Humor

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Branch

Ink Burns

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

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

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

"Circumstances" published on 2004-01-09 13:31:15.

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

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

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

"Revenge" published on 2005-01-11 17:32:43.

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

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

"Camoflage" published on 2005-01-04 21:08:44.

"On the Other Side of Town" published on 2005-01-04 21:51:07.

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

"On Playing with the Angelic Host" published on 2005-01-05 13:16:22.

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

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

"Nine Tenths" published on 2005-01-05 14:30:01.

"Ministers of Grace" published on 2005-01-08 15:09:10.

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

"Great Minds" published on 2005-01-09 16:24:12.

"Arrangements" published on 2005-01-05 16:33:29.

"Persuasion" published on 2005-01-05 17:26:06.

"Headaches" published on 2005-01-05 17:31:29.

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

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

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

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

"Tickets to Zimbabwe" published on 2005-01-06 14:47:40.

"A Small Problem" published on 2005-01-06 14:55:44.

"Cost" published on 2005-01-18 15:02:12.

"Mother Hen" published on 2005-01-12 15:57:37.

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

"Better" published on 2005-01-06 16:22:16.

"Saintly" published on 2005-01-06 16:28:09.

"Balance" published on 2005-01-06 16:31:42.

"The Dotted Line" published on 2005-01-10 18:10:28.

"Echo" published on 2005-01-07 15:52:35.

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

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

"Cooperative Ventures" published on 2005-08-27 17:16:16.

"Teacher" published on 2005-09-23 17:48:39.

"Reconnaissance " published on 2005-01-07 17:58:49.

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

"This Time" published on 2005-01-07 19:39:45.

"Recruiting" published on 2005-01-07 19:45:52.

"Compromise" published on 2005-01-07 19:53:48.

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

"A Demon and Hir Boy" published on 2005-01-10 20:01:22.

"The Direct Approach" published on 2005-01-07 20:05:28.

"The Sound of Music" published on 2005-01-11 20:10:49.

"Irony" published on 2005-01-07 20:16:07.

"Outtakes One" published on 2005-01-04 17:00:32.

"Outtakes Two" published on 2005-01-04 17:10:58.

"Understand" published on 2005-07-12 23:57:30.

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

"Untitled Drabble" published on 2006-05-23 15:48:25.

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

"Best Friend" published on 2006-12-14 23:13:33.

"The Road Not Taken, Omake" published on 2007-02-19 12:51:26.

"May It Concern" published on 2007-02-25 21:07:13.

"Strawberry Season" published on 2007-05-16 14:02:31.

"The Bees and the Bees" published on 2007-05-17 14:06:40.

"A Knowing Smile" published on 2008-03-31 17:13:24.

"The Hand of Fashion" published on 2008-05-07 13:49:04.

"Population Adjustments" published on 2008-06-19 13:04:58.

"Not My Fault" published on 2008-10-05 22:01:49.

"Breaking of the Day - Omake" published on 2008-12-02 09:48:32.

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

"Off-label Use" published on 2009-01-05 14:33:29.

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

"Management Techniques" published on 2009-08-05 14:31:32.

"Vigor" published on 2009-03-13 12:15:16.

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

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

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

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

"Stones In the Road" published on 2012-06-01 21:16:19.

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

"A Language of Daisies" published on 2016-06-19 15:25:55.

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

"Approach Over the Lake" published on 2019-09-02 15:37:52.

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

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

Cover illustration is .

Cover design by Branch.

Circumstances

Roy and Ed find out about the new contract. Porn With Insights and Occasional Purple, I-4.

Ed stared out a third floor window of East City military headquarters and grumbled to himself. "Never find the damn Stone at this rate... How many years?... ratings... stupid..." Ed thumped the windowpane, left handed, to relieve his frustration.

"Hm? Does that mean you'll be staying here from now on?"

Startled, Ed tried to inhale in the wrong direction.

Once he'd gotten his choking under control he leveled a glare at the man who had sprung up out of nowhere at his elbow, and growled. "Taisa..."

Roy Mustang received the glare serenely, waving toward the window. "A fine view to console yourself with, Edward-kun. You haven't answered my question."

Ed snorted. "Don't be ridiculous."

He leaned back against the window. There wasn't much hope the Colonel would go away if ignored, but at least the cool glass might help the Mustang-induced headache. Sure enough, Mustang leaned beside him, just a bit too close for comfort. Ed rolled his eyes and took up his muttering again, internally this time.

Evil minded bastard... gets his jollies annoying people... bad karma... didn't deserve this though...

A gloved finger trailed down Ed's neck.

Ed made a heek noise and sprang two meters sideways. "Taisa!"

Mustang's slight smile never faltered. He strolled towards Ed, who backed up. "So formal, Edward-kun? Surely it isn't necessary."

Ed's eyes widened. "You can't be serious about this. You're never serious about this! All that meaningful look, personal space, knowing grin stuff, you've never been serious! ...have you?" Ed had run into a desk, and the Colonel wasn't stopping, and his tirade ended a bit higher than it had started. "You're not..."

As the Colonel's head bent toward him, Ed shoved him off to arm's length. "You can't do that! This is a shounen series!" he hissed.

Mustang blinked at him. "You hadn't heard?"

"...heard what?"

"We've been transferred."

"...what?"

"Our print-media contract was bought by another company and given to one of their contractors."

In absolute calm, Ed asked The Question.

"Who?"

Mustang rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "One of the ones who publish BL lines, I believe."

"What?!" Ed screeched.

"Mm. Maybe it was Biblios."

Ed hyperventilated.

"Or possibly Kadokawa Shoten; you know, the ones who publish CLAMP."

Ed turned dead white and clutched at the desk.

"So, you see, there's a new script direction of course. Are you quite all right, Edward-kun?" Mustang put a solicitous hand under Ed's arm as he swayed.

That's... and now... he's supposed to... I'm... Ed shook himself sharply and came to the rather abrupt realization that the Colonel still had him backed up against a desk and was now inside his guard. The Colonel was, in fact, leaning comfortably with a hand to each side of Ed on the desk.

"It won't work," Ed declared firmly.

"Really?"

Ed shot the Colonel a dirty look. "You're supposed to... well... with me? No, it's a complete miscast, it'll never work."

"How so?" Mustang inquired, conversationally, not moving.

Ed swelled with outrage. "I. Am. Not. Uke!"

"Edward-kun," Mustang said in his most patient and reasonable tone, "I'm fourteen years older than you, several ranks higher, and, while your combat skills are indeed outstanding, I still win the actual fight. As has been demonstrated. And," with the air of delivering a clinching argument, "I'm seven centimeters taller than you."

Ed opened his mouth, paused, and closed it again.

"Stupid rule, anyway," he grumbled.

"Well, yes," Mustang conceded. "It does rather put me at a disadvantage, myself, in almost any other situation. I'll help you write a letter of protest to the management, I think."

He looked down at Ed.

"Later."

Ed's mouth tightened.

"Am I so distasteful to you, Edward-kun?" Mustang murmured.

"You're not anything! I've never thought about this! You're..." Ed waved a hand as if he could catch the right words out of the air.

He categorically refused to say that he thought of Mustang a bit as a friend and somewhat as a really annoying older brother.

"You're my boss!" he finally finished.

Mustang widened his eyes. "Why I do believe you're right, Edward-kun! How nice to know that you're also aware of the fact."

A really, really annoying older brother. Ed narrowed his own eyes. "That wasn't what I meant," he clipped out.

Mustang regarded him evenly for long enough to make Ed start worrying. "Is it beneath you, then, to take some passing pleasure from a friend?" he asked, at last.

Ed froze. He's not telepathic. He's not telepathic! I refuse to believe it! No matter who's writing! On the other hand... however he'd come by it, Mustang did have a point. If he thought of Mustang as a not-distant-friend the idea almost worked. And Ed didn't actually want to think about how much trouble it would be to break his contract now.

Ed drove both hands through his hair and sighed. "All right, all right. But let's have a few things straight." He ticked off points on the fingers of his right hand. "No kinky stuff. I am not crying. I am not drooling. You don't make out like I'm helpless. And if I say no I mean NO."

He folded down the last finger and looked meaningfully at Mustang over the resulting closed fist. A corner of Mustang's mouth curled up.

"Fair enough. I'm sure there's latitude in the script for that."

"All right, then." Ed folded his arms and looked steadily off to the side.

"Well?" he prodded, after a few moments. "You're the one who gets to do all the work in this set-up, you know."

"Then it differs not at all from my day job," Mustang mused.

Ed's head snapped back around, mouth open to protest that he was the field agent, here, and Mustang kissed him.

Every muscle in Ed's body tensed, but he managed not to leap backwards off the desk, or possibly through the window, and held still. After a few seconds Mustang drew back to look at him, unsmiling.

"Edward. If you truly don't want this, I'm sure there are ways around it."

Ed lifted an eyebrow and this time it was Mustang's mouth that thinned.

"I don't want you unwilling, Edward. I've never wanted you unwilling for anything."

Ed gazed back, caught by the words. He had to allow that it was probably true. For all that he was a scheming, conniving, rat-bastard, the Colonel had rarely spoken less than the truth to Ed. He had never offered false hope. He had, in fact, given Ed unfailing, if sarcastic, support. And, Ed added a bit sourly to himself, given the Colonel's extensive reputation it was unlikely to be a bad experience. At last he looked up, seriously.

"Don't expect me to jump right in at the deep end," he warned.

Mustang's mouth softened. "I won't." And then a gleam entered his eyes. "It will make a pleasant challenge that way."

Ed swallowed just a bit hard. "Taisa. You're not actually a sex maniac, right?"

The Colonel chuckled with great good humor. "Of course not, Edward-kun. You really shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"Well, now, that's not exactly in spec either, is it?" Ed pointed out, nettled.

"No, I suppose not." Mustang's smile turned wry. "Perhaps we're both just a bit miscast. We'll have to make do as best we can, hm?"

Ed shrugged acceptance.

Mustang tugged off his gloves and curved his hands around Ed's face, tilting his head back. This time he gave Ed plenty of warning. Ed wasn't sure whether that was an improvement. The slow approach almost gave him too much time to anticipate. A shiver blew over him just before Mustang's lips touched his.

Mustang's kisses were soft, light, there and then gone. Ed heaved a faint sigh and relaxed just a bit. Mustang sucked gently, coaxing, on his lower lip, and Ed slowly opened his mouth.

Still, Mustang's lips only brushed his, open mouthed now. It felt like a feather, drawn over Ed's lips again and again.

Cool hands slid down his neck and over his shoulders, pushing away his coat. Ed tensed again, both hands closing on the front of Mustang's uniform jacket. He felt Mustang's lips curve against his own. Mustang drew back and smoothly shed his jacket, raising a brow as he did. The implicit offer of the Colonel going first calmed Ed. Not that it would come out even, considering how many layers that uniform had, but as good faith gestures went it wasn't bad. Ed let Mustang lift the red coat off his shoulders.

As Mustang stepped close again Ed looked up, biting his lip. He raised one finger in a wait-a-moment gesture. Mustang waited. Ed pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the desk behind him, which brought him almost level with Mustang. He nodded, satisfied. "Much better."

For some reason this assertion seemed to amuse Mustang. "Are you sure?"

"Yeees," Ed answered, warily. "Why?"

This smile showed teeth. Mustang took one long step forward... between Ed's legs.

Ed inhaled sharply.

Mustang laughed. "Truly, Edward, there's no need to be so on edge."

"When you like playing games like that?" Ed snapped.

Mustang sighed and lifted a hand to brush Ed's cheek with his fingers. "But don't you enjoy playing games too? Isn't that one of the reasons you've been willing to stay in my command? Think of this as another game, Edward."

Ed gave him a trenchant look.

"So. Perhaps another way, then." Mustang enclosed Ed's face in his hands again. His voice lowered and turned serious. "Edward, my friend, I will not harm you. I will not force you. If you let me I will make this very enjoyable for you."

Ed held very still between Mustang's hands. He couldn't see any spark of joking in the man's eyes, and Mustang was holding him as if he were something both fragile and valuable. Ed fetched in a deep breath that wavered only a little and let his head fall to Mustang's shoulder.

"All right," he whispered.

Mustang's arms came around him and Ed felt a hand stroking his hair. Gradually that hand seemed to leech the tension out of Ed's neck and shoulders until, with one long shudder, he finally relaxed.

When Mustang placed a kiss just below his ear it caused only a slight hitch in Ed's breath.

"Much better." There was satisfaction in Mustang's voice.

"Taisa," Ed mumbled against Mustang's shoulder, "why are you going to this much trouble? Don't tell me you couldn't wind the script around your little finger if you wanted to."

"If I tell you, will you call me by name?"

Ed grumbled about extortion, but agreed.

"Because you deserve some pleasure for the troubles you've had under my command. Because I think your sense of mischief will make you an interesting lover. Because you've grown from a pretty child into a stunning young man. Is that enough?"

Ed lifted his head. "Is there more?"

He caught just a moment when Mustang's eyes were as deep as a midnight sky, and then their expression shifted and they were merely very dark blue.

"Perhaps," Mustang answered.

A thought whispered through Ed's mind, Not yet, and he nodded. "It'll do for now."

"Good."

Mustang drew Ed to the edge of the desk, until their bodies were flush against each other, and kissed him with concentration. Not feathery kisses, this time, but still coaxing, teasing Ed's tongue. Ed's exhale became a moan, and Mustang returned a low chuckle into their kiss. It felt as if Mustang had trailed a finger down the inside of Ed's spine.

And then Mustang's fingers did find his spine, weaving down it as if Mustang wanted to braid his nerves. Ed leaned against him, shivering.

Mustang broke off the kiss long enough to shed his shirt and run an inquiring finger down the front of Ed's. Ed nodded, wordless. Mustang took his time about it, fingers brushing Ed's stomach, ribs, shoulders until, when it was finally off, Ed reached for him just to have a solid touch.

The sleek heat of Mustang's skin against his almost changed his mind. Ed dropped his head back down to Mustang's shoulder and, when the man's palms slid up his back, turned his mouth against Mustang's neck to stop whatever sound was trying to make its way out.

"Ed..."

The low breath of Mustang's voice moved over Ed like desert wind, hot enough to burn. Ed had time to realize that Mustang's voice was affecting him more deeply than the touch of his hands when those hands found his hips and pulled them tight together.

"Aahhh!" Ed arched back sharply, startled by the sudden wash of sensation, felt Mustang's hand come up between his shoulders, guiding him down to the desk, felt the surface under him cool and... soft?

Ed panted, staring at the ceiling for a while before turning his head to see that he was lying on a bed. He turned back to look very calmly at Roy, kneeling over him.

"When?"

"Just now," Roy confirmed, bemused. "A fast cut. I've heard of the technique, but our previous writers never used it."

"This isn't my bed," Ed informed him evenly. "Can I hope that it's yours?"

"Oh, yes."

"Good." Ed took another look and raised an eyebrow. "You have silk sheets?"

"Ah. Mine with some alterations, apparently."

Ed reached up and dragged one of the pillows over his face. "Alterations. Wonderful."

The bed dipped, to the accompaniment of some rustling and throat-clearing noises. When Mustang spoke it was in the tone of a man trying not to laugh lest he get nailed with a pillow.

"Shall I take it I have some work to do to retrieve the mood?"

Ed hauled off the pillow so he could glare at his companion, now leaning at ease on one elbow. "Mood!? Never mind the mood! What else is going to happen?"

Roy brushed Ed's disheveled hair back. "Nothing you don't want to happen. Will you accept my word for it?"

It's the voice, Ed decided, looking away. "Yes."

A pause.

"Will you let me take your hair down?"

Ed looked back around and blinked a few times. "...if you want."

Roy pulled him up to sit cross-legged and settled behind him. Ed felt light fingers undo his hair tie and slowly start to unwind the braid. They combed his hair out, sliding against his neck and back. His breathing started to deepen.

"You have the most magnificent hair," Roy purred in his ear. "I'd almost hate to see what would happen if you left it loose all the time. There might be traffic accidents."

Ed's breath stopped. The voice. Definitely. Please don't let him know. He leaned back against Roy, looking once again at the ceiling. "Could be useful some time."

He could feel Roy's answering laugh as well as hear it. And then Roy's mouth was warm on his neck, and he closed his eyes and released a low sigh. Roy's fingers traced over Ed's chest, outlining the muscles.

"Mm. You're right," Roy murmured against his throat.

"About... what...?"

"You're not nearly willowy enough to be a proper uke."

Ed started to sit bolt upright, and then halted deciding he'd been complimented. "Damn right."

Roy's hand slid down, brushing back and forth just above Ed's waist. Ed chewed on his lip for a moment and then made a deliberate effort to relax into Roy's arms.

"Ah. Good," came the whisper in his ear.

Roy's touch lightened as it descended, until just his fingertips danced down between Ed's legs.

"Ah... haahh..." Ed couldn't quite catch his breath. The feather touch brushed over and over him. "Not miscast," Ed husked, "type-cast... sadistic... tease..."

"Pleasure takes time, Edward."

The fingers started drawing circles and Ed lost what breath he had caught.

Two fingers slipped up the line of his zipper and paused.

"May I?"

Without the air for words, Ed nodded.

Roy's touch became, briefly, more businesslike. Ed's boots caused a sufficient delay for Ed to regather his thoughts. When he had done so he found that Roy, true to their unspoken agreement earlier, had removed his own remaining clothes. For a moment he simply looked.

Roy's body glowed where the light fell, like an ink drawing on porcelain. He moved, not like his favored fire, but like water, long currents of muscle under the smoothness of his skin.

"So," Roy's voice drew Ed's eyes back to his, which glinted, "am I worthy of my lover's beauty?"

Ed was caught between the strong desire to stick out his tongue and the sneaking conviction that this would be an unwise challenge just at the moment. Instead he did something that worked a great deal better. He lifted a hand to Roy's side...

...and tickled.

Roy collapsed with a very undignified yelp. Ed stared for one second and then, grinning in utter, evil delight, pounced on him. He even had the upper hand until Roy discovered that Ed's toes were horribly ticklish. Before too long they were both laughing too hard to do anything very effective.

"If I let go of your arm, can we have a truce?" Roy panted.

"I suppose so. For now."

They shared a smiling moment before Roy caught Ed against him and kissed him, no longer light and careful, now deep and heated. Ed wound his arms around Roy and returned it, feeling a little awkward but no longer hesitant.

Roy turned onto his back, carrying Ed over him, hands running down his arms, his back, his legs. Ed moved against him, restless, unable to be still under those stroking hands. He leaned down to rest his forehead on the cool sheets. A knee pressed between his legs, parting them. Fingers traced a tendon up his inner thigh, light and shivery.

"Roy," he whispered.

Roy's breath beside his ear hitched. He turned his head, seeking out Ed's mouth for a fierce kiss. His fingers searched higher, and a new tension pulled Ed taut. He shivered and one hand closed, hard, on the sheets.

"Roy..."

"So." Roy paused to trace Ed's parted lips with his tongue. "I wonder if the alterations to my room include a larger bath? A large quantity of hot water would be helpful here."

Ed's senses were trying to tell him that something was odd. The cloth under his hand was definitely not silk and the air was suddenly full of... steam?

They both stopped.

"What is it this time?" Ed groaned, refusing to open his eyes.

"We appear to have relocated to a hot spring."

Ed's eyes popped open. They were, indeed, now lying on stone, in a nest of towels, beside a pool of steaming water.

"A hot spring? There aren't any hot springs in this whole area! Where is this supposed to come from?!"

After a moment's contemplation Roy offered, "Perhaps this is supposed to be a dream sequence now."

Ed grabbed a towel, in lieu of a pillow, to pull over his head, but it just didn't feel the same. He tossed it off again and propped himself up on Roy's chest. "So? What use did you have for a lot of hot water, anyway?"

Roy smiled. "Let me up and I'll show you." He halted at the edge of the water, though. "Will this be any problem?" he brushed the metal of Ed's arm.

"No. I paid for the best." Ed regarded his hand, a crooked smile on his lips for the double edge of his statement. He started a bit when Roy lifted his chin.

"Yes," Roy answered, very serious, "you did."

Ed took a while finding an answer for that look. "Show me," he said, at last, softly.

Roy led him into the water, which came up to Ed's chest, and pulled Ed lightly against him. "The point of the hot water," he murmured in Ed's ear, "is to relax you."

"Mmm." Ed draped an arm over Roy's shoulders. "Working so far."

"Very good."

Roy's hands swept down Ed's body, drawing rushes of water in their wake. Ed liked it; it almost tickled but not quite. He stretched into the feeling a little.

And then one of Roy's hands touched him more firmly, sliding down his back, down, fingers pressing, parting him. Ed bit back a gasp. His hands closed hard on Roy's shoulders. The heat that surrounded him softened his muscles but tension still sang through him like a drawn wire.

Roy's touch never stilled, circling, sliding, as coaxing as his earlier kisses had been. As if Roy had heard Ed's half-formed thought, his lips brushed lightly over Ed's open mouth, drawing Ed's breath back out in short bursts. Ed shivered, his body starting against Roy's.

Finally, Roy's fingers pressed Ed open, and his mouth came down hard, swallowing Ed's inarticulate exclamation. Ed's shivering came and went, the complete strangeness of that touch inside him alternating with flickers of something.

"Ah... haa... aaah..."

"Edward, relax." Roy's voice, deep and breathless, slid down Ed's nerves like lightning grounding itself.

"Edward, my hawk, Ed..."

Heat unfurled inside Ed, spread through him until it overwhelmed the heat of the water around him. It fed the something until the flickers became a steady brightness in all of Ed's senses. Roy's touch and Roy's voice met somewhere inside Ed and left him leaning heavily against Roy, panting, completely unstrung.

"Edward... let me...?"

Ed shuddered under the heat of that resonant whisper. He must know, floated through his mind. "Yes."

A few steps brought them to the edge of the pool, and Ed leaned against it. He rested his forehead on the cool stone and ignored whatever Roy was doing to make clattering noises.

"...ah. Thought it must be here somewhere."

Ed ignored that, too.

Roy's hands covered his shoulders. "You're sure?"

"Yeah."

Roy laid a kiss on the back of Ed's neck. "Thank you."

Always knows just what to say...completely unfair. The mildly disgruntled thought didn't stop Ed from sighing as Roy nibbled his ear.

Ed leaned more heavily on the edge as Roy pressed his legs apart. The water swirled around him, and the feeling of Roy standing so close behind him quickened his breath. Roy moved still closer, and his cock was pressed against Ed, somehow softer than his fingers had been. Pressing, hard, so slow, the slowness of it strangled Ed's moan.

Harder.

Ed started as Roy's fingers dug deeply into his lower back. His muscles spasmed, released...

So slow.

Ed moaned again, lower, deeper, overwhelmed by the slide of Roy inside him, not stopping, sustained like a violinist might sustain a single note.

"Ed..." A breath, rough and tense. One of Roy's hands had come up to clench on the edge. Ed felt the other close around him, tight, knowing, stroking. Roy shifted within him.

"Aahhh!"

Pleasure burned up through Ed, he lost track of anything but Roy moving, inside him, around him, Roy's voice wrapped like fire around him, Roy's touch sliding, burning, tighter, wound tighter. He moved, hard, into Roy, with Roy, seeking the breaking point until it found him and everything snapped.

When he came down, he found himself still in the water, vaguely surprised they hadn't boiled the pool dry.

Roy was leaning against his back, which pressed the edge of the pool into Ed's chest. Ed mumbled something that was supposed to be a protest, though it didn't sound much like one in his own ears. The sense must have gotten though, because Roy slowly pushed himself back up.

Ed shivered at the brief slide as Roy withdrew.

"I suppose," Roy's voice was lazy, "that we should get out of the water before we're parboiled."

"Mm." Ed hauled himself over the edge and promptly collapsed on the towels. His legs felt like jelly. He consoled himself that Roy didn't seem to be doing a great deal better. "No pillows," Ed complained. "Come'ere."

He flopped down on Roy's shoulder and ignored it when his impromptu pillow shook with laughter.

"I was right. You make a very interesting lover, my hawk."

Ed pried an eye open. "Your what?"

Silence for a moment while Roy ran a hand through Ed's hair.

"Do you know anything about falconry, Edward?"

Ed levered himself up the better to deliver his best Excuse Me? look. Mustang wore a rather odd little smile.

"It's a fascinating study. You should look into it some time."

Ed contemplated him for a few seconds before lying back down. "You're not just a pervert, you're a weird pervert."

"A pervert?" Roy didn't even have the grace to sound concerned.

"You just had sex with someone only a little more than half your age."

"And enjoyed it immensely," Roy agreed, quite serene.

"See?"

"And does this worry you?"

Ed snorted. "I have better things to worry about," he declared.

"Such as?"

"Where are our clothes?"

Epilogue

"...ah, yes, and the municipal guard of West City seems to want a word with you, Fullmetal."

Ed stopped craning his head around, having watched Havoc close the office door behind him.

"Never mind that," he snapped. "What the hell happened? We haven't been transferred again, I checked, but the script has reverted."

"Mm." Mustang steepled his hands thoughtfully. "From what I can find out, our... interlude... was the work of one particular writer on the new team. They seem to value the incongruity of her chapters."

"Wonderful," emerged rather muffled, as Ed scrubbed a hand over his face. "You mean it'll happen again?"

"Possibly. Do you object?"

Ed looked aside. "Could be worse."

Mustang's mouth curved, but his eyes didn't smile at all.

"That will do for now."

End

Branch: Well, that's the Nervous Virgin story out of the way.

Ed: *Glare of Death, flexes right hand*

Branch: *squints at story* Ok, Ed that was pretty good, but what's up with you Roy? That was way more baroque than usual toward the end.

Roy: *examines nails* You gave me four years lead time to develop how I look at Edward-kun. During which, may I also point out, you failed to promote me.

Branch: Hey! Seven years in grade is perfectly average for an officer!

Roy: *cool look* Are you calling me average?

Branch: Oh, there's just no talking to you!

Ed: *mutters* I could have told you that.

Branch: Fine. Fine! The story premise is skewed to begin with, you might as well keep on.

Ed: So, do I ever get to find out what the rest of his reasons are?

Branch: *thoughtful* Could. Maybe. We'd have to carry on the story line.

Roy: *smiles*

Ed: *glares* Hm. *taps toe, chews nail* Maybe. I guess. When I'm in the mood. *folds arms and turns back on Roy*

Roy: *smirks*

Branch: *holds head* What did I do to deserve you two?

Under Cover

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

- Associated Fanart: Ed and Roy dancing by Moumusu.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Psiren...?!"

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

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

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

"I sent Hawkeye."

Ed had to admit, that would probably do it.

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

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

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

Mustang's eyes lit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mustang caught her hand up, kissed it...

...and stepped back.

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

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

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

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

"Yes," Hawkeye agreed.

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

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

Ed took the seat farthest from her.

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

Ed nodded, glumly.

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

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

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

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

Ed stood at bay, breathing heavily.

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

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

"Good. Take off your shirt, then."

Ed goggled at her.

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

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

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

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

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

Hawkeye coughed a few times, not very convincingly.

"There. You can get dressed again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ed growled.

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

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

"Can you smooth the outlines?"

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

Two Weeks Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ed paled. "...what?"

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

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

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

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

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

"This is absolutely ridiculous," Ed sputtered.

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

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

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

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

He gave Clara a fulminating look.

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

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

Clara shook her head slowly.

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

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

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

Ed retreated precipitately and slammed the door.

Mustang and Clara locked gazes.

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

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

Hawkeye stuck her head out the door.

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

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

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

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

"Very dangerous."

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

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

"Is that really necessary," he gritted out.

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

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

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

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

Ed fumed, but went along.

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

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

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

Mustang caught him adroitly as Ed tripped and nearly fell.

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

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

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

"Of course."

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

Mustang's smile became satisfied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something clicked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mustang was standing behind him.

"Cold?" he repeated, very soft.

"Thanks," Ed managed, after a moment.

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

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

"It's on the inside."

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

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

Ed was silent a moment. "I suppose."

"Ah. Then let us go."

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

"So?"

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

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

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

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

Ed blinked once. Twice. Pictured it.

Collapsed laughing.

He was still snickering when they got back to headquarters.

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

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

"Taisa."

"Hm?" Mustang looked up from the drawings.

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

"I beg your pardon?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mustang lay on his office floor, laughing breathlessly.

End

Ever - Chapter Seven

Ed's lessons turn to manipulation. Drama, Humor, I-3

Roy sipped his cooling coffee, reaching absently for the next report on his desk.

Most of his thoughts this morning were taken up with Edward.

He had half expected Edward not to return after Morland's execution, but he had. And, while he had often seemed troubled or hesitant about the machinations and politics that Roy showed him and dissected with him, he had insisted that he wanted to know everything. So Roy had taken him to meetings and reviews, given him reports to read, told him what people weren't saying or talked around until Edward started to see it for himself.

Initially Edward's hesitance to use what he saw had concerned Roy, but as time went on and Edward threw himself into his "studies", he had started to swing the other way. For the most part Roy was not terribly alarmed; he had seen Edward spar with his brother, and knew that he could enjoy the form of something whose full expression he used only rarely and with care. Still. It would be good to be sure.

Roy paused, with his cup halfway to his mouth, as a sentence in the report he was scanning sprang out at him.

Hm. Not, of course, that anyone would be foolish enough to...

A slow smile crept over Roy's face. He reached for a sheet of paper and an envelope, the latter of which he addressed to Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist.

Roy was, very deliberately, seated on the corner of Hawkeye's desk when Edward came storming into the office, presumably having just failed to find Roy in his own office. An audience would be helpful for today's exercise.

"What is this?" Edward demanded, brandishing a letter.

"It appears to be a letter, Fullmetal. Have your reading skills deserted you?" Roy inquired solicitously.

His staff, taking warning from the opening salvo, edged back.

Edward bared his teeth. Roy could almost see the howl of Quit trying to piss me off! trying to beat through them, but Edward never, ever asked Roy to go any easier on him. Today was no exception, and Roy mentally saluted the woman who had taught the Elric brothers alchemy. If nothing else, she had left Edward with an appreciation of how a hard training regimen could benefit him if he applied himself.

"You want me," Edward growled, "to go chasing after her?" he waved the letter.

"Do you wish to debate the orders of your commander, Fullmetal?" Roy asked coolly.

This was the easy part. Edward knew a challenge when he saw one, no matter the context. Roy watched the first reflex straightening of his spine, saw his eyes widen as he took in the actual wording of Roy's challenge, saw them narrow and watched Edward's mouth curve up in a scimitar smile.

"It's a waste of resources," Edward declared.

Roy nodded approval for a good opening position.

"It's obviously possible to capture her with less than my abilities, since it's been done once already. Surely you don't want me to be tied up with something trivial when a more serious matter comes up."

Roy liked that when; far stronger than if.

"It's been done before, to be sure," he returned, "but not anywhere near as efficiently. A genuinely thoughtful distribution of resources arrives at you as the best solution."

"Besides," he added, examining his nails, "the note she left in her cell mentioned you by name."

Edward, mouth open for the next volley, made a small erk! and looked at Roy wide-eyed. She didn't really? his expression asked.

Roy shrugged and smirked faintly: I'm not telling.

Edward gave him a dirty look before collecting himself. "If she's expecting me, it isn't very good tactics to send me after her. All her preparations will be geared toward me. A different pursuer would throw her off enough to have a substantial advantage."

"Are you saying you need an advantage to capture one woman whose alchemy is allegedly no match for yours?" Roy asked in an insulting drawl.

Edward ignored the tone admirably. Of course, confidence in his power was never one of his weak points.

"I thought you were concerned with efficiency," he shot back, "but maybe you're just interested in a showy stunt that will look good on your record."

Roy smiled—a very good return. His staff was now flat to the walls, with the exception of Hawkeye who was attempting to do her paperwork, only an occasional twitch giving away her irritation. And, since they were well into the insult stage...

"If I'm concerned with efficiency, perhaps I shouldn't be sending you after all. She has managed to enchant every man she encounters into witlessness." Roy paused, artfully. "Ah, but I wouldn't be sending a man, would I? I'd be sending a little boy."

Ed had clearly been expecting this at some point, and only scored a desk clenching his right hand rather than exploding. It would do for now.

"You'd send someone you really consider a child after a wanted criminal?" he spat back. "Bravo, Mustang-shousho, I'm sure that's just the sort of thing sure to find favor with Dai-Soutou Bradley. Are you so sure you want to be associated with what a child might do in a dangerous situation?"

Edward had been angling for something gratifyingly subtle, there, a threat to turn the slander around and make a perfectly deliberate fiasco appear to be his commander's fault for sending an inexperienced agent. But what he hit on the way was a far richer target. Roy knew his eyes flickered, and knew Edward saw it.

Their eyes locked, and he saw memories come together into speculation. Speculation hardened into a weapon, an accusation. You would be that willing to have a child's death on your hands? Edward took in a breath...

Caught it.

Conflict showed in his tense mouth and narrowed eyes. One breath. Two.

Roy raised a hand. "Enough."

Edward relaxed, shaking himself, and slumped back against the file cabinets behind him.

"You saw it," Roy stated. "Could you have used it?"

"I... it would depend," Edward said haltingly. "This... this wasn't important enough to use something like that."

And now Roy relaxed, too. He knew the exhilaration of fencing like this could betray people into going further than was wise, or than they intended. But Edward had stopped himself.

"Excellent." He laid a hand on Edward's shoulder. "This is a form of combat like any other. Never doubt that it can be deadly, Fullmetal."

"Yeah." Edward swiped a hand through his hair, and looked up at Roy, eyes suddenly dancing. "So, is Psiren really on the loose again?"

"I'm afraid so, actually."

Edward's eyes widened. "She didn't really leave a note...?"

"Oh, yes," Roy said, serenely. "But, for several of the reasons mentioned, one of the female State Alchemists is being dispatched to recover her."

Edward sagged against the cabinets muttering. The only words Roy could pick out were "...heart attack...". He patted Edward's shoulder and stepped back before his student started to consider the merits of physical retaliation. There were far too many flammables in the room for Roy to deal with that as expeditiously as he normally might.

A stack of folders nearly hit him in the chest.

"These will require your signature, Shousho," Hawkeye informed him rather darkly.

In other words, Stop making trouble and be useful! Roy grinned.

"Of course, Shousa." As he strolled out he heard Hawkeye speaking to Edward.

"You look like you could use a drink."

"I'm underage, Shousa," Edward pointed out, with a hint of longing in his voice all the same.

"You look like you could use one anyway," Hawkeye said, and more quietly, "I know I could."

Roy barely managed to make it back to his office before he burst out laughing.

TBC

Fiat Roomate

Ed has to deal with a housemate. Drama, I-3.

Ed found out later that it had been his habit of retreating to a library whenever he needed distraction that started the whole thing. After the third time Hughes found him asleep on a pile of books, rather than the bed in his room at headquarters, he mentioned it to Gracia-san, and Gracia-san spoke to Mustang, and Mustang decided to take steps, and Hughes had thought he'd known just the person to help...

The first Ed knew of this, though, was when he returned to his room to find Captain Maria Ross directing a small horde of soldiers in packing up Ed's belongings.

"Ah, Edward-san, good timing," Ross smiled. "I can take care of the packing and moving, but I thought you'd like to unpack your things yourself."

"Moving?" Ed asked, faintly. "What moving?" Ross blinked.

"To the house, Edward-san. Didn't you know it would be today? My own things are already moved," she continued with a tolerant look, "but I made sure to leave plenty of room for you."

Ed turned this incomprehensible scene over in his mind a few times. It appeared he was in the process of being moved out of headquarters and into a house somewhere. With Maria Ross. If it weren't Ross standing here, he might think it was a practical joke and go pin Havoc to the wall until he admitted it had been Hughes' idea. But Ross was even more straightlaced than Hawkeye, and he didn't believe she would be party to anything improper. Or anything she thought might harm him. And Ross could be as insanely protective as Hawkeye got over...

Oh, he wouldn't have.

Yes, he would, Ed reminded himself, that man would damn well do anything he thought was necessary. The real question was why he might have thought this necessary.

A practical joke was suddenly not entirely ruled out.

"Excuse me, Ross-taii," Ed said brightly, "I need to go check on something. I'll catch right up with you."

Two buildings later Ed kicked open the door of the Fuehrer's office, not particularly caring if it started out locked. He did note in passing that it hadn't been, which probably meant he was expected. Indeed, Mustang didn't even twitch at the bang as the door opened.

"Good afternoon, Elric-kun," he said dryly.

"What the hell is this all about?" Ed asked without preamble.

Mustang raised a brow. He was wearing that infuriating little half-smile that said he had put one over somewhere, and no one would know where until far too late. Ed ground his teeth and dug mental fingernails into his composure. Fortunately, Mustang didn't pretend ignorance of what Ed was talking about.

"Why, Elric-kun, I would have thought more living space would appeal to you. You've been keeping up with your field, after all. Won't it be useful to have room for your books and notes when you're in the city?"

This beguiling thought distracted Ed for several seconds, before he recalled himself to the matter at hand. "The house part isn't the problem. The babysitter is the problem," he said, flatly.

"More than one observer has noted that you don't take sufficient care of yourself when you live alone," Mustang returned. There was even less give in his tone than in Ed's, and it rocked Ed back a bit. This wasn't a joke, then, his commander was serious. Ed paused a moment, weighing whether it would be worth the effort to fight on this one. Mustang's eyes narrowed lazily, and his smile widened a notch. Familiar with the danger signs, Ed braced himself.

"So, you can either share a house with Ross-taii, you can stay with Hughes and Gracia, in which case you will undoubtedly be the babysitter, or you can use the guest room in my house. Your choice, Elric-kun."

It took Ed several tries to re-hinge his jaw. He barely managed to bite back the words You're joking, because that would not be a wise thing to say right now. Mustang seemed to hear it anyway.

"You think I'm bluffing?" he asked, lightly.

"No," Ed gritted out, spun on his heel and stalked out. He had known right from the start, he reminded himself strenuously, that Roy Mustang fought dirty. Strangling the man for it now would be pointless. Besides, he'd be damned if he'd give Mustang the satisfaction.

It could be a lot worse, he tried to convince himself. Ross shouldn't be that difficult to live with.

A week later he was back in the Fuehrer's' office.

"Are you sure there's nowhere you need to send me?" Ed refused to actually beg for an assignment, but he was getting close.

"Nowhere urgent enough to call you away from settling into your new house," Mustang told him, watching Ed over folded hands. Ed bared his teeth. Time to get down to cases, then.

"If you don't get me out of this city," he growled, "I swear I'm going to kill that woman before the weekend gets here."

Mustang looked politely inquiring. Ed couldn't contain himself any longer, and started pacing.

"All right. I can deal with her fixation on healthy food, Sensei was the same way. It's probably a female thing." Ed paused to glance suspiciously at Mustang. He could have sworn the man who terrorized hard-bitten generals every day and twice on Sundays had just squeaked.

"Do continue," Mustang invited, blandly.

"I can deal with the food thing, and it's only reasonable that we divide the housework, and I can live with the color-coded chart on the wall. Even if the colors are completely unintuitive. Ross-taii has obviously been in the military too long, and the military has a thing for cross-wired symbolism."

"Does it?" Mustang murmured. Ed rounded on him.

"But when she starts in on my clothing, that's where I draw the line! It's none of her interfering business how long it's been since I last went shopping! What gives her the right..." Ed cut himself off before he said more than he should, and stood, breathing a bit hard. Mustang regarded him calmly. Possibly a little too calmly.

"If you've drawn the line, then where's the problem?"

Horribly torn between the urge to ask whether he could still choose to take Mustang's guest room, and the urge to transmute the man's desk into a manure pile (he'd have enough nitrates if he used Mustang, himself, too), Ed stomped out. It was the only thing he could do, and keep his dignity.

Detente was reached almost by default. When Ed was agitated he resorted to his books, and that was the one place Ross never disturbed him. Left his meals inside the door, complete with small notes reminding him when it was his turn to do the dishes, yes, but she did so quietly.

Two weeks of lying low appeared to convince his sadistic commander that Ed was resigned to his housemate, and Mustang finally asked Ed to to go see why the mayor's office in Allege seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth. Ed refrained from bouncing or whistling until he was out the front doors, just in case he jinxed his freedom.

He was, however, humming when Ross found him folding clothes into his suitcase.

"It sounds like you're looking forward to your work, Edward-san." Ed looked over his shoulder to see her leaning in the door of his room.

"I am," he replied, and bit his tongue on the extra reasons he had to be pleased with his job this trip. She sighed.

"I had hoped you and your brother would be able to have quieter lives, after everything was over," she said softly.

"Al does," Ed pointed out. Ross hesitated before she spoke again.

"Were you really not happy with that life?"

Ed was silent for a long moment, gazing into his half full suitcase. On the one hand, it was none of Ross' business and he rather wanted to tell her so. On the other, maybe if she understood she would stop hovering quite so much. Expedience won over privacy, in the end.

"I love my brother," he told her evenly, "and being with him without having to worry about... everything was wonderful. But I need something to do with my life." He turned to look at Ross seriously. "I missed a lot of being a kid because we had things to do. It would have been nice to let someone else worry about how to make life work out, but it's too late to go back and live like that now."

"That doesn't mean you have to take on more than your share of life's trouble just because it's what you're used to," Ross maintained stoutly.

"It isn't like that," Ed insisted. And then looked aside. "It isn't just that I'm used to it." He mulled over how to put it so that this practical, steady woman would understand.

"It's like alchemy itself," he said at last. "Knowing that something changed because of your action, that you have the skill and ability to alter the world... it's... it's not something I can just leave."

"And alchemy itself wasn't enough?" Ross asked. Ed thought about that. What if he had just returned as a State Alchemist, and never volunteered for Mustang's political crusade? The thought rang hollow.

"They aren't separate, for me," he finally answered. For one thing, he reflected, he would never use half as much of his alchemical knowledge tucked away in a study somewhere. Ross' laughter startled him a bit.

"No wonder you came back to Dai-Soutou Mustang," she shook her head. "You think alike." And then she laughed some more, probably at Ed's expression. "Well, what I came for was to ask whether this would be helpful while you're traveling." She held out a small, fat, green notebook.

Taking it, the sleek feel of the leather told Ed it was waterproofed. When he opened it, only about half the volume turned out to be taken up by loose-leaf paper. The rest was pockets. Pockets that unfolded, pockets that snapped, pockets inside of pockets; he spent several minutes just hunting them all out, and wasn't entirely sure he had found every one. He blinked at Ross, who blushed faintly.

"You seem to make notes on any paper at hand, including matchbooks. I saw this while I was getting my bootheel repaired earlier this week, and thought it might be useful for you."

Ed turned the notebook over in his hands. She had noticed that about him, and considered what it meant when he didn't have two or three rooms worth of books and desks to tuck his notes into. And she had come up with a solution for him.

"Ross... taii... You didn't... I..." Ed took a deep breath. "Thank you. Maria-san. This will help."

"Good," she smiled at him. "Don't forget to eat well while you're busy." Ed gave her a long-suffering look. She sounded just like Winry used to, lecturing him about taking care of the automail.

"I won't, Maria-san. You don't have to worry so much."

She didn't dignify that with a response, just patted his shoulder and left him to his packing.

He would not, Ed promised himself as he stowed away another shirt, ever admit to Mustang that this had been a decent idea after all.

End

Revenge

How Ryouma got so girl-clueless. Humor, I-1

Gabriel knew she probably shouldn't have done it. It wasn't becoming for one of the Great Angels to curse a human out of pure spite. But she couldn't quite help the warm glow of vengeful satisfaction as she completed the last flourish on the malediction. She'd been having a bad day. Actually, she'd been having a bad century. Heaven was in complete uproar and disarray, Sevothtarte was gaining more power every day, and Gabriel had a bad feeling that she was the White Bastard's next target.

So she really hadn't been in any mood to be forgiving when a human male had sidled up behind her and squeezed her breasts. And then stood there with a considering look, as if he were evaluating the merits of this or that loaf of bread, before declaring her "nice" and asking if she wanted to take a ride with him. The leer had made it perfectly clear that he wasn't talking about cars.

And since she had been down in Assiah covertly, she couldn't obliterate him on the spot, which only added insult to injury.

