to Kunlun and the tree both, draw all of his power back into himself and give himself up to the side of his nature that could call down the death of a whole battlefield.

He did consider it.

In the end his memory of Kunlun, and his word, held. Barely. He took them both back to the sacred tree and left the humans to their own devices. He didn't think he could do anything else without breaking.

Even the whisper of Kunlun's soul fire in his pendant was faint and sad.

The humans were building a city around the sacred tree.

A city.

Over the gateway to the underworld.

Shen Wei wasn't sure whether to be impressed or to despair.

Actually, from the things he overheard among the architects and engineers, he suspected the humans were building everywhere. It seemed the centuries of strife he'd been trying not to think too hard on had finally eased, given way again to an empire of trade and construction. And also foolishness, but perhaps he should take human forgetfulness as a compliment of sorts. He had kept his part of the bargain well enough that they didn't know, any more, to fear this place.

At least, he reflected, ducking out of the tent where they kept the maps, it looked as though they planned an open space around the sacred tree. Nevertheless, he was going to have to stay in this region far more constantly than he had before. With the warmth of human lives so temptingly close to the seal, more ghosts would attempt to find their way past it.

Shen Wei drew concealment closer around him as a party of cheerfully drunk workers passed in the darkness. Perhaps it was for the best. If it kept him away from Kunlun's human lives... perhaps it was for the best.

Perhaps Shen Wei had never truly been meant to be anything but a threat of death in the shadows.

Shen Wei watched from a corner of study belonging to the senior Dragon City physician, nearly vibrating with conflicting impulses.

He should have known. He should have known this would happen. He hadn't gotten to Wan Jun in time, and this was the result. Two senior physicians and their apprentices, all clustered around a table with a dead ghost on it, exclaiming over the results of their examination.

"The temperature hasn't changed at all, in death!" The older physician sounded nearly rapturous with the medical puzzle before him. "We absolutely must examine the thyroid."

"And the structure of the eyes! Did you see how they changed color?" His younger colleague was nearly bouncing with excitement. Shen Wei rubbed his forehead and wondered whether it would really be that great a breach of his bargain if he killed them both himself.

The casual disrespect for the body of one of his own was... all right, not actually surprising. Kunlun had spent a few lives as a physician and, whatever the era, outside the presence of friends or family of the deceased, physicians with bodies in front of them tended to be either excited over something interesting to study or else furious over what they saw as a personal failure. So should he try to discourage or enable this? Would a medical study of his people arm humans better to be of at least a little assistance capturing trespassers, or would it tempt them to foolish trespass themselves?

"Do you think he might have been taking medicinal compounds to achieve this?" the youngest of the apprentices asked, looking up from the scroll where he was keeping notes.

Shen Wei stifled a snort of amusement. Perhaps he'd wait and see whether any of their conclusions even approached the truth, before deciding what to do about it.

Shen Wei stood at the back of the Yashou tribesâ€™ meeting and listened to their increasingly heated debate.

"We need some kind of help with this. There are too many of them for us alone!" the normally composed Snake Elder insisted.

The Crow Elder folded his arms, unconvinced. "Help from the humans would only be more trouble in the long run. You wouldn't even have suggested it if you hadn't taken a human lover, Fu You."

The Flower Elder waved her hands between them, looking exasperated. "Please leave off about that, already. Just because she refused you, xiao-Ding..."

"My relationship with a human only means that I am more aware of their resources than you are," Fu You said, tight and controlled. "Lay down your pride and think! If we oppose a dozen Dixingren alone, we'll lose some of our people. If we invite help from those who have it to give, we have a far better chance of all surviving this."

"I don't disagree, but the way they've found into our world is in Yashou territory." The Flower Elder wrapped her arms around herself, as if chilled. "If this keeps happening, we will take the brunt of whatever damage is done each time. Humans can't help us with that."

Fu You folded her hands on the table between them. "There is one who deals with such things, is there not? Your own people have seen him, Zhu Mei."

"Their Black-cloaked Envoy," the Flower Elder murmured, frowning. "True enough, but how could we contact him?"

Despite his own intense annoyance with the current problem, Shen Wei smiled at the perfect cue and relaxed the concealment he'd kept folded around himself to let the chill of his presence curl outward. "There is no need; I am here."

The Crow Elder shot to his feet, and even Zhu Mei stiffed, though she rose with the slow care of someone feeling her age in her bones. Fu You, on the other hand, didn't even start. "I thought you might be, Honorable Envoy."

Shen Wei was impressed, which didn't happen often. "Indeed. Trespassers in your world are my care, and I have failed to contain this incursion."

"Whatever your power, there is only the one of you." Fu You sat straight, watching him with dark, level eyes. "If we can hold off these trespassers, as you call them, can you close this breach they have made within our territory?"

"I can. It was why I came tonight." He withdrew the branch he'd spent weeks separating from the sacred tree without killing the wood, and held it out on his palm. "Once I have done so, I would entrust the key that will lock that door to the Yashou, if the Elders can agree to keep it."

A quick exchange of glances, including one blistering glare from Zhu Mei, and all three of them nodded, though reluctantly in the case of the Crow Elder. "Fu You will speak and act for all the tribes, in this," Zhu Mei said, firmly.

"Then when the passage is locked, I will entrust this to her." Shen Wei hesitated. There were actually fewer than ten trespassers, by his estimate, but they included at least three of the strongest among his kind, short of himself. "I have no wish to interfere in the Yashou's governance decisions, but I strongly suggest you do find allies in this. I expect sealing the passage to take at least a full turn of the moon, and those who broke in include several who are very dangerous."

Fu You lifted her chin and didn't even glance at her fellow Elders. "We will find what strength and allies we need." The Crow Elder's mouth was a tight line, but he bent his head and didn't gainsay her.

Shen Wei really was quite impressed.

The bigger Dragon City got, the more sympathy Shen Wei had with Kunlun's old solitary tendencies. He hadn't viscerally understood why Kunlun preferred to seclude himself, back then, though he certainly hadn't protested the opportunity to have the one who'd given his existence meaning all to himself. Now he thought he understood a little better.

Humans got into everything.

Shen Wei was finding it harder and harder to conceal his presence, or to keep even his restrained power from affecting the people of the city. There had been two cases he knew of, and probably more he didn't, of people sickening simply because his proximity had drained their life before he'd realized that the young idiots had chosen the grove his home was in—on the edge of the Snake tribe's local territory, no less—as a trysting spot! He'd considered spreading rumors that the grove was haunted, only to find there already were such rumors and that it hadn't stopped anyone. He couldn't abandon the city without missing those people, and even beasts, of his realm that managed to sneak around the seal, but something clearly had to be done.

If humans were sane creatures, he reflected rather darkly as he stalked through the back streets of the city, he might simply cease to conceal his presence and rely on the harsh chill of it to hold them at a distance. Other creatures had at least that much sense, as the sudden silence of the city's dogs at his passing demonstrated. It might even work on the majority of humans.

"Hey! Who's there?" a man's voice called from the door of one of the wine houses as he passed.

Unfortunately for Shen Wei, his bargain encompassed all of them, including those who were too bold for their own health. He slipped down a darker alley, trusting his robes to blend with the shadows there. He was too annoyed to bother with more.

A yank on those robes jerked him to a halt.

"Hey!"

Shen Wei rounded on the fool who dared to lay hands on him, power flaring outward, dark and furious.

The man who had followed him cowered back with a panicked yelp, eyes wide and staring in the darkness, and Shen Wei stopped and hauled his power back in, closing his eyes for a breath. He hated his own people's fear of him, even when it was what let him rule them, let him keep his word. He wasn't any more fond of humans' fear, no matter how short his temper this evening.

"Go," he told the man, low. He didn't have to say it twice; the man scrambled back toward the faint torchlight of the road without a word. Shen Wei sighed and turned to walk on, slower now.

The city wasn't going anywhere, and he could hardly rely on humans suddenly becoming sensible. He needed a way to move among humans without harming them. An innocuous disguise that would pass without notice, without challenges that might stir his temper. That, and some way to keep his power turned inward, limit it in ways even his bargain with the sacred tree didn't. This would all be much easier if more of his nature were Kunlun's, were fluid to his will and intent, the way the gods' forms were.

Shen Wei paused in mid-stride, struck by that thought. Easier, yes, but wasn't that half his nature already, by Kunlun's gift? Could he re-shape that part of him, fold it around the ghost half of his nature? He smiled and touched his pendant, letting himself really listen to the whisper of Kunlun's soul-fire for the first time in centuries. Kunlun, who had liked humans because of their troublesome nature, not in spite of it.

It was worth an attempt.

A little trial and error, and another forty years spent in concealment waiting for the inconveniently observant councilman Lei Min to die, demonstrated that Shen Wei could spend most of his time in his human form. Dragon City had enough trade passing through that an allegedly itinerant scholar or artisan choosing to settle down there wasn't unusual. As long as he didn't choose the same profession or the same district to live in two generations in a row, no one remarked, and he'd certainly seen enough trades, shadowing Kunlun's lives, that he had a considerable store of knowledge to choose his own lives from.

What he hadn't expected was how comfortable it was.

The cool quiet of his current workroom soothed both his human and his deeper senses, and it was easy to lose himself in the scent of medicinal ingredients and the rhythm of preparing them. One final pass with the pestle wheel, and the sound told him the licorice root was ready to measure out. It didn't take any long, drawn-out planning or violent action or make his heart catch in his throat over a risk to one he loved. It was simple. Straightforward. Easy. The weight of the Guardian token's binding even felt lighter, in this form, with his power folded underneath as it was.

A polite tap on the doorframe made him look up with a faint smile. Sure enough, it was young Li, the eldest apprentice in Dragon City's tiny branch school of medicine. "Mr. Shen? Dr. Huang asks—"

"Yes, yes." He waved toward the shelf by the door, where a paper parcel waited. "I prepared it earlier this morning." The open relief on her face made him chuckle. Huang was the most irascible, as well as the most senior, physician of the school, and Li was an earnest young woman who often took his snapping and barking to heart. She snatched up the parcel, bobbed a grateful bow to him, and hurried out.

Perhaps next time someone asked the city's new apothecary to take an apprentice, he'd consider it.

Shen Wei sat in a quiet corner of his favorite tea house, staring down at the cup between his fingers, and thought fast.

The thing he'd been half waiting for, for centuries, had finally happened. One of his people had talked just a little too much, before Shen Wei had caught her, to humans who'd survived the experience. The volume of medical records and case encounters that resided in the city's Records office had been growing bit by small bit over the years, but never with any conclusions that would present a threat to either ghosts or humans. Now that had changed. A report had been added suggesting that his people lived underground, probably underneath Dragon City itself, which was close enough to the truth to get untold numbers of humans in trouble.

Archeology, he decided. He'd need to be a scholar of archeology for his next 'life'. It was starting to be popular, and therefore well-funded, thanks to the imperial court's recent fad for relics of ancient kingdoms. As an archeologist, he could 'discover' a treaty stipulating separation of his people from humans. With official documentation, especially one with the imprimatur of one of the ancient kingdoms so beloved of the current government, it shouldn't be too hard to steer local law enforcement around to keep people from getting too curious for their own good. Especially if he appeared in his own person, to confirm the alleged treaty. Ma Gui, of the Dragon City guards, had already made a bit of a hobby of investigating rumors of Shen Wei's people; he'd make a suitable local contact.

Shen Wei took a slow breath, and a sip of his tea, finally settling back on his bench. That should work. He might need to intimidate a few physicians to keep from being interrogated about the source of his people's abilities, but it should work.

Perhaps, he thought with another slow sip, he'd better wear a mask when he appeared.

A bare generation later, he heard the name Dixing for the first time and had to laugh, if a bit harshly. It suited well enough, given his people were created from the darkest elements of the earth. Dixingren.

So be it.

Shen Wei sat with his back against the sacred tree, arms braced over his knees, and let his head hang down.

That way he didn't need to look at the smoke rising from the city.

He'd forgotten how much this hurt. In the long years since he'd made himself turn away from Kunlun's side, since he'd confined himself to the whisper of Kunlun's soul-fire under his fingers and the knowledge that his love would always live again, he'd let himself forget how much it hurt to lose human companions to violence and upheaval rather than simple age. Dragon City wasn't one of the great urban centers, wasn't home to any branch of the imperial court or regional governors. The last two ruling clans had brought only peace to the city Shen Wei watched over. The greatest threats had been a scant handful of ghosts who found their way past the seal.

He'd let himself forget that humans had their own share of his people's nature within them, had violence and destruction in their core, as well.

A shift in the wind brought the smell of smoke to him again, by turns harsh with the household goods that burned in the wreckage of buildings and queasily rich with the scent of bodies that burned there as well. Shen Wei's hands flinched into fists, and his next breath shook in his lungs. He didn't look up.

There was nothing he could do. All his bargains were to guard humans from ghosts, not from other humans. To guard humans from ghosts, including himself. To keep his bargains, he must do nothing.

He hoped, bitterly, that Shen Nong appreciated this result of the bargain he'd demanded.

Shen Wei listened to the whispers through his open outer screens and smiled as he painted the last tree in the landscape commission he'd been working on this week. He didn't usually think of himself as an artist, but the fashion lately was stylized enough for a steady hand and good eye to stand in for inspiration. There was enough demand to make a viable career, even in the still-small rebuilt city, especially since his favorite occupation of scholarship was not in demand. Rather the reverse, lately.

And the city's children loved to watch him.

He laid aside his brushes, chuckling under his breath at the faint scramble behind him as today's audience hid behind the azaleas that edged his veranda. He made his way out to the pump and carefully kept his back to the little sounds of interest as he washed his brushes and palette.

This 'life' might be one where he took an apprentice. He usually didn't. Anyone that close was the most likely to notice his odd absences, and the times he forgot to let his human form age. But if he wanted to encourage stability, in the city, and reduce the temptation for his people to dare the seal... well, he could do worse than help one of the little ones watching him on their way to a livelihood. For all his power, sometimes the only things he could change were small ones.

Sometimes he wondered if this was the real reason the first gods had chosen to leave the world.

Shen Wei's visits to his own realm had been more frequent, of late. The more he tried to make small places of peace, in his human form and lives, the more he found himself trying to do the same among his own people. Trying to support the few—still so few, but slowly growing in number—who had found little pieces of love, or beauty, or care within them. The girl who lived in the neighborhood nearest the wastelands, who played flute in her open window, music that seemed to calm the passers-by. The archivist he always made a moment to speak with, when he was in the Palace, who mentioned sidelong which cases might need or deserve a touch of the Envoy's intervention. The tea house run by the couple who had never strayed from each other's sides, for centuries, that he left off his formal robes to visit. They were the ones who had taken bits of light, whether from humans or from the distant comfort of the Lamp itself, and nurtured rather than merely devouring them. They were the ones who gave him some faint hope he wouldn't have to spend all of eternity being the threat of a bared blade to his own kind.

Sometimes, though, he had to admit that his people's tendency to adopt every passing trend from humans took him a bit aback.

"Are you saying our own people think the seal is a matter of treaty, now?" he asked, staring at the Regent where they'd stopped short in one of the Palace's halls. "Do they not remember their own lives and beginnings?"

"The greatness of your power blinds you, my Lord Envoy." The man gestured them on down the hall with an obsequious bow at odds with the sharpness of his glance. "You forget that many of our kind, especially those of lesser power, spend most of their capacity for order on keeping their physical forms; they have none to spare for things such as long memory. Many have already taken on that new human name for us—Dixingren, isn't it?" He sniffed, waving his fingers as if to brush away something inconsequential. "If they think themselves some kind of mortal creature, well it will be true enough should they dare the seal between realms won't it?"

Shen Wei's mouth tightened. "Yes. It will." He still held to that. And for a ghost, death meant utter destruction.

The Regent nodded, perfectly agreeable and without a hint of mercy in his cold eyes. "Then all is well. And if the Palace archives keep a copy of this 'treaty', then it's one more thing to give them pause before they attempt it."

"I suppose so," Shen Wei acknowledged, low, and paced on through the halls in silence.

The city's university had been re-built in the new style, and was finally large enough again for Shen Wei to return to his favorite occupation of scholarship without creating many ripples. And just in time, it seemed; the newest school of thought, with its focus on explicit evidence, offered hours of entertainment.

"Obviously, Xu Min's emphasis on the process of learning aligns him with the School of the Heart..."

"But surely you noted," Shen Wei dropped into Feng Gang's pause for breath, "that in his second chapter he refers repeatedly to essential principles." The pause got longer, and he smiled at Feng with an inviting tilt of his head.

"Well," the old blowhard drew himself up, and Shen Wei's smile got a touch wider, "perhaps, but if you read closely, young man, I believe you will observe that Xu frames his concept of principles as static ideals rather than creations of dynamic tension."

"Clearly you have studied him closely." Shen Wei waited for Feng to settle back and start to look smug, and then added casually, "You do not feel, then, that Xu's concept of principles runs counter to the mind as the source of reason?"

A little whisper of interest ran through the room and Feng immediately puffed up again. Shen Wei leaned back and folded his hands, looking just as politely interested as possible.

Hours of entertainment.

The next time Shen Wei circled back around to a medical career, he found the profession had made another of its periodic leaps in knowledge while he was away. There had even been a scholar who'd written on the possible physiological roots of his people's powers, as observed over the centuries in Dragon City, though this was stored right next to several more volumes of disdainful dismissal of the 'legendary' Dixing race. Shen Wei indulged in a quiet laugh over those, as he browsed the additions to the university library.

The new study that truly startled him, though, was the one that held his people must have come to this world from another one entirely. Which, given the separation of realms, wasn't actually all that far off except for the alleged means of transportation.

Which was a spaceship.

Shen Wei had no idea what expression was on his face as he stared at the text in his hands, but it caused a passing student to glance at the title and then laugh.

"Oh, you found Zhang Tao! He's actually getting more of a following, you know; his archeological studies are first rate." The boy waved at the open book. "Even that would be decent circumstantial evidence, at least, if the species he was talking about were actually real."

"Indeed." Shen Wei shook his head, and set the book aside. "I was actually looking for Professor Sun's text on cell biology."

The boy instantly looked sympathetic, which amused him; students were the same whatever the era. "Two shelves over. Good luck; Professor Sun is a real stickler for details and evidence!"

Having spent several 'lives' leading scholarly disputants in circles based entirely on available evidence, Shen Wei just smiled. "I'll be sure to study carefully for him, then."

At first, he thought the rumors of change and unrest were simply another tiresome round of the humans outgrowing another ruling clan (or party as they were calling it now), and he merely kept an eye out for sudden changes in news or fashion that might follow.

When the news that came was of yet more widespread war, and whispers of weapons that might break the very heavens again, he started to prepare a close to his current 'life'. If whispers were even close to truth, the seal between realms might be at risk again. He remembered the chaos and upheaval, the last time the seal broke—the seas upending into land, the air and earth twisting to change places as the fabric of the world itself strained and tore. If it happened again... well, he would keep his bargain and his duty, even if it meant the death of his whole people and most likely of himself too.

But if it happened, he would seek out Kunlun, before he went.

This time, though, it wasn't the fabric of the world that tore. It was the fabric of human lives and minds.

The waves of madness that swept the land shocked him the way no war or simple destruction before them had, shocked him with the way rage and fear twisted together, fired by the generative power of human souls to a reaping edge even his own people's nature could hardly match. He abandoned any thought of keeping a human life or form and clung to the gateway, to the anchoring presence of the sacred tree, fighting for years at a time to damp the resonance of fear and hunger and desperation that consumed the land.

Let his people taste that, and no threat of his would stop them from besieging the seal.

When the taste of madness finally ebbed from the very air, and Shen Wei dared to leave the gate again, he found Dragon City still there. Many of its people looked very like he felt, though—like people who had lived through catastrophe, dazed and uncertain whether the ground under their feet was reliable. A quiet visit to the municipal library revealed an alarming breadth of destruction behind the neat shelves and now far fewer cases. Even if it had been some time since he'd bothered to read them, it was still a shock to see that the history texts had largely disappeared, replaced by slim new volumes purporting a history he barely recognized. The 'treaty' was among the missing documents, and Shen Wei was surprised at his own sense of loss, considering he'd forged the thing himself, centuries ago.

He'd meant to start thinking about a suitable new 'life', but that night he pulled concealment around his true form and retreated to the sacred tree. That presence, at least, was still constant. That night it felt as though the tree leaned into him as much as he did against it, and he reached up to pat the trunk. The madness of the recent years couldn't have been much easier on something of the tree's nature than it had been on him.

The slow, vibrant life of the tree nudged at his thoughts, a gentle press that felt like his own sorrow, threaded with a sip of bright comfort. The feeling slowly shaped itself into an image—the scroll he'd held in his hands, long ago, the token of the bargain between them. Shen Wei smiled faintly.

"Yes," he answered, voice soft in the darkness. "We are still here. Our bargain still holds."

Gradually the image hovering at the edge of his thoughts changed, flattened into a heavy sheet of pressed paper, characters stark and black, seals in red marching along the bottom. Shen Wei blinked at the words, in his mind's eye. They were the same words he'd composed for the 'treaty'. A feeling of offering and comfort curled through his perception, like a new leaf unfolding, and he laughed out loud for the first time in what might be decades.

"That would certainly be a lot harder to burn than mere paper, wouldn't it? If I find who holds it now, can we change it?"

The image of the treaty strengthened sharply in his mind, wrapped around with a hint of smugness like incense lingering on the paper.

"You've done it already?" he asked, softly, astonished that the ancient life he'd bargained with so long ago would reach out with such immediate kindness to him.

Leaves rustled over his head, and he reached out carefully with the side of his nature that protected, touching the tree's own life with his gratitude. This one thing would not be lost. It was a small thing, but it helped.

Remembering what else had helped, the last time the city had been razed, he looked thoughtfully toward the quarter where the university still stood. Perhaps, when he went forth again in his human form, he would return there—not simply as a scholar, this time, but as a teacher. Perhaps, that way, he could make a small place of peace for the young ones, again.

First, though, he should visit his own realm, and try to calm whatever echos of the humans' madness had leaked through.

Shen Wei stared up at a dark sky, dark and flat as a stone ceiling, heart cold within him.

The light of the Lamp, the whisper of Kunlun's presence and the brilliance of his sacrifice, was gone.

"The disruption was immense," the Regent complained, at his shoulder. "I'm too old to deal with this nonsense." He backed a step as Shen Wei's furious gaze fell on him, holding up his hands. "It affected all of us, my Lord Envoy, is all I mean to say. Many lost what form and memory they'd managed to hold and fell on each other again, like our first days of existence, consuming each other to regain power and shape. You will see many new faces, and almost all have had to start over, to absorb thought and history from the echoes of the human realm that seep down to us here.

Shen Wei stilled, cold turning sharp in his chest. "And my brother?"

"The Pillar held." The Regent fidgeted as Shen Wei stared at him, flat and demanding. "With, perhaps, some mild wear. His voice should not reach beyond the wastes, though."

Shen Wei took a slow breath for calm. "I see." Lower, hating it but unable to see any other way to keep his bargains, he added, "Do whatever is necessary to keep what peace and stability we may. I will seek the Lamp. And the other Holy Tools, in case they can show the way to it. If you know who, of our people, might manage to live among humans for a time without breaking, tell me now."

That would not, he was grimly certain, be an easy charge. But he didn't see that he had a great deal of choice. The longer his realm remained dark, the worse things would get.

The Ministry's new Special Investigations Division was more dangerous and prone to snap judgements than the tiny Office of Dixing Affairs Shen Wei had encouraged into existence long ago, but at least they were just as dedicated to containing the occasional trespasser. With a little extra emphasis on the non-interference clauses of the 'treaty', he could work with that. He was less certain about the Institute, also Ministry sponsored, that his erstwhile mentor Professor Zhou kept trying to convince him to join, but if that was going to cause problems, well he'd deal with them when they happened.

Between the current dead-end of the search for the Lamp and the constant, low-level unrest of his people under their dark sky, he had plenty of problems already.

Today, though, he would set all that aside for a few hours. Today was his first day of teaching a class of his own in this life, and he was already smiling when he opened the door to his classroom.

"Good afternoon, Professor!" his students chorused, most of them already answering his smile, and he let himself relax in the simple brightness of their interest. He laid his notes out on his lectern and glanced around the room, nodding approval for all the pens already poised.

"Good afternoon. Today we'll be discussing a brief history of the biological sciences..."

Epilogue

Shen Wei stood with his hands and forehead pressed against the sacred tree, uncaring of the roughness of bark against his skin. He held nothing in his mind but his need and his hope. Need for a weapon, a trap strong enough to hold his twin brother, whose power had always matched his. Hope for aid, for permission, for blessing.

The rustle of the tree's leaves was sharp and unsettled.

"I know," he whispered, eyes closed against the pain of that knowing. "I know this will probably mean my death. My dissolution. But Ye Zun's madness will kill me just as surely, injured as I am now, me and everything I love."

He had been a fool to think that he could use one of the Holy Tools as a human might. Had he let himself forget, in the years of living human-like lives that he had no generative core to his being, that it wouldnâ€™t be merely years of life he gave up? The Dial had done exactly as they'd asked, broken off part of his being to heal Yunlan, and unless Shen Wei wished to shatter all his oaths and bargains in one blow and find a living being whose energies he could consume, he was now at a serious disadvantage.

If he could use his remaining being to conceal a power inimical to ghosts, though...

Grief shook him harshly, grief he'd felt ever since he made this decision. It took him a moment to realize it wasn't just his own, this time.

"Forgive me." He reached out to the tree with as much of the divine side of his being as he could, unbalanced as he was by what the Dial had reft away. "I'm abandoning our charge, our bargain, and yet I have the selfishness to beg the gift of its power."

The image of their bargain's physical token settled into his mind, soft as a leaf falling, and Shen Wei's breath caught short at the ease of that permission. "Thank you," he whispered, voice choked tight.

Slowly, as the night wore on, he matched his remaining power with the tree's, just as they had to create the bargain, and together they drew the token of it back. Like an endless breath in, like winding gleaming thread back into a spool, they drew the token back and fed it into Shen Wei's being until he felt the pressure of that bright power running through every vein, pushing against the part of his nature that was ghost. Pushing so hard he finally called his sword to him and nicked his wrist to release some of the pressure twined so tightly with his blood.

Comfort brushed over his heart—comfort and trust, and he closed his eyes, leaning against the tree.

He could only hope he had earned enough of Zhao Yunlan's trust, as well, to see this through to the end.

End

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - One

Yunlan calls bullshit, at the very end, and everything changes, including himself. The SID can probably cope, but the Ministry may never be the same, to say nothing of Dixing. Romance, Drama, I-4

It wasnâ€™t, Zhao Yunlan thought, anything like what heâ€™d have expected. He didnâ€™t feel any great enlightenment or sudden attack of wisdom. It didnâ€™t feel like a scroll of ages unrolling in his head, or like he was about to burst with the weight of memory. Returning divinity didnâ€™t feel like anything appropriately dramatic, in his opinion. It was just...

He recognized this.

He recognized the faint inward curve of Shen Weiâ€™s shoulders, and the tiny crease of his eyes. He recognized that instant when Shen Weiâ€™s lips firmed, just before he offered Yunlan a shaky smile. He knew this, all the little signs that said Shen Wei wasnâ€™t telling the truth. Not just wasnâ€™t saying everything, though Yunlan had certainly seen enough to that to recognize it. No, this was xiao-Wei actually trying to lie to him about something.

And he knew, just as surely, just as unobtrusively, that the smeared starlight all around them was not what two souls should be seeing, in this moment.

...or, one soul and one ghost. He was certain of that too, and all right that was a little more suitably strange.

â€œSoooo,â€ he drew the word out until Shen Wei huffed a faint laugh and took an obvious breath for composure before raising his brows. Yunlan smiled and spread his hands. â€œWhatâ€™s really going on?â€

Shen Wei went completely still for one moment, and Yunlan was sure, in his head this time and not just the bottom of his heart, that heâ€™d been right. â€œHmmm?â€ he prodded, wiggling his fingers in a â€˜give it upâ€™ gesture.

â€œDidnâ€™t we just cover that?â€ Shen Wei asked back, almost dryly enough to cover the flicker of his eyes aside. Almost.

Yunlan reached out, the way he never had but remembered so well, and touched his fingers to Shen Weiâ€™s chest, over his heart. â€œXiao-Wei,â€ he said quietly, and watched Shen Weiâ€™s eyes go wide with shock, soft with want, the way heâ€™d only seen once before. No, more than once, but only ever for him. That hadnâ€™t changed.

Shen Weiâ€™s throat worked as he swallowed, and his voice came out husky, unsteady. â€œWhat...?â€

Yunlan grinned at him, just as roguishly charming as he could make it, and coaxed, â€œTell me the truth?â€

That made Shen Wei start back a step, though, whole body stiff. â€œI canâ€™t.â€ His voice turned sharp with what sounded to Yunlan like genuine fear. And the only times heâ€™d seen Shen Wei truly afraid had been for him; that also felt correct all the way down. So there probably was something big at stake. Even so... Yunlan looked around, thoughtfully. The more he considered it, the more he felt like their surroundings were thin. As though, if he reached out and dragged his fingers down, heâ€™d smear paint down a canvas backdrop.

Admittedly, no one was more surprised than him when starlit blue really did start to come apart under his reaching fingers. Even after he bit back an undignified yelp and snatched his hand away, something lingered on his fingers. Something light and chill.

Familiar chill. The chill that whispered â€˜xiao-Weiâ€™ to him.

Yunlan rubbed his fingers together, eyes fixed on the shreds of blue and silver still flickering around his fingertips. The same colors, now he thought about it, that lurked between the shadows of Shen Weiâ€™s power. â€œWhat is it youâ€™re trying to do?â€ he asked, softly. â€œWhat is it you need me not to know?â€

â€œWho you are.â€ Shen Weiâ€™s voice was soft, too, as if he didnâ€™t want to upset some delicate balance, which made Yunlan chuckle, shaking his head as he looked back up. That balance was already tipped, quite likely by the forced actualization of that damn shot of serum now he came to think about it.

â€œIâ€™m Kunlun. Arenâ€™t I? Or I was.â€ He frowned a little. â€œAm? I think am, maybe. This should be a lot stranger,â€ he complained. â€œI keep forgetting Iâ€™d forgotten.â€ He started a little when Shen Weiâ€™s hands closed on his shoulders, bruisingly tight.

â€œHow...? But your soul is whole,â€ he whispered, as if to himself, gaze raking over Yunlan. â€œSo bright, though. If you're drawing the matter of the Lamp back to you...â€ His head jerked up and he looked aroundâ€”and, tellingly, away, as if he saw beyond the pretense draped around them. â€œBut the seal of the Lamp is still whole.â€

Yunlan considered the surprise in Shen Weiâ€™s wide eyes and the thread of fear still running through his voice, and reached out to lay his hands on Shen Weiâ€™s shoulders in turn. â€œWhat are you worried might happen?â€ he asked softly, as if coaxing a witness.

At that, Shen Wei hesitated and his eyes slid aside, fixing straight over Yunlanâ€™s shoulder. Yunlan stifled a sigh. Few things frustrated him as much as that iron wall of reticence Shen Wei used instead of a flat out lie (which might reveal something). For once, though, Shen Wei didnâ€™t refuse or dance around the answer, for all it looked dragged out of him.

â€œAfter you sacrificed yourself to keep the realms separate,â€ he paused, mouth tight, and added, â€œafter the first time you sacrificed yourself, I caught your soul and went to Shen Nong, asking him to see you reincarnated as a human.â€

Yunlan had another genuinely strange moment, at that, as his head said that was the most peculiar thing heâ€™d ever heard (which was saying something), while his heart said it made perfect sense (and was exactly the kind of thing xiao-Wei would do). Yunlan was starting to think heâ€™d need to invest in some folklore textbooks to get used to the inside of his own head. And, possibly, to get at what were some apparently juicy details that current explanations of history left out.

â€œHe said the cycle of reincarnation only had capacity enough to hold human souls, not a god. Gods are... thereâ€™s so much potentiality in them, and it flows so easily between forms. He said it would only be possible if he sealed away your power, and even memory of your power, and...â€ Shen Wei hesitated again, glanced at Yunlanâ€™s expectantly raised brows, and sighed. â€œAnd if I stayed away from you. As a human, you wouldnâ€™t have the strength, any longer, to resist the destruction inherent in my nature.â€

Yunlan tightened his grip on Shen Weiâ€™s shoulders, stroking gentle thumbs along his collar-bone, trying to soothe the tightness in Shen Weiâ€™s voice. â€œFor how long?â€ he asked, curious.

Shen Weiâ€™s hands flexed tight again for a breath. â€œTen thousand years. That part was true.â€

Yunlan thought back to another interval that had started in star-smeared blue, and couldnâ€™t help laughing, the laugh that he used to hold the rest of the world off for a momentâ€™s pause and give himself time to think, because the implications of this were... well his head was alarmed, anyway. â€œSo that whole â€˜back in timeâ€™ thing was, what? An illusion?â€

"Not exactly. It would have been dangerous for me to control your senses directly for that long, and I wasnâ€™t sure I could, by then. It was... it was an idea, a story of sorts, that I gave to the Holy Tools, to the Lamp especially. They fueled a kind of life in it, so that it felt real as it played out." For a moment, Shen Wei looked rueful. "I hadn't expected it to have quite as much life as it did, for it to keep happening whenever you started to touch the true nature of the Tools themselves, let alone for it to touch other minds also, but perhaps I should have."

Shen Wei was watching him, now, eyes dark, and the whole line of his body was cautious, ready to step back before he was pushed away. Yunlan could feel the body-memory of that in his own muscles and bones, from long years of dealing with his father. He tightened his hold on Shen Weiâ€™s shoulders a little, automatically reassuring. Considering that â€˜time-travelâ€™ interval as a sample of Shen Weiâ€™s (and perhaps the Holy Tools') storytelling ability, he smiled slowly and asked, â€œIs that why you seemed so young?â€ Because that part felt right, that xiao-Wei had been... perhaps not innocent, but definitely young, when theyâ€™d met.

The faint line of tension in Shen Weiâ€™s shoulders eased. â€œYes,â€ he admitted, softly. â€œI had to create that idea seed very quickly. Most of what was in it was actually true, just... not all in order, and not in that context.â€ He looked rueful for a moment, mouth quirking. â€œProfessor Xia would probably lecture for hours on all the modern historical theory I got wrong, too.â€

Yunlan waved dismissive fingers. â€œAh, fair enough, since modern theory is apparently already wrong.â€ Shen Wei hesitated, suddenly looking much more professor-ly, and Yunlan poked at the sense of certainty in the back of his head. It didnâ€™t change. â€œIt is wrong, isnâ€™t it?â€

Shen Wei tipped his head to one side. â€œYes and no. The star travel part, certainly. That was just the conclusion one charismatic scholar pushed to the fore. However varied in nature, weâ€™re all creatures of this world, gods and humans, beasts and spirits, and all. But the biological and energy-state distinctions are certainly present. They arenâ€™t all there is to the nature of the Yashou or of my own kind.â€ A corner of his mouth curled and there was a hard glint in his eyes for a moment. â€œThatâ€™s undoubtedly why Professor Ouyang's experiments largely failed. There was an element the researchers simply werenâ€™t taking into account. Even so, modern science isnâ€™t wrong, per se. It just doesnâ€™t have all the pieces and ignores some possibilities.â€ He chuckled, suddenly, and Yunlan had to take a moment to retrieve his thoughts as they snagged on the sound of itâ€”Shen Weiâ€™s laugh always did that to him, even now he remembered hearing it more often. â€œI wish we had more time. For you to return to the world as your old self... I wish I could be there to see the academic establishment trying to cope with that.â€

Yunlan blinked at him. â€œYou will, though.â€

Shen Wei smiled, and Yunlan felt his heart twist at the sadness in it. â€œWhether you consider it a stable energy pattern or a soul... I donâ€™t have any such thing, to draw me back into the world again. I think the Lamp will keep me from complete dissolution, but Iâ€™ll never leave it.â€ The smile softened, and Shen Wei touched Yunlanâ€™s cheek with light fingers. â€œItâ€™s all right. The Lamp was created from you. To be one with you, and always near you... I couldnâ€™t imagine a better end, for one with my nature.â€ Softer still, as horror pulled Yunlanâ€™s breath short, he added, â€œWhen you finally choose to rest from the cycle of rebirth, you can find me here.â€

â€œAbsolutely not!â€ Yunlan shouted, giving Shen Wei a good shake. â€œDo you ever damn well stop?! For once, think about your own worth!â€ Shen Wei just looked back at him, level and resigned, and Yunlan let go long enough to drive his hands through his hair with a sound of furious frustration. Under the fury, though, was still the bedrock certainty heâ€™d spoken out of, not moved at all by Shen Weiâ€™s determined self-sacrifice. He had a lot of damn nerve, taking Yunlan to task over doing this a measly two or three times. Yunlan scrubbed his hands over his face and pulled in a deep breath for calm, trying to get a better grip on the certainty. He knew, down to the core of his bones, that they both would, could, leave whatever in between place or gateway of the Lamp xiao-Wei was currently holding them in. He could do so because of his soul, Shen Wei saidâ€”and quite probably a push from xiao-Weiâ€™s power to get him clear. If that was what it took, then Yunlanâ€™s... Kunlunâ€™s... his own power could probably push just as well, but Shen Wei still needed that stable energy pattern. A soul. Which he didnâ€™t have, so how was this supposed to work?

The answer floated up into his thoughts, along with the memory of xiao-Weiâ€™s pendant.

Soul fire.

Yunlan opened his eyes, holding tight to that certainty, listening to that knowing with all his heart, and reached out to touch the hollow of xiao-Weiâ€™s throat, where the pendant had lain for millennia. Yes, he could feel it there, still. Of course xiao-Wei wouldn't have been able to leave him the real one; it wouldn't match the story. Yunlan was willing to bet that the pendant he thought he'd picked up really had been illusion, carefully crafted as a parting comfort that matched what he thought he knew. He hooked a finger under the cord of the real one and rubbed his thumb over that small, precious bead. Golden fire flared alive, between his fingertips, answering the will of its source, and Yunlan didnâ€™t hesitate, pushed away all his doubt and skepticism, and laid his palm against the brilliant glow, pressing it into xiao-Wei. He could feel it changing, flowing into another shape, and that was correct; it needed to become xiao-Wei, take on the shape of his being. He remembered doing something like this before, didnâ€™t he? Which meant it could be done again. Yunlan nudged the glow along, reaching deeper with... not exactly his hands.

All he would be able to say, later, was that he knotted his soul fire into Shen Wei, twined the strands of it tight with the strands of Shen Weiâ€™s being. He could never explain it in more detail than that, to the despair of entire biology departments and several eminent particle physicists. When it was over, Shen Wei was staring at him, eyes wide and a little wild, gasping for breath. â€œHow?â€ xiao-Wei whispered. â€œWhat did you do?â€

â€œWhat I should obviously have done a long time ago.â€ Yunlan paused, though, because the thought made him feel... wistful. â€œExcept maybe I couldnâ€™t?â€ he hazarded. â€œHuh.â€ Something hadnâ€™t been right, then. Hadnâ€™t been ready? Yes, that was right; heâ€™d needed to share a different part of himself first, and xiao-Wei had needed to accept it.

â€œOf course you couldnâ€™t! Your nature is one thing, thatâ€™s fluid enough in any god, but sharing your soul shouldnâ€™t be... Thatâ€™s not... it isnâ€™t...â€ Yunlan grinned at the rare sight of Shen Wei sputtering, and got a glare for it. He turned his hands palm up and shrugged. â€œIf itâ€™s an energy pattern, it has to be replicable, doesnâ€™t it?â€ Or, at least, that sounded reasonable given Yunlanâ€™s rather esoteric dabbling in the sciences, and also as though it might calm Shen Wei down with academic theory.

Shen Wei opened his mouth and closed it again, slowly. â€œI suppose what Shen Nong originally did with your soul fire was to stabilize the pattern in humans, and fuel a re-accretion of energy and matter around it,â€ he mused. â€œIn modern terms, at any rate. Itâ€™s at least theoretically possible that use created an echo, or template, of the process.â€

Yunlan refrained from pumping a fist in triumph, but Shen Wei eyed him like an he was an over-enthusiastic student anyway. Yunlan smiled back, innocently. â€œSo, you wanna get out of here?â€

Shen Weiâ€™s expression turned shuttered again. â€œMy part of the bargain was also to ensure my kind were contained, or destroyed if the seal between realms ever broke again.â€

â€œThatâ€™s already my job,â€ Yunlan pointed out with what he felt was admirable logic, spreading his hands wide, â€œso why canâ€™t you just keep helping me do it?â€

â€œIf we both withdraw our power from the Lamp, the seal will be weakened again and the Division wonâ€™t be enough to guard against trespassers, any more,â€ Shen Wei said flatly. â€œIf you remember anything, now, you must remember the ferocity of my people.â€

â€œIf we both have the powerâ€”the potentiality, you said?â€”of gods, now, why wouldnâ€™t we be enough?â€ Yunlan shot back. â€œWhy shouldnâ€™t we be able to find another solution, if it isnâ€™t enough? Since when do you just give in, anyway?â€

Shen Weiâ€™s voice rose, rocking Yunlan back on his heels. â€œSince I spent ten thousand years dealing with the fact that I was unable to go near you without killing you!â€

In the ringing silence that followed that, Yunlan sighed and stepped forward again, wrapping himself around Shen Wei. â€œIâ€™m here now, and a year with you hasnâ€™t destroyed me,â€ he offered, quietly. â€œAnd I remember some pretty crazy things being possible. Like a young ghost deciding to go off and tour the world, instead of continuing to fight and devour his own kind. We can at least try, canâ€™t we?â€

After a long, tense moment, Shen Wei gave in, leaning his head against Yunlanâ€™s shoulder. "As if I've ever been able to deny you." He laughed, helpless and unsteady, and Yunlan just held him tight, waiting. â€œAll right,â€ he agreed at last, soft. â€œAll right, letâ€™s try.â€

A ripple of blue-shot black swept over them, and the starry void dissolved in it, unfurled in streamers of power, letting golden light burst around them like day. More than day. Like the heart of the sun itself, if you could stand there and not be burned. It was absolute reassurance and security, and it tugged at Yunlan with terrifying strength but no force at all. It felt so familiar he thought he might drown in the sensation this time. Xiao-Wei was pressed tight against him, though, and that was almost as familiar. Plus, Yunlan had just spent a year learning to trust Shen Weiâ€™s judgement in tight spots, so when Shen Wei breathed in his ear, â€œRemember the world we want,â€ it was easy to think about the Divisionâ€™s offices, of their mirrored and yet so different apartments, of avoiding paperwork and chasing strange tales and Da Qing waking him up with a sandpaper tongue and demands for breakfast, and that was when he felt it. There was a current of chill running through the golden safety of the Lamp, xiao-Weiâ€™s power curling its way out toward that world, and he reached out to push both of them into that current, to send it running faster, faster, out through the flare of golden brilliance and into unsupported air.

â€œWhat...?!â€

â€œBOSS!â€

â€œAaaaaaaa!â€

Yunlan dropped onto a hard, wood floor, in a tangle of limbs, all the air knocked out of him in a rush. It took a minute or two of wheezing before he managed to figure out which way was up and lifted his head to squint at his subordinates, frozen and staring where theyâ€™d all started up from the long table in Division headquarters. â€œWell?â€ he finally gasped out. â€œStop looking like youâ€™ve seen a ghost and help us up!â€

He was fairly sure Shen Weiâ€™s faint groan was for the pun, and not injury, but he was careful about untangling them all the same. The team gathered around, hands reaching out, less to help than to touch them, patting over them both as a babble of words broke out.

"...been a year!"

"...really you, not Zhang Shi, right, you're not Zhang Shi..."

"What the hell, Boss...?"

"Chief?"

"Professor?"

"Chief...!

Yunlan patted xiao-Guoâ€™s shoulder, gingerly, and shot a meaningful look at lao-Chu. Lao-Chu gave him a glower, and an only slightly less ferocious one to Shen Wei, but did come coax xiao-Guo off Yunlan's shoulder before it got any wetter.

"Okay, in order, wow has it really been a year, no I'm not Zhang Shi, yes it's really both of us." Yunlan gave the tall windows a second look and yes, he could see night sky out there. "Also, what are all of you doing working so late?"

"We're not working," Zhu Hong snapped, hauling him up off the floor by an elbow and dropping him on the couch. "We wanted a memorial among ourselves, because yes it's been a year, but the office has too many other people in it during the day."

Yunlan blinked up at her, stunned. "We got more staff? Seriously?" He turned to look at Shen Wei, being guided down onto the next cushion by Lin Jing. "Are you sure we're back in the right world?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Shen Wei was smiling at him, but it was Professor Shen's small, contained smile, and that just didn't feel right. Yunlan leaned comfortably against his shoulder, and was satisfied to feel the straightness of Shen Wei's posture relax a bit.

"But what happened?" Da Qing demanded, scrambling up onto the table so he could stare demandingly at both of them.

Yunlan looked at Shen Wei, who was looking back with the very same helpless expression Yunlan felt on his own face. "Well, that's... a long story," Yunlan finally managed.

Shen Wei sighed and straightened, as though shaking himself back to reality. "For the Ministry's consumption," he said, sounding convincingly authoritative, "I think the story had better be that the injection Zhao Yunlan took did work, but had a delayed onset. Any inconsistent behavior can be explained by intermittent onset symptoms. For anyone who knew about Zhang Shi, we can say instead that he was caught in a wormhole created by the Holy Tools' reactivation and only found his way out at this point in time. For myself, we can say I was hospitalized easily enough; there wouldn't have been a body reported, after all."

The team looked at each other, trading grimaces, nods, shrugs. "It sounds plausible," Lin Jing agreed, and then leaned forward on the edge of his chair, eyes bright in a way that always meant trouble. "So? What really happened?"

Shen Wei glanced at Yunlan again, and the question in his eyes was so clear Yunlan thought he might as well have spoken. "I'd like my team to know," he agreed, quietly. "But are you sure?" In his opinion, xiao-Wei had gotten far too good at sacrificing his own wants for Yunlan's, and there was no time like the present to start breaking that habit.