"Gabriel-sama?" Arariel leaned around the doorway, and raised her brows at the seal Gabriel had just completed. "Um. Someone due for a little divine punishment?"

"Eminently," Gabriel said, between her teeth.

Arariel took a few cautious steps into the room. "Isn't it a little unkind to take it out on an unborn, though?"

Gabriel smiled more genuinely. "He'll be fine with the boys. It's just girls that he won't have any skills at all with. The child shouldn't have a problem; it's his father that will have fifty fits." She directed her smile down at the completed curse.

Arariel put a gentle arm around her shoulders. "Feel better, now Gabriel-sama?"

Gabriel laughed.

End

Sight

A bit of Tezuka's family background. Drama With Humor, I-2

In one of the few speeches Kunimitsu's father made that Kunimitsu's grandfather approved of, the man declared, "Everything is about connections - who you know, you notices you, and especially who you can rely on." His grandfather had declared the rest of the speech to be garbage, but that was hardly unexpected.

Tezuka had been eight at the time, and had therefore not felt that going to his mother to ask about what types of people he should know was inappropriate.

Tezuka Ayana gave her son a particularly bright smile and queried, "Why ask me rather than your father or grandfather?"

Kunimitsu looked at his mother gravely and replied, "I'll meet all their associates because I'm the only son. You have other friends." He stood and waited politely as Ayana nodded consideringly.

"Go and get your coat on," Ayana said decisively. "You can come with me on my errands and meet my friends, and some family." She shooed Kunimitsu off to get his coat.

Five hours later, Kunimitsu decided that his mother knew some very strange people. Especially the loud drunken lady who lived in the disappearing house. Though he had to admit that the toymaker with the tiny dolls was interesting, if insane, and the archeology professor seemed to be a man that even his grandfather would consider upstanding. He wasn't sure why they had visited a willow tree. His questions were mostly answered when they arrived at an apartment, where his mother knocked on the door.

"This is my younger cousin's home," she explained. "He just got back from China, so I wanted to give him a few hours to move in before saying hello." She smiled brightly as the door opened a crack, and didn't flinch when the person on the other side reacted to her presence with what could not be called a screech only for politeness's sake.

"Xiao Lang," Ayana said brightly, "It's wonderful to see you. I'm your cousin, Tezuka Ayana, remember?"

Kunimitsu noted that the boy didn't seem to be past his teens, certainly, and that the words seemed to calm him down. "You look like my oldest sister," he managed, taking in a deep breath. "...Uh, so why are you over here?"

Ayana gestured to Kunimitsu. "I wanted my son to be able to see like most of the family does. He has enough latent power for it, and he really needs to be on his guard for that sort of thing, especially now, doesn't he?"

Xiao Lang eyed Kunimitsu. "Is he...?"

"He belongs to his father's family," Ayana reassured him. "Don't worry about interference from me - I think you and that girl are adorable." She smiled brightly as this caused Xiao Lang to blush and sputter. "Can you help me?" she asked finally.

"...bring him in," the boy sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

Afterwards, Kunimitsu found that he did understand why they went to see the willow tree. He noticed many other things as well, and his mother explained, as they walked, that what Kunimitsu saw had been there already, but most people just didn't notice it. Most of her friends were people who could and did see those things, she went on.

Kunimitsu nodded, turning to catch a glimpse of a boy a year or two older than himself, who was running after a girl who had to be his sister. "That boy has wings," he commented.

"Probably an angel," Ayana said. "There have been a lot of them around, recently. No one knows why."

"An angel," Kunimitsu murmured. "I'll remember."

Unexpected Guests

How Ryouma's uncle came to be away from the temple. Drama with Humor, I-3

Temples and their priests got all kinds of visitors, some of them pretty odd. But the last thing Konzen had expected, when he opened the door to answer the bell, was for a tangle of limbs to land on and hug him while crowing "Sanzou!"

Konzen really didn't like to be touched, something his ex-wife had pointed out frequently. All told, his older brother's death and Konzen's inheriting the family temple had just been a handy excuse for the divorce. But back to the business at hand.

Konzen promptly hauled the intruder loose and threw it into the wall, where it resolved into a rather gangly, golden-eyed young man. "Don't be an idiot," he instructed. "There hasn't been a Sanzou for hundreds of years." He frowned. "And why would you be looking for one at a place like this?"

"Oh, right. So, what are you called, now?" The boy's grin hadn't dimmed at all, despite a landing that had cracked plaster.

"Echizen Konzen, the same thing I've been called all my life," Konzen said, brusquely, wondering whether he should inquire for escapees at the local mental hospitals. "Who the hell are you?"

"Again? Ah. Um." The boy scratched his head. "Well, if you don't remember, then this'll be kind of a long story." He looked up hopefully. "I don't suppose you have any food around?"

Konzen was staring and making a mental list of hospitals to call, when his daughter looked into the entryway. "Otou-sama? Do we have a visitor?"

A good question, since he still wasn't sure what this person was. Besides, now, gaping at Nanako, thunderstruck. Konzen hoped he wasn't a pervert, like Konzen's younger brother or a few of his college associates. But, no, because the boy turned, wide-eyed to ask, "You have a daughter?"

The thought drifted across Konzen's mind that maybe the boy really did know him.

He shook his head impatiently and barked, "Who are you and what do you want?"

"Well," the boy fidgeted, "like I said, it's a long story..." His stomach interrupted with a noisy growl.

Nanako put a hand over her mouth to muffle a giggle. "Why don't I get you two some tea and a snack?" she offered.

Konzen rubbed a hand over his face. "Might as well." He had a bad feeling he wasn't getting an answer until this... visitor got food.

A few hours later Konzen had a headache, and was considering the benefits of sharing it.

He pinned his visitor with a level glare. "Let me get this straight. You're an elemental spirit, and you knew me in a past life, and, because of the events of that life, you have a couple very powerful demons after you now."

"Yup!" Goku (he'd finally gotten the boy's name half way into the story) agreed, tossing another dumpling into his mouth.

Konzen frowned, rubbing his forehead. The thing was, it all sounded horribly familiar, though he had no idea why. The only memory he had that twitched at Goku's rambling recitation was a memory of someone laughing. He didn't even know if it had been a man or a woman; only that whoever it was had been really damn annoying.

"And you came here to hole up and get some rest," he finished.

"Yup!" The cheerful, absolute trust in Goku's eyes disturbed Konzen. He'd never been looked at like that in his entire life.

Not this life, anyway.

He shook his head sharply, wishing he could glare at his own thoughts. "Great. Fine. Sleep in the guest room. Tonight, at least," he added, over Goku's happy crow. Temples were supposed to have charity, his father's voice said, in his mind. Konzen mentally gave the old man the finger. Still, it would give him time to call the hospitals.

"Aah!" Konzen bolted up in bed, panting, jerked awake from the most vivid, and hideous, dreams he'd ever had.

Lately, anyway.

"Sanzou?! I mean, Konzen?!" Goku skidded into his room with a rather ornate staff in hand. Konzen's eyes nearly crossed as visions of this moment in dozens of other rooms slid through his mind. Visions that usually involved demons, too. Konzen winced and then growled as he heard that laugh again, echoing through his head.

It did make him think of something, though. "Goku, can any of the demons after you track you?" he demanded.

Goku blinked. "Um. I don't think so. Well, maybe except for that one..." he trailed off, face screwed up in thought.

"In other words, yes." Konzen threw off the covers. "That gun you said I had. Do you know where it is now?"

As Goku opened his mouth a tiny glow like a golden firefly dropped out of the ceiling. It grew to about head size and then vanished.

A handgun and a box of shells clattered onto the floor.

This time, the laughter was audible to everyone.

Konzen glared at the ceiling. He also, however, scooped up the gun. "I'm not having demons in my temple," he stated. "We're leaving tomorrow."

"Okay," Goku agreed. "I'll go get some more sleep, then. 'Night, Konzen." He trailed out, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

Konzen closed the door, flicked on the light, and sat down to write a couple letters.

"You shouldn't be alone for long, and in the meantime, send all the temple business over to Yoshimori," Konzen told his daughter. "And what is all this?" he added, frowning at the boxes and baskets strewn over the table.

"Lunch," she told him, serenely. "So you and Goku-san don't have to stop too soon."

One of Konzen's maybe-memories jabbed him, suggesting that this was a very good idea. "Fine." He sighed, aggravated. "I don't know when we'll be back, but I'll write when I can."

She smiled, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Don't worry, Otou-sama. And I won't either. Okay?"

He smiled in return.

As she waved him out the door, and he walked toward where Goku was head-down in the trunk of the car, exploring, Konzen reflected on how little his life seemed to have changed. The maybe-memories fit in with disturbing neatness. Those others who'd been beside him even reminded him a lot of...

He stopped dead for a long moment before common sense rescued him. No. That was ridiculous. It couldn't possibly be them.

Definitely not.

In any case, he sure as hell wasn't going to look up his college classmates to ask whether they'd been demons in a past life. He snorted at the very idea, and got into the car. "Goku! Hurry up."

Two weeks later...

Nanjirou sorted the mail, and raised a brow. A letter from Nii-san? He tore it open and read.

Dear Worthless Little Brother,

I have something to take care of that may take a while, so quit wasting your time over there and come mind the temple while I'm gone. Don't worry, Nanako will take care of the house.

Corrupt my daughter, and I'll put holes in you big enough to fit your tennis balls through.

Konzen

Nanjirou snorted. Yeah, that was Nii-san all over. As if Nanjirou were ever going to be conned into being a priest!

On the other hand...

Nanjirou tapped the envelope against his chin. They had always meant to go back some time. And Ryouma would be twelve soon, and the right age to start at Seigaku. It would be a free house, and someone to do the laundry. He strolled upstairs and stuck his head into his wife's office, caroling, "Honey? Got a letter you should see..."

End

Camoflage

Crowley under cover. Humor, I-1

As far as cover went, it was nearly perfect. Sure, there were dangers, like the gimlet eye of the angel, who certainly suspected that something was not right, but couldn't put his finger on what that something might be. Crowley could deal with that in his sleep, and frequently did.

Dealing with his host body, on the other hand, presented certain inconveniences. Since he was only subletting, as it were, he could only lurk within his host's subconscious, rather than taking outright control, and that meant dealing with his host's little freaks and foibles.

All this meant was that he was not presently napping, but was bouncing on a tennis court, as his host fan-boyed over his buchou's latest cool new move. In the back of Jirou's head, Crowley rolled his eyes.

He was going to be very glad when the tournament season was over, and they could go back to napping their way through Jirou's adolescence.

On the Other Side of Town

Ryouma gets an offer. Humor, I-2

Ryoma looked at the boy across from him skeptically. "Not that I think you're lying, but remind me why you're doing this again?"

"Call it sibling rivalry," Michael replied shortly. "Anyway, I can guarantee you that your captain's shoulder will be as good as if it were never hurt, once my people are done."

Ryoma raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "You remind me a lot of someone I know. I'd bet your brother would remind me of someone, too." Seeing Michael's dark look, Ryoma shrugged. "Thanks for the help, anyway. Why not just go to Tezuka-buchou?"

"Would he have agreed to let us help him?" Michael replied.

"...right. Thanks," said Ryoma.

Offers

Michael talks to Tezuka. Drama with Humor, I-2

Tezuka was taking a break and drinking some water when he noticed the angel approaching. He was actually somewhat intrigued – this particular angel wasn’t doing anything to hide what he was, and had a look on his face that Tezuka recalled from constant dealings with Ryoma. He found himself somewhat surprised when the angel settled on the bench next to him.

“This is gonna be a weird question,” the angel said, “But do you believe in angels?”

Tezuka considered this question gravely, looking out towards the courts. He felt rather than saw the angel turn towards him and look at his profile. “I don’t disbelieve the possibility,” Tezuka said gravely, “But I’m not religious.”

The angel snorted. “Right. Well, hell and heaven exist, even though it’s not like most people say. Actually, and don’t ever tell anyone this, hell isn’t a bad place, with the management the way it is. But we have to keep some sort of standards, and that means that we all want the best souls, like you.”

Tezuka turned to look at the angel. “So you’re claiming to be an angel.”

The angel scowled. “Of course I’m an angel! What’d you think I was, a demon?”

Tezuka said with perfect serenity, “I wouldn’t think that most angels would be so enthusiastic about being under Lucifer.” He watched with interest as flames sparked around the angel’s head, and continued to watch as the angel got up to pace back and forth.

“I’m NOT interested in being…in being ruled by that bastard,” the angel snapped. “He has no business doing what he’s doing, and…Look, that’s not the point.” The angel brought his wings out. “See? Angel.”

Tezuka nodded. “I’m Tezuka Kunimitsu. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“…I’m Michael,” muttered the angel. He began to pace back and forth. “I’m not one of those people who schemes and does all that behind the scenes shit,” said Michael. “So I just want to ask you if I can fix your arm for you, get your team back on track…”

“No, thank you,” said Tezuka politely. “I rely on myself.”

Michael scowled and crossed his arms. “…fine, I can respect that. What about the rest of your team? Making sure that they’re not hurt? You know, like that kid, with the gold eyes and the cat.”

“Echizen is well the way he is,” said Tezuka sharply. “If you’d like to help someone else in need, Tachibana Kippei has had an injury recently.”

Michael nodded. “Fine, I won’t make an offer about Echizen. Good luck on the courts.” With that, the angel strolled off. Tezuka watched him leave, making a note to watch the other teams closely, once he returned.

On Playing with the Angelic Host

Tezuka's rules about angels. Humor, I-2

Tezuka adjusted his glasses and gave Ryoma the quiet, grave look that meant that the boy had done something that was not, as it were, directly forbidden, but that Ryoma certainly should have known better, given his buchou, the world, and the heavenly host. "Echizen," said Tezuka calmly, "What have I told you about dealing with the heavenly host?"

"...don't take computer games from them." Ryoma paused. "Oh, and ask how things are going in heaven and hell, because it's always good to be informed about one's allies and opponents." Ryoma's expression was decidedly sulky. "It's not as if I asked for anything like wings."

Tezuka chose to ignore this and simply murmured, "Who was it?"

Echizen blinked. "...uh, shortish, red hair, talked like a punk..."

"Michael, then," Tezuka said. He fell silent, his brow furrowed only to the point that people who knew him very well would notice. "He came to me."

Ryoma snorted. "Stupid of him to ask you..."

Tezuka's expression cleared. "He asked about you, actually."

".....I hope, whatever it was, you said no."

"I pointed him in Tachibana's direction." Ryoma could have sworn that Tezuka's eyes were smiling behind his glasses, but he decided that he didn't want to know what had just been inflicted on the Fudoumine captain.

"So, buchou," said Ryoma brightly, brushing angelic concerns away for the moment, "You're up for a game, right?"

Unexpected Visitors

Michael encounters Setsuna at Fudoumine. Drama with Humor, I-2

The search for Tachibana led Michael to another set of tennis courts. Michael didn’t really see the attraction in this particular sport, though he understood the need to compete as the underlying principle of sports in general. He was about to walk over to the player called Tachibana when a familiar voice rang out behind him. “Oh, it’s you. Hey, what are you doing here?” Michael turned to eye Setsuna, not without a little surprise.

“I thought all of you left,” Setsuna continued. Despite his words, he was smiling easily, standing in his favorite slouched position. “So what’s up with you being here?”

“Belial is playing with souls, and I don’t want him to get a lot,” Michael replied shortly. He didn’t continue to say that he didn’t want Belial doing anything to benefit his brother in the long run, since Setsuna would assume it, anyway.

“Oh,” said Setsuna. “I’m just here to meet this guy I know, Tachibana Kippei. He’s kind of rough, but an okay guy. Good about protecting his friends.” Setsuna nodded over at Tachibana, who seemed to have noticed them and then dismissed the thought of them to continue practice. “We probably can’t catch him right now – they’re busy working for the nationals.”

Michael frowned. “So you’re friends with the guy Tachibana? Someone suggested that he might need some help.”

“Pfft. Not for his playing,” Setsuna declared, grinning. “Guy’s incredible on the courts. I love to see him kicking ass out there.” Setsuna frowned and shifted. “But yeah, if anything goes wrong with the shot he took to the head, he might need help.”

“Well, I could…” Michael paused, remembering his second’s warning about offering angelic assistance without considering the phrasing. “I could help him out, if that happens. If you really want me to.”

“Sure,” said Setsuna easily. “If you wanna help out a friend.” Setsuna waved to Tachibana again and turned to jog off. “Anyway, catch you later.”

Michael settled on the edge of the courts to wait for practice to end.

Parallel

Michael's offer to Fudoumine. Drama with Humor, I-2

“Are they allowed to do that?” the redhead wondered, after Michael had explained himself to the group of boys.

Michael shrugged. “No rules against demons and humans making contracts,” he said. “Kind of a long tradition behind it, really.”

The guy he was here to visit, Tachibana, seemed as pleased by the news as anything else. “So,” he said. “Yukimura will be playing at Nationals.” He practically glowed with anticipation.

“Yep,” Michael said.

“And you’re here because...?” the girl asked, eyes sharp.

“It’s hardly fair for Hell to go poking their noses into things without one of us investigating,” Michael said. He shrugged. “I’ve been given to understand that Fudoumine might be interested in some help.”

“We aren’t in the habit of looking for help outside our ranks,” Tachibana said, quietly. “Especially when help comes with strings attached.”

Geez, he sounded like Tezuka. Maybe it was something in the water. “I didn’t say there were strings, did I?” Michael retorted. “As it is, I’d be doing the favor for Setsuna as much as for you.”

The guys relaxed somewhat. “You know Setsuna?” the tall one with the bandanna asked.

“Oh yeah. Good guy to have at your back in a fight,” Michael said, grinning. “Look, if you don’t want my help, it’s cool.”

“Nii-san,” the girl said, quietly. “You’re still not fully recovered.” Her smile was sharp. “If Rikkai’s being helped by a demon, it’s only fair that you get a little help from an angel, don’t you think?”

That bit of logic coincided so neatly enough with his own that Michael had to grin. The boy with longish hair had something to say, too. “If we’re going to meet Rikkai at Nationals, you’ll want to be at your full strength,” he murmured, “especially if Yukimura is going to be there...”

The redhead grinned. “It’s almost like poetic justice,” he said, “don’t you think?”

Tachibana considered it. “It does seem appropriate,” he agreed, at length. “Very well; I accept your offer.”

Michael grinned. “You won’t regret it,” he promised, cracking his knuckles. “I’ll make sure of that.”

Nine Tenths

Possible answers about Kirihara's proclivities. Humor, I-1

Niou’s eyes narrowed. “So,” he drawled, “it’s one of yours that makes him do that thing with the red eyes and the violence?”

“One never said that,” Belial demurred. “One said that it was not an unreasonable hypothesis.”

“So it could be one of yours.”

Belial sniffed. “One of mine would demonstrate more subtlety,” se said, leaving no doubt that hir retainers would possess the utmost in delicacy, or else.

“So it could be some other—individual—who’s responsible for his, ah, episodes?” Yagyuu suggested.

Belial shrugged. “One does not care to speculate, but yes, it is possible.”

Kirihara broke into the discussion. “You do realize I’m standing right here, don’t you?”

“You say that like it’s supposed to bother us, brat.” Niou cocked his head. “If an opposing team shows up to a match with a priest, will that be a problem?”

Belial threw hir head back and laughed.

Ministers of Grace

Lucifer passes through Seigaku and Hatter spots Fuji. Humor, I-2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So soon?" Mad Hatter murmured.

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

Fuji was more than enough trouble without that.

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

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

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

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

End

Profession

Belial chats with Sakaki, who turns out to be an old 'friend'. Drama with Humor, I-3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End

Great Minds

A Belial and Fuji moment. Humor, I-2

"Ah, there you are."

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

"One was hoping to speak with you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

End

Arrangements

Ryouma gets off on the wrong foot with Kurai. Humor, I-1

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

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

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

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

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

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

Persuasion

Ryouma makes some suggestions to Lucifer. Humor, I-2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Headaches

Tezuka finds out what Ryouma's been up to. Humor, I-2

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

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

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

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

Tezuka crossed his arms and quirked an eyebrow at Echizen.

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

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

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

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

Green Eyed

Raphael comes looking for Michael and gets a surprise. Drama with Humor, I-2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yup," Michael said, looking embarrassed.

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

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

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

"Why wouldn't it be?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tezuka, your shoulder—" Oishi began.

"My shoulder is fine," Tezuka snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Relatives

Tezuka talks to relatives about his problems. Drama, Humor, I-2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I DIDN’T DO IT SUPPI DID!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the Family

Belial introduces the Fujis to the Mudous. Drama with Humor, I-3

Notes: Contains consensual sibling incest.

"Aniki, couldn't you have gotten Saeki-san to practice with you?" Yuuta asked.

The complaint was for form's sake, and his brother's smile said that he knew it perfectly well. Still. Their... reconciliation... was new enough that Yuuta would have preferred some time away from potential irritants and interruptions.

"Ah, Fuji-kun, what marvelous timing you have. One was hoping to introduce you."

Interruptions like that. Yuuta sighed, resigned, and then had to take a second look at the person who had hailed his brother. He didn't think he'd ever seen anyone dressed quite that flamboyantly outside a festival. Or, possibly, a circus. He was busy enough looking at the top hat that it took him a few moments to notice that his brother had paused beside the strange person, and was now standing on Yuuta's other side.

Between him and the strangers. Yuuta took a closer look.

There were, in fact, three of them. The other two looked far more normal. A young man and woman, both blond and looking alike enough they had to be related. So what was it about them that was making Aniki tense up?

"Friends of yours, Hatter-san?" his brother asked the oddly dressed one.

"One rather doubts it," the Hatter person answered, serenely. "Fuji-kun, this is Mudou Setsuna, erstwhile Messiah, and Sara, his..."

"Girlfriend," Setsuna put in, very firmly.

"Of course," Hatter murmured, "and this is Fuji Shuusuke, and his brother, Yuuta I believe it was?"

"Yes." Aniki's smile was starting to sharpen.

So, Yuuta tallied up in his own mind, this person who seemed to know his brother, and who his brother seemed a little wary of, wanted to introduce them to a couple who looked remarkably like relatives. He swallowed hard and tried to keep breathing.

"Aniki," he managed, "who is this?" And, more importantly, what did he know?

His brother stepped a little closer to him. "This is Mad Hatter. He's a demon."

Yuuta turned his head to look at his brother, who appeared to be serious. "A demon?" he repeated, just on the off chance he'd actually misheard.

"Quite," Hatter agreed. And a pair of black wings unfolded behind him.

Yuuta stared. "Aniki," he said, very calmly, "what did you put in my juice this morning?"

"One does assure you, it wasn't your brother," Hatter assured him, waving one wing.

"A demon," Aniki reiterated, "who isn't going to be having anything to do with you, Yuuta. Is he?" Hatter was now on the receiving end of a very dangerous look.

He didn't seem concerned.

"Ah, siblings," Hatter sighed. "They're so precious." He fanned his wings. "And entertaining. Why don't the four of you have a nice little chat, then? One is sure it will be good for all of you."

And then he sank out of sight into his own shadow. Yuuta stared at the sidewalk and reminded himself that it wasn't healthy to hyperventilate.

"So," Setsuna sighed, running a hand through his hair, "you've met Hatter before?"

"He can be entertaining company," Aniki observed.

Setsuna blinked at him for a moment before he burst out laughing. "I'll stop worrying, then!"

Sara swatted his shoulder. "Setsuna, cut it out. Maybe Fuji-san didn't know what he was getting into." She gave them a bright, sympathetic smile, and Yuuta relaxed in spite of himself. It might be nice to talk with her sometime, actually. If he was reading the situation right, she might understand a few things.

"You think?" Setsuna asked, raising a skeptical brow. "I bet he did. He'd probably get along with Hatter's boss, too." The thought seemed to amuse him.

Sara planted her hands on her hips. "Enough of that! You said you'd wait until we were both reborn to start playing politics with everyone again."

"Right, right," Setsuna raised his hands, placatingly. "Anyway, I think we'll probably see you at Nationals, Fuji."

"Really?" Aniki sounded only mildly curious, and Yuuta sighed. Some day, he'd figure out how his brother did it.

Setsuna grinned. "I'm a friend of Tachibana's."

"Small world," Aniki commented in an amiable tone.

"Gettin' smaller every day," Setsuna answered ruefully over his shoulder as his... sister?... towed him off with great determination.

"Are you sure we can't have a nice, calm day inside?" Yuuta asked, looking straight ahead, just in case any other weirdness was strolling by.

His brother laughed, softly. "That might be a good idea after all. Come on, let's head home."

End

Regarding

A memo is mis-directed to Tsuzuki's desk. Humor with Drama

Most of Enma-chou's workers, if asked, would say that Tsuzuki never knew what was on his desk. Notices of meetings, memos about cases, budget forms, if any of them were attended to before it was too late, it was the talk of the department for weeks. According to the average Watari had worked out once to settle a bet in the cafeteria, Tsuzuki was only seen actually reading anything at his desk once every five weeks.

If asked, Tsuzuki would have pointed out, quite reasonably, that he knew exactly what was on his desk. He found out once every five weeks, on average.

"Late anyway, late anyway, closed last week, late anyway," he muttered, sorting through the pile of paper. "Late... hunh?"

"Is one of them actually still current?" Hisoka asked, acidly, not looking up from filling out next month's budget request form.

"Yes," Tsuzuki said, slowly, "but it's not from here."

Now Hisoka looked up. "What?"

"To all demons rank of Brigadier or Duke," Tsuzuki read aloud, "from the domain of Beelzebub. Angelic response to recent demonic acquisitions among mortals are reaching undesirable levels. Any demons who are free are encouraged to go, forthwith, to Assiah (e.g. Earth, the mortal realm) and rectify this. Sec'y, Choronzon."

Hisoka was staring. "There is nothing more blind than bureaucracy," he declared with conviction. "They can't possibly really think you'll participate."

"Well, no, of course not." Tsuzuki nibbled his lip. "But I do kind of wonder just what's going on."

"Not our business," Hisoka said, promptly.

"But we don't have a case right now," Tsuzuki murmured, fingering the memo. "We could go take a look. No harm in that."

Hisoka gave him a baleful look for a long moment before throwing up his hands. "Fine. Fine! Don't think you're going without me, though. Who knows what you'll get involved with if you go alone."

Tsuzuki smiled at his partner, pleased that Hisoka wanted to come, too. It would be good for Hisoka to get out more. "Of course."

"Tennis?" Hisoka said for about the sixth time. "Two of the Great Angels, a Demon Lord, the Messiah, Gabriel's reincarnation, and a Principality are all here on Earth, dancing around each other, stressing the fabric of reality, getting involved with tennis teams?"

"I'm pretty sure a lesser demon was hiding out in one of the boys, too," Tsuzuki added. "Some of them do have a lot of spiritual power, I suppose." He had to admit to being just a little puzzled, himself, though. Not that he couldn't see the fun in watching these boys play; they were very determined and earnest and involved. But he was fairly sure that high ranking celestials wouldn't be hanging around just to appreciate that.

Fairly sure. That Mad Hatter character was making him wonder.

"Maybe we should ask the Gushoushin whether this has ever happened before," Hisoka said, frowning. "This concentration of them on Earth can't be good."

"I do wonder what it might be doing to the boys, to be around this many celestials," Tsuzuki agreed, leaning on the fence to watch the latest team on their list. There didn't seem to be any demons around, or angels either, which almost surprised him. He could hear the church bells from further down the campus. One of the boys did seem to have a touch of... something, though. Tsuzuki squinted.

"Hisoka, can you get anything off that one?" he asked, gesturing.

Just in time for the boy to notice and take a few fast steps back, steel gray eyes wide. A tall, dark teammate came to him and asked something. After a short exchange involving some vigorous gestures they both approached the watchers at the fence.

"Oh, just great," Hisoka groaned.

"I'm sorry, but we don't allow spectators at club practices," the dark one said, politely.

Tsuzuki smiled as brightly and soothingly as he could. "We don't want to be any trouble, we just wanted to check that no one was bothering your team."

The gray eyed boy backed up a little more. "I was right, you are another of them!" he exclaimed.

"No, no," Tsuzuki protested holding up his hands, "we're not, really. Exactly."

Hisoka smacked him on the shoulder. "And now you've confirmed that we know exactly what he's talking about." He gave the wary boy a direct look. "We're not angels or demons. Shut up, Tsuzuki," he added, as Tsuzuki's innate honesty made him start to correct the technical lie. "Our work deals with the messes they leave behind a lot, and we just want to contain the damage this time."

The dark boy, who had listened to all this with his head tipped consideringly, asked, "So what are you?"

"Shinigami."

Both boys edged back this time.

"We're not here on a case," Tsuzuki hastened to add. "It's just... I think one of them has already touched you." He looked at the gray eyed boy.

The boy crossed his arms. "Aniki said Hatter would stay away from me."

"Yuuta." The dark boy put a hand on his shoulder. "Fuji Shuusuke is impressive, but setting him against a demon? This year has gotten strange enough; if it's affecting you we should do something."

Tsuzuki fished through his memories of the day for that name. Ah, yes, the watchful one at Seishun Gakuen. "I'm sure your brother will do all he can protect you. And it's true that Seigaku has its own guardian," Tsuzuki said, softly, "but the Mad Hatter has a reputation for power and subtlety. Your brother doesn't have the training to deal with that, and Raphael doesn't have the motivation. Celestials don't usually get involved with humans without an ulterior motive."

"So what, precisely, are you suggesting?" a new voice asked from behind them. Tsuzuki turned to see a slight boy with sharp eyes watching them.

"Mizuki-san," Yuuta greeted him.

"Yuuta-kun, Akazawa," he nodded, and turned his eyes back to Tsuzuki. "So?"

"To keep outside influences away," Tsuzuki said, simply.

Hisoka slumped against the fence and crossed his arms. "You said it was just to look," he reminded Tsuzuki. "Not that I believed it for a single second, but that was what you said."

"We can't just leave this," Tsuzuki answered firmly, knowing that his partner didn't genuinely disagree. Probably.

"Fine, fine." Hisoka raked a hand through his hair. "Just don't expect me to ask Kurikara to get involved in this. Though he'd probably laugh too hard to manage to be insulting, for once."

Tsuzuki smiled, and reached out with the warmth of his pleasure in place of actually touching Hisoka's arm, which his partner hated for him to do in public. Hisoka sniffed and gave him a sidelong look a little softer than usual.

"I see," Mizuki murmured. "Yuuta-kun?" Yuuta blinked. "It is your team, now," Mizuki told him, with a very significant look for such a simple statement.

Yuuta was still for a moment before his mouth tightened. "Yes," he agreed, not as though he enjoyed the thought right at the moment. "We accept," he told Tsuzuki.

"Great!" Tsuzuki beamed at him.

"Right," Yuuta sighed. "Excuse me, then, I need to get back to practice."

Tsuzuki fetched out a handful of ofuda, sorting through them, as the three boys turned back toward the courts.

"Mizuki-san, I understand why," he heard Yuuta saying as Mizuki came up to walk beside him, "but why them?"

"Because they seem like the most disinterested parties we're likely to get," Mizuki told him. "Besides, doesn't he have lovely eyes? You know how fond I am of purple."

"Mizuki-san!" Yuuta sputtered.

Tsuzuki decided, observing Hisoka's suddenly edged glare at Mizuki's back, that it would be better for all concerned if he pretended he hadn't heard that.

End

Tickets to Zimbabwe

Eriol visits Seigaku, much to Tezuka's dismay. Humor, I-1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah.”

A Small Problem

Aziraphale comes looking for Crowley. Humor, I-2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Delightful," Aziraphale murmured.

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

"You do?" Aziraphale blinked.

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

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

That mollified Sakaki a bit. "Thank you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody could give him an answer.

Cost

Tatsumi has a minor upset. Humor, I-2

Tatsumi Seiichirou read the memo he had found in the middle of Tsuzuki's desk. Then he read it again. He put it down, carefully, and walked, calmly, down the hall to Konoe's office.

"I'm going to be gone this afternoon," he informed the department head, and teleported out before Konoe could do more than blink.

"Tsuzuki, what are you doing here?"

Tsuzuki jumped and yelped with surprise as Tatsumi materialized behind him. "Tatsumi-san! Don't scare me like that!" he exclaimed, pressing a hand to his chest.

Tatsumi's eyes glinted, and Tsuzuki decided, with a sinking feeling, that Tatsumi wasn't in the mood to be distracted today. Fortunately, Hisoka had come up with a good explanation and made Tsuzuki memorize it for just this eventuality.

"I'm just warding these mortals from any careless demonic or angelic influences, so the book keeping doesn't get messed up," Tsuzuki said, brightly.

"On your own time?" Tatsumi asked, with a mildness that didn't reassure Tsuzuki at all. "How responsible of you."

Tsuzuki nodded vigorously. "It seemed like a good thing to do. Preemptive action, and all that." He smiled hopefully.

The set of Tatsumi's shoulders relaxed the slightest bit. "I have been tracking the development of this situation, Tsuzuki. Lately I've been considering putting someone on it. It's a bit out of your jurisdiction, but I suppose if you and Hisoka-kun have already made a start it only makes sense to keep you on it." He nodded, decisively. "All right. Consider yourself assigned here. Submit your expense requests as usual."

Tsuzuki let out a breath of relief, thinking of the, really, very minor damages to one of the dorm buildings, where Byakko had run into it while chasing a tennis ball last week.

"Starting from today," Tatsumi finished.

Relief turned to resignation. "Yes, Tatsumi-san," Tsuzuki sighed.

End

Mother Hen

Ooishi gets a taste of his own medicine. Humor, I-1

"Ooishi-kun!"

Shuichirou looked around, surprised. Raphael didn't often have much to say during practice. Well, not to the team. He seemed to find a good deal to say to Ryuuzaki-sensei, and whatever it was made her laugh quite a lot. Shuichirou hadn't asked.

Now, however, Raphael was beckoning to him.

"Come here a moment, Ooishi-kun."

"Me?" They had all seen enough to be just a touch wary of Raphael's whims.

Ice blue eyes narrowed. "Yes, you." Raphael snorted. "What is it with you warrior types that you never want to actually talk to a physician before it's a crisis? Come here," pointing to the space in front of him, "and let me look at your wrist. You've been favoring it all day."

Shuichirou cast a reflexive glance at Tezuka. Tezuka looked back, very pointedly not wearing an expression of smug satisfaction. Shuichirou sighed.

"Coming."

End

Family Reunion

The Messiah and the Adversary chat, and Lucifer drops in. Aziraphale and Crowley sweat. Humor with Drama, I-3

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

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

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

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

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

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

Setsuna chuckled. "No, no fish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He is," Crowley sighed.

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

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

"Godzilla," Adam said promptly.

"...okay." Setsuna waited.

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

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

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

Setsuna raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes?" Setsuna asked.

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

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

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

"Bonding," Aziraphale repeated.

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

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

And then Lucifer showed up.

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

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

"And I should be myself."

"Yup," Setsuna nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I was indisposed," Lucifer interrupted, firmly.

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

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

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

"God," Aziraphale said.

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

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

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

"And I missed it?" Crowley sounded outraged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am?" Crowley looked at him blankly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't want bodyguards!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, you too," Adam said.

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

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

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

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

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

"Well... no."

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," Aziraphale said.

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

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

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

"And the Antichrist," Crowley said, helpfully.

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

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

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

"Hmph." Aziraphale shut up.

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

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

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

"And why not rule it for yourself?"

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

Lucifer nodded. "Very good," he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gracefully done," Aziraphale-san murmured.

"Oh, shut up."

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

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

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

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

"Cooooooooool," Jirou sighed.

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

At least tennis was wholesome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Adam!"

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

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

Better

Watari takes advantage of the situation. Humor, I-1

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

Watari Yutaka was not a happy man today.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three days later...

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

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

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

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

"Watari-san."

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

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

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

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

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

"Watari-san."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I need more funds for my research."

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

Saintly

Raphael earns the gratitude of Seigaku. Humor, I-1

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

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

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

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

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

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

Balance

Eriol visits Hyoutei and makes Atobe an offer. Humor, I-1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hiiragizawa,” Atobe murmured.

The Dotted Line

Belial gets a tennis team. Humor, I-2

"Absolutely no interfering in the games in any way, shape or form, or the whole deal's off," Sanada declared, firmly.

Belial leaned hir chin in hir hand. "Doesn't that conflict with the clause about injury-proofing, though?"

"Injury repair, not prevention, Hatter," Yanagi put in. "I have to agree on this; what happens on the court happens. The aftermath is the only place we can, in conscience, accept your help."

"One doesn't believe one has ever contracted with anyone particularly worried about conscience before," Belial observed. "It makes things far more complicated. Are you sure you can't do without it?"

"Belial." Seiichi's hands fell on hir shoulders. "Don't think I'm going to let you pretend like that while you're negotiating with my team." He paused, hands tightening. "For everyone's sake."

Belial declined to answer directly and heaved a put-upon sigh. "Fine, fine. What's next, then?"

"I don't suppose we could do a kind of floating assistance clause?" Masaharu asked with a dreamy look. "A monthly mayhem quota? We could collaborate."

"No!" Sanada, Jackal and Seiichi said at the same time.

Belial laughed. "Why don't we keep that a personal matter between friends?" se suggested, patting Masaharu's hand.

"Demons have friends?" Kirihara asked. He twisted around in his chair, crossing and uncrossing his arms.

Belial eyed his fidgeting. "Yes they do. Sometimes. And, in answer to your real question, when it happens it supercedes all sorts of contracts, including any previous allegiance of your theoretical possessor. You're Seiichi's first and one's own second, and, believe one, that will protect you from anyone else."

Kirihara snorted, trying not to look reassured. "So what happens with this," he jerked his chin at the contract, "when we play against each other?" His eyes fixed on Seiichi and Sanada.

"Another good argument for Hatter-san to stay out of it on the court itself," Jackal said, reasonably. "And you have to admit, Akaya, it will be a relief to have this kind of support. If we don't have to spend all our time worrying about getting a sponsor, or washing out from some stupid little injury, we can concentrate on playing our best. Against anyone."

Belial smiled fondly on Jackal. He was the serious type who was normally exasperated by hir, but they could appreciate each other's practicality.

"As if I would need help," Marui put in blowing a complacent bubble.

Belial raised hir brows. "Might one ask why you're taking part in these negotiations, then?" Se actually was rather curious. Marui and Jackal were the two se had least expected to agree, and while se had a better understanding of Jackal's motives, by now, Marui's were still rather a mystery.

Marui shrugged. "It's the team. The team, you understand? I think this is the only time we'll ever find anything this close. This important. I don't like the thought of leaving that behind."

Belial was silent as the eight mortals smiled or stilled or reached out to one another, each according to his way. Se fought down a shiver as Seiichi turned his eyes on hir, folding hir into that closeness as well.

"Very well. If that's everything, then I'll be around later to seal the contract with each individual." Se ignored the sudden quirk of Seiichi's lips as he gathered his people up and herded them out.

"I'm impressed you came up with such a detailed document, Yanagi," Yagyuu mentioned, as the team left. "It covered some contingencies I hadn't thought of."

"Oh, it's based on a standard manager's contract," Yanagi said, as the door closed.

Belial leaned back in hir chair and laughed. Eternity was looking more interesting every day.

End

Echo

Kirihara has a problem with spillover. Humor, I-3

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

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

On his hip, Hatter-san's mark burned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interesting Times

Kurikara and Michael hit it off. Drama with Humor, I-2

Kippei really did hope that at some point his days would become less interesting.

"So, lemme get this straight." The short, glowering redhead who had appeared on his courts put his hands on his hips. "You summoned me to deal with him?" He waved a hand at Michael, who was also glowering, dividing his attention between the newcomer and Lucifer.

Lucifer, having set his brother off in the first place, with no regard for visiting shinigami, lounged on the sidelines watching the show.

The younger of St. Rudolph's two guardians glared right back. "Who else were we supposed to summon for something like this, Kurikara?" he snapped. "Suzaku? She'd make it twice as bad. Souryuu? Give me a break!"

Kurikara paused judiciously. "Well, all right, you might have a point. Though it could be kind of funny watching the cold fish deal with this."

"Why are you in that form, though? You should have two wings in this world, not two legs," Tsuzuki cut hurriedly over whatever his partner had been drawing breath to say, for which Kippei was grateful; he hadn't noticed Kurosaki being very moderate in his temper at the best of times.

Kurikara gave him a withering look. "Between them," he gestured to Michael and Lucifer, "and your knee-jerk habit of casting wards at the first sign of trouble we're not precisely standing in Ningenkai, if you haven't noticed."

Tsuzuki blinked. "Oh."

Kurikara slapped a hand over eyes. "I'm surrounded by idiots," he growled, and then paused, glancing at Kurosaki. "Okay, not complete idiots, a complete idiot really would have called in Suzaku and the whole city would be burning." He eyed Michael, and the scorch marks from where he'd lost his temper at Lucifer's arrival. "You remind me of her, some."

While Michael was deciding how to take that, Lucifer stirred from his slouch against the fence. Kippei braced himself for a new round of explosions. Lucifer's tone, however, was academic when he spoke.

"Of course he does. We are, after all, reflections of each other in our different planes." Lucifer pushed himself upright, and paced across the court, not to Michael, but to Tsuzuki. Kippei settled back, watchfully. Lucifer took the man's chin in his fingers, holding him still for a searching examination. Just when Tsuzuki was starting to look tense and Kurosaki was looking as incendiary as Michael, Lucifer let him go. "You have some of the same heart as the Messiah," he said, "but your power is broken. A shame, that. If you were whole you might be able to free your little human with your own strength." He didn't wait for an answer before turning away, which, to Kippei's eye, was a good thing. Tsuzuki looked stunned.

"Enjoy yourself, Michael," Lucifer told his brother as he walked away from them all. "Try not to destroy the entire world."

Michael's jaw dropped, and Kippei sighed. He'd known it was coming.

"Try not... world... you... You asshole!" he howled at Lucifer's departing back. "I'm not the one who tried, even if it didn't work!" Fire was snapping around him again.

"Michael-kun," Kippei said, firmly.

Michael swung around. "What?!" Kippei waited, and after a moment Michael deflated a little, and the flames faded. "Sorry," he muttered.

Kippei, now that he wouldn't be singed, clasped Michael's shoulder, hoping to lend him some calm.

Kurikara gazed after Lucifer. "So," he remarked, "that was the Lord of Hell, hm?" He looked contemplative for a moment before he snorted. "What a jerk."

Michael stopped brooding and turned a brilliant smile on him. "I like him," he declared to the court at large. "What was your name again?"

"Kurikara, RyuuOu."

"Michael, Angel of Fire. Pleased to meet you."

Looking at the two of them grinning at each other over clasped hands Kippei couldn't help thinking, though he was careful not to say, that Lucifer really did know his brother pretty well. Michael probably would enjoy himself with Kurikara. He turned back to his other guests, only to find Kurosaki looking at him intently.

"Tsuzuki, I really don't think we should interfere here," Kurosaki said.

"We know this team is picking up some serious influences from Michael, though," Tsuzuki objected. "That's going to mess up the bookkeeping, and they always blame us for that."

"They'll live," Kurosaki replied bluntly. "I'll speak to Tatsumi-san, if there's trouble. As long as Tachibana-san is here, it will be all right. We shouldn't interfere."

"Oh?" Tsuzuki's glance at Kippei was suddenly more measuring. "Oh. Well, in that case..." He was interrupted by the increasing volume of Michael and Kurikara's discussion.

"...you got to toast him yourself?" Michael was exclaiming, gleefully. "Awesome! I was on the other side of the building when Setsuna and Ani-ue were killing God; I was so pissed off."

"It was great to finally get my claws around the Emperor's neck," Kurikara agreed, with a look that would have been beatific with fewer sharp teeth. "It was almost as much fun as pounding Souryuu into the ground like a tent peg when I finally got loose again."

Michael looked enthralled. Kippei sighed. He could have wished for Michael to acquire a calmer friend, but at least Kurikara seemed to have decent control of his temper. A muffled chuckle from Kurosaki brought his attention back to the shinigami. Kurosaki was regarding him with the kind of sympathetic amusement that suggested he had just heard Kippei volunteer to babysit his neighborhood's greatest brat.