Xiao-Wei hesitated. "I've watched human science for a very long time," he said, at last, just as low. "What the 'serum' actually does... now that those results are out in the open, I think there will be another shift, soon. If that does happen, what you and I are may become hard to conceal. Better to be prepared."

Zhu Hong straightened, at that, mock-temper melting into serious attention, but Lin Jing actually bounced in his chair. "What it really does? You know the mechanism?!"

Da Qing rolled his eyes. "Down, boy."

Yunlan grinned, relaxing into the familiarity of his team of maniacs. "Well, it's like this. It turns out I'm a god."

There was a long moment when everyone very obviously waited for the punchline, and Shen Wei actually rolled his eyes.

"Backing up a little," he put in, dryly, "the current theories of history, of meteorological disasters and legends being metaphorical interpretations of the lives and doings of mortal leaders, are inaccurate. The first gods, the later gods, they were true beings. Nuwa and Fuxi. Shen Nong." His hand slid over to rest on Yunlan's knee. "Kunlun."

Da Qing shook his head like he'd gotten water in his ears. "Wait. Wait, that..." He rubbed his forehead, frowning, and asked, plaintively, "Why does that sound right?"

"Memory as long as yours and mine is a slippery thing, sometimes." Shen Wei's hand tightened on Yunlan's knee. "There are things I remember as sharply as if they just happened, but many of the lives I watched over, and even lived, are faded, now. Jumbled together." His mouth twisted for a moment. "I stopped reading history, after a while. It got hard to remember whether some things were true memory or just things I'd heard later. It's probably worse, for you, since you lost so much memory entirely, for a while."

"But if... but then..." Da Qing's eyes swung back to Yunlan and widened. "Kunlun was... ?" he whispered. "Kunlun...!" He scrambled to his feet in a burst of black fur and leaped across to land on Yunlan's chest and shove his head under Yunlan's chin.

"Ow, ow, ow," Yunlan protested, as claws dug in through his jacket. "Careful, damn cat." The admonition didn't stop Da Qing from clinging tight with every claw, and Yunlan supposed he hadn't expected it to. He leaned back against the couch cushions, scratching behind Da Qing's ears. "Yeah, it's me." He winced as the claws dug in a little tighter.

"Zhao Yunlan is the soul of the god Kunlun, reborn," xiao-Wei explained to the staring team. "Reborn as human, but I believe that shot really did shift his nature and tear Shen Nong's seal over his memories and power. As soon as he gave himself to the Lamp... well, the Lamp was created from Kunlun, to start with. Passing through it again completed the shift and restored both his memories and his nature, fully."

Lin Jing had been muttering under his breath the whole time, and now he looked up, eyes nearly glowing. "You said the later gods were real, the ones supposed to be humans raised to godhood." His voice was soft, as if he wanted to sneak up on an idea and not startle it. "If that's true, and what the serum really does is change a human's nature, then the serum is creating gods."

Shen Wei gave him an approving, professorial nod. "Exactly."

Lin Jing's crow of glee nearly drowned out xiao-Guoâ€™s yelp of, "Gods?!"

Xiao-Wei got a glint of mischief in his eye. "You took up your responsibilities quite capably, I thought." He relented when xiao-Guo started looking like he might faint. "It needn't change much, really. It isn't merely an extra ability, but you can deal with the rest of what it is slowly."

Lin Jing stopped doing a victory dance in his chair. "Stability. The other results weren't stable."

"It was a change imposed from without." Xiao-Wei's voice was quiet but stern with a warning that made Lin Jing listen seriously and lao-Chu wrap a protective arm around xiao-Guoâ€™s shoulders. "Humans were created by the hands of one of the first gods. This path of development has always been part of your kind, but to shock it alive, to force the change," xiao-Wei shook his head, eyes dark, "that was a fool's move."

"This isn't the first time," Yunlan murmured, listening to the sadness inside him that had the weight of memory. "Some of those stories are true too—of humans gaining the power of gods, who couldn't handle it." He flapped a reassuring hand at xiao-Guo, who was starting to look like fainting again. "Ah, don't worry about it. If that was going to be a problem, it would have happened sooner. Xiao-Wei's right; you're doing just fine with it."

Zhu Hong straightened up from where she'd been leaning against the table, wide-eyed. "Oh." She peered closer at Yunlan. "Is that why you called him xiao-Wei, that time?" She managed a tiny smirk. "I guess even the Envoy would be young, to Kunlun."

Yunlan felt Shen Wei lean into him just a little more, and felt his easy grin turning soft. His voice was lower than he quite meant for it to be, when he answered, "Yeah, I think so."

Da Qing lashed his tail and finally scrambled off him, taking care to stomp on Yunlan's stomach on his way. "I'm staying at Lin Jing's place, tonight," he announced, imperiously, changing only long enough to fish keys out of his pocket and drop them on the table before turning his back and wrapping his tail around his toes.

That felt so familiar Yunlan couldn't help laughing. The rest of his team exchanged smirks and nods and elaborate eye rolls, and suddenly everyone was standing, gathering their things.

"See you tomorrow, Boss," Lin Jing told him brightly, helping lao-Chu herd a confused-looking xiao-Guo out the door. Zhu Hong picked up Da Qing and stalked after them without a backwards glance.

A soft huff made Yunlan look over at Shen Wei, insouciance firmly tacked down over a sudden urge to blush. Shen Wei looked like he was trying not to laugh, and refused to look at Yunlan. "So." Yunlan picked up the keys, spinning the ring around his finger. "I guess we're going home?"

That did the trick, and Shen Wei's smile broke out, warm and bright. "I suppose we are."

Satisfaction, heavy with the weight of who knew how many lives and years, settled in Yunlan's chest, and he smiled back. "Good."

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Two

Yunlan calls bullshit, at the very end, and everything changes, including himself. The SID can probably cope, but the Ministry may never be the same, to say nothing of Dixing. Romance, Drama, Porn, I-4

They paused in the hallway between their apartments, staring at each other in silence for a long moment. Yunlan would deny to his dying breath (and beyond, obviously) that he ever had or ever would feel anything in shouting distance of â€˜bashfulâ€™, but he did have to admit to a sudden moment of regret that heâ€™d never gotten at lot of practice at taking a date home. Or being taken home, for that matter, except that Shen Wei didnâ€™t seem to be doing any taking anywhere, either, and was just...

...just standing there, quite still. Watching him.

Yunlan laughed a little, feeling the sneaking tension in his shoulders let go all at once. He knew that look. Knew the stillness of xiao-Wei restraining himself. More than that, he knew the heat shuttered behind that waiting gaze.

â€œSo.â€ Yunlan scrubbed a hand through his hair, glancing around the empty hallway for inspiration before he finally gave up and swept his arm toward his own door, inviting. â€œCome in?â€

The waiting in Shen Weiâ€™s gaze melted into intent heat, and he smiled, slow. â€œYes.â€

â€œRight. Yes.â€ Yunlan turned to open the door, and the light pressure of Shen Weiâ€™s hand settling at the small of his back nearly made him trip over his own threshold.

The path from his door to the bed had never seemed quite so full of obstructions, even if they only consisted of some scattered shoes and a bit of a corner.

â€œYunlan.â€

The sound of his bare given name, rolled over Shen Weiâ€™s tongue like he was tasting it, made Yunlanâ€™s breath shudder in his lungs. â€œYeah?â€ he managed, almost his nonchalant self.

Shen Weiâ€™s hands slid over his shoulders, turning him to see that Shen Weiâ€™s smile had softened. â€œLet me?â€

Old, deep certainty washed over Yunlan again. This was the one he could always trust, beyond sense or reason, beyond question or doubt. His smile was easy with that certainty, if tilted with the newness of the oldness. â€œYeah.â€

Shen Weiâ€™s hands closed around his face, careful, tender, as though Yunlan was the most precious thing heâ€™d ever held, and it was so very easy to relax into them, to reach out and settle his hands on xiao-Weiâ€™s waist, and open his mouth for the soft, cool lips sliding over his.

One slow, careful kiss after another, Shen Weiâ€™s tongue stroked deeper and deeper into his mouth, until Yunlanâ€™s breath was coming fast and short and his fingers dug into Shen Weiâ€™s hips, pulling him closer. Urgency coiled tighter and tighter in his belly, and finally spilled over into words.

â€œAll right, can...â€ Another kiss. â€œCan we just...â€ Another, and this time he felt the curve of Shen Weiâ€™s lips against his. â€œXiao-Wei...!â€ His laughter was what finally broke them apart, though the quiet mischief dancing in xiao-Weiâ€™s eyes made Yunlan lean their foreheads together as he caught his breath. â€œBed?â€

â€œIâ€™d like that.â€ Shen Weiâ€™s hands slid over his shoulders and down his arms to catch his hands, and Shen Wei backed up without so much as looking over his shoulder, drawing Yunlan toward the bed. That amount of attention focused on him made his breath quicken again. And Shen Wei himself...

Yunlan had always thought Shen Wei was beautiful. He had eyes, after all. But it was amazing what you could get used to when it walked beside you day after day, stuffed breakfast into your hand way too early in the morning, and silently petitioned the heavens for patience over your unfolded clothes. Now it was leaping out at him all over againâ€”the economy of Shen Weiâ€™s movement as he shrugged out of his unbuttoned shirt, the fullness of his lips as he smiled, the careful strength of long fingers wrapping around the back of Yunlanâ€™s neck and tugging him down to another kiss. When Shen Wei pushed Yunlan down to sit on the edge of the bed and knelt to tug his boots off, the grace of it stole Yunlanâ€™s breath. Seeing Shen Wei smile up at him under his lashes nearly distracted Yunlan from the fact that Shen Wei was undoing his jeans.

It wasnâ€™t awkward at all to lie back, to stretch out on the rumpled sheets, and feel the weight of xiao-Weiâ€™s eyes on him, and Yunlan had another moment of disorientation at how not-strange this felt. It blew away like milkweed down, though, when Shen Wei prowled up onto the bed to settle against him.

Part of him expected the cool of xiao-Weiâ€™s skin against his, and all of him positively purred at how good it felt. â€œXiao-Wei,â€ he murmured, sliding his hands up the sleek line of Shen Weiâ€™s bare back, the way heâ€™d really, really wanted to that one time Shen Wei had volunteered to have baseline energy readings taken. He could feel Shen Wei shiver under his palms.

â€œYou keep calling me that.â€ Shen Wei didnâ€™t sound upset, but he did sounds a bit wistful. Yunlan smiled, wry.

â€œDonâ€™t think I could call you anything else, when weâ€™re like this. It just... itâ€™s the name thatâ€™s there.â€ More slowly, sorting the urge out in his own head, â€œItâ€™s my name, for you.â€

Xiao-Wei kissed him again, at that, swift but so tender it made Yunlanâ€™s chest tight. â€œYes,â€ he agreed, against Yunlanâ€™s mouth. Yunlan wound himself tighter around xiao-Wei, breathless with the simple amazement that this was really his.

And then a lot more breathless with the way xiao-Weiâ€™s hands slid down his body, open and openly possessive, and maybe he should have expected the jolt of heat that sent through him but he really hadnâ€™t. â€œI can tell you again, now,â€ xiao-Wei murmured against his throat. â€œYou are the heart of me. Whatever life Iâ€™ve had, all this time, is because you stopped and smiled that very first day, so long ago. I have always treasured you.â€ With every word, the heat in Yunlan sank deeper, softened, filled him with a warmth and sweetness that he thought might undo him all by itself. That old-new familiarity ran under it, but twined through the familiarity was wonder. Yunlan had to close his eyes and just breathe, holding tight to xiao-Wei, when he realized this must always have been a wonder to him, to have xiao-Weiâ€™s love and care.

â€œThe more things change, the more they stay the same.â€ He meant it to come out light, but his voice caught and cracked on the words. Xiao-Weiâ€™s hand cupped his cheek, cool and gentle, and Yunlan opened his eyes to see xiao-Wei smiling down at him, eyes bright with laughter and soft with understanding.

â€œYes.â€

And then xiao-Weiâ€™s smile widened and Yunlan braced himself on pure reflex, both old and current. â€œPerhaps we should test that a bit, though,â€ xiao-Wei murmured. His hand slid down from Yunlanâ€™s cheek, trailed across his chest and down his stomach, and Yunlan barely had time for his eyes to stretch wide with realization before long fingers wrapped around his cock. The chill of xiao-Weiâ€™s touch against heated skin felt incredible.

â€œXiao-Wei... oh fuck...â€ Yunlanâ€™s hips rocked up into xiao-Weiâ€™s hold, and he shuddered with the heavy curl of pleasure up his spine. â€œOhhh fuck.â€

Pressed this close, he could feel that xiao-Wei was laughing. â€œWell, I see thereâ€™s no change there.â€ Yunlan made an inarticulate sound and reached up to pull xiao-Wei down to another kiss, deep and wet and wanting. Xiao-Wei gathered him closer, touch gentling. "Yes," he murmured. Yunlan wasnâ€™t at all surprised when xiao-Wei reached unerringly for the bottle tucked under the bedside table, and those cool, deft fingers were slick when they closed around him again. Yunlan groaned, hands working against xiao-Weiâ€™s shoulders as pleasure coiled low in his stomach, hot and slow. It felt so simple, so stunningly easy, to let his senses take him, to just move with xiao-Weiâ€™s hands on him as the heat wound tighter and tighter, and finally broke like a storm, shaking him apart until he was gasping for breath, holding tight to xiao-Wei against the intensity of it.

And xiao-Wei held him secure through all of it.

In fact, when Yunlanâ€™s thoughts started fitting sensibly together, again, he realized that xiao-Wei was just holding him, fingers sliding through his hair, slow and soothing. â€œSo, um.â€ Yunlan cleared his throat and glanced up, â€œwere you...?â€ He trailed off completely when he saw the warm satisfaction in xiao-Weiâ€™s smile.

â€œLater,â€ xiao-Wei said, simply.

The familiarity of that care rang through Yunlan like his heart was a struck bell, sweet and certain and so overwhelming to him now that he could barely breathe, only catch Shen Wei close and hold on. This. This was the one who would always care, would never leave, who had proved his trust over and over again.

It took a while for Yunlanâ€™s breath to come evenly again.

As he quieted, though, the unquestioning steadiness of xiao-Weiâ€™s arms around him connected one thought to another, and Yunlan stared up at the ceiling, past Shen Weiâ€™s shoulder. â€œIt must have hurt you so much,â€ he whispered, â€œwhen I didnâ€™t know you. Didnâ€™t remember you.â€

Xiao-Wei went utterly still, against him, for one heartbeat, another, and then stirred with a tiny shrug. After the past year, Yunlan was ready for that, though. â€œAh-ah! Donâ€™t try to deny it.â€

A tiny snort answered him, but at least xiao-Wei's body stopped shifting toward dismissal. Xiao-Wei was quiet for a moment. â€œI could hardly blame you for not remembering when I was the one who took Shen Nongâ€™s bargain without consulting you.â€

â€œOf course not,â€ Yunlan agreed, waiting for xiao-Weiâ€™s shoulders to settle, under his hands. â€œBut that doesnâ€™t mean it didnâ€™t hurt.â€ He felt the tiny, instantly stifled flinch, too, and sighed, rubbing a hand slowly up and down xiao-Weiâ€™s back. â€œIâ€™m sorry.â€

â€œDonâ€™t apologize,â€ Shen Wei snapped, pushing up on an elbow to glower at him. Yunlan smiled and touched a finger to xiao-Weiâ€™s lips.

â€œIâ€™m not apologizing. Iâ€™m just saying that Iâ€™m sorry you had that pain.â€ As heâ€™d grown to expect, and felt heâ€™d probably learned to expect a long time ago, xiao-Wei didnâ€™t contradict his insistence, only made an irritated sound and dropped back down against his shoulder. Yunlan smiled wider and snuggled up until xiao-Wei relaxed and curled around him again. Yunlan let his eyes drift closed, satisfied.

Even without prior (current) experience, he felt like he was getting a pretty good handle on how to do this relationship thing.

Knocking woke Yunlan up, and it took him a moment to figure out why, when he turned over to bury his head in the pillows, he wound up pressed tight against another body instead. "Ngh?" he asked, squinting at the expanse of chest in front of his nose.

"Do you want me to answer the door to your apartment?" Shen Wei asked, sounding both amused and far too awake.

Imagining the response of any of his team to that, Yunlan winced and pushed up onto his elbows. "I'm awake, I'm awake."

"Hmm." A cool hand settled on Yunlan's cheek and suddenly he was being kissed, slow and thorough. A curl of heat licked through him, in answer, and his hand reached up to thread through xiao-Wei's hair. The ease of it, the knowledge that this was his and he could reach out for it any time, for any reason, left Yunlan more breathless than the kiss. When xiao-Wei drew back, Yunlan stayed leaning over him for a long moment, stunned all over again.

"I'm awake," he finally said, soft and wondering.

Shen Wei smiled up at him, small and bright, and so perfectly content Yunlan's heart ached. "Then go answer the door."

Another knock underscored the point, and Yunlan crawled out of bed and into some clothes, since whoever it was obviously wasn't going away. When he opened the door, though, he had one moment of wondering whether he really was awake or not, because he came face to face with himself. But no, heâ€™d seen this, hadnâ€™t he, while holding fast to the gateway into the Lamp? Zhang Shi had done as he'd promised and taken Yunlan's place.

"Well." Yunlan ran a hand through his hair and stood aside. "This is going to be awkward."

"That depends." Zhang Shi pushed a large cardboard box with 'Shen - clothes' written on it inside and shouldered past him to dump an entire backpack full of files on the table. "If you want to avoid the hero worship and bureaucracy that's trying to swallow the Division, you could always start running now. Otherwise," he gestured to the files, "get reading on the past year's cases and new personnel, and I'll try to catch you up. Your cat informed me of things last night, so I came prepared."

"You know, I get the impression that you might just tackle me and drag me back to the paperwork if I tried to run." Yunlan flopped down on the couch and eyed the stack of binders; it didn't actually look that bad, for a year's worth.

Zhang Shi interrupted his calculations of how fast he could get through this to lean over him and jab a finger into his chest. "When I thought you were dead, that was one thing. Now I know you're not, you had better not ever make me accept an award in your place again."

The face might be Yunlan's, but that glower was one he'd seen more than once on his father's face, always after he'd done something that was maybe a little more reckless than it should have been. Just a little. Yunlan patted his other dad's hand, smiling. "Don't worry. We won't let it happen again."

Plates clinked very distinctly as Shen Wei set breakfast down beside the files. "We most certainly will not."

"Now, why does that sound more like a threat than a promise?" Yunlan asked, lightly.

Shen Wei gave him a dark look. "I had things under control, with Ye Zun. There was no need for you to come rushing in when you were still a human. He could easily have killed you by accident. He nearly did."

Yunlan knew exactly where xiao-Wei's sudden anger was coming from, because he could feel it leaping up in his own heart. Now they had time for it, and a reminder of it, his blood was abruptly boiling with the fear and pain of watching Shen Wei take the blow meant for him and fall, limp as a broken doll. "Your entire 'plan' consisted of sacrificing your life to force-feed Ye Zun an incompatible energy," he snapped, "and do you want to talk about the part where that means you had to be poisoning yourself to set it up?"

Shen Wei's hands flinched into fists and he jerked his chin aside, breaking Yunlan's gaze to look past him. Yunlan made an inarticulate sound of frustration, and threw himself onto his feet to pace a few lengths of the room before he started wanting to throw something else.

"If I may interrupt..."

It was his own voice, but his father's tone through and through, and Yunlan buried his face in his hand, biting back a groan. He'd just had a fight with his lover in front of his demi-dad. The morning couldn't get any better. "Sure, feel free," he muttered into his palm.

"My Lord Envoy," Zhang Shi said, very formal, and sounding less and less like Yunlan, which was a relief, "may I ask your assurance that you are well, now?"

Yunlan could hear the deep breath that Shen Wei took to make his voice quiet again. "You may. And I am well, now, though it may take a little time to be sure of the other effects."

Yunlan spun around sharply at that. "Other effects?"

Shen Wei gave him a tight-lipped glance. "You shared a spark of your soul with me, created a soul in me where there never was one, and that's in addition to the part of your nature you shared with me ten millennia ago. I'm not even sure what I am, now."

Cold fear washed over Yunlan, though he felt it break against an old, deep certainty, and he took a step back toward xiao-Wei. "It couldn't hurt you, though, right?" He pressed a hand to his chest, as if he could take hold of that certainty. "That's right, isn't it?"

The hard line of Shen Wei's shoulders softened at once, and he reached out to wrap a hand around Yunlan's arm. "Yes, that's right. If there were going to be problems, it would have been obvious immediately." He hesitated for a long moment and finally sighed, his giving-in sigh, and Yunlan couldn't help a tiny grin when he realized he could recognize the sound. Xiao-Wei snorted at him and pushed him back over to the couch, settling beside him. At xiao-Wei's wave of permission, Zhang Shi nudged plates of dumplings and fruit aside and sat on the table.

"I am well," xiao-Wei started, firmly, "but between what I did and what you did, it's very likely that my entire nature has been changed. When I realized the kind of disruption the Dial had caused in my being, it was just when I'd become sure that my brother was breaking free. I'd been considering asking the sacred tree to release our bargain and reclaiming the Guardian token already, because a significant part of my power was bound up in creating it. If I'd been able to reclaim that power, to reconvert it into my own, I could have faced Ye Zun evenly, though it would have meant all restraints on the power of my people in this realm would be removed. It seemed like a reasonable risk, if it meant I could stop Ye Zun early enough. But once I was injured, my chances of containing Ye Zun again went down considerably. That was when it occurred to me that if I absorbed the token's power without reclaiming or reconverting it, especially if I could displace enough of my own power to keep the conflict of energies from being apparent, it would be very easy to bait my brother into consuming it."

The shock on Zhang Shi's face was, if anything, even greater than Yunlan's. "If the Guardian charge was a bargain with the sacred tree... that's a heavenly power, you would have had to reduce your strength to almost nothing!"

"As I said," Shen Wei answered, terrifyingly level. "Very easy."

After a long moment, Zhang Shi bowed his head to Shen Wei. "Noble Lord," he said, softly, more formal than ever.

"Stop encouraging him!" Yunlan snapped. "That was not a reasonable risk!"

Xiao-Wei raised his brows and gave Yunlan a very pointed, sidelong look. "So, it's reasonable when you do it, but not when I do it?"

"Don't tell me you don't think exactly the same thing." They eyed each other for a long moment before the essential ridiculousness of their mutual insistence caught up with Yunlan and he had to stifle the snort of laughter that was trying to escape. When he spotted the twitch at the corner of xiao-Wei's mouth, he lost it, and the two of them leaned together, laughing low and helpless for a long moment.

"At any rate," xiao-Wei finally said, adjusting his glasses for composure just like a cat resettling its fur, "the half of my nature that has always been ghost was considerably weakened, in part replaced with the token's power, which was half mine and half the sacred tree's, and then on top of that the same one who gifted me with a god's nature added soul fire." He spread his hands. "I have no idea, yet, what all that became in the process of regaining matter on our way out of the Lamp."