"I wouldn't have your job if they paid me," Kurosaki said. "Good luck. Come on Tsuzuki."

"Um." Tsuzuki glanced at Kurikara.

Kurikara glanced back and waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah. So, Michael, I'm really not supposed to stay in this plane without anything to do, and as soon as Tsuzuki takes back his wards I'm going to be a really big flaming dragon anyway. Wanna come back to Gensoukai with me?"

"Sure," Michael agreed, and then paused and looked at Kippei.

Kippei smiled at him; Michael still needed a good deal of reassurance. "We'll still be around when you get back, Michael-kun."

Michael looked away and shrugged. "Of course."

Kurikara gave him a wry look, winked at Kippei, and threw an arm over Michael's shoulders. "Let's go then! Beer and stories!" They both vanished in a flicker of fire.

Kippei shook his head at the space where Michael had been. Someday, maybe, his life would stop being quite so strange, but he wasn't betting on it.

End

The Devil Went Down to Hyoutei

Mad Hatter tempts Ohtori and tweaks Sakaki's nose. Drama with Humor, I-2

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

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

Whoever-it-was kept playing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyes danced. "So warm up."

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

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

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

"What is the meaning of this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choutarou shook his head. "No."

Kantoku's frown deepened. "No? Nothing?"

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

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

"Yes, sir," Choutarou agreed. He bit his lip. "I suppose I can't let myself be borrowed?"

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

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

"Good. We'll begin tomorrow. Meet me in here at seven." Kantoku turned on his heel.

"...sir? Why?" Choutarou called after him.

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

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

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

end

Cooperative Ventures

One Kurosaki meets another Kurosaki. Humor, I-1

"Cousin." Hisoka planted his fists on his hips and glared up... and up... at the other young man. "Impossible."

The young man in question ran a harried hand through short, orange hair. "Not like it was my idea, shrimp. And if you're a shinigami," he added, as Hisoka reminded himself he wasn't allowed to kill humans whose time wasn't up, "why aren't you in uniform?"

Hisoka blinked. "Uniform? What uniform?" He frowned at Tsuzuki. "Was there a memo about getting uniforms, and you lost it again?"

"... younger sister... mother's name... well, yeah, if his dad was a... huh?" Tsuzuki looked up from the pad of paper he was attempting to chart the Kurosaki geneology on. "Um. I don't think so?" He smiled at Hisoka's maybe-cousin. "So you say you're a part-timer? That's unusual." He nibbled his lip. "For the living, anyway."

Ichigo fished out a small badge and tossed it over, still looking skeptical and out of temper.

Ok, maybe he was Hisoka's cousin after all.

"Oh!" Tsuzuki gave them both a bright, cheerful grin. "You're part of the other branch!"

"The other branch?" Hisoka and Ichigo chorused, and then glared at each other again.

"Different realms, under different rulers," Tsuzuki explained. "We do some of the same work, but recruitment is totally separate. We do cooperate every now and then, but there hasn't been a joint operation for... a couple centuries, I think. The Chief is probably the only one who remembers." He handed the badge back to Ichigo.

"At least he doesn't draw pictures," Ichigo muttered. He eyed them dubiously, but finally shrugged. "Whatever. Hey." He looked Hisoka up and down. "If you're from an old family, are you any good with a sword? They keep telling me I could use some extra practice..."

Hisoka smiled for the first time that afternoon.

End

Teacher

Yukimura meets his new magic teacher and said teacher's housemate. Humor, I-1

"So, tell me about these people."

It wasn't really that Seiichi didn't trust Belial. He did. He just also had a lively respect for his demon's sense of humor.

"They're the children of two of one's people. They became friends in college, one believes, when they met up and started comparing backgrounds." Belial supplied, rather airily. "Don't mind the one who smirks all the time. He's the son of an incubus; he can't help it."

Seiichi eyed Belial. "And the other one?"

"You'll like him," Belial predicted with confidence. "He's an excellent strategist, under all that cheery smiling. And he has... extensive experience as a teacher."

"I see," Seiichi murmured. There was obviously more to the story, but it looked like he'd have to find it out on his own.

When the apartment door opened to Belial's brisk rap, however, Seiichi had to admit that Belial had told him the most pertinent details.

The smiling man who answered the door seemed harmless enough, until they entered the livingroom and the other occupant noticed them. Or, more precisely, noticed Seiichi and rose with a suddenly brilliant grin. "Tenpou, you should have told me she'd be gorgeous," he chastised his friend, taking a long stride toward Seiichi.

Seiichi gave him a look fit to freeze liquid nitrogen solid. "What did you say?"

The man who'd introduced himself as Tenpou, still smiling, deftly caught his housemate by the collar and hauled him back out of Seiichi's reach. "He, Kenren. I'd think you, of all people, could tell the difference." He examined Seiichi, and the frost creeping uncontrollably over over the windows, and gestured discreetly.

Seiichi started as he abruptly felt... warmer.

"I can see why Hatter-sama wants someone to teach you about magic," Tenpou noted, thoughtfully, gently shoving a pouting Kenren back toward the couch.

Seiichi looked at Tenpou with a sharper eye. "I assure you, I'm very interested," he murmured.

Tenpou's smile gained an edge.

End

Reconnaissance

Ukitake reports on disturbances in Tokyo. Humor, I-1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home Again, Home Again

Konzen gets home and he and Ryouma finally meet. Humor with Drama, I-2

Ryouma was fairly used to uproars around the house every now and then, especially when Nanako found his dad's latest stash of magazines or one of his noisier senpai stopped by for a game.

This, however, sounded a little different.

He ambled down the stairs to find a scowling blond man standing in the entry way, and a younger man dragging in the door under a pile of bags.

"Nii-san," his dad called, wandering in, followed by Nanako with a pleased cry of "Otou-sama!"

Ok, so this was his uncle. Ryouma came the rest of the way down the stairs, and stood at the bottom while his uncle accepted Nanako's welcome home and traded sneers with his dad. This could be interesting; he'd heard stories about Konzen-jisan

"Worthless as ever, I see," his uncle pronounced, looking Oyaji up and down.

"Bad tempered as ever, likewise," was the return. Then his dad eyed the other young man. "You hired a porter?"

"Goku-san," Nanako supplied, smiling. "Here, let me help with those. I'm afraid we're down to the smallest room, for you," she said, as they passed Ryouma and headed down the hall. "Or should I spread a futon in Otou-sama's room?"

"Or did you hire a something else?" Oyaji added, leering.

Ryouma's uncle fetched his dad a quick swat across the back of the head. "Don't be an idiot."

"Sheesh, you really haven't changed," Oyaji complained, rubbing his head. His eye lit on Ryouma, who had to supress the urge to take to his heels. That was the bright-idea look. "That's right, you haven't met your nephew yet!"

Ryouma wondered why his uncle twitched at the word 'nephew'. And then he wondered how this person could be related to his dad, as he was practically pinned to the wall with a long, level stare. The stare ended when his uncle smacked his dad a good deal harder than before.

"Are you completely blind?" Ji-san barked. "The curse is bad enough, but that..." he squinted at Ryouma again. "Did you sign anything?" he demanded.

Ryouma blinked. "You're not one of them, too, are you?"

His uncle closed his eyes as if in pain, right hand flexing just a bit ominously. "No, I'm not," he said, flatly.

"Ah." Ryouma couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a gun tucked away at Ji-san's waist. On the same side as that hand. "I'll go get my copy and show you," he suggested, and slipped up the stairs without waiting for an answer.

When he came back down his uncle was settled at the table contemplating a cup of tea while the other one... Goku?... chattered at him. Ryouma was reminded a little of how Atobe-san was with Jirou-san, at least when Jirou-san was awake. "Here," he offered, spreading out the scroll. "It isn't exactly a deal with anyone in particular; just saying that I'll be there in return for my own realm."

"Your own realm? Oh, hey, cool!" Goku chipped in, leaning over Ji-san's shoulder. Ji-san shoved him off, absently, scanning the contract. At last he leaned back, and pulled out a cigarette.

"All right," he declared, after a long drag. "Maybe I'm not completely embarassed to admit you're related to me."

"That's nice," Ryouma agreed. "Now, what was that about a curse?"

Ji-san smiled a rather scary smile around the cigarette. "Not sure who did it, but I bet I can tell you why..."

End

This Time

Tezuka gets to high school and meets his rather unsettling new senpai. Humor, I-2

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

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

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

"I heard they played soccer in middle school..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kunimitsu raised a brow at Fuji.

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

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

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

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

Until the end.

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

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

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

In a Heaven, in a Book...

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

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

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

End

Recruiting

Ryouma makes Moonlily an offer. Humor, I-1

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your generosity is stunning,” Raphael said dryly.

“Thanks,” said Ryouma absently.

Compromise

Karupin has some issues with Ryouma's new realm. Humor, I-1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Land of Sampras, many years later

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

Hard to Get

Ryouma is still chasing Tezuka. Humor with Drama, I-2

Kunimitsu picked up the next in his stack of birthday cards, and smiled faintly. This one was bound to be amusing.

Dear Buchou,

Happy 40th. Heard you passed the Park Ranger certification; congratulations. Hope bears don't eat you.

On that subject, finally got Sengoku to sign on, and Lucifer says mountains no problem to add. Are you sure you won't come?

Cheers, Echizen

Kunimitsu chuckled softly.

"Is that one from Echizen?" Uriel asked from the couch, sipping his tea.

"His annual campaign speech, yes," Kunimitsu answered. "Do you happen to know how he secured Sengoku for the afterlife?"

"If that's the redhead," Uriel sighed, "Echizen seems to have maneuvered him and Raphael into proximity at the last Australian Open. They had quite the lively chat, from what I hear. Raphael came back smirking so hard Barbiel made him sleep on the couch on general principles." He shook his head. "For such a straightforward person, Echizen can be very cunning."

Kunimitsu pulled over a sheet of writing paper. "Echizen has a very good sense of people, once he's had a chance to judge them on the court."

Uriel leaned back. "These people are still your friends. Are you sure it wouldn't be better to join him, rather than going through me?"

"If Echizen doesn't have goals to meet, challenges to overcome, it won't be good for him," Kunimitsu returned, absently, as he wrote.

Echizen,

Thank you for your good wishes.

Mountains are a fine addition; they'll make a valuable training location. I'm sure the domain will do well, with you thinking so far ahead.

Tezuka

"Besides," he added, folding the paper, "I enjoy your company, and you can use my help more than Echizen. In the end, I expect he'll be pleased that I'm next door, as it were, and not interfering with him."

"And it isn't, after all, as if you won't be visiting," Uriel suggested, smiling.

Kunimitsu sipped his own tea, quite calmly. "Of course."

End

A Demon and Hir Boy

Kirihara in Hell. Humor, I-1

"You... you... you ate Tash!" Jadis declared, pointing a shaking finger at Akaya. Or, possibly, at the cloud of smoke in front of him that had, until very recently, been one of Jadis' inferior demons.

"Yeah?" Akaya raised his brows and flexed his fingers. "And?"

Belial laughed. This was the most fun se had had in centuries, and learning that Akaya had managed to absorb the demon who tried to possess him was the icing on the cake. "Indeed. And one suspects that he'll do something even worse to you if you don't make yourself scarce and stop trying to assert spurious claims of loyalty. After all," se smiled, wickedly, "he isn't a tame human."

Akaya gave hir a pleased look as Jadis scuttled off. "This is fun."

Belial tucked a hand around his arm as they strolled on. "Isn't it?"

End

The Direct Approach

Ryouma finally catches Tezuka. Humor, I-3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tezuka shook his head. “Being…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Sound of Music

Sanada gets enspelled and everyone gets a surprise. Humor, I-1

Belial really couldn't help but find it entertaining that Genichirou complained about Hell's demons not being serious enough in their work.

"I mean, really," Genichirou was currently holding forth, "this is ridiculous, what am I doing here? I'm in the wrong story!"

He stopped dead and tried very hard to stare at his own mouth. Belial sat up, blinking.

"Was Sanada... just... singing?" Masaharu asked, slowly.

"Yes," Renji answered, not as if he quite believed it himself.

"Ah," Belial sighed. "One believes one knows what the problem is. Just a moment." Se threw a card to one side where it impaled a grinning demon in an extremely tacky red suit. "One thought you had been taken care of by that charmingly confused blond girl," se murmured.

"That was... a spell?" Genichirou asked, still a bit pale.

"Lesson sixty-two about living in Hell," Belial told them all. "Never accept jewelry from demons."

End

Irony

Ryouma takes a vacation. Humor, I-1

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

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

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

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

“You’re insane,” said Kirihara flatly.

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

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

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

Outtakes One

Author and Muse comments on the side, part one. Humor, I-1

Comments One or Team Sponsorship

C

Raphael: Michael, why are you supporting a junior high tennis team?

Michael: Setsuna suggested it.

Raphael: ...that shouldn't make as much sense as it does.

B

Setsuna-the-one-man-cheering-section: Yeah! Go Fudoumine! Waste those bastards!

Michael: *standing on the fence* Fuck you!

Sakaki: *hand over eyes*

Ryouma: I don't know any of these people. You?

Kamio: Not a single one.

Comments Two or Why Tezuka Sometimes Hates Us

L

Tezuka: I hate you all. [glares]

[pets the buchou] You could have just signed on with Michael, dear.

Tezuka: Don't I have enough problems to deal with? Momo would make one crack—you know he would—and the whole school would have gone up. Tachibana's better with that kind of thing.

B

Tachibana: *smug* Of course I am. You know, Tezuka, if you were just a little closer to your people I'm sure they would answer far more readily to your hand.

Tezuka: *level look* ...did you just suggest what I think you just suggested?

Tachibana: No, of course I didn't. *examines nails*

Tezuka: Leave me alone.

L

[falls out of her chair]

Tezuka, darling, we *can't* leave you alone. You're too much fun for that.

Besides, I'm sure that your team would happily shag you, if you wanted it that way.

Tezuka: ... [stalks off]

Seiichi: I think you hurt his feelings.

B

Nah, not his feelings, just his repression.

Tezuka: *glares*

What? You know any one of them would bend over for you. Even Echizen.

Tezuka: Do you mind?

Not in the least. *sweet smile*

L

Especially Echizen, if you ask me. Boy's got it bad for his buchou.

Tezuka: [hand over face] I'm not hearing this.

And the Fujis! I bet you could be the filling in a Fuji-sandwich!

Tezuka: Lalalalala I can't hear you!

And haven't you ever wondered whether Taka-san would go into burning mode in bed?

Tezuka: Please, God, kill me now.

B

Lucifer: Sorry, Setsuna and I offed him already. I suppose I could kill you, if you really want.

Tezuka: *hopeful* You would?

Lucifer: *leans on wall* Sure. Of course, you would owe me, then...

Tezuka: I'm doomed.

L

Seiichi: You say that like it's a bad thing.

Tezuka: You stay out of this. You have biases.

Seiichi: And you don't? Really, Tezuka. All of that repression can't be good for you.

Tezuka: [glare] What works for one team doesn't work for another.

B

Yeah. *sighs* Not everyone can rule through raw sex appeal.

Tezuka: *opens mouth, closes it* I'm... *glares*

Almost got ya. *grins*

L

Seiichi: [gently] Is it really so difficult to let go, Kunimitsu?

Tezuka: [eyebrows going up] I am not one of yours, Seiichi.

Seiichi: [sigh] More's the pity.

Coments Three or Debates on Who Wins What

L

Michael: Aw, come on, it's not like Rikkai hasn't won for the past how many years?

Tachibana: Besides which fact, you've got the team for eternity. One junior high championship isn't that big a deal, in the long term.

B

Belial: *grumbles*

Seiichi: *soothing* Now, now. We'll all play our best, and what happens happens. Playing the strongest is a good deal of satisfaction in itself.

Belial: *eyes* If you say so.

L

Tezuka: But—but—we're the protagonists!

Michael: ...

Tachibana: [with satisfaction] Not in this AU, you're not.

C

Ryouma: Come on, Buchou, it's not like I'm not going to get everyone to go to heaven and hell just so that we can keep playing tennis after we die.

Tezuka: ........

Eriol: I find your ideas fascinating and would like to subscribe to your newsletter.

L

Tachibana: [smug] It's good to be me.

Tezuka: Fine, fine, you win.

Michael: Well, yeah, that's the point.

Tezuka: [considers taking up heavy drinking]

B

Sanada: *holds out sake bottle* Drink up. It doesn't really help, but it distracts you from the agony.

Belial: Agony? Excuse one? One is considerably more skillful than that.

Tezuka: *bottle half way to mouth* Sanada. Did he just say what I think he said?

Sanada: No. No, he didn't. Pass the bottle back this way, will you?

L

Tezuka: [passes the bottle back] So, your team and Mad Hatter?

Sanada: [healthy drink] ...

Tezuka: [worried] That's not... standard... is it?

Sanada: [passes the bottle back] How the hell should I know?

Tezuka: Fuck. [drinks]

B

*author pops up cheerfully* Oh, probably not, not unless you finally decide to take Ryouma up on what he is so obviously offering.

Tezuka: *dire glare* You can inflict demons and angels and even relatives on me, but you will never corrupt my captainly ethics!

Sanada: *quietly* You know, it really isn't a good idea to give them challenges like that.

L

Em-chibi: Gen-chan is absolutely right, you know. That sounded like a challenge to me. I'm sure Fuji could talk Yuuta into a buchou sandwich.

Tezuka: [pales]

Sanada: [taking an interest in spite of himself] I'd say he's more of an Echizen-type.

Em-chibi: You think?

Tezuka: [waving hands] Right. Here. I'm standing RIGHT HERE.

Sanada: Definitely. Or possibly Oishi. Buchou/Fukubuchou* has a lot to be said for it.

Tezuka: [strangles]

———

*Originally typed as "fuckubuchou" which indicates where my mind is.

C

Eriol: I'm perfectly willing to lock my cute relative in a room with anyone you ladies could suggest. Or everyone, depending on your preference.

Sanada: Do you, by any chance, know the Mad Hatter?

Eriol: Only by reputation, unfortunately. I've never met that charming personage.

Sanada: ...I'm going to go find another bottle.

L

Em-chibi: Then I say we lock Tezuka in with his team and let the pants chips fall where they may.

Tezuka: [has a heart attack]

Raphael: Oh, now that won't do at all. [resurrects Tezuka]

Tezuka: [whimpers] Why do you all hate me so?

Raphael: This isn't hate, this is entertainment.

Comments Four or Contributing to the Delinquency of Minors

B

Hisoka: *hand to head* So, did I hear that someone around here has booze?

L

Sanada: You want booze? We got booze.

Tezuka: Sake, scotch, vodka, whiskey, what's your pleasure?

Yukimura: I never would have figured you for a bartender, Tezuka.

Tezuka: Go away; you're not allowed in this club. [makes shooing motions]

Cam

By the time you're done, half the boys will be alcoholics. And then, their charges will have even more freedom to do as they please.

Tezuka: Perhaps we should cut back.

Sanada: Right after this one.

B

*pets Sanada* There, there, dear, take heart. You're about to get some.

Sanada: ...Tezuka, pass me the whole bottle.

Tezuka: *doubtful* Well, yes, but Cam has a point.

Sanada: Do you really think being sober would stop these three?

Tezuka: ...you have a point, too. *takes a healthy swig*

L

Hisoka: And when you're done, pass that bottle back down this way. [ruminates] Think anyone would miss that Mizuki fellow?

Tezuka: Shh. Fuji'll hear you.

Hisoka: Like that's going to stop me? [drinks]

B

Tezuka: *looks Hisoka up and down* Well, no, not really, but if you give him ideas he might beat you to it.

Hisoka: Oh.

Tezuka: *thoughtful, and swaying slightly* Or he might decide he likes Mizuki today, and try to do you in first. Is that lover of yours possessive or obssessive or anything troublesome like that?

Hisoka: *red* Tsuzuki is not my lover!

Sanada: Better not let the Authors know that. They'll have you in bed with him in a flash. They like to torture us, you know.

Hisoka: *morose* I figured that part out, yeah.

L

Sanada: Not that some of us are too good to be tossed into bed with our teammates, of course. [meaningful look at Tezuka]

Tezuka: [blinking] Are you trying to say something, Sanada?

Sanada: [expansive] Not at all. If I were trying, I'd say that you're a prig with a stick up his ass and that getting laid would do you a world of good. But then, I'm not trying to say anything.

Hisoka: [faintly alarmed] [relieves Tezuka and Sanada of their booze] Ummm, guys...?

B

Tezuka: *narrow glare* So. I take it you would hop right into bed with Echizen, if he just happened to be on your team instead of mine?

Sanada: Hell, for all I know, he's going to show up at the orgy.

Hisoka: *faintly* Orgy?

L

Tezuka: Orgy?!

Sanada: [shrug] These things happen. [thoughtful] I bet we could send Echizen an invitation...

Tezuka: [chokes]

Hisoka: Should he be turning that shade of blue?

Sanada: Probably not.

Outtakes Two

Author and Muse comments on the side, part two. Humor, I-1

Comments Five or Muses Get A Hangout

L

[shoos Hisoka in the direction of the Tezuka Bar & Grille]

Tezuka: ...the what?

Surely you're not content dispensing booze from a paper bag, Tezuka?

Tezuka: ...

My point exactly. You needed an establishment.

B

Tezuka: *grumbling* Am I at least going to get some in return for the Hell you're putting me through?

*floored* Tezuka!

Tezuka: *prim* As long as Echizen is grown up, and not on my team *eyes Sanada* I have no problem with it.

Really? Well, in that case... *thoughtful*

L

Sanada: There's nothing wrong with team bonding.

Niou: Or team bondage. [leer]

Sanada: ...

Tezuka: ...

Niou: I win!

B

Haru-chan! *high fives*

Tezuka: *steadfastly ignoring this* Sanada, I really don't think he has any business in this bar.

Sanada: *growls* I couldn't agree more. Take a hike, Niou, they couldn't torture you if they tried; you think it's all great fun.

Niou: *lazy smile* Make me.

*author cackles in the background*

L

Tezuka: ...bouncers. We need bouncers.

Niou: I could be your bouncer.

Tezuka: We need bouncers to get rid of you.

Sanada: Perhaps that thug from Yamabuki?

B

Tezuka: *dubious* Perhaps. If he could manage it, what with all the toothmarks.

Akutsu: *lounging on barstool* Hell yes, I can manage it. What's in it for me?

Sanada: *promptly* Free drinks.

L

Akutsu: Sold.

Tezuka: Wait a minute, is this Tezuka's Bar & Grille, or Sanada's Bar & Grille?

Sanada: You were wibbling. I had to take prompt action.

Tezuka: I wasn't wibbling! I was considering calling his references.

Sanada: Wibbling.

Tezuka: Looking before leaping.

Sanada: Wibbling.

Tezuka: Considering other options.

Niou and Akutsu: [eye Tezuka and Sanada]

Niou: [shrugs] Whatever. Pour me a drink?

Akutsu: Sure.

Comments Six or Tales from Tezuka's Bar and Grill

L

I've been convinced for a Very Long Time that it's a pretty tough thing, to be Tezuka.

It's really no wonder that Tezuka-muse has taken to drink.

Tezuka: I was driven to drink. Get it right.

Meep! Sorry, sorry.

B

*wibbles* Mitsu-chaaaan! *cuddles Tezuka* I promise we won't torture you anymore!

Tezuka: *sighs* It's part of the job, and I knew that when I took it.

*big wobbly eyes*

Tezuka: *more briskly* And don't make promises you can't keep, Madam.

*sniffs* Okay.

Tezuka: *wry look* This is how you get around Yukimura, isn't it?

Well, yeah. *thoughtful* Doesn't work as well on Hatter, though.

L

Belial: That is because one invented most of those tricks. [smug]

[pets Tezuka] Poor sweet baby. It can't have been any fun at all for him once he realized that breaking the rules for Echizen meant screwing over one of the other Regulars.

Sanada: [twitch] "Poor sweet baby"? [twitchtwitch]

Tezuka: [warning] Sanada—

Sanada: [howls, pounding the table] Bwahahahahahahah!

B

Niou: They're pretty fun like this, aren't they? *holds out glass*

Akutsu: *pours refills* You're easily amused. It was a lot more fun when he thought I was going to kill his precious little ace. *smirks*

Niou: You're psychotic. I like that.

L

Akutsu: Wait, you do?

Niou: [lazy grin] Doesn't everyone?

Akutsu: Not that I've noticed.

Sanada: [still laughing]

Tezuka: [turning progressively darker shades of red] Sanada, I'm warning you...

Niou: [sitting up] Hold on, I think it's about to get interesting.

Akutsu: What, they're finally going to fuck and get it over with?

C

Ryouma: They'd better not be. I haven't spent so much time letting Ahobe screw me to let someone else have Tezuka.

Yagyuu: I'd heard you were a more direct person than that. That's...intriguing.

Ryouma: I would be direct, but Buchou would tell me to stop, and then everything would be ruined. Besides, I have time.

Niou: So where'd your captain get the talent of being selectively deaf?

Ryouma: *thoughtful* I think Fuji-senpai trained him into it.

Niou: That reminds me of a story about Sanada...

Sanada: *abruptly stops laughing*

Tezuka: *smug*

Redux

B

*muffling chortles* Eriol is so very evil. Oh, yes.

*pets Hiyoshi* There, there, the scary man is gone. For now.

Hiyoshi: *dark look* Excuse me, I have to go look for that bar I keep hearing about.

Cam

Sanada: *Looks at Hiyoshi* Here, have a glass.

Hiyoshi: Thanks. *glares at Tezuka* This is all your fault.

Tezuka: ...*hands over the bottle*

Comments Seven or They're Even Evil to Each Other

B

Now... where shall Tsuzuki wind up? *claps hands* Let's play musical shinigami!

Hisoka: Drop dead.

What, before I even get the two of you in bed? *innocent look*

Hisoka: ...I hate you so very much.

Ah, I feel so accomplished.

C

Ryouma: You know, if you're looking for a way out of being in the middle of all those power battles and everything, Sampras...

Tezuka: Echizen, please confine your recruiting efforts to those who are still alive. And human.

Ryouma: But you always tell us that a good leader makes sure that everyone finds his place where he can contribute the most to the team.

Tezuka: ...I'm going back to the bar.

B

Hisoka: *latching grimly onto Tezuka's arm* Don't, for one second, think you're going without me.

Ryouma: *thoughtful* Maybe I should make some flyers to post at the bar...

Cam

Maybe Ryoma should include a fully stocked bar at Sampras. I'm sure people will need it. *grin*

C

Ryouma: I'm probably not going to call it the Tezuka Bar and Grill.

Me: Only because he'd kill you.

Setsuna: Hey, does the Tezuka Bar and Grill serve the Body and Blood of Christ?

Tezuka: ....

Ryouma: Stop that. He's fragile.

Comments Eight or ...Um Authors In A Silly Mood

L

[pets Astaroth]

Poor dear.

B

He's definitely getting the short end of the stick from everyone. Maybe we should give him some humans, too. Jyousei, perhaps? They're all crazy, and after Hanamura nothing Astaroth does will make any of them blink. He can trade tales of twin-woe with those two girl-boys.

L

And molest Kajimoto, too.

Tezuka: [to Kajimoto] Run. Run now.

B

*sparkles* You read my mind! I was thinking that the Head Boy Toy team captain does seem to be the... accommodating sort.

Kajimoto: *sprints*

Fuji: *trips him* Oops. So sorry about that. Now, was there something you ladies wanted with him?

Belial: *begging* Are you absolutely sure one can't have him?

Tezuka: *at end of rope* No, you can't have Fuji, because he's mine, damn it!

Fuji: *raises brows* I am?

Tezuka: *growls*

Ryouma: Ne, Fuji-senpai, I'll arm wrestle you for him.

Kajimoto: *still slightly winded* What is this place?

Tezuka: Hell.

Sanada: Worse. Care for a drink?

L

Em: He's not "the Bendy Buchou" in my head for nothing.

Kajimoto: ...I'll take that drink now, please. Make it a strong one.

Tezuka: Of course.

Fuji: [to Ryouma] Echizen, why so possessive? Have you learned nothing from Rikkai's example? We can share.

Belial: ;_; One wants him for one's collection so very much.

Ryouma: [reflecting] ...share, huh?

Tezuka: [pours himself a drink, too]

B

Ooo, that's right, he is flexible, isn't he? Well, that will go right along with Astaroth's personal Realm O' Bondage, Whips and Chains. *collapses in giggles* He can open a boutique! Right next to Tezuka's Bar and Grill. And Kajimoto can demonstrate the products.

Kajimoto: *turns pale*

Mizuki: *pats his shoulder* Now, don't worry too much. She's the nice one; she won't really hurt you.

Fuji: Much.

Mizuki: It's the other one you have to watch out for.

*distant look* He'd be really pretty in, say, some nice cuffs. A set of four.

Mizuki: ...maybe.

L

I was going to say... Mizuki, babe, you don't know us well at all.

Mizuki: Yes, but I do know that you enjoy having your heart twisted to shreds by angsty toys.

Everyone has a kink, dear.

Mizuki: Some of us prefer our kinks to be sane, and less painful than having our hearts pulled out through our noses and danced on.

Kajimoto: [waves empty glass] Refill please.

Sanada: Coming right up.

B

Fuji: Sane? *leans over Mizuki* Like, say, baiting someone you know likes to break people and then inviting him to break you?

Mizuki: *calmly* Like the Author said, everyone has their kinks.

Kajimoto: *hopefully* Can you give him to this Astaroth person, instead? Sounds like he'd enjoy it.

Not really, not when Tsuzuki's already taken an interest in him. Do you know what he gets like when someone in his protection is tied up by a psychopath?

Kajimoto: *gloomily* Fuck.

I can arrange that, yeah.

Sanada: Word of advice. Don't give this one straight lines like that.

Tezuka: Just remember, we'll be here for you when it's over.

Kajimoto: *glassy-eyed*

Understand

Rukia gets exasperated and points out the obvious to Renji. Spoilers through manga 181. Mostly Humor, I-1.

It had been a nice evening walk through the woods beyond the city, with a handful of friends, before the Hollow charged them from behind a grove of firs. Rukia felt she really should have known it was too quiet.

"Rukia!" Renji grabbed her arm and started to dive in front of her, only to meet her elbow coming the other way towards his gut. He folded up in a whooping heap, and Rukia shook off his grip.

"Here!" she yelled, springing away from him to draw the Hollow aside. It howled and dashed for her, zigzagging, trying to come at her from an unguarded side. It took what it thought was an opening, with a gleeful cry, and she spitted it on a two-handed thrust.

It was over in seconds.

"Nice job, Rukia-san!" Kiyone cheered. Kiyone's sister gave her a rueful look, eyes still a little wide, and Rukia spared a moment to wonder whether Isane-san would ever again be convinced to come out walking with them, after this.

"Yes," agreed Kira, bending over the still-gasping Renji, "but did you have to be quite so hard on Abarai-kun?" He sounded both worried and amused.

"Yes, I did," Rukia growled, stalking back to Renji's side as he started to lever himself off the ground. She grabbed a handful of the front of his gi and yanked him up face to face with her. "Get it straight," she snapped at him. "I am fully recovered. I have not had my spiritual energy drained. I am not in a false body that keeps draining it. I have not just come out of a prison that also keeps draining it." Each not was punctuated by a brisk shake.

"Yeah, but," Renji managed, grinning, and Rukia's voice lowered ominously.

"If you ever do that again I'll aim the elbow a little lower. Understand?"

Renji winced. "Got it, got it," he agreed, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

Which meant that when Rukia opened her hand and dropped him, he thumped back to the ground again.

"Good." She smirked at him, satisfied.

"Ow," he grumbled as Kira helped him up, and added under his breath, "Remind me again why I'm in love with her? Gotta be crazy."

Rukia had already turned away, which was good. That way, Renji couldn't see her smiling.

End

Seriously

Rufus gives Reno an assignment; or tries to. Written because I don't, for an instant, believe Reno doesn't take his job seriously. Drama/Humor, I-2, post AC

Reno had been having a good day, and hoped to continue the trend. He was experienced enough to put the expectation on indefinite hold, though, when Rufus Shinra toed open the door of the lounge the Turks had taken over. Especially when their employer gained a satisfied smile as his eye lit on Reno, lounging of course, by the window.

"Good, you're here. That Sierra is making a few too many inroads on our delivery contracts. I need you to go insure a few failures, while it's in port here." Rufus tilted his head thoughtfully. "Mechanical or human, either would do."

"I could do that," Reno agreed, "if I was on duty." He added, helpfully, into the pause that followed, "Which I'm not."

Rufus looked like he wanted to run a hand through his hair, except it would mess up his styling. "Goddammit, Reno, when you think it's a bad plan, can't you just say so?"

So Rufus had caught on. Reno examined his nails. "Can't. You're the boss; I'm a Turk. We don't argue with the boss, we do what he decides. We take orders and deliver results. It's what the Turks are all about, just ask Tseng."

Rufus narrowed his eyes and let the silence hover long enough for all involved to observe that Reno was not, in fact, doing what the boss said at all. "If you weren't so good at your job," he finally said, conversationally, "I'd shoot you right here and now."

Secure in the knowledge that he was very good, indeed, at his job, Reno just raised his brows inquiringly.

"Get Tseng over here, for me, I'll talk about the job with him," Rufus ordered, and pointed a finger at Reno. "And don't say you're off duty."

Reno smirked. "Just this once, as a favor to the boss." He pulled out his phone and hit Tseng's number, and leaned back a little further as Rufus stalked out with his mouth in a slight twist.

Still a good day.

End

Untitled Drabble

The first true drabble I ever wrote. For Athena, in a drabble exchange. Humor, I-1

"'Young and fun loving'?"

"Are you saying it isn't fun to win?"

"You're the only one winning! What about 'Generous'?"

"Who paid the membership fee for us to play here?"

"You know, I should have known it was you as soon as I read the bit about 'too elegant and refined for a personal ad to encompass'."

"So why are you here?"

"Because it sounded funny, before I knew it really was you!"

"And now we have objective proof that you admire me."

Shishido glared. "I am never using a dating service, ever, ever again," he declared.

Atobe just smirked.

End

North of the Sun, Over the Moon

Leon manages to catch up with D—in Shinjuku. Contretemps ensue. Humor with Drama, I-2

The shop door slammed open and a few of the more excitable animals dove under furniture.

"Okay, D, stop right there, no selling anything to anyone!"

D felt that he should have expected this. Orcot had gotten to more than one city ahead of him, and he'd been here in Shinjuku for months. Besides, life had probably been going too smoothly.

He also knew that he should turn a bright smile on the good officer, welcome him cheerfully, offer him tea. Divert him into anger. It had never kept Leon away, contrary human that he was, but it did usually stop his questions. He knew he should do this. He just couldn't quite seem to get a grip on the smile he needed. It was... too smooth.

He was drawing in a long breath to try again, if only because Orcot's questions would cause twice as much trouble as before, given his current guest, when Leon's eyes flicked to Lau.

"Sir, you should probably leave now. You don't know what this store really sells."

D winced. The tone was classic—even and calm, exuding a sense that the officer in question was in control of the situation and bystanders should not panic, just do as they were told and everything would be all right. This bystander, though, was unlikely to take that well. "Now, Officer Orcot, I'm sure there's no need—" he began, stepping forward a bit hastily, attempting to avert unsightly explosions in his front room.

Too late. Lau rose to his full height, managing to look taller than Orcot which D was fairly sure he wasn't, and Leon was going to hate that wasn't he? Oh dear...

"Officer, is it? Who are you with? CIA?" Lau's eyes narrowed. "It doesn't matter. I am Lau Wu Fei, the manager of this building, and nothing goes on here that I don't know about and approve." He took a long, deliberate step toward Orcot, never breaking eye contact. D resisted the urge to rub his forehead. Males. Lau stopped close behind him, hands on his hips, feet apart.

Leon's eyes narrowed in turn. "If you know what's really going on here and approve of it, that makes you an accomplice. I'll be happy to get you taken in, too."

"No one is taking anyone anywhere," Lau growled. "This is my building and I will be the only one to say who operates in it." He edged closer to D.

D sighed, mouth quirking. Wu Fei was one of the most territorial humans he'd ever met. However he might scheme to find reason to throw D out, let anyone else interfere in his building, his business, his tenant, and he went up in flames.

Orcot was looking more territorial than usual himself, fingers flexing as though he wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull D away from Lau. D saw the two of them for one moment as though they belonged here. A deep-chested, thick-furred dog stood in the door, bouncing on stiff legs with the force of his barking, teeth bared to warn away a threat. A great cat stood across from it, burning green eyes glaring down its nose at the interloper, tail lashing.

He shook his head, blinking the odd moment away. Perhaps he'd been working too hard lately; these two certainly did not belong here.

He stepped between the two men, hands out to keep them apart. "Now, now, please. Not in the store." As their glares transferred to the more familiar target he found his smile again. "Taizu, surely you don't object to someone doing your work for you? Not that Officer Orcot could, alas, since he only works for the police department of one American city."

They both pulled up short at that, staring at D before bursting out,

"He's not—"

"You mean he can't—"

They stopped and eyed each other. D saw his opening, which was a good thing since he also saw a customer coming toward the open doors. "Yes, exactly, the two of you have so many things in common, really. Why don't you discuss them? Somewhere else." He herded them toward the door with cheerful little shooing motions, edging them out just in time.

"Welcome to Count D's Pet Shop!" he smiled at the customer, turning his back on Orcot and Lau as he closed the door behind them.

Wu Fei stomped down the stairs, muttering, with Orcot right beside him.

"...never tells me what's going on in my own place..."

"...thinks he always knows what's going on..."

"...bringing in outsiders..."

"...getting involved with who knows what..."

"And always..."

"...smirking at you."

Wu Fei stopped on the landing with a sharp look at the American. "You too?"

"Does he ever do anything else?" The officer scrubbed a hand through blond hair and answered himself. "Well, okay, yeah he does. He glares and he gets sad and he fucking sparkles when he wants to get rid of you." The man glowered at nothing.

Wu Fei snorted; oh, yes, he recognized all of that. For some reason it made him feel a little better that D clearly had practice at driving people insane with a smile. And perhaps, with a little judicious information trading, he could find out more about his most infuriating tenant. "I think we should talk, Orcot."

Leon leaned back in his chair, looking around the huge office with an experienced eye. If this Lau wasn't part of the local underworld he'd eat his shoes. Just what he always figured D would eventually get wound up in.

Only... it didn't sound like D was exactly cooperating with this guy.

"So let me get this straight." Leon tossed back another swallow of whiskey and held out the glass to Lau for a refill. They were talking about D, after all; he needed it. "You wouldn't actually care if D was running a brothel as long as he got your approval? You're just worried about the way it looks?"

Lau leaned against his desk and took a long drink himself. "Look Orcot, it happens. It's human nature; every light side has a dark side. I just keep things running smoothly, keep them on the acceptable side." He grimaced. "Slavery isn't acceptable, and that's what rumor makes D's shop sound like. You can't run that out in the open."

He wasn't saying anything about running it in the shadows, Leon noted, scowling.

Lau frowned down at his glass. "That's just the surface, though. I could probably deal with that if it was all. What D really is... He's too dangerous. Too much power."

Leon sat upright, slowly. "What is he?" he asked, textbook casual for a skittish witness.

Lau's eyes fixed on him, narrow and sardonic. "If you followed him, you know. You have no jurisdiction here, Orcot. You can't have come because you think you'll be able to prosecute him for anything."

Leon examined his glass and didn't answer. Lau snorted.

"Figured. You followed him because you couldn't let the magic of him go, right?" He leaned back, ignoring Leon's sputtering. "He's a spirit of the land, after all. Of the land all over the world, from what I can tell. His kind either call to you or they kill you." That hard mouth quirked. "Sometimes both."

Leon studied Lau, puzzled. The guy didn't sound angry or scared, he just sounded... weird, Leon decided at last. He sounded weird, and that made perfect sense for someone D was playing with.

Lau eyed him back. "I take it you're staying, then."

Leon had just taken a drink and choked.

"Thought so."

Lau was smirking at him now, nearly fit to match D. The bastard.

"Just try to stay out of the way of business."

D looked around his tea table and sighed. Lau was watching Orcot with a rather taunting smirk and Orcot was glowering at Lau as though he wanted nothing more in life than to throw the man in a cell. Tetsu was growling under his chair, having already bitten Leon hello, and the cats were watching Lau with approval. It was not turning out to be a quiet afternoon at all. "So, Officer," he said lightly, refilling teacups, "what brings you to Japan?" He smiled, less brightly than usual; he didn't want Orcot to explode from sheer spleen, after all. "Surely not just to attempt arresting me for old time's sake?"

It took Orcot a moment to pull his attention off Lau. "Oh. Oh, yeah, right." Suddenly he looked uncomfortable. Even... sheepish? "Actually, um. I wanted to return something."

D's brows rose as Orcot fished in his jacket. A pair of handcuffs to remember him by, perhaps?

What emerged, though, was a piece of notebook paper, carefully folded.

"Here." Leon waved it at him, not meeting his eyes. "You left this behind. Thought I should give it back."

D unfolded the paper slowly. It was a crayon drawing; one he recognized. Chris had made it. "Leon," he said softly, smoothing the paper with gentle fingers. He tried to clear the huskiness from his throat. "Chris. Is he well?"

"Yeah. Yeah, he's fine." Leon fidgeted.

Lau, who had been watching this byplay with interest, leaned back in his chair. "Orcot. Do you mean you came slamming in here, acting like you were going to arrest everyone in sight, in order to bring D a gift?"

Leon cleared his throat. "Well. Kind of, I guess."

"Americans have even stranger courting customs than I realized," Lau muttered.

"Don't be an idiot," Orcot snapped. "Oh, wait, never mind. Too late."

Lau growled back at Orcot and D sighed, massaging his forehead. What on earth was he going to do with them?

Tetsu leaned over the back of his chair, watching the show. "Now can I eat someone?"

"They're the Count's pets, T-chan," Pon-chan told him stoutly. "You can't eat other pets, that's the rules."

"I think I'm going to go lie down for a while," D muttered, leaving the animals to comment on which human would win their fight and whether humans ever used their teeth.

"...call the CIA if I have to, damn it!"

"I'll have you deported first...!"

Maybe his father had had a point about getting involved with humans.

End

Best Friend

If humans can't stay with the shop, then... Humor and Fluff, I-2

No one gave him as much trouble as the dogs.

Dogs were far too willing to be pleased with humans. To love them as family, as pack, even when humans didn't reciprocate nearly enough, in D's opinion.

Dogs were devoted beyond reason, loyal beyond sanity. He feared for them the most, of all the animals he found places for, of all the animals whose wishes he sought to fulfill. Most of the other animals, at least, knew enough to look after themselves. The dogs always thought first of another—even if it meant grief or death or change out of all recognition

And somehow... they never quite managed to grow up, either.

"Leon! It is raining out! Keep your paws off the table until they're clean!"

"Oh, yeah, sure thing."

D glared, getting nothing for his trouble but a toothy grin and a desultory tail waved in his direction as Leon took his feet off the table and sprawled out to cross them on the satin arm of the couch instead. D muttered under his breath as he went to get towels. There were times he almost wished Leon hadn't found a way to stay with him.

No one gave him as much trouble as the dogs.

End

The Road Not Taken, Omake

The Great Secret is Revealed! Humor, I-1

Seien found Kou Shouka out in the pavilion on the pond, and came to stand before him, shoulders straight.

"Seiran," Shouka-sama greeted him with a smile. "Isn't it a lovely evening?"

"Yes," Seien said quietly, "but I have something I have to tell you. I'm afraid..." he looked aside for a moment, "it isn't as lovely."

"Ah?" Shouka-sama's brows rose. "Well, tell me, then."

Seiran took a long breath. "I haven't lied to you, but I haven't told you the truth either. The truth..." another breath, "is that I am Shi Seien, the second Imperial prince."

"Oh yes." Shouka-sama nodded agreeably. "I know."

The evening's first cricket chirped in the dead silence.

Seien felt like he'd just run into a stone wall—an invisible one. Carefully he repeated, "You know?"

"Of course. But you didn't seem to want to tell us your name when we found you, and it would have been rude to insist."