"A god," Yunlan said, quietly, words that came whole and certain from that deep sense of memory inside him, now. "A god of ghosts. I think... I think that was what I always meant and hoped for."

The sound xiao-Wei made was wordless, as soft and amazed as his eyes had gone.

"That's quite the courting gift," Zhang Shi murmured, sounding both impressed and paternally amused.

A choked laugh escaped xiao-Wei, and he added, "Better than antique books." Yunlan gave serious consideration to sinking through the couch in embarrassment, at least until xiao-Wei leaned into his side again with a tiny, warm smile.

"Well." Yunlan scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Maybe the first order of Division business is actually some test-runs to find out what you can do now, and how."

"After breakfast," xiao-Wei specified firmly.

"Right, fine, breakfast." Yunlan agreed peaceably, raising his hands. He didn't so much as glance at Zhang Shi. He could feel the doting-dad vibes from here, which would be too bizarre to see on his own face. "Also, we need to get Zhang Shi a new identity."

"I called Dr. Cheng this morning." Zhang Shi sounded relieved. "She knew of a good prospect at once."

"Cheng Xinyan has great integrity," xiao-Wei commented mildly, between small bites of orange. "I trust her judgement. A candidate sheâ€™s chosen will be acceptable, but to stay here you will need to re-join one of the law enforcement departments. Not," he added a bit dryly, "the Supervisory Bureau." Yunlan had actually forgotten, for a moment, that Zhang Shi would need the Envoy's approval to continue living in this realm. His other dad was his lover's subject and quite possibly about to be his employee.

It was a good thing he'd never much wanted a normal life.

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Three

Yunlan calls bullshit, at the very end, and everything changes, including himself. The SID can probably cope, but the Ministry may never be the same, to say nothing of Dixing. Romance, Drama, Porn, I-4

The three of them snuck out of Yunalnâ€™s own apartment and into his car as carefully as if they were smuggling a body, which he had to admit amused him. After all, in a way they were. It was Shen Weiâ€™s directions they followed, though, through the city and skirting around the edge of Yashou territory to one of the parks near the University. Shen Wei led them through the trees, keeping out of human or mechanical sight with an unthinking ease that made Yunlan mark this place in his mind as one xiao-Wei considered his own. Through a tunnel of concrete and twining vines and past a round brick plaza, they came to a concrete fountain, a low burble of water from a square, tiered base.

â€œHere.â€

Shen Weiâ€™s voice was tight and controlled, the voice that Yunlan had heard often from the Envoy, at the start of their acquaintance. Hearing it now locked Yunlanâ€™s attention like a chain wrapped around it, and he stepped up quickly to lay a hand on xiao-Weiâ€™s shoulder. Sure enough, it was straight and hard and still under his hand.

â€œHey,â€ he said, softly, just between the two of them. â€œQuit worrying. Whatever came of the change in you, weâ€™ll deal with it.â€

Xiao-Wei released a breath, shoulder easing just a little bit. â€œAll right. Step back, though. Just in case,â€ he added, glancing over to see Yunlanâ€™s brows going up. Yunlan scoffed, but took a couple steps back, arms spread.

â€œGood enough?â€

â€œI suppose weâ€™ll see.â€ Before Yunlan could try again to ease that sharp tension in him, Shen Wei closed his eyes and lifted a hand. Slowly, far more slowly than the flash and burst of power Yunlan was used to seeing, a glow built.

Heâ€™d gotten used to the colors of Shen Weiâ€™s power, the flowing black threaded with deep blue. More than just familiar, now, the memory of it alone made him smile, called up echoes of playfulness and peace from deep inside him. The familiar colors were still there, in what grew and flowed between xiao-Weiâ€™s hands, but now it was the blue that predominated, like a cloud of evening sky drawn into daylight.

Shen Wei wavered on his feet, as if heâ€™d stumbled without taking a step, and his eyes snapped open, wide and startled. Yunlan started forward to catch him with a hand under his arm, and marked the depth of xiao-Weiâ€™s shock by the complete lack of any warning to stay back. â€œXiao-Wei?â€

â€œThereâ€™s no... Iâ€™m not...â€ Xiao-Wei swallowed and took a deep breath, hands steadying around his own power as he found his balance again. â€œI think you were right. Before now, my power drew somewhat through my own life but mostly through the lives around me. Now... now itâ€™s entirely through my own life, my own place within this world.â€ The next breath he took shook a little, and his voice turned softer. â€œMy own soul.â€ Yunlan could feel all the remaining tension bleeding away as xiao-Wei straightened, reaching out with both hands to direct the flow of his power toward the fountain.

The shifting blue of it flowed across the water, around it, and the water rose in answer, sparkling up through the air to form thin bubbles, leaf shapes, even a snowflake or two out of running water. Yunlan had seen Shen Wei fight and heal, entrance and command, but heâ€™d never seen such delicate shaping as thisâ€”though that deep echo inside him felt like it had. Had even seen xiao-Wei play with his strength, perhapsâ€”had coaxed or maneuvered him into it, most likely. Predictably, xiao-Wei looked entirely serious the whole time, as if this little whimsy was nothing but a functional test of control. Someone, at some point, must have convinced him that it was an appropriate test, though, and Yunlan was pretty sure that someone had been him. He gave his past self an approving internal nod.

Eventually, xiao-Wei let his power fade back into the air and his skin, flexing his fingers. â€œIt will take a little getting used to, having that much to work with again,â€ he murmured, and then frowned. â€œZhang Shi. In the past year, has there been any deterioration in the Division staff who come into contact with lao-Chu Shuzhi?â€

â€œThat would be xiao-Guo, and no one else,â€ Zhang Shi noted, a bit dryly. â€œNo. Though if youâ€™re right about what xiao-Guo's becoming, there wouldnâ€™t be. They haven't taken harm from me, either, though, even without a host to absorb my power. And there havenâ€™t been any reports of strange wasting deaths at all. I did start looking for them when I recognized the unbinding of my own power.â€

"Possibly just luck, so far," Shen Wei murmured. "We'll have to keep an eye on that."

Yunlanâ€™s mind flickered through the connectionsâ€”unbinding, old legends of ghosts eating life, the one thing Shen Wei had said he had taken into himself. â€œThe Guardian Treaty or whatever was a literal binding on all Dixingren?â€ When Shen Wei and Zhang Shi both nodded, he prodded at the echo-memories, but couldnâ€™t make head or tail of the tangle of ruefulness and hope and grief he got out of them. â€œHow does that work?â€

"I am the ghosts' ruler," Shen Wei said quietly, not looking at either of them. "The strongest among them, and the most feared."

"Not only feared," Zhang Shi interjected, but softly, as if he wasn't sure it would be allowed.

Shen Wei shrugged, a faint motion under his jacket, as if he could barely be bothered to make the gesture. "Whether it's for fear or loyalty, greed or love, the one who's the focus of a whole people can affect all of them."

"So," Yunlan summed up, "you're saying that you've been sacrificing your power and safety for thousands of years, to keep humanity safe, and that now, having sacrificed your actual life, you're worried you haven't done enough." He shook his head, smile tilting crookedly, and reached up to rest a hand on xiao-Wei's cheek, turning him to look at Yunlan. "You know, I'm not even surprised, any more?"

Xiao-Wei's eyes were wide again. "I—"

"Ah!" Yunlan stroked his thumb along the sharp line of xiao-Wei's cheekbone. "I dare you to say that's not what you're doing."

Xiao-Wei huffed softly, turning his head a little into Yunlan's hand as he looked away. "You are ridiculous."

Yunlan smiled. "Sometimes, I've been told." And now it was probably time to move along, because he could just feel Zhang Shi paternally doting on them again. "So! Do we have to visit the hospital next?"

Dr. Cheng didnâ€™t even blink to see two of him, just shook her head with an expression that suggested she was resigned to the SIDâ€™s nonsense.

â€œThis way.â€ She led them back through some utility corridors. â€œThe patientâ€™s name was Li Huiliang. Her husband and son were both killed in the fighting, a year ago, and the shock wasnâ€™t good for her mind or her heart. Sheâ€™s been in and out of the hospital often, since then.â€ She brought them back into one of the regular corridors and paused in front of a closed door, head bowed. â€œLast night was the final time. She just... slipped away, this morning. I was about to report it when you called.â€

â€œI give you my word, Dr. Cheng,â€ Zhang Shi said soberly, in what Yunlan had long mentally labeled as his fatherâ€™s â€˜responsible officialâ€™ tone, â€œI will honor this gift, and keep her place in the world.â€

Dr. Cheng turned with such a steely look in her eye that Yunlan straightened up on pure reflex. â€œYou will invite me to her memorial.â€ It wasnâ€™t a question; it was an order. Yunlan suddenly found it a lot more understandable than he had, that this woman was Shen Weiâ€™s friend.

â€œIâ€™ll make the arrangements today, Doctor.â€ It would have to be private, of course, but she was quite rightâ€”it was the least they could and should do. Dr. Cheng nodded firm acceptance and opened the door.

Li Huiliang had been an older woman, hair just starting to gray in streaks here and there. There were lines of stress around her mouth, even now with all muscles slackened in death. Yunlan watched quietly as Zhang Shi stood beside the hospital bed for a moment, one hand resting gently on hers where theyâ€™d been folded over her stomach. When he stirred, though, Yunlan had to ask, â€œSo, how are we doing this? Thereâ€™s about to be an unexplained body, isnâ€™t there, since you werenâ€™t sharing mine?â€

Dr. Cheng made the face of someone who wished she were a bit less capable, right this moment. â€œI suppose I can arrange something, as long as you can make sure the documentation matches outside the hospital...â€

â€œActually,â€ Zhang Shi hesitated, glancing between Shen Wei and Yunlan. Finally, he spoke to the air between them. â€œIt takes a great deal of energy, to inhabit a body thatâ€™s died. Iâ€™d planned to ask the Envoyâ€™s help, but it might be... cleanest to use whatâ€™s bound up in this form.â€ He spread a hand over his (Yunlanâ€™s) chest.

Shen Wei stilled for a breath, but it eased away as soon as he looked over at Yunlan. Yunlan spread his hands and shrugged. â€œItâ€™ll be a little strange,â€ he answered the question in xiao-Weiâ€™s eyes, â€œbut honestly it was already a little strange, when I feel like all of me is right here,â€ he waved at his current body. â€œI say go for it.â€

Xiao-Wei nodded slowly and turned back to stand beside Zhang Shi, one hand on his shoulder. One slow breath, and the night-blue flow of his power rose around them. â€œBegin,â€ he ordered, quietly.

A darker something flashed between Zhang Shi and Li Huiliangâ€™s body, and Yunlan pushed back the shiver that wanted to walk up his spine, watching his own body (as was) just... dissolve into that blue, ribbon away in streamers like blowing dust. It reminded him sharply of what heâ€™d seen Ye Zun do, of the fact that Ye Zun and Shen Wei had been twinsâ€”the most powerful among their kindâ€”and that when it had come to a contest between them, Ye Zun had lost. Twice. Part of him was wary of that kind of power, while part of him, especially the deep echos of his past self, was just mildly pleased and approving and blasÃ©. The clash felt like it should be giving him a headache, even though it wasn't.

All right, and a little part of him was turned on by how effortlessly Shen Wei wielded that power, but he was ignoring that right now. That was for later.

As the last of â€˜himâ€™ faded away, the body on the bed drew a slow breath, healthy color flushing her cheeks and hands. Dr. Cheng, standing beside Yunlan, let out a breath that it sounded like sheâ€™d been holding for a while, and smiled a bit wryly when Yunlan patted her shoulder.

â€œRemember your promise,â€ she said, softly. â€œHonor her memory.â€ Yunlan nodded, accepting the weight of that.

â€œWe will.â€

A sudden flash of golden brightness snapped his head back around toward the bed. Shen Wei was starting back from it, and Zhang Shi had jerked upright, one hand clenched tight in the light blue cotton over his (her) chest, eyes wide.

â€œWhat happened?â€ Yunlan snapped, mind suddenly full of all the physiology heâ€™d ever read, including neurology, and all the ways it could go wrong, Dixingren powers or no.

â€œWas that...?

â€œThat was...â€

Shen Wei and Zhang Shi just stared at each other some more, while Yunlan waited. â€œThat was?â€ he prodded.

â€œSoul-fire,â€ Shen Wei finally answered, barely above a whisper.

Zhang Shi sucked in a shaking breath, and her (his?) voice came out even softer, reverent. â€œMy Lord...â€

Memory wasnâ€™t just an echo, this time. It washed over Yunlan like a flood, and for a breath he knew himself as Kunlun, knew xiao-Weiâ€™s distaste for the formless, mindless nature of so many ghosts with the depth of centuries, knew triumph that heâ€™d succeeded in giving his dearest friend and love the full gift heâ€™d intended. It took long moments for the knowing to ease, and it left Yunlan shaky, leaning against the wall for support. â€œThe focus of a people affects the whole people,â€ he repeated back to xiao-Wei, a little breathless.

Xiao-Wei spun to stare at him. â€œYou... this...â€ He pressed a hand to his throat, where the pendant had rested for so long. Yunlan spread his hands with a flourish, smiling.

â€œAll part of the plan. Apparently.â€ After a momentâ€™s reflection, he added, â€œDa Qing definitely isnâ€™t allowed to insult my ideas of courting gifts, any more.â€

That drove a faint breath of stunned laughter out of xiao-Wei.

â€œYouâ€™re going to tell me all of what that was about, later,â€ Dr. Cheng ordered, going to to peer into Zhang Shiâ€™s eyes and measure her pulse with quick fingers, eyes on her watch. â€œFor now, just tell me: is it going to cause any health problems?â€

â€œNo.â€ Xiao-Wei slid his glasses up to rub his eyes briefly. â€œNo health problems. Much larger political problems, perhaps, but that neednâ€™t concern anyone but me.â€ Yunlan cleared his throat meaningfully, and xiao-Wei added, on a bit of a sigh, â€œAnd perhaps the SID. Speaking of political problems and their solutions,â€ he went on, otherwise ignoring Yunlan, â€œwill there be any problem with the paperwork showing I was hospitalized here for the past year?â€

â€œNo, we had several cases that needed long-term care, after the fighting.â€ Dr. Cheng stepped back, giving Zhang Shi an approving nod. â€œThe fact that you were an SID consultant will actually help explain why we would have kept your presence confidential.â€ She gave xiao-Wei a stern look. â€œYouâ€™d better be back to explain things, later, but for now, letâ€™s get Ms. Li discharged.â€

â€œAnd then maybe ask lao-lao-Chu to drop by the apartment?â€ Yunlan suggested quietly, as they headed out into the halls once more.

Shen Wei glanced at him once before fixing his eyes straight ahead. â€œI think that would be wise, yes.â€

Yunlan nodded, satisfied. However much this whole contagious soul-fire thing might have been a gift of his past self, his present self wanted to know exactly what it was going to take from Shen Wei before letting his lover go haring back off through the gate between realms.

Yunlan read personnel and case files with all his concentration while they waited for lao-Chu, pressing Zhang Shi for details of temperament, of flexibility, of fears and dreams and motives. Clearly, he was going to need to take his re-entry into life at a run, and he didn't want his own Division tripping him up. When lao-Chu arrived, attention immediately fixing on Shen Wei to the exclusion of anyone else, Yunlan barely took the time to roll his eyes.

Shen Wei explained the situation, voice quiet and steady. Reassuring. Yunlan thought that might be the voice his students were used to hearing. â€œWeâ€™re not sure if this is normally transferable, or if it only happened because I was involved so deeply in the process of Zhang Shiâ€™s transfer and revivification. I donâ€™t know, yet, how deep I might need to reach into the being of another of my people, or...â€ He broke off as lao-Chu snorted and flipped his coat aside to kneel down at Shen Weiâ€™s feet and wait there, head bowed.

Really, it was enough to make a mere boss feel inadequate.

â€œNot only fear,â€ Zhang Shi murmured, from Yunlanâ€™s other side, and xiao-Wei closed his eyes for a breath.

â€œI know.â€ Yunlan thought the ruler-straight line of lao-Chuâ€™s back eased a little at xiao-Weiâ€™s soft words. He was sure xiao-Wei saw it, too, because he reached out, the way he almost never reached out to anyone but Yunlan, and laid a hand on lao-Chu's shoulder.

And golden brilliance flickered around his fingers.

lao-Chu jerked upright like it was an electric shock, staring up at xiao-Wei. "Lord...!" That sounded shocked out of him, too.

Xiao-Wei was holding very still, which meant he was just as startled, but slowly he tightened his hold on lao-Chu's shoulder. "So." Finally he smiled, achingly slow but with a brightness in him like the sun rising. "It can be done."

Lao-Chu, who Yunlan had never seen willingly discomposed unless he was trying to scare the liver out of someone, looked like he was one breath from bowing his head to the ground before xiao-Wei, and his voice was rough. "Noble Lord, thank you. I've watched Changcheng every day, ever since we were unbound, every day ready to leave if he started to fail. I never thought..."

Xiao-Wei's face tightened, so much pain in the flinch of his brows together that Yunlan started to get up, to go to him, even as xiao-Wei lifted his hand to rest it gently on lao-Chu's head, quieting him. "I know." Xiao-Wei's eyes rose and Yunlan froze under the darkness of them, breath stopping. Xiao-Wei was talking about him. That certainty went right down to the bone. Some time, somehow, he had died because of xiao-Wei's nature.

Suddenly, xiao-Wei's fierce insistence on his safety felt a lot less like a Dixingren underestimating a human and a lot more like frantic, desperate grief. Suddenly, the information that xiao-Wei had been the one to create the instrument that halved his people's powers in the human realm felt less like politics, or even compassion, and more like love—reckless, headlong love and a deep fear running under it.

"Xiao-Wei," Yunlan whispered, reaching out, and xiao-Wei came to him at once, caught him close with an absolute disregard of anyone watching that told Yunlan everything he suspected was painfully true. He let out a slow breath and wound his arms around xiao-Wei, one hand sliding up to urge his head down against Yunlan's shoulder. "I'm here," he said softly, and promptly lost most of his breath to the way xiao-Wei's arms tightened around him. He barely registered the apartment door closing behind Zhang Shi and lao-Chu. "Tell me?" he asked, hands rubbing slowly up and down xiao-Wei's back.

"You did something foolishly noble and got injured. I was the only one there. I couldn't leave you like that." Xiao-Wei's hands tightened on him. "And then I couldn't leave you." His voice was muffled against Yunlan's shoulder. "I should have known better, but part of me still couldn't believe..." A quick, hard breath in and out again. "In two years, you were dead."

And then Shen Wei had spent who knew how many years and how much power changing the world so that it wouldn't happen again. Yunlan closed his eyes, breathless with the weight of the thought. It was like the morning he'd found Shen Wei draining his blood, allegedly to repair the wound he'd taken sharing his life force with Yunlan, all over again, only turned on its head. Instead of furious shock that anyone would sacrifice himself so completely and unhesitatingly for Yunlan, it was a warm weight of certainty inside him. Because Yunlan had spent twenty-eight years waiting for the man in his arms, barely looking at another person, even casually, and he was sure in his heart, all the way down to the echoing memory of his first life, that he'd spent ten thousand years worth of lives that way.

Shen Wei's devotion wasn't the alarming imposition it had seemed, in the shock of that morning. It was the answer Yunlan hadn't realized he was listening for, so intently he hardly noticed any other.

"I'm here, now," he repeated, smiling against the darkness of xiao-Wei's hair. "And so are you."

A faint laugh shook xiao-Wei's shoulders, and he finally lifted his head, starting to smile again despite the redness of his eyes. â€œYes.â€ Whatever he saw in Yunlan's face, it eased the tension out of his body, and Yunlan made a pleased sound as they leaned more comfortably together.

â€œThatâ€™s better.â€ He linked his hands behind xiao-Wei's neck, thumbs stroking absently up and down xiao-Wei's nape, and smiled wider at the sudden heaviness of his eyes, the quick, soft draw of his breath. "Xiao-Wei. Come to bed?" Personally, he could think of no better way to ground them in the present. In fact, when xiao-Wei lifted a hand to cup his cheek, thumb stroking along the curve of Yunlan's mouth, Yunlan stopped being able to think of anything but the present moment.

"Yes," xiao-Wei agreed, softly.

Yunlan suddenly wanted very much to have xiao-Wei's bare skin under his hands, and made such short work of undoing xiao-Wei's vest and shirt that xiao-Wei was laughing under his breath by the time Yunlan went after his pants. He was willing enough to stretch out on Yunlan's bed and be touched, though, and that was the important part. The soft contentment in dark eyes as Yunlan's hands slid down his body, fingers tracing along his ribs, over his hips—that was the important part.

One such thought led to another, and Yulan made a thoughtful sound as he pressed a kiss under xiao-Wei's ear just to hear him laugh again. "Hey." He leaned up on his elbows, looking down at xiao-Wei. "Okay if I try something?"

"Anything you like." The promptness of xiao-Wei's answer, so ready and unthinking, made Yunlan smile, probably quite foolishly. He didn't care.

"Thanks." He stole another kiss and slid down the bed, nudging just a little hesitantly in to lie between xiao-Wei's legs. The sharp intake of xiao-Wei's breath was promising, though, so Yunlan went ahead and leaned down to close his mouth around xiao-Wei's cock.

"Yunlan...!"

He made an inquiring sound around his mouthful, and observed the way xiao-Wei's hands clenched tight on the blankets. That seemed like a good sign, too. Yunlan slid his mouth carefully further down, tongue stroking against smooth skin, taking in the taste of it—a little flat, a little salt, ever so faintly sweet, all twined together into one. The newness of it faded into the back of his mind, though, when xiao-Wei moaned, low and open.

"Yunlan." The huskiness of it locked Yunlan's attention, and he glanced up at xiao-Wei as he drew back. The pleasure and heat in the heaviness of his eyes on Yunlan, the part of his lips, made Yunlan grin, quite pleased with his experiment, so far. He wrapped his mouth back around xiao-Wei and sucked on him. He could feel the tremor that ran through xiao-Wei, the fierce control that caught short the lift of his hips, and positively purred around him. He liked this. He liked knowing that he could bring xiao-Wei pleasure, and he liked xiao-Wei's care for him, even in the midst of it.

The same part of him that enjoyed the possessiveness of xiao-Wei's hands sliding over his shoulders liked even more the thought that he was the only one who was ever going to see xiao-Wei like this. Ever see him flushed, head tossed back against the pillows, breathing deep and fast. Ever hear that clear, precise voice turn velvety with hunger.

When xiao-Wei gasped out a warning, Yunlan just made a pleased sound and sucked harder.

Xiao-Wei groaned, body arching taut as long shudders rolled through him. The upward surge of his hips drove him deeper into Yunlan's mouth, and Yunlan suddenly understood the warning. It put a curl of excitement down his nerves, too, though, and he relaxed into it the way he would into an unexpected fall, hot and breathless with the rush that filled his mouth.

He did wonder, as xiao-Wei dropped back against the bed, suddenly lax, whether there was a graceful way to wipe one's mouth after this kind of thing. He suspected there might not be, but it could be worth a little research, later. Right now, it was far more important to slide back up to settle against xiao-Wei and bask in how gorgeous his lover was, panting and undone, eyes closed as he slowly relaxed from the edge of pleasure.

When xiao-Wei opened his eyes again, he huffed a soft laugh, reaching up to run his fingers through Yunlan's hair. "You look pleased with yourself."

"Mmm, I think I am," Yunlan agreed, and leaned down to kiss him. Against xiao-Wei's mouth, he added, "We're here, and it's now. You can feel it here," he spread a hand over xiao-Wei's chest, "can't you?"

Xiao-Wei stared up at him for a moment, eyes wide and dark. Finally he laughed again, soft and rueful. "I can," he murmured, hands sliding down Yunlan's back. "And yet, you're still the same." He drew Yunlan down to him and kissed him, slow and deep. "Still the one I love with all my heart." Another lingering kiss. "That will never change."

Yunlan made a breathless sound at the surge of wanting that shook him. Xiao-Wei caught him closer and turned Yunlan under him. "Always," he promised, and the intensity of it left no room for doubt, no room for anything but the certainty that Shen Wei would never let go. Yunlan let out a slow, shuddering breath, holding him tight as that certainty settled into his chest, warm and soothing.

"Yes."

They lay quiet for a while, twined together, and Yunlan relaxed into the rare peacefulness. Eventually, though, xiao-Wei stirred against him.

"Don't think this gets you out of eating a decent dinner, tonight."

It startled Yunlan into an open, genuine laugh, and xiao-Wei leaned up on an elbow, smiling down at him, eyes soft and warm just for him. "I think I probably have some fried rice cakes that should still be good," he suggested, just to see the exasperated look xiao-Wei gave him. It eased away when Yunlan reached up to touch his cheek, though. "We're going to be all right, now, yeah?"

Xiao-Wei leaned into his hand, smiling. "We will."

Yunlan thought it was getting a little easier for both of them to believe it.

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Four

Yunlan calls bullshit, at the very end, and everything changes, including himself. The SID can probably cope, but the Ministry may never be the same, to say nothing of Dixing. Romance, Drama, Porn, I-4

They both went in to work the next morning.

("Are you sure about that?" Da Qing had asked when he stopped by at dinner-time to drop off more of xiao-Wei's boxed up belongings. "Anyone would think you were in heat, the way you've been acting, are you sure you'll be able to keep your hands off each other for a whole day?"

Yulan had swatted him across the back of the head and shoved a bag of fish treats at him to keep his grin from becoming any further commentary.)

He dropped Shen Wei off at the university, even though it meant circling back to the SID headquarters, and took away with him the tiny, wicked curl to xiao-Wei's lips when Yunlan wished him a good day. The thought of xiao-Wei walking through his campus, greeting colleagues and students with a polite smile and trailing shock and disruption in his wake like a more entertaining version of his black cloak got Yunlan through the morning without giving in to the urge to sneak up behind his dreadfully earnest new office staff to see who was paying attention.

Much.

Really, anyone who worked for the SID should have better situational awareness than that.

"Oh, he used to be like this all the time," he caught Lin Jing telling He Niu, their new archivist. "He's been grieving this last year, you know. Now Professor Shen is back, I'm sure the Boss' heart has started to mend..." Yunlan clapped a heavy hand on Lin Jing's shoulder, cutting off his increasingly melodramatic explanation. Lin Jing flashed him a split-second smirk before assuming a suitably daunted expression.

"And what are you still doing here, anyway?" Yunlan asked. "Don't you have work enough at the Institute?"

"I resigned today," Lin Jing told him brightly. "Since Professor Shen is back, things will be getting fun again, won't they?"

"Oh, so you think you can get your job here back, just like that?" Yunlan raised his brows, carefully not answering the question. Lin Jing obviously noticed, going by the alarming way his eyes lit up. "Three month probation at base pay only."

"Oh come on, I'm more useful than that!"

Which was true enough, not least in helping maintain Yunlan's cover until they decided what to do about the whole 'back to being a god' thing. "Oh fine, one month," Yunlan offered. "Bonuses contingent on producing better data or tools than our new analyst does."

Lin Jing whined and moaned dramatically, but finally accepted.

"And he's always been like that," Yunlan told He Niu, on his way back down the stairs. Which was not strictly true, but he'd leave it up to Lin Jing how much of his mask he wanted to keep.

Or to make real.

By the end of a day of subtle, sideways testing, Yunlan had a fairly good sense of his new staff, and Zhang Shi had been regrettably on target—a lot of them had hired on out of hero-worship and been put to work indexing all the old reports for lack of anything else to do with them. The exceptions so far were He Niu, who was the one actually directing the re-indexing efforts, and seemed like a capable archivist if not exactly field agent material, and Xu Jian, the data analyst who had been more or less filling Lin Jing's place. More in that there was suddenly a lot more supporting data tucked into those old reports, and less in that there were far fewer mostly-working, possibly-explosive tools tucked around the lab room.

Though what was in there still included the Holy Tools, requiring Yunlan to conceal several minutes of mild panic over whether they would start responding to him the way they would presumably not have ever responded to Zhang Shi.

"They really left all four of the Holy Tools with us?" he asked Zhu Hong as soon as they'd managed to shoo the new kids out for the day. She only shrugged, sliding bonelessly down into her favored chair, opposite lao-Chu and xiao-Guo, who was perched on the arm of the couch beside his partner.

"The Lamp couldn't be moved, and this is the most strongly shielded building in the whole city. Besides, the Ministry was falling all over themselves to pretend they never tried to make us their scapegoat."

Yunlan frowned as memory prodded at the back of his mind. Something about the Lamp, and why he wasn't surprised that it couldn't be moved. "The Lamp... is only part here?" he murmured. "No, that's not quite it." He wondered, exasperated, if thumping on the side of his head would improve his reception on that huge, dense weight of memory deep inside.

"Close, though." Lin Jing hopped up onto the long table, swinging his feet cheerfully. Yunlan had heard the argument he'd had with Xu Jian about the amplitude of dark energy output by the Holy Tools, earlier; the whole building had heard. At least they both seemed to have enjoyed themselves. Lin Jing waved at where the Lamp hung over everyone's heads, looking for all the world like a third ceiling lamp except that it was suspended from nothing. "It's actually more that it's in two places at once. I have a theory that it would have to be moved in both places simultaneously, to move it at all."

"So much for my plans to ask for a bigger headquarters building. Maybe I can just get an auxiliary building to put the reports and new staff in." Yunlan squinted up at the Lamp, thoughtfully, wondering whether he and xiao-Wei together could move it.

The Lamp wobbled in midair.

It was reflex more than reason that shot his hand out to catch the Lamp. He'd forgotten, though, that his reflexes now went a little further than most people's. Green and gray flowed out from his hand, green like pine needles, gray like sheered rock, green like the icy heart of springwater welling up from stone. It curled out and up and around the Lamp, and Yunlan clenched his teeth on a surge of real panic, because he didn't know what he was doing or about to do. The Lamp wobbled again, in his hold.

And then it steadied.

Yunlan took a deep breath, feeling the solid support of Shen Wei's body behind him and the shadowy coolness of Shen Wei's power running under his, pressed against his, rising from the hand suddenly outstretched under his own.

"It's a good thing I didn't stay late, talking to my students, it seems," xiao-Wei murmured against his ear. Yunlan laughed, perhaps just a little shakier than usual. Xiao-Wei's other hand tightened on his shoulder. "Easy. You know this." Yunlan could hear the smile in his voice. "This was how you taught me to truly control my power, after all—to shape it rather than simply hone it sharper." The cool of his power curled around the edges of Yunlan's own, a light touch that coaxed him to ease his grip, a steadiness that assured him nothing could go to wrong.

Yunlan leaned back against xiao-Wei, relaxing into the easy support of his power, and had to close his eyes for a moment at how good it felt. "Was I trying to get you into bed?"

Pressed together like this, he could feel xiao-Wei's silent laugh. "Not at the time."

The more Yunlan calmed from the first shock of power rising from his hands, the more memory rose. This was right. This was his, was him. Once he gingerly let that thought settle in, it got a lot easier to draw back and let green wisp away from the Lamp.

Which sat innocently in midair as if it had never wobbled at all.

Yunlan finally looked down again, to see his staff staring at him.

"Kunlun," lao-Chu said quietly, eyes dark as he studied Yunlan.

"God of mountains," Zhu Hong whispered. "Yashou legends say so, still, the oldest ones."

"Huh." Lin Jing was eyeing the Lamp like a stray data point. "Okay, maybe I was wrong. Or maybe it really was made out of you, though how that's supposed to work..."

Da Qing put his feet up on the table, unimpressed as only a cat could be. "I told you you wouldn't be able to go a whole day."

Yunlan realized he was still leaning half in xiao-Wei's arms and straightened up, rolling his eyes. "Shut up, Damn Cat."

The stifled grins that flashed around the group suggested Da Qing had shared his prediction with the rest of the team. So, business as usual, really. Yunlan ignored them all loftily and pulled out a chair, slinging it around to sit backwards. Xiao-Wei pulled a second chair up to sit neatly beside him, and everyone settled down again.

"We need to make some plans." Yunlan ticked points off on his fingers. "What are we telling the Ministry? What are we doing about the new kids? What are we doing about the whole contagious souls thing?" Xiao-Wei gave him an exasperated look and Yunlan amended, "Fine, the communicable, stable, generative energy form thing."

Lin Jing sat bolt upright. "Ah!"

"Science later, planning now," Yunlan admonished, not that he thought it would do much good.

"For the good of both ghosts and humans, I will return to my people as soon as possible, to ensure this change," xiao-Wei touched a hand to his chest, "is spread. But that will mean the seal between realms won't bar them from crossing, any more."

Lao-Chu crossed his arms over his chest. "The danger of consuming human life just by being near will be erased, but those of great power will still be more than humans can easily handle."

"Job security for us," Da Qing pointed out, popping another fish snack into his mouth.

"So we tell the Ministry about the results, but not the reason," Yunlan concluded, and then glanced over at xiao-Wei. "Unless you want to reveal yourself?"

"Not unless you choose to." Xiao-Wei's voice was level. "They would reasonably fear my influence over you, otherwise."

"Even if they know about the Chief's power?" xiao-Guo asked, hesitant and looking sad enough to remind Yunlan he was asking the kid to lie to his family. Yunlan sighed, leaning his arms over the back of his chair.

"Even then. They'd just wonder how much of it was the Envoy's doing, and what he was up to, giving the head of the SID power like that."

Xiao-Guo nodded, drooping where he sat until lao-Chu slid a hand up to the back of his neck and shook him, gently. "I understand, Chief." Then he perked back up a little. "So maybe the new staff should be the ones to talk most to the Ministry? Since they won't look too closely at the Chief and the Professor." The whole team turned to stare at him until he fidgeted. "Um? They're very impressed with both of you, you know?"

"That's actually a good plan," Zhu Hong marveled.

"All right, then. Step one, I'll escort our good friend the Envoy to his people. Step two, we'll come back and tell about two thirds of the truth to the Ministry. Step three, we sort out who's on call for field work and who gets to be liaisons and file clerks." Yunlan planted his hands on the back of his chair and pushed up onto his feet.

Xiao-Wei stood as well, brushing his jacket straight. "Tomorrow, you can escort me to my people."

Yunlan waved a hand at the still-bright sky outside the office windows. "We have plenty of time to get a start now..."

"Tomorrow," xiao-Wei repeated, immovably, wearing an exceedingly calm smile.

After a testing pause, during which xiao-Wei failed to show the tiniest amount of the irritated acquiescence that usually met Yunlan's insistence on something, Yunlan spread his hands wide, magnanimously. "Tomorrow, then."

Lao-Chu held out a palm to Zhu Hong, who glared at him for a long, fulminating moment before finally pulling out her pocketbook and slapping a bill into his hand. Lao-Chu smirked as he tucked it away.

With the wisdom of years of leadership, Yunlan didn't ask what the bet had been, and ignored Lin Jing and Da Qing's snickering as he led the way out the doors.

"Why tomorrow?" Yunlan asked, as he closed the apartment door behind them.

"Because," xiao-Wei answered, shrugging out of his suit jacket and sitting on the bed to pull his shoes off, "I am not taking you back down there until you have some kind of control over your power." He scooted back to sit with his legs crossed and held out a hand to Yunlan.

Memory echoed up again, echoes that said xiao-Wei was a lot more tense than he appeared. Yunlan sighed and gave in, yanking his own boots off and sitting knee to knee with xiao-Wei. "Okay," he said, gentler than he'd first intended. "What do I need to do? Because I don't actually remember much of this, not where I can get at it easily."

The straight line of xiao-Wei's shoulders eased a little, and he smiled at Yunlan, so warm and relieved Yunlan could feel the last of his annoyance melting under it. "Just feel and listen." Xiao-Wei took Yunlan's hands in his. "Feel how it happens."

Slowly, nearly as slowly as when xiao-Wei was testing the new balance of his own power, cool blue spread against Yunlan's palms, soft and beckoning, somehow tender, the way xiao-Wei's hands on his body were. "Are you sure I wasn't trying to get you into bed, when we did this?" Yunlan asked, a bit husky.

"Fairly sure," xiao-Wei murmured, though a corner of his mouth curled up. "Reach back to me."

Put that way, suddenly, it made sense, and Yunlan reached out at once with the part of himself that felt most like xiao-Wei's twilight blue action-in-potential, twining through that waiting coolness like lacing their finger together. Xiao-Wei's breath caught.

"Oh." His eyes were wide and unguarded as they met Yunlan's. Slowly, his power tightened around Yunlan's.

"This is new?" Yunlan asked, soft. Xiao-Wei nodded, and took in a quick breath as Yunlan stroked experimentally against the edges of him.

"I hadnâ€™t noticed earlier. It feels different, now. I can feel more... texture, I suppose; it used to be just the heat of life.â€ He swallowed. â€œWell. I suppose I don't need to worry whether you'll be able to catch someone trying to strike at you this way, at least." His voice was a little husky, and Yunlan had to wrestle with himself for a long moment before he sighed and drew back. Xiao-Wei really did have a point, here.

"Let me try." Yunlan drew himself all the way back to... well, to the rest of himself, he supposed, trying to keep a mental hold on the memory-and-echo of how this worked. "Slowly?"

Xiao-Wei smiled. "Of course." He gathered his own power into a tight sphere in his hand, and just looking at it made Yunlan want to duck aside enough that he didn't have to think at all before reaching out, and further out, and pushing a wall of green up between them. Xiao-Wei nodded and flicked the sharp knot of his power out to burst against that stone-solid wall with a flash of blue and silver that filled the whole apartment before fading.

"Excellent." Xiao-Wei looked very pleased, when Yunlan gathered the wall of immovable intent back into himself. "I'd hoped it would come back quickly once you tried it."

Yunlan looked down at his hands, flexing them thoughtfully, though it hadn't been his physical hands that had been involved, exactly. "I think I understand better, now, what you meant when you said gods are potentiality."

"Immense potentiality," xiao-Wei agreed, low, "and every part of your being is available to be actualized into the path you choose."

Yunlan clenched a fist. "The Institute. If a way to force development of that gets out..." Xiao-Wei's hand folded around his fist, cool and gentle. When Yunlan looked up, xiao-Wei was smiling, small but also happy, like there was a light burning inside him.

"Then I'm glad that there will be two of us."

It took a minute for Yunlan to get his breath back, shaken again by the bone-deep knowledge that it was him, his presence, his company, that made someone like Shen Wei happy like this. "Yeah." He turned his hand over to grip xiao-Wei's. "So am I." The soft stroke of xiao-Wei's thumb over his knuckles made Yunlan have to clear his throat, glancing aside. "So. Does it work mostly the same way when it's a thing people are throwing at me, instead of just power?"

A spark of mischief danced in xiao-Wei's eyes and the curve of his mouth. "Why don't we see?"

Yunlan spent all of dinner reflecting that he really needed to remember about xiao-Wei's sense of humor, as he deflected napkins and chopsticks and the occasional book, if xiao-Wei though he wasn't paying enough attention.

It wasn't until they were in bed, that evening, that Yunlan finally voiced something that had been nagging at the back of his mind. "If what I am can take any path of actuality that I choose, what does this 'god of mountains' thing mean?"

Xiao-Wei turned on his side, sliding a hand up to rest over Yunlan's heart. "It's just a description. The best way people found to describe the shapes that your being and power most easily fall into." His voice softened, in the darkness. "The stone that rises to meet the sky. The life that blooms fiercely in the unyielding places, sufficient to itself. The rivers that flow down from stone—the source of danger and the source of life."

Yunlan's breath shook in his chest as those words rang through him, feeling the weight of how deeply xiao-Wei had known him. He reached out blindly to xiao-Wei and didn't stop until they were wrapped tight around each other, until he'd reached out with the green at the heart of him, now, to twine with xiao-Wei's cool, shifting blue strength and could taste xiao-Wei against every part of him. Xiao-Wei pressed close with a soft, pleased sound.

"What about you?" Yunlan asked, when he could speak again, fingers running slowly up and down xiao-Wei's spine. "I feel like I know this, but... it feels complicated."

Xiao-Wei stirred against him, sounding surprised. "Not especially. It's..." he hesitated, but when Yunlan just waited, finished reluctantly, "it's death. Death and ice. If I reached out with all my strength, with no binding on my power... cities would die. That's always been the core of my nature—to consume life." He pressed a little closer, adding against Yunlan's shoulder, "It was you who showed me how to gentle that into other forms, and changed my nature enough to learn new forms from other people."

"It was you who wished to be able to," Yunlan answered, absolutely certain. That wasn't all of the complication sitting at the back of his head, though, and he poked at the feeling some more. "It will be different, now," he finally said, slowly. "When I think about it like that, about the shape of you..." he thought of the changeable blue of xiao-Wei's power and buried his nose in xiao-Wei's hair, smiling, "I think of the sky after sunset."

Xiao-Wei went very still for a long moment. "You used to say that," he whispered, finally.

"Well, you said it yourself, just now, didn't you?" Yunlan pointed out. "The stone that rises to meet the sky." He held xiao-Wei close, as his breath hitched. "I think Kunlun wanted, very much, to give you that sky and see that become the whole truth of you."

Xiao-Wei laughed, leaning up on an elbow to look down at him in the apartment's darkness. "Then it will be." He laid a hand along Yunlan's cheek. "It's always been you who gave me the shape of a future.

Yunlan turned his head to press a kiss to xiao-Wei's palm. "Then let's go see what it will look like." He smiled against cool skin and added, "Tomorrow."

Xiao-Wei settled back down against him. "Tomorrow," he agreed.

Yunlan was still smiling as he closed his eyes to sleep.

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Five

Yunlan calls bullshit, at the very end, and everything changes, including himself. The SID can probably cope, but the Ministry may never be the same, to say nothing of Dixing. Romance, Drama, Porn, I-4

"You were always a morning person, weren't you?" Yunlan asked from under his pillow, far too early the next morning. Why hadn't he remembered that sooner?

"Just because we're not going to the office doesn't mean we don't have work to do." Xiao-Wei's clear voice and unreasonably firm step approached, and something clinked on the bedside table. "If you're not up in ten minutes, I'm going by myself."

Yunlan groaned and flopped over onto his back. There was a cup of coffee waiting. He couldn't even complain without being an ungrateful ass, which seemed very unfair. Suddenly, he was remembering just how sly of a weiqi player xiao-Wei was. He hauled himself out of bed, grabbing for the cup, and reached down to rummage a pair of jeans out of the clean-laundry basket.

They were all folded.

Xiao-Wei was watching him with open amusement from the couch, already brushed and dressed and eating noodles at the kitchen table. Yunlan decided it was too early to deal with anyone that much more awake than he was, and silently made for the bathroom to scrub the sleep off.

"All right," he said when he emerged, coffee and cold water having kick-started his brain for the day. "Anything particular we need to do to get through the gate, now the Lamp's lit again?"

Xiao-Wei put a steamed bun into his hand. "It may take a little more effort, but I doubt I'll notice it with my power unbound, and the seal itself was a part of you. Changed as you are, it should let you pass easily."

Yunlan glanced from the bun to xiao-Wei's calm, expectant expression, and sighed, taking a bite as he locked the door behind them. Breakfast was apparently going to be part of his life, going forward.

By the time they reached the crossroads where the gate was, his sense of humor had caught up with him, not least because of the echoes of memory that said xiao-Wei had always been this way with him, and also that the fact was adorable. He wasn't sure about that second bit, but had to admit he felt more settled and alert than he usually did at this hour. Possibly that was just from being with xiao-Wei, but he wasn't ruling out the coffee and food.

Xiao-Wei paused as they reached the tree and closed his eyes for a moment, with a slow breath in and out. At the end of that breath, shadowy blue swept over him and left familiar black robes behind and an equally familiar weight of power sweeping outwards. "Ready?" he asked quietly, eyes fixed on the flex of light and space that, Yunlan abruptly realized, he could see clearly.

"Whenever you are." Yunlan held out his hand to xiao-Wei, waiting out his still moment of startlement, and smiled when xiao-Wei took it. They were doing this together, whether xiao-Wei was in his working clothes or not.

When xiao-Wei raised his other hand, Yunlan felt what he did more than saw it, as though xiao-Wei pulled open a window and let snow in to fall on their skin. He stepped forward at the same moment xiao-Wei did, stepped over the threshold and out beneath the arch that marked the gate on Dixing's side. Yunlan turned his face up to the bright sky with pleased recognition; at some point, he'd known that the Lamp's light gave Dixing a sky.

And then he had to stifle a laugh as the gate guards nearly passed out over having a revived Envoy descend on their shift. Holding on to the humor helped keep him from getting too tense about the way he could feel everything around him trying to pull bits of him away as they moved swiftly through the city. Not to mention the way that, when the Regent hurried out to meet them on the Palace steps, he stopped short and stared like Yunlan and xiao-Wei both were a surprise banquet of all his favorite food.

"And how did this come about, my Lord Envoy?" he asked with a quick bow that didn't hide the gleam of avarice in his eyes.

"My passage through the Lamp completed Kunlun's gift to me." Xiao-Wei ignored the welcoming gesture that tried to guide them inside the Palace. "Now that it is complete, I have already determined, it flows outward from me to my people." The Regent froze in the midst of his attempts to herd them inside, and the faintest breath of a smile curved xiao-Wei's lips. "So tell me, my lord Regent. Am I your ruler?"

Yunlan had to take a moment to appreciate how effortlessly xiao-Wei could lay down the winning move, when he chose to. It was beautiful to watch, at least when it didnâ€™t involve xiao-Wei sacrificing his life.

Slowly, the Regent straightened, and Yunlan could nearly see the power he usually hid behind fawning or age or whatever other slight-of-hand was available settling around him like the folds of a robe. "You are the strongest of us, Lord, the one no other has ever been able to even dream of consuming—not even your twin, in the end. You have always been my ruler, even when I wished or feared it otherwise."

"That will not change, whatever else we become, through this gift." Xiao-Wei's voice was cool, but his eyes, even behind the mask, were steady on the Regent. Sympathetic, Yunlan might even have said, if he had to name that look.

After a long, silent moment, the Regent grumbled, "Well, that will be something stable, at least." And then he bowed, deeply, and stayed down. "Your will, Lord.â€

Xiao-Wei gestured him back up, graceful and easy. "Call our people together, then."