"Rude," Seien said flatly, staring at Shouka-sama. The man just smiled, and Seien was seized with a sudden suspicion. "Shouka-sama... are you teasing me?"

"Would I do that?"

"Shouka-sama!"

End

May It Concern

Shuuei writes a letter to his family about what he's just discovered. Humor, I-2

My Dear Most Honored and Respected Elder Brothers Who Almost Got Me Killed,

I write to you to urge greater caution, in the future, when planning expeditions like the one you sent me on a few years ago. I have recently come into possession of proof that, had the trip been completed, you would have had one less little brother.

And then who would have taken care of Ryuuren, when he bothers to visit?

Shuuei considered his opening and nodded. Guilt and threat in equal measures; his family would appreciate it.

This would likely have been even more speedily true had I attempted to deliver the expedition's goods while the subject of the transaction was still in the initial circumstances that occasioned the journey.

Shuuei paused again and ran that over in his mind a few times. It seemed sufficiently vague and confusing to be safe—at least, as safe as it ever could be, admitting to having tried to kill the now-heir-apparent. And if it ever did come to the Prince's attention, well, all Shuuei had to do was point out that it had been done for Ryuuki's sake, and he probably wouldn't die.

In short, even I couldn't have done it. This has, of course, turned out to be a felicitous fact in the end, but I felt you deserved to be in possession of all the facts so that the next clan decision is less potentially catastrophic.

Know that you have, as always, all my regard.

Ran Shuuei

Shuuei stowed the scroll for travel and tied its box firmly. He would give it to the couriers that evening, he thought.

It was always good to let his family know he was still doing well.

End

Strawberry Season

Yuuta lets himself be a little distracted by new things; his team notices; maybe Yuuta doesn't care. Romance with Humor, I-3

Yuuta didn't really mind Kaneda's amused look, when he practically floated into morning practice on Monday. He didn't even mind the quiet murmur of, "Someone had a good weekend."

It was true, after all.

And he had figured out, by now, that most of the world could probably tell by the grin he couldn't stop that something very nice indeed had happened to one Fuji Yuuta. Strangers had smiled at him indulgently on the walk home last night. That was all right, too. Everything in the whole world was all right, because he could still remember how Mizuki-san's desk chair felt under him, and the warmth of Mizuki-san's hand on his shoulder, and the way Mizuki-san's eyes turned softer as he leaned over Yuuta, and the slide of Mizuki-san's lips moving against his.

He guessed it probably was distracting him, though, because it took him a while to pay attention to the whispering behind him.

"...just happy for Fuji-buchou that Mizuki-senpai finally made a move," Miyamoto said.

"Yes, but his timing could have been a bit better," Ogata murmured back, dryly.

A snort that sounded like Mori. "What, his timing was great. Now maybe Yuuta will chill out on us, a little."

The silence that followed that made Yuuta glance over his shoulder, curious. He found all three of the now-second years giving Mori the look of (mostly) dutiful kouhai who thought they had the world's greatest idiot for a senpai.

"Fuji-buchou? Chill out?" Kimura scoffed. "Just because he got... well, whatever he got last night? Not a chance."

"I think I have to agree, Senpai," Ogata put in. "It's less than a month to the start of tournament season. I bet he'll be himself by afternoon practice."

"Two onigiri says it's by the end of morning practice," Miyamoto came back, promptly.

Kimura looked thoughtful. "Kind of depends on just what happened last night, doesn't it?"

Yuuta took a few moments to will the heat out of his face before he spun around and barked, "Okay, twenty laps and then pinpointing practice, everybody!"

Everyone stretched and groaned and started running, and Yuuta might have escaped the morning with at least a little dignity. Except that he heard Miyamoto whisper to the other two, as the second years passed him, "Told you."

It didn't help that Kaneda was trying not to snicker while he jogged beside Yuuta.

"Kaneda," Yuuta growled, knowing he was more flushed than exercise could excuse, "they are betting on my personal life."

"Yeah." Kaneda caught his breath, though the corners of his mouth still twitched. "They have been for months."

"WHAT?"

Kaneda lost his stride for laughing and Yuuta could only take a little comfort in the fact that his second years looked back at them and decided it would be a good idea to run faster.

"Yuuta," Mizuki-san said, closing Yuuta's door behind him, "is there any reason why Ogata-kun gave me an extremely knowing smile on my way up the stairs?"

Yuuta groaned and pulled his pillow over his head.

A moment of silence. "I see." Mizuki-san sighed and the bed dipped as he sat on the edge beside Yuuta. "Well, I suppose gossip gets around sooner or later."

"I am going," Yuuta gritted out, "to make them run laps until they don't have any breath left to gossip with."

Mizuki-san laughed. "That will do well all around, I'm sure." He tugged on Yuuta's pillow. "In the meantime, they're not here. And I am."

Yuuta let the pillow slide away and looked up ruefully. "You are." He reached up to run a hand down Mizuki-san's arm, just because he could. "How is your club going?"

"We have ten members, three of whom may conceivably be useful." Mizuki-san slipped his fingers around Yuuta's, looking thoughtful. "One of them might even make a new partner for Yanagisawa, who is still complaining of having lost Kisarazu. I have my doubts whether we will be able to move beyond Prefecturals this year; too many of the strong teams have too much continuity." He smiled, looking satisfied in a catlike way. "But a loss at that stage, this year, will spur them on for next."

Yuuta hesitated a moment before saying, "You're going to try, though, right?"

Mizuki-san lifted a brow at him. "Of course." His eyes glinted. "I have never taken a loss willingly, Yuuta-kun."

Yuuta relaxed, smiling. That was true; it would be all right.

Mizuki-san's eyes narrowed and he leaned over Yuuta, one hand slipping up to cup Yuuta's face. "I've spent a great deal of effort on catching something of drive and passion. I have no intention of letting it go again."

Yuuta was pretty sure Mizuki-san wasn't just talking about tennis, and that made him feel warm and tingly all over. Which probably meant he was blushing again. He didn't care. "Mizuki-san." He reached up to touch the curve of Mizuki-san's lips.

Mizuki-san leaned down to him, and this kiss was a lot more involved than the last one. He'd probably remember this one for days. But while Mizuki-san's tongue was stroking his Yuuta couldn't remember why that might not be a completely fantastic thing.

He'd worry about it later.

End

A/N: Ogata and Miyamoto were created by Lys ap Adin, for St. Rudolph's next generation, and are used by permission.

The Bees and the Bees

Yuuta wants Kaneda to explain some facts of life to him. Humor with Romance, I-3

In the end, Yuuta decided Kaneda was the best person to ask. Kaneda was the one who most deserved to be asked. Of course, then he had to actually ask.

"So," he tried, as they climbed the steps to their floor of the dorm. "You and Akazawa-senpai are, um... right?"

"We're right?" Kaneda stared at him for a moment before his eyes widened. "Oh." The corners of his mouth curled up. "We're 'um'? Yeah."

"Ah. That's, um, good. I was just. Um." Yuuta shoved his hands in his pockets and glowered at his feet. How did you ask these things?

"Curiosity?" Kaneda asked casually. "Have a bet on with the second years?"

Kaneda was having way too much fun with this.

"Um. Mizuki-san. Well, maybe, I mean... " Yuuta muttered, finally.

"So?" Kaneda was definitely grinning. "You wanted to celebrate or something?"

"No." Yuuta kicked the door shut behind him, because he really didn't want the whole dorm hearing this. "I just... well I wondered... what it's like. I mean what happens. When you... um."

Kaneda sat down on his bed with a thump, amusement disappearing in shock. "Are you, um, sure you don't want to go find a website for this?" he asked, a bit weakly.

Yuuta folded his arms. "Mizuki-san says never to trust anything on the web." Besides, Kaneda damn well owed him this, after laughing so much.

"Oh." After a moment, Kaneda sighed. "If it wasn't you... All right, look." He ran a hand through his hair and flopped back on the bed. "Tell me you already know what a blow-job is?"

Yuuta could feel his face getting hot. "Yeah."

"The rest... well, a lot of it's mostly just... touching. Like you do yourself, only... each other."

Yuuta managed to make a 'keep going' noise.

"And you want to know about the part that isn't," Kaneda muttered. "Well it's... Okay, look." He took a deep breath. "He might also want to be, um, inside you."

Okay, Yuuta really had understood that bit right. He frowned. "I gotta tell you, that still sounds weird. Are you sure?"

Kaneda gave him a flat, exasperated look, and finally said, "He might want to put his fingers or cock up your ass. Yes it's kind of weird. It's also kind of nice."

Yuuta always managed to forget how blunt Kaneda could be if you pushed him far enough. He hoped his face wasn't about to catch fire. "Ah. So. You're sure about the nice part?" he said, strangled.

Kaneda laughed, though he was pretty red in the face, too, by now. "Yeah, I'm sure." His eyes got a little distant as he stared up at the ceiling. "It's really... close. As close as you can get, to do things like that." He glanced back at Yuuta, and smiled just a little evilly. "And even if it's Mizuki-senpai, he'll probably be gentle when he's getting you ready."

Yuuta wrestled with himself; he knew Kaneda was setting him up. He knew it. But he had to ask. "Getting me ready?"

Kaneda downright grinned and leaned over to fish a tube out of his desk drawer and toss it to Yuuta.

Yuuta turned it over a few times, frowning, and read the label. "...for silky smooth sensation...

"KANEDA!"

"So, what was it you wanted to talk about?" Akazawa looked over his shoulder at Hajime as he dumped his bag beside his desk.

Hajime sighed. This was going to be uncomfortable, he just knew it. "Well. I suppose it may sound like a strange question, or, perhaps, too personal, but you and Kaneda-kun..."

End

A Knowing Smile

Shin offers Sena some help, and gets back a bit more than he bargained for. Or possibly a bit less. Continuity Free, Humor with UST, I-2

Sena

Sena breathed a sigh of relief as the end of the second quarter was called, and then tried not to wince visibly.

"Hey, fucking manager! Get the fucking moron some water."

Mamori-neesan grumbled as she turned away to rummage in her bag. "One of these days, Hiruma-kun, you're going to learn how to actually ask a favor..."

Hiruma-san snorted, and added very quietly as Sena passed behind him, "Cold packs are in my bag in the changing room. Hurry up."

Sena smiled and bobbed a grateful nod and hurried before Mamori-neesan could finish and ask if he was all right. He also carefully kept his lips buttoned over any observations about how Hiruma-san was still protecting him from Mamori-neesan, even after she had stopped protecting him from Hiruma-san. He already hurt enough without getting shot anywhere.

The changing room was deserted, so he let himself hiss and yelp as he peeled his shirt and padding off. He couldn't see any bruise, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, but it felt like his ribs were jabbing his kidneys with every breath.

Holding a cold pack on his lower back when it hurt to flex his arms too far was a bit of a challenge. He'd just fumbled the pack for the second time when the door opened.

"Mm. I thought so."

Sena blinked. "Shin-san." He smiled a bit wryly. "It was a very good tackle." It had just been a slightly bad landing, was all; on someone's shoe, he thought.

"Just a cold pack won't be enough," Shin-san told him, letting the door fall shut as he came to hand Sena a small jar. "Use this."

The scent, when Sena unscrewed the lid, was sharp and spicy and very strong. He looked up at Shin-san, tipping his head in question.

Shin-san frowned just faintly. "If you don't play your best in the second half, winning won't mean anything."

Which wasn't the question Sena had meant, but was one he'd had, so he smiled and ducked his head and scooped up a fingerful of the stuff. "Thank you, Shin-san."

Spreading something on his back turned out to be even harder than holding something there. After a moment the bench creaked as Shin-san sat down behind him.

"Here."

Sena gave the jar back with a sigh of relief. It turned into a bitten-off gasp as two large fingers smoothed the salve over a lot of his lower back and briskly rubbed it in. He twitched a bit as what had to be a huge bruise twinged, but whatever was in that stuff was warm, and the warmth seemed to dissolve the knot over his kidney.

"Ah." Sena sighed out. "Oh, that's better." Shin-san silently spread another layer over his skin and rubbed it in a bit more firmly. That seemed to find another layer of twinges and they jerked and pulled at him, drawing him taut. He kept his teeth clenched on his yelps and sighed gratefully as the heat unwound the twinges again. "Ahh... oohhhh... " Maybe the gasping for breath had made him lightheaded, or maybe it was just the pain going away, but whichever it was was just fine with him, really.

Shin

Seijuurou smiled faintly as Sena sighed, that wincing tension easing, and then blinked as Sena swayed back against his chest. Sena's eyes were closed and his lips were parted on a slow breath, and he was rather flushed. Probably with relief from the pain; he was familiar with how that went. Seijuurou's body was interpreting things a little differently, though, and he had to swallow in a dry throat as Sena relaxed bonelessly against him.

"Is that," he cleared his throat, "better?" He tried to find something to think about besides how slim and strong Sena's body was against his, and how nice Sena's bare skin felt. It didn't work very well.

Sena opened his eyes and smiled. "Lots. Thank you." And then he blinked, and seemed to realize that he was more or less lying in Seijuurou's arms, and shot upright, stammering. "Ah! Um, I, um, excuse me please!"

The relief was only partial, because Sena was still very close and, now that Seijuurou was thinking of it, he had an even better view of how sleek and taut Sena's body had gotten. He tried again to think calming thoughts, like training and football technique, and found himself thinking of new tackles he might try on Sena.

That wasn't helping.

The door flew open to a firm kick and Hiruma looked in. "Hey, aren't you done yet?" His brows rose as he took in who all was present.

Sena smiled brightly. "All finished, Hiruma-san! Shin-san was very kind and helped out. I'm fine now!"

Hiruma's brows rose further as he eyed the two of them. "Right, then. Get going." A corner of his mouth curled up as he looked at Seijuurou. "As for you. I said I'd bring him to you. I didn't say you could have him."

Seijuurou rose silently and strode out of the room as well as he was able at the moment, trying not to pay any attention to Hiruma's wicked laugh and just be grateful for Sena's look of total incomprehension.

There had better be time for a cold shower before halftime was over.

End

The Hand of Fashion

Hikaru more or less dares Akira to go shopping. Written purely because I think it's a crime to see someone so good looking dress so badly, and I bet Hikaru would agree. Humor, I-2

Akira was used to he and Shindou tearing apart each other's games, but he'd never honestly expected Shindou to start on his clothes.

"Seriously, Touya, that blue suit makes you look like a salaryman."

"Supposing it did, why is this your business?"

Shindou put his hands on his hips. "You're a pro; you should look like it. Ogata-sensei has style. Even your dad has style. I can't have my rival looking like he doesn't know how to dress."

Akira was starting to get more indignant than startled. "As if you have any room to talk, when you show up to your matches in tee-shirts!"

"Hey, these have a lot of style!"

Akira settled back, a bit smug. "Even if they do, what makes you think you can pick out good styles in formal clothing?"

Shindou glared. "I bet I could."

"You never have before."

"I could!"

"Prove it!" They were nose to nose now, leaning over the table.

"Fine!"

As Shindou stomped out of the salon, growling, and Akira stalked after him, he heard Ichikawa-san sigh, "I'd thought they'd grown out of that."

He couldn't imagine why she would think that; not as long as Shindou was Shindou.

Akira waved a hand at the racks of sober suits. "So. Go ahead and try. Find something stylish." He said the last word as if it had been dipped in a sauce he didn't like.

Shindou snorted. "Easiest thing ever." He made for the nearest rack and started paging quickly through the jackets. Akira wasn't surprised when a clerk approached them; he'd have wanted to protect the merchandise from Shindou, too.

"Can I help you sirs?"

"Ah, we're just..." Akira started, only to be interrupted by a jacket landing half on top of the clerk.

"Yeah, take that. Oh, and this one, and these slacks." Two more items were tossed over the clerk's arm. "Take those to a changing room, would you? Thanks."

Akira and the clerk both stared, startled, as Shindou trotted to the next rack. He paused and looked back.

"Well? What are you waiting for, Touya? Go try them on."

"If you would, please," Akira murmured, a bit dazed, to the clerk, watching Shindou efficiently ransacking a shelf of shirts.

Akira stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the cuffs of a shirt. "Black suit, white shirt... Shindou, I look like I'm going to a funeral!"

"Ah, that's just to start with. Here, try this tie."

Akira gave the tie in question a resigned look and knotted it swiftly. Shindou squinted at the result and made thoughtful noises. "Nah, wrong jacket, that's what it is. Try the shorter one. And the gray shirt."

"All black?"

"Why not? Ogata-sensei wears all white."

"That's Ogata-sensei! He's... he's taller."

"What? I bet you'd look good in all white, too. Hang on!"

Akira rubbed his forehead as Shindou made for the racks again.

"Oh, yeah, there we go!"

Akira frowned. "Shindou, this is getting awfully informal."

"No it isn't. It's style, I told you. You definitely want a band-collar shirt. It's perfect."

"So now I'm going to a casual funeral," Akira said dryly, examining his black pants and jacket.

"Not with a blue shirt you're not. Trust me."

Akira shot his friend a dire look. "If you make me into a laughingstock at official matches, I will hunt you down."

Shindou sighed excessively and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "Touya, you'll look good. And you need every edge you can get against people like Ogata-sensei, right? This is one you can use. So use it!" He grumbled under his breath, "Ogata-sensei sure does."

Perversely, that made Akira feel better.

"All right, fine. I'll get this and a couple of shirts. Happy?"

"Sure!" Shindou straightened, grinning. "Now we just need to hit the casual section to get some tee-shirts. And turtlenecks maybe. And jeans, Touya, you really need to have some jeans. You look like a banker, even when you're not in that suit."

Akira thought wistfully, as he was towed to the next department, of the days when he and Shindou had fought every time they met. It had been so much simpler.

"Dark gray denim, perfect! Try these on, Touya."

So very much simpler.

End

Population Adjustments

Ivan is caught in a Cunning Plan, ten times worse because By is there with him. Written for Porn Battle, with the prompt: Ivan/By, undercover. Humor with Porn, I-3

"Ivan," By murmured in his ear, intimately. "If you don't do this, it's quite possible we'll both die. There's motivation for you, yes?"

"Have you considered I might prefer dying?" Ivan gritted through a toothy smile, trying to find room to back up.

"Why Ivan, you wound me!" By cooed.

Ivan took a deep breath and reminded himself, again, that he wasn't supposed to haul off and punch his assigned partner. "I'm in Ops," he hissed, plaintively. "How did I get assigned with you, again?"

"Ah, you're not yourself this evening," By told him with a soulful look, loud enough for the bathhouse patrons lingering in the foyer to hear. And then, very softly, "And if you don't give me a handjob right now and prove it, we'll be dead and have failed the assignment. So put your hand between my legs; it's not hard. At least," he added with a wicked grin, "not yet."

Ivan tried not to hyperventilate. Orders, he reminded himself. Duty. Not that he had the fetish for that that his shortest cousin did, but still.

Right.

He put his hand rather gingerly on the crotch of By's tightly cut trousers and nearly jumped out of his skin when By tossed his head back and moaned, hips pushing into his hand.

"Don't flinch," By ordered though still lips. "And try to look less appalled."

Ivan rubbed gingerly, trying not to show his squeamishness.

"Better." By twined himself artistically close to Ivan and breathed in his ear. "Now undo my pants. I can manage most of this myself, but you have to do some work." Ivan took in a quick breath as teeth nipped at his ear. "Just pretend I'm a woman, yes?"

"That's a little difficult right now," Ivan growled back, shoving his hand inside By's pants.

"Mmm, much better. On second thought, keep thinking whatever you're thinking."

Ivan was positive he was turning red at that purr, but maybe that would just be in character. He stroked By roughly, trying very hard not to think about what he was doing, and especially not to notice the way By moaned and rubbed against him, a lean, languid flex of wantonness.

And he really wasn't noticing By's tongue in his ear, wet and hot and soft. Not at all. End of story.

Oh God, he was taking three showers when he got home.

He froze, eyes widening as By drew taut against him, hips jerking, and something warm and wet covered his hand; he knew that texture. "I thought you said you would be acting!" he choked.

"I said I could manage most of it." By's smile was downright feline under languid eyes. "Mm, good. Maigny has stopped watching. Congratulations on being convincing enough."

Ivan bit back any answer and just scrubbed his hand surreptitiously with his handkerchief.

"You're pretty good at that, by the way." By's dark eyes laughed at him.

Three showers and a really big bottle of vodka, Ivan promised himself though the horrified haze descending over his thoughts as By urged him back toward the baths proper.

He was going to kill Miles for this.

End

Not My Fault

Sequel to Population Adjustments. Ivan finds himself further embroiled in the aftermath of the Cunning Plan, rather to his confusion. Written for the Porn Battle prompt: By/Ivan, he doesn't know how this keeps happening. Porn with Humor, I-3

He really didn't know how this kept happening.

"By," he said, proud of how even his voice was, "we're not on an assignment, right?"

"Right," By agreed with a lazy smile full of predatory inquiry.

"And we're not under any kind of surveillance, right?" They had damn well better not be, or he'd... well, he'd think of something.

By made an affirmative sound to this, too, leaning closer.

"So why exactly," Ivan persevered, "am I sitting on your couch with my pants undone?" The sternness of the question was a bit undercut by his gasp as By's fingers stroked down his length.

"Because it's fun," By declared with a downright wicked smile. Before Ivan could ask who for, By leaned in all the way and nibbled on his neck and Ivan couldn't quite stifle the moan as a shiver of heat ran down his spine to jolt between his legs. "See?" By had the evilness to say.

"Dammit, By..." Ivan took a breath, hand clenching in By's tunic, and it would be nice if he could convince himself that was a prelude to throwing the other man off the couch. "I like women," he managed, a bit plaintively.

"Of course you do." By fingered his cock, smiling agreeably all the while. "But tastes do change as we mature. I mean," he waved his free hand airily, "just look at Lady Alys."

Ivan's brain short circuited as he attempted frantically not to imagine his mother in relation to any kind of sex whatsoever, a job made harder these days by Illyan, and just thinking that made his eyes cross all over again. By took ungentlemanly advantage of this to straddle Ivan's lap and wrap a hand firmly around him. And Ivan was a guy, after all, was it his fault if that made his hips rock up and grind against By's? No, it was not. Not at all.

He would think of a justification later, for his hands to be spread against By's back, pulling By tight against him, and for the sound he made into By's mouth.

He would have a harder time explaining the way his hands slid down to cup By's ass and knead it while By was getting both their clothing out of the way and stroking their cocks together. If he bothered explaining. Maybe he wouldn't. It felt good, hot and slick, and By was laughing low in his throat, wicked and knowing, the way none of the girls Ivan had ever been with had, well, barring Lady Donna, so maybe it was just a Vorrutyer thing. And, anyway, look how that had ended up...

The rush of pleasure unraveled Ivan's thoughts.

When he could put words together sensibly again By was handing him a towel and a smirk. Ivan growled at the latter and took the former, cleaning himself up with as much dignity as possible.

By didn't even bother fastening his pants, and still managed to look collected, which Ivan thought was cosmically unfair. "One of these days I'll get you to stay the night."

Ivan gave him a dire look. "Don't even think it."

As By threw back his head and laughed, a tiny voice in the back of Ivan's head reminded him that By liked challenges quite a lot. Ivan ignored it firmly. It wasn't his fault that he kept winding up in these situations.

He really didn't know how it happened.

End

Breaking of the Day - Omake

Because I really couldn't resist. Toward the end of Tsuna's investiture as the Tenth Boss, Xanxus puts in an appearance. Humor, I-2

Tsuna had thought he could relax, that all the Vongola leaders and allies that were coming had come, had been dealt with, that any potential embarrassment at being acclaimed The Tenth Boss was behind him for now.

And then Xanxus stalked through the door.

Gokudera and Yamamoto both tensed up, behind him, and Tsuna wasn't entirely sure they were wrong to do so.

Xanxus stopped in the middle of the room, feet spread, and glared at him. "I hate your fucking guts," he declared.

Tsuna considered this blunt, frontal statement of the obvious for a moment and relaxed. "I know," he agreed, quietly.

"Good." Xanxus strode the rest of the way across the room, ignoring Gokudera's chopped off shout, to seize Tsuna's wrist. Tsuna waved frantic calming gestures, dangling half out of his seat as Xanxus pulled his arm up.

And kissed his hand.

Dead silence rippled out through the room, in which Tsuna's small oof as Xanxus dropped him again sounded clearly.

Xanxus was still glaring down at him. "Just remember it."

"I will," Tsuna managed, catching his breath.

Xanxus snorted and spun around, stalking back out.

"Congratulations?" Yamamoto ventured, at last.

Tsuna laughed helplessly.

End

Lighter Than a Feather

This came out of me wondering how Hibari could have been convinced to identify himself with the mafia. Dino finally figures out a way to get through to him. Humor with Drama, I-2

Dino crossed his feet on his desk and stared out the window. "Hmm."

"Boss?" Romario looked in the door. "Anything you need?"

Dino waved a hand "No, no, just thinking."

Romario smiled behind his mustache. "Ah." He came in and sorted briefly through Dino's papers, gathering the finished letters and notes to go out. "Tsuna-kun or Hibari?" he asked casually.

Dino laughed, rueful. "You know me too well."

"You don't puzzle over our own family," Romario murmured. "You act."

Dino's mouth quirked wryly. "Just like Hibari, hm?" He stretched, sighing. "He really would do well among us. It's too bad he doesn't know anything about our history, I think he'd actually approve."

Romario made sympathetic sounds.

"Of course, damned if I can get him to listen," Dino added, rather disgruntled. "Ignores me all the time in favor of his..." He stopped, eyes widening. "Books." For a moment he just sat, staring at nothing. Slowly he began to smile.

"Romario."

"Sir?"

"I think I'm going to want some memoirs. And some blank books."

Kyouya looked up, with a certain jaundiced expectation, as the door of his lounge was flung cheerily open and Cavallone breezed in. No one else intruded on him here. "Back again?"

Cavallone smiled in a way that made Kyouya shift, warily; that was Cavallone's "I have a plan" smile, and Kyouya was somewhat annoyed to realize he recognized it at once.

"Well, you know, I was cleaning out the library and found some things I thought you might like." He waved a few slim books in one hand. "Seeing how much you seem to enjoy history."

Kyouya glanced down at the book currently open in his hands. "You take the baby's 'home tutor' nonsense a little too seriously."

"You'll like this. I promise. Just take a look." Cavallone laid the books down on the couch beside him, flashed another smile, and took himself back out.

Kyouya sniffed. The least the man could have done was offer him a decent fight, while he was here.

He picked up the book on top and paged through it, brow lifting. It seemed to be a personal journal. Cavallone had brought it, it had to be about the mafia. But it was in Japanese and the sentences he scanned sounded... familiar.

He turned back to the beginning, frowning, and read more slowly. An idea here, a sentence there, slipped through his mind easy and familiar as koi in their own pool.

"...as true men always have, we must look after our own honor and never leave it to an outsider..."

"...only law is the law of blood, we will never forget..."

"...our true strength has nothing to do with the foolish softness of rules made in cities far away..."

After an hour or two, Kyouya reached for the second book.

Two days later, Kyouya flung open the door to Cavallone's ex-hospital office without bothering to knock and strolled over to drop the books on a table. "You know, you could have just said from the start that the mafia has proper traditions."

"How was I supposed to get you to hold still long enough?" Cavallone asked, dryly.

Kyouya didn't bother answering that. "It's a suitable kind of thing," he pronounced.

Cavallone downright grinned and Kyouya gave him a narrow look; he didn't see any reason for Cavallone to look so pleased.

"Good."

Kyouya flicked his fingers at the covers. "I still say herding together is weak."

Cavallone's grin quirked. "You're the Cloud. No one will ask you to."

"All right, then." Kyouya crossed his arms. "So?"

Cavallone raised his brows. "So... what?"

"Are we going to fight or not?"

Cavallone leaned back and laughed.

End

Off-label Use

Dino is reading up on Japanese history and culture, and finds just the thing to provoke Hibari with. Humor with Romance, I-2

Note: This will be funniest if you've read any of the Edo period reams of love-advice for samurai, though it should make sense even if you haven't. If you haven't I quite recommend them, they're very entertaining.

Dino sat cross-legged on Kyouya's couch, reading down a page in his book and ticking things off with a highlighter.

Five years whole-hearted devotion, check. Kyouya certainly didn't leave much room for anything else, at least if a person wanted to live on with all his bones intact.

Never have two strings to your bow, check. Dino smiled wryly. Romario had been dropping hints about the daughters of other Families who were around his age but, after Kyouya, really, none of them were all that interesting.

Be assiduous in the practice of the military arts while thus engaged, check. Even if Dino hadn't been inclined to keep himself in trim in any case, no one survived long around Hibari Kyouya without being able and willing to fight back. Unless they were a small, fluffy animal, of course.

Be willing to throw away your lives for each other, check. Well, all right, Dino was willing provided it was in the cause of their Families, and Kyouya just never seemed to think twice before throwing himself into any hard fight, but Dino was reasonably sure that fighting beside each other in life-and-death situations counted, given the tone of the rest of the book.

Right, then.

He snapped the book shut and tossed his pen onto the low table and announced. "All right, Kyouya, according to this book, having 'prudently verified the root of my nature', now is a good time for me to ask you to elevate our relationship."

"What are you babbling about now?" Kyouya asked from the other end of the couch, not looking up from his own book.

"A classic of Japanese philosophy, in fact."

That made Kyouya look up, brows raised, lip curled faintly. "Giving relationship advice?"

"Rather a lot of it, actually." Dino had to confess to some bemusement over that, himself. He certainly hadn't been expecting it, though he was more than willing to take advantage of it.

Kyouya was looking at him with increasing suspicion and narrowing eyes. "'Elevate our relationship'?" he quoted.

Dino grinned. "Yep."

Kyouya set his book aside with precise motions, and plucked Dino's out of his hands. He looked at the cover for a long moment. "The Hagakure," he finally noted, voice even. "A classic of Edo period samurai conduct and philosophy, indeed."

Dino waited. He couldn't believe Kyouya, with his interest in such things, wouldn't catch the implication.

Sure enough, Kyouya looked back up at him, eyes sharp. "I should verify your nature?"

"That's what it said." Dino tried to stifle a smile. "And I'm sure I wouldn't want to violate proper order or anything." When Kyouya didn't move, he added, "Being as it says the younger companion will want to be careful when choosing a guardia—."

That did it.

Dino laughed as he landed flat on his back on the cushions with Kyouya over him, trailing off into a moan as Kyouya's teeth closed firmly on his throat and Kyouya's hands ran up under his shirt.

He loved that Kyouya only ever followed the rules he liked.

End

Sartorial Splendor

Nicholas has been appointed to a post he likes, with a uniform he doesn't. Drama with Humor, I-2

Nicholas put his hands on his hips and glared at his king. "Absolutely not."

This only got him a raised eyebrow.

Nicholas stood his ground. "I don't care what our historical ties to the Magyar are. I don't care how symbolically significant it is. I am not wearing that lavender velvet top hat!"

"Kucsma," Lui murmured. "Not a top hat." He leaned his chin in one palm, watching Nicholas with distant interest.

"I know you can perfectly well alter the Councilors' uniforms. It'll be a hopeful symbol of change, and all that rot, or at least Orphe will probably say it is."

Lui's eyes glinted and Nicholas carefully refrained from smirking. He might not be as good a strategist as Lui or Daniel, but Lui-manipulation was a separate art, and one he followed with dedication.

"So, are you declining your appointment?"

Nicholas considered it. Yes, Lui was too practical to throw away a good tool, but he was also bloody minded enough to find a much worse post for Nicholas just to make his point. "No," he decided. "I'm perfectly happy to accept. I'm just not wearing that damn uniform."

"I'm sure something else can be arranged," Lui purred.

Nicholas snorted at this not-subtle-at-all threat. "Save your gold braid and and velvet for all the trained monkeys you've just inherited," he suggested.

As he'd hoped, that made Lui laugh, and he tossed off a casual salute before turning his back with calculated insolence and strolling out. He knew exactly what it was Lui valued him for, and he was more than willing to play on it if it got him out of that godawful, antique, showboat uniform. And if it resulted in some of the more obsequious, suck-up nobles inheriting the pastel velvet instead, well that was just fine with him. He thought it was good for Lui to have someone who would egg on his evil sense of humor.

He smiled cheerily at the official waiting outside the audience room doors and strolled down the corridor, whistle echoing insouciantly off the marble.

End

Management Techniques

Hibari makes Romario very, very nervous, for a multitude of reasons. This is a Generations sidestory, taking place between "A House Divided" and "They Also Serve." A certain amount of silliness here, folks.

Romario was quite sure that Hibari Kyouya was a perfectly good Cloud Guardian for young master Sawada. All the same, he was starting to wish that the boy would simply drop off a cliff and disappear—not permanently, just for a few months, perhaps, or however long it would take for Romario to get his master's attention firmly settled on some nice young mafia lady who would be happy to make lots of little Cavallones while the boss went gallivanting around with the Vongola's Cloud Guardian.

Really, he didn't think this was too much to ask of the universe.

"It's unseemly, is what it is," he told Tetsuya over a beer, as Tetsuya listened and chew on his grass stalk sympathetically. "It's not that I don't hold your master in the highest regard, but it's not really proper for my boss to spend so much time with him."

It was an outright miracle that no one back home had begun to talk yet. Well, a miracle, and the fact that Romario had an entire team of men working on damage control. With any luck, Hibari would never find out that his fights with Dino had been spun in such a way as for people back home to believe that the boss had been smitten with a delicate Japanese beauty, and that was why he was so happy to jet off to Japan on such a regular basis.

"Hmm," Tetsuya said, which might have meant anything, had Romario not been well-versed in the language of the second.

"Another beer would help," he agreed, and signaled for them.

Meanwhile, the boss and Hibari continued to beat each other to a pulp.

On another occasion, Romario said, broodingly, "Not to speak ill of the dead, but this is all the old boss's fault."

They were in the countryside this time, for more of Hibari's training. Romario and Tetsuya were observing; Romario had packed a cooler to aid them in doing so.

Tetsuya popped the caps off another pair of bottles and passed one Romario's way, with a raised eyebrow to go with it. Romario accepted the bottle and considered the query. "The old boss. Yes." He lowered his voice, even though they were the only ones around. "This isn't for common knowledge, you understand."

Tetsuya tipped his beer back and took a drink, and then nodded; well, he was the trustworthy sort. Seconds had to be, after all.

Romario leaned back on his elbows. "The old boss couldn't keep it in his pants," he said, with all the satisfaction of getting to say so out loud, finally. "Chased anything in a skirt, see?" He sipped his beer, savoring the dark bitter taste of it, which was all the better for the schadenfreude that accompanied it. "Got pretty much his due for it, too." Prophylactics really were a man's best friend; too bad the old boss hadn't been a fan.

"Ah," Tetsuya said, in the tones of a man enlightened.

"Yeah," Romario agreed, watching the boss drop out of a stand of trees, right on top of Hibari, and the ensuing tussle. "Won't even look at girls. Treats 'em all like sisters."

It was no wonder the boss liked fighting so much. All that pent-up sex drive had to go somewhere.

"Hmm," Tetsuya said, watching the boss and Hibari were chasing each other through the trees and the bushes in a way that made Romario's stomach hurt with the pastoral homoeroticism of it all.

Romario blinked, considering. "Well, no, I haven't tried that," he admitted. "You think I should?"

Tetsuya shrugged at him, and Romario had to admit that he was right. It couldn't hurt to try.

"No luck," Romario muttered, slouching over his bowl of sake as Hibari and the boss dodged each other through the moonlight. "Tried half a dozen of the female hitmen on him. Didn't work."

Tetsuya leaned over and poured some more sake, sympathetic. He was right, Romario thought, mournfully. It had seemed like such a good idea: if all the dewy-eyed maiden daughters of the mafia Families were failing to attract the boss's attention, then maybe what the boss needed was a woman more like Hibari.

Romario had paraded half a dozen of them past the boss, all of them cool-eyed and lethal, with smiles that went from sweet to outright feral. There had been redheads and blondes and brunettes, with proportions from the petite to the Amazonian, women with lean frames and small perfect breasts and women who were perfect lush armfuls, and all for nothing. The boss had been perfectly cordial to all of them, and his eyes had never once betrayed a flicker of interest beyond the professional.

"Iâ€™m starting to think that he actually might be gay after all," he said, sulky, and drained his sake again. "How do you think your boss will feel about being a mafia..." Romario searched for the appropriate word, except there was none, not for this. He settled for the closest approximation. "...consort?"

Tetsuya choked on his sake.

Romario sighed. "Yeah. I figured." Except that was going to be what they were left with, if he didnâ€™t find some way of corralling the boss long enough to get him settled down and producing heirs before he got himself killed.

Tetsuya cleared his throat. "...Reborn?" he suggested.

Romario blinked once, twice, and then a third time. "Reborn," he said, low and reverent, since it was the answer to his prayers.

Tetsuya poured another round of sake, looking rather relieved as Romario plotted how best to approach the boss's old tutor for help. Romario couldn't blame him, since he was right—the mere thought of Hibari's reaction to the words "mafia consort" was enough to make a strong man tremble.

"I shouldn't," Romario said, when Tetsuya fetched up with two flutes of champagne. "Duty, you know."

Tetsuya pressed the flute of champagne on him anyway, and Romario shrugged. He had a point—this was a celebration, after all.

He watched the boss guide his new bride across the floor—Sofia, of the Leone Family, an altogether satisfactory choice on all fronts, from the powerful alliance that she brought with her to the fact that the boss had liked her quite a bit, once he'd gotten his head down out of the clouds. They made a lovely couple, and all the watchful eyes of the other Families seemed to approve.

Tetsuya made a satisfied sound and leaned against the wall next to Romario, sipping his champagne.

"Can't blame you," Romario agreed. Life was a lot easier without having to hare off after the boss and Hibari all the time. Although... "Your boss?" he asked.

Tetsuya just rolled his eyes and directed them across the room, to where Hibari was pointedly ignoring Yamamoto Takeshi, who persisted in talking to him anyway.

"No kidding," Romario said, after a moment to marvel over the thought. He buried his smile in his champagne flute at Tetsuya's long-suffering sigh. "Well. Might improve his temper."

Tetsuya just snorted.

He was probably right, Romario decided—there wasn't a force under heaven that could do that. Still. "To our bosses and their happiness," he proposed, and they clinked their glasses together to celebrate a job well done.

- end -

Vigor

Dino is only trying to help. Really. An omake to "They Also Serve". Silliness, general audiences

Kyouko was bent over a letter to her mother when Tsuna knocked on the doorframe on the way into her study. "Kyouko," he said, slowly, taking the seat next to her desk, "do you have a moment?"

"Mm, just a moment," she said, and finished the sentence she was writing. She put the pen down and looked up, and blinked at the expression on his face, which was suffused with embarrassment and exasperation both. "What's wrong?"

He set a bottle on the desk; it was dark brown glass and unlabeled. "This," he said, slowly, "is a tonic. Dino-san sent it to me."

Kyouko picked the bottle up and uncapped it, and wrinkled her nose at its pungent aroma. "What kind of tonic?" she asked, capping it again.

"According to the letter? The kind that a man takes to improve his, ah, vigor."

To improve his... vigor? Kyouko looked at the bottle again, and then at Tsuna, but it wasn't until I-Pin squeaked that she understood the implication. "His vigor," she repeated, face burning.

"Yes." Tsuna passed a hand over his face. "If you don't mind, could you kindly let Caterina Modigliani know that my vigor is not in need of improving?"

"Right away," Kyouko said, hastily, putting the letter to her mother aside.

"Thank you," Tsuna said, and stood. "Every time I think that I've heard it all..." he said, and shook his head. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to give Dino-san a call."

"Of course," Kyouko murmured.

She waited till he was decently out of the room before looking at I-Pin; when their eyes met, they burst into helpless laughter.

"Poor Tsuna," Kyouko said, when she'd caught her breath again. "Oh, poor Tsuna." She wiped her eyes and reached for a fresh sheet of stationery, and tried to figure out a graceful way of telling Caterina that really, things were fine, and there was no reason for anyone to be concerned about Tsuna's, ah, vigor.

- end -

The Queen and All Her Men

A series of linked shorts that follows Lys ap Adin's "What to Expect When You're Expecting". Kyouko and Tsuna's first child is a daughter. She's soon followed by a lot of brothers, and the mafia world may be in for a big surprise—provided the Vongola themselves survive the experience. Drama with Humor and Domesticity, I-3

First Step

Kyouko still thought Sicilians had strange ideas about their ceremonies, but at least she could understand this part of the christening perfectly well—the part where Vongola and their allies, and a few who weren't either, gathered to chat and politic on the lawn, all come to see her firstborn. She smoothed the white folds of her daughter's long gown and smiled up at Haru, who had brought her a cup of tea.

"Both of you holding up?" Haru murmured, bending down to check her new goddaughter.

"As well as can be, so far," Kyouko said. "I'm thankful she's slept through most of this."

Haru laughed. "She's probably saving up for later."

"Oh, don't suggest things to her," Kyouko almost moaned. Mari had only just started sleeping through most nights.

"After today's excitement, she'll probably sleep well, even after a nap," Caterina Modigliani said, drifting over. "It seems your difficulties are all ironed out, with this; with the bearing, at least." Her eyes ran casually over the guests. "They're all changing their plans now, sorting through their sons in hopes one will be the true Eleventh boss of the Vongola."

"And you aren't? Donna Caterina?" Kyouko murmured, a steel edge under the softness of her voice.

Caterina laughed. "My son already has a Family waiting for him."

True enough. "Their plans will have to fit reality." Kyouko settled Mari in her arm. "My child is a Vongola."

"Indeed," Caterina murmured, approval glinting in her eyes. "How could she be otherwise?"

Kyouko nodded and looked out over the guests herself, cradling her daughter and heir.

Sugar and Spice

"Uncle Onii-san!"

Tsuna and Ryouhei both blinked and Kyouko laughed softly. "Well, that is what both of us call him," she murmured. "Uncle Ryouhei," she pronounced for Mari, who cocked her head.

"Uncle Ryouhei," she repeated carefully and looked up at her mother's face with a small copy of Tsuna's thoughtful expression that made Kyouko smile and stroke back her daughter's hair. "Okay." She wriggled to be let down and, when Kyouko set her on her feet, made her way across the room to take a hold of her godfather's sleeve, examining him. "Uncle Gokudera?" She looked back at her mother for confirmation, and missed the helpless softening of Gokudera's face.

"Yes, I think that's right," Kyouko agreed with an impish smile. "That's your Uncle Gokudera."

"She's going to have the entire Family wrapped around her little finger, isn't she?" Yamamoto murmured, laughter running under his voice.

Mari looked at him and declared, more confidently, "Uncle Yamamoto."

"She has a good start on it," Gokudera observed, as Yamamoto's smile turned sweet. Kyouko was careful to keep her smugness off her own face.

The brightness of the moment was interrupted a bit when the door opened on Xanxus. "Sawada," he said, peremptorily, "I need a decision about the Leone. Now."

Tsuna sighed, pulling himself back into into his job, and was just standing when Mari walked over to Xanxus, looked up at him, and nodded firmly. "Uncle Xanxus." She smiled, pleased.

There was a breath of absolute silence while Xanxus stared down at her with the most floored expression Kyouko had ever seen on a human face.

It was broken by Yamamoto collapsing into a chair, laughing too hard to stand.

Kyouko came and picked her daughter up and smiled serenely at Xanxus. "Yes," she said, thoughtfully. "I think you're right again, Mari. This is your Uncle Xanxus." She met his eyes, unbending, and he was the one who looked away.

Her daughter would lead the Vongola one day, with both her father's strength and her mother's.

"So what I don't get," Mari crossed her arms, stubbornly, "is why it's isn't obvious that our way is better! I mean, didn't Uncle Dino make his Family rich again, and the second strongest in the alliance, by taking care of the civilians in his territory? Why is this so hard to get? You and Father say we can't change people's minds for them, but I don't see why not."

Uncle Gokudera gave her a long look over his glasses and sat back from the stack of books and journals of mafia history they'd been going over. "Well, what if we did? What if we went to war with the Furetto and, when we won, told them 'you have to stop the drugs and protection schemes in your own territory'?"

Mari felt a strong urge to pout. "I guess they wouldn't want to. But they should!"