The Regent cast a look down the Palace steps and snorted. "Somehow, I don't think that will be necessary."

A corner of Yunlan's attention had also been on the gathering crowd below as people pointed and whispered and broke away, only to reappear dragging more people with them. With the confrontation done, Yunlan let himself search the gathering faces until he found his favorite bar-tender, staring up at them with open excitement. Yunlan glanced back at xiao-Wei and gave the man a nod of confirmation. He lit up like a streetlamp turning on, and promptly darted away into the city.

It wasn't long before the square in front of the Palace was packed with bodies, overflowing into the nearby streets. The pull Yunlan had felt since he stepped through the gate was very noticeable, by then, and he let old-new reflex push back against it until the air near him had glints of green. When xiao-Wei stepped forward to the edge of the steps, the rustle and chatter of the crowd turned sharper.

And then it abruptly cut off as xiao-Wei lifted his hands, folded back his hood, and removed his mask.

"Ten thousand years ago," he said, into the deep quiet, "I was given a gift by one of the first gods of this world. You have all followed the shape of human understanding, and called them something else—simple heroes and ancestors—and forgotten their natures, and sometimes even your own. Now I call on those who can to remember why some of you called me traitor to our kind, then. Not for any politics, but for the change in my nature that Kunlun wrought and I accepted." He held out one hand to the crowd, open and palm up, and Yunlan could see a faint flicker of golden light starting to grow around his fingers. "I call on those who can remember to bear witness, because this very year that gift was completed, and in its completion it has become one that I may share. The gift of a generative nature, of a soul that can anchor you in this world and take the fear of dissolution from death. The gift of beginning again. The gift of an end to endless hunger." The light curled around him, now, rising like a fire, and there was absolute silence as Shen Wei asked, quietly, "Will you have it?"

For a long, suspended moment, nothing moved. Yunlan wondered if any of them would dare answer, and couldn't entirely blame them if they didn't. If the Regent's power had been a cloak around him, xiao-Wei's burned outward like the sun's corona, beautiful and searing, terrifying in the vast sweep of it. Slowly, though, the crowd swayed forward as one, whispers threading through the air again.

"Lord Envoy..."

"Yes..."

"Black-cloaked Lord..."

"Please..."

One person after another reached out, sank to their knees, faces turned up to the shadow standing above them, surrounded by golden brilliance, and xiao-Wei bowed his head, eyes sliding closed.

"Then it will be so."

The low words reverberated like a shout, and the light around him leaped outward like a star exploding, bursting through the square, the Palace, the city. It curled around and past Yunlan, but he could see it running into and through everyone else present, see the shock of it in wide eyes and gasping breath all around him. Anyone who wasn't on their knees already was by the time that golden wave passed.

Finally, xiao-Wei lifted his head to look out at his people again. "This is a gift." His voice silenced the growing babble of the crowd as some started to catch their breaths. "Do with it as you will. Know, however, that I will have no more tolerance than I ever have for violence or trespass."

"...but if we are no threat?" Near the front of the crowd below, a young women scrambled to her feet, and stumbled a few steps forward, hands held out, entreating. It took Yunlan a moment to recognize her as the mirror-girl, who took Weiwei's place. She was still wearing the same face, but it looked fiercer, now, longing and hunger tangled up together. She fell to her knees again at the lowest step, staring up at Shen Wei, and her voice was pleading. "If we are no threat, now, Noble Lord?"

Xiao-Wei was still for a long moment, looking down at her, but finally Yunlan saw the faint fall of his shoulders that meant a silent sigh, and he descended the steps to stand directly over her. "Demonstrate to me that it is so," he said, flat as an order. "Show me, when this gift has grown in you, that you are no longer driven by hunger alone, that you have mastered the violence at the core of you." He lifted his head to sweep his eyes over the whole crowd before looking back down at her to add, more quietly. "Do this, and I will speak in your cause."

All the breath seemed to leave her at once, as her face lit up, and she bowed down to the ground before him. "Yes, Lord!"

Whispers of excitement swept through the crowd, as xiao-Wei came back up the steps. The Regent, however, was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Was that entirely necessary to say right now?" he asked, sounding pained.

Xiao-Wei huffed a faint laugh. "If the question was asked now, the answer was necessary now."

"You could have said no!" The Regent gave back an aggravated look to xiao-Wei's unamused one. "This will lead to many of them presuming on your mercy and attempting the border well before they've met your requirement, and the seal will no longer stop them."

Xiao-Wei's eyes turned hard, and his voice fell. "Then they will find that they have assumed incorrectly." He turned on his heel and strode into the Palace, and Yunlan followed.

And caught him as xiao-Wei stumbled on the stairs down to the central hall. "I thought that probably took more out of you than it looked like."

"I'm not tired," xiao-Wei protested, though his hand lingered on Yunlan's arm as he straightened. "It was just a little disorienting."

"Directing your being as a god would?" Yunlan smiled at xiao-Wei's sudden stillness. "It didn't occur to you that was what you were doing, did it?" He'd made the connection when xiao-Wei had reached out to lao-Chu and passed the gift along simply by intending it. It was exactly how xiao-Wei had described the potentiality and actualization of a god's nature. Clearly that particular change hadn't quite sunk in yet, for xiao-Wei, and Yunlan shook his finger, admonishing. "You never think enough of yourself."

"Never mind that," xiao-Wei said, abundantly proving Yunlan's point and apparently not even noticing. "Do you know how you want to present this to the Ministry, yet?"

"Blame everything on the Lamp," Yunlan answered promptly and smiled at xiao-Wei's exasperated look. "Just wait and see." Not least because his own thoughts about what he'd need to tell the Ministry had started to change, but he wasn't quite ready to admit that.

Xiao-Wei's eyes narrowed a bit. "This is your way of getting back for all the times I didn't tell you all of what was going on, isn't it?" Hurrying steps approached from the archway and xiao-Wei swept his hand out brusquely. The Palace dissolved around them in a wash of shifting blues that flowed away in turn to leave them beside the gateway tree.

Part of Yunlan was amused by xiao-Wei's temper, the part of him that took a bit of enjoyment out of getting a rise from the ever-collected Professor Shen, and quite a significant part of him was increasingly distracted by watching those beautiful hands wield such power so easily. Business first, Yunlan reminded himself regretfully, fishing out his phone. "Let's see if the Minister can fit us in today."

It took him half the distance through the city to get an appointment set for three hours on. Yunlan growled as he tossed the phone onto the seat between them and accelerated a little more sharply than perhaps he should have when the light changed. "You'd think, considering how much I try to avoid the whole Ministry building, that when I actually ask for an appointment, they'd understand it's important." Especially when he didn't want too much time to overthink this.

"Bureaucracy tends to work the other way around," xiao-Wei told him, mouth quirked. "People they don't see often go to the bottom of the list." He laughed softly at Yunlan's growl. "Back to the offices, then?"

Yunlan spotted the road they were about to pass and made an abrupt decision, followed by an abrupt turn. "No. No, I think there's a better way to spend the time."

Xiao-Wei's brows rose as they pulled in to their apartment building. "Yunlan."

Yunlan held up a finger, trying not to show the little shiver that xiao-Wei's voice wrapped around his name put down the back of his neck. "Three hours. If I go to the office right now, I'll just be snapping at the new kids when they only half deserve it." He slid out and closed his door firmly.

"And what are you going to do at home?" xiao-Wei asked, sliding out the other side.

"Ask me that again in three minutes."

Xiao-Wei was looking tolerant as he followed Yunlan up the steps to their floor. "Has it been three minutes?" he asked as he closed the apartment door behind them with a soft click of the latch. Yunlan felt like the tiny sound snapped the last bit of calm he'd been holding between himself and the thought of what he might just be about to do.

"Close enough." Yunlan turned on his heel and reached out to touch xiao-Wei's cheek, tracing down the line of his jaw with light fingers.

Xiao-Wei paused, first startled and then laughing. "Yunlan..."

"Please," Yunlan said, husky, and watched xiao-Wei's breath still, his eyes go dark and intent, all hint of teasing drain away into open hunger. Xiao-Wei reached out to take Yunlan's shoulders, pressing him back a step and then another, until Yunlan came up against the wall of his entryway. Xiao-Wei took one last step into him, body fitting against Yunlan's. When he spoke, his lips almost brushed Yunlan's.

"Anything you wish."

"Then kiss me," Yunlan said, soft.

Xiao-Wei ran his hands gently up Yunlan's neck, threading into his hair, and leaned in to kiss him, mouth slow and cool against his. Between kisses he murmured, "You are my heart. Anything you wish. Anything at all."

The knowledge, just recently reinforced, of what 'anything' might mean from a man like Shen Wei wrapped around Yunlan like a coat in winter, warm and solid and comforting. He let his hands spread wide against Shen Wei's back, sliding up under his jacket. "What if I asked you to fuck me?"

Shen Wei smiled slowly. "Then I would."

Even knowing it, even having just heard it, the simple, bare agreement caught Yunlan's breath short. Xiao-Wei pressed a little closer, bending his head to trail light kisses down Yunlan's throat, and asked against his skin, "Is that what you want, right now?"

Yunlan tipped his head back and laughed, feeling a fizz of reckless glee rising through him at the very idea of it being this simple. "Yes."

Shen Wei kissed his way back up Yunlan's throat to murmur into his ear. "So do I."

Undressing for each other in the middle of the day made Yunlan a little uncertain again; it seemed so much more intimate, a thing with so many more assumptions attached, to be looking at each other bare in daylight. He really couldn't help but feel a certain sense of accomplishment, though, in the fact that Shen Wei's clothes ended up tossed over a chest instead of folded. When Shen Wei's hands slid over his bare shoulders and down his chest, open and caressing, he managed to relax again into the certainty that Shen Wei wanted him.

Yunlan thought xiao-Wei had started to realize at least part of what was going on, because he stayed close as they settled onto the bed, always in contact with gentle hands or slow, hungry kisses. "Anything you wish," he said again, into Yunlan's mouth, and the assurance made it easy to relax into the rush of heat as Shen Wei's hands pressed his thighs apart.

The slide of Shen Wei's fingers between his cheeks put another shiver through him, want and uncertainty twisted together, and Yunlan reached up to pull xiao-Wei tighter against him. The weight against him settled Yunlan just like the fierce intentness of xiao-Wei's eyes on him, the nearly tangible weight of his attention. Being at the center of all that focus made Yunlan remember again what he'd just seen that morning, remember those long, deft fingers wrapped around hope and light and power, and that pulled a low moan out of him as Shen Wei's fingers pressed in.

"Yes..." Yunlan's hands slid up the straight line of Shen Wei's back as that slow, intimate stretch danced down his nerves. "Yes, I want..."

"Anything." Shen Wei said it like it was a declaration of unbreakable law, and Yunlan moaned out loud, spreading his legs wider against the bed. It felt so good, the care in Shen Wei's hands as he opened Yunlan up.

"Xiao-Wei." Yunlan smiled up at him, breathless and a little wild with how much he wanted and the growing certainty he would get it all. "Fuck me."

Xiao-Wei caught Yunlan tighter against him, kissing him deep and fierce, on the edge of uncontrolled. Yunlan made a satisfied sound, winding around him and kissing back with open pleasure. He was the reason for that wildness in Shen Wei, and he liked the taste of it very much. He liked it even more when Shen Wei's cock pushed into him, thick and hard inside him. The muscles of his legs went watery with the sharp stretch and hard slide, and Yunlan groaned as Shen Wei's hands slid up his thighs, cool and sure, spreading him further open, sinking into him deeper, and it felt incredible.

Xiao-Wei wasn't stopping either. He leaned over Yunlan, rocking out and back in, slow and steady, dark eyes fixed on Yunlan's face. The weight of his focus eased away anything resembling tension, until Yunlan was moving with him, boneless and hungry for the slow, heavy pleasure of feeling xiao-Wei inside him.

"Mm, yeah..." Yunlan smiled up at Shen Wei and purred at the flare of heat in his eyes, the way his hands tightened on Yunlan's thighs.

"Yunlan." There was answering velvet in Shen Wei's voice, and the slow curve of his lips made Yunlan brace himself—as much as he could. Which turned out to be not nearly enough when Shen Wei reached down and wrapped long fingers around Yunlan's cock, stroking him slowly.

"Ah...!" Yunlan's whole body arched taut against the sheets as the new layer of pleasure curled through him like a tide, washing him under in a surge of hot sensation. His breath cut into quick gasps as pleasure wrung his body tight around Shen Wei's cock.

Shen Wei drove deep into him and moaned, head tipped back, and Yunlan couldn't take his eyes away. Shen Wei was always beautiful, but like this, with his eyes closed and lips parted, flushed with pleasure because of Yunlan, he was enough to strike anyone senseless.

Which was, maybe, why it took until Shen Wei had resettled them both against the rumpled sheets and gathered Yunlan close for Yunlan to find words again. He wound closer around xiao-Wei and reached up to cup his cheek, thumb stroking over the line of his cheekbone. "Thank you," he said, softly.

Shen Wei caught his hand and turned his head to kiss Yunlan's palm, smiling. "What for?" His eyes were warm.

Yunlan shrugged a little, glancing down. "Letting me haul you back here in the middle of the work day?"

Shen Wei nipped gently at one fingertip, and startlement pulled Yunlan's eyes back up to his. "Anything you wish, I said."

Just remembering it made Yunlan unwind again, calmed enough to tease a little again. "Well sure, but what about what you wish?"

Shen Wei smiled. "I have everything my heart desires."

Yunlan remembered xiao-Wei's lips brushing his as he murmured, My heart. It made his voice husky. "Xiao-Wei..."

Xiao-Wei made a distinctly satisfied sound and Yunlan laughed, low and helpless, winding his arms around him.

It was the warm, quiet certainty of xiao-Wei's care that Yunlan held onto two hours later, when they walked into the Ministry offices to meet both Minister Guo and his father.

"You don't often visit in person," the Minister said as they all sat down around his conference room table, with a distinct edge of worry behind his smile. "What was so important it couldn't go in a report? Things have sounded very quiet for the SID, lately."

"Yes, it's been like a vacation." Yunlan leaned back in his chair and watched his father's mouth tighten out of the corner of his eye. So, it looked like he had been missed after all; he honestly hadn't been sure—maybe his father would have preferred Zhang Shi as a son. It was nice to know, but it wasn't going to stop him. "The thing is, we finally tracked down the reason for some of the strange readings from the energy detectors Lin Jing created. It seems the Lamp getting re-lit had an effect on the levels of dark energy in the whole Dixing people."

"The Lamp was lit for thousands of years without any such thing happening," his father noted, voice sharp. Yunlan interpreted that as 'come up with a more plausible story, idiot boy' and gave him a tight smile.

"That was why I asked Professor Shen his opinion, though I hated to disturb him so soon after his recovery." He waved to Shen Wei, who folded his hands on the table and gave the Minister the kind smile of an expert about to reveal all the answers. The Minister settled back a bit with an attentive look.

"To be more precise, I believe it was the interruption and then re-initiation of the Lamp that caused the effect we're seeing now." Xiao-Wei leaned forward, serious and intent. "Unlike the other Holy Tools, the Lamp is a positive-polarity energy source. It counter-balanced the dark energy that Dixing life forms produce, and maintained a stable environment for them. As a biologist, I can tell you that abrupt environmental changes often trigger rapid expression of latent traits. The vacuum of vital energy left when the Lamp was extinguished appears to have prompted a change in the balance of energy Dixingren generate. In that destabilized state, the reignition of the Lamp and reintroduction of such an intense positive energy source has encouraged dominance of a matching, rather than opposing, trait." He spread his hands as if to present the new state of affairs between them. "The life energy produced by Dixing people as a whole has shifted polarity as a result."

Which was the most plausible-sounding, half-true, non-disproveable explanation they'd been able to come up with. After a moment to digest it, or possibly just a pause to indicate uncomprehending respect for an expert in the field, the Minister went straight on to practicalities, as Yunlan had hoped he would. "What does this mean for interactions between us and Dixing, then?"

"Simple, or even extended, contact will no longer be dangerous in and of itself," Shen Wei declared with calm authority, apparently ignoring the way Zhao Xinci's hands clenched on the table. "The difficulties of law enforcement are more than I can speak to, as a biologist, of course."

"Will Dixingren powers persist?"

Xiao-Wei inclined his head. "It seems likely, yes. Expression of those genes does not seem to have been affected by the fluctuation from negative to generative life energy, based on the cases I am aware of as a consultant to the SID."

"And as a consultant, what is your opinion of the upcoming difficulties of law enforcement?" the Minister asked, with a faint smile. Shen Wei returned it, and Yunlan had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Xiao-Wei might profess distaste for politics and bureaucracy, but he was alarmingly good at them, and frankly seemed to enjoy the game. At least when he was winning.

"I would say that the problem will continue to be twofold: one of information, and one of capability. The difference in capability will be more of a problem if humans remain largely unaware that Dixing powers are a possibility. If that remains the case, then more effort, and funding, will be needed in the one enforcement body that is aware, the SID. If accurate information is more widely available, then policies and approaches sufficient to deal with low-level powers can be put into place across all enforcement bodies, leaving the SID only necessary to deal with the unusually great powers."

"If contact increases, there will be significantly greater risk to humans, regardless of policy," Yunlan's father interjected, sharply. "Maintaining separation is the only approach that will truly reduce harmful incidents. That was what the improvement of conditions in Dixing was supposed to facilitate."

"Oh, I think we're already pretty well situated to deal with any risks." Yunlan slouched a little deeper into his chair as his father rounded on him, and held out a hand. Both his father and the Minister jerked back from the table as green curled around his fingers, and his father pushed further back when Yunlan wrapped his grip around his father's untouched glass of water and drew it back into his hand.

"What...?" His father's voice was thin, edged with disbelief. Yunlan kept his eyes on the glass hovering over his fingers, and shifted just enough in his chair to feel the twinge of recently-worked muscles; it helped keep his voice even.

"You remember Professor Ouyang?"

"There was no report that you were injected with his product." The Minister was looking a little grim, when Yunlan glanced over, but not actively alarmed. Yeah, he thought this would probably work.

"It was during the last fight with Ye Zun, so it wasn't exactly documented. At first we all thought it just hadn't had an effect. The screens that Lin Jing ran, when we all returned, showed nothing." Which was true enough. "I was only sure of this effect recently, myself."

His father stirred, quick and short, but said nothing. Yunlan marked down another point for himself on his mental scoreboard. Heâ€™d thought Zhao Xinci would most likely stay quiet about Yunlanâ€™s year in an alleged wormhole rather than reveal his own long-time passenger.

"Have you evaluated what you can do?" Yunlan was hard pressed not to sag with relief at the Minister's question, which skipped over all the worst outcomes (including lab rat and prisoner) to go straight for how useful Yunlan could be. Compassionate pragmatism was the best possible trait to see in the man who was his father's boss. Especially when the quick glance he couldn't quite prevent showed his father's expression shuttered and cold.

He also carefully ignored the tension in xiao-Wei's arm, beside his. However warm it made him feel, personally, to know xiao-Wei was prepared to defend him, he didn't actually want to set the Black-cloaked Envoy at odds with the Ministry.

"Not formally." Yunlan set the glass down and folded his hands over his stomach. "Do you want there to be a formal record of this?" Not an offer he'd have made to Guo's predecessor, but this man was Changcheng's uncle. He was hoping at least some of that world-bending purity of heart ran in the family.

The Minister laid his hands flat on the table and contemplated them for a long moment, during which Yunlan's father got tenser and Yunlan tried hard not to notice that. When Guo finally spoke, it was with certainty. "Yes. It should be internal, to begin with. But I think the events of a year ago showed us just how vulnerable to disruptions we are when we try to maintain a wall of silence between two peoples who live in the same world."

"Xiao-Guo." Yunlan's father leaned over the table with the earnest look he used to convince superiors he was on their side. Yunlan couldn't quite keep his hands from clenching on each other. "I can't think it entirely wise to open relations between two such disparate groups without more assurances than we have, that Dixing powers can be contained."

Guo's smile was more formal than Yunlan had seen directed at his father in a long time. "I understand your concerns. But we cannot allow fear to hold us back forever."

"I'll talk to Director Li about what measuring sticks she's developed for this kind of power, then," Yunlan interjected before his father could attempt further persuasion, setting his jaw against the paint-stripping glare he got for it. "Let us know how the SID can support the Ministryâ€™s policy."

"I will." The handshake he offered as they stood was firm, and Yunlan returned his gaze as steady and sure as he would be if he were trying to encourage one of his team. The rather wry smile Guo gave him said that the Minister had noticed that he was trading Zhaos, and hoped Yunlan would be worth it. Yunlan swallowed down the nerves tightening his throat and nodded farewell.

Xiao-Wei was quiet until they were out of the building and back inside the Jeep. "You hate politics," he finally said. "You always have, then and now both."

"I'm not fond of them," Yunlan agreed, with generous understatement.

Xiao-Wei gave him a quick, sidelong look. "So what was that about?"

Yunlan's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I can't let my father's fear of Dixing keep shaping everyone's actions. You took the action you felt was right, for your people, no matter how much trouble it might cause you. How could I watch you and then do less?" Xiao-Wei's soft laugh made him look over. The look in xiao-Wei's eyes was... old.

"You always were a far better Mohist than Confucian."

Yunlan smiled, crooked, turning back to the road. "That too, I suppose. But it's really simpler than that." There was quiet in the car for a long moment while xiao-Wei just waited for him, not looking away. It was so much the perfect representation of Yunlan's reasons, in one moment of time that he laughed a little, himself. "I want you to be happy." They stopped at a light, and he looked over. "You hate having to be the law of death to your people, but you made the bargain anyway, for me. How could I let it go on, knowing?"

He could hear the tremble in xiao-Wei's breath, see the slow, slow dawn of hope for his old bargain's true dissolution that turned his eyes wide and unguarded, and the slowness of it told him all he needed to know about how deep this pain ran. He reached over to rest his hand on one of xiao-Wei's, clenched tight on his thighs. "Youâ€™re the one who cares for me above all else; why would you think I feel any different? I want you to be happy," he repeated, softly, feeling it echo all the way down inside him.

Xiao-Wei turned his hand over and lifted Yunlan's, pressing a kiss to his fingers. Softly, head bowed, he answered, "I am."

The warmth of that settled deep into Yunlan's chest and eased away the tightness of knowing he'd chosen another over his own blood. He'd chosen to go another way a long time ago, well before he'd known who it was he was turning towards. Knowing all the parts of his choice, now...

He couldn't regret it at all.

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - Six

Yunlan calls bullshit, at the very end, and everything changes, including himself. The SID can probably cope, but the Ministry may never be the same, to say nothing of Dixing. Romance, Drama, Porn, I-4

The next morning found Yunlan standing in a rather alarmingly torn-up field, miles outside the city. At Li Qian's intermittent direction, through his earpiece, he'd been lifting and deflecting and (cautiously, very cautiously) destroying rocks and bits of rusted metal, working his way up from pebbles to boulders until he'd drawn out so much of his power that green and gray roiled in clouds around him. They'd been at it for over an hour, and he was sweating but nothing he'd done had been all that much effort.

He was starting to understand, all the way up in his head, what xiao-Wei meant when he talked about the weight of gods in the world. He could feel the ground singing under his feet, feel the sky like it was something he could reach up and touch, feel the attention of the city's river like it was alive and listening for his word and would rise if he just spoke.

Given that dizzying awareness of just what he could do, if he chose to, it wasn't hard to lean convincingly with his hands on his knees, as if to catch his breath. "We done yet?"

"If you're getting tired, then yes," Li Qian answered, voice as steady as if she hadn't just watched him crack a boulder into shards. He'd have to tease xiao-Wei, later, about how he raised such fearless students. "Can you retrieve or dismiss the visible manifestation?"

"That is a very good question." Yunlan straightened up and flexed his fingers, looking thoughtfully around. "Hm."

Li Qian's startled, "Professor?" warned him ahead of time, so he wasn't too surprised to see xiao-Wei, a minute later, walking calmly through the swirl and flow of green. He was a little surprised that he could feel xiao-Wei's presence before he saw it, as if xiao-Wei was walking close enough for their shoulders to brush. But that was right, older feelings told him a moment later—xiao-Wei was walking through an extension of Yunlan's being.

And xiao-Wei's own being was reaching out to trace the edges between them.

Yunlan's breath caught at the feel of it, and xiao-Wei smiled at him, even as Li Qian's voice asked sharply if everything was all right. "Yeah, fine," Yunlan answered, distracted. Whatever xiao-Wei was doing (touching, his memory said, just touching) it was subtle. Even looking for them, Yunlan could barely spot the glints of blue around the edges of green. He felt it, though, like xiao-Wei's hands on his shoulders. When he refocused on the man in front of him, xiao-Wei looked warmly amused, lips curved softly. Yunlan reached up to cup a muffling hand over his earpiece. "This feels kind of familiar. Have we done this before?"

"Yes," xiao-Wei said, low. "I've stood in the heart of your power many times, before."

"Thought so." And the touch of xiao-Wei's power did help him find the edges of his own again. Slowly, reaching out his hands to make it feel a bit less odd, he drew those edges in. A little reluctantly, he admitted, because it felt really nice, to touch like that.

When the last slow curl of his energy unwound from around xiao-Wei and they stood in clear air again, xiao-Wei lifted a hand to curve around Yunlan's cheek. "Later," he promised, eyes dark and intent in a way that made hot anticipation coil in Yunlanâ€™s stomach.

The chorus of groans in his earpiece reminded Yunlan that they had video pickups trained on them, and he cleared his throat. "So! Are we done?"

Li Qian sounded like she was stifling laughter. "Yes, Chief Zhao. You can come back to the observation building. Professor Shen, too."

Back inside the low, concrete building at the edge of what Yunlan frankly suspected was a weapons testing, field Lin Jing was busy with whatever the impressive rack of instruments was telling them. Zhu Hong and Da Qing, on the other hand, were both free to give him unimpressed looks. Yunlan could feel xiao-Wei laughing silently, behind his shoulder. "I've put up with all of your nonsense," he reminded his team. "And why aren't you scolding Shen Wei, too?"

At that, Lin Jing turned around to join Zhu Hong and Da Qing in staring at him, utterly disbelieving, and xiao-Wei's laughter escaped him for a breath. He cleared his throat and composed himself again while Yunlan rolled his eyes; even godhood wasn't enough to get some respect around here, obviously.

"What do the results look like, Director Li?"

Li Qian blushed prettily, the way she'd been doing every time xiao-Wei called her Director, and Yunlan once again resisted the urge to pat her on the head. Why couldn't he have such adorable underlings?

"We still haven't completed a sensor specific to this type of energy, but we can, at least, observe the effects." She picked up a sheaf of paper just finishing printing and handed it over. To xiao-Wei, of course. Yunlan sighed and read over his shoulder. "The magnitude of Chief Zhao's power is impressive, as is the flexibility with which he uses it." She nodded respectfully to Yunlan. "The type does seem to be limited to physical manipulation of matter on the macro scale, though, which falls in line with our existing model."

Yunlan felt xiao-Wei's shoulders fall a little, where his arm was draped over them. It had been important that they convince Li Qian of that, at least for now. "So where are you at on creating direct measurement?" he asked, to distract her from xiao-Wei's relief.

She made a frustrated face. "We're having to work backwards from the manifestation to the mechanism, since the mechanism doesn't seem to overlap with the source of dark energy at all. We have a few ideas, but I expect simply testing them will take months, if not years to complete."

Yunlan gave her his best encouraging smile and spread his hands. "No worries as long as the catalyst isn't in circulation, right?"

She gave him a thoughtful look. "Not immediate ones, no. I would like us to be prepared, though, in case there are further changes in the symptoms you or Guo Changcheng have experienced." She hesitated, glancing back and forth between him and xiao-Wei, and added, slowly, "I feel care for the integrity of those affected must be of primary concern, in our research, especially given the weaknesses demonstrated by Professor Ouyang's methodology."

Yunlan beamed at her and patted xiao-Wei on the shoulder, congratulatory. He raised such smart students. "I can hardly argue with that."

It was, of course, xiao-Wei's quiet smile and small, meaningful nod that made Li Qian settle back on her heels with a faint, determined glint lighting her eye. "Then I think we're done for the day. Thank you again, Chief Zhao."

A few parting civilities got them all out the door and back into the cars, where Yunlan could finally sag back against the seat with a faint groan and rub at his cheeks, which were aching a little from all that grinning.

"It may not be necessary to play the fool with all of the rest of the Ministry," xiao-Wei noted, settling beside him.

"I know she's an ally," Yunlan sighed, reaching over to rest a hand on xiao-Weiâ€™s knee for a moment before turning the key. "But this is a heavy secret to ask someone to carry, and it's you she knows and believes in, not me."

"Perhaps we should start with my secrets, then."

Yunlan looked around quickly, at that, hands stilling on the wheel. Xiao-Wei just raised his brows a bit, as if he didn't see what was strange in the Black-cloaked Envoy of Dixing, let alone the god of ghosts, casually offering to reveal himself to the human Ministry's foremost researcher. After a moment, Yunlan bent his head, laughing a little; maybe someday he'd stop being surprised by xiao-Wei's care. Xiao-Wei's hand settled on the back of his neck, cool and steady, and he let himself lean into it, let his muscles unwind a little further.

"I wish for you to be happy, as well," xiao-Wei said quietly. "Concealing yourself doesn't please you."

"Mm. You know, I don't think I can conceal myself from you." Not even if he tried. It was a novel feeling, a little thrilling, a little uncertain.

"Do you need to?"

The question crystalized thoughts and plans and memory into a single shape, so clear it struck Yunlan breathless. "No," he whispered, feeling a genuine smile tug at his mouth. "I don't." He lifted his head to look over at xiao-Wei and the brightness in his eyes, warm and open and just for Yunlan. It made the entire world feel so much easier, that Shen Wei was beside him.

The thought made him smile all the way back to the Division headquarters.

They arrived just as the team was setting out the last bottles and dishes.

"What's this?" Yunlan asked, giving the whole team a mock-stern look. "More excuses to loaf around in the middle of the work day?"

"It isnâ€™t an excuse at all," Zhu Hong claimed with a sniff. "This is vital team-building activity, to welcome Li Huiliang and to welcome Professor Shen back, of course."

Yunlan spread his arms. "Oh, of course." A gust of laughter ran through the group, including He Niu and Xu Jian, and joined by the tiniest flicker of amusement over lao-Chu's face. Yunlan shook a finger at him. "This was the 'job' you said you and xiao-Guo had to do instead of today's testing, wasn't it?"

Lao-Chu just looked back, perfectly poker-faced, but xiao-Guo was nearly bouncing beside him with pleasure and excitement. It was as good as a neon sign. Yunlan threw up his hands with a laugh. "All right, all right."

Everyone promptly grabbed for drinks and food.

"So, aren't you going to make a welcome speech or anything?" Da Qing prodded Yunlan. Yunlan grumbled under his breath but lifted his glass.

"Today we welcome a new teammate," he declared, and added, "sort of." Xiao-Wei promptly elbowed him in the side. "I'll explain that part in a bit," Yunlan told He Niu and Xu Jian. "Li Huiliang, the SID is pleased to have you join us."

Zhang Shi's smile was only a little wry. "Thank you, Chief Zhao."

Lin Jing lifted his glass toward her. "To new teammates."

"To old teammates, who apparently can't hold down a job anywhere else," Zhu Hong lifted her glass mockingly to him, in turn.

"To new beginnings," xiao-Wei offered smoothly, before Lin Jing could answer back.

"To finding out exactly what's going on," He Niu added on, with a narrow look at Yunlan.

"To better data," Xu Jian added, sliding a sidelong glance at Lin Jing.

"To the bosses being way more relaxed," Da Qing chipped in with a wicked grin and ducked when Yunlan swatted at him.

"To new hopes," Zhang Shi kindly deflected, though there was distinct amusement in the tiny crimp at the corners of her mouth.

"To gifts given," lao-Chu said quietly, looking down at his glass.

In the moment of silent surprise that lao-Chu had actually spoken, xiao-Guo looked up from his own glass with a bright smile and said, softly, "To protecting people."

Yunlan watched his team exchange glances and smiles and tiny nods, watched the edges of bickering and plotting and worrying blunt for a moment, and smiled. "Yeah," he said, quietly. "We can drink to that." Little clinks skittered around the table as everyone tapped their glasses together and drank.

As the group broke into smaller conversations, xiao-Wei set his glass down and leaned against Yunlan's shoulder. "Will you tell the new ones everything?" he asked, softly.

"I think we need to." Yunlan glanced at him, glad to find him looking calm, without the tightness around his eyes that spoke of real concern. "Now we have the cover stories in place, and the Ministry at least a little in hand, that's the next step, isn't it?"

"To start gathering allies and the numbers to handle a change in the way most people think the world is." Xiao-Wei nodded, and Yunlan took a moment to simply enjoy the familiar flow of shared thought and the deeper familiarity of xiao-Wei's power, curled in potential around the two of them. For one breath it felt strange to know that, to feel a potential presence and his own twining around it, but the moment Yunlan focused on the feeling it was familiar again.

Xiao-Wei smiled sidelong at him, as Yunlan relaxed against his shoulder. "Is it well?" Yunlan smiled back and took another sip from his glass. It was the taste of his own answer that he savored on his tongue, though.

"You know, I really think it is."

End

The Marriage of Lightning and the Lake

Zhu Hong works on how to be Chief Elder, and falls hard for Ya Qing in the process. (Her uncle may have a point about her terrible taste.) Fluff, Romance, Character Study, Drama with a Pinch of Action, I-3

Now

Zhu Hong had been brought up as the precious daughter of the Snake tribe. Her uncle had spoiled her, especially after she lost her parents. Her older cousins had doted on her, and she'd never lacked for indulgent eyes watching over her. She'd been the uncontested princess of the children her own age, and ruled over her playmates with careless ease. She'd been taught the history and arts of her people until that had bored her, and then been allowed to go among humans for schooling in the greater world. When she'd stumbled across the Special Investigations Division while they chased a life-stealer, she'd decided she wanted to work for the Division Chief who'd taken the time to make sure she was safely away before closing on the culprit. She'd gotten her way.

Zhu Hong had perfected the pout, the winsome look, and the hard fist as tools to make the world go her way, and she knew exactly how to use them. As time went on, and sheâ€™d started wanting to be stronger, she'd honed her natural abilities until she could do almost what any of her fully-transformed cousins could. She'd learned human ways so well she could blend in as completely as she wished.

None of that told her the first thing about how to be Chief Elder of the Yashou people.

Then

â€œ...never learned a thing about ruling, I never even took any classes on politics.â€ Zhu Hong twisted her hands together, pacing her uncleâ€™s small outer room. â€œIs this really a good idea?â€

He sat back in his chair, face perfectly neutral the way it almost never was with her. â€œDo you wish to abdicate, then?â€

â€œNo!â€ Zhu Hong bit her lip. She didnâ€™t want to give up on the way forward Zhao Yunlan had probably hoped for, for the Yashou. But... â€œBut if itâ€™s the right thing for the tribes,â€ she said, slow and reluctant, â€œI should.â€

An unimpressed sniff from the open door sent her spinning on her heel to see who would be eavesdropping on the Elder of the Snake tribe. Sheer black draperies stirred, just outside, and Zhu Hong stiffened. Of all the people she shouldnâ€™t let overhear the slightest lack of confidence!

â€œYou donâ€™t need learning, for this, little snakelet.â€ Ya Qing didnâ€™t look around at her, only stood with folded arms and her back to them. â€œWe have that. What you need is wisdom.â€ Now she turned her head, and raked Zhu Hong head to foot with a cutting gaze. Another sniff. â€œI suppose you have enough of that to be going on with.â€

As Zhu Hong stood there, stunned, the breath sheâ€™d taken in to protest caught short in her throat, Ya Qing spread her arms and leaped into the sky.

â€œThat one always did have a taste for drama,â€ her uncle snorted, and stood to come and take Zhu Hongâ€™s shoulders. â€œSo? What do you want to do, a-Hong?â€

Zhu Hong took another breath, trying to ignore the tangle of flattery and annoyance making her stomach flutter. â€œI want to try.â€ And then she couldnâ€™t quite help asking, â€œDo you think sheâ€™s right?â€

Her uncle smiled. â€œI think she could be.â€

Zhu Hong smiled back, a little shy, and repeated. â€œIâ€™ll try.â€

Now

Honored Chief Elder...

Zhu Hong stifled a groan. It was getting so she felt a headache coming on just reading those words. And there'd been three letters waiting for her, this week, when she visited her uncle's house. Three! For the Chief Elder, bypassing the tribe Elders completely!

Unfortunately, a glance at her office computer showed no new cases miraculously appearing to cause a plausible delay in dealing with these. She sighed and unfolded the first letter.

Then

Zhu Hong paced back and forth across the roof of the University's east classroom building, trying not to move too fast or clench her hands or be otherwise obviously nervous, but unable to be still. She still wasn't sure this was an entirely good idea.

Neither was anyone else. Her uncle, and even Ying Chun, had offered to come with her. When she'd refused that, her uncle had tried to send a cousin with her as a bodyguard. She'd had to argue for ten solid minutes to avoid that. She'd have felt better for some backup, yes, facing someone of Ya Qing's power, but... taking someone from her own tribe just felt wrong, and bringing the Elder of the Flower tribe would make her look like a child hiding behind her aunt's skirts. So instead, she'd done the next best thing and just had to hope it wouldn't backfire...

"Interesting choice of location."

Zhu Hong whipped around, biting back a hiss of surprise. She hadn't even seen Ya Qing approach, let alone change. There she was, though, leaning against the roof safety rail with her arms crossed, black gown ruffling in the wind.

Smiling.

Zhu Hong settled back on her heels. Ya Qing's smile was sharp and crooked, but it looked more amused than mocking. So Zhu Hong took a breath and lifted her chin. "It seemed suitable, to meet in neutral territory at first."

"And to remind me which of us chose the winning side?" Ya Qing flicked dismissive, gloved fingers when Zhu Hong started to protest. "It was a clever choice. So? What does the Chief Elder want with me?"

Zhu Hong crossed her arms with a huff, because she couldn't actually deny she'd hoped the lingering shadow of the Black-cloaked Envoy would keep things calm. She also tried to ignore the little curl of pleasure that the Crow Elder thought her clever. "I just want to know. What exactly is it that you want? Snake, Flower, they're both pretty content with how things are. The Snake tribe is happy if they're left alone, and the Flower tribe already goes anywhere they please. What is it that Crow wants?"

Ya Qing pursed her lips, looking thoughtful, and pushed away from the rail to stroll over to Zhu Hong's side. "You could have asked your uncle, or Ying Chun. They've heard it often enough."

"Maybe." Zhu Hong's hands tightened on her elbows. "I want to know what you say, though. To hear it in your own words." That was basic investigation, after all; she hoped it was basic politics, too.

And it seemed like it was, because Ya Qing relaxed a little, the feathers of her cloak rustling as her shoulders eased from their tense poise—flight-ready, Zhu Hong realized. Maybe she wasnâ€™t the only nervous one? Ya Qing turned her face up to the sun.

"I want to stop hiding," she said, quietly. "In the last hundred years, humans have turned further and further away from us, forgotten that they live in the same world as us, and we... we have let them. We've withdrawn and hidden from them. Even when we've been caught in their catastrophes, like the killings that swept the land these last fifty years, we've done nothing but hide ourselves away deeper." She looked back down, and Zhu Hong took a step back. Ya Qingâ€™s eyes burned, dark and furious. "I am sick of it."

Zhu Hong wet her lips. She recognized that fury, had seen it so often in the SID's investigations, and she'd seen it drive terrifying explosions of violence. Very softly, she asked, "Who did you lose?"

Ya Qing laughed once, short and hard. "Such a smart little serpent." She looked away, over the University's central lawn. Zhu Hong waited, trying not to feel fear of the fire she was standing so near. "My eldest sister," Ya Qing finally answered, low. "The one who should have been our Elder. She liked to go among humans—said their gossip was more fun to listen to than ours. But someone saw her change, and that was a time when the slightest deviation was feared, attacked." She swallowed, sharp and convulsive. "They mobbed and killed her."

Zhu Hong's hands closed tight on each other. "I'm sorry for your loss." After the way the public had been turned on the SID, she had an unpleasantly visceral idea of how that might have gone. How much, she suddenly wondered, had Ye Zun turned Ya Qing against him, with that order? Had that been why Ya Qing had surrendered so easily to the branch's choice of Chief Elder?

"She's gone," Ya Qing said, dry and distant, not looking at her. "There's nothing to be done about that. But I can try to keep it from happening again." With a quick breath, she seemed to come back to the present. "Or at least I can argue for it."

"So," Zhu Hong said slowly, "you want humans to know about the Yashou? So they're less afraid of us?"

Ya Qing gave her a cool smile. "Precisely."

The smile was cool, but there was a gleam in her eye that made Zhu Hong think that the matriarch of the biggest eavesdroppers and gossips in the world probably knew full well what Zhao Yunlan's thoughts had been, when it came to informing the populace. Zhu Hong tried, but she really couldn't hold back her laugh at the sheer nerve and grace of Ya Qingâ€™s dance across the lines of friend and foe. Ya Qing's smile curled wider, and she set a hand on her hip, smug (preening) in her success.

"You look like a cat," Zhu Hong giggled, and Ya Qing ruffled up.

"Bite your tongue." A faint sniff and she settled again, serious again but without all the fierce, edged focus of her first appearance. "So?"

Zhu Hong missed the teasing smile with an unexpected pang, but she took a breath and thought about it. Zhao Yunlan had chosen something right for humans; was it right for Yashou?

An image drifted through her mind, of going out to eat, maybe even with company, and being able to order a raw meat dish. And maybe some of the other diners would be disgusted, and maybe some would be fascinated, but what if she could know that the server would only hesitate a moment, and the cook would maybe even be excited to make something unusual, and that her companion would expect it. Might even have taken her out specifically for this treat.

Ya Qing's smile flashed through her head, and she stuffed it immediately away, trying to pretend there was no blush on her cheeks. "It seems reasonable," she said hastily, to Ya Qing's raised brows. "At least as long as our territory is respected. But how... I mean, it seems like the kind of thing we could only do through negotiation with the human Ministry."

Ya Qing smiled, slow, cocking her head. "What an ambitious scope you think in, Chief Elder," she purred. "I think I like it."

Zhu Hong tried very hard not to squeak, or blush any more, or really react at all. She was pretty sure she was failing. "Then..." she cleared her throat and forced the breathlessness out of her voice. "Then I'll consider, with the other Elders, how this might be done to everyone's satisfaction."

Ya Qing laughed softly. "Everyone's? You're an idealistic child. But I think perhaps I will like that, as well. Better than the reverse, at least." She gathered her cloak about her. "Perhaps that ancient bit of wood truly does judge our natures." In a flash of wings, she was gone.

Zhu Hong sat down abruptly on the short wall around the edge of the roof, careless of how her pants were going to get smudged, and pressed her palms over her cheeks. Ya Qing was just teasing. Of course she was; she thought of Zhu Hong as a child—she'd even said it. Typical of a Crow.

Of course, that must be it.

Now

The first letter was complaining of a human trespassing on the edge of Snake territory, and Zhu Hong had to wrestle with a strong urge to stab the paper with her pen, or possibly even bite it. They had a process for this kind of thing, and it did not include bending the ear of the Chief Elder!

She muttered under her breath as she hammered on the keyboard, sending a query to the police to see whether this had been reported (in which case the complainer might just live) or had been sent straight to her and no one else (in which case someone was about to get his tail tied in a knot, just see if she didn't).

Then

"This will require re-writing parts of the treaty between the races."

"I know."

"We don't even have contact with Dixing, right now, to fully ratify it again."

"I know."

"A-Hong, this will make things far more complicated—"

Zhu Hong exploded up out of her chair, in her uncle's front room. "I know that! But Ya Qing has a point! If we really had stayed neutral, this time, how do you think the humans would have looked on us, if they'd won? Do you really imagine we'd have been able to wave the treaty at them and say 'neutral!' and they'd have just accepted that?"

Her uncle sat back, brows rising. "We could have hidden," he said, but he sounded more thoughtful now.

"Where?" she demanded. "And for how long, before we ran out of places? Humans hunt their enemies; it's something they have in common with Dixingren. And the less they know us, the more we withdraw, the more we look like enemies."

Ying Chun finally looked up from her hands, folded on the table before her. "What if they do know of us, though? What will that mean for my people who don't wish to be treated like some rare plant display, or fenced off?"

Zhu Hong chewed on her lip. What public suspicion might do to them all was one of the things she didn't quite know what to do with, yet. "What if... what if no one had to reveal themselves immediately? Only the ones who want to, at first, and we just... don't mention everyone else?" Professionalism nipped at her, and she added, "Unless someone has witnessed a crime."

Ying Chun shook her head, kind but firm. "That will touch off a hunt, the first time someone has to come forward who had stayed hidden until then."

"All or nothing," Zhu Hong murmured, mostly to herself, and flopped back down into her chair with a sigh. There seemed to be danger both ways. If only the Yashou had anything resembling local patrolmen, anyone who was used to looking after large groups of people... Abruptly she sat up again, eyes widening. "Oh! We could use their's!"

"A-Hong?" her uncle asked, cautious in a way that reminded her of his reaction to her attempts at creating medications, when she was young. She huffed at him, disgruntled.

"The police! The ones who patrol on the street, and have their own neighborhoods to look after. They're the ones who could look out for trouble, and make sure everyone was safe; it's their job!"

"Could we rely on human patrolmen to look after us?" Ying Chun asked, hesitant.

Zhu Hong sat forward, hands tight on each other with excitement as the thought unfolded further. "We could ask for liaisons from our people. The same way I am, to the SID." Her hands broke apart, reaching as if she could hold this idea between them. "Maybe even use that as a way to get those of us who want to live closer to humans a start, introduce them and let them see how things work!"

Her uncle was back to looking thoughtful. "I suppose there are a few of the youngsters who might try. And sending them around with a human in authority would protect them, too."