Uncle Gokudera shrugged. "And we could probably make them do it. But only by taking over their territory ourselves." He gave her a crooked smile. "And if we come in, having killed the Family in charge, how do you think the civilians would look at us?"

"Better than the old one?" But it was a grumble, because she knew it wouldn't work that way. She slouched down in her chair. "Why do people have to be so dumb?"

"Because they don't know any better, yet." Uncle Gokudera got up and came around the table to kneel down by her chair and rest his hands on her shoulders. "You're going to be the Eleventh, Mari-san. I know it's hard, but you have to have patience. We can't make things better by force; that isn't the way that lasts."

She wanted the better to last. That was what she was here for. She straightened up and looked her godfather in the eye. "Show me how we do it, then."

He smiled and tapped the stack of books. "We're getting there."

Mari sighed. Yes, she'd thought that might be the answer.

High Energy States

Yamamoto slipped in the side door and closed it quietly behind him. Ryouhei laughed to see the small form draped over Yamamoto's shoulder.

"What did he get into this time?"

Yamamoto's mouth quirked up. "He wanted to help cook. I'm pretty sure he was hoping for a share of the pastries, but he was a little late in the day for that so he wound up helping Ettore with dinner instead."

"Helping, huh?" Ryouhei grinned; they'd all learned, as soon as Daisuke started walking, that the boy's helpful streak was only matched by his no-brakes enthusiasm. Ryouhei approved; it was clearly Kyouko's side of the family coming through. "He wear himself out, then?"

Yamamoto looked a bit rueful. "Well, he wound up snitching enough of the grilled tuna and then enough of the marzipan left over from Kyouko-san's tea that he got a little sick. So Ettore gave him a little wine to settle his stomach, and, well..." He shrugged the shoulder that didn't have a small boy slung over it.

"Kyouko's going to kill you, you know," Ryouhei pointed out, laughing.

Now Yamamoto chuckled. "A few times, probably. But it's just how Daisuke is; it's no use trying to stop him from being himself." He carried his godson off to bed and Ryouhei smiled after them. It was a good thing his nephew had Yamamoto to look out for him.

Otherwise, none of them might survive the kid growing up.

Daisuke eyed the study door. He was pretty sure this was where his sister was hiding. Haruka was better at actually picking well hidden spots, even though he was the youngest, but Nee-san usually won hide-and-seek games anyway because she picked spots no one else dared to go.

Daisuke took a deep breath and eased the door open, peeking around it. "Um."

The man inside looked up, eyes dark and kind of scary.

"Um." Daisuke edged a little further in. "We're playing hide-and-seek."

"I noticed," the study's owner said flatly.

She was here, then. Daisuke nodded and stepped all the way inside, and Mari stood up from behind the desk, looking indignant. "Uncle Xanxus! You gave it away!"

He just looked at her and she sighed and turned to Daisuke. "Did you find Haruka?"

"Yep!" He was pretty proud of that, too, since Haruka had hidden in the bottom of a library bookcase. He and Mari were both already too big to hide there and it was hard to remember to check the spots he couldn't use.

Mari shrugged. "Okay, then. Next round is outside!"

She trotted out the door and, as he turned to follow, Uncle Xanxus called his name. Daisuke paused, looking back. "Yes?" They were all polite, even when Uncle Xanxus was scary, because Father said so. Though Uncle Gokudera didn't seem to mind that very well.

Uncle Xanxus' eyes were still dark, resting on him. "Do you ever wish you'd been born first?"

Daisuke blinked. "No." Nee-san had to study even harder than he and Haruka did, after all.

"Never wanted to be the heir?"

"Oh, that." Daisuke thought, because Uncle Xanxus really did seem curious. "I don't think so. Father says we'll all be doing Vongola stuff together, so no one gets left out. And Mari likes to be bossy, so she'll probably be good at being Boss."

He wasn't sure why that made Uncle Xanxus snort, but it made him look a little less scary. "Go on," he said, and Daisuke did.

Mari always had lots of fun ideas. He'd like helping, he thought.

Between the Lines

Haruka sat curled up in a corner chair of the study, watching his father work, watching him go through stacks of paper, watching Uncle Gokudera come in and mention other Families and talk for a while and go out again. Finally he stirred. "Father?"

His father looked up and smiled; he almost always had time for questions. "Yes?"

"I can understand why not Daisuke; he'd be really bored doing this. But why is Mari heir and not me? Other Families don't have girl heirs."

"The Giglio Nero do," Father pointed out. "And Caterina is the head of the Modigliani."

"Even Donna Caterina has a son coming after her," Haruka objected.

"True enough." Father sat back in his chair with a sigh. "It's been tradition, in the mafia, to choose the eldest boy to be heir, unless there aren't any boys. But I think there are a lot of mafia traditions that should change." He smiled, only it was a very different smile this time, and Haruka didn't think it was a happy one. "It's also a tradition that all the possible heirs of a Family complete to see who survives. I don't like the idea of all of you feeling like you have to fight each other. I'd like you to feel like a real family, like you can help each other, instead."

"Oh." Haruka considered this. "So Vongola is going to be different." That was satisfying.

"I hope so," his father said, quietly.

Haruka nodded. "All right. How am I supposed to help Mari and Daisuke and Mamoru, then?"

"Mari will need people she can trust, that she can talk to. People she knows will listen and tell her honestly what they think." Father's smile was happier again. "I think you'll be good at that."

Haruka thought so too. "And Daisuke? And Mamoru?"

Father laughed. "I think Daisuke just needs to be reminded to slow down sometimes. And Mamoru needs his big brother's protection for now."

"I can do that." Haruka smiled back at Father.

"Yes. I think all of you will do a very fine job."

Haruka tucked those words away to hold on to the next time he had to deal with boys from other Families, and came over to the desk to see what Father was writing.

Tsuna thought that Ryouhei was more bright-eyed about visiting the Etnaland park than any of the kids. Certainly more enthused than his godson.

"That was an extreme waterslide!"

"Sure, Uncle Ryouhei."

"Let's go see the lions!"

"Okay, Uncle Ryouhei."

"Are you hungry? I'm starving. Let's get some food, and then the dinosaur park!"

Haruka rolled his eyes a little but trailed along willingly enough when Ryouhei slung an arm around his shoulder. "Whatever you say, Uncle Ryouhei."

Fortunately, Mari intervened before Ryouhei cajoled Haruka into a sundae. "Oh, hey, look Haruka, they have your favorite soda," she said, sounding perfectly innocent and casual as she leaned on Ryouhei's arm. Their uncle instantly changed the order to include soda instead.

"She's definitely her mother's daughter," he murmured to Kyouko, who was stifling giggles, or possibly horror, in his shoulder. "Let's sit down for a little and let everyone catch up before we go on," he added, louder.

Gokudera herded everyone over to a table and Haruka and Mari settled down to comparing the merits of the water slide versus the crocodile rapids while Ryouhei beamed over them both.

"Onii-san should have children of his own," Kyouko murmured, as they collected their own bottles of water.

"Well, I believe Hana-san thinks a little the way I used to. Perhaps I should talk to her." The approving smile Kyouko gave him still made him want to blush after all this time.

"...and maybe we'll have time for the waterslide again!" Ryouhei was saying to the kids when Chrome and Yamamoto came into view with Mamoru and Shin. Haruka leaned his chin on his hand and grinned with a lot of wry affection, for a ten-year-old.

"Sure, Uncle Ryouhei. That'd be fun."

Tsuna thought Haruka was definitely Kyouko's child, too. At least he couldn't imagine where else the boy had gotten his patience from.

Leavening

You might think, Haru reflected, that Daisuke would be the explorer of Kyouko's children, but somehow it was Mamoru who managed to show up in every nook and corner of the mansion sooner or later. This morning it was her breakfast table, which had meant Hayato's kiss goodbye had been more restrained than usual, but she supposed she couldn't hold that against the boy. He was a very sweet kid.

"Aunt Haru? Why aren't you and Uncle Gokudera married?"

Haru tried not to choke on her coffee. "That's... that's kind of a long story," she managed. Mamoru, she reminded herself, was also very good at asking the hard questions.

Mamoru just nodded and kept looking at her, waiting, clearly quite willing to listen to a long story. Haru looked back, helplessly. "I'm not sure you're old enough to hear it."

Mamoru looked up at her, eyes wide and direct. "I bet I am. If that means it's something we have to not talk about outside the Family, I'm good at that."

Haru had to admit that was true. And besides...

She sighed and set down her cup. "Actually, I'm hoping we can be married sometime kind of soon. We haven't been able to because of my work," she said, carefully, "and I'm hoping I'll be able to hand down that part of my job soon." Possibly to Mari's friend, Fiorela, who seemed to have inherited Dino's charm and Sofia's grace, thank goodness.

Mamoru frowned. "That's awful," he said, firmly. "You must have been really sad." He got up and came around the table to hug her and Haru had to blink away sudden tears. Mamoru really was a sweet kid.

"Nee-san says she won't marry anyone just because of her job, and she gets really upset about it. Kind of the other way around, I guess. But I bet she'll change that, too, so people don't have to get married or not if they don't want to. Or do." He took a moment to double check his own logic and nodded, satisfied, and smiled up at Haru. "We'll change it."

She smiled back and ruffled his hair. "If anyone can, I'd bet on Mari and you guys."

Mamoru peeked into Uncle Hibari's practice room and shook his head. Mari was training again.

Personally, he thought his sister was just a little crazy. Uncle Gokudera said all sisters were crazy, and when Mari was training with Uncle Hibari she looked it. She got all narrow-eyed and super determined, and when she had her Flame burning... well, he wouldn't have wanted to take her on.

He supposed that was a good thing, overall.

"How's she doing?" Father whispered over his shoulder.

Mamoru grinned. "Like Mari."

"So are the two of you going to join us?" Uncle Hibari called without even looking around.

"If you think we should," Father called back easily.

"Mm." Uncle Hibari sounded cool and thoughtful even when he was slamming his students into the walls. "Yes, it's about time she had more practice facing another Sky Flame." He beckoned and Mari hauled herself up again, eyes glinting. "Your cub has teeth, Sawada. I suppose she'll do."

Mamoru stifled a laugh at the way that made Mari light up.

Uncle Hibari strolled over to stand next to Mamoru as Mari and their father squared off. Mamoru eyed his godfather with just a shade of caution. "Did you, um, really want to work out with me?"

Uncle Hibari was silent for a while, but Mamoru was used to that; sometimes you had to wait for Uncle Hibari to decide whether he was using his words today or not.

"There is more than one kind of strength," he said at last, eyes on Mari as her longer knife met Father's glove. "I get more entertainment from hers, but you have teeth of your own."

Something in Mamoru settled a little at that. It was good to know the strongest of Father's Guardians thought he was strong too.

Even if he did sometimes think that Uncle Hibari was kind of strange.

Trip the Light

"Shin! Shin, you little creep, when I find you I'm going to wring your neck!"

Mari stormed on down the hall, and a door creaked slowly open. Two heads peeked out.

"Is the coast clear?" Shin whispered, looking up at his godfather.

"I think so," Uncle Lambo whispered back.

Shin leaned against the wall, wide-eyed. "Wow she's mad!"

Uncle Lambo smiled down at him and ruffled his hair. "Girls are like that sometimes, especially about boys they're dating."

"But she doesn't really want him," Shin said plaintively. "I mean, she always complains about how many boys from the other Families she has to see at parties."

"Mm, well that's kind of another girl thing. Even if she complains about them, she probably wants to decide for herself when they get to know about that."

"Oh. So I guess I shouldn't have told him she thinks he has bad breath, huh?"

Uncle Lambo grinned. "Probably not."

"Dating seems really complicated," Shin complained. "I don't know if I want to do it."

"You have plenty of time to make up your mind." Uncle Lambo held out a hand. "For now how about we go into town and visit the docks until Mari calms down?"

Shin perked up. "Sure!"

He liked having the youngest godfather.

Haruka was the one who saw it first, the strangers' hands reaching for guns, and shouted. Their bodyguards turned to tackle the kids down, but Daisuke got to Mari first, pushing her back into the cafe. That was good. It meant Shin had a clear path to the men who were interrupting their family lunch.

Who were threatening his family.

In the tangled whirl of rushing toward them he could feel the air on his bared teeth. He didn't reach for his box. The weapons he needed were in the hands of the three men facing them and he aimed for the one in front, hand striking aside the muzzle and holding, knee coming up to crack a wrist across it, foot slamming into the softness of a stomach. He turned the gun and pressed it under the man's chin.

And then it was over.

"Shin," Uncle Yamamoto called, gently, from where he stood over the other two. "It's okay. You can let go now, the men have them covered."

Shin's eyes narrowed and his hands didn't move. "He tried to shoot my sister." The man under him tried and failed to swallow against the pressure of the gun.

And then slim, strong hands settled on his shoulders. "I'm all right, Shin," Mari said, cool and sure. "And we need to know who sent them. Let the men take them."

Shin sighed, but Mari was probably already pissed off that she hadn't gotten to fight, and she didn't like backtalk even when she was in a good mood. "All right, then." Pinned under both their glares, the man didn't even twitch when Shin stepped back and their bodyguards moved in. Shin didn't look away until both the survivors had been hustled off, though.

"Hate it when people do that," he grumbled.

Mari wrapped an arm around his shoulders, hugging him for a breath. "I know you do." She smiled at him sidelong. "Don't worry. People will always try to mess with Vongola, but they'll always fail."

Because of us was the unspoken trailer and Shin grinned back at her and relaxed under Daisuke's cheerful clap on his shoulder. "Yeah."

The Queen's Bishop

"...and I hate scrambled eggs!" Mari stomped away from the table in a teary huff, followed by their mother, and all the boys stopped trying to hide in their chairs. Kazuya reminded himself to mark the calendar; forewarning next time would be good.

"Girl stuff," Daisuke declared, shaking his head.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask about that," Haruka put in, thoughtfully, looking over at Kazuya.

Kazuya raised both brows. "...why ask me?"

"Well, you've got Aunt Chrome," Mamoru pointed out. "Has she mentioned anything?"

"Once or twice." Kazuya ate another bite of toast. "She'd tell you too, if you asked."

Mamoru turned red. "Um. Well."

"Stop being annoying because you can," Haruka told Kazuya, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "Did Aunt Chrome say anything about what helps?"

"Chocolate, apparently." Kazuya nibbled his fork, thinking. "And she said it isn't just temper. She said sometimes it hurts. It sounded kind of like having a sprain for a week, only in your stomach."

Eyes widened all around the table.

"Chocolate," Daisuke said, firmly.

"Ice pack?" Haruka hazarded.

Kazuya shook his head "Hot water bottle," he corrected. "I asked. And someone to be nice to her."

The two oldest looked at Mamoru and Shin. Mamoru sighed. "Yeah, yeah, okay."

Kazuya decided not to add that Uncle Mukuro had said it happened because the girl's body was pissed off that it hadn't gotten a baby that month. For one thing he was almost positive Daisuke or Shin would say just the wrong thing at the wrong time, trying to be helpful, if they heard that. For another, Uncle Mukuro had kind of flickered, right after he said it, so he thought maybe Aunt Chrome disagreed, and she was the woman after all.

Kazuya believed in paying attention to your experts.

It was a game, that's the way Kazuya looked at it. Mari punched him in the shoulder when he said that, and insisted she wasn't anyone's game piece, not even his, but that wasn't it at all. He watched for the spaces, when people moved, so that he could stand in them. That way he could get all the way across the board before anyone even realized he was moving. It was exactly the way his sister talked about her hand-to-hand training with Uncle Hibari, after all, he'd have thought she'd understand better.

His godfather understood perfectly well, but maybe that was why Uncle Mukuro seemed to make a lot of people nervous.

"Ah, and here's the youngest, eh?" A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, as he leaned against the buffet table and he looked up to see the head of the Orsini Family giving him a rather hungry smile. "All alone? Not very nice of your family, to leave you out of things."

Kazuya wondered for a moment whether he'd actually heard correctly, but then he remembered Uncle Mukuro's casual words about looking through another's eyes. He supposed it might look that way from the outside.

The Orsini were not allies.

"It's all right," he said, looking away toward where Daisuke was loading up plates for their mother and Aunt Haru. Mamoru was trying to convince him to pass one over before he dropped both. Haruka and Shin were following their sister as she followed their father through the gathering. "It's all right," he repeated softly. "I'm interested in different things than most of them are."

It was perfectly true, and he smiled just a little as the Orsini's eyes brightened and narrowed, hearing the lie it implied. The smile too would be mistaken.

Standing in the spaces.

It was all a game, and the thing most people didn't understand about games was that, win or lose, they had a price. For the sake of his family, of his brothers, of his sister who would lead their Family, he would pay the price of winning this one.

Next Step

Tsuna leaned back in his lawn chair and watched the brilliant streaks of color as his children played tag over the lawn with their Dying Will Flames. Even Mari had abandoned her fresh adult dignity to shriek with laughter as she dove to evade Kazuya. Sometimes Tsuna wondered just what—or perhaps how—Mukuro had taught his youngest, because despite being only fourteen Kazuya had control as fine as Mari or Haruka.

"Looks like you did it, boss," Gokudera commented, leaning on the back of his chair.

"Did what?"

Gokudera smiled down at him. "None of those six will try to fight each other for your position."

Tsuna chuckled as Shin skidded across the grass, trying to avoid Daisuke, and splashed into the ornamental pond with a squawk. Daisuke paused to laugh and was tagged by Mamoru. "And I'm grateful for it." Quietly he added, "Especially Haruka."

"He matches her strength, yes, but he doesn't have Mari-san's passion, and he knows it," Gokudera answered, just as quiet. "Don't worry, boss."

"Too late," Tsuna murmured, wry. He had to admit, Mari had inherited his own passion, the thing that could drive both of them past their limits over and over. He wasn't sure that was anything he'd have wished on his child, but it was a fact.

"They have each other," Gokudera told him gently. "And she hasn't even chosen her Guardians yet. At this rate, she'll kind of have two sets."

Tsuna's mouth twitched at that. "Mafia beware."

When the children returned to the table, out of breath, they wanted to know what was so funny.

End

Omiai

In the universe where Xanxus is the Tenth, what happens to Tsuna and his friends? Drama with Humor and Tangential Romance, I-4

Tsuna stood in the shade of the small 'control tower' building and watched as a sleek private jet rolled to a stop, and tried not to fidget.

"Why did the Tenth have to come here?" he asked Reborn one more time. "I haven't even graduated from high school yet!"

"Because he's the one you'll serve when Iemitsu retires and you take over CEDEF," Reborn told him. "It's about time you met each other. Quit complaining."

"Who said I was going to take over CEDEF?" Tsuna muttered, more out of habit than hope at this point.

"I did."

Tsuna sighed and then stood up straighter, nervous, as the jet's door opened and a tall, dark man prowled down the stairs. He was followed by another man, lean and not quite so tall with a fly-away brush of short silver hair, and—thank goodness!—a boy about Tsuna's age, looking around with sharp eyes under a curtain of darker silver hair.

"Xanxus," Reborn greeted the one in the lead, not that Tsuna had really had any doubts.

"Reborn." Xanxus looked Tsuna up and down and lifted a brow. "You're sure he beat Mukuro?" he added doubtfully.

"Quite sure. Not that he wasn't pathetically clumsy about it." Tsuna rolled his eyes and caught what might have been a glint of sympathy in Xanxus'. "Which is why I wanted you to come help with his training," Reborn finished.

"What?!" Tsuna yelped.

"Well of course," Reborn told him, perfectly serene. "I can't arrange escaped mafia criminals for you all the time, you know."

"He didn't tell you," Xanxus stated rather than asked, and snorted.

"He usually doesn't," Tsuna admitted.

Xanxus looked him up and down again, more measuringly this time. "Hm. Got a problem with training against me?"

"I, um, don't want to die and I don't like pain?" Tsuna suggested, not entirely sure this would weigh with the kind of people Reborn seemed to know.

"Ah, don't worry about that," the lean man put in with a rather unnerving smile. "You probably won't die."

Tsuna sighed, slumping. Yeah, that was about what he had figured.

"This is the Vongola house in this town," Reborn announced when they arrived.

It was the first Tsuna had heard of any such thing, and the first time he'd ever seen the large, western style house they had pulled up to. For the first time he wondered exactly how much money Reborn had at his personal disposal, to set this up.

Actually, considering property damages, maybe he should have wondered that sooner.

He helped haul luggage into the spotless foyer while Xanxus looked around, hands on his hips. "Nice place," Xanxus observed with a hint of what sounded like suspicion. Xanxus, Tsuna reflected, seemed to know Reborn awfully well.

"I called in some of the Family to get it ready." At Xanxus' frown Reborn added, "They've already left again."

"Good," Xanxus grunted. "Can't stand having a bunch of fawning idiots around."

Tsuna blinked, started by the harshness of that comment on the Tenth's own Family.

"They're not actually pretending, you know," Squalo said, in the tone of someone who'd said it many times before. "Just because they're not afraid of you any more. I mean, how long has it been since you even broke someone up during training? Someone who wasn't Varia," he added.

Xanxus made a noncommittal sound and turned down the hall, glancing into each room as if he expected to find concealed attackers. Squalo looked after him, shaking his head and smiling crookedly, and jerked his chin at Gokudera, who followed quietly after Xanxus.

"If he doesn't believe his own Family respects him, there will be trouble," Reborn said.

The tolerant look slid off Squalo's face and he narrowed his eyes at Reborn. "He's getting there," he snapped.

"He's the Tenth now," Reborn shot back, inflexible. "Get there faster."

"Mind your own business," Squalo growled, and Tsuna tip toed back a little, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. "You're the Ninth's man. You don't know the Tenth."

"If he can't inherit the Ninth's men, the Vongola will fail at the end of this generation," Reborn said quietly.

Squalo's mouth tightened and he said, just as soft, "And do you really think Iemitsu will give Xanxus everything he gives the Ninth? Do you really think you will?"

Reborn pulled the brim of his hat down, quiet for a moment. "That's why I'm here," he finally answered.

"Then I guess we'll see." Squalo turned away, following Xanxus and Gokudera.

"Tsuna."

Tsuna started a little, and tried to breathe normally again as the tension in the front hall eased. "Yeah?"

"Tell Yamamoto to stop by and see us, once he's done with his team practice."

Tsuna stared at him. "Um. Okay?"

Reborn didn't explain the non sequitur, just hopped up onto Tsuna's shoulder as he turned back for the next suitcase.

To Tsuna's temporary relief he was not tossed to the Tenth's un-tender-looking mercies the very next day. Instead he was training with the boy his age, Gokudera Hayato. His relief was only temporary because this involved getting blown up.

"You need to increase your endurance," Reborn declared. "We'll start easy; just put out all the bomb fuses before they go off."

"Put out the fu—?"

Gokudera flicked and fanned sticks of dynamite through his fingers and lit them off his cigarette quite calmly. Tsuna didn't have time to protest further before the bombs bracketed him on all sides and he'd been shot.

More bombs. Fewer bombs. Bombs further away. Really a whole lot of bombs. Small bombs hiding among bigger bombs.

It was the last that got him, and when he came to he was still smoking.

"Idiot," Reborn told him. "You need to pay better attention."

"I was paying attention," Tsuna protested, spitting out dirt. "It's just... they looked..."

"Perspective," Gokudera supplied, perched on a rock with one knee drawn up. "If I can distract you with the larger ones, the smaller ones will seem like regular bombs further away. They're scaled to look exactly alike."

Xanxus, leaning against a tree to watch the show, made a satisfied sound. "Hayato will be our best strategist, eventually."

Tsuna blinked as Gokudera's cool, businesslike look evaporated into a soft smile and bright eyes and... was Gokudera actually blushing?

"Tenth," Gokudera murmured. Then he seemed to notice Tsuna smiling and cleared his throat. "So. We going again?"

"Of course," Reborn said, and Tsuna stood with a sigh.

It was getting on towards evening when Reborn finally said they were done, and Tsuna just collapsed where he stood. "Ow," he added, after a moment to catch his breath.

"What the hell?" Xanxus was asking Reborn, not quite quietly. "He acts like a total wimp, but he's been running around like a crazy man putting out bombs like it's nothing all day."

"That's Tsuna," Reborn said, uninformatively. Tsuna figured that meant he was going to have to do this again tomorrow.

"Hey, Tsuna!"

Tsuna hauled himself to his feet with a smile. "Yamamoto."

Yamamoto strolled up, bat over his shoulder, and blinked at Tsuna's ragged, dirt streaked clothes. "Been practicing hard?"

"I guess so, yeah," Tsuna sighed.

"Yamamoto, good, you're here." Reborn landed hard on Tsuna's shoulder. "There are things you need to work on, too. Squalo," he added, "Yamamoto uses a sword."

That seemed an odd way to introduce them, to Tsuna, but sure enough Squalo straightened up and took a long step forward, eyes on Yamamoto. He didn't speak, though.

Yamamoto cocked his head in friendly inquiry, bat shifting just a little against his shoulder.

Tsuna yelped as a sword blade slid out of Squalo's sleeve and he lunged at Yamamoto. Everyone else, he realized, was just standing there looking on, and he wondered again when he had stopped knowing any sane people.

One strike that Yamamoto met, bat suddenly a sword, laughing; a second that he dodged, and Squalo's face was completely still; a third that he stepped into and Squalo's eyes narrowed and something small flew from Squalo's sword and Squalo was leaping back from the explosion that blew Yamamoto through the air.

Yamamoto lay still where he'd landed.

"Yamamoto!" Tsuna started to go to him only to fetch up short against Gokudera's grip on his arm.

"Don't," Gokudera said quietly, eyes on Yamamoto as he stirred and slowly levered himself upright.

"You wave a sword around, but you're not a swordsman," Squalo said, loud and flat. "With that skill level you're no use to anyone." He turned on his heel and stalked away from them all. Xanxus, Tsuna noted even in his distraction, watched Squalo go with a tilted smile.

"Let me go," Tsuna hissed to Gokudera.

"Do you really think he'll want sympathy when he's just been beaten that easily?" Gokudera asked, though he also let Tsuna go. Tsuna hesitated.

"Well." Yamamoto walked toward them and he was smiling the way he always did, but there was something different in his eyes. "It's good to see you, Tsuna, but I guess I should get back to practice." He patted Tsuna on the shoulder companionably and walked on.

"Yamamoto." Tsuna hesitated.

"Good."

Tsuna glared at Reborn. "What's good about it?"

"Yamamoto needs a reason to be serious." Reborn was smiling his barely-there smile. "And Squalo wouldn't have been that angry if Yamamoto didn't have it in him to be better."

Xanxus snorted. "If it's the sword, yeah. You're a complete bastard, you know that?"

"I," Reborn said, "am the very best home tutor."

Tsuna thought about that, and about himself and about Yamamoto and about the Family that Reborn said he was already a part of, the whole way home.

For three days Tsuna tried to catch up with Yamamoto at school and completely failed. Yamamoto seemed just as sociable and cheerful as ever, but he was always on his way somewhere: to buy lunch because he'd forgotten his; to team practice, though Tsuna didn't see him there when he stopped by on his way out to his own training; to take a make-up test, and that was when Tsuna got suspicious, because he usually had to take all of those and he didn't have any that day. Finally Tsuna asked Reborn if he thought something was wrong. Reborn smacked him casually over the head.

"Idiot Tsuna. Of course something's wrong. Yamamoto isn't the kind of person to take being beaten easily."

After that, Tsuna insisted on visiting Yamamoto's house and finding out what his friend was doing.

"Takeshi?" Yamamoto's father smiled. "So, it's something to do with your business, is it?"

"Um." Tsuna fidgeted guiltily.

"Takeshi is at the dojo two blocks down." Yamamoto-san went back to chopping ingredients, knife flashing, still with that odd smile.

"I'll... just go see how he's doing, then." Tsuna slipped back out of the shop and looked at Reborn. "Was that weird, or is it just me?"

"I didn't see anything odd about it," Reborn told him, and pointed down the road. "That way."

Tsuna sighed and headed on toward the dojo. It was a nice one, large and traditional and set back on a big lot with willows and pines leaning around it. Tsuna peeked in the window slats to see if Yamamoto was really in there, and wound up clinging to the slats in shock. Yamamoto was there all right.

He was moving through the open room like water flowing, one form after another, and Tsuna would almost swear his sword was leaving trails in the air. "Since when..." he whispered.

Yamamoto paused and came to the door, looking around. "Is someone...? Oh, hey, Tsuna!" He grinned. "Come on in. I'm sorry," he added, penitently, as Tsuna slipped inside and toed off his shoes, "did I worry you?"

"No, no, it wasn't—" Tsuna started, only to be overridden by Reborn.

"Yes, Tsuna is an idiot, so he was fretting. So? How is it going?"

Yamamoto smiled wryly. "It's good. At least I think so." He looked round at the scattered remains of straw bundles. "If you don't mind, though, I think... I think I'd rather not show you yet."

"I understand."

Tsuna was glad someone did. "You're sure you're doing all right?" he asked, hesitantly.

Yamamoto smiled at him, open as always though there was a layer of darkness in his eyes now. "Honest, Tsuna. I'm good."

Tsuna smiled back; obviously there wasn't anything he could say to change this. "All right. I'll let you get back to it, then." He made a face. "I was on my way to training anyway."

Yamamoto laughed. "Hey, good luck. Oh." He paused, back to them. "Don't mention this to Squalo, all right?"

"If you want, sure," Tsuna assured him.

"Thanks."

Tsuna was silent for a while as they walked on down the road. "Reborn," he said, finally, "is this really going to be all right?"

"Yamamoto is strong enough to be your friend," Reborn said, serenely. "Have some faith in him."

Tsuna took a deep breath and let it out.

"All right."

"All right," Reborn announced, "today you're working with Xanxus."

Tsuna looked at Xanxus and instantly felt scrawny. And breakable.

"You use very different techniques, it should be interesting." There was, Tsuna felt, something ghoulish about Reborn's good cheer as he cocked his head at the Tenth.

Xanxus gave him a dark look. "Interesting, huh?" Tsuna was slightly cheered by this evidence that other people than him knew Reborn was evil that way. His eyes widened, though, when Xanxus drew a gun and a hard glow lit his hand on the grip.

"That's..."

"The Vongola Flame," Reborn agreed.

Xanxus raised the gun and fired at the cliff face, a lot of which turned into rubble.

"Heee!" Tsuna squeaked. He really couldn't help it.

"It's about time you got some experience against someone else who uses the Flame," Reborn told him with perfect ruthlessness.

Tsuna missed most of Reborn's lecture about special bullets and Wrath and some other Vongola boss who'd also used guns, because he was staring at the cliff in horror. When Reborn shot him he was actually relieved, because it was a lot easier to look at the Tenth's Flame and not run screaming when Dying Will was humming through his nerves and thoughts. He was also grateful for the week of practice against Gokudera, because he needed every bit of speed and precision to dodge Xanxus' shots; he had more agility, especially in the air, and that was good since he absolutely had to close hand-to-hand.

The thought stirred, in the back of his mind, that he should do something about that.

More and more of his attention, though was taken up with the taste, for lack of a better word, of Xanxus' Flame. It was hard and wild, and there was something running through it like a scream heard in the distance. The word Reborn had spoken came back to him: Wrath. A compression and sharpening of the Flame.

He thought Xanxus' Flame could get a lot sharper than this, too, if he were facing a real enemy. Someone who threatened the things Xanxus cared about.

That reminded him of someone.

When Reborn finally said they could stop and Tsuna collapsed on a rock, panting and aching in every muscle, that thought stayed with him. "Xanxus-san?" he finally said, hesitantly.

"Hm?" Xanxus was leaning back, legs crossed, looking like he'd maybe had a decent workout and could go another round any time.

"Reborn said that Mukuro was with you, now?"

Xanxus snorted. "As much as he's with anyone."

"I'm glad," Tsuna said quietly. He got an odd look from Xanxus for that.

"Glad?"

"The things they talked about, that their own Family had done to them." Tsuna groped for the right words. "I don't understand a lot of what Reborn talks about, the traditions and things. But that... that's just wrong. They need someplace to be that will be better. So if they're with you, now, I'm glad."

"You think I can be better for them?" Xanxus asked, brows raised, and Tsuna looked up at him.

"I think maybe you're a little like Mukuro when you care about something. I think maybe you can understand him better than other people."

Xanxus eyed him for a long moment and then, rather to Tsuna's surprise, turned and gave Reborn a very hard look.

"That's Tsuna," Reborn said evenly. "You've seen his technique up close, now, and you know what he did to Mukuro. It's his intuition that's developing fastest, not his offensive abilities." He cocked his head. "Isn't that good, for someone who will be your outside advisor?"

Xanxus answered with a wordless grunt, leaning back to stare up at the sky.

"He could probably master the Zero Point, too," Reborn added, and sat calmly as Xanxus jerked back upright. "If you agree."

Tsuna had no idea what they were talking about, but he did his best not to quail under the burning stare Xanxus gave him.

The Tenth stood abruptly. "I'll think about it."

"What's the Zero Point?" Tsuna asked as Xanxus strode away.

Reborn was smiling. "If he agrees, I'll tell you."

Their next visitor was a lot more unexpected than Yamamoto had been.

"Hibari-san!" Tsuna scrambled to his feet as Hibari looked him up and down, because he could already hear Hibari's admonishment about letting his school uniform get dirty by sprawling around on the ground. And Hibari's admonishments never stopped at words. Tsuna dusted himself off, nervously, as well as could be when Xanxus' last shot had slammed him into a small crater.

Hibari sniffed and glanced at the others. "Baby." He nodded acknowledgment to Reborn, fingers already working delicately around the handle of his tonfa.

"Hibari." Reborn was almost smirking, Tsuna swore. "I'm still a bit busy, but I thought you might like to go a few rounds with Xanxus."

Hibari's focus shifted and he examined Xanxus for a long moment. "Are you strong?" he finally asked.

Xanxus' mouth curled. "Are you?" he returned.

Somehow Tsuna wasn't at all surprised when they both lunged for each other and Xanxus caught the first tonfa on the barrel of his gun. He backed up out of the way along with Squalo and Reborn.

"He's good," Squalo said, arms folded, eyes fixed on the fast, brutal exchange ranging up and down the boulders in front of them. It was the most civil thing Tsuna had heard him say in days, which was a bit of a relief.

"Of course he is." Reborn crossed his ankles. "I wouldn't have recommended this if he weren't."

"He's also," Squalo noted as Xanxus shot the ground out from under Hibari and Hibari sprang forward instead of back, teeth bared, "crazy."

"Hibari enjoys fighting, and he likes fighting strong opponents the best," Reborn answered, composed. "You should understand that."

"Mmm." Tsuna didn't understand the sidelong look Squalo gave Reborn.

The open area they'd been using as a practice ground was smoking and scattered with rubble by the time Xanxus got Hibari down. "So?" he asked, out of breath and dripping blood from the side of his head but also grinning, gun trained straight at Hibari.

Hibari looked up at him, expressionless, and twisted, coming up, steel first, inside Xanxus' reach.

Xanxus laughed as he rolled back and kicked Hibari hard over him and against the broken rocks.

"Um," Tsuna murmured. "Is this a good idea? I mean," he went on as both Reborn and Squalo looked at him blankly, "one of them could get seriously hurt if they keep it up."

Squalo shrugged. "That's how we've trained, for a long time." With another of those looks at Reborn he added, "Been a while since someone else could keep up."

It was getting dark before Xanxus and Hibari stopped, and they only did because this time Hibari was actually unconscious. Xanxus took a while to straighten up, too, before spitting out a mouthful of blood and slinging Hibari's body over his shoulder. "Persistent little bastard," he panted, limping over to them and letting Hibari slide down to the rock beside Reborn. His teeth glinted in the dusk. "He'd fit right in with the Varia."

The words left a little silence behind them that wasn't broken until Squalo stirred and looked down at Reborn. "When you said you'd serve the Tenth," he said quietly, "you weren't kidding were you?"

"I'm going to forget you said that." Reborn tugged his hat down a bit.

Squalo looked away. "Yeah. All right."

Xanxus was frowning down at Reborn. "Wait. Are you saying that's why you called the kid here today?"

Reborn shrugged. "I thought you'd both enjoy it, either way." When he looked up he was unreadable, even to Tsuna. "But the thought occurred to me, when I met Hibari."

Xanxus looked at Reborn for a long, silent moment, eyes dark, before he glanced down at Hibari, who was beginning to stir. "A new leader for the Varia, huh? He'd have to work his own way up."

"With Hibari," Reborn said dryly, "it couldn't possibly happen any other way."

"Well, good." After a moment, Xanxus added, "Tell Sawada what the Zero Point is."

Reborn smiled. "As you wish."

Tsuna wondered again what the Zero Point was, that Xanxus was so wary of trusting him with it.

Five days later, he stood on the cliff, staring at his hands with wide eyes, and understood. "I can't," he said, husky, raising shocked eyes to Xanxus. "I can't do that to you!" Now he understood why Squalo had been so tense these past few days.

Xanxus' mouth twisted. "Not without this, anyway." He pulled something out of his pocket and flipped it through the air, gleaming. It was a ring. "That's why I sent Hayato back home to get it."

"Ah." Reborn sounded pleased. "That," he lectured Tsuna, "is the Sky Ring. With it, Xanxus will be able to melt the Zero Point again. With all of the Vongola rings together, anyone could do it."

"Oh." Tsuna nibbled on his lip. "Well, I guess..." He could tell, though, that the Zero Point was a harsh technique, and he didn't like the thought. Finally he straightened up. "Show me, first, then. Use it on me."

Xanxus' brows lifted. "What are you, kid, a masochist?"

Tsuna frowned. "You're telling me to do this to you aren't you?"

Xanxus snorted. "That's different."

"How?"

Xanxus was silent for a long moment, hooded eyes fixed on Tsuna. Finally he sighed, exasperated. "Fine, fine. Don't complain to me after." He holstered one of his guns and laid his hand over the remaining one, closing his eyes. The alternation of his Flame was slow to build but eye-hurtingly bright when it flashed. Tsuna took a breath and gathered his own Flame. Finally Xanxus' eyes opened, dark and clear, and he raised the gun and fired. Tsuna met it, as he was learning to, but this time the touch of Xanxus' Flame was very different—draining, slowing his strength, stilling everything. Tsuna gasped as ice closed around his gloves, not really cold but an absence that seared him. It was a shock like being cut and not seeing his blood flowing.

When Xanxus' hand settled over his, with that ring glinting on his finger, and Tsuna could feel it, could feel his own Flame again too, the relief made him dizzy. "Xanxus-san," he whispered, looking up at him.

Xanxus frowned a little. "You okay?" he asked briskly.

"Why is it all right for me to do this to you?" Tsuna demanded, voice cracking a little.

Xanxus looked away abruptly. "I'm used to it," he finally answered.

He didn't mean the Zero Point itself, Tsuna could see that. Trying to think what else might feel like that, though, made him sick. And angry. A small, hot anger in the center of his chest at people he'd never met and probably never would.

The Zero Point was something that might stop those people, though.

"All right," he said, low, and Xanxus looked back at him, sharp and startled. "I'll do it. I'll learn it. But I'm stopping for the day if I think we've done too much." He looked up at his prospective boss, Will rising, lifting his determination like a tide.

Xanxus' mouth quirked. "You will huh?" He stepped back again and aimed at Tsuna, the hard glow of his Flame steady this time. "Ready or not, then."

Xanxus fired on him again and again, ruthless, pushing Tsuna back and back as he tried to catch the rhythm of the Zero Point. But even when the shots left him smoking, they didn't break that new determination. Every now and then Tsuna caught a glimpse of Squalo, off to the side, leaning against a tree with crossed arms and a sardonic smile. He thought maybe he was starting to understand Squalo, too, a little.

It took hours, but finally Tsuna found his balance and when he closed with Xanxus that time he left Xanxus' gun hand frozen. Xanxus' expression didn't alter a hair as he laid his ring hand over it and melted the not-ice. "Again," he said.

"Wait." Tsuna stepped back, frowning down at the ground. "There was something..." He placed his hands together, as if for the Zero Point, and felt it again, like something he'd heard years ago and forgotten but might remember if he could just find the thread of it. Finally he looked up, determined. "Yes. Again."

Xanxus frowned at him, and frowned at him some more when he backed off to take the shots again. "What the hell, Sawada?" he asked after the first few left Tsuna smoking again.

"It's something else," Tsuna insisted. "There's something else I could do with this." He took a breath and focused again. "Please."

Xanxus' mouth tightened, but he fired again. And again. And again.

As he watched the last shot coming, Tsuna thought what he wanted was like the Zero Point inside out. Moving with the thought, he turned his hands around.

The flow of his Flame reversed.

This time he didn't stop, either his Flame or Xanxus'. This time Xanxus' Flame ran into him with no resistance and flared through him—out from him, overflowing. He let it, let the new strength drive him forward, closing hand to hand before Xanxus could move. "This," he said quietly, hands closed around Xanxus'. "This was it."

He stepped back, meeting Xanxus' shocked stare calmly.

"I told you," Reborn said into the silence. "Tsuna's intuition is what's growing the fastest. That's how he'll best serve you."

Tsuna smiled at that. "Yes." He looked up at Xanxus, calmed by the way he'd found, by the assurance that he could do better for Xanxus than piling more pain on him. Xanxus looked back at him, and Tsuna could see something slowly relaxing in him.

Leaning against his tree, Squalo was downright grinning.

Tsuna thought it was just typical that whenever Xanxus and his people were running out of groceries it was him, and sometimes Gokudera, who got sent out for more.

"Here," Gokudera said, holding out a bag. "I'll put stuff away upstairs if you get the kitchen."

Since it had already been a very long day and the thought of not climbing stairs was extremely appealing, Tsuna agreed.

Most everything was easy enough to find the right place for, in the refrigerator or the pantry, though the package after package of instant noodles amused him as he stacked them neatly on their shelf. This, he thought, might be what people usually meant when they talked about the eating habits of bachelors. The only one of those he'd known previously was Yamamoto's father, and that was obviously a special case.

He heard the refrigerator open and close while he was putting away the last of the rice, and then the sliding door out onto the deck behind the house.

"So? What do you think?"

Tsuna peeked around the pantry door to see Squalo setting a beer down by Xanxus, who was lounging in one of the deck chairs and might have been there the whole time. Squalo leaned against the rail across from him.

"What do I think of what?" Xanxus asked and took a long swallow. Tsuna went back to trying to find room for the new bottle of vinegar.

"Sawada."

Tsuna froze.

Xanxus snorted. "I think he's crazy. Pretty sure I said that before."

Tsuna reached for the last bag, trying to stack things quickly and silently so he could see about sneaking out of there.

"He'll fit in, then. But do you think he'll be loyal?"

"To the Family? I'm guessing so; he's a protective little bastard. Should have seen him when you were having your go at his friend the swordsman."

Tsuna anticipated another loud and profane tirade over how far Yamamoto had to go before Squalo would call him that. Instead Squalo said quietly, "That's the Family. Do you believe he'll be loyal to you?"

There was a moment of silence and then Xanxus snorted. "As long as he does his job, what difference does that make?"

"You know," Squalo said dryly, "if anyone ever wanted to know all the things that are really important to you, all they'd have to do is listen and see what you act most careless about."

"Squalo." It was a growl, and Tsuna peeked around the edge of the door cautiously. He saw Squalo push away from the rail and come to kneel beside Xanxus' chair instead, looking up at him.

"Boss," was all Squalo said, but Tsuna could hear things in that one word he didn't even have names for.

Xanxus looked down at Squalo for a long moment, eyes dark, and finally glanced away. "Have I told you have have a really damn smart mouth?"

The mouth in question quirked. "Not just lately."

"Well you do." Xanxus reached out, though, and rested a hand on Squalo's shoulder. After a moment he turned back and Tsuna, still trapped at the pantry door, could see he was smiling a little. "There are better uses for it." He slid his hand up into Squalo's hair and pulled him closer. Squalo went easily, eyes sliding half closed as Xanxus' mouth covered his. "Come here," Xanxus murmured after a moment, and Squalo slid up to straddle his long legs and be pressed tight against him as both Xanxus' hands slid up his back and pulled him down to another kiss.

Tsuna took the chance while they were distracted and scuttled for the hall, face burning. There were no crashes behind him so he thought he'd gotten away clean, but he didn't slow down until he ran into Gokudera at the bottom of the stairs.

"Sawada?" Gokudera's hand slid to his belts, and he glanced around sharply. "What's wrong?"

"Huh? Oh." Tsuna realized he must look a little wild. He felt like it, wide eyed and probably very red. "No, no! No, it's not... Nothing's wrong, it's just... um... Xanxus-san and Squalo-san... um..."

Gokudera frowned at him for a moment before his own eyes widened a bit. "Oh. Yeah." He was turning a little pink himself. "Yeah, they're um. Yeah." He glanced down the hall Tsuna had come out of and cleared his throat. "So. I guess we shouldn't start dinner yet, huh?"

"No! Really not!" Tsuna squeaked.

"Right." After a moment Gokudera suggested, "Delivery?"

"Good idea," Tsuna agreed fervently.

Dinner was enough to get them both past the embarrassment and talking sensibly about the weather in Italy, but as he walked home that night Tsuna remembered the question Squalo had asked about his loyalty to Xanxus and the way Xanxus hadn't answered it.

He thought especially hard about the things Xanxus acted careless about.

Tsuna was back to exercises against Gokudera's explosives because Hibari had been back for Xanxus today. Again. Tsuna was reminded of the last time Dino had come to visit, and the way he laughed when he'd said Hibari didn't need a reason to fight, just an occasion. Xanxus seemed to like being the occasion.

Tsuna thought they were both kind of weird.

"Ninety percent chance of success is going to get a whole new meaning with him, I can tell," Squalo was saying to Reborn as Tsuna and Gokudera came in for a drink. "I can't wait until he meets Bel."

"It will probably take a while to pry him out of Namimori," Reborn cautioned. "But if he knows he can find so many strong opponents by coming to Italy we can convince him to transfer his attachment. Dino is already telling him little things about the honor and traditions of our world."

Squalo's smile tilted. "Ceirano will like having someone else around who's into tradition; they'll get along."

"As much as two people aligned with Cloud ever do," Reborn murmured.

"No surprise." Xanxus joined them and caught the bottle of water Squalo tossed him with his off hand. He was favoring his ribs today, Tsuna noted. Hibari was already halfway into the trees, one arm dangling.

They were definitely both weird.

"So, we're done for the day?" he asked hopefully, glancing up at the clouds. He'd felt a drop here and there and it looked like it was just about to open up and pour.

"Of course not. This is a good opportunity to train in low visibility," Reborn declared.

Tsuna groaned. Of course.

Tsuna was drenched and gasping for breath, and the puddles were nearly ankle deep before Reborn finally declared himself satisfied for the day. Squalo wasn't in quite such bad shape, but he hadn't spent the first half of the day being blown up either. Tsuna dragged himself back under the trees, feeling like a drowned rat.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Yamamoto spoke from the shadows beside him.

"So, is it my turn now?"

"Yamamoto!" Tsuna's first response was relief, because he had been starting to get worried. His second was to get worried, because Yamamoto had a glint in his eyes that he didn't get even when he was pitching in a tight game. Yamamoto was also carrying a shinai over his shoulder where his bat normally rested.

Squalo's lip curled. "Back for more?"

Yamamoto's answering smile was perfectly affable. "Yeah. I'm going to stay with Tsuna."

"Even if you're too weak?"

"We won't know that until I try."

"Bad timing, fighting the Rain on ground like this," Squalo said very quietly, and vanished into the falling water.

"Yamamoto..." Tsuna started to say, only to be stopped by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Don't interrupt," Xanxus told him, eyes narrowed on Yamamoto.

Yamamoto just stood, head cocked, not even looking focused. Tsuna was about to say something, and never mind what the crazy people he was with thought, when that stillness broke. Yamamoto spun on his heel, sword dropping low and coming up in a sure slash, and...

Tsuna stared. The shinai had become a katana. And Yamamoto had caught Squalo's descending stroke out of nowhere.

"Hmm." Squalo smiled slowly. "Not bad, kid. Not bad." He disengaged and sprang back. "Just not enough." He came in again, faster this time, and Tsuna took in a breath to call something, he didn't know what, because Squalo was looking a lot more serious than he had while he nearly skewered Tsuna himself. Gokudera seemed to agree, because he took a step forward with a worried frown.

The tip of Yamamoto's sword dipped to the ground and slashed up, and water followed it. When either of them could be seen again, Yamamoto was behind Squalo. Now it was his turn to charge. Squalo was already turning, though, and Tsuna bit his lip hard.

"Quit worrying so much," Reborn said, landing on Tsuna's free shoulder. "Yamamoto is a natural."

"But," Tsuna started, strangled, and then gasped. Yamamoto's hand slashed up and across as Squalo blocked a sword that wasn't there. Instead it was coming in the other hand, and Squalo's jacket fluttered, torn. He looked down at it for a long moment.

"Huh." His eyes on Yamamoto were sharper than ever. "Your style. What's it called?"

"Shigure Souen," Yamamoto said, and smiled a little differently than he usually did.

"Thought I'd seen it before." Squalo's teeth showed. "Of course, the last time I saw someone using it, he lost."

They met again, fast and sharp and brutal, and Tsuna felt like he could barely breathe. He knew Yamamoto, he knew Yamamoto always found a way when something was important, but he'd also spent some of the last few weeks fighting Squalo himself. He knew Squalo was the Tenth's right hand, the strategist who taught Gokudera, the strongest among the Vongola after Xanxus himself. This couldn't possibly end well.

"Been a while since I watched Squalo get serious," Xanxus said, leaning back against a tree. "It's good to see. Is that kid strong enough to take it, Reborn?"

"Yamamoto?" Reborn was smiling under his hat. "Of course."

There was no question; Tsuna was surrounded by maniacs.

Xanxus grunted, watching.

"He thinks fast," Gokudera murmured. "Most don't realize how Attaco di Squalo works." He straightened suddenly and Tsuna looked back at Yamamoto and Squalo. They were lunging for each other with what looked like exactly the same stance.

At least it looked that way until the actual strike.

Squalo landed hard in the mud and rolled back to his feet, eyes blazing. "What the hell was that?!"

"Shigure Souen," Yamamoto gasped, down on one knee but grinning. "Eighth form."

"That wasn't Autumn Rain," Squalo growled.

Yamamoto blinked. "Of course not. It was the eighth form, Pouring Rain."

Squalo opened his mouth and froze. "Like that, is it?" he finally said, very quietly, voice almost lost in the downpour. "Well, then." He smiled, thin and sharp, and beckoned. "Get up and turn your goddamn sword around and show me the real thing."

Yamamoto met him again, and Tsuna listened to Reborn explaining what must be the shape of Shigure Souen to Xanxus and Gokudera. His eyes were fixed on the flash and dart of swords in the rain, the hard, fierce light in Squalo's face and the smile on Yamamoto's. Watched as water swept up and away from Squalo's charge and Yamamoto leaned into his stance, sword steady. Watched as Yamamoto fell.

"He's still alive," Reborn said quietly in Tsuna's ear.

"Wasn't that overkill, using Scontro on him?" Xanxus asked, as Squalo hauled Yamamoto back under the trees and dumped him there.

"No." Squalo's smile was wide enough to belong on his namesake.

Xanxus lifted an eyebrow as Yamamoto stirred and Tsuna hurried to help him sit up. "He's that good?"

"He will be." Squalo flung wet hair back with a toss of his head and kicked the bottom of Yamamoto's shoe. "Keep working on it, kid."

Yamamoto's unsteady laugh broke the glare Tsuna started to give Squalo. "I will."

"Are you all right?" Tsuna demanded.

"Yeah, sure." Yamamoto blinked up at him as if he didn't know why Tsuna might have asked, and Tsuna had to restrain the urge to bang his head against something. They were all crazy.

"Well then." Xanxus stood over them for a moment. "Looks like you have someone for CEDEF, Sawada."

Tsuna opened his mouth and closed it again. "I'm glad you'll be with me," he said at last, to Yamamoto.

As they gathered everything, and everyone, up to slog back to the mansion Xanxus and his people were staying at, Gokudera helped Tsuna get Yamamoto upright and finally ducked under his other arm to help him walk. "Swords make you crazy," he muttered.

Tsuna couldn't help laughing, even as Yamamoto looked slightly bewildered by both of them.

At least one person agreed with him.

Tsuna stood out on the private runway again, this time with Yamamoto beside him, and watched the stairs wheeled up to the side of the jet.

"...and for fuck's sake learn how to use your edge," Squalo was lecturing Yamamoto. "If you're not serious about the sword it'll kill you, and damn good riddance."

"Yes, Squalo." Yamamoto smiled agreeably, and Squalo eyed him with suspicion.

"Hmph."

"Are you sure this guy isn't just a complete idiot?" Gokudera asked his senior doubtfully.

"Idiot savant, maybe," Squalo muttered.

Gokudera eyed Yamamoto and nodded. "Yeah, that sounds right."

Tsuna could see that Yamamoto was trying not to laugh out loud.

"Nice that Squalo's found a toy that bites back," Xanxus murmured, a sardonic glint in his eye.

Tsuna turned to him. "I'm glad you came, and that I had a chance to meet you and work with you, Xanxus-san," he said politely, which seemed to amuse Xanxus.

"You should be ready for the next insane mafia criminal Reborn finds for you anyway."

Tsuna quailed a little at the thought, because he knew quite well Reborn would. He pulled himself together, though, because there was something else he needed to say. "Tenth."

That pulled Xanxus' attention to him, all right, and Tsuna looked up at him.

"I'll get stronger. I promise." At Xanxus' startled look, he waved a hand, trying to take in the whole mafia thing. "For this." He took a breath. "For you."

It was hard to stand there under the sudden sharpness of Xanxus' gaze, but Tsuna had thought long and hard about this and watched Xanxus with his people, and listened to the little things Reborn said about the Family heir. Xanxus had been hurt, like Mukuro had been hurt, and it was wrong. Tsuna couldn't see that and do nothing.

"For me?" Xanxus' voice was harsh, and in the disbelieving edge of it Tsuna heard the darkness he would need to cleanse this time.

The calm that was almost Dying Will stirred in Tsuna and made his voice low and even. "For you." He remembered how Squalo had said it and smiled. "I'll be the Tenth's man, won't I?"

After a long, still moment Xanxus nodded. "All right." No more than that before he turned away toward the jet, but Tsuna settled back, satisfied. Xanxus hadn't pretended it didn't matter, this time.

He and Yamamoto, Reborn on his shoulder, retreated indoors as the engines started.

"So," Yamamoto said as they watched the jet rise. "Italy, huh?"

Tsuna gave his friend a long look. "You're sure you want to come too?"

Yamamoto smiled, eyes still on the jet. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

Tsuna clasped his hands and told his nerves to go away. "Italy, then."

"You'd both better start training harder, then," Reborn told them. "I'll call in some favors."

"Harder?!" Tsuna had a bit of difficulty imagining that.

"And you should tell Kyouko soon," Reborn added. "She'll need time to decide."

Tsuna just squawked wordlessly. It didn't help that Yamamoto was stifling laughter.

"You can start with running the distance home." Reborn pulled out his gun. "How can you expect to take over CEDEF without being in better shape?"

"Who said I was going to?" Tsuna demanded out of pure reflex.

Reborn smiled. "You did."

Tsuna sighed. He supposed he had at that. On the bright side, he decided as Reborn took aim at him, he probably had an answer that would keep the career counselor at a distance for the rest of the year.

He supposed he'd better start learning Italian.

End

It's Just That Any One of Us Is Half Without Another One Is You - Chapter Five

In which Naruto learns healing, Sasuke has Jiraiya inflicted upon him, and Sakura gets more dangerous. Humor, Drama, Fluff, I-3

"So," Kakashi said, perching on Tsunade's file cabinet despite Shizune's blistering glare as she tried to put away the promotion files. After a year of dealing with him, Tsunade was positive that he did annoying things like that just to be annoying. Which was, well, annoying. She already had Jiraiya to stir things up, and he sure as hell didn't need an understudy. What she hadn't figured out, yet, was how to stop him. She was sure something appropriate would come to her in time, though.

"So, what?" she asked, just a bit suspicious.

"So, what are we going to do with my team now?" he asked, in an obnoxiously reasonable tone. "They've all three been promoted; Konoha had a good showing at the exam this year. Normally, I'd suggest you keep them together as a high-level team, given how well they already work together. But I'm sure you saw what happened during the exam."

Tsunade leaned back in her chair, frowning. She certainly had. "He drew hard on the fox's power when he thought Sakura might have been hit with something fatal. It's definitely triggered by protectiveness, right now." Her mouth curled. "Temari, the Kazekage's sister, was up in the box with us and she had a seal out and ready like that." She snapped her fingers. "She'd have used it, too, if Sasuke hadn't sat on Naruto to calm him down. I think Gaara expected something like this might happen."

"I spoke with him, after the exam," Kakashi offered, crossing a foot over his knee. "He offered us copies of Sand's scrolls on the tailed beasts and their hosts, but he didn't have much more training than Naruto."

"Which is undoubtedly why he's had such difficulty controlling that damn tanuki of his." Tsunade sighed. "At this rate we may have to negotiate with one of the villages of the other great nations." And she didn't even want to contemplate what kind of concessions they'd demand in return for training someone else's host, but something had to be done and done soon.

"You know," Kakashi said, slowly, "I've looked through the scrolls myself. The one thing that's repeated over and over is that a host has to know himself, know his own chakra, and be able to manipulate both his and the beast's chakra very finely."

Tsunade considered that, and then considered Naruto, and groaned. "We're doomed."

"Maybe not." Kakashi laced his hands over his knee as he shifted it out of Shizune's way just in time to dodge her irritated swat. "I've been thinking. The ninja who learn to know and control chakra the most finely are generally the medics, aren't they?"

Tsunade blinked. "I... suppose that's true, yes." And then she frowned and held up a hand. "Wait just a minute. Are you suggesting that we train Naruto as a medic?"

"It seems like the best way to achieve what he needs without having to go to Hidden Cloud or Hidden Rock. Or worse, Hidden Mist."

Tsunade settled back in her chair, reaching for the kunai weighing down some files to turn it absently through her fingers as she thought. "I suppose it might work," she murmured doubtfully, "but who could possibly handle him during that kind of..." She trailed off and directed an extremely suspicious look at Kakashi. He spread his hands, eye crinkling up all smiley and innocent. "You bastard," she growled. "You've been planning on this! You scheming, evil-eyed shit! You—"

It took her a solid minute and a half to run out of names to call him. The stark understanding that no one else could teach Naruto a healer's arts, and deal with the kind of screw-ups his power might produce, drove her to dredge up words she hadn't used since the last time she'd been up north of Earth Country in the winter.

"You already like him, though," Kakashi positively wheedled when she finally ran down. "And it would definitely reassure the village to see the Nine-tails' host learning healing."

She threw the kunai at him, dead center, and snarled when he evaded it. Shizune caught it on the rebound and put it silently back on top of its stack of paperwork. "Okay," Tsunade growled, after a long, furious glare during which she tried and failed to think of any other possible teacher. "Okay, fine. I'll do it. That kid is the only thing that can drag me into this kind of insanity, and it will serve him right when he gets to be Hokage and has to deal with it all himself!" She sat back, glowering at him. "All right, if Naruto is staying here to be trained, what about his team?"

"They'll all set up a howl if two go out without their third," Kakashi noted dryly. "So they all need to be reassigned for a little bit. It isn't entirely uncommon for the year after promotion to be a time for advanced training. I thought Sakura might enjoy a stint with Intelligence; it's suited to her skills."

Tsunade looked at him narrowly. "True enough. That only leaves the other problem child. We've kept those three together for Sasuke's sake this long; what can we do now to keep him from backsliding?"

"Well," Kakashi murmured, examining his nails. "I thought we might make use of Sasuke's competitive streak. If we give him a teacher equal to Naruto's, and one who has a character similar to Naruto's, I think that should keep him progressing nicely."

Tsunade stared at him, eyes widening as those specifications sank in. "Equal to...? Similar to...?" Finally she couldn't help herself any more, and burst out laughing until she had to hold her stomach and Shizune finally demanded to know what the joke was.

"Myouboku Mountain's Monk of the Toad Spirits... also known as the Toad Sage.... is here!" A long white tail of hair flounced and wood geta managed to hit the dust with a firm clack.

"You're what," Sasuke said, very flatly. It wasn't even a question. There was no possible question in the world to which that was the answer.

Sakura's eyes were the size of saucers and the Hokage had a hand over her face. Naruto, on the other hand, was hanging over someone's front gate laughing like a hyena. Sasuke gave serious thought to setting his butt on fire with a Fire Blossom.

"I know he doesn't look it," Tsunade sighed, "but this idiot really is my old teammate. Jiraiya, meet Uchiha Sasuke. Sasuke, meet the Toad Idiot."

"You're so cruel, Tsunade," the old man actually pouted. And they expected Sasuke to walk around being seen in public with this guy?

Naruto finally caught his breath a little. "No, no, he's actually really good. He's the one who taught me the Rasengan! I bet you have lots of fun traveling with him."

"I'm not sure I want to be anywhere near someone who teaches things you think are interesting," Sasuke pointed out dryly.

"Hey, it was totally my own idea to do a panty raid on Temari-san," Naruto huffed, crossing his arms. Sasuke contemplated this.

"I think that was my point."

"If it helps, he also taught the Fourth, so he's not actually as useless as he likes to look," Tsunade put in. "And there's the other side of this too." She folded her arms, brows drawing down. "Even after a full year, we're still getting probes from Hidden Sound, and most of them happen when you're in the village. Orochimaru obviously hasn't given up. And if you're not going to have a pathologically overprotective beast host right at hand, who can be counted on to follow right after any kidnapping, setting forests on fire with his chakra as he goes, Jiraiya is the next best thing."

Naruto looked smug until she flicked him over the ear. "That wasn't actually a compliment, brat."

Naruto glowered at her, rubbing his ear, only to perk up a second later. Sasuke would never understand Naruto's mood swings. "Hey, I bet he can teach you summoning!"

Still flustered by Tsunade's remark about overprotectiveness, and the little curl of warmth it had caused, Sasuke crossed his arms. "Uchiha don't use summons."

"You're the last Uchiha, I don't see why you can't do whatever you please and call that what the Uchiha do," Jiraiya said mildly.

Sasuke was struck very still, unprepared for that kind of insight after all the clowning.

Jiraiya rested a hand on his shoulder, dark eyes holding Sasuke's. "Don't limit yourself inside your own mind."

Slowly, Sasuke nodded. Maybe this would work after all.

Sakura,

You have the library handy, maybe you can tell me. Is it possible to request a rescue mission from one's own tutor? I'll pay for it out of my own pocket. We've spent the last week in the red light district of this town. The only ninjutsu practice I'm getting is figuring out how to haul his carcass home from the bars! Yesterday I used Transformation and turned him into a cat long enough to get him home; a neutered cat. The day before that I used a new wind jutsu to roll him along the street. Neither made him stop. I think he's trying to drive me crazy.

Sasuke

Sakura folded the letter away, giggling helplessly. She wondered how long it would take Sasuke to catch on that he was already in training. Another week at least, she wagered with herself; he could have a very one-track mind once he got an idea in his head.

She wondered a little whether even being taught by someone who seemed a lot like Naruto at sixty would be able to shake that.

Sakura was out in the courtyard of the Intelligence complex, working on advanced concealment techniques with a handful of other newcomers, when an explosion rocked the morning. Everyone looked up with a jerk as smoke billowed out of the top of the administrative center, but Sakura relaxed as an orange blur emerged. She could practically hear the cackling.

"Get back here, you brat!" Tsunade-sama's voice echoed down the block. "That was my favorite coat, you little shit! I'm going to turn everything you own baby pink for a week!"

"Oh, Naruto," Sakura sighed, even as her mouth quirked up helplessly. At least he was getting along with his teacher. In fact, she worried just a little sometimes that Tsunade would be a bad influence on him.

"Demon fox, huh?" One of the other newcomers, Shimasu, eyed the way Naruto had gone and shook his head. "Kind of explains a few things, doesn't it? Are we sure that thing can't get out?"

A chill tingle of anger rushed over Sakura and she had to take a moment to unset her jaw and smile at him with complete insincerity. "Oh, there's no need to worry at all. Naruto only draws enough of the Nine-tails' chakra for aspects to emerge when something he truly cares for is threatened." She clasped her hands demurely. "The village did a good job, there, I must say. After the way he's been treated, there's almost nothing here he cares for that way." The last sentence came out edged with ice and Shimasu's head jerked up.

"Who do you think you are?" he demanded, straightening up to loom over her. "I have five years seniority as a chuunin, missy, and..."

Enemy, the back of Sakura's mind whispered to her, threat to the team. Familiar calculation flickered through her thoughts as she eyed Shimasu coolly. She had watched him joking and shoving with some friends. His attacks were strong, but his defense was weak. If it came down to a confrontation, a binding seal would immobilize him for her to get behind him and then she could take her time getting the sensory-blocking technique Fuunotora-san had taught her right, and that should take care of him. And... he was backing away. She'd need to work fast...

"Sakura." Miuhara's hand fell on her shoulder and she blinked up at their trainer. He looked amused and relaxed, but there was a gleam of something else in his pale, sharp eyes. "That's some impressive killing intent, I admit. Work on hiding it."

Right, she wasn't with her team, they weren't in the field anymore, and, um, she probably wasn't supposed to treat another Leaf-nin like an enemy. Even if he kind of was. Only not that way, she told herself firmly, and took a breath, cheeks a little hot. "Yes, Miuhara-san. I'll work on that."

And she would, of course. No sense letting a threat to her team know she was coming.

Naruto wasn't the only one who felt that way.

Hey! Did Gamakichi step on you? I told him to step on you when he delivered this. How's it going with you and the ero-sennin? See, you should have let me teach you Sexy no Jutsu before you left, it's the best way to get his attention.

Tsunade-baachan is a slave driver, I think it must be an old-person thing. She makes me sit and MEDITATE for, like, hours, and the fox chakra itches. But I can already do chakra transfer, as long as it isn't for something really fiddly. So? What about you, what can you do? Come on, tell me, or I'll tell Gamakichi to lick you next letter I send!

Naruto

Sasuke folded the paper up again, neatly, and wondered how Naruto managed to actually hold a conversation in a single letter. He'd complain about Naruto putting words in his mouth, except... he usually got them right.

He tucked the letter safely away in his pack and lay down, firmly ignoring Jiraiya's knowing grin on the other side of the fire. Reacting would just encourage the man. If Sasuke was relieved enough at the distraction to smile at a letter from his teammates, well that wasn't to Jiraiya's credit, was it?

He pulled his pack over to use as a pillow, listening to the soft crackle of paper that all the letters from home made.

Naruto let the last history scroll roll closed on the words that described too calmly how a band of extremists from Hidden Mist, opposed to both bloodline talents and hosts, had broken through the guards while his mother was giving birth and damaged her seal, releasing the Nine-tails. "So. That's why people don't like me," he said, low, looking down at the scarred surface of the table in the little, wood-paneled room beside the Hokage's office, where he studied.

"For a long time, now, hosts have been the sacrifices of their villages, one way or another." For once, Tsunade-baachan wasn't yelling. "Konoha has tried to honor ours, but when the Nine-tails escaped and your mother was lost..." she sighed. "I think Sarutobi-sensei made the wrong choice. But some people are idiots, and his journals say that there was a lot of loose talk right after the attack. People saying Kushina-san had failed, or that she should never have tried to have a child since it put the seal in danger. He didn't want them taking that out on you."

Naruto's hands closed into fists. "My mother didn't fail."

Hands closed over his, stronger than any hands had a right to be, strong like the vast voice locked inside him, strong like maybe his mother's would have been, and Tsunade-baachan shook him a little. "Of course she didn't fail! Kushina-san was a hero, a greater hero than her husband! She gave her life to hold and guard Konoha's most dangerous weapon, and I honor her memory."

Naruto sniffed and swallowed. He wasn't crying, he wasn't. "How come the hosts don't have a monument, then, huh?"

"Maybe we'll make one." She scruffled up his hair. "Then you'll be on two monuments. One with your mom and one with your dad."

Naruto finally looked up, and if his grin wavered a little Tsunade didn't show she noticed. "So, hey," he said, sturdier, latching on to a much easier question for distraction, "we used to have a lot more beasts, didn't we? Why'd the First give so many away? I mean," he prodded his stomach, frowning at it, "the fox is really, really strong. Wouldn't we have been the strongest village if we'd had more?"

"We might have." Tsunade-baachan sat back in her chair on the other side of the table. "Or we might have scared the villages of the other great nations so much they'd have allied to get rid of us. That's what my grandfather thought, at least. We did get a lot of treaties out of those gifts." Her mouth twisted. "Even if half of them fell apart a generation later."

Naruto jammed his chin into his hands, frowning harder. "When I'm Hokage, I'm going to find a way to make everyone quit fighting like that. Why can't we just have a match, like at the chuunin exams, instead?"

Tsunade sighed. "Because the side whose team lost would want to do it again, with a stronger one, and sooner or later we'd be using whole armies again. That's kind of what a war is, kid. And as soon as people get killed, you have revenge getting into it, and it never ends." She leaned across the table and poked him in the stomach. "You know that already. Look at the way you reach for all of this, the moment you think one of your team is being hurt, or in danger of dying. Like when Sakura went down, during the exams."

Naruto growled, and then jumped, startled. This time, he could really, actually feel the surge of the fox's hot, raw chakra. "...oh."

"Most people don't have a demon beast to draw on," Tsunade-baachan said, raising one brow at him, "but everyone reaches deeper like that when the people they love are hurt. Everyone. Think about that."

Naruto thought about it, and chewed on his lip, and scowled, and finally burst out, "I'll find a way anyway! I don't know how, but there's got to be something to get people to stop!"

He expected the old bat to scoff, but she just smiled. "Maybe you will. Now." She rapped the table and rose. "Time for your meditation exercises."

Naruto groaned pathetically, but she showed no mercy and just pointed at the cushion on one side of the room. Naruto dragged himself over to it with a deep sigh and arranged his hands in the reverse Bird, and listened to the distant growl of the fox inside. One thing he would say, though never to Tsunade-baachan: it was getting easier to tell when the growl was the fox's and when it was his.

Maybe more people just needed to do this.

Naruto,

If you don't stop telling that toad of yours to jump on my head with the letters, I'm going to fry him.

And no, of course it's not your fault that a surgery you were assisting at failed. Unless, of course, you were actually the one bonding in the new bone and you somehow forgot to mention that part. Quit being an idiot. You're not actually incompetent, at least when you pay attention. And you do that more these days.

Stop worrying.

Sasuke

The owner of Ichiraku Ramen set down Naruto's bowl and smiled across the counter. "There, now, that's more like it. You've looked down for days. Cheer up! I made the ramen extra spicy for you!"

Naruto tucked the letter into his jacket and split his chopsticks. "Yeah, sometimes you gotta remember the good stuff in life!" He scooped up his first slurp of noodles with a tiny smile.

Sasuke had to admit, if only to himself, that Kakashi-sensei had been right. His team could keep him sane. He really missed them, having to deal with Jiraiya day in and day out. Naruto was comfortingly straightforward, by comparison, and he was positive that Sakura would have slapped Jiraiya very satisfyingly at least once a day.

And he wanted to be where Sakura was, getting the run of Intelligence, so badly he could taste it. He wanted access to secured records so he could find out where Itachi had gone, and what he was doing, and how Sasuke could finally kill the man and avenge his family.

Before the man could do it again and kill his... his team. His team, that was all. (Family dies. Family betrays. Not family.)

He shook his head sharply to settle his thoughts, and one of his lines of ink went astray.

"Redo that," Jiraiya told him, glancing over. "Summons aren't like ninjutsu; they don't go away until you dismiss them or the summoning seal is disrupted, and even that's chancy. You should have the dismissal right on hand the first time, and formally written as a seal, in case anything goes wrong. Decided what you want to try for, yet?"

"Hawks," Sasuke answered shortly, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. The thought had come to him about a week ago, watching one circling over the hill they were on. It seemed appropriate to make a contract with another creature of legendary eyesight, after all. Besides, then he'd have his own summons to send letters by.

"Hmm. Sharp-eyed, so single minded they fly into cliffs on the hunt, no sense of humor... I can't imagine why this didn't occur to the Uchiha years ago."

Sasuke considered trying out his new Chidori Senbon on his teacher, but he was pretty sure it wasn't stable enough yet, and he'd just be more annoyed if Jiraiya dodged it. Maybe, he thought as he turned back to his brushwork, a hawk would be willing to pick up one of the damn toads and drop it on Jiraiya's head.

That was a Naruto sort of approach to the problem, but right now he was irritated enough not to mind that.

Sasuke,

It sounds like you're making a lot of progress, even if Jiraiya-sama is aggravating. We've had a bit of a stir, here, and I don't know if Naruto will tell you about it. Someone brought their little girl to the hospital with a broken arm, while he was assisting, and the medic asked him to do the anesthetic for her. I guess the father was really wound up, because he started yelling that no fox demon was going to touch his child. Well, there was the mother of a little boy in to have his tonsils out just in the hall and she started yelling at the father that he was disloyal to Konoha to say something like that about the Fourth's own son. So there the two adults were, howling and screeching at each other, and Naruto in the middle just doing the pain-suppression. I was so proud of him! Well, in the end, the little boy came wandering in and sat down with the little girl, and by the time the parents got done yelling Naruto was spinning tops for both of them on the floor and they'd both stopped crying. I'm told that the father looked very shamefaced when he took his daughter home, as well he should. I honestly think the mother alarmed Naruto more, though; he still doesn't know how to deal with that.

I looked in the files, after you mentioned it, but none of them that I could get my hands on had any information about where Itachi is now, or where Akatsuki might be based. There's speculation that it's in Water Country somewhere, but it's all just rumor, nothing substantiated.

I did find something else, though. Keep an eye out, okay? When Tsunade-sama said that the Sound-nin keep showing up looking for you, she wasn't joking.

Sakura

Sasuke frowned over Sakura's letter. He hadn't thought Tsunade was joking, exactly, but he hadn't seen the slightest sign of Sound-nin anywhere in the last five months. He was much more interested in those rumors about the Akatsuki base. Maybe Jiraiya would agree to a trip into the Water Country if Sasuke said he'd heard the bars all had gorgeous servers or something.

And Naruto was an idiot. He should have just used the first anesthetic seal on the loud-mouth father, so he could do his work in peace and quiet. There was no excuse for that kind of thing.

Sasuke pulled over a sheet of paper and a pen to explain to Naruto in detail what he should to about that kind of interference next time, eyes glinting.

"Naruto! Did Tsunade-sama let you go for the day?" Sakura slid onto the bench of the dango shop across from him, pinning a case of papers firmly under her heel. Probably top secret or something, she was getting really into that stuff these days. Naruto pried himself upright from his sprawl across the table with a groan.

"She's a killer. We don't need assassins any more, all we need to do is have her train people. They'll drop dead in a month. She had me transferring chakra all day, in different proportions, if you can believe it, of my chakra and the damn fox's."

Sakura's brows rose. "Naruto, that's a really advanced technique."

He blinked. "It is?" The old bat hadn't told him that. "Huh."

"Well, here, you'll like this, then." Sakura fished an envelope out of her pouch. "Sasuke's latest letter came, and he said to share this one with you."

Naruto straightened up more, reaching for the letter eagerly. It really helped, these days, to hear from Sasuke. Who'd have ever thought, two and a half years ago, when they'd all first met? He blinked at the opening lines and read aloud, bemused.

"May all the spirits of my ancestors look on me with favor and preserve me from this utter asshole. Striking him dead would be favorite; it can't be hard the way he lives. No sooner were the words 'Water Country' out of my mouth than he hauled us off to Wind instead. We're doing laps around the central desert, practicing a different set of elemental techniques with every one. Do you know what they drink out here? Whatever it is, it makes him sing."

Naruto had to stop then to put his head down and laugh.

"Have you ever heard Jiraiya-sama sing?" Sakura asked, curious.

"Yes!" Naruto gasped, "that's why I'm laughing!"

Sakura leaned her chin in her hand, grinning. "So, is Sasuke right when he says the donkeys can carry a tune better?"

Naruto wrapped his arms around his stomach, sniggering too hard to answer as he imagined Sasuke's response to Jiraiya's sentimental caterwauling. Sakura just shook her head, smiling, and stole his glass of water for a few sips.

"Well," Sakura said when he finally caught his breath, "at least he should be more satisfied with his actual training, now. And being around Jiraiya-sama seems to be good for him, in a way."

Naruto wiped his eyes and stole back his water. "Yeah, he sounds a lot more human, these days. Less like he has one of those Uchiha fans stuck up his ass."

Sakura mock-glowered at him. "Tsunade-sama has had a very bad influence on your language, Naruto."

Naruto cocked his head, grinning, and waved the letter. "Seems to be a Legendary Three thing, since Sasuke's is getting just as bad." Sakura snorted and Naruto paused. "Um." He fidgeted a minute, looking down at his napkin. "Sakura-chan? Does that... bother you?" He snuck quick looks up at her as he twisted his napkin into a knot.

"That you and Sasuke are being taught by two of the Three and I'm not?"

Naruto winced at the way she knew exactly what he was talking about. That couldn't be a good sign, could it?

She steepled her hands together, looking at her fingertips. "I'm a little envious, sometimes," she admitted, softly. "But then I think... all three of us had to give things up for the training we're getting now. Sasuke has to be on the road while you and I get to stay together here. You had to start training in healing, and I know that was never a goal of yours. I don't have a legendary tutor all my own, but, you know, I also don't have a legendary enemy after me personally and I also don't have a demon fox sealed inside me I have to figure out how to deal with." She looked up at him with her mouth tilted. "I'm kind of okay with those things. And I do like working with Intelligence; I think it carries a lot of weight with them, that Kakashi-sensei recommended me."

"Well, that's because you're awesome, Sakura-chan," Naruto mumbled, looking at his napkin again. "I always thought so."

She actually smiled at that, instead of passing it off or smacking him in the shoulder, and that made him have to drop the napkin before he actually ripped it.

"So, go on and read what else Sasuke says," she said lightly. "I thought the part about the camels was pretty good, and he's got a new form of Chidori."

Naruto spread out the letter again with a little relief. Sakura was awesome, but Sasuke was easier to understand any day.

Sasuke leaned back on the rail of the boat, looking up at the sky above them. It seemed endless, from this angle, the blue only broken by a few hazy veils of cloud. He wished his life were more like that sky.

Annoyingly familiar weight settled beside him with what had to be deliberate thumps and creaks. "Looks like we'll have a good, clear passage," Jiraiya remarked, all bluff and cheerful.

Sasuke give his teacher a Look, and Jiraiya just smiled, perfectly sunny and impervious.

"Ah, there's the true Uchiha glare. What are you so pissy about this time? We're heading for Water Country just like you wanted, aren't we?"

"For your purposes," Sasuke pointed out with precision. "Not mine."

Jiraiya waved a finger at him and took a drink from his jug. "Nonsense, my purposes are yours! We're going to investigate!"

"No," Sasuke said. "They're not the same. You're always trying to get me to change the way I look at things, or think about something. Like the way you keep reminding me of my clan, but always in a way that would push me away from our traditions." He snorted as Jiraiya raised his brows. "Sakura may be the best at this, but that doesn't mean I don't use my brain too."

After a long moment, Jiraiya leaned back against the rail beside him and looked up at the sky. "You have the potential to be a fine shinobi. And a very powerful one. But you'll never realize it if you pay more attention to the past than the present."

"I'm not going to forget my clan!" Sasuke snapped.

"And here you said you used your brain," Jiraiya mused and took another drink while Sasuke glared at him. "Of course you won't forget them. But you should blunt the memory a little so it doesn't cut you." He quirked his eyebrow at Sasuke. "The Uchiha had many things to be proud of, and one madman doesn't erase that. You don't have to prove every bit of their honor all by yourself."

Sasuke flinched. It wasn't fair how Jiraiya could spend all his time acting like a drunk buffoon and then turn around and do things like this. See and say things that felt like a knife going in past his guard. Only without hurting. Exactly.

Jiraiya clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, come on, then! We're at sea; time to work on water techniques, maybe see what you can make of them combined with that Chidori of yours."

Sasuke sighed and did as he was told. The part of his brain that wasn't thinking about conductivity and possible applications of steam, though, wrapped those words about the honor of Uchiha around his heart and took comfort in them.

Naruto, Sakura,

We're coming back to the village for a little while. Found absolutely nothing about Akatsuki in Water Country, though Mist seems to have had yet another civil war. It sounds like it's about time, too, the last Mizukage and his cohort must have been really twisted. I'm almost surprised Akatsuki wasn't here, [blot that might have started with an I] they'd have been right at home.

See you soon.

Sasuke

A/N: Given how much time Madara spends, in canon, getting other people to do his dirty work, it never sat right with me that he was the only one involved in the attack on Kushina. So here he stirred up the Mist fanatics to attack instead.

And We'll Laugh About It

Takes place during Chapter Seven of Half Without Another One. While Sakura is gone her boys fret and try to distract themselves and take care of each other. Drama, Angst, Humor I-3

Sooner

The third time Naruto blew up his study room, trying to separate out the fox's chakra from his own once he'd already expressed them together, Tsunade didn't even yell. She just gave him a narrow look, hands planted on her hips, and called for Iruka-sensei.

Naruto kind of thought that was cheating.

Iruka-sensei, when he arrived, cast an experienced eye over the smoking splinters of Naruto's work table and crossed his arms in that immovably teacher-y way of his and declared, "No sparring with Sasuke-kun until you finish this exercise. Without blowing anything up."

Naruto stared at him in absolute betrayal. "That's cheating!" He pointed at Iruka-sensei, outraged. "Tsunade-baachan, that's cheating! I mean, that's just mean!"

"Naruto!" Iruka-sensei drew himself up, and Naruto wilted a little. "Do you think bandits or enemy shinobi are going to wait until you're not distracted? You need to learn control of the Nine-tails' chakra, and you need to learn how to focus on your work. Even when you're worrying."

"But..." Naruto mumbled at his feet, "it's Sakura-chan. I mean, what if something happens? How will we know?" Iruka-sensei stopped looming quite so much and reached out to rest a hand on his head.

"Sometimes we don't know," he said more gently, "and that's a painful thing to live with. But that's our job. That's what we are, Naruto."

Naruto crossed his arms tightly. He knew that. Of course he knew that. But he'd never had to do it before. Even when Sasuke had been gone, they'd know Jiraiya was with him. Wherever Sakura was, she was all by herself!

Tsunade-baachan finally pushed away from the wall where she'd been leaning and shook her head. "Go get something to eat, kid. And then you're going to come back here and do this exercise right. And then," he could totally hear the grin in her voice, "you can go out to play with Sasuke."

He straightened up and glared at her. "We're not kids."

She was grinning all right. "Glad to hear it. So you'll come back this afternoon and concentrate like a working shinobi, right?"

Naruto grumped and huffed to himself. This was blatant entrapment, was what it was. "Okay, fine. Yes." He pointed at Iruka-sensei again. "But I want ramen first!"

Iruka-sensei was trying to look stern, still, but a corner of his mouth was twitching up. "Just one bowl," he specified.

"Deal!" And he would get the exercise right, Naruto resolved as he followed Iruka-sensei down the stairs of the administrative building. Because he really, really needed to see Sasuke every day and make sure he was okay.

He kind of thought Sasuke felt the same way.

Naruto sprang out of a tree, grinning hugely as he bore straight down on Sasuke; this time he had him!

And then he squawked as a leg wrapped around his and arms snaked through his elbows, locking his knife hand. A weight that could only be Sasuke was against his back, and the illusion on the ground flickered out, and the ground itself was coming up fast. Really fast.

Thud.

It took Naruto a few moments to get enough breath back to wheeze, "Fuck."

"You really need to work something out so you're not so vulnerable to illusion," Sasuke agreed against his shoulder. He didn't sound nearly as winded. Of course, he'd had Naruto to cushion his landing. "You're not nearly as observant as S—" He cut off abruptly, and Naruto lay quietly, not fighting it as Sasuke's hold tightened. When Sasuke spoke again, his voice was rougher. "Hell, neither am I. So you need to compensate. Will your Shadow Clones be any good for this?" Finally he let Naruto go and pushed up to his feet.

"I dunno." Naruto wriggled his fingers and toes to make sure everything was still attached and rolled to his feet. "I guess if I hid one to watch... but I'd have to yell or signal to warn myself."

"Not necessarily," Kakashi-sensei spoke up from his perch on one of the training ground's huge boulders, eye fixed on his book. "You haven't noticed so far, which, I must say, says a few things about the lack of organization in your brain. But Shadow Clones return experiences to their originator when they disperse. It's one of the reasons the technique is so dangerous."

Naruto's eyes widened. "Wait, wait. So you mean... I could have had Shadow Clones do all my homework while I was out eating ramen and painting the monument?" And no one had told him?

Kakashi-sensei actually looked up from his book, and his expression was pained. "Naruto, Shadow Clones are complete copies of you. They would have blown the homework off too, and if they hadn't they would still have returned just as much boredom as you'd have experienced doing the homework yourself. Multiplied."

Naruto quailed at the thought. Okay, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. Sasuke had collapsed cross legged in the dust and had a hand over his face, shoulders shaking with stifled laughter. "You would totally have done it. Your face would have been great."

"Oh shut up." Naruto glared, but not too hard, because Sasuke wasn't laughing very often lately. "So anyway." He folded his arms with dignity and looked back at Kakashi-sensei. "If the Shadow Clone just disperses once it spots an illusion, then I would know?"

"If you were paying attention," Kakashi-sensei murmured, turning a page.

"Great!" Naruto produced about twenty, who grinned back at him and scattered through the trees. This time he'd definitely get Sasuke!

Sasuke was smirking. "This should be interesting."

Sasuke could be a total bastard, and way too smug about using his Sharingan to set illusions on all Naruto's clones at once so they all came back at once with nearly two dozen different views of Sasuke. But he gave Naruto an ice-pack for the headache afterwards, so Naruto figured he'd forgive him this time.

Besides, it kept them from thinking too hard about Sakura.

Naruto sat on Sasuke's bed and sulked as Sasuke packed. "Why do you have to go?"

Sasuke rolled a spare mesh shirt and stuffed it into his bag. "He says it's because Hidden Stone might be researching forbidden techniques, and the team that goes in has to be both as strong and as small as possible."

"So why can't I go too?" Naruto grabbed Sasuke's medical kit out of his hands to double check it himself, before it was packed.

"Because the Elders still want to chain you to the Hokage's desk," Sasuke pointed out dryly, stowing ration bars instead.

Naruto growled as he went to rummage in Sasuke's kitchen for ingredients to make some extra warming pills; Sasuke always managed to exhaust his chakra if no one was around to watch him, and then he caught chest colds, and then he was a pain-in-the-ass patient for weeks. "They're gonna have to let me go some time," he declared, grinding dried ginger like it had the Elders' faces on it.

"Some time, probably," Sasuke agreed, checking his shuriken one by one. "But not this time." They were both quiet for a few minutes. Naruto was rolling paste into pills when Sasuke said, "I'll be back in three weeks. Even if I have to tie the old pervert up and drag him back."

Naruto cracked a grin at that mental image and relaxed a little. "Yeah. Okay." He gave Sasuke back his medical kit and met his eyes steadily. "I'll be here."

Sasuke's shoulders eased a little, too, and he nodded.

"Sasuke," Jiraiya said, exasperated, the fifth time Sasuke circled their camp, "sit down already. Everything's secure. Have a drink or something."

"You drink enough for three, let alone two," Sasuke shot back, but it was half-hearted. He knew he was more wound up than he should be. Or, at least, wound up over things that weren't their mission. Witness the way he jumped, startled, when Jiraiya's hand fell on his shoulder.

"Sit down," Jiraiya said firmly, pushing him down beside their tiny fire. "Sakura's first status-check said she was all right, and Tsunade will keep Naruto from blowing up the village while you're gone." He paused and added thoughtfully, "Probably."

"But they wouldn't tell us what her message actually said!" Sasuke burst out.