"Borrowing human authority to smooth our own way. I like that idea." Ying Chun smiled at Zhu Hong. "I think I see why Qing-jie has started to approve of you more."

Warmth flashed through Zhu Hong, like basking in the perfect beam of sunshine, and her breath caught on it. "She has?" Both her uncle and Ying Chun paused, staring at her, and she promptly blushed. That had probably been more gleeful than she should sound about Ya Qing's approval.

"A-Hong." Her uncle, in his turn, sounded alarmed, and she slid down in her chair, not meeting anyone's eyes. "You're not... you're not really..."

Ying Chun burst out laughing, sweet and light, and Zhu Hong tried to sink through the floor. "Oh, no wonder she looked so pleased with herself!"

Uncle started half up from his chair. "If Ya Qing thinks she can trifle with my niece...!"

Ying Chun crossed her arms, stubborn as wood. "What's wrong with it? Qing-jie is a good person! She wouldn't lead anyone on."

That made Zhu Hong look up from the start of her plan to slink under the table and escape. "Really?" Her uncle sagged back with a groan, which Zhu Hong firmly ignored. Ying Chun patted her arm with the kind smile that had made Zhu Hong tag along after her whenever she visited, when Zhu Hong was a child.

"Really. It's been a long time since she looked at anyone like that, actually. I'm glad she is again." Her smile turned impish. "And she thinks you're cute."

Zhu Hong could feel the smile taking over her face, bright and hopeful as the feeling in her chest.

"I believe her exact words were, 'more guts than brains, but she does have some brains, and it's a cute look on her'."

"Auntie!" Zhu Hong pressed her hands over her face, blushing so hard she thought she might faint.

"Stop teasing your Chief Elder," her uncle grumbled. Zhu Hong couldn't help noticing she only seemed to be Chief Elder when it was convenient. "If we're really going to plan on revealing ourselves and sending some of us among the humans' patrollers, we need all three Elders here to discuss it."

All right, maybe not just when it was convenient.

"I'll send a message to Qing-jie." Ying Chun rose and patted Zhu Hong's shoulder as she left, which was comforting even if she was still grinning.

"A-Hong." When she peeked out from between her fingers, her uncle was leaning toward her, serious. "Are you sure about this?"

"I didn't mean to," she said, voice smaller than she'd quite like. "It just happened! When we talked, she smiled at me, and I just... And she liked my ideas, and she's never treated me like a lesser threat or went easy on me, even when she's so strong, Uncle, and—"

"All right, all right." Her uncle was rubbing his forehead, and Zhu Hong chewed on her lip some more. "When you spoke," he said, at last, "she truly wasnâ€™t just toying with you?"

"I asked about what she had lost." Zhu Hong looked down at her hands. "About what had hurt her. And she told me. She didn't yell at me or insult me, even though she was so angry I could taste it. Instead she said I had good thoughts, that I was clever." Very softly, she finished, "She said maybe the branch judged us rightly."

Her uncle heaved a sigh and muttered something under his breath. Zhu Hong thought she caught the words "terrible taste" and bridled, but when he looked up he was smiling, even if it was crooked. "All right. No one has ever been able to change your mind, once you made it up. But think about the politics you're going to have to deal with, being the Chief Elder carrying on with one of the tribe's Elders."

Zhu Hong sat very still, eyes wide. "...oh." She hadn't thought of that. If the Chief Elder was known to favor one of the Elders who were under her, that... that could be bad, couldn't it? Favoritism. That could mean resentment, even people thinking Ya Qing had found a way to rule from behind Zhu Hong. Maybe if she was careful to be seen listening to the Elders of Snake and Flower? Or especially Flower, since she was a Snake herself, and she hadn't thought about that either...

"Here we are!" Ying Chun slipped back into her chair, followed by Ya Qing ducking through the door hanging in a rustle of silk and feathers. When she straightened, she looked straight at Zhu Hong, smiling faintly, and her eyes were warm.

"You keep your word, it seems. I like that, too."

Zhu Hong smiled back, helplessly, feeling like she was floating in a cloud of happy warmth that made it easy to ignore her uncle rolling his eyes and Ying Chun stifling laughter.

She'd figure something out.

Now

The second letter was from one of the patrol liaisons, which soothed Zhu Hong's temper a little. That, at least, was something that was supposed to come to her eyes. This time, it was from one of the more adventuresome young Flower men, who seemed to be picking up his police-partner's attitudes quickly. The letter read like an incident report, especially the part about the two Crows in his neighborhood who had had a "domestic disturbance" that annoyed the neighbors. Zhu Hong smiled over that part.

Who'd have thought, a year ago, that two Yashou shifting on the street, especially to have a fight, would be called something so common by the humans around them? The Crow tribe did seem to have a knack for that making that change happen, though.

Then

Zhu Hong had thought that things would move slowly. That there might be lingering glances, and perhaps gradually sitting closer at meetings of the Elders, and possibly even a visit to her home if she were out on the balcony or roof.

Instead she got Da Qing tearing through the offices just as everyone was packing up for the day, nearly yelling, "Ya Qing is out front!"

The new staff jumped, and lao-Chu stood slowly, eyes narrowed, and xiao-Guo started chewing on his lip, and Zhu Hong realized abruptly that she hadn't told her co-workers anything about recent events except that she was working on improving Yashou-human relations.

"Stop!" Everyone turned to look at her, but at least no one was reaching for a weapon or for his power any more. Zhu Hong heaved a quick sigh of relief and let her outstretched hand drop. "It's not... I mean... Look, just let me handle this, all right?"

"Are you sure?" Da Qing demanded, actually looking serious for once.

"Yes, I'm sure." She spun on her heel and marched out to the front door. The new staff, at least, stayed where they were, but Da Qing crowded after her and lao-Chu was sauntering after him. Zhu Hong could tell already this was probably going to be embarrassing. She wasn't used to doing things she needed to keep others informed of!

Ya Qing was across the street, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and a sharp quirk to her lips, and Zhu Hong supposed Da Qing could be excused for thinking her threatening. But Zhu Hong could see the brightness of amusement in those dark eyes as they raked over the small crowd on the SID's steps. She elbowed Da Qing back and stepped forward, hands clasped to keep from fidgeting.

"Elder. Was there something you wished from the SID?" She did her best to sound dignified, but the way Ya Qing's mouth curled up made her heart skip a beat.

"Indeed, I think there is." Ya Qing pushed away from the wall and strolled closer. "Perhaps later for that, though." A wave of tingles ran over Zhu Hong when she caught the implication, and Ya Qing's smile got a little wider. "For now, I simply wished to see my High Elder safely home for the day."

Da Qing looked quickly back and forth between them. "Wait a minute. You came just to walk her home?" He started to grin, and dodged back when Zhu Hong tried to grind her heel into his toe.

"Did something happen?" Lao-Chu, thankfully, was looking more thoughtful, though there was a definite sardonic tilt to his brows that Zhu Hong ignored with all her might.

Ya Qing flicked dismissive fingers. "A few of my people are having difficulty moving with the times."

Zhu Hong's eyes widened, but the flash of worry that the Crow tribe might not accept the compromise the Elders had reached ran straight into the realization that Ya Qing had come to protect her, and drowned there. "Oh," she managed softly, hands clasping on each other tighter.

Laughter flashed in Ya Qing's dark eyes again. "So go get your things, and I'll walk you home."

"Yes." Zhu Hong barely noticed Da Qing's snickering. "I'll... yes." Lao-Chu was rolling his eyes when she turned around, and she glared at him. It wasn't like he had any room at all to talk, not with xiao-Guo draped over his shoulder, now giving Zhu Hong his brightest puppy-dog smile as she stalked past to grab her shoulder-bag.

"Have a good night," Da Qing prodded as she passed, and skipped back with a laugh when she hissed at him.

There was a definite smirk tucked up at the corners of Ya Qing's mouth, and she ushered Zhu Hong down the last step with a hand just barely touching her back. Zhu Hong tried not to blush and failed completely. As they walked, though, and Ya Qing let the quiet deepen between them, Zhu Hong felt herself relax into the ease of it. Ya Qing walked close to her, and her arm curved behind Zhu Hong once or twice when they turned a corner, but it wasn't teasing any more. Just... nice. Protective, but quietly, not the overbearing way her older cousins tended to these days.

"Do you think there will really be trouble?" Zhu Hong asked as they turned down her street.

"Possible, but not likely." Ya Qing cast a sharp eye over the rooflines of Zhu Hong's block and nodded, looking satisfied.

"Why did you come, then?" Zhu Hong dared to ask, eyes fixed on her keys as she sorted out the one for the front door. A sidelong glance showed Ya Qing's smile getting that teasing curl to it again.

"I did wish to see you home safe. You've shown yourself a reasonable and intelligent person, as we've planned the Yashou's revelation, and I want to encourage that." She reached out and set a finger under Zhu Hong's chin, lifting her head. Zhu Hong fumbled her keys with a tiny gasp as a thrill of excitement ran through her. "I also simply wished to walk with you. Would you prefer I didn't?"

It took Zhu Hong a moment to find words again. "No, I..." she swallowed and dared, "I liked walking with you." The knowledge that she walked in Ya Qing's protection had made her feel warm, all the way home. Even Ya Qingâ€™s teasing fit in so well with the way the SID teased each other all the time that it made Zhu Hong's heart turn over at how easy it felt.

Ya Qing's teasing smile melted into a deeper, quieter warmth. "Then perhaps I'll come to walk you home again."

Zhu Hong wet her lips, intensely aware of the gloved finger resting under her chin. Her voice came out soft and breathless when she said, "I'd like that."

"Then I will make sure it happens." Ya Qing stepped closer, and Zhu Hong's eyes went wide, lips already parted on a quick breath when Ya Qing leaned in and brushed the lightest of kisses over them. "Sleep well," she murmured, as she drew back, and was gone into the shadows of the evening before Zhu Hong could even squeak.

Zhu Hong took a deep breath and found her key again. She walked steadily up to her apartment and let herself in, locking the door carefully behind her. She set her bag down and sat composedly on the couch.

And then she covered her face with her hands and squeaked.

Now

Their rapidly assimilating Flower patroller had added a post-script asking if he could double up with a friend, who he thought would work well with his current police partner. Zhu Hong chewed on her lower lip as she thought. It would be a good thing, if a trusted partner could introduce the next one in line, but would it be seen as unfair? Not all Yashou wanted to try out a human partner, by any means, but among those who did the competition for who would get to learn human-style policing next was pretty stiff.

Or perhaps this was exactly the gesture she needed, to make sure the Flower tribe felt equally treated? That had been getting to be more of an issue, she knew, ever since...

Well, it had been getting to be more of an issue.

Zhu Hong kept her head bent over her desk as she wrote a note to herself to discuss it with Ying Chun, privately. Less chance of lao-Chu or Da Qing noticing how she was blushing, that way.

Then

Zhu Hong was glad the series of attacks the SID had been called to look into weren't actually the doing of a Dixingren. She was glad they didn't have to subdue someone with the kind of power a Dixingren might have, and even more glad they didn't have to try to figure out what to do with the man after since there was no Black-cloaked Envoy to hand him over to any more.

With her growing political awareness, she was entirely sure that the human Minister was even more glad to not be faced with that question.

But, while it meant that she and Da Qing had not cornered a Dixingren in a blind alley, it did mean she and Da Qing had cornered a crazed human with metal claws of some kind strapped to his hands. One who had attacked three women with them, and was staring at Zhu Hong with a mad, fixed gaze.

"We'll be all right," Da Qing muttered out of the corner of his mouth. "If he charges you, can you push him back? I'll jump on him while he's open."

Zhu Hong sucked in a deep breath, ignoring how it shook, and nodded sharply. She could do this. She could. She'd kept up her training, and she could hold off even other Yashou most of the time. Claws wouldn't be a problem.

The man smiled nastily at her, and she tensed.

The moment he stepped towards her, though, black fell out of the sky like the shadow of lightning, bursting between them in a swirl of power and feathers. Six black feathers shot forward and pinned the man to the brick behind him by his jacket.

"You dare." Ya Qing's voice was low, but cut through the man's shout of outrage like a knife. Another handful of feathers hovered over her outstretched hand, gleaming and sharp. "You dare raise your hand to her?"

All of Zhu Hong's coiled tension unwound in a soft shock of warmth. "Qing-jie," she whispered.

Ya Qing glanced over her shoulder, eyes raking up and down Zhu Hong. "You're well. Good." She flicked her fingers, and the hovering feathers nailed a few more handfuls of cloth to the brick, pinning the struggling man more firmly. "I suppose I'll refrain from killing him, then."

"Yeah," Da Qing put in slowly. "We do kind of try to do that."

Ya Qing sniffed. "Make yourself useful then, Cat, and take care of him."

Muttering under his breath about bossy birds, Da Qing edged wide around her and went to clout the man smartly, like a cat stunning a mouse it wanted to play with. Ya Qing watched closely until the man was zip tied at wrists and ankles, and finally sighed, relaxing with a shake of her shoulders that resettled her feathers. "You're our Chief Elder," she scolded Zhu Hong, coming to take her shoulders and look her over more closely. "You should be better guarded than this, when you're out working."

"I can take care of myself," Zhu Hong protested, though not as strongly as she might have. "And there are so few of us who can do field-work at all..."

On his way back past them, phone out and lifted to catch some reception, Da Qing paused and took a second sniff. A smirk spread slowly over his face. "Once a princess, always a princess, I guess. You liked being rescued, didn't you?"

Zhu Hong delivered a swift kick to his ankle and hissed when he hopped away, still laughing. She couldn't meet Ya Qing's eyes.

Until lace-gloved fingers caught her chin and turned her face back. Qing-jie was smiling. "Did you, then?"

"Only because it's you," Zhu Hong said, caught in those dark, laughing eyes, and then blushed harder when she realized what she'd admitted.

"I'm glad," Qing-jie murmured, just between the two of them, stepping closer. "Perhaps I shall watch over you myself, then."

Zhu Hong wet her lips and reached slowly out to tuck her hands under Qing-jie's cloak, around her waist. "That would take up a lot of your time, though, wouldn't it?" Not that she was actually protesting, just... trying to be a little bit responsible.

"Time spent guarding our Chief Elder would not be wasted." Qing-jie's thumb traced just below the curve of Zhu Hong's mouth, and her lips parted on a soft gasp for breath as her heart tripped. "Time guarding you would not be wasted." She closed the last centimeters between them, and Zhu Hong melted into the kiss, dizzy with the heat of knowing this magnificent, powerful woman wished to protect her, to hold her safe—and yet would not stand between Zhu Hong and her chosen work.

It felt so sweet.

When Qing-jie let her go, Zhu Hong pressed closer for a moment, snuggling against her just for one breath before she drew back and stood on her own feet. Qing-jie's smile was warm and proud, and Zhu Hong smiled back shyly.

"Tell me, when you go out on work." Qing-jie smoothed a lock of Zhu Hong's hair back. "And I will watch over you."

Zhu Hong ducked her head and promised, "I will."

"Then I will see you tonight." Qing-jie's voice was soft with a promise of her own, and the warmth of it lingered even after she vanished back into the sky in a rush of wings.

"So, is it safe to look yet?" Da Qing called from the entrance of the alley.

"Shut up," Zhu Hong snapped, brushing her blouse straight with brisk hands. "How long until someone comes to take him off our hands?"

Tonight couldn't come fast enough, for her.

Now

Zhu Hong jotted down another note to herself to ask Ying Chun to send a small thank-you to her tribesman's human partner. The man seemed to be getting along well with Yashou in general, and she wanted to encourage that as often as possible. She added a note at the bottom to ask Qing-jie to make certain someone spoke to the Crow couple. Relatable squabbles were one thing, but a serious fight in the streets would only set matters back.

And then she doodled the characters of Qing-jie's name in the fanciest style she knew, smiling over them until she caught lao-Chu smirking from two desks away. She scowled at him and folded the note up.

She'd keep the SID up to date on Yashou affairs that might land on their desks, but what she felt about Qing-jie was nobody's business but her own.

Even if it did tend to overlap with her official business an awful lot.

Then

It had taken months of planning, and then another month of concerted arguing with one after another administrative assistant to the new Minister, but Zhu Hong had finally done it. There was a new treaty document written out, and it was going to be signed on Yashou territory.

She stood in the back room of her uncle's house, examining her makeup and twitching her flowing black vest into place and trying not to hyperventilate.

"Calm yourself, Hong-er." Qing-jie's hands slid over her shoulders from behind. "Haven't the tribes all agreed to this? Even the old hold-outs?"

Zhu Hong took another quick breath. "Yes."

"And hasn't the human Ministry agreed to our draft? Hasn't their Director of Administration spoken in favor of the patrol liaisons?"

Zhu Hong nodded at her reflection, breathing a little slower. "Yes."

Qing-jie leaned against her back, warm and light, and purred in her ear, "Wouldn't your uncle squawk, if I kissed you right here?"

Zhu Hong burst into helpless giggles. "Qing-jie!"

She could hear the smile in Qing-jie's voice. "Hmm?"

Zhu Hong took a breath and let it out, feeling her shoulders drop under Qing-jie's hands. "Yes." She turned and wound her arms around Qing-jie, holding tight and feeling the strength of Qing-jie's arms around her, and then leaned back. "I'll be all right. You go ahead."

She'd learned not to arrive with Qing-jie, not to meetings with other Yashou, the same way she'd learned to be careful what she ate in front of humans and to restrain her hiss when she was surprised or angry. She didn't like it any better, but at least it was for a better reason. She didn't want the tribes to doubt that she was keeping everyone in mind, not just Qing-jie, that she was doing her best as Chief Elder.

And Qing-jie smiled at her approvingly for it, and touched her cheek gently. "That's our thoughtful little serpent. I'll go argue with the other two about where we'll hold the next market." She did kiss Zhu Hong, then, but light and swift, and was gone with a rustle of feathers.

When Zhu Hong ducked out of her uncle's house, the three Elders were indeed arguing, around his small table. Zhu Hong gave Qing-jie a narrow look and snorted at her lover's tiny smile; yes, Qing-jie had done it on purpose. Well all right, then.

"The three of you must have been arguing for decades," she declared. "Aren't you tired of it, yet?"

All three of them laughed, which made her think Qing-jie wasn't the only one trying to tease her back to calm. Zhu Hong took a breath and came to stand beside the table, straight and sure, and finally spoke the words officially.

â€œAs your leader," and then she looked at Qing-jie's smile and couldn't help teasing back, "she who had a crush on the Lord Guardian and competed against the Black-cloaked Envoy," Qing-jie and Ying Chun both snickered, and even her uncle's mouth tugged into a smile. "I've taken time on my day off to come here in order to host an important meeting, you know. It's not like it's easy, with two jobs!" Qing-jie gave her an indulgent smile, and Zhu Hong laughed a little herself.

"All right, a-Hong," her uncle started, and she glowered, "yes, yes, Chief Elder," he amended, patting the air with mollifying hands. "Our mistake. It's your turn; go ahead."

Zhu Hong sniffed, arms folded. "That's more like it." She took a deep breath and stood straight again. "My charge to our tribes is this: we will seek peace and pursue development through internal reforms and exchange of ideas with other peoples." She lifted a hand as if escorting a new age in. "Let the first convention we will host begin!"

They all applauded, good natured, as Zhu Hong heard the first crunch of human footsteps through the old leaves that carpeted the forest ground. She wound her hands tight together, nerves leaping up again. The brush of lace-gloved fingers over her wrist made her look down to find Qing-jie looking up at her. In that steady gaze Zhu Hong saw both ferocious determination and a quiet faith that made the whole world stand still around her for one second.

Including her nerves.

Zhu Hong smiled, soft and small with her thanks, and lifted her chin to step forward and greet Minister Guo for the first time as an equal, feeling the whole weight of the tribes behind her, pushing her forward. If she didn't know all of how to carry that weight, yet, she would learn.

Her Elders would teach her.

Now

The third letter was a demand that the Chief Elder mediate an inheritance dispute.

Over a cloak pin.

Zhu Hong finally gave up and groaned out loud, flopping down across her desk in despair, and never mind how Da Qing would undoubtedly laugh at her. No matter how much she ignored or schemed or yelled, these just would not stop coming. Letters asking her to fix family affairs. Letters asking her to solve a quarrel with a spouse. Letters asking her to tell someone's child to straighten up. Did she look like some kind of avatar of the heavens, here to solve everyone's personal problems? No! But the letters wouldn't stop.

"Does someone want you to solve their love life?"

Zhu Hong sat bolt upright, staring, because that had sounded like...

And it was, in fact, Shen Wei, who had paused by her desk on his way past and whose mouth was quirked in a tiny, commiserating smile.

Zhu Hong tried to wrap her mind around the idea that, apparently, some Dixingren buttonholed the Black-cloaked Envoy with this same kind of nonsense, and felt her eyes trying to cross. "You... I mean, they really...?" she asked weakly, waving the letter.

"The Regent takes a certain pleasure in saving them for me," he said, dry. "If you wish to learn from my mistakes, just ignore them all with as much dignity as you can manage."

She looked up at him, caught by the implication that he had ever been in her position—a young ruler, maybe not consulted all that much about what he really wanted, trying to learn how to do right by his people anyway. And she heard again the words Qing-jie had murmured in her ear, one evening as they lay together, talk meandering through Yashou into Dixing politics.

"I didn't learn as much as I would like, from Ye Zun, but one thing he said repeatedly. That Shen Wei had never wanted to be his people's ruler. That he only did it because of Kunlun. So I think it must be true that that's how the Envoy began. But I watched what he did all last year, too. He has a short temper, and little mercy for enemies, but for his own... for his own, he can show great compassion. He loves his people, now, in his own way." Qing-jie stroked her fingers gently through Zhu Hong's hair. "I respected that. In the end, I wished it had been him I went to, listened to." She'd leaned up on an elbow, smiling down at Zhu Hong. "And more than that, I wish you could have known more of him and his experience, now that you've taken on such great responsibilities."

Zhu Hong had curled closer and admitted, softly, "So do I. He... he was kind to me. Even when I was being foolish and jealous, he was kind. I wish I could ask him things, sometimes."

And now here he was, offering that experience freely.

Zhu Hong's eyes fell from the level darkness of his. "Thank you..." Her gaze flickered up and down again before she could stop it, and she made herself take a breath and look back up to finish, "...Shen da-ge?"

She couldn't help ending on a question, unsure he would accept such familiarity. Would even want or understand the apology she was trying to give. There seemed to be so much age, so much time in the weight and quiet of his gaze.

After a long moment, though, he smiled faintly and lifted a hand to rest on her head. "You're welcome."

Zhu Hong broke into a relieved smile, ducking her head under his hand, shy and pleased.

She could feel lao-Chu smirking from two desks over, and tossed him a glare as Shen Wei turned away toward the Chief's office. Lao-Chu looked irritatingly smug. "I told you," he said. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Oh shut up," Zhu Hong huffed, turning back to her own screen for a report to finish or something. The office already had a fan of the Envoy, it wasn't like she needed to add anything there.

She was going to tell Qing-jie, though, when she came to pick Zhu Hong up tonight. She thought Qing-jie would approve.

Zhu Hong was smiling as she tucked the last letter away and opened her files.

End