"Mm, it's always hard to have a partner in Intelligence." Jiraiya sat down beside him. "We've been doing this for a long time, though, Sasuke; you aren't the first. Intelligence has learned not to lie to a shinobi's working partners."

"Do we still count as that?" Sasuke could hear how uncertain he sounded, and bit his lip, looking away. Jiraiya's large hand rumpled his hair until he looked back around just so he could glare. Jiraiya was smiling.

"I've heard some of the things Kakashi says to them about the three of you. You count."

Sasuke took a breath, charging himself to remember that, and that Intelligence had said that Sakura's message was a 'so far so good'. "Okay." Lower, he added, "Thanks."

"Get some sleep," Jiraiya told him, more gently than usual. "We'll be home again soon. Until then, we have work to do."

Sasuke nodded silently. Hell, maybe this trip would even take his mind off things for a while.

Every now and then, not often but now and then, Sasuke was willing to admit that his infuriating and cheerfully perverted teacher really did have a certain amount of wisdom. Today he would admit it, because the first thing Jiraiya asked when they reached the gates of Konoha was, "Is Naruto on shift at the hospital, today?"

The four genin on gate duty, none of whom Sasuke knew by more than sight, looked at each other. "I... don't know?" the oldest said.

"Oh, hey, Sasuke!" Ino popped out of the gate house. "You guys are back! Yeah, Naruto's up at the hospital again."

"Again?" Sasuke asked, wary and frowning. What was Ino doing on the gate? She was Intelligence, like Sakura. Shouldn't she be out on annoyingly incommunicado and very likely dangerous missions, too?

"Yeah, again. After that first week you were gone, when he almost trashed an operating room and the Hokage made him mediate for, like, four days without stopping," Ino supplied, sauntering up to them. "Smugglers," she breathed through unmoving lips, and gave Sasuke a bright, slightly bloodthirsty smile. "So, yeah, go on, you can find him there."

Ah. That made more sense, yes. Sasuke liked it when the world made sense. He should probably repay Ino for that by playing along. He smirked at her and murmured, "Have fun babysitting the gate, then."

"You shut up!" Ino shot back, loud enough to bounce off the nearest buildings. "It's only for a little while, because we're short handed!" All four of the genin edged away, and she bared her teeth with self-evident satisfaction. The gleam in her eye told Sasuke that she probably would have a great deal of fun, just as soon as she caught her smuggler targets. That was right and proper, too, and he breathed just a little easier as he followed Jiraiya into the village.

"Go on and see Naruto," Jiraiya said quietly once they were a few streets in. "I'll report what we found to Tsunade."

"I'm perfectly capable of making a report like a decent professional," Sasuke bit back.

"I don't doubt that." Jiraiya looked down at him, eyes dark and old. "But you need to see him, and he needs to know you're back safe." His mouth quirked up at the corner, though that didn't erase the tight lines there, and he clasped Sasuke's shoulder. "More efficient this way than waiting for him to come crashing into her office in the middle of a mission report. Go."

Sasuke swallowed, feeling the shivers building up, only stilled for a moment by his teacher's firm grip; he'd felt them all the way home. "Okay."

He took to the roofs to reach the hospital, flinging himself through the air as if it could sweep away his memory. It couldn't, though, and he must have been showing the fact because as soon as he came through the hospital doors the tall, thin medic on the desk zeroed in on him and came out, moving slow and smooth and keeping his hands where Sasuke could see them. "Can you tell me where you're injured?" the man asked quietly.

Sasuke shook his head, every movement sharp with the tickle of potential laughter and potential screaming in his throat. "I'm not— There's nothing— That's not it. Just... is Naruto available?"

The medic didn't look like he entirely believed Sasuke, but he just nodded and waved at a passing orderly. "Get Naruto. Tell him there's an AFS requesting him at the front desk, no C/O. IMP is basic NNS." note

Sasuke twitched away from the man's hands as he was herded over to a chair; he was pretty sure that last bit had been some direction about what to do with him. But it had been directed to Naruto, he reassured himself, so he could pretty much depend on it being ignored. And it was only about four minutes, by his count, before Naruto burst into the waiting room like a medically scrubbed, blond whirlwind.

"Okay, so what's— Sasuke!"

Sasuke swallowed and leaned into the hands suddenly locked around his shoulders. They were bruisingly tight, but that was okay; he needed the anchor. "Naruto."

"Sasuke?" Naruto frowned. "What the hell happened? You're not actually hurt, are you? If you're hurt and you didn't say so..."

"Shut up, idiot," Sasuke ordered, relaxing into this familiarity, into the stable point of his teammate's loud impatience and concern. He lifted his hands to wrap them around Naruto's arms, staring at him. "You'd never do it," he said quietly. Naruto would never, ever countenance or perform or let be performed the operations he'd seen the results of up in Stone. And Naruto still insisted he was going to be Hokage, and, even if that didn't work out, at this rate the idiot was looking to be Konoha's top medical ninja after Tsunade. So that was all right.

"Never do...?" Naruto's question trailed off as he looked at Sasuke and his mouth tightened. Abruptly, he pulled Sasuke against him, one hand sliding up into Sasuke's hair and pressing his head down very firmly against Naruto's shoulder. "No," he said with bedrock surety. "I'd never do anything that would make you look like this. Never. So breathe, damn it."

Sasuke laughed instead, unsteadily, fingers digging into Naruto's jacket, until Naruto thumped him on the shoulder.

"I said breathe," he barked, and the startling authority in his tone made Sasuke suck in a breath and let it out. "Better. Keep doing that. Just a little at a time and pause. Little more. Little more. Now let it out. There."

Sasuke followed Naruto's directions, and felt his lungs finally relax, and his stomach too. Apparently Naruto had been learning more than chakra manipulation. He was starting to feel a little light-headed, though, and asked dryly, "Can I stop yet?"

"Well you can't stop breathing, no." But Naruto finally let him lift his head again and examined him with a critical eye. "Wanna stick around for the end of my shift?"

Sasuke looked around the entry of Konoha's hospital, its off-white tile, and alarmingly cheerful pink and yellow stripes at waist height on the walls, and the chipped edges on everything because this was, after all, the hospital of a hidden village, and shuddered. Just about the only difference was that Ishi's hospital had more green, and had slate floors. But it wouldn't happen here. He wouldn't let it, and Naruto wouldn't let it, and when she got back Sakura certainly wouldn't let it. He had to remember that. "Yeah," he finally answered, a little rough. "Yeah, that would be good."

Naruto's eyes on him were sharp for a moment, but he didn't ask, just nodded. "Okay. Come on."

Sasuke followed after him, quiet and contained, watching the reassuringly normal routine of the hospital as Leaf's medics dealt with reassuringly normal spills and scrapes and training injuries. Not here, he reminded himself. It won't happen here.

Maybe it was even a good thing Sakura was out on her own mission, right now, because otherwise she might have been the one sent to Hidden Stone. It could have been her who saw the results of one too-charming medical researcher's experiments, cared for now as best their village could manage for however long they would live. He didn't want her to ever have to see something like that. Not her, not Naruto, they shouldn't have to look horror in the face.

He knew that was a stupid thing to hope, for two other working shinobi, but he still hoped they wouldn't have to. And if it did happen, the way his gut knew it might well, if it did... well, it wasn't like Sasuke hadn't seen horror before. He'd help as best he could.

He breathed a little easier once he decided that.

Later

Naruto trudged into Sasuke's room and slumped down over his table. It hadn't been a good day.

"Told you they wouldn't tell us anything more," Sasuke said, not looking up from the shuriken he was sharpening, cross legged on his bed.

"It's been over five months," Naruto groaned.

"She said it might be a year."

Naruto shuddered. "Don't say things like that." After a moment he sighed and added, "I'm so incredibly bored."

Sasuke finally sighed and put down his shuriken. "You are such a baby. Okay, fine, if we go out on patrol, will you stop complaining?"

Naruto perked up. "Patrol? Hey, yeah, they'd let me do that!" He paused and frowned. "Will they let you do that? I mean, without the ero-sennin? 'Cause he's away for two more weeks, isn't he?" Allegedly on a mission, but Naruto had seen the look on Tsunade-baachan's face when she agreed to it and kind of figured it was another of those 'research' trips where Jiraiya would spend most of his time in bars and baths and definitely not come home before he had to.

Sasuke smirked and fished a folded piece of paper out of his sleeve, flicking it at Naruto so it bounced off his forehead. "Kakashi-sensei can come along instead."

"You sure?" Naruto eyed his teammate with some doubt, even as his fingers worked the paper open eagerly. "Kakashi-sensei's on light duty. Tsunade-baachan said so herself, and you could hear her all the way down the other end of the hall." But there it was in black and white on the paper, a six week rotation of short patrols for Uchiha, Uzumaki, and Hatake. Naruto grinned hugely. Finally, something to do.

Something he didn't have to feel guilty over being happy about, the way he'd started to with the bone-healing Tsunade had started letting him help with.

"I think he argued that, for the great Copy Nin, short patrol is light duty," Sasuke said dryly. "He's got a point, especially if he's out with both of us."

Naruto looked up at Sasuke for a long moment and smiled. "Yeah. Don't worry, I'll make sure he gets better."

Sasuke looked away with a short huff. "Not like I was worried."

Naruto gave him a tolerant look. "Yeah, yeah. Okay, then, let's go terrorize the bushes and bandits, and shit." If he couldn't take care of Sakura right now, at least the rest of his team was where he could keep an eye on them.

Kakashi raised an eyebrow as Naruto crashed out of the trees followed by four Shadow Clones carrying two bandits between them. At least he assumed the pair were bandits; they were wearing enough pieced-together armor and knives for it, as far as he could tell under the coils of rope that nearly cocooned them from neck to knee.

Naruto was grinning hugely. "There! Now I'm ahead again!"

Kakashi stifled a smile behind his mask. "Sasuke came back with one more while you were gone. The two of you are even."

Naruto pouted indignantly (all five of him) and dumped the latest catch at the end of today's line. "Then I'm going to sweep the river next! I'll get lots more than him there!"

And he was gone.

Kakashi shook his head and marked his place with a finger, regarding Naruto's most recent contribution to the safety of Konoha's roads. A man and a woman, both fairly young looking though that might just be their dazed expressions. He picked up a pebble and flicked it up to hit Shikamaru, napping on a branch above him, on the ankle. "Shikamaru, you're the recorder for the day. Get statements from these two." Since this was, after all, nominally Shikamaru's patrol sector; best to keep the paperwork in order. He went back to his book as Shikamaru grumbled his way down the tree and slouched over to run through the formalities.

Most of the bandits Naruto and Sasuke's little competition had brought in had been too shocked by the speed of their abduction to even try lying about their business before it was too late. The five ninja from other villages they'd caught so far had been sent back for Interrogation to deal with.

"Someone should have thought of this sooner," Genma murmured lazily from under his own tree, one ankle propped on the opposite knee. "It's doing them good to take out their worry on something productive. Doing the patrols good, too; everyone was getting a little worn down covering both the short and long rotations while we get back up to strength. Good to have a little break while those two take over for a bit." He accepted one of the skewers of meat and vegetables Chouji had been carefully roasting for lunch and took a satisfied bite.

"Mmm," Kakashi agreed around his own very tasty mouthful. "And now I see why this year's patrol commander is hanging around in this sector."

"I visit all the sectors sooner or later." Genma grinned and licked a bit of savory sauce from the corner of his mouth. "I just take a little longer in Shikamaru's. An Akamichi's cooking is something to take a little time over, even in the field." He eyed the day's handful of bandits critically. "You might be moving on before I do, in fact. They haven't caught nearly as many today as they were bringing in two days ago. When you get to the next sector, remind whoever you send off to cover the one you're supposed to be in to relieve Hikaru and tell her where to join back up with Shikamaru."

"I'll make sure," Kakashi promised. He didn't actually want to disrupt the regular schedules of the other patrols, after all. Not more than was therapeutic, at least. Not more than would keep his team from fretting themselves and everyone around them to bits.

Not more than could be helped. For now.

He stared at his book, unseeing though his eyes traveled slowly over the lines. Another two weeks and he'd have completed his evaluation of the shinobi currently on patrol. He already had a list of a dozen or so who could be pulled off this duty without impairing their teams too badly, without showing too clearly that the Leaf was raising strength to attack someone. Soon.

They had the location of enough bases, now, to gut Hidden Sound if they had to, and Miuhara was confident Sakura could get them the last few. Soon they would have enough people gathered to get Sakura out of Orochimaru's main base, even against resistance. He could feel the tightening of nerves that said this operation was nearing its end, approaching whatever climax it would come to.

This had all been a lot easier when he was the one in the field, not his student.

Be safe, he told Sakura silently, turning another page. Stay smart. Let me have been right to teach undercover skills to you, of all my students. As he heard the rustle of someone dragging something large through the brush, again, he gave one last silent hope to the wind to carry away.

Let her come home safe.

End

A/N: Medical jargon in more than one country is characterized by a certain morbid humor and tendency to shorten by elision or acronyms. IMP and C/O come from US hospitals and stand for "impression [of what the problem is]" and "complaint of". AFS and NNS are original to the Naruto-verse and stand for, respectively, "Another Fucking Shinobi" and "Ninja Needing Sedation". In other words, "there's a typical shinobi at the front desk saying he's perfectly fine; I think he's full of it and may be about to snap, so bring the good drugs/knockout jutsu".

Actually, of course, those are translations, localizing the jargon for English speakers. The "original" terms are probably something more like:

AFS = ImaKuShi: Imahitotsu Kuso Shinobi (ã„ã¾ãã— or ã„ã¾ç³žå¿ in writing), "another shitty shinobi".

C/O = probably not shortened, since most of the words for "complaint", for example "fuhei", are already only two syllables and two simple characters.

IMP = Me: "eye" as in "looking at it" or "eyeballing it" (ã‚ or ç›® in writing).

NNS = NiChiNyuu: Ninja Chinsezai Nyuuyotte iru (ã«ã¡ã«ã‚…ã† or å¿éŽ®å…¥ in writing), essentially "ninja needing sedation".

Personally, I suspect there's a lot of hiragana used in ninja patient records, both to keep patients from snooping and for speed. back

Stones In the Road

Go is everything to Ogata, including sex. This can present some difficulties, considering his best opponents. Porn, Humor, Character Study, I-3

Ogata Seiji had once been informed that it was entirely normal for people to have sexual fantasies that had nothing to do with the person or things they actually desired. Admittedly, the person who told him this had been trying to explain away why she'd called someone else's name in bed with him, but he thought it was true enough. He did not, after all, have the slightest desire to actually take most of his go opponents to bed, and yet the one thing that would reliably get him off was remembering a heated game. The click of stones onto the board, so faint and so intense when a decisive move was made; the line of smooth white or black, curling around space itself, so subtly that the opponent should not even notice until it was too late; the sudden stillness of an opponent's fingers on their stones when they did see; those were the things he thought of that made him purr into a lover's ear so promisingly that most of them seemed surprised to be tossed out the next morning as soon as he needed to study.

Those were the things he thought of when he was alone, too, spreading his legs and leaning back against the cool softness of hotel sheets, fingers wrapped around his cock. He closed his eyes, stroking slow and firm, and remembered today's game. The cut he'd waited eight turns to make, lulling the opponent into thinking he'd missed the possibility. The attack he'd made during the endgame, right when his opponent had thought he had the upper corner all wrapped up, oh yes. Seiji tipped his head back against the give of the pillows, panting as heat curled slow and heavy in his stomach, fingers working harder. The fury in the click of the next stone, mmmm yes. The narrowing of his opponent's eyes...

An image of Kuwabara's evil old eyes, narrowed amid their wrinkles and bags flashed into his mind. Seiji choked, eyes flying open, and snatched his hand off his cock. He felt like he'd run into a brick wall and been doused with freezing water into the bargain.

Seiji rolled over as his erection wilted, and groaned into the pillows. Damn it, damn it, damn it. That picture was a more effective libido-killer than anything, up to and including being laughed at. He sighed, muffled; really, he should probably know better than to use his games with Kuwabara for this. It was too easy to slip, and there went his evening's pleasure.

But they were the best games.

He couldn't help laughing at himself a little, because he could see the humor in his dilemma, and rolled back over to stare up at the ceiling, smiling faintly. All right, so today's game was off limits. Shame, that, it had been a good one. Perhaps all wasn't entirely lost for the evening, though. Opponents came and went, but go itself never abandoned him. If he just thought of the board, still and golden with all the possible moves hidden in its simple lines. Of the stones, cool to his touch and silky smooth, weighing so little to carry all the force they did.

Mmm, yes, that was better.

Seiji fixed his mind on the flow of smooth stones through his fingers and stroked his cock slow and hard, smiling with closed eyes.

End

Bellflowers Ring Silently

Aomine is straying. Kagami is enthusiastic. Momoi has a plan. And Riko is going to make this all come out right, no matter how many basketball idiots of either gender she has to wrangle to do it. Drama with Developing Friendship, I-3

Aida Riko didn't like Momoi Satsuki. The girl was far too presumptuous, for one thing, and for another all of Riko's idiot boys were too busy ogling Momoi every time they met to remember that this was a scout, this was a spy, this was the enemy, with a better analytical head on her shoulders than even Teppei. It wasn't better than Riko's, though, which was why she had the sense to be wary. So when her phone chimed in the middle of practice, and the name at the top of the message was Momoi's, Riko was instantly on guard.

And then she read it and was just puzzled.

Send dai-chan back pls. Captain very upset.

"Who on earth...?" Riko muttered to herself, frowning. It took a minute to connect Dai-chan with Aomine Daiki, and then she rolled her eyes.

Middle of practice. she sent back. Why would he be he

"You guys are still going? Jeez, take a break already."

Riko glanced up at the unfamiliar voice, and her thumb skidded across her phone when she saw Aomine Daiki leaning around the outside door, eyeing Seirin's practice with disgruntlement.

"Aomine-kun," Kuroko greeted him, a little breathless where he was chinning himself up on the bars set into the wall, as per Riko's orders. "Are you skipping practice again?"

"Yes, he is," Riko snapped. "And apparently his captain is angry about it, which I can completely understand."

Aomine just flicked his fingers carelessly, downright lounging in the door frame. "He gets pissed off over everything." Then he paused and cocked his head at her. "How do you know?"

Riko waved her phone. "Your keeper texted, asking us to send you back." Then she saw her screen and paused to glare at it. She'd hit send when Aomine startled her, and now Momoi had replied, Told you so.

"Satsuki's always interfering," Aomine said, watching her under his lashes. "No reason to do her errands for her, right?"

Riko hesitated, torn between not wanting to do Momoi's errands and being a responsible coach, and also being annoyed that this too-tall, too-talented brat had seen exactly how she was feeling.

"Aomine!" Kagami had finally noticed their visitor, and stopped noticing anything else including the formation he was supposed to be practicing. The ball flew straight past him as he stepped toward the doors, showing his teeth. "Here for a rematch?"

"Isn't that supposed to be for the one who lost?" Aomine shot back with a lazy, equally toothy, smile. "Last I checked, that was you."

"Try me again!"

Riko rubbed her forehead. "Both of you shut up!" she barked. "Kagami, get back to work or I'll triple your training drills! And you," she rounded on Aomine, who had the good sense to look just a little uneasy as she marched towards him. "If you want a match with any of my players, you can just get your coach to set it up with me. Now out!" She body-checked him out the door, ignoring his squawk of protest. "You have your own practice to be at."

"But the drills are boring." He gave her a downright pleading look that nearly made her doubt her own memory of him on the court, as dark and sharp there as he was open and entreating now. "Just one match?"

She could hear Kagami, inside, asking Hyuuga the same thing, and scrubbed a hand over her face. "If you wait quietly out here and don't interfere," she said, irresistibly reminded of certain small cousins she'd babysat for, and negotiations over bedtime, "you can have a one-on-one after practice ends. A short one."

He grinned at her, bright and happy and wicked around the edges. "Okay!" He hopped up to sit on the edge of the tall planters that lined the walk around the building.

Riko shook her head and went back in, closing the door firmly behind her. Maybe Momoi deserved more credit than she'd thought, if she had to manage that one every day. She looked up to see Kagami, Kagami of all people! giving her puppy-dog eyes.

"Kantoku?" he asked, hopefully.

"You really are like a pair of little kids," she sighed. "After practice. If you pay attention."

Kagami brightened up just like Aomine had. "Yes, ma'am!" He bounded back to his place on the court, and Riko exchanged a look of helpless amusement with Hyuuga.

At least Kuroko was still calmly working through his repetitions on the bars, even if there was a tiny smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

Not coming back, Riko texted Momoi. Promised 121 later to stop him interfering. Cptn should put leash on him.

Will go shopping today, came back, and even in a text message Riko could tell she was exasperated. She sympathized.

Can put him in your practice? Momoi sent, hopefully, two weeks (and three more visits) later.

Riko stabbed at her phone in aggravation. Show opponent all our tactics, sure right.

Trade. Will put kagamin in our practice when he comes.

Riko blinked at the text in disbelief. "What is this supposed to be, foreign exchange?" Why would kagami be at touou?

All Momoi sent back was: ...

Riko pursed her lips, looking up at her court, where Kagami and Aomine were dodging around each other, ball flashing through their hands almost faster than the eye could follow. Finally Aomine broke past Kagami and made a clean shot. "I win," he said, as he landed. "Again."

"Once more!" Kagami shot back, teeth bared at Aomine even though his eyes were practically sparkling.

Aomine smirked. "You're way more than one down, you know."

"Either say no, or gimme the damn ball."

Aomine bounced the ball across to Kagami, laughing.

Hyuuga, the only one who had stayed late with her to watch, shook his head in disbelief. "I think I love basketball as much as the next person..."

"The next basketball idiot anyway," she agreed, flipping her phone closed with a sigh.

He ignored that, or maybe just accepted it; Hyuuga was a smart guy sometimes. "...but those two are something else. I think Kagami has actually skipped a meal for this."

Riko thought about that, and looked down at her phone, and turned around to bang her head against the gymnasium stage a few times. "Why does she have to be right about this?" she asked, muffled. If Kagami was willing to skip meals to play Aomine it wouldn't take long at all before he really was sneaking off to Touou for more.

"Momoi-san predicted it?" a quiet voice asked from right beside her, and Riko jumped. Right. Of course Kuroko had also stayed behind to watch. It was her own fault for not paying attention, the way she'd learned to during practice itself. She took a long breath to slow her heart rate back down, and managed not to glare when she looked up. Kuroko was perched on the edge of the stage, looking down at her with wide, steady eyes. "Momoi-san knows Aomine-kun very well. And Kagami-kun is a lot like him."

"I noticed." Riko turned around again, letting her shoulders thump back against the stage, and accepted the silent support of Hyuuga's arm pressed against hers. "So, yes, he probably will be sneaking off to Touou pretty soon, now." How was she going to manage this? It wouldn't be an entirely bad thing if it weren't for Kagami's strategic obliviousness...

"We have a leash for the dog, we can get one for Kagami too," Hyuuga said darkly, and Riko grinned up at him. Great minds thought alike.

After a long moment, Kuroko spoke up again. "Aomine-kun is a better analyst than Kagami-kun, right now."

Kuroko saw the real problem too. "Mm. That's what I'm really concerned about, yes." Riko watched Kagami finally out-leap Aomine's guard to slam the ball home. Both of them went immediately for another point, this time, and Riko sighed, exasperated. Enough was enough, and she didn't want Kagami to over-strain himself. "Kuroko-kun, go stop them."

Kuroko hopped down from the stage and trotted obediently out onto the court. Riko watched him watch the flow of the match for a moment before stepping into it and effortlessly stealing the ball, holding it while both his current and previous partner protested the interruption loudly. Kuroko really did have an amazing eye for the game, and she swore by the time she graduated she and Hyuuga were going to get him to use that eye for more than his own plays. He waited out Kagami and Aomine's complaints and said a few quiet words, pointing to the clock on the wall. Eventually, they both gave in and made for their bags against the wall by the door. Kuroko, responsible as ever, put the ball away neatly in the bin before following after. The three of them pushed through the outside door, Kagami and Aomine still arguing over their match while Kuroko, between them, listened with silent amusement.

"Momoi suggests we can just trade them off, incorporate them both into both practices, wherever they happen to be," she said quietly, once they were gone. "But that won't be an even trade when it comes to what they pick up about an opponent's team. If it weren't for that, I might consider it. It would certainly help Kagami a great deal to train against Aomine with any regularity."

Hyuuga was looking a little alarmed. "Kantoku. You're talking about Seirin and Touou playing tournament matches when we already know what the other team is capable of. What kind of game would that be?"

"A challenging one. You like that, right?" Riko's mouth tilted in a crooked smile. "Momoi seems to have a lot of that information on her books already. It might be very useful to equalize that advantage." Hyuuga paused, obviously just as caught by the notion as she'd been. If only it could work. She was almost regretting that Kagami couldn't analyze his opponents on anything but an instinctive level, yet, not like...

Slowly Riko straightened, eyes widening.

"Kantoku?" Hyuuga asked, warily.

Riko snapped her phone open with a flick of her wrist, and her thumb danced over it as she wrote out, Kagami and kuroko both to touou and I agree.

There was a long pause before the answer came back, and when it finally did Riko let herself giggle with wicked satisfaction.

Hyuuga paled. "Kantoku, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to send Kuroko along." She held up the phone for him to see.

Agreed.

It took another few days before Aomine snuck off to visit them again, and Riko couldn't quite restrain herself from skipping now and then. Her club kept giving her nervous looks, though she was sure she had no idea why they should. She supposed, on reflection, she might have hummed a little, too.

When Aomine finally showed up, peeking in the outside doors to wave at Kagami and Kuroko, she pounced on him. "There you are! Get in here, Aomine-kun, you're taking part in drills today!"

"Oh, she has plans for him," Furihata whispered, in a tone of relief. "Whew!"

"Don't relax yet, they might still be plans for us too!" Kawahara hissed back.

Riko smiled serenely. It was good to keep her boys on their toes.

"Drills?" Aomine blinked at her as she strolled up to him. "Oh come on, I came here to get away from drill--ow!"

Riko marched him into the gym, fingers locked firmly on his ear. "Too bad. You're here. You're practicing." Her boys were looking at her with a bit of awe, and she gave them a sunny smile. "Now." She let Aomine go and folded her arms. "Take off your shirt and let me get a look at you."

"What?!" Aomine looked faintly scandalized. Hyuuga was clearly stifling a laugh as he came and patted Aomine reassuringly on the shoulder.

"She's our trainer; she wants to get a look at what kind of condition you're in. Go on."

"But..." Aomine gave her a rather wide-eyed look. "No, seriously..."

"Aomine-kun." Kuroko, in the middle of the rotating line for lay-up practice runs, looked over at them with an ever so faintly admonishing expression. He didn't say anything else, but Aomine grimaced a little, breath sighing out. Riko chalked up another example of Kuroko's ability to manage his teammates; she was starting to wonder if they should make him the captain, year after next.

"Oh all right." Aomine stripped off his shirt and stood giving her a suspicious look.

Riko took a good look at his body, frowning, pushing aside her eternal amazement over his sheer strength and potential to study the whole picture instead. "Hmm." She hadn't been sure, just watching him slouching around, and it was hard to see very well in the middle of one of his wild matches with Kagami, but her suspicion had been right. Aomine wasn't standing quite square. She walked around him, studying his back. "Hmmmm." Finally, she came around in front of him again, studying the curve of his spine and ribs as she went, and nodded sharply. "All right. Get dressed." As soon as Aomine's head emerged from the neck of his T-shirt again, she gave him a stern look. "I'm not surprised Momoi-kun wanted me to take a look at you. You're right on the edge of some acute injuries, especially if you keep playing the way you are with Kagami-kun."

Aomine shot her a skeptical glance, running his hands through his hair. "You can tell that just by looking?"

"You aren't standing square," Riko pointed out. "You're pulling up just a little short on your right leg, and that's contracting your core muscles on the left, trying to compensate. Your lower back, especially, is weaker than it should be, and you're putting extra strain on your shoulders and chest. That's heading straight for a torn pectoral, and your knees will be in danger, too, if you don't strengthen your hip and lower back muscles again." Aomine's eyes had been widening all through the lecture, turning uncertain as he tried reflexively to adjust his stance and probably felt the muscles pulling. Riko set her hands on her hips, scolding. "You can't let yourself get out of condition like that, Aomine-kun! You should know better!"

"It's never been a problem," Aomine protested, looking shifty even as he said it.

Riko narrowed her eyes at him. "No excuses! You're going to train properly whenever you're here, and that's final! I'm not having any injuries happening in my gym."

"What kind of training properly?" Aomine hedged, though Riko could tell he was weakening. She smiled at him, sweet as honey.

"Oh, dreadfully boring ones." She stepped up nose-to-nose, or at least nose-to-chest, and he edged back. "Which will keep you from having all the wonderful excitement of a serious injury, you idiot." She folded her arms and delivered the finishing stroke. "And no games with Kagami unless I'm satisfied you're making sufficient progress in your re-conditioning."

He finally gave in with a sigh, shoulders slumping. "Yeah, yeah, all right."

One last push. Riko glared at him again. "What was that, Aomine-kun? I didn't quite catch it."

One corner of his mouth quirked up. "Yes, Kantoku."

"Better!" She patted his arm. "Now, don't worry, we'll start easy. Give me fifty side planks, twenty seconds each, and then you can join in the sprints."

Someone on the court, where they had all been eavesdropping shamelessly, squeaked with shock. Aomine, on the other hand, just grinned, eyes lighting up with a little spark. "No problem."

Riko smiled with satisfaction that she'd struck the right note with him, presented this training as both a benefit and a challenge. She kept an eye on him as he went to pull down a mat to work on, and took out her phone.

Could have just said you wanted evaluation of him.

Wheres the fun in that? Momoi sent back a minute later, and Riko rolled her eyes. Dai-chan okay? came a moment later.

Will be, Riko typed back. Close thing. Watch him.

Can have kagamin for bait pls? Riko could almost see Momoi batting her lashes innocently, and snorted.

Will send next week. Kuroko too. Better keep them in shape.

Been doing that for years.

For the first time since the Winter Cup, Riko thought about what it might have been like to manage a team like Teikou while the captain and coach let the whole lot of them run wild in the name of victory.

Not you alone, she texted back. Will be okay now.

It wasn't until five minutes later that her phone chimed with a reply, and Riko fished it out while calling to Koganei to set his feet better before his next sprint.

Thanks.

She closed the phone again and went back to her job, and if she carried a little smile with her, well, none of the boys needed to know why.

One of the things Satsuki had most looked forward to, about Kagami and Tetsu-kun visiting Touou, was watching Wakamatsu-senpai try to deal with Tetsu-kun.

"So try to keep up!"

"Of course." Tetsu-kun stood perfectly calm and attentive, watching Wakamatsu-senpai.

"And... and don't get in anyone's way!"

"Understood." Tetsu-kun waited politely.

Wakamatsu-senpai ran a hand through his hair, clearly bewildered by all the relentless courtesy. "Yeah, well. Just... go get changed."

Tetsu-kun bobbed an agreeable and unflappable bow and herded Kagami off to the side while Touou's captain stalked back to practice, shaking his head. Dai-chan finally stopped laughing long enough lead them to the changing room, and came back still grinning. "That was beautiful," he said, lounging against the edge of the stage beside her.

"Just remember, you're supposed to train properly today or no game with Kagamin later," she reminded him. Dai-chan made a face.

"Yeah, yeah, fine." He muttered some further uncomplimentary things under his breath, but they were mostly directed at Riko-san, so Satsuki let him complain. If Dai-chan didn't realize who had really started this plan, that was actually fine with her. She didn't like having to fight with him. That reminded her, though, and she pulled out her phone to text Riko-san.

Both here. Everything fine. Have a nice day!

A minute later, the reply came back, dryness rising almost visibly off the screen. Good luck. Middle of practice here. Shoo.

Satsuki grinned to herself as she closed the phone again. She was finding that she liked teasing Riko-san, and she thought just maybe Riko-san was finding the whole thing funny too.

"Floor work!" Wakamatsu-senpai yelled as Kagami and Tetsu-kun emerged again. "Break out the mats!"

Dai-chan sighed like it was dragged up from his toes, and slouched over to follow Tetsu-kun as he led both Kagami and Dai-chan promptly over to the stack of rough, blue mats against the wall. Dai-chan and Kagami eyed each other narrowly as they grabbed the same mat, and Satsuki rolled her eyes. She did it extra hard, because she was pretty sure she was doing it for Tetsu-kun also, though he never showed it.

It was an odd day of practice, full of hesitations as people paused to watch Dai-chan breezing through every exercise, or Kagami bursting through them, or Tetsu-kun working his way patiently and sometimes awkwardly through them. It was that last that Satsuki heard murmurs starting over, among little knots of players waiting to shoot or sprint or get one of the baskets for guard practice.

"...the hell..."

"...really from Teikou?"

"...different in a game, but seriously..."

As yet another of Tetsu-kun's lay-ups bounced off the rim, Yoshita-senpai finally said, a little more loudly, "This is a regular from the championship team?"

Yoshita-senpai should, Satsuki thought dispassionately, have remembered who he was currently on a three-man team with. Kagami made a long arm without moving from where he stood, wrapped his fingers in the front of Yoshita-senpai's shirt, and dragged him in close.

"When you can play the way he does," Kagami's growl nearly echoed, "and keep going the way he does, then you can talk. Until then, shut your ignorant face."

Yoshita-senpai, nearly hauled up off his feet, held up placating hands. "Right, sure, whatever you say."

Tetsu-kun slipped back into line for another run, apparently oblivious to the whole thing, and to Dai-chan looming on the other side of the court with a nasty look in his eye.

"Kagami and Aomine really are two of a kind, aren't they?" someone said in Satsuki's ear, and she turned her head to smile ruefully up at Imayoshi-senpai.

"In some ways. Shouldn't you be studying, senpai?"

He gave her an innocent look, leaning crossed arms on the back of her chair. "I heard you'd gotten Aomine-kun to come to practice, and wanted to witness the historic event for myself."

"He's complained the whole time, but he's stayed." Satsuki shrugged. "It's a start. I think he took Riko-san seriously, too."

The teasing smile slid off Imayoshi-senpai's face. "Good. Kantoku was getting worried about that."

"He was right to be." Satsuki wrapped her arms around herself for a moment, pushing away the thought of how much danger Dai-chan had been putting himself in. "But I think this approach will work out."

Out on the court, Tetsu-kun paused abruptly in the middle of shooting. "Aomine-kun. Kagami-kun," he said, firm and clear, not taking his eyes off the hoop.

Satsuki looked around sharply, and scowled to see both Dai-chan and Kagami frozen in the act of sidling toward the outside door, Dai-chan with a ball under one arm.

"Have you got eyes in the back of your head or what?" Kagami snapped, looking guilty.

Dai-chan just sighed. "Yeah, he does," he muttered.

Tetsu-kun finished his shot and turned to look at them expectantly. Dai-chan and Kagami gave in and trudged back toward the court. Satsuki had to bite back a giggle when Tetsu-kun smiled, small and approving, because Aomine lightened up a little and Kagami scowled off to the side, coloring faintly.

No one said a single word about Tetsu-kun's performance in the day's exercises after that.

"I don't suppose we can keep him?" Imayoshi-senpai asked her, just a little wistful.

Satsuki imagined Riko-san's reply, if she texted to ask that, and laughed some more. "Probably not. But this should be enough." She smiled softly as Kagami and Dai-chan argued over who got to have Tetsu-kun on his side for the next mini-game, watching how Dai-chan's eyes turned bright and alive as he leaned toward Kagami and how Tetsu-kun let them argue, tolerant and amused. "It'll be enough, now."

She'd been afraid, for a long time, that her boys were broken beyond repair, but she wasn't afraid any more. Watching them catch fire off each other, she couldn't be afraid of anything. If she'd loved Tetsu-kun before, for his kindness, it was nothing to what she felt now, knowing he'd seen what had to be done and made it happen. It was enough to inspire anyone, and she smiled secretly at the thought, because she'd finally realized something. Her plan didn't have to stop here. Her hand snuck down to touch her phone, and her smile widened.

Riko tapped her toe, arms folded, as she waited for Momoi under the awning of Kaijou's sports complex, feeling conspicuous in another school's uniform. Momoi, nearly skipping up the walk, seemed to feel no such thing, arriving at Riko's side with a bounce in her step and smiling down at her cheerily. Riko was irritated all over again by the girl's height and finally asked what she'd been thinking for months. "Why are you hanging around the boy's basketball team instead of playing on the girl's like you obviously could?"

Momoi widened her eyes. "Well, I suppose could, yes, but I really think I'm just not built for it. All the jumping would make things bounce an awful lot."

Riko wanted to be annoyed by that dig, too, but there was such a sparkle of mischief in Momoi's eyes, so much happier than the girl had been in the spring and summer, that it tugged an unwilling smile out of her. "Speaking of the problems with natural talent," she murmured instead, and took some satisfaction in the peal of laughter she surprised out of Momoi. "Are you sure we need to take things this far?" she asked, more seriously.

Momoi sobered and nodded. "Yes, Riko-san. I'm sure. Midorin has his new partner to look after him, and I think Himuro-san will keep an eye on Muk-kun. But the one who looked after Ki-chan was Kasamatsu-san. And he's retired from the club, now."

"I don't know whether I should call you an amazing scout or an amazing stalker," Riko sighed, and twitched her uniform cuffs down, straightening. "All right, let's do it."

Kaijou's coach glowered at them as soon as they appeared in the door of the gymnasium. "You again," he said, eyeing Riko in particular, and she couldn't help beaming back at him, immensely cheered by the professional vote of enmity. "What do you want now? Wasn't twice enough for you?"

"Actually, Takeuchi-kantoku, we were hoping we could offer a little help with a potential problem." Riko smoothed her smile into something a little more serious, and opened her hand at Momoi.

Momoi nearly sparkled at the poor man. "I think we can all agree that managing an ex-regular from Teikou sometimes takes unusual measure, yes? There's an arrangement that's been working out very well so far..."

"This is something I never expected to see."

Riko looked around to find Kise smiling down at her. "What are you and Satsuki-chan both doing here?" he asked, tossing sweat-soaked hair back off his face.

Riko looked him critically up and down, and nodded to herself; Momoi had been right on target. "You've been pushing your training too hard, Kise-kun," she said, loud enough for Takeuchi-san to hear. "You're going to over-train, at this rate." She really didn't like the twitch in his calf muscles; that suggested he'd been working far too repetitively.

"It isn't that bad, Aida-san!" Kise waved her concern off, laughing, but she thought there was a brittle edge to it. "I haven't been doing that much..."

"Kise," Takeuchi-san cut him off, frowning. "Exactly how much after-hours training have you been doing?"

Now Kise definitely looked guilty. "Not that much, really," he offered, but his eyes fell away from his coach's.

"I think you can see our concern, Takeuchi-kantoku," Momoi murmured, utterly unmoved by the tragically betrayed look Kise gave her.

Takeuchi-san growled under his breath, arms folded grumpily, and Riko caught, "...bad as her damn father..." That made something in her glow, warm and happy, and she waited with her best copy of Kuroko's attentive expression while he thought it over. Finally Takeuchi-san sighed. "All right, fine. You made your point, and I suppose we can risk a little experimenting during the off-season. I'll give you a month to convince me this isn't as insane as it sounds."

Riko bowed smoothly. "Thank you, Takeuchi-kantoku. We'll contact you about scheduling."

He harumphed and turned back to his team's practice while Kise looked at Riko and Momoi warily. "What is this all about?"

Momoi attached herself to his arm, smiling up at him. "It's about trading you and Dai-chan and Kagamin around, to let you play each other more. Tetsu-kun, too, mostly to make Dai-chan and Kagamin behave."

Riko had thought Kise seemed brittle. She hadn't realized just how well he was hiding it until he lit up at Momoi's words, shoulders falling open and easy all at once. "Trading...? You mean, officially, we'd be allowed?"

Momoi's smile had turned gentle, and her voice matched it. "Yes. All above-board and everything. We'll make it work."

Kise covered her hand on his arm with his own, taking a slow breath, just a little shaky. "Thanks, Satsuki-chan." After a moment, he remembered Riko too and bobbed a nod to her. "Aida-san."

"If you're going to be showing up at my team's practices, you should get used to calling me Aida-kantoku," she told him wryly. "You'd better get back to your own practice, now, before your coach gets annoyed." She held up a stern finger. "And no more than one hour extra practice after! Don't think I won't ask Momoi whether you're going over time!"

Kise ducked his head, rueful. "Yes, Aida-kantoku."

"Better." She slung her bag over her shoulder and cocked her head at Momoi. "Ready?"

Momoi gave Kise one last hug, and joined her. "Ready."

They were almost at the school gates before Riko said, quietly, "They're still a unit, aren't they? Even now they're separated."

"Mm." Momoi fiddled with the strap of her phone. "They're... special to each other. Sometimes I think they only became what they are because they were all together at Teikou, and pushed each other forward. Well," she smiled ruefully, "you've seen how Dai-chan and Kagamin are."

Always pushing each other, and loving every second of it, Riko filled in. Almost obsessed with each other, and they probably would be if Kuroko weren't there to rein them in a little.

When she caught herself thinking that, Riko stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and scrubbed both hands through her hair. "Argh!"

Momoi stepped back a pace, blinking. "Riko-san...?"

What the hell was she thinking, relying on another first-year to manage her own players?! She was losing her mind, falling prey to the insanity that seemed to strike every coach who had to deal with a Miracle Generation player. Well nuts to that! Riko straightened her shoulders, glaring at the air in front of her. "Satsuki-san," she rapped out, "I am not leaving them to muddle through this on their own. They have senpai, now, and we will take care of them." She jammed her hands on her hips and spun on her heel to face Satsuki, seeing with new eyes the fear and stress at the corners of her teasing smiles. "And you have senpai, now, too, got that? We're in this together, and we'll keep them together."

Satsuki stared at her for a long, blank moment before a different smile crept over her lips, a little shaky as it went. "Yes, Riko-san." She was laughing a bit as she answered, but Riko didn't miss the liquid flash of brightness in her eyes.

"Good," she said, gentler, and held out a hand. "Don't worry. We'll make sure it's all right. Right?"

Satsuki reached out and shook her hand firmly, smile steadying. "Right."

"Let's get going, then."

They talked, all the way home, about how to best schedule rotations, considering that one of their problem children was a captain now, and how to handle things once tournament season started and they faced each other as opponents. It wasn't until later that night that Riko got a text about the other things that had been said.

Thank you, Riko-senpai.

Riko smiled down at her phone, shaking her head. "Way too long without senpai, the whole lot of you," she whispered, and tapped a text back before putting the phone away and getting ready for bed, and the next day.

You're welcome, Satsuki-chan.

End

A/N: In hanakotoba, bell-flowers indicate gratitude.

A Language of Daisies

The drama club is putting on a play with some scenes worth of Wako's fantasies. Takuto has to work a little to wrap his brain around the whole thing. Humor, Romance, Fluff, I-3

Yamasugata-senpai clapped her hands briskly. "All right, everyone! This is the first run-through without scripts, so you can call for a line of you need it, but try to keep the momentum of the scene going."

Takuto slumped down on the stool that was currently being a 'roof railing'. His cheeks felt hot, and he was pretty sure he was blushing. "Do we really have to do this?"

Standing beside him on the raised 'stage', Sugata turned his palms up helplessly, mouth quirked. "The majority of the club voted to include the scene."

"Maybe we could vote again..." Takuto looked over at Wako, currently playing audience, but she just gave him a cheerful, encouraging thumbs up. There was no hope of reprieve there. He sighed.

"It isn't that bad," Sugata told him, clearly amused. "At least you don't have to play the bad guy."

Takuto grinned up at him. "You're too good at it, is the problem." And then he nearly bit his tongue as Sugata's eyes darkened for a moment. None of them liked remembering that they'd believed, even for a handful of minutes, that Sugata had really chosen Samekh's power over Wako's safety. "Sugata..."

Sugata straightened. "It's fine. Ready to run through this?"

Takuto hesitated, wanting to reassure his friend, but one thing he had learned was that Sugata just closed up if you pressed him. So he nodded instead. "Sure!"

Sugata stepped back to the other side of the stage and Yamasugata-senpai folded the master script open to the Scene Of Doom, pencil poised. "Okay, take it from F's entry."

Sugata closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. When he got to the bottom of the breath, his eyes snapped open, suddenly sharp and sardonic as he stepped through a currently imaginary doorway onto the imaginary roof this scene called for. An equally imaginary cloak was nearly visible, falling from shoulders that suddenly looked straighter and broader. Takuto had to shake himself out of his fascination to lean against his stool as though it were a rail; no matter how many times he saw Sugata enter a character, it never stopped being amazing.

"I thought I might find you here," Sugata said, low but carrying, and that was another really cool trick, and Takuto had a line didn't he? Right.

Takuto lifted his chin and tried to think like a prophesied savior with a mystical world destroyer for a best friend... stalker... thing. "We need to settle this. And I don't want anyone else involved."

Sugata's smile was really kind of alarming, and Takuto had no trouble pressing back against the stool/railing as he paced closer. "The whole world is involved already."

"They shouldn't be!" Takuto pushed himself off the stool in a rush of conviction. Now his character was starting to come together. This was familiar enough, the knowledge of power and the need to use it well, use it to protect.

And then he squeaked as Sugata took one more long stride and pressed him back against the wall. That was okay, it was totally in character for K to be a little freaked out. There was one swift flash of wry sympathy in Sugata's eyes before he blinked and was back in character. Takuto swallowed, eyes widening as Sugata's fingers caught his chin and lifted it.

"We are the future of the world." Sugata's words filled the space, low and intimate. "What do you wish to make of it?" His thumb stroked over Takuto's lips slowly and Takuto felt his whole face flush hot.

"I... um... The... The world..." Takuto's hands scrabbled at the wall behind him as Sugata leaned closer. "Help...?" he finished, strangled.

The corners of Sugata's mouth quivered as he looked at Takuto. One breath, and then two, and he finally lost it, dissolving into helpless laughter.

"Takuto-sama!" Yamasugata-senpai scolded. "If you forget your part, the word is 'line', not 'help'!"

Sugata buried his head in his arm, leaning against the wall, shoulders shaking with stifled laughter. Takuto cleared his throat. "Line?" he asked, meekly. He was probably as red as his hair, he reflected ruefully.

"'The world will make itself; we have no right to interfere.'" Yamasugata-senpai read from the script, and gave Sugata a stern look. "Botchan!"

"Sorry, sorry." Sugata straightened up, wiping his eyes. He looked down at Takuto, slumped against the wall in embarrassment, and smiled the way he did when Takuto and Wako argued over breakfast in the mornings. Takuto smiled up at him, lopsided, and shrugged. He knew his classmates all thought it was funny how flustered he got over romantic stuff, even after a year of regularly being teased by Watanabe Kanako. Sugata shook his head and murmured, "Takuto," amused and affectionate.

And, as easily as he smiled, he tipped Takuto's chin up and leaned in and kissed him.

Takuto was aware of someone squeaking, but he didn't think it was him this time. Because this wasn't alarming; this was just... Sugata. Gentle and friendly and a little amused with him. When Sugata drew back, Takuto closed a hand on his arm and looked back at him, steady and smiling; he'd never thought to do it this way, but he figured he'd just managed to reassure Sugata after all.

The both jumped a little when Yamasugata-senpai slapped her script into her palm. "That was nice, but not quite the feel we need for this scene. Try it again from the top."

Takuto thought about Sugata leaning over him again with that predatory, in-character look in his eyes, and turned around to bang his head against the wall a few times with a faint moan. Why had he thought it was a good idea to stay in the drama club for a second year? There was a laugh running under Sugata's voice again as he suggested, "Why don't we let this scene go for today? We can try it again tomorrow, when everyone is a little calmer."

Wako and Sugatame both made disappointed sounds and Takuto whimpered. He was going to die of embarrassment before they even got to dress rehearsal.

"I think there's only one thing to do," Sugata said, as he and Takuto and Wako walked home. "We're going to have to practice."

"Practice?" Wako and Takuto squeaked together, and Sugata very clearly choked back a laugh.

"If we run through it without the actual lines, without trying to be very in character," he pointed out, once he'd gotten himself back under control, "Takuto will have a chance to get used to the idea."

Takuto took a deep breath. These were his high school years, and he was going to make the most of them! That included clubs and dares and doing crazy things. Surely this wouldn't be any more crazy than driving Tauburn, right?

Right.

"Okay," he agreed, sturdily. "We'll practice." His resolution wilted a little in face of Wako's pink cheeks and rather starry eyes. "Without an audience?"

Wako pouted at them, but Takuto was pretty sure it was just for show. "Oh all right, fine. I won't come by until breakfast." As they approached her turn-off, though, she grinned. "Since I can't watch, though..." She spun around in front of them and leaned up to kiss first Sugata and then Takuto, soft but not quick, on the lips. "There!" She ran down the path to her shrine, laughing.

Takuto stared after her, still feeling the pressure of her hands on his shoulders, and touched his fingertips to his mouth. The kisses they'd tried before now had been a lot shyer than that. Maybe Wako wanted... He didn't move until Sugata cleared his throat.

"Well." Sugata, when Takuto looked, was a little pink himself. "Let's see if there's a room we can lock Tiger and Jaguar out of, yes?"

Recalled to the practical, Takuto grinned. "And maybe one without windows, either."

It could be worse. At least he was still boarding with Sugata; they could be trying to find practice space in the dorm instead. He followed Sugata down the road, shuddering at the mental image of Shinada-senpai walking in on them, and fervently counting his blessings.

"All right, F crosses slowly to K with slightly menacing banter, and pins K against the wall." Sugata suited action to words, crossing the lamp-lit library, and Takuto could feel himself turning red again.

"Are we sure the door's locked?" he asked, craning his head to see around the bookcase beside him.

"Very sure." Sugata smiled. "I don't really think I want those two taking pictures of this for the family album."

Takuto took a deep breath. "Okay. So. F pins K against the wall. And, um." He swallowed as Sugata's hand came up to catch his chin. "Yeah, that."

"By the way, did I hear you and Kate trading weekend shifts, in class today?" Sugata asked quite casually. Takuto blinked at him.

"Oh. Yeah, she said she wanted Saturday off, so I said I'd switch shifts with her. I guess she wants to go shoppi—mph!" He caught at Sugata's shoulders, startled by the sudden kiss. When Sugata let him go and gave him a mischievous smile, he had to laugh. "I don't think that's quite the feel Yamasugata-senpai wants for the scene either."

"No, but you didn't panic," Sugata pointed out. "Again?"

Takuto leaned back against the wall, starting to relax. This was a challenge; he knew what to do with that. "Yeah, again."

Sugata crossed the room again, and while Takuto still felt a tingle of nervous heat when Sugata braced an arm on the wall over his head, he didn't freeze. Not even when Sugata ran a thumb over his mouth. "Okay, K's line about how the world will make itself," he said, only a little husky.

Sugata nodded and gave F's next line, though without any particular expression. "We are the world's hands for its making. Someone must choose." He leaned in and kissed Takuto, light and gentle but taking his time. "What is your wish?"

Takuto, distracted by a tickle of thought at the back of his head, frowned. "Um. It's... It's... oh hell."

Sugata chuckled. "Jaguar would remind you to say 'line'. 'I choose to keep trying.'"

"Right." Takuto frowned some more. There was something... "Tauburn?" he murmured.

Sugata stiffened, pushing away from the wall to stand straight and poised. "Takuto? What is it?"

Takuto waved his hands hastily. "No, no, it's nothing. It's just... a thought. I wondered if..." He frowned some more; there weren't even words to the hint of an idea. Just a feeling. Finally he looked up, decided. "Sugata, kiss me in character."

Sugata's brows quirked. "You're sure?" At Takuto's firm nod, he shrugged and took a step back, looking down. When he looked up, he had F's knowing smile on his face, and F's sure confidence as he stepped forward again and caught Takuto's wrist to press him back against the wall. "Someone must choose," he said, voice deep and quiet, and lifted Takuto's chin to take his mouth.

A quick shiver of heat and alarm poured down Takuto's spine, and this time he listened to it. There were other feelings in it. Desire. Sorrow. Yearning. Anger. They sent him pressing back against Sugata's mouth, free hand winding into Sugata's shirt.

"What is your wish?" Sugata asked softly, coaxing and taunting.

"All," Takuto whispered, ignoring the script to put words to the faint echo of feelings in his chest. He stared at Sugata barely seeing him. "I will save all of them. Even you!"

Sugata pulled back again, frowning. "Takuto?"

"I think it really is Tauburn," Takuto said softly, closing his eyes for a moment. "When you're in character, and we do this scene... it makes me remember things. Things he felt." He opened his eyes and looked steadily at Sugata. "About Samekh."

For a moment he wasn't sure Sugata was breathing, he was so still. But finally, he shook himself and crossed his arms, eyes dark. "Tauburn wanted to save Samekh?"

Takuto pressed a hand to his chest. "My enemy," he said softly. "My king. My friend. That's what it feels like."

After a moment, Sugata snorted. "The two of you are a matched pair, all right." He pulled a chair out from under the room's desk and slung a leg over it, arms folded across the back. "Will this help with the scene, though? If you use Tauburn's memories, that will make it more real to you, I think."

Takuto's mouth quirked wryly and he perched on the wheeled stairs against the nearest bookcases. "Isn't that what we want? I mean, real without me flailing and forgetting my lines?"

Sugata looked up at him, thoughtful. "Is that what you want?"

A real kiss, Takuto thought he meant, and his cheeks went a little hot again. "When you kissed me during rehearsal today," he said quietly, "that was real; real for us."

Sugata's eyes softened with surprise. "Takuto."

Takuto smiled, running a hand through his hair. "We agreed, didn't we? That Wako didn't have to choose. And neither do we. So." He took a breath and hopped off the stairs and came to lean over Sugata. He brushed his fingers over Sugata's cheek to steady both of them, and kissed him, soft and warm. "That's real," he said, standing up. "Right? The scene. F. Whatever memories fit with that. Those are acting."

Sugata was staring up at him, looking thoroughly startled. "Takuto." After a long moment, he smiled, slow and hesitant. "Yes. That was real," he agreed quietly.

"So we know the difference," Takuto said, more confident now. "Let's do the scene one more time. I think I've got it, now!"

Sugata laughed softly. "I wouldn't be at all surprised."

One week from dress rehearsal, the play was going much better. At least Takuto thought so.

Sugata stalked across the drama club's rehearsal space, gaze fixed heavy and dark on Takuto. "The world is already involved."

Takuto raised his chin and clenched his fists, even backed up against the 'rail' as he was. "They shouldn't be!" His breath caught as Sugata closed the last stride and pinned him against the wall, and he let the faint impressions of Tauburn's memories brace his shoulders stiffly. This was the one he was devoted to. This was the one he must, at all costs, defeat. The tension of the two pulled his brows tight as he looked up at Sugata.

"We are the future of the world," Sugata told him, low and intent as if he hadn't even heard, catching Takuto's chin. "What do you wish to make of it?"

"The world will make itself," Takuto answered, husky with the pull of Sugata's presence so close but half pleading for Sugata to hear him across the distance that separated them. "We have no right to interfere!"

Sugata's thumb stroked over his lips, coaxing them apart, and Takuto swallowed hard. "We are the world's hands for its making. Someone must choose." He smiled, as if he knew perfectly well how torn Takuto was, and leaned in to kiss him. Slowly. There were whistles from the audience. "What is your wish?" he asked against Takuto's mouth.

Takuto closed his hands tight on Sugata's shoulders, shutting his eyes for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft and sure. "If I have to choose, I choose you." He opened his eyes and smiled, wryly, at the flash of Sugata's own startlement through his character. "The world will take care of itself. What we can save is right in front of us, right now. That's what's important." He pushed Sugata back and straightened, matching his own determination with the echo of Tauburn's. "The thing I choose to save... is you."

Yamasugata-senpai threw up her hands, sending her pencil flying to clatter against the wall. "Takuto-sama! That's the third time we've rehearsed this scene, and you've answered a different way every single time!" She glared over her glasses at him. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were just trying to get more kisses."

Wako and Sugatame both turned pink and clung together in their folding chairs, squeaking.

Takuto looked over Sugata's shoulder apologetically. "It's just... a moment that needs to speak from the heart. Don't you think?"

"All the lines have fitted in," Sugata added, looking around. "Can't we just pencil that in as an ad lib? It seems to be working."

Yamasugata-senpai sighed and went to fetch her pencil. "All right, but you'd better not freeze during the performance, Takuto-sama!"

Takuto nodded firmly, confident. "I won't."

"All right." She scribbled in the master script with an air of finality. "Let's go on to the fight scene, then. And this time, be sure you don't break anything, you two! This isn't the dojo!"

Sugatame fetched out the prop swords and Wako ran to her entrance mark, so that she, as the spirit of F's sister, could narrate the ending. Takuto took a few breaths, preparing for the fight scene. Staged or not, Sugata never went easy on him when they had swords in their hands. That was okay, though. He figured three not-real kisses made pretty good compensation. He caught Sugata's eye and shared a grin.

Maybe he could get a real one later. Maybe this time, Wako would be there to share it.

End

A/N: For those who have not guessed already, the play the club is putting on is based on CLAMP's X. I propose that Tiger is a fan, and totally lost her patience and wrote an ending for it, and Jaguar figured it was a sure-thing winner when modified to script form (not least because Wako would be certain to vote for the kiss scene).

The Advance of the Mountain Wind - One

Yunlan calls bullshit, at the very end, and everything changes, including himself. The SID can probably cope, but the Ministry may never be the same, to say nothing of Dixing. Romance, Drama, I-4

It wasnâ€™t, Zhao Yunlan thought, anything like what heâ€™d have expected. He didnâ€™t feel any great enlightenment or sudden attack of wisdom. It didnâ€™t feel like a scroll of ages unrolling in his head, or like he was about to burst with the weight of memory. Returning divinity didnâ€™t feel like anything appropriately dramatic, in his opinion. It was just...

He recognized this.

He recognized the faint inward curve of Shen Weiâ€™s shoulders, and the tiny crease of his eyes. He recognized that instant when Shen Weiâ€™s lips firmed, just before he offered Yunlan a shaky smile. He knew this, all the little signs that said Shen Wei wasnâ€™t telling the truth. Not just wasnâ€™t saying everything, though Yunlan had certainly seen enough to that to recognize it. No, this was xiao-Wei actually trying to lie to him about something.

And he knew, just as surely, just as unobtrusively, that the smeared starlight all around them was not what two souls should be seeing, in this moment.

...or, one soul and one ghost. He was certain of that too, and all right that was a little more suitably strange.

â€œSoooo,â€ he drew the word out until Shen Wei huffed a faint laugh and took an obvious breath for composure before raising his brows. Yunlan smiled and spread his hands. â€œWhatâ€™s really going on?â€

Shen Wei went completely still for one moment, and Yunlan was sure, in his head this time and not just the bottom of his heart, that heâ€™d been right. â€œHmmm?â€ he prodded, wiggling his fingers in a â€˜give it upâ€™ gesture.

â€œDidnâ€™t we just cover that?â€ Shen Wei asked back, almost dryly enough to cover the flicker of his eyes aside. Almost.

Yunlan reached out, the way he never had but remembered so well, and touched his fingers to Shen Weiâ€™s chest, over his heart. â€œXiao-Wei,â€ he said quietly, and watched Shen Weiâ€™s eyes go wide with shock, soft with want, the way heâ€™d only seen once before. No, more than once, but only ever for him. That hadnâ€™t changed.

Shen Weiâ€™s throat worked as he swallowed, and his voice came out husky, unsteady. â€œWhat...?â€

Yunlan grinned at him, just as roguishly charming as he could make it, and coaxed, â€œTell me the truth?â€

That made Shen Wei start back a step, though, whole body stiff. â€œI canâ€™t.â€ His voice turned sharp with what sounded to Yunlan like genuine fear. And the only times heâ€™d seen Shen Wei truly afraid had been for him; that also felt correct all the way down. So there probably was something big at stake. Even so... Yunlan looked around, thoughtfully. The more he considered it, the more he felt like their surroundings were thin. As though, if he reached out and dragged his fingers down, heâ€™d smear paint down a canvas backdrop.

Admittedly, no one was more surprised than him when starlit blue really did start to come apart under his reaching fingers. Even after he bit back an undignified yelp and snatched his hand away, something lingered on his fingers. Something light and chill.

Familiar chill. The chill that whispered â€˜xiao-Weiâ€™ to him.

Yunlan rubbed his fingers together, eyes fixed on the shreds of blue and silver still flickering around his fingertips. The same colors, now he thought about it, that lurked between the shadows of Shen Weiâ€™s power. â€œWhat is it youâ€™re trying to do?â€ he asked, softly. â€œWhat is it you need me not to know?â€

â€œWho you are.â€ Shen Weiâ€™s voice was soft, too, as if he didnâ€™t want to upset some delicate balance, which made Yunlan chuckle, shaking his head as he looked back up. That balance was already tipped, quite likely by the forced actualization of that damn shot of serum now he came to think about it.

â€œIâ€™m Kunlun. Arenâ€™t I? Or I was.â€ He frowned a little. â€œAm? I think am, maybe. This should be a lot stranger,â€ he complained. â€œI keep forgetting Iâ€™d forgotten.â€ He started a little when Shen Weiâ€™s hands closed on his shoulders, bruisingly tight.

â€œHow...? But your soul is whole,â€ he whispered, as if to himself, gaze raking over Yunlan. â€œSo bright, though. If you're drawing the matter of the Lamp back to you...â€ His head jerked up and he looked aroundâ€”and, tellingly, away, as if he saw beyond the pretense draped around them. â€œBut the seal of the Lamp is still whole.â€

Yunlan considered the surprise in Shen Weiâ€™s wide eyes and the thread of fear still running through his voice, and reached out to lay his hands on Shen Weiâ€™s shoulders in turn. â€œWhat are you worried might happen?â€ he asked softly, as if coaxing a witness.

At that, Shen Wei hesitated and his eyes slid aside, fixing straight over Yunlanâ€™s shoulder. Yunlan stifled a sigh. Few things frustrated him as much as that iron wall of reticence Shen Wei used instead of a flat out lie (which might reveal something). For once, though, Shen Wei didnâ€™t refuse or dance around the answer, for all it looked dragged out of him.

â€œAfter you sacrificed yourself to keep the realms separate,â€ he paused, mouth tight, and added, â€œafter the first time you sacrificed yourself, I caught your soul and went to Shen Nong, asking him to see you reincarnated as a human.â€

Yunlan had another genuinely strange moment, at that, as his head said that was the most peculiar thing heâ€™d ever heard (which was saying something), while his heart said it made perfect sense (and was exactly the kind of thing xiao-Wei would do). Yunlan was starting to think heâ€™d need to invest in some folklore textbooks to get used to the inside of his own head. And, possibly, to get at what were some apparently juicy details that current explanations of history left out.

â€œHe said the cycle of reincarnation only had capacity enough to hold human souls, not a god. Gods are... thereâ€™s so much potentiality in them, and it flows so easily between forms. He said it would only be possible if he sealed away your power, and even memory of your power, and...â€ Shen Wei hesitated again, glanced at Yunlanâ€™s expectantly raised brows, and sighed. â€œAnd if I stayed away from you. As a human, you wouldnâ€™t have the strength, any longer, to resist the destruction inherent in my nature.â€

Yunlan tightened his grip on Shen Weiâ€™s shoulders, stroking gentle thumbs along his collar-bone, trying to soothe the tightness in Shen Weiâ€™s voice. â€œFor how long?â€ he asked, curious.

Shen Weiâ€™s hands flexed tight again for a breath. â€œTen thousand years. That part was true.â€

Yunlan thought back to another interval that had started in star-smeared blue, and couldnâ€™t help laughing, the laugh that he used to hold the rest of the world off for a momentâ€™s pause and give himself time to think, because the implications of this were... well his head was alarmed, anyway. â€œSo that whole â€˜back in timeâ€™ thing was, what? An illusion?â€

"Not exactly. It would have been dangerous for me to control your senses directly for that long, and I wasnâ€™t sure I could, by then. It was... it was an idea, a story of sorts, that I gave to the Holy Tools, to the Lamp especially. They fueled a kind of life in it, so that it felt real as it played out." For a moment, Shen Wei looked rueful. "I hadn't expected it to have quite as much life as it did, for it to keep happening whenever you started to touch the true nature of the Tools themselves, let alone for it to touch other minds also, but perhaps I should have."

Shen Wei was watching him, now, eyes dark, and the whole line of his body was cautious, ready to step back before he was pushed away. Yunlan could feel the body-memory of that in his own muscles and bones, from long years of dealing with his father. He tightened his hold on Shen Weiâ€™s shoulders a little, automatically reassuring. Considering that â€˜time-travelâ€™ interval as a sample of Shen Weiâ€™s (and perhaps the Holy Tools') storytelling ability, he smiled slowly and asked, â€œIs that why you seemed so young?â€ Because that part felt right, that xiao-Wei had been... perhaps not innocent, but definitely young, when theyâ€™d met.

The faint line of tension in Shen Weiâ€™s shoulders eased. â€œYes,â€ he admitted, softly. â€œI had to create that idea seed very quickly. Most of what was in it was actually true, just... not all in order, and not in that context.â€ He looked rueful for a moment, mouth quirking. â€œProfessor Xia would probably lecture for hours on all the modern historical theory I got wrong, too.â€

Yunlan waved dismissive fingers. â€œAh, fair enough, since modern theory is apparently already wrong.â€ Shen Wei hesitated, suddenly looking much more professor-ly, and Yunlan poked at the sense of certainty in the back of his head. It didnâ€™t change. â€œIt is wrong, isnâ€™t it?â€

Shen Wei tipped his head to one side. â€œYes and no. The star travel part, certainly. That was just the conclusion one charismatic scholar pushed to the fore. However varied in nature, weâ€™re all creatures of this world, gods and humans, beasts and spirits, and all. But the biological and energy-state distinctions are certainly present. They arenâ€™t all there is to the nature of the Yashou or of my own kind.â€ A corner of his mouth curled and there was a hard glint in his eyes for a moment. â€œThatâ€™s undoubtedly why Professor Ouyang's experiments largely failed. There was an element the researchers simply werenâ€™t taking into account. Even so, modern science isnâ€™t wrong, per se. It just doesnâ€™t have all the pieces and ignores some possibilities.â€ He chuckled, suddenly, and Yunlan had to take a moment to retrieve his thoughts as they snagged on the sound of itâ€”Shen Weiâ€™s laugh always did that to him, even now he remembered hearing it more often. â€œI wish we had more time. For you to return to the world as your old self... I wish I could be there to see the academic establishment trying to cope with that.â€

Yunlan blinked at him. â€œYou will, though.â€

Shen Wei smiled, and Yunlan felt his heart twist at the sadness in it. â€œWhether you consider it a stable energy pattern or a soul... I donâ€™t have any such thing, to draw me back into the world again. I think the Lamp will keep me from complete dissolution, but Iâ€™ll never leave it.â€ The smile softened, and Shen Wei touched Yunlanâ€™s cheek with light fingers. â€œItâ€™s all right. The Lamp was created from you. To be one with you, and always near you... I couldnâ€™t imagine a better end, for one with my nature.â€ Softer still, as horror pulled Yunlanâ€™s breath short, he added, â€œWhen you finally choose to rest from the cycle of rebirth, you can find me here.â€

â€œAbsolutely not!â€ Yunlan shouted, giving Shen Wei a good shake. â€œDo you ever damn well stop?! For once, think about your own worth!â€ Shen Wei just looked back at him, level and resigned, and Yunlan let go long enough to drive his hands through his hair with a sound of furious frustration. Under the fury, though, was still the bedrock certainty heâ€™d spoken out of, not moved at all by Shen Weiâ€™s determined self-sacrifice. He had a lot of damn nerve, taking Yunlan to task over doing this a measly two or three times. Yunlan scrubbed his hands over his face and pulled in a deep breath for calm, trying to get a better grip on the certainty. He knew, down to the core of his bones, that they both would, could, leave whatever in between place or gateway of the Lamp xiao-Wei was currently holding them in. He could do so because of his soul, Shen Wei saidâ€”and quite probably a push from xiao-Weiâ€™s power to get him clear. If that was what it took, then Yunlanâ€™s... Kunlunâ€™s... his own power could probably push just as well, but Shen Wei still needed that stable energy pattern. A soul. Which he didnâ€™t have, so how was this supposed to work?

The answer floated up into his thoughts, along with the memory of xiao-Weiâ€™s pendant.

Soul fire.

Yunlan opened his eyes, holding tight to that certainty, listening to that knowing with all his heart, and reached out to touch the hollow of xiao-Weiâ€™s throat, where the pendant had lain for millennia. Yes, he could feel it there, still. Of course xiao-Wei wouldn't have been able to leave him the real one; it wouldn't match the story. Yunlan was willing to bet that the pendant he thought he'd picked up really had been illusion, carefully crafted as a parting comfort that matched what he thought he knew. He hooked a finger under the cord of the real one and rubbed his thumb over that small, precious bead. Golden fire flared alive, between his fingertips, answering the will of its source, and Yunlan didnâ€™t hesitate, pushed away all his doubt and skepticism, and laid his palm against the brilliant glow, pressing it into xiao-Wei. He could feel it changing, flowing into another shape, and that was correct; it needed to become xiao-Wei, take on the shape of his being. He remembered doing something like this before, didnâ€™t he? Which meant it could be done again. Yunlan nudged the glow along, reaching deeper with... not exactly his hands.

All he would be able to say, later, was that he knotted his soul fire into Shen Wei, twined the strands of it tight with the strands of Shen Weiâ€™s being. He could never explain it in more detail than that, to the despair of entire biology departments and several eminent particle physicists. When it was over, Shen Wei was staring at him, eyes wide and a little wild, gasping for breath. â€œHow?â€ xiao-Wei whispered. â€œWhat did you do?â€

â€œWhat I should obviously have done a long time ago.â€ Yunlan paused, though, because the thought made him feel... wistful. â€œExcept maybe I couldnâ€™t?â€ he hazarded. â€œHuh.â€ Something hadnâ€™t been right, then. Hadnâ€™t been ready? Yes, that was right; heâ€™d needed to share a different part of himself first, and xiao-Wei had needed to accept it.

â€œOf course you couldnâ€™t! Your nature is one thing, thatâ€™s fluid enough in any god, but sharing your soul shouldnâ€™t be... Thatâ€™s not... it isnâ€™t...â€ Yunlan grinned at the rare sight of Shen Wei sputtering, and got a glare for it. He turned his hands palm up and shrugged. â€œIf itâ€™s an energy pattern, it has to be replicable, doesnâ€™t it?â€ Or, at least, that sounded reasonable given Yunlanâ€™s rather esoteric dabbling in the sciences, and also as though it might calm Shen Wei down with academic theory.

Shen Wei opened his mouth and closed it again, slowly. â€œI suppose what Shen Nong originally did with your soul fire was to stabilize the pattern in humans, and fuel a re-accretion of energy and matter around it,â€ he mused. â€œIn modern terms, at any rate. Itâ€™s at least theoretically possible that use created an echo, or template, of the process.â€

Yunlan refrained from pumping a fist in triumph, but Shen Wei eyed him like an he was an over-enthusiastic student anyway. Yunlan smiled back, innocently. â€œSo, you wanna get out of here?â€

Shen Weiâ€™s expression turned shuttered again. â€œMy part of the bargain was also to ensure my kind were contained, or destroyed if the seal between realms ever broke again.â€

â€œThatâ€™s already my job,â€ Yunlan pointed out with what he felt was admirable logic, spreading his hands wide, â€œso why canâ€™t you just keep helping me do it?â€

â€œIf we both withdraw our power from the Lamp, the seal will be weakened again and the Division wonâ€™t be enough to guard against trespassers, any more,â€ Shen Wei said flatly. â€œIf you remember anything, now, you must remember the ferocity of my people.â€

â€œIf we both have the powerâ€”the potentiality, you said?â€”of gods, now, why wouldnâ€™t we be enough?â€ Yunlan shot back. â€œWhy shouldnâ€™t we be able to find another solution, if it isnâ€™t enough? Since when do you just give in, anyway?â€

Shen Weiâ€™s voice rose, rocking Yunlan back on his heels. â€œSince I spent ten thousand years dealing with the fact that I was unable to go near you without killing you!â€

In the ringing silence that followed that, Yunlan sighed and stepped forward again, wrapping himself around Shen Wei. â€œIâ€™m here now, and a year with you hasnâ€™t destroyed me,â€ he offered, quietly. â€œAnd I remember some pretty crazy things being possible. Like a young ghost deciding to go off and tour the world, instead of continuing to fight and devour his own kind. We can at least try, canâ€™t we?â€

After a long, tense moment, Shen Wei gave in, leaning his head against Yunlanâ€™s shoulder. "As if I've ever been able to deny you." He laughed, helpless and unsteady, and Yunlan just held him tight, waiting. â€œAll right,â€ he agreed at last, soft. â€œAll right, letâ€™s try.â€

A ripple of blue-shot black swept over them, and the starry void dissolved in it, unfurled in streamers of power, letting golden light burst around them like day. More than day. Like the heart of the sun itself, if you could stand there and not be burned. It was absolute reassurance and security, and it tugged at Yunlan with terrifying strength but no force at all. It felt so familiar he thought he might drown in the sensation this time. Xiao-Wei was pressed tight against him, though, and that was almost as familiar. Plus, Yunlan had just spent a year learning to trust Shen Weiâ€™s judgement in tight spots, so when Shen Wei breathed in his ear, â€œRemember the world we want,â€ it was easy to think about the Divisionâ€™s offices, of their mirrored and yet so different apartments, of avoiding paperwork and chasing strange tales and Da Qing waking him up with a sandpaper tongue and demands for breakfast, and that was when he felt it. There was a current of chill running through the golden safety of the Lamp, xiao-Weiâ€™s power curling its way out toward that world, and he reached out to push both of them into that current, to send it running faster, faster, out through the flare of golden brilliance and into unsupported air.

â€œWhat...?!â€

â€œBOSS!â€

â€œAaaaaaaa!â€

Yunlan dropped onto a hard, wood floor, in a tangle of limbs, all the air knocked out of him in a rush. It took a minute or two of wheezing before he managed to figure out which way was up and lifted his head to squint at his subordinates, frozen and staring where theyâ€™d all started up from the long table in Division headquarters. â€œWell?â€ he finally gasped out. â€œStop looking like youâ€™ve seen a ghost and help us up!â€

He was fairly sure Shen Weiâ€™s faint groan was for the pun, and not injury, but he was careful about untangling them all the same. The team gathered around, hands reaching out, less to help than to touch them, patting over them both as a babble of words broke out.

"...been a year!"

"...really you, not Zhang Shi, right, you're not Zhang Shi..."

"What the hell, Boss...?"

"Chief?"

"Professor?"

"Chief...!

Yunlan patted xiao-Guoâ€™s shoulder, gingerly, and shot a meaningful look at lao-Chu. Lao-Chu gave him a glower, and an only slightly less ferocious one to Shen Wei, but did come coax xiao-Guo off Yunlan's shoulder before it got any wetter.

"Okay, in order, wow has it really been a year, no I'm not Zhang Shi, yes it's really both of us." Yunlan gave the tall windows a second look and yes, he could see night sky out there. "Also, what are all of you doing working so late?"

"We're not working," Zhu Hong snapped, hauling him up off the floor by an elbow and dropping him on the couch. "We wanted a memorial among ourselves, because yes it's been a year, but the office has too many other people in it during the day."

Yunlan blinked up at her, stunned. "We got more staff? Seriously?" He turned to look at Shen Wei, being guided down onto the next cushion by Lin Jing. "Are you sure we're back in the right world?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Shen Wei was smiling at him, but it was Professor Shen's small, contained smile, and that just didn't feel right. Yunlan leaned comfortably against his shoulder, and was satisfied to feel the straightness of Shen Wei's posture relax a bit.

"But what happened?" Da Qing demanded, scrambling up onto the table so he could stare demandingly at both of them.

Yunlan looked at Shen Wei, who was looking back with the very same helpless expression Yunlan felt on his own face. "Well, that's... a long story," Yunlan finally managed.

Shen Wei sighed and straightened, as though shaking himself back to reality. "For the Ministry's consumption," he said, sounding convincingly authoritative, "I think the story had better be that the injection Zhao Yunlan took did work, but had a delayed onset. Any inconsistent behavior can be explained by intermittent onset symptoms. For anyone who knew about Zhang Shi, we can say instead that he was caught in a wormhole created by the Holy Tools' reactivation and only found his way out at this point in time. For myself, we can say I was hospitalized easily enough; there wouldn't have been a body reported, after all."

The team looked at each other, trading grimaces, nods, shrugs. "It sounds plausible," Lin Jing agreed, and then leaned forward on the edge of his chair, eyes bright in a way that always meant trouble. "So? What really happened?"

Shen Wei glanced at Yunlan again, and the question in his eyes was so clear Yunlan thought he might as well have spoken. "I'd like my team to know," he agreed, quietly. "But are you sure?" In his opinion, xiao-Wei had gotten far too good at sacrificing his own wants for Yunlan's, and there was no time like the present to start breaking that habit.

Xiao-Wei hesitated. "I've watched human science for a very long time," he said, at last, just as low. "What the 'serum' actually does... now that those results are out in the open, I think there will be another shift, soon. If that does happen, what you and I are may become hard to conceal. Better to be prepared."

Zhu Hong straightened, at that, mock-temper melting into serious attention, but Lin Jing actually bounced in his chair. "What it really does? You know the mechanism?!"

Da Qing rolled his eyes. "Down, boy."

Yunlan grinned, relaxing into the familiarity of his team of maniacs. "Well, it's like this. It turns out I'm a god."

There was a long moment when everyone very obviously waited for the punchline, and Shen Wei actually rolled his eyes.

"Backing up a little," he put in, dryly, "the current theories of history, of meteorological disasters and legends being metaphorical interpretations of the lives and doings of mortal leaders, are inaccurate. The first gods, the later gods, they were true beings. Nuwa and Fuxi. Shen Nong." His hand slid over to rest on Yunlan's knee. "Kunlun."

Da Qing shook his head like he'd gotten water in his ears. "Wait. Wait, that..." He rubbed his forehead, frowning, and asked, plaintively, "Why does that sound right?"

"Memory as long as yours and mine is a slippery thing, sometimes." Shen Wei's hand tightened on Yunlan's knee. "There are things I remember as sharply as if they just happened, but many of the lives I watched over, and even lived, are faded, now. Jumbled together." His mouth twisted for a moment. "I stopped reading history, after a while. It got hard to remember whether some things were true memory or just things I'd heard later. It's probably worse, for you, since you lost so much memory entirely, for a while."

"But if... but then..." Da Qing's eyes swung back to Yunlan and widened. "Kunlun was... ?" he whispered. "Kunlun...!" He scrambled to his feet in a burst of black fur and leaped across to land on Yunlan's chest and shove his head under Yunlan's chin.

"Ow, ow, ow," Yunlan protested, as claws dug in through his jacket. "Careful, damn cat." The admonition didn't stop Da Qing from clinging tight with every claw, and Yunlan supposed he hadn't expected it to. He leaned back against the couch cushions, scratching behind Da Qing's ears. "Yeah, it's me." He winced as the claws dug in a little tighter.

"Zhao Yunlan is the soul of the god Kunlun, reborn," xiao-Wei explained to the staring team. "Reborn as human, but I believe that shot really did shift his nature and tear Shen Nong's seal over his memories and power. As soon as he gave himself to the Lamp... well, the Lamp was created from Kunlun, to start with. Passing through it again completed the shift and restored both his memories and his nature, fully."

Lin Jing had been muttering under his breath the whole time, and now he looked up, eyes nearly glowing. "You said the later gods were real, the ones supposed to be humans raised to godhood." His voice was soft, as if he wanted to sneak up on an idea and not startle it. "If that's true, and what the serum really does is change a human's nature, then the serum is creating gods."

Shen Wei gave him an approving, professorial nod. "Exactly."

Lin Jing's crow of glee nearly drowned out xiao-Guoâ€™s yelp of, "Gods?!"

Xiao-Wei got a glint of mischief in his eye. "You took up your responsibilities quite capably, I thought." He relented when xiao-Guo started looking like he might faint. "It needn't change much, really. It isn't merely an extra ability, but you can deal with the rest of what it is slowly."

Lin Jing stopped doing a victory dance in his chair. "Stability. The other results weren't stable."

"It was a change imposed from without." Xiao-Wei's voice was quiet but stern with a warning that made Lin Jing listen seriously and lao-Chu wrap a protective arm around xiao-Guoâ€™s shoulders. "Humans were created by the hands of one of the first gods. This path of development has always been part of your kind, but to shock it alive, to force the change," xiao-Wei shook his head, eyes dark, "that was a fool's move."

"This isn't the first time," Yunlan murmured, listening to the sadness inside him that had the weight of memory. "Some of those stories are true too—of humans gaining the power of gods, who couldn't handle it." He flapped a reassuring hand at xiao-Guo, who was starting to look like fainting again. "Ah, don't worry about it. If that was going to be a problem, it would have happened sooner. Xiao-Wei's right; you're doing just fine with it."

Zhu Hong straightened up from where she'd been leaning against the table, wide-eyed. "Oh." She peered closer at Yunlan. "Is that why you called him xiao-Wei, that time?" She managed a tiny smirk. "I guess even the Envoy would be young, to Kunlun."

Yunlan felt Shen Wei lean into him just a little more, and felt his easy grin turning soft. His voice was lower than he quite meant for it to be, when he answered, "Yeah, I think so."

Da Qing lashed his tail and finally scrambled off him, taking care to stomp on Yunlan's stomach on his way. "I'm staying at Lin Jing's place, tonight," he announced, imperiously, changing only long enough to fish keys out of his pocket and drop them on the table before turning his back and wrapping his tail around his toes.

That felt so familiar Yunlan couldn't help laughing. The rest of his team exchanged smirks and nods and elaborate eye rolls, and suddenly everyone was standing, gathering their things.

"See you tomorrow, Boss," Lin Jing told him brightly, helping lao-Chu herd a confused-looking xiao-Guo out the door. Zhu Hong picked up Da Qing and stalked after them without a backwards glance.

A soft huff made Yunlan look over at Shen Wei, insouciance firmly tacked down over a sudden urge to blush. Shen Wei looked like he was trying not to laugh, and refused to look at Yunlan. "So." Yunlan picked up the keys, spinning the ring around his finger. "I guess we're going home?"

That did the trick, and Shen Wei's smile broke out, warm and bright. "I suppose we are."

Satisfaction, heavy with the weight of who knew how many lives and years, settled in Yunlan's chest, and he smiled back. "Good."

Approach Over the Lake

Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei go apartment hunting. Humor, Fluff, Romance, I-2

At first Shen Wei had been amused by Yunlan's team bringing another box of his belongings to Yunlan's apartment every time one of them visited, as though he might not notice them moving him in if they just did it gradually enough. The fact was, though, that despite not accumulating a great many things, Shen Wei owned too much to fit easily into the apartment of a man who had turned his bedroom into a workout space. So it was only a few weeks after they'd returned from the Lamp that he said, on the drive in to work, "Either I need to re-acquire my old apartment, or we need to think about moving."

Yunlan laughed. "What, you don't think cardboard is the hot new material for book cases?"

"It does clash a bit with your decorating scheme," Shen Wei noted dryly Cardboard would never hold the weight of Yunlan's collection of alcohol, for one thing.

"I think Da Qing is the only one who really approves of those boxes." Yunlan gunned the engine through a light about to change, and Shen Wei braced himself with the habit that a year disembodied had done nothing to blunt. "Our building doesn't have any larger units, though."

"Which is why you need to think about where else you might like to live," Shen Wei pointed out as Yunlan pulled in to the front drive of the biosciences building. "We can find an agent once you decide that." Yunlan set a hand on his arm as he went to open the passenger door, staying him.

"What about where you'd like to live?" he asked, quietly.

Warmth curled through Shen Wei at that ready thoughtfulness. "Yunlan, I've lived in and around this city since it was first built. Every district in it has places that I've enjoyed spending my time." Yunlan settled back at that, with a faintly rueful smile. Shen Wei thought he still let the knowledge slip away, sometimes, that Shen Wei really was that old. The crooked line of Yunlan's smile didn't feel like quite the right way to start the day off, though, so he added, as he swung down from the Jeep, "Besides, what makes you think I don't have a list of requirements already written up?"

That made Yunlan laugh again.

When Shen Wei thought about it, he felt he should have expected the problems they ran into. After all, he'd noticed Yunlan's taste in vehicles, in clothing, even in liquor. The style might be casual but the substance was both choosy and expensive. The moment they'd started looking for new apartments, that taste had surfaced with a vengeance.

The high-rise downtown hadn't been sufficiently insulated. The re-zoned and renovated block of modern apartments by the park had security that was too intrusive. The second-story apartment on the edge of the university district had appliances that were too old, despite the fact that Yunlan would not be the one using most of them.

Their agent was starting to look like she regretted her choice of career, or at least of clients.

"This is the last one on my list," she said as the door was unlocked. "It's at the top end of the price range you wanted, but it's been recently upgraded..."

Shen Wei followed Yunlan inside and stepped into light. Broad windows on two sides of the large, open room caught the late afternoon sun, and it glowed back from white plaster and honey-colored wood around the frames and across the floor. The faint creak under his feet suggested it was fairly old wood, but the light gleamed off clean, new steel and dark blue tile to the left, where the kitchen had a wide window of its own, over the sink. Shen Wei went to glance down the short hallway beyond, which opened into three more rooms, two of them almost as bright as the living room, and a generous bathroom.

It wasn't until he was running his fingers over the tall shelves of the living room that he realized Yunlan hadn't said a thing, yet. "Yunlan?" he asked, a bit curious about such restraint, turning to see his lover smiling at him.

"We'll take it," Yunlan told their agent.

Shen Wei felt a strong need to adjust his glasses. Their agent looked even more stunned. Yunlan merely shrugged, as if his reasons should be obvious.

"None of the rest of them made you smile like that."

It took Shen Wei most of the way home to regain his composure.

He did not succeed in talking Yunlan out of getting the apartment that made Shen Wei most at ease. After a week of arguing, however—a week that Da Qing spectated like they were a particularly entertaining tennis match—he did manage to insist that Yunlan arrange and decorate the place as he pleased. That resulted in a day of Yunlan wandering about looking thoughtful, and then a shopping spree that produced heavy, dark curtains in the living room, half a dozen inconspicuous lamps that Yunlan put on the floor and pointed at the corners, and a few gallons of paint that turned their bedroom a deep, underwater green. The second bedroom acquired two walls of bookshelves and a lavish new desk, with Shen Wei's brush sets arranged on it. The far corner of the living room gained a corner table for Da Qing's bed, and his swing was hung next to it, looking out one window past the houseplants. The wine shelf was installed by the kitchen. The windowless bedroom turned out to fit all of Yunlan's workout equipment, even the weight bench, and started to look rather like a shrine to violent physical fitness. Yunlan's wealth of small tables, stools, and shelves clustered around the living room furniture and were quickly populated with a mixed collection of statuary, lamps, wood work, and Da Qing's goldfish.

And Shen Wei finally relaxed a little.

"You're really that unused to anyone at all taking care of you, aren't you?" Yunlan asked, winding his arms around Shen Wei from behind and gathering him back against Yunlan's body. Shen Wei leaned against him, looking around the airy lightness of the living room, which was only heightened by the contrast of the dark curtains framing each window.

"It's not that." Yunlan made a disbelieving sound, and a faint smile tugged at his mouth. "Well. That too, perhaps, but... I don't want you getting lost in me."

Yunlan smiled against his neck. "You don't need to worry about that, xiao-Wei."

The reminder that Zhao Yunlan had the memory of a whole other life worth of stubbornness, now, did relax him, he had to admit. "All right," he agreed, quietly, resting a hand over Yunlan's. And then his breath caught as Yunlan pressed an open-mouthed kiss just under his ear.

"So. Want to try out the new bed?" Yunlan murmured against his skin, and Shen Wei had to laugh.

"All right," he agreed again, with far more of a purr in it this time.

Maybe there really was no need to worry, after all.

